#guess you'll have to taste it to know ;)

[seventh-district]

not even gonna tag this properly bc i don't wanna get Involved but i do have some Thoughts i need to get out into the void so here we go

(aaa quick edit: CW for mention/discussion of Boothill leaks)

[longagoitwastuesday]

So so indebted to u for posting those lovely illustrations from Cyrano <333 & even more so for yr tags!! I'm completely in love w yr analysis, please feel free to ramble as long as u wish! Browsing through yr Cyrano de Bergerac tag has given me glimpses of so many adaptations & translations I'd never heard of before! I'll be watching the Solès version next, which I have only discovered today through u ^_^ As for translations, have u read many/all of them? I've only encountered the Renauld & Burgess translations in the wild, & I was curious to hear yr translation thoughts that they might guide my decision on which one I buy first (not necessarily Renauld or Burgess ofc). Have a splendid day & sorry for the likespam! 💙

Sorry for the delay. Don't mind the likespam, I'm glad you enjoyed my tags about Cyrano, and that they could contribute a bit to a further appreciation of the play. I loved it a lot, I got obsessed with it for months. It's always nice to know other people deeply love too that which is loved haha I hope you enjoy the Solès version, it may well be my favourite one!

About translations, I'm touched you're asking me, but I don't really know whether mine is the best opinion to ask. I have read... four or five English translations iirc, the ones I could find online, and I do (and especially did, back when I was reading them) have a lot of opinions about them. However, nor English nor French are my first languages (they are third and fourth respectively, so not even close). I just read and compare translations because that's one of my favourite things to do.

The fact is that no translation is perfect, of course. I barely remember Renauld's, but I think it was quite literal; that's good for understanding the basics of the text, concepts and characters, but form is subject, and there's always something that escapes too literal translations. Thomas and Guillemard's if I recall correctly is similar to Hooker's in cadence. It had some beautiful fragments, some I preferred over Hooker's, but overall I think to recall I liked Hooker's more. If memory serves, Hooker's was the most traditionally poetic and beautiful in my opinion. Burgess' is a whole different thing, with its perks and drawbacks.

Something noticeable in the other translations is that they are too... "epic". They do well the poetic, sorrowful, grief stricken, crushed by regrets aspects of Cyrano and the play in general, but they fall quite short in the funny and even pathetic aspects, and that too is key in Cyrano, both character and play. Given the characteristics of both languages, following the cadence of the French too literally, with those long verses, makes an English version sound far too solemn at times when the French text isn't. Thus Burgess changes the very cadence of the text, adapting it more to the English language. This translation is the one that best sets the different moods in the play, and as I said before form is subject, and that too is key: after all, the poetic aspect of Cyrano is as much true as his angry facet and his goofy one. If Cyrano isn't funny he isn't Cyrano, just as he wouldn't be Cyrano without his devotion to Roxane or his insecurities; Cyrano is who he is precisely because he has all these facets, because one side covers the other, because one trait is born from another, because one facet is used as weapon to protect the others, like a game of mirrors and smoke. We see them at different points through the play, often converging. Burgess' enhances that. He plays with the language itself in form and musicality, with words and absences, with truths masking other truths, with things stated but untold, much like Cyrano does. And the stage directions, poetic and with literary value in their own right in a way that reminded me of Valle Inclán and Oscar Wilde, interact with the text at times in an almost metatextual dimension that enhances that bond Cyrano has with words, giving them a sort of liminal air and strengthening that constant in the play: that words both conceal and unveil Cyrano, that in words he hides and words give him away.

But not all is good, at all. Unlike Hooker, Burgess reads to me as not entirely understanding every facet of the characters, and as if he didn't even like the play all that much, as if he had a bit of a disdainful attitude towards it, and found it too mushy. Which I can understand, but then why do you translate it? In my opinion the Burgess' translation does well bending English to transmit the different moods the French text does, and does pretty well understanding the more solemn, cool, funny, angry, poetic aspects of Cyrano, but less so his devotion, vulnerability, insecurities and his pathetism. It doesn't seem to get Roxane at all, how similar she is to Cyrano, nor why she has so many admirers. It does a very poor job at understanding Christian and his value, and writes him off as stupid imo. While I enjoyed the language aspect of the Burgess translation, I remember being quite angry at certain points reading it because of what it did to the characters and some changes he introduces. I think he did something very questionable with Le Bret and Castel-Jaloux, and I remember being incensed because of Roxane at times (for instance, she doesn't go to Arras in his version, which is a key scene to show just how much fire Roxane has, and that establishes several parallels with Cyrano, in attitude and words, but even in act since she does a bit what Cyrano later does with the nuns in the last act), and being very angry at several choices about Christian too. While not explicitly stated, I think the McAvoy production and the musical both follow this translation, because they too introduce these changes, and they make Christian as a character, and to an extent the entire play, not make sense.

For instance, once such change is that Christian is afraid that Roxane will be cultured (McAvoy's version has that infamous "shit"/"fuck" that I detest), when in the original French it's literally the opposite. He is not afraid she will be cultured, he is afraid she won't, because he does love and appreciate and admires those aspects of her, as he appreciates and admires them in Cyrano. That's key! Just as Cyrano longs to have what Christian has, Christian wants the same! That words escape him doesn't mean he doesn't understand or appreciate them. The dynamics make no sense without this aspect, and Burgess (and the productions that directly or indirectly follow him) constantly erases this core trait of Christian.

Another key moment of Christian Burgess butchers is the scene in Arras in which Christian discovers the truth. Burgess writes their discussion masterfully in form, it's both funny and poignant, but it falls short in concept: when Cyrano tells him the whole discussion about who does Roxane love and what will happen, what they'll do, is academic because they're both going to die, Christian states that dying is his role now. This destroys entirely the thing with Christian wanting Roxane to have the right to know, and the freedom to choose, or to refuse them both. As much as Cyrano proclaims his love for truth and not mincing words even in the face of authority, Cyrano is constantly drunk on lies and mirages, masks and metaphors. It's Christian who wants it all to end, the one who wants real things, the one who wants to risk his own happiness for the chance of his friend's, as well as for the woman he loves to stop living in a lie. That is a very interesting aspect of Christian, and another aspect in which he is written as both paralleling and contrasting Cyrano. It's interesting from a moral perspective and how that works with the characters, but it's also interesting from a conceptual point of view, both in text and metatextually: what they hold most dear, what they most want, what most fulfills them, what they most fear, their different approaches to life, but also metatextually another instance of that tears/blood motif and its ramifications constant through the whole text. Erasing that climatic decision and making him just simply suicidal erases those aspects of Christian and his place in the Christian/Cyrano/Roxane dynamic, all for plain superficial angst, that perhaps hits more in the moment, but holds less meaning.

Being more literal, and more solemn, Hooker's translation (or any of the others, but Hooker's seems to love the characters and understand them) doesn't make these conceptual mistakes. Now, would I not recommend reading Burgess' translation? I can't also say that. I had a lot of fun reading it, despite the occasional anger and indignation haha Would I recommend buying it? I recommend you give an eye to it first, if you're tempted and can initially only buy one.

You can read Burgess' translation entirely in archive.com. You can also find online the complete translations of Renauld, Hooker and Thomas and Guillemard. I also found a fifth one, iirc, but I can't recall it right now (I could give a look). You could read them before choosing, or read your favourite scenes and fragments in the different translations, and choose the one in which you like them better. That's often what I do.

Edit: I've checked to make sure and Roxane does appear in Arras in the translation. It's in the introduction in which it is stated that she doesn't appear in the production for which the translation was made. The conceptualisation of Roxane I criticise and that in my opinion is constant through the text does stay, though.

[oniro]

Bread and butter bread and butter bread and butter bread and butter bread and butter bread and butter bread and butter bread and butter bread and butter bread and butter bread and butter bread and butter

[medicinemane]

Man I hate tomatoes, but what I really hate is how people are like "hear you loud and clear" and then hand me tomato stuff

[astonmartinii]

reluctant cupid | lando norris social media au

pairing: lando norris x fem bff!reader

you could set your bestie up with a driver or you could confess your feelings? lando norris is dumb.

based on this request: Could you write something about being best friends with lando and he tries to help set you up with another driver you have a crush on, but then he realises he actually likes you so he has to sabotage all the wingmanning he’s done and you end up together Idk if that makes sense 😭🫶🏼🫶🏼 -@mbappesleftthigh

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

yourusername

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri and 49,340 others

yourusername: someone please save me from the grips of hinge and this oh so lonesome life

view all comments

user1: girl knows the whole f1 paddock and looks like that and is still alone there is NO HOPE for me

user2: this post might have thrown me over the edge

landonorris: "i'm so lonely" "why don't you approach that guy" "no too scary"

user3: that's so real though

yourusername: thank you!

landonorris: how do you expect to find a boyfriend when you don't like to talk to anyone and treat hinge like a gameshow

yourusername: i didn't come here for actual advice let me commiserate in peace. god, can women have anything these days?

landonorris: ???

yourusername: oh! idea! pretty please set me up with one of your friends? they have to be great otherwise you wouldn't be friends with them, right? RIGHT?

landonorris: i guess...

yourusername: please lando, i've never asked for anything before

landonorris: i can feel you pouting through the phone

yourusername: so you'll consider ?

landonorris: fine...

user4: bro either gotta admit his feelings now or be condemned to be in the plot of a weird romantic comedy

user5: i personally don't think i can wait until the third act break up with this side character LANDO ACT NOW

oscarpiastri: you'd really trust lando's judgement?

yourusername: he's friends with me, he's got good taste?

oscarpiastri: touche

maxverstappen1: whatever you really wanna say oscar, you gotta keep it in, these idiots will figure it out eventually

yourusername: ???

landonorris: ???

user6: the grid are so done with their asses i can't 😭

user7: but what if the universe doesn't intervene and lando really has just lost the girl forever?

user8: bestie we can't be thinking like this

landonorris

liked by carlossainz55, yourusername and 812,047 others

tagged: yourusername

landonorris: being back home means being bothered by her (and whatever is her newest hyperfixation - it's sylvanian families this month if you couldn't tell)

view all comments

user9: i am so sorry but they are so in love

user10: it's cute in the movies, but these blind bitches are starting to piss me off

yourusername: THEY CAN HEAR YOU, BE A BETTER DAD

landonorris: they're not my children

yourusername: you take that back right now, you LOVE them

landonorris: you spent my money on them yes

yourusername: that's fatherhood, buddy. buckle up

user11: whoever he sets her up (if he's still dumb enough to do that) is gonna be the biggest third wheel in history

user12: who would willingly sign up for that

user13: me. i would. i have two working eyes and have seen y/n

maxverstappen1: who are these funky little critters and how can i procure some for p?

yourusername: finally a man with sense, literally any grocery store or toy store

maxverstappen1: perf

yourusername: if lando stops being mr. grumpy i'll ask him if i can come to a race and p and i can play animal families

landonorris: i am NOT mr. grumpy

maxverstappen1: you kinda are dude. is it the set-up is it stressing you out?

landonorris: nO

yourusername: then why are you putting it off !!! lando i might die from terminal yearning !!!

landonorris: i have an interested candidate

yourusername: really? do you think they'll actually like me? like this isn't a pity date right?

landonorris: nope!

user14: lando is typing through tears as we speak

user15: if y/n does go on a date with someone from the paddock i actually hope it goes well, as one lonely girl to another, it's tough out here we need one win

f1wagupdates

liked by user18, user19 and 11,043 others

tagged: yourusername & carlossainz55

f1wagupdates: turns out lando is a bit of a cupid as his childhood friend y/n y/ln was spotted out and about with carlos sainz.

view all comments

user20: HE ACTUALLY DID IT

user21: that moment when you're so down bad for a girl that you set her up with your best friend

user22: that moment when you're such a wimp you can't admit your feelings and set up the girl you like with a literal GREEK GOD

user23: i am so bamboozled by this move he literally looked like a kicked puppy on his stream bro this is your doing 😭

user24: she's a lover girl she's going to get her heart broken :(

user25: this has mess written all over it

user26: she's literally described herself as a terminal yearner i feel like she'll throw herself in and will get hurt

user27: UNLESS! this is all part of the plan? what if lando set her up with a messy guy like carlos so he can be the shoulder to cry on and that's how he slides in?

user28: that's very convoluted, very rom-com but i'll take it if it means we get lando and y/n together in the end

user29: i know this probably won't last long but can we all appreciate how hot this couple is?

user30: lando and y/n runs rings round y/n and carlos

user31: lol lando is a bad friend for setting her up with CARLOS him and charles are THEE red flags

user32: i hope y/n is prepared

user33: also lando hasn't thought it fully out if his plan is to be the shoulder to cry on because he's just opening her up to be called a homie hopper or a paddock bunny

carlossainz55

liked by charles_leclerc, pierregasly and 702,554 others

carlossainz55: productive weekend with my girl

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user34: well that's not y/n

user35: that finished faster than i expected

user36: lando DO NOT quit your day job

landonorris: call me bro

carlossainz55: si, cabron

user37: i don't think they'll be cabrons after this call

user38: maybe this is all just going to plan?

user39: yall gotta give up this conspiracy theory maybe these people are just as dumb and mean as they seem to be

user40: soooooo... what did we all do this weeekend?

user41: i broke a girl's heart @carlossainz55 twins 👯‍♂️

user42: AHHHH???

maxverstappen1: oh that's not-

yourusername: you're so chronically online :(

maxverstappen1: you're alive?

yourusername: yes. coming at you live from the bed i'm currently rotting in

maxverstappen1: not going to say i didn't warn you?

carlossainz55: really? in my own comment section?

yourusername: one second, we're having a conversation here

maxverstappen1: yeah carlos, gosh.

carlossainz55: i'm so confused

user43: okay power move to just start a conversation in his comments?

user44: the power of confusion is simply unmatched

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris and 56,309 others

yourusername: certified boy hater

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user45: a ferrari boy will do that to you

landonorris: feeling hashtag victimised rn

yourusername: obviously doesn't include you girlypop. but you seriously need to reevaluate your judgement

landonorris: carlos is attractive?

yourusername: he ghosted me?

carlossainz55: i am right here

yourusername: blocked.

landonorris: did you actually just block him?

yourusername: yes 😀 !

landonorris: god this is a nightmare

yourusername: not if you'd take a GOD DAMN HINT

landonorris: WHAT IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?

user46: yall this is a public instagram comment section

user47: don't say that, this is their argument in the rain moment

user48: lemme grab the popcorn 🍿

maxverstappen1: this better not include the real number one girlypop here

yourusername: of course not pookie

oscarpiastri: you gonna continue the lil spat above this?

yourusername: no?

oscarpiastri: well some people (max and i) would like to listen so please continue

yourusername: no, i don't think i will

oscarpiastri: GOD YOU PEOPLE ARE INSUFFERABLE

maxverstappen1: what oscar said

user49: oscar and max are so real

user50: they can't leave us on this cliff hanger

landonorris

liked by yourusername, danielricciardo and 1,043,788 others

landonorris: some snaps from '23

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user51: have we just been thirst trapped?

user52: i don't think it was intended for us

user53: this has "i am hotter than carlos sainz" written all over it

yourusername: posting tits on main, brave.

landonorris: i came second in singapore.

yourusername: sureeeeeeeeeeeeeeee. modesty, ever heard of it lan?

landonorris: slutshaming isn't cute y/n

yourusername: you kinda have to pull to be a slut lan. you are under qualified for the position

landonorris: if you keep being mean to me i will call your mum or my mum.

yourusername: try it. i see cisca more than you, i have faith in her

landonorris: the line is busy. are you on the phone to MY mum right now?

yourusername: maybe.

user54: we're so close to them getting their heads out of their asses

user55: don't get my hopes up

danielricciardo: i hope this works lol

landonorris: you don't think i'm sexy?

danielricciardo: it doesn't matter what i think

landonorris: i'm not sexy :(

danielricciardo: you're baiting me but yes, you are sexy.

user56: i'll fight anyone who made this man believe he's not beautiful

liked by yourusername

user57: I SAW THAT 📸

user58: someone just lock them in a cupboard at this point

oscarpiastri: noted.

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris and 89,034 others

tagged: landonorris

yourusername: yeah, yeah. you can stop yelling at us now.

view all comments

user61: LET'S FUCKING GO

user62: it was worth all that yelling. i expect an invite to the wedding now.

user63: wedding? girly they only just realised their feelings after a DECADE

maxverstappen1: it was about fucking time

yourusername: okay miss ma'am. some people are EMOTIONALLY VULNERABLE AND NOT VERY GOOD AT PROCESSING THEM

maxverstappen1: you must've been emotionally constipated because this was painful

yourusername: it was painful for me too

maxverstappen1: so painful that you dated CARLOS

yourusername: one date! ONE!

maxverstappen1: carlos said can you unblock him so he can be mean to me?

yourusername: fine.

carlossainz55: STOP MAKING ME LOOK LIKE A BAD PERSON. YES I AM NOT THE BEST AT RELATIONSHIPS BUT LEAVE ME BE

maxverstappen1: lol

yourusername: lol

user64: unblocking carlos to hit him with the lol max and y/n might be more iconic than lando and y/n

landonorris: not on our relationship announcement post 🤨

user65: OOP.

landonorris: i love you doofus

yourusername: i love you too muppet

landonorris: how much was the betting pool for your family?

yourusername: it got to over £300

landonorris: ours was £750

yourusername: are we dumb?

landonorris: no!

oscarpiastri: two dumbass girls saying 'yass' to each other

yourusername: LEAVE US BE

landonorris: oscar :(

user66: not their own families betting on when they'd get together 😭

landonorris

liked by maxverstappen1, yourusername and 1,430,778 others

tagged: yourusername

landonorris: first win, hopefully not my only one.

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user67: MY BABIES

user68: i feel like i've been on this journey with them

oscarpiastri: thank god you guys got your shit together, i was THIS close to jumping out the nearest window if i had to watch lando mope around like a kicked puppy when y/n had the lil thing with carlos

user69: so it wasn't some grand plan?

oscarpiastri: no he's just dumb enough to actually set up his first love with his best friend

landonorris: OSCAR!

oscarpiastri: am i wrong?

landonorris: no... but! i got there in the end

oscarpiastri: good thing you're faster on track

user70: the grid being just as done with them as us is killing me

maxfewtrell: finally this unnecessarily long and overly convoluted saga has come to and end, lets never do this again!

landonorris: i'm locked in for life bro no worries

yourusername: awwwwwwwwwwwwww i love you too bubs

maxfewtrell: stop being sappy under my comment

yourusername: you just complained we didn't sort out our shit fast enough and now we're too sappy?

landonorris: STICK TO A STORY BOZO

maxfewtrell: now you're even more ride or die... can we go back?

yourusername: nope!

landonorris: nope!

maxverstappen1: i for one am very happy for you both

yourusername: thank you max !!

landonorris: not so fast, he had the biggest bet on us in the paddock

yourusername: get that bag sis

landonorris: ???

yourusername: we can't fight it anymore, let them have their jokes, we actually have each other now :)

landonorris: yes we do :) xx

user71: golly gosh this is so fucking cute

fin.

note: i hope this is what you were looking for and that you all enjoyed!! i'm just waiting on my tester sticker sheets for my small business @badlydrawnf1cats on here and on instagram, if you wanna give it a follow x tHANK YOU FOR READING MY LOVES X

[teaandspite]

The Great Goodreads Diss List (Part 1)

Context: For many years now, I have been collecting funny lines from Goodreads reviews to share with my coworkers. (I do collection development, reader's advisory, and weeding at a public library, so I read a LOT of reviews)

Are some of these, perhaps, rather mean? Yes, but they are also very funny, and come from a place of honest frustration. In the tradition of Bargepole threads and lists everywhere, names and titles have been censored.

"First, I want to say that I understand how hard it is to write a book and how amazing it is when it is actually published. Congrats to the author for that accomplishment. That said--"

"Warning: This review will be lengthy due to pure hatred."

"I found myself feeling really, really annoyed with the world that this book is allowed to exist. We live in a universe where the passenger pigeon is extinct but this book goes along merrily being read by unsuspecting lovers of words and ideas and stories? It just seems like too much, you know?"

"Don't do it. Don't spring the cash for the hardcover. Instead, eat an entire bag of Twizzlers, spend some money you don't have at a high-end department store, look up on Facebook the shady college boyfriend that made you cry, research the current value of your home or 401K and then read all about how the big hedge fund managers are faring during the economic crisis. You'll feel about the same stomach pain if you waste your time reading this book."

"This wretched novel begins with the mugging of an old lady and it appears I may be in the process of repeating that loathsome crime as [author] was 78 when she wrote it. It is not nice to put the boot into such a poor defenseless old creature lying there with only a damehood, a Booker Prize and a few million quid. It’s a nasty job but somebody has to do it."

"I think this is the way dead people would write, if they could."

"I am considering setting up SPABB: Society for the Protection of Accurate Book Blurb. This blurb appears to have been written by someone from the publishers who met [the author] the night before, got very drunk, lost his notes and then constructed something in a fug of hangover the next morning."

"I congratulate [the author] on the early half of his book, which was thoroughly fun and made me laugh and think. I congratulate [the author] on the second half of his book, for finishing it. It reads like that was difficult."

"…a woman whose taste in contemporary literature has roughly the same batting average as a pitcher in the National League."

"The author is a pompous windbag."

"Recommends it for: No one. Recommended to me by: A friend who apparently wished to cause me great suffering."

"Makes me wonder: is it possible to obtain similes at a volume discount?"

"The repeated phrases made me want to mail a thesaurus to the author."

"I'm disappointed in myself for finishing this book."

"if the author described [character's] eyes as "obsidian" one more time I was tempted to write her and ask if her thesaurus broke."

"They say that an infinite number of monkeys with an infinite number of typewriters would, if given infinite time, eventually produce the complete works of William Shakespeare. [This book], on the other hand, would probably take the average monkey just under two hours."

"I can't imagine what the author had to do to get this nadir of Western literature printed on innocent trees, but he does seem to know a LOT about being well-connected in New York."

"This book is so bad it is almost worth reading just to make you appreciate the other books you are reading."

"Reads like it was written by a brilliant author, the night before it was due."

"raises interesting questions, like: can a book be so bad as to constitute an act of terrorism"

"has this author ever spoken to a human woman"

"This acorn has fallen so far from the tree that it can’t even see the forest."

"I’m guessing they are touted as ‘beach reads’ because no one will care if they get dropped into the ocean."

"This book begins with all the energy of a hand vacuum near the end of its battery life, and the pace doesn't quicken much from there."

"At least everybody’s eyes stayed the same color this time around.”

Part 2

[lxnarphase]

❤︎ ━━ college!satoru, suguru, sukuna, and toji, all sending you dick print pictures, but use an unknown number and crop their upper bodies to make you guess who is who.

but, if you get it wrong over text? they'll just have to drag you to one of their dorms and help you learn.

with a simple black blindfold over your eyes, they playfully chide you. if you can't tell based on pictures, maybe you can figure it out after all of them fuck your mouth.

"let's see, pretty thing, if being in person will help you guess better." "that lil' mouth of yours should remember who fills it the best, yeah?" "d'aww, don't be mean! maybe she's just being a brat as an excuse to get her throat filled with cum!" "well, the slut is just gonna have to figure it out based off the taste of our cum. now hurry up, she's fucking drooling for it."

oh, poor thing...still can't tell? that's okay, even if they all know you're playing dumb with that cute fucking smirk on your face, they'll just have to fuck you until you really are dumb.

maybe then, you'll drop the act and moan out the right names.

all rights reserved © lxnarphase | do not repost, copy, translate, or alter my work

[katskitoshi]

"MY TYPE IS..." with TWISTED WONDERLAND

synopsis: you respond to a "what's your type?" question with his name. how does he react?

characters: riddle, trey, cater, ace, & deuce x gn! painfully blunt! reader

includes: cursing, non-explicit makeout mention,

heartslabyul(here), savanaclaw+octavinelle, scarabia+pomefiore, ignihyde+disomania.

grim, as always, was nagging you with questions in front of your crush and group of friends. they're all left to their own devices until grim asks, "what's your type?" and the attention of your crush falls on you for your answer.

riddle rosehearts, dorm leader of heartslabyul.

"my ideal type? well, he's red-haired, with grey eyes, whose short and just happens to be the dorm leader of heartslabyul!"

the "ideal crush" in question was as red as his hair. he almost spits his tea out.

you practically confessed to riddle! or at least told him he's the type you're looking for.

riddle looks at you like you've gone mad, not even realizing he's been actively staring at you.

"[name], are you serious?" he questions, calming himself down. you look at him confused.

"why wouldn't i be serious? was my clear description of you, riddle rosehearts, my crush, not enough?"

he still looks at you confused. riddle fully understands, it's just.. you're being so straightforward about it! he can't handle how blunt you're being with your advances.

you sigh, "since you still aren't understanding, i like you riddle. is that clear enough?"

"no, i am not as red as my hair! ugh, yes, [name]. i understood just well. it just took me a while to get used to how blunt you were. but, i guess i could say you're my ideal type too. and i guess i like you too."

trey clover, vice dorm leader of heartslabyul.

"my type's obviously a green-haired, amber-eyes, glasses-wearing, hot baker with a clover on his cheek."

doth trey's ears deceive him? you obviously just described him. he has green hair, yellow eyes, glasses, and a clover on his cheek. plus, he's a baker!

trey doesn't even realize he's stared at you, the tart he made long forgotten on his plate.

you stare at him like you didn't just say he was your type. "um, [name]?" "yeah?"

trey looks at you, takes a deep breath and asks, "do you like me?"

"of course i do, silly! i wouldn't have described you as my type if i didn't."

trey takes a deep breath once again. thank the great seven.

"oh thank goodness. i liked you too but i didn't really know how to approach it. i was gonna make you a (favorite dessert) with "will you be mine?" on it, but i guess i don't have to anymore. oh? i should still do it? well, i guess you'll just have to come over to heartslabyul tonight for a surprise, dear."

cater diamond, heartslabyul third year.

"do you even have eyes? my type is this really cute guy with orange hair, green eyes, a red diamond on his face, a heartslabyul third year and magicam influencer! aka, the hottest guy in the world!"

he squeals. cater lets out a loud, high-pitched, squeal that would be associated with preppy high school girls in movies. people would have noticed if it wasn't for the already loud cafeteria.

he moves to the seat next to you, holding you by your waist.

"[name], do you really like me?" the smile on his face blinds you, but you can see he has a hint of worry in his green eyes. imagine how disappointed he'd be if you were to like some other heartslabyul guy that looked exactly like him.

you lean in, hooking a arm around his neck and using your hand to push his head into your lips. your lips kiss him and you can taste his lime tart and cherry chapstick.

"is.. is that enough to prove to you that i love you?" you pant after the kiss, looking at cater's reddened face.

"haha! that was more than enough, but how about you prove to me how much you love me a bit more, cutie?"

(you guys make out and have to be forcefully separated becuase the friend group does NOT approve of the pda.)

ace trappola, heartslabyul first year.

"okay, so he's a fucking pain in the ass and a stupid idiot but i love him, y'know? his orange-red hair and the stupid heart on his face and that silly grin his makes when he does something dumb like breaking riddles rules or messes up a potion or something.. he may be a fucking dumbass but he's a dumbass i have a crush on."

first of all, ouch.

he's not a pain in the ass or a stupid idiot! and his heart isn't stupid and his grin isn't silly- wait, did you say you have a crush on him?

ace is flattered, but that would never ever stop him from being a little shit about it.

i mean, you called him a stupid idiot you love, right? so that means that he can be a dumbass and you'll still forgive him, right? of course you will, he thinks.

"[nickname]~ you have a crush on me? aww, you're too cute! of course you'd like me, i'm hot, i have a cute grin,-- what! i'm not an idiot!"

deuce spade, heartslabyul first year.

"what a silly question! anyways, my type is tall, blue-haired, and a real cutie! he has this cute little spade on his face but hes kinda dumb. i love it about him though! the pout on his face he gets when he's confused is adorable!"

queue cute, confused deuce.

"aw look, he's doing the little confusion pout right now! ah, i have the biggest crush on him!" you gush, and the color drains from his face before it comes back as a vibrant red blush.

he bangs his head on the table, making a cute whimpering noise.

when he finally looks up, still blushing, he's met with your smile and almost topples over. you're gonna give him a heart attack!

"don't embarrass me like that! ugh, but since we're on the matter, y-yeah i like you, too."

[birchleavesdawn]

Bitter Taste

Fromis_9 Saerom x Jo Yuri x m!Reader 4.2k words Warning: Watersports, Food play Authors notes: Fulfilling a couple of pretty old requests. The first one is a bit of a vague request and I don't really know what someone would be looking for for that so I hope this story is different enough. This will have at least a part 2 as I like the characters and already have the next part completely mapped out. Will see about anything beyond that. There is also a few easter eggs related to the title of the fic (song) in there, if you know the song maybe you'll catch them.

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Another night on your phone. Eyes exhausted from having the same empty conversations over and over, just for the tiny chance of spending a boring night with someone you'd never see again. Your finger tapped on the same apps you did every time, hoping it would be different, but knowing it would be the same.

Enough of this.

*Ring*... *Ring*...

"Hello?"

"Hey Captain. You busy tonight?"

"Why? Did daddy's luck run out on his dating apps? I knew it wouldn't be long before I was hearing from you again." You could hear her grin through the phone.

"I'm tired of those girls. I just keep swiping, I need something new."

"Well, I'm working right now but I get off in an hour. Why don't you pretty yourself up and come meet me here. I know how we can have a little fun."

*Click*

Saerom was a bit of a wild card. She had gotten you to try many things you would never have even thought possible on your nights together. You couldn't begin to guess what she had in mind, but you were looking forward to something, anything different.

She texted you the address, it was one you recognized and It wasn't very far. After a quick shower, you put on something nice and headed down. A short walk and a couple minutes on the subway and you were there.

Sweet Indulgence Adult Ice Cream 19+

So she was working at an ice cream place now? You wondered what the 19+ meant. Maybe they sold alcohol? The bell chimed as you entered the shop. Saerom was leaning behind the counter on her phone.

"Oh! Hey there handsome. I'll be with you in a minute." She smiled and walked into the back room.

You took a seat near the front, deciding to wait there for her return, taking a chance to size the place up. It was small but not too small. There were three tables in the middle of the floor and two booths on the left wall. A glass counter ran through the middle of the room, filled with various flavors of ice cream. Basically it looked like any standard ice cream shop, with the only difference being the big "19+" written next to the milkshakes on the menu.

Yea must be alcohol. You thought.

That's when you noticed Saerom's coworker pop up from below the cash register. A short girl with shimmering blonde hair tucked neatly into her hairnet. Large, expressive eyes and a smile that was warm and inviting. She looked cute. Like a puppy. "Yuri" was written on her name tag. You watched her, hard at work, unsure if she was even aware of your presence.

Saerom reemerged a few moments later, walking to the door, pulling the blinds shut and flipping the open sign to closed. She whispered something to the other girl who then promptly disappeared into the back where Saerom had just come from. Saerom then made her way over to you. You stood up from your chair to meet her. Without saying a word she grabbed your face and licked firmly up the side of your cheek before growling quietly in your ear. She lifted up her white tank top and flashed you her breasts, before pushing them into your chest. You could feel her erect nipples poking you through your shirt. They probably spent a lot of time like that in such a cold place like this.

"Wow I guess we're getting right into it?"

"You have no idea how badly I want you right now." She grabbed your crotch and gave it a firm squeeze.

"But..."

She let go of your crotch and pulled her shirt back down. Leaving you confused.

"I thought we could play with Yuri tonight. She's pretty cute right?" Saerom said

You turned to look towards the back, the young blonde girl was now standing there, a bright smile on her face, wearing a frilly white apron with nothing on underneath. Her perky breasts were on display, along with a clean shaven slit that peeked out from below the bottom. Her legs were slender and shapely. You turned back to Saerom, who had a big grin on her face.

"So, what do you say?"

"Well she seems pretty excited and you know I'm not one to disappoint a lady. Especially one that looks like that."

"Great, then pick a flavor and Yuri is going to begin preparing our milkshakes."

"Chocolate cookies looks good."

Saerom nodded to Yuri.

Yuri spun around, revealing her perfectly plump backside. You caught Saerom staring out the corner of your eye, her mouth open, a lustful gaze. You really couldn't blame her, Yuri's body was incredible.

Yuri bent over the freezer, sticking her ass out as far as she could, and pulled out the tub of chocolate cookies ice cream, before carrying it into the back.

Saerom approached you once again, now fixated on the tightness on display in the front of your trousers. She breathed hot air into your ear while playfully biting your lobe. Her hands going for your belt.

"I'll make this quick. But don't worry, this is just a taste of what's to come." She winked.

Saerom wasted no time. She dropped to her knees, pulling down your pants and underwear, exposing your stiff and twitching member to the cool air. She took your head between her lips. She bobbed her head, quickly and forcefully, sucking hard while swirling her tongue. Your hands reached down to hold her, feeling her silky black hair slide through your fingers. You moaned softly, watching her move her head, sliding her glistening lips up and down your cock. The sloppy sounds of her movements were only outdone by the soft moans she was making as she worked. She knew exactly what you liked.

"READY!"

You heard Yuri shouting from the back. And once again Saerom let go of you, your shaft slick with her saliva, now feeling exceptionally exposed to the frigid air. She rose and straightened herself out.

"We'll finish later. For now let's enjoy our shakes."

"You're really just going to leave me like this?"

"Of course!"

Saerom motioned to the back.

You walked in after her, following her lead. The back of the store also looked like any ordinary ice cream parlor. Stacks of boxes labeled cups, spoons, bowls. The freezers and mixers sat along the far wall, a large refrigerator filled with various types of milk on your right, and a large steel door that clearly led to the walk-in freezer beside it. What caught your attention though was the floor to ceiling curtain that was hiding another part of the room. On one side of it, there was a steel chute that came from behind it and then led to the countertop where several milkshake glasses stood. Each one was filled to the brim with a thick, creamy shake.

"Grab your shake and give it a taste!" Saerom said excitedly.

"It should be that darker one there at the end."

You grabbed the shake she pointed to, and gave it a taste. The rich chocolate flavor was sweet and delicious. You hadn't expected ice cream to taste this good.

"Mmmm." You hummed, taking another sip.

"I like it."

"Like it?"

"Love it!"

Saerom laughed, pleased by your reaction.

"That's so good." You said, wiping a bit of it from your lip.

"I've never tasted anything quite like it. That bitter taste. Is that the alcohol?"

She looked confused. "What do you mean? There's no alcohol in this."

"Wait, really?"

"Of course not, silly. I wouldn't do that to you." She was now grinning ear to ear.

"So then, why did she call this the '19+' menu?"

"That's because of our secret ingredient."

Saerom motioned to the curtain.

"Would you like to see?"

Your curiosity piqued, you nodded.

She took hold of the curtain and drew it back, revealing the real reason for the 19+ on the menu. Yuri was knelt down on top of a small wooden platform with a thin mattress atop, her legs spread wide, her hands resting on her thighs. The steel chute that you had seen from the other side of the curtain, now entirely visible, was attached to the platform between Yuri's legs.

"I think you've figured out what's going on here, but why don't you let me show you anyway. Yuri, are you ready?"

"YES MISS SAEROM" Yuri shouted, her voice dripping with excitement.

"Now the girls who work here will often do this part on their own, but for the sake of the demonstration, I'm going to help her."

You watched as Saerom stepped forward and took Yuri's chin in her hand, leaning in and planting a passionate kiss on her soft lips.

"I'm going to make you feel really good." She whispered in her ear, before taking a step back and slapping her ass.

Yuri yelped. "Thank you Miss Saerom."

Saerom then climbed up onto the platform and moved behind Yuri, squatting down. She pulled Yuri's ass up to meet her face, spreading her cheeks and sticking her tongue inside.

"Mmmmm." Yuri moaned, closing her eyes.

Saerom's tongue danced around inside Yuri's asshole. Spreading her spit and getting her ready. After a few moments, she stopped and stood up.

"I can still taste the chocolate cookies ice cream you asked for. Good choice!"

Saerom reached forward and grabbed a spoon and a small white tub off the shelf in front of her, opening it and placing it on the platform next to Yuri's leg.

"We're going with classic vanilla for this one."

She then scooped out a spoonful of the ice cream and smeared it on her finger, pressing it against Yuri's rear, and then pushing her finger inside with the ice cream.

"Hnnng" Yuri groaned.

Saerom continued, working her finger deeper and deeper inside Yuri's asshole until she had the whole thing buried. She then slid it out slowly, letting her anus tighten around it.

"How does that feel?" She asked.

"Mmmmmm" Yuri responded, unable to manufacture any words.

"Yuri is really sensitive. It's how she's able to produce so many drinks over the course of a day."

Saerom scooped another glob of ice cream, pressing it into Yuri's asshole. Once again pushing her finger inside.

She repeated the process a couple more times before deciding that that would be enough. Yuri was starting to tremble now, her body beginning to shake as the effects of the ice cream began to take hold.

"How are you doing, baby girl?"

"I'm doing good, Miss Saerom." Yuri whimpered.

The ice cream had already begun to melt from Yuri's asshole, coating her pussy and running down the back of her thighs before being collected by the chute below her. Saerom dipped her finger in the melted liquid, bringing it to her mouth and giving it a taste.

"Mmm. Just right." She said.

She then turned her attention to Yuri's cunt, rubbing her fingers over her folds.

"And what's going on down here. Is it time yet?"

"Yes... Miss Saerom, I think so."

She gave her lips another pass over before sliding her fingers inside, eliciting a low moan from Yuri. She then removed her fingers and brought them up to her own mouth, savoring another taste of her favorite girl.

"You taste delicious, Yuri. Like a little angel. So sweet and pure."

"Thank you Miss Saerom."

Saerom then turned her attention to you.

"Why don't you come up and get yourself a taste straight from the source?"

She motioned for you to approach. You eagerly climbed up onto the platform and crawled behind Yuri, her beautiful ass and pussy now just inches from your face. Her sweet smell was intoxicating.

"Come on, take a bite." Saerom encouraged.

You reached out, taking hold of Yuri's ass cheeks, squeezing them together and spreading them apart, the melted ice cream having left them looking glossy and inviting. You stuck out your tongue and licked along her crack. You could feel her body twitch slightly at your touch. You followed the trail of vanilla down the curve of her ass, the smooth skin sliding under your tongue. She tasted amazing. You pressed your tongue to her cunt, licking the melted ice cream from her lips before finally sliding your tongue inside. Her pussy was warm and offset the cold of the ice cream. The taste was even better than her asshole.

"That's it. Get nice and deep." Saerom cooed. One of her hands had found its way into the front of her pants, she was visibly getting off to the sight of you tongue fucking her baby girl.

You pushed your tongue deeper into Yuri's pussy, feeling her clench and squirm. You danced your tongue around inside her, her moans growing louder.

"Ahhh. Ahhhh. Ahhhhhhh." Yuri had become a whimpering mess.

Saerom reached her free hand down and rubbed Yuri’s clit. Yuri's hips began to rock and sway as she fucked your face.

"I'm gonna cum, Miss Saerom."

Yuri's breathing was labored, her moans desperate. You felt her pussy clamp down on your tongue. Her legs were shaking, losing their ability to hold her weight. Before you knew it a stream of her nectar was pouring out of her, filling your mouth, splashing all over your cheeks and running down your chin then collecting in the chute between her legs.

"Good job, baby girl. That was wonderful." Saerom praised her. "Look how much we got!"

She ran her hand through Yuri's hair and planted a kiss on her cheek.

"You were a perfect little angel for our guest."

"Thank you Miss Saerom."

Saerom turned to you, seeing the mess Yuri had made on your face, a look of pride washing over her.

"Here, let me help you clean that up."

Saerom pulled you close and licked your face clean. Taking her time to lap up every last drop.

"Mmmm." She moaned. "God it tastes so good."

You could feel her hot breath on your face. She kissed your cheek, while her hand returned to your crotch, massaging your cock through the fabric.

"Alright I've waited long enough. It's my turn now."

She didn't wait for a response, instead she threw you down onto the mattress next to Yuri, who was still recovering from her orgasm.

"Clothes off. Now." She commanded.

You hastily pulled off your shirt, throwing it to the floor. Your pants and underwear following.

"That's it. You're always so good."

"Now get over here on your knees. I want you to look into my eyes the whole time... or so help me..."

She pulled down her skirt and kicked off her panties. Her pussy looked so inviting, juices had already begun leaking down her thighs. You wasted no time, crawling over and stopping before her feet.

"Wait. No touching yet. I've been holding this in all night."

You sat there obediently, your cock painfully hard. Saerom took a step towards you and lowered her folds to your face, an intoxicating scent of lilac and yearning emanating. Grabbing your hair with both hands, she tilted your head back, forcing your mouth open and giving herself full access.

Suddenly a warm stream hit your tongue, catching you by surprise. You made sure to keep your gaze locked with hers just as she directed, disobeying her when she was like this would only spell bad news for you.

Her golden liquid flooded your mouth. You swallowed as fast as you could but the stream was relentless. The pressure causing it to spill out over your chin, down your chest and falling onto your twitching member. You could feel her fluids warming you on the inside and out.

It tasted like heaven, sweet and bitter and everything in between. She looked down at you, satisfied. 

"Drink up, baby." She said between hitched breaths, her grip on your hair tightening.

She finally ran out and lifted herself from your face, leaving your mouth and nose drenched. She licked the sweat from her lips, taking a moment to admire her work.

"Fuck!" She exhaled.

She ran a hand through her hair, pushing it back out of her face.

"Look at the mess we've made. Tsk Tsk. You know I can't have you inside me all filthy like that."

Saerom stepped over and sat next to Yuri, who had managed to sit herself up and had been enjoying the show.

"Yuri, darling, could you do me a favor and clean our friend's cock for me? But do not let him cum."

"Of course Miss Saerom."

She got to work immediately. Her eyes grew wide at the thought of tasting Saerom's juices on you. She wrapped her small, soft hand around the base of your cock and gave it a firm squeeze.

"It's so big! And the smell..." She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. "It's so good!"

She licked her lips, before leaning in and taking the tip of your shaft into her mouth. She swirled her tongue around, coating your head with her saliva. You let out a quiet groan. After the blue balls you'd been getting all night, the mere contact from her mouth was almost enough to push you over the edge already.

Saerom was clearly enjoying the show, a satisfied smile on her face. She leaned in and whispered something in Yuri's ear. Yuri's eyes lit up again. She nodded and went back to her task, wrapping her lips tightly around your shaft.

"Now that's a good girl."

The way she looked down at Yuri with such adoration, such pride, it was enough to make your heart melt. You could tell she cared for her deeply.

Yuri continued, bobbing her head up and down your shaft, her tongue working furiously to clean you. She was making quite a mess with her spit leaking down her chin. She didn't seem to care one bit.

Saerom leaned in and kissed Yuri on the forehead.

"That's enough, my sweet."

Yuri released your cock with a wet pop. Your shaft now absolutely coated in her drool.

Saerom turned her attention to you. "I think you've earned a reward, don't you?"

You nodded, the ache in your loins was getting completely unbearable.

"Go on then. Come and take it."

Saerom lay back and spread her legs, showing off her glistening pink slit. You crawled between her legs, and pressed your tip against her opening.

"That's it. Don't hold back."

That was all you needed to hear. Those words producing a feral response deep inside you. You thrust your hips forward, burying your cock inside her, causing a gasp to escape her lips. You were on top of her, your body moving entirely on instinct. Hands grabbing at her thighs, pulling her close, trying to get deeper. You could feel her nails digging into your back, her teeth on your neck. The sounds of her moans were enough to drive you crazy.

"Ah.. f.." She bit down on your shoulder, her moans muffled, unable to get any words out.

Your thrusts were growing more erratic and less controlled. You were both losing yourselves. The tension inside her was building. She clung to you, her arms wrapped around you tightly and her breath hot on your neck. Her walls were pulsating, clenching around your shaft . You could feel her orgasm approaching.

"Aaaah." She cried out, her eyes rolling back. "I'm going to ..."

"Fucking do it then." You growled. The feeling of her pussy spasming around you. You kept the pace steady and guided Saerom through her orgasm. Her body shaking and trembling beneath you.

"God damn you're beautiful." You whispered. "But I’m not done. Ready to go again?"

She summoned the last remnants of her strength to offer you a delicate nod.

You rolled her over flat on her stomach and pulled her thighs together, placing your knees on either side. You admired the sight of her glistening backside for a moment, the sweat beading down from her ass and her shoulders before coming to a rest in the small of her back. You took a fistful of each of her cheeks to support yourself, before slowly tracing one long line up the length of her back with your tongue. The saltiness of her sweat paired well with the bitterness of her piss that still lingered in your mouth.

"Ah..." She gasped, shivering as a reaction to the surprise sensation.

You pressed the tip of your cock against her asshole, feeling her muscles clench. You plunged forward, the pressure giving way and the head of your shaft slipping inside. She let out a loud gasp as you slid deeper, continuing until your hips met hers.

You began to thrust, her ass was clenching around you. The wet slap of your skin on hers filling the air. She was gripping the mattress with everything she had left, causing her knuckles to turn white. You picked up the pace, feeling her insides stretch around you. You reached under and took hold of her breast, squeezing and pulling at her nipple. She let out a low moan as you continued to pound her.

"Fuck me harder." She panted, her voice strained.

You did as you were told. Thrusting faster and harder, slamming her into the mattress. She was a writhing, whimpering mess beneath you. Her voice growing louder, the sounds escaping her becoming increasingly animalistic. She was reaching her limits.

"Fuck. That's it. Make sure you cum inside me."

Her body was tensing up, the pressure inside her growing. You could feel her muscles contracting around your shaft, gripping you like a vice. You could tell she was going to burst at any second. You picked up the pace. Thrusting even harder. You wanted her to explode.

Saerom's whole body began to shake. You could see the strain on her face. You continued to fuck her. You couldn't stop. She was cumming. Her whole body convulsed, her screams echoing off the walls. You continued to pound her, driving her body into the mattress, not letting up. She was lost in the throes of pleasure. The orgasm had completely consumed her.

Her voice was hoarse. You couldn't tell if she was even making any sounds anymore. She had stopped moving, her eyes rolled back and her body limp. You continued to pound her ass, until your own release finally came. You let out a loud growl and thrust forward one final time, burying yourself as deep inside her as you possibly could. You could feel the warmth of your seed flooding her insides, the excess spilling out onto her aching pussy.

Saerom lay there motionless, but breathing heavily. You could feel the aftershocks of her orgasm still rippling through her body. You gently pulled out, releasing your hold on her and letting her fall back down flat on her stomach.

You collapsed beside her, panting, both of you completely spent. The next thing you knew, Yuri was standing above you, smiling. She handed you each a glass of water, which you happily accepted and chugged it down.

"Thank you Yuri. You've been wonderful."

She simply smiled and bowed.

"Well, I suppose we should clean up and be on our way." Saerom said, having partially come back to her senses. “As much as we’d all like to sit here for a while, it’s getting late.”

"Yes. It's quite late and we have a busy day tomorrow." Yuri chimed in.

"By the way, I promised Yuri that you would take her home tonight. I'll tidy up here, why don't you two get going. I don't want to keep Yuri up any longer than necessary."

"Ahh.. what?"

"Don't worry, you've already made her cum so she shouldn't be any trouble. Plus she can make herself useful. Now shoo. Get dressed and get out of here."

Saerom and Yuri dressed while you did the same. Once everyone was presentable, you took Yuri and headed for the door. As you walked out, Yuri handed you a new shake in a to-go cup.

"This is the one we just made together!"

"I can't wait to taste it." You replied, smiling.

You held her hand and walked her home. You enjoyed the silence, not saying much on the way, but enjoying each other's company.

When you finally arrived back at your place, you unlocked the door and motioned Yuri in, following close behind. You both kicked off your shoes and made your way into the kitchen, where you put the milkshake down on the counter.

"I only have one bed, but it's pretty big. I'm assuming that after tonight you won't mind sharing one anyway. You go on in, 2nd door on the right, I need to find a spot in the freezer for this milkshake."

You watched Yuri walk away, admiring the way her hips swayed, before heading over to the freezer. You placed the shake in empty corner and shut the door. You then made your way to the bedroom. Despite only being about 30 seconds behind her, she was already fast asleep on your bed. You made sure she had enough blankets before crawling into bed next to her. A moment later, you were also fast asleep.

[luveline]

WOULD LOOOVE to see badass reader get jealous over someone flirting with spencer

ty for requesting ♡ —spencer reassures you when he catches the eye of a receptionist at the ocean city precinct. fem!reader, 1.3k

Hotch lives on coffee lately. Any type from any source, he doesn't care what it tastes like so long as it keeps him awake. You're similar, in that even if you hated it, you'd keep it to yourself. 

But you're frowning in disgust at your cup. Eyebrows wrinkled, lips in a fierce line. Hotch sighs and puts his hand on the back of your chair. "Are you alright?" he asks. 

You've never told him otherwise. "Fine. Thank you." 

"There's water in my bag," he offers. You won't meet his eyes. You probably have a headache. "And aspirin." 

For as long as he's known you and worked with you, you've been as you are now, quiet, stern, with little sense of humour at work and not much more outside of it. The only evidence of your soft heart is how you work like a dog, and how you treat your coworker, Spencer. He's your achilles heel, your tender spot in all the tough scarring. Hotch knows there's nothing anyone can do to make you feel better if they aren't him. 

Hotch turns on the spot to look for him. The case you're working on here in Maryland has hit a lul, and exhausted faces peek out from behind their desks at Hotch's looking. He searches for the short mop of brown hair that's required and finds it in an unusual place. 

Spencer has been waylaid by a receptionist. Glimmering eyes, shiny silver fingernails that tap the desk in front of her as she speaks, the receptionist clearly has Spencer hanging on. He takes a step back and she doubles down, her storytelling audible from across the room. 

"You'll have to see it for yourself, Dr. Reid, it's a sight!" 

Hotch looks at you from the corner of his eye. "I see." 

"Don't know what you're talking about," you mutter. You stand and tip your coffee into the bin, letting the cup fall in after it morosely. 

"Why don't you go and help Reid?" Hotch asks. 

"Help Reid what?" you ask. Your tone betrays you —jealousy, sure, that slight crisp to your words that must hurt on the way out, but worse is the weakness as your sentence ends. You're jealous, and it's upsetting you. "I don't think I want to help him with that." 

Derek swings into the sequestered space you've been using to operate and beams at you like he knows exactly what you're thinking. 

"Isn't it surprising how quiet he can be? Years of catching bad guys and he can't say no to a pretty woman," Derek says, giving you a knowing look.

You and Derek have a half-hearted rivalry in that he loves to flirt and you disapprove. Your soft spot extends solely to Spencer no matter how hard Derek tries to sway you, though as you and Spencer have gotten closer, you've softened.

Hotch thinks that Derek's teasing might erase any progress that's been made. 

"Morgan," he says reproachfully. 

Derek makes a who, me? face but quickly gives in. "Why don't you go save him?" he asks you. 

"He doesn't need saving. Spencer is a grown man who can make his own choices," you say quietly. 

Hotch bites his tongue. Thankfully, Derek speaks up, without any teasing. "Spencer's been expected to  know how to do things without any help since he was a kid. I really think he just doesn't know how to walk away." 

You look down at your hands. Hotch has been doing his job for a long time, and he can guess what you're thinking from a misaligned finger. You don't feel like you measure up to the woman at reception. You're insecure about Spencer's affection for you, because you can't understand why he likes you so much to begin with. Hotch has thought it about Haley, Derek of Savannah. It's a very human doubt.

"Spencer tends to stand straight," Hotch says, bringing the lip of his paper cup up. "Right now, he's leaning away." 

It's in as simple terms as he can put it without outright telling you that he really, truly believes that Spencer wouldn't bother with anyone who isn't you. That Spencer loves you in the young, all encompassing way, even though neither of you seems to have realised the depth of it yet. 

Confident, no air of the girl frowning down at her hands, you leave the nook to approach Spencer from behind. 

"Hi," Hotch hears you say, "you okay?" 

Spencer visibly relaxes. "Hey, I'm fine. Uh, Y/N, this is Anabelle. Annabelle, this is my partner, Y/N." 

"Partner?" Derek asks. 

It's news to Hotch. Perhaps news to you, if the way you take his hand is any hint. It's like you've never held it before, and Hotch knows you have, he's seen you linking pinkies under tables. 

You strangle his fingers with yours. Spencer doesn't move an inch.

"She was just telling me about the sightseeing you can do here. Have you ever seen the world's longest worm on a string?" he asks you. 

"Hi, Annabelle," you say, turning to Spencer with poorly masked whiplash. "We're gonna try narrowing the search radius." 

"Oh, right." Spencer lets go of your hand in favour of putting a hand behind your shoulder, saying his thank yous and goodbyes to Annabelle before guiding you back to the makeshift BAU base camp. "What took you so long?" 

"What took me so long?" you ask.

"I thought you liked me!" Spencer says, teasing, his voice pitching higher. "I didn't know how to tell her I've already read the pamphlet she was quoting. She seemed nice though, right?" 

"She seemed nice, Spence," you agree, a little wobbly still but a thousand times less sullen than before. "I– of course I like you, you know I like you. Right?" 

Hotch is proud of Spencer for how remarkably he responds. Spencer puts his body between you and Hotch and Derek where they're standing to offer you the privacy you prefer, dropping his voice to match your tentativeness. "Yeah, I know. I was kidding. I think they'd have to reassess my position on this team if I didn't know that." He grabs your arm, thumb pressing into the crook of your elbow. "Are you okay?"

"I thought maybe she was flirting with you." 

Spencer shrugs uneasily. "Maybe. It wouldn't make a difference to me. Do you know that?" 

Your head dips down. Hotch can't hear what you say, honestly, he doesn't want to know. Eavesdropping on the people he cares about in their unhappy moments isn't something he makes a habit of, but it's hard not to hear Spencer's response. "Don't say that," he murmurs. "That's not true… We'll talk about it later, okay?"

You clear your throat. "Yeah. Whatever you want."

Derek doesn't hide that he's been listening very well, pulling a crime scene document up to his eye line as you and Spencer pull apart. Your eyebrows furrow into a glare, but it's Spencer who says, "What?" 

Hotch bites back a smile. Derek grins and holds his hands up in surrender. 

"Just nice to see you taking care of my favourite girl," he smarms.

"Stop. You're extremely unprofessional," Spencer says, helping you into your seat unnecessarily.

"And you're not?" Derek asks, gesturing to his hand where it lingers behind your shoulders. 

You finally chip in, apparently back to your regular self. "Only one of us was responsible for a unit wide HR mandate about inappropriate behaviour." 

"You cannot keep bringing that up." 

"Why not?" 

Hotch takes a sip of his tepid coffee. He'd rather not get involved. 

[jo-speaks]

taste ft. luke hughes

in which...

you know you'll always be present in luke hughes' life, even if you aren't together.

warnings: MDNI!! brief smut, oral sex (f! receiving), alcohol consumption, cheating (? kinda but not really), i think that's it

track one in short n' sweet (hughes brothers version) series !

quick note: bit earlier than expected, but i can’t let you guys know my next move

Oh, I leave quite an impression

Five feet to be exact

“Damn, Lukey. You walked past her and she looked tiny as hell.” Jack teased his younger brother. 

Luke hadn’t been able to take his eyes off of you. You were currently in an intense game of beer pong against his older brother and a guest whom he hadn’t bothered to learn the name of, your short, tight dress leaving the youngest Hughes starstruck. He watched as you threw the small ping pong ball across the table, yet again with the accuracy to have his eldest brother chugging from a red Solo cup for the eighth time that night.

“She’s not that short. I’m just really tall, I guess.” Luke yelled in response, the loud music filling the space making it impossible for him to be heard at a normal level.

Jack rolled his eyes, siping whatever mixed concoction he had made in his not-so-sober state. “Uh-huh. At least you aren’t worrying about Natalie anymore.”

Quinn groaned as he missed the cup across from him, “Alright, next round I want Y/N on my team!”

You laughed loudly, leaving Luke even more mesmerized. “Q, the drunker you get the less losing hurts.”

Once again, it was your turn to throw the ball. You stuck your tongue slightly past your lips in concentration as you tried your best to aim towards the red plastic.

“Hang on, hang on.” Quinn stalled, causing you to groan dramatically. “You’re scary good at this. So, you can’t look at the cups. Take a blind shot.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, “What? How is that fair?” “It’s not, but neither is how good you are.” 

“Whatever.” You agreed, turning your head to look at anything else. Before the ball could escape the grasp of your fingertips, your eyes wandered a little too much, making eye contact with Luke. He was already staring at you, so he didn’t bother to look away when you met his gaze. 

The way he was leaning against the counter, legs spread and his tight jeans doing nothing to hide the prominent print of his cock peeking through. 

In your awe, you dropped the round piece of plastic, letting it fall into the cup of beer below it. 

“Does that mean you drink?” Quinn asked.

You're wondering why half his clothes went missing

My body's where they're at

The bright sunlight woke you up. You groaned as you blinked your eyes open, taking in the moment. Well, until it was interrupted. 

Luke threw his arm around you, your body covered in a large piece of fabric. “My hoodie looks nice on you.” 

You laughed softly, “You should let me keep it then.” 

“I didn’t plan on ever taking it back.” He answered, peppering soft kisses on your face, quickly finding your lips. The more your senses started to come back, the more intimate the moment felt. 

You soaked in the sunlight together, not wanting the moment to come to an end. But unfortunately, you had a cat back at your apartment who was probably meowing for food by now. 

“Gotta go, Luke.” You mumbled against his lips, doing nothing to stop his wandering hand from finding its way in between your legs. 

His lips trailed from your lips to your neck, finding that sweet spot that made you cry out softly. “You could also stay, let me take care of you.”

Now I'm gone, but you're still layin'

Next to me, one degree of separation

“What an asshole. He purposely put that on his private story so he could make sure you’d see it.” Your best friend, Ivy commented, taking your phone out of your hand and shutting it off. 

You laughed, “It’s fine, Ivy. I laid in that bed in that same spot a million times. It sure as hell will take more than one girl to get the smell of me out of it.”

The girl squinted her eyes before coming to a realization, “You washed his sheets with your detergent, didn’t you?”

“You bet his sorry ass I did.” You smirked.

Ivy burst out in laughter, her hands grabbing your forearms as you started to laugh along with her, “You petty bitch.”

I heard you're back together and if that's true

You'll just have to taste me when he's kissing you

If you want forever, I bet you do

Just know you'll taste me too

“So yeah, he got back with Natalie. That’s who that girl on his story was.” Quinn commented, taking a sip of his coffee. 

The two of you had started going out more often after you and Luke broke up. Well, when Luke broke up with you. He had claimed he just didn’t love you anymore, but after spending a little less than six months with him, you knew it was bullshit. So, as any sane person does, you called up his older brother and asked him to give you the real explanation. Since then, it had basically become routine for the two of you to catch up whenever he was back in Vancouver.

You nodded, “I figured, but thanks for letting me know.”

“I’m really sorry, Y/N. We told him to wait before jumping into anything, especially since he was still texting her the whole time you guys were together.” “So that ‘N’ in his phone wasn’t actually Nico? No way!” You joked, knowing that the single-letter contact couldn’t have possibly been his team’s captain. 

Uh-huh

He pins you down on the carpet

Makes paintings with his tongue (La-la-la-la-la-la-la)

His hands pinned your hips down against the living room carpet, his need to eat you out far too great to even make it to the bedroom.

“Fuck, Luke.” You moaned, gripping his damp curls. 

He kept licking at your clit, doing what felt like absolute magic against your core. “You taste so good, baby. Doing so good f’me.” He mumbled against you, the vibrations of his voice only adding to the pleasure. 

You felt yourself getting closer to your peak, the room around you slowly disappearing as you fell into a blissful state, the only thing you were focused on was how good Luke was making you feel. 

However, a consistent buzz from next to your spread legs caught your attention. Even through blurry eyes, you could see a capital ‘N’ displayed on his phone screen, disappearing as quickly as it appeared. 

Before you could say anything about it, Luke took your swollen bud into his mouth, suckling harshly, distracting you completely from saying anything.

He's funny now, all his jokes hit different

Guess who he learned that from?

Jack and Quinn had become irritated at their brother and his girlfriend’s laughter coming from the pool room. 

“I might just be bitter, but her laugh is stupidly annoying. I like Y/N’s. Hers sounds less annoying.” Jack said to Quinn, staring from the porch into the room. 

“Luke’s not even that fucking funny. All the jokes he’s telling her are jokes Y/N said to him. He could at least try to be original.” Quinn agreed.

Now I'm gone, but you're still layin'

Next to me, one degree of separation

Luke laid in his bed, waiting for Natalie to finish taking off her makeup at the desk across from him. He rolled over into the space where she now had claimed, his nostrils taking in a familiar vanilla scent.

“Nat? Did you use a new hair product or something?” He questioned, sniffing the sheets more aggressively.

Natalie made a face, “What? No, I haven’t.” 

I heard you're back together and if that's true

You'll just have to taste me when he's kissing you

If you want forever, and I bet you do (I bet you do)

Just know you'll taste me too

“Stop doing that.” Luke whispered against her lips. 

Natalie groaned, “Doing what?”

He pulled away, wanting to get a better look at her face, “Tugging on my hair. I don’t like it.” “She did it all the time, Lu. I saw it.”

Luke knew exactly what she was talking about. The only person he had let tug on his hair during a make-out or during sex was you. It didn’t feel good when anyone else did it, not even his girlfriend.

“Whatever. Just don’t do it.”

La-la-la-la-la-la-la

“Maybe we need to cut you off.” Ivy said, pulling the shot of vodka from your hand before you could take it. 

You snorted, “Nah, I’m fine.”

To everyone, it was obvious you were not fine. Emotionally, sure. But sobriety-wise? Not at all.

Ivy gave you a look of concern, “So this drinking spree you’ve been on tonight doesn’t have anything to do with Luke?”

“Nope.”

Every time you close your eyes and feel his lips, you're feelin' mine

And every time you breathe his air, just know I was already there

Luke peered up at you as you pulled your hair back, “Already? Thought you’d want to kiss a little first.”

You rolled your eyes, “Shut up. I just don’t want my hair to keep getting stuck on my lip gloss. It’s getting annoying.” He simply laughed and pulled you back in, pressing his lips to yours yet again, savouring the taste of your cherry lip gloss as he took your bottom lip into his mouth. He felt as if he didn’t even need oxygen anymore, only you, on his lap, your lips against his. 

After a few more kisses, you pulled away to catch your breath, Luke’s hand on the back of your head keeping you close to the point where you were practically breathing against his mouth. 

You can have him if you like, I've been there, done that once or twice

And singin' 'bout it don't mean I care, yeah, I know I've been known to share

Well, I heard you're back together and if that's true

You'll just have to taste me when he's kissing you

“Oh please! It’s clear that you’re still into him, you crazy bitch!” Natalie yelled, getting the attention of a few people in the arena parking lot. 

You scoffed, “I’m not. The only reason I’m here is because of Jack, not Luke.”

“Yeah, right. You know you can say you don’t want him anymore, but it was clear at that karaoke bar that you’re still hung up on him!”

“Holy shit, how many times do I have to say it? The only reason I sang that song was because it’s a good fucking song! If I wanted him back, I could get him back.”

Natalie wasn’t even able to get a word out before you continued speaking. 

“Who do you think taught him those jokes you laugh at? Who do you think taught him how to eat pussy like a real man instead of a little bitch?” 

She listened closely to your words. Now it made sense to her why he had gotten better at eating her out after he was with you. You noticed the realization on her face and you felt a slight twinge of guilt in your stomach for exposing Luke like that, especially in a public setting. Unfortunately for him, your patience had already run thin, so you couldn’t stop yourself there. 

“I don’t care how many times you kiss him. Or how many times you fuck him. The only reason he knows what to do is because of me. And no matter how hard you try to make him forget, he won’t.” You snapped, turning on your heels before she could even inhale.

If you want forever, and I bet you do (I bet you do)

Just know you'll taste me too (Taste me too)

For the next few weeks, your words lingered in Natalie’s mind. You were right, and she knew it. The way he gripped the sheets a little tighter before she laid down, the way he all of a sudden didn’t like his hair pulled. 

She thought she wanted to marry this man, to have a family with him. But she knew you were right, Luke would never be the same after you. 

And Luke knew that too.

La-la-la-la-la-la-la

You'll just have to taste me when he's kissing you, no

(La-la-la-la-la-la-la) Yeah, ah-ah

You'll just have to taste me when he's kissing you

“All I heard was her telling him to get over you before she stormed out the house.” Jack explained, hopping into the passenger seat of your car. You were driving him to the airport since he was heading to Chicago for his surgery. 

You hummed, “I didn’t mean to make her feel bad, but she called me a crazy bitch. Like it’s my fault he hasn’t moved on.” 

Jack laughed at your words, “That’s true. I don’t get it though, he broke up with you, didn’t he?”

“Yeah. I don’t know, I guess I’m just that amazing that I linger wherever I’ve been.” You joked.

“Like a taste in his mouth, he can’t get rid of?” 

Your eyes widened slightly at Jack’s shockingly accurate analogy, “Exactly.” 

[pricegouge]

Haul

Part Three MDNI

Master list | on ao3

slasher!trucker!141 x reader

series cw: dark fic. major character deaths, rape/noncon

chapter cw: noncon nudity, noncon touching, graphic depiction of injuries

It takes some test runs, but you eventually figure out your arm and shoulder are okay, though your collar bone likely isn't. You're lucky there - as far as you can feel, if it's fractured at all, it isn't compounded and you'd much rather heal a clavicle than a shoulder. Your cheekbone's fucked though; you can feel how it sinks into your face in a way it never has before, and blood pools in your sinus cavity, infects your saliva. It's likely going to need surgery, though you doubt your current ride is headed to a hospital. If you survive this, you'll end up with a pretty lopsided face, you figure.   If you survive this indeed, though.

You count distance in the taste of fabric on your tongue. As hours and miles pass, the cotton fades from heavy copper, to salt-lick piquant. The trailer heats with the rising sun, metal hull hotboxing you in. The tight space you're kept in is padded, probably for sound proofing though you're almost grateful for it, given how it prevents you from burning yourself on the corrugated siding.

It's hard to guess how much time passes. It feels like days, but the trailer does not go through a cooling cycle, nor do you die of dehydration, so you assume only a handful of hours pass. You spend them drifting in and out of consciousness, wishing you had enough wherewithal to try escaping. Unfortunately, with the heat and the dark comes exhaustion, and with the adrenaline crash comes intense pain so you do little more than catalog injuries when you can concentrate enough to do so. 

It takes some test runs, but you eventually figure out your arm and shoulder are okay, though your collar bone likely isn't. You're lucky there - as far as you can feel, if it's fractured at all, it isn't compounded and you'd much rather heal a clavicle than a shoulder. Your cheekbone's fucked though; you can feel how it sinks into your face in a way it never has before, and blood pools in your sinus cavity, infects your saliva. It's likely going to need surgery, though you doubt your current ride is headed to a hospital. If you survive this, you'll end up with a pretty lopsided face, you figure.  

If you survive this indeed, though.

Poor Ash. She may have been a pain in the ass, but no one deserves to go out like that. It's hard to stop the tears when you think of her but you try anyway, knowing full well that further inflaming your face isn't going to do anyone any good. You wonder why they kept you alive - why Ash didn't make the cut. Or, did, you suppose. Maybe they felt two victims would have been too difficult to deal with. Maybe they thought Ash, who was still able to get around quite well, would've been too much of a handful. 

Maybe you're trying to reason with hurricane season, as it were, find rationality where there was none. These men were motivated by something you'd never understand and perhaps it was best not to waste your efforts on it. Still, it's hard to move past Simon and Gaz's brief exchange. 

'For cap?'

'For all of us.'

The thought of being shared by them made your stomach turn, but the thought that there was another one - one they evidently often brought victims back home to - that was even worse.

'Captain,' you sneer. You can't help but picture some old geezer who couldn't pull his own victims anymore; real Texas Chainsaw shit. The boys would probably have to hold you down so he could wax poetic at you about what a good hauler he used to be, help him lift a tire iron so he could get his rocks off. It would be enough to make you laugh, if it didn't feel like the tire iron was already whaling on you.

Still, you suppose knowing your fate lies with an old man and his lackeys is better than the alternative; even in your current state you know a truck with a soundproofed false back generally spells human trafficking for anyone with the misfortune to find themselves stuck in one. Your prospect doesn't make you happy by any means, but you suppose the enemy you know is better. Even if that enemy is a group of known killers. 

It's not too long after the trailer starts to cool that the quality of the roads changes; long, smooth interstate giving way to potholed, winding highway. You grit your teeth each time you're jostled, groan every time you remember your jaw is actually your biggest source of pain. 

The passiveness with which you wonder about our whereabouts surprises you, but you're so exhausted you don't hold yourself too accountable for that. It's not until the truck slows to a stop that you sit up straighter, heartbeat hammering when the back up alarm confirms your fears that you have arrived at your destination. They let you sit for a while after. Long enough to get cold. There's the occasional sound of air brakes firing and you figure you're in some sort of lot. You try yelling for help a few times, but between the gag in your mouth and the soundproofing around you, your cries go unanswered.

At least you hope that's the reason. Otherwise this entire lot is filled with people who are in on this potential trafficking ring and Simon's words echo even more ominously in your ears. 

A quiet rattling form the end of the trailer tells you when they open the doors hours later. The truck engine roars to life seconds after, backing up the final few feet necessary to slam into the loading dock hard enough to make a gruff voice from within yell. 

It's unfamiliar, makes you steady yourself harder against the unknown quality of it. You figure this must be Cap, feel some small sense of satisfaction when the old, ragged voice matches what you'd pictured. You listen intently as pallets are cleared away, the loud clatter of the jack ringing even through your soundproofing. There's a lower murmur of laughter, the boys regaling the older man with a story you can't quite hear but can definitely infer. When the truck is fully unloaded, their heavy boots tread the short runway - Johnny's truck, then; you'd wondered who you'd been riding with -, their voices coming clearer as they draw near. 

"- banged up, but mostly from the crash," you hear Simon rumble. 

Johnny's next, his grating brogue echoing within the trailer, "Well, except her nose. We can thank Gaz for that one."

"She can thank herself for it," Gaz snarks back, and you would bite your tongue if you could. There's a beat of silence. You can almost feel the heavy gaze their silent captain turns on Gaz, prompting him to elaborate, "She ran. Not very fast. When I caught up, she tried bite me so I headbutted her a little."

"A little!?" Johnny cries, but is cut off by a gruff scoff.

"No way to treat our new guest, Kyle. Go on, make it up to her. Bring her out here."

You expect something dramatic, like a flood of blinding light or strong hands reaching in to yank you out. Instead, when the panel is pulled back, the indirect light from the building is mostly blocked by the row of bodies in front of you, and Gaz squats off to the side, body language friendly and inviting despite the coldness you can feel radiating from him. This man hates you, you can feel it. You remember how he wanted to kill you, wish you could tell him the feeling was mutual. Rather, you stare at him loathingly until he tires of your inaction, leans in to grab you by the zip ties that bind your feet and cuts them with a knife you didn't even see him pull. When he grabs your wrists and pulls, you resist as much as you're able but in the end you're no match and he pulls you from your hideaway with little more than a grunt of pain and annoyance when you elbow him in the ribs.

"Feisty one, is she?" the captain's low growl observes and you turn to the newcomer with fury in your eyes which stalls out when you take him in properly for the first time.

You're disappointed to discover he's not as old as you'd been expecting. Nowhere near, in fact. Mid forties most likely, early fifties at absolute most. And densely built enough to speak of a physicality far younger. None of them were small, but the captain still managed to look big among them - nearly as tall as Simon and just as broad as Johnny, though it looked a little leaner on him given his height. You think the worst part about him is how genial he looks. Like Gaz, he's a brand of handsome that comes with charm and approachability, and you wonder how long it will take for that facade to crack like Gaz's did. Worse, if it ever will.

Certainly, his voice is disarmingly sweet when he greets you, coos and calls you a dove. "Weren't lying were they, love? Did a number on the poor girl, Ghost."

Simon - Ghost? - grunts in acknowledgement, motions for you to step closer. You don't, of course, and get a sharp shove from Gaz which sends you stumbling toward the larger men, caught by a firm hand on your bad shoulder. You yelp, breath heaving behind your gag as Cap adjusts his grip, studying you by your hip instead as his eyes dart to Simon.

"Shoulder. Maybe collar bone. Happened when she flipped her car." When you flipped it. Right.

The older man tuts dissapprovingly. You try to swat his hands away but stumble without his support. He ignores you anyway, hand returning easily while the other reaches up to carefully grip the edge of the duct tape. "Can't be easy to breathe in there, can it doll? Not with that poor nose. Let's get this off, shall we? Easy," he soothes, voice a low pur. His task hurts like hell anyway, the sticky strip pulling your tender, swollen skin. He's gentle about it at least, murmuring sympathetically when you can't contain your whimpers. You don't judge yourself too harshly when a few tears slip through, but do very much so when his thumbing them away twists your stomach unexpectedly. 

It's just because you haven't seen tenderness all night, you reason, and resolve yourself against him, even as he removes the gag with utmost delicacy.

"That better, dove?" he asks when your breaths come quicker, deeper. It's like resurfacing after being submerged for too long, clarity coming to you like a cold breeze on soaked skin: this is a calm meant to put you at ease, but you will die here if you become complacent.

So when Cap tells you to call him John and asks what your name is, you spit at him, blood and mucus staining his shoes.

The boys go quiet, like a record scratch moment in an old b-movie. You stare up at John defiantly, waiting for him to scream at you, hit you - anything.

Instead, he just pulls a pocket knife from his pants, grabs your bindings when you go to flinch away. "You've had a long day, love," he starts as he slips the thin blade between your wrists. Your skin is tender there, rubbed raw from the tight binds. The cool blade feels sharp despite the care he takes to aim the edge away from you, never once letting it touch your skin. "You've had a long day, so I'm going to let you get away with that this time." When he pulls against the zip ties, they cut into your skin briefly before giving with a sharp twang. He pulls one of your wrists into his free hand, rubs the raw skin there with a calloused palm before taking the other wrist in his grasp and giving it the same treatment. "But the next time you misbehave will not go well for you. Understood?"

Of course, you don't listen. Fuck this guy for real, you figure. What's the worst he can do? Kill you?

This time, when you go to spit at him, he catches it against his palm, wide hand slapping over your mouth so hard you're breifly concerned for your good cheek. You gasp in shock and pain, nearly choking on your own spit. John steps closer, one boot knocking your foot wide to let himself between your legs. He's so close, if he moved his palm you'd be breathing the same air.

As it stands, you can barely breathe at all, nose flush against the fat side of his hand. His own breath fans across your skin, heavy and hot as a bellows. The quality of it is thick, humid. You're glad you can't smell anything because it feels like it reeks. 

"Simon, she give you a name?"

Ghost's uncomfortable movement is obvious in its silence. "Took to calling 'er Betty."

"Betty," John repeats, lips curling in amusement. "Like an old timey, proper little wife. That you, pet?" You wanna shake your head, fear for your sinus cavity if you do. "Not yet, eh? Gonna have to train you up first. Ease you into it." As if in demonstration, his body sags into your own, presence oppressive. "That's okay, pet. We'll start you off easy. Get you nice and clean, get you fed. In the morning, Kyle will help with your injuries and when you feel more like a proper lady, we'll try again, hm?"

You can't say anything, so you don't.

"But in the meantime, I can't let that kind of behavior go unchecked. Boys," he calls, eyes still boring into you. "Which one of you wants to help our guest clean up?"

The general din of excitement makes you flinch, eyes going wide as if pleading with the man who holds you so cruelly will do any good. When Johnny suggests they play rock paper scissors to decide who gets the honors, it's suddenly, belatedly clear to you that your murder would almost be a kindness. No, the worst thing this man could do for you would be to keep you. John sees it the moment you realize this. His grip eases, eyes softening in some gross perversion of kindness. He strokes your cheek soothingly when Simon goes out in the first round, smiles condescendingly when you flinch at Johnny's crow of victory. John tuts at you, but says no more as he turns you toward the Scot.

"All yours, Soap," he rumbles, pushing you not ungently toward the other man. "Spic and span, you hear?"

"Aye, sir. Thank ye, sir." Johnny's hands are much harsher than John's when he guides you from the trailer, giving you no sympathy when you flinch under the harsh warehouse lighting. You try to take stock of your surroundings as you're pulled along: spare, dusty racking; a forklift in need of repair. There are multiple loading docks, most of the viewports obscured by backed up trucks. One sits vacant and you briefly wonder if there's even more of these monsters waiting in the wings before you're pulled past a dank little office. You catch sight of outdated equipment - a rolodex, a CB - but it's the shadow boxes full of military honors that your eyes lock on the longest.

Of fucking course.

The door Johnny leads you out through is tucked off the side of the building. You stumble when he pulls you down through the door, feet unsteady where they kick up dirt. It's cold outside, colder than it had been in the dankness of the trailer. You can't help but shiver, bite your tongue as best you can when your companion takes that as invitation to draw you in close and rub a big, solid hand up your arm. 

"We'll have ye warmed up in no time, lass," he promises, but you can hear the amusement in his voice. This man murdered your friend with a crowbar and dragged her around like a slaughtered animal. You expect no kindness from him. 

He orders you to strip before turning to a small station built into the side of the warehouse. You do not strip, electing instead to take off running in the opposite direction, cursing as the gravel churns loudly under your shoes. Soap swears, his own heavy boots following at a pace you didn't think his burly body capable of. Your breaths burn your chest, each pull coming labored in your blind panic but you refuse to slow or relent, ignoring the flaming pain in your shoulder every time you swing your arm forward for propulsion.

Well, you ignore it until the ground comes tilting up to meet you, your body crushed beneath the considerable weight of one grunting, cursing Scot. You sob at the pain, or maybe the fear - hard to tell. When he levers himself off you, he wastes no time grabbing your ankle as he stands up, towering over you. If you were capable of stringing two thoughts together, you'd wonder if this was the last thing Ash saw: pale blue eyes gleaming in the low light, the cruelty that twists his face. Instead you wonder how likely your arm is to maintain full mobility after a night like this. 

Not very, you decide, sobbing in pain as he drags you back to the warehouse. He's muttering something above you, but you can't hear him over your own cries. When you kick at him futilely, he yanks on your ankle until you fear for it and you don't try it again. Not even when he gets you where he wants you, back under the wan outdoor lighting of the station he'd turned to before, crouching down next to you to rip at your shoelaces.

"Please, don't," you murmur instead, fear churning in your belly as he continues to strip you. You'd known it would come to this, known the moment the captain had mentioned something about a wife. It doesn't make it easier, doesn't make the prospect of the gritty sand underneath you any more comfortable, or your repulsion for the man above you any less sharp. "Please, please, please let me go. I could -."

"What? Suck me off?" Soap laughs harshly, "Think ah'm gonnae ge' tha' anyway, hen."

You were going to say keep your mouth shut, but you suppose that never works anyway.

The sound you make when he pulls your pants off is wretched, but the shriek he earns when he pulls a knife on you is worse. His laugh is mean, reveling in your fear for a moment before cutting your shirt from you with one deft movement. He's pulling you to your feet before you can really process why and shoving you against the metal siding of the warehouse.

"Stay there," he warns and you're unsure if his tone or the throb in your shoulder is a more effective threat. When he walks back toward the station he'd been after earlier, your gaze turns to follow until you catch sight of your own shoulder at the bottom of your field of view and you draw short, taking in the severe swelling there. You prod at the edges of the mottling, wincing at your own ministrations. 

Absorbed in your own injuries, you don't notice when Soap turns on the spigot, or when he aims the nozzle of the high pressure hose at you. He calls for you to hold your breath, but gives you no more time than that which is necessary to look up, confused, before he's spraying you down.

It's freezing, the flow hard enough to bruise where it jets against the fatty bits of you; feels like it might sheer straight through hide where your skin thins around joints. You gasp, get a mouthful of aerated hose water. Spluttering, you try blocking the stream with your hands despite it feeling like your palms are being struck by a thousand rulers.

"S'wha' we use tae wash the trucks!" Soap calls, cackling loud enough to be heard over the spray that engulfs you. You can't get away from it no matter how much you fold into yourself, catching the jet alternatingly on your hip, your ribs, your ass. It does a better job of indexing your injuries than you did, the blooms of pain where you accidentally turn a bruise toward it letting you know that the hip which took the brunt of the collision is sore, that there's a spot on your good shoulder where Gaz tackled you which smarts. Your knees and elbows are all scuffed up, dirt grinding in before being stripped away. You feel like you're being sandpapered down; buffed until you're gleaming despite knowing how the dirt he kicks up clings to your skin wherever the hose isn't actively being pointed.

Soap keeps it up for another minute or so, only turning it off when your shaking gets so bad you think you're like to fall apart. "Quit yer whinging," he warns, creeping closer as he adjusts the nozzle to another setting. "Jes' havin' a laugh, bonnie, no need tae get all bent outta shape."

You want to tell him you're not laughing, but a small voice in your head says you should be grateful he didn't turn that hose on your face, so you keep quiet to prevent him getting any ideas.

When he's close enough to touch, Soap reaches out and grabs your wrist, spraying your pebbled skin down with a softer shower of water that would set you at ease, if not for how cold it is. From your arm, the stream moves up over your head, mussing your hair beyond recognition before trickling down your battered face. Here, the cold water feels good against heated skin and despite yourself, you heave a sigh of relief, tilting slightly into the unexpected relief. 

"Like tha' hen?" he asks, and you hesitate briefly, wondering how much satisfaction you want to give him. He doesn't give you a chance to decide, ruining your brief moment of reprieve by reaching out and tweaking one hard nipple.

You squawk, swatting at him. Johnny laughs long and loud, letting the stream from the hose fall dead as he watches you fume, shaking.

"Look like one ah them wee doggies, lass," he chuckles, "angry cause ye cannae even bite properly." The bastard flicks your cheek, feigning a sympathetic coo when you flinch away. "Tha's righ', bonnie, nothin' ye can do tae fight back," he murmurs, gliding his fingertips against your cheek in a move he probably thinks is soothing. "Ye jes' remember tha', eh? Might keep you alive."

You swallow back the lump in your throat, eyes boring a hole into his shoulder because you can't stand to look him in his terribly cold eyes. When Johnny moves again, his touches are back to the easy, soft caresses from before as he hoses you down. He's surprisingly good at it, despite being armed with only a shammy and a gnarly looking bar of soap. At least he knows to avoid your hair once he realizes he'll need conditioner. That damage is already done, but you appreciate him not dragging his fucking fingers through it on top of everything else. You try taking the soap from him once but he just tuts at you warningly so you go back to shivering, crossing your arms over your chest in an attempt to preserve body heat and keep yourself marginally modest. You can't decide if he's being obstinately particular just to torment you longer or if he's genuinely just like this until he raises your good arm above your head and finds your armpit overgrown.

He grins, sending you a delightfully scandalized look. "See Ghost chose well. Cap's gonnae love ye," he chuckles, and you feel your panic heighten when you think of the threatening older man again. Soap notices. "No need tae worry, hen. You jes' keep bein' good fer us and Cap'll be good tae ye."

For some reason, you don't trust this man's definition of being treated well.

After getting you all washed up, Johnny marches you back into the warehouse where the other men gather around a small, dingy breakroom table pecking at microwaved burritos. They're laughing uproariously as you arrive, Gaz talking animatedly about a loading mishap back in Arizona. The noise drifts off when they spot you, eying you over like a scrap of meat. There's no covering everything and despite yourself, you're almost grateful when John stands, bringing you a blanket he had folded on the seat beside himself. 

"Feeling better, doll?" he asks, patting you dry with a gentleness you didn't expect from the big man. He frowns at the swelling of your shoulder, eyes darting between you and it with an exaggerated level of concern that makes you want to hurl.

You avoid his gaze, your own flickering around the room as you ignore John, trying to gather your resolve enough to appease him. It's a struggle until your eyes find Simon's, apathetic as always despite the disapproving set of his scarred mouth. 

"Yes, sir," you murmur, watching raptly as Simon disguises a quick nod as a glance at his plate. Your heart rate picks up, an impossible tendril of hope slithering up your aorta when John hums contentedly at your words.

"That's a girl, love," he starts, warm palm falling heavy on your back as he starts to guide you back through the warehouse. "Gaz, bring the soup. You're hungry, right pet?"

You are, but Gaz doesn't wait for confirmation, falling in stride as John guides you toward the quaint office you'd caught a glimpse of earlier.

"Now, one day, you'll be able to stay up here with us," John promises, gesturing magnanimously across the dingy warehouse as if it contained all the gold of El Dorado within its rickety racking. "But until then, we're going to have to keep you below." 

Gait faltering, you glance up at the older man fearfully but he pays you no mind at all. "Don't worry honey, only temporary. And I'll have the boys visit you daily to keep you nice and stimulated, hm? Gaz," he barks before you can reflect too much on his choice of words. Kyle, evidently knowing exactly what's expected of him, places the soup bowl he's been carrying on the cluttered desk before moving some chairs, rolling the rug back enough to reveal a cutaway door in the cement slab.

You still, every muscle in your body tensing up when John tries to coax you along. "'S'not so bad, sweetheart, I promise. Come look, yeah? Think you'll have a nice little time if you just give it a try."

Like hell you'll give it a try, knees locking up so tight you look like a GI Joe when John guides you first down the stairs. It's cool, the descent marked by the wet gradient of the cement slab as you pass further underground. It's deeper than you'd expect, the dug dirt bottom damp under your feet when you alight on the landing. There's a short hall ahead, braced by rotted-looking timber. A lone door on the opposite end, braced on one side with a long line of bolts and locks. A single light hangs from the short ceiling, low enough you could smack your forehead off of it if you're not careful. 

"Had Simon come down while you were out, get it nice and ready for you," John brags. You doubt the room on the other side of that door could be made live-in ready even if Simon had been given three years to work on it, but you know better than to say as much. 

This time, when John prods you forward, your legs don't obey. "CanIsleepwithyou?" you blurt, a last ditch effort you're not sure you want him to accept.

But John just chuckles. "Eager, eh pet? Don't worry, you'll earn that right soon enough. Now go on, I'm sure you'd like some nice new clothes to put on, hm?"

Damn him, but you do, so you slink forward, ducking under the hanging light as you pass. The door creaks when you pull it open, weight heavy despite how meager it looks. It feels solid, unbreakable, and you notice quickly that you won't be able to barricade it if you have to pull it open. John does not notice your hesitance, following you into the room with a proud little smirk on his mustached face.

"Well, what do you think?" 

Not much. The floor isn't finished, just cold tile pressed into the dirt. The walls and ceilings are, though, and you briefly feel grateful for it until the batting on the door registers and you realize it's for soundproofing purposes. There's a bed in the corner, larger than you need yourself and made up in cutesy sheets with a strawberry motif. A pile of heavy quilts sits folded at the foot and despite yourself, your fingers twitch eagerly at the prospect of sleeping soon, warm and snug under all that weight. 

"We've got some clothes for you here," John continues. You get the feeling he doesn't need a lot of input so you stand there quietly as he opens a foot locker for you, tattered and olive green. Inside sit two neat stacks of clothes, battered looking but approximately the right size. You remember Johnny's comment about the Captain liking your pits and wonder if they always bring him back a certain type.

And if so, where they are.

"G'on love, pick out something you like," John leers, and you realize you won't be able to get away with waiting until he and Kyle leave to get dressed. 

There's a marked efficiency to your movements. Grabbing the first top you see, you briefly check the tag before doing the same with the bottoms at the top of the pile. Close enough for rock and roll, you figure, dropping your blanket to the cold floor and pulling the clothes onto yourself as quickly as possible. Kyle's eyes are heavy, John's heavier. Your skin crawls, the goosebumps which never really went away after your little bath returning with a vengeance. To your immense displeasure, John has to help you pull your bad arm through the sleeve and he tuts sympathetically when you whine.

"Sorry, sweetheart. I'll bring you down some button ups tomorrow, yeah? You nod when he pauses too long, realizing you're not going to be let off the hook without a proper answer. You creep toward the bed when he hums in acknowledgement, but he tuts in warning again, nodding toward a little desk shoved off to the side of the room. You sit obediently, thanking him with a little murmur when he ferries the bowl of soup from Gaz to you. He hovers, watching raptly until you bring a spoonful of the room temperature meal to your mouth. 

"Good, right?" he asks, before you can even get a proper taste of it. 

You take your time swallowing, playing up the pain in your cheek as you try to suss out a good response. It's just microwaved soup as far as you can tell, but you figure saying as much won't garner you any favors. Instead, you hum appreciatively and shovel in another bite before John can ask you any more questions.

It works, mostly. John takes a quick lap around the room instead of standing over you, sighing now and again at whatever he finds while Gaz continues to stand in the doorway, evidently unamused. 

"It needs work, I'll give you that," John eventually concedes as you slurp at your meal. You hadn't realized how hungry you were until that sweet sweet MSG hit your tongue. "It needs work, but if you're good, we can spend some time down here fixing it up for you. Would you like that?"

You stall, spooning through some of the chunkier bits at the bottom of your bowl. It was kind of them to give you soup, you registered belatedly. Solid foods would have undoubtedly fucked up your mouth. Instead of answering, you ask John what would happen if you were to be bad and watch as his genial nature flips like a switch.

"Got a couple of news articles upstairs if you'd like to read 'em and find out."

Next>>

[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (36/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Lets get drunk part two - with new opportunities.

Warnings: fluff, alcohol consumption

Word Count: 3.2k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: hah. you thought you'd seen the last of me. feedback is appreciated!

"Okay," says Charles and sits back down next to you on the sun bed. He sets the basket down between you, with the necks of various bottles sticking out of it. "Are you more of a vodka girl or a tequila girl?" He pulls out two bottles and holds them out to you. 

You examine the bottles before raising your hands. "Neither, to be honest." You carefully pull the basket towards you and take a look inside. Your hands turn the containers slowly so you can read the labels better, and when a bottle catches your eye, you grin at your roommate. "Here."

Charles takes the bottle you hold out to him. "Peach?" He looks at you and raises an eyebrow. "Quite summery."

You shrug your shoulders. "You promised to take me with you next summer so I could go swimming in the sea. I just want to prepare myself properly."

A smile spreads across his face. "Touché. All right." He reaches into the basket and fishes out two small shot glasses. He places them at the head of the sun bed to fill them with the peach liqueur. "You'll love it here during the summer. The sun is blazing, the sea is cold and the days are long." He carefully slides a glass over to you so that the contents don't spill over the rim. "It's like paradise."

You nod gratefully at him. "So now you definitely don't have a choice."

He looks at you, confused. "What do you mean by that?"

"Well," you sit up straight and pick up the shot glass. "You talked me up about the boat and summer at sea so much that you definitely have to bring me here next year." You grin at him. "So you have no choice but to take me with you."

"Oh no." He rolls his eyes in mock annoyance and reaches for his glass as well. "So I guess I can't get rid of you at all, huh?"

You shake your head excessively. "No fucking way. You definitely won't get me off this boat in the summer. And the deal about us sharing the apartment is on anyway." You tilt your head. "Even if you really tried, you wouldn't get rid of me that easily." You hold out your arm so he can clink glasses with you. 

He looks you in the eye. There's a sparkle in his green ones as he knocks his glass against yours. "Thank God."

The peach liqueur tastes indescribably good and the longer you lie on the sun bed looking at the glowing Monaco in front of you, the more you drink of it. The stars above you twinkle and although it's getting colder, you're nice and warm. Whether it's the alcohol or Charles' laughter, you don't know. 

"You've met Arthur yourself," he says as you have to press your face into the pillow to stop your laughter echoing across the ocean. "I swear, his April Fool's jokes are the worst! And you never see them coming!"

You giggle into your pillow. "Tell me you didn't fall for it." Hesitantly, you peek over the hem of the pillow to see Charles' blushing face. You quickly push it back into your face and laugh. "Oh, Charles!"

Your roommate grabs his own pillow and hits yours with it. "Don't laugh at me! You'll be affected soon enough! And then I'm not going to be the one to rescue you."

As you slowly calm down and wipe the tears from the corners of your eyes, you put the pillow back behind your head and look at him. "Trust me - by then Arthur will like me enough that we'll form an alliance. Then he certainly won't play any tricks on me."

Charles looks at you, dumbfounded. "Excuse me? I thought you and I were friends! You're supposed to stand on my side!" With a shake of his head, he reaches for the peach liqueur and refills your glasses.

You grin at him. "I don't form alliances with people who fall for stupid pranks like that."

He pushes your glass over to you. "All traitors." He shakes his head again. "I thought at least I had you on my side."

You raise your glass to your lips. "I'm always on your side, Charles. You're my best friend," you assure him, although the sentence leaves a nasty taste in your mouth. You wash it down with the liqueur. "But I'm not going to let Arthur take the piss just to make you feel better."

"You're a great best friend," he says and pours the liqueur into his mouth. "Just you wait and see. I won't save you if my brother does decide to play an April Fool's joke on you."

"You wouldn't dare," you reply with a grin. "Your mom would give you hell if she knew you were abandoning me." You grab the liqueur and fill your glasses again. "After all, she likes me better than you."

Charles watches you fill his glass to the brim. He presses his tongue into your cheek before licking his teeth. "I wish you were wrong." He holds out his arm for you to clink glasses with him. "Here's to my family liking you better than me."

You try to suppress your grin. "Don't worry, Charlie. I like you all the more for it," the alcohol speaks out of you and when you hear what you're saying, the blood rushes to your face. You quickly clink your glass against his and drink the liqueur so you don't have to look at the Monegasque in front of you. 

As he puts his empty glass down, he grins at you. "'Charlie'? You're really going to give me a nickname?"

You roll your eyes and run your fingers through your hair so he doesn't notice your nervousness. "Don't worry," you try to play it down. Thank goodness he can't hear your rapid heartbeat. "I only use it when it's just us."

When you look at Charles again, he smiles at you softly. "I like the name," he assures you. "And if it stays your little secret and mine, I like it even more. It belongs only to you. Only you can call me that."

You smile at him before leaning back into your pillow and looking up at the stars. The night is clear, there isn't a single cloud in the night sky and the sea breeze on your face cools your alcohol-warmed skin pleasantly. You feel Charles lie down as well. 

"Do you want to spend the night at my mother's tomorrow?" he asks quietly. When you turn your head in his direction, he's already looking at you. "I usually spend the night there. Maman always gets delicious wine and when we all get together, the evening gets pretty long." When you raise an eyebrow with a smile, he continues. "And there are plenty of rooms in the house. You're welcome to choose one of them. I'd hate to go back home for Christmas," he adds. "Especially because my mom would be alone and -"

"Charlie," you interrupt him. "We can spend the night at your mom's. There's nothing wrong with that." You wink at him. "Besides, I want to have a drink with Arthur and then I definitely can't go home."

He exhales with relief. "Very good." He turns his head forward and looks up at the stars too. "It's going to be a nice evening. My maman cooks delicious food and then we always play something. It's usually Uno or charades. You've heard how Monopoly turns out for us."

You have to giggle. "I would really like to play Monopoly with you," you admit quietly. "And I would never steal money from the bank either."

Charles exhales. "I'll take your word for that. But Arthur is more cunning than you think. He would steal money from the bank and make it look like it was you. You definitely don't want to play Monopoly with him."

You shrug your shoulders. "Then again, maybe I'm smarter than you give me credit for." You look up at the night sky again. "Maybe I can outsmart Arthur and win."

Your roommate laughs out loud. "Then you'd have to get past me first. And I'm certainly not going to let you win just like that. Not after you said you'd team up with my brother and not stand by me when he pulls his April Fool's pranks."

Offended, you reach behind your head for your pillow to smash it into his face, but Charles is quicker and snatches the pillow out of your hand before you can hit him with it. "You suck, Charlie."

"You love me. Just admit it," he grins and hesitantly gives you your pillow back, risking being exposed to your attack again. 

But you merely wrap your arms around the pillow and hug it to your chest. Even through the feathers inside, you can feel how fast your heart is beating. 

"Of course," you try to play down the swirling feelings inside you and hope that he doesn't notice the trembling in your voice. Or the truth in your words. "I'll still try to beat you at Monopoly. Or Uno. Or charades." Offended, you lie back on your pillow and cross your arms in front of your chest. 

Charles sits up again and refills your shot glasses. He pushes it towards you like a peace offering. "Maybe I'll let you win," he smiles as you look at him. "After all, Christmas is the festival of love and I -" he continues, but is interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone. 

You look at him in confusion. You'd love to know how he would have finished the sentence. "You have reception out here?" you ask him as he pulls his cell phone out of his pocket. 

The Monegasque shakes his head and shows you his phone screen. "I had set an alarm clock."

You raise an eyebrow. "For what?" 

He points to the time with his finger. It's midnight and therefore officially Christmas. He looks at you with a grin. "I have a Christmas present for you." 

As he gets up from the sun bed and staggers onto the wood of the deck, you look at him indignantly. "No way," you reply, annoyed. "If I can't give you a present, then you can't give me one either." 

"Calm down, mon ami," he says, swaying slightly from left to right as he circles you. The alcohol seems to have hit him hard too. "I'll be right back." Without another word, he disappears into the interior of the yacht, leaving you on the sun bed. 

Annoyed, you sit up. 

The fact that you're not allowed to give him a present has almost ruined your friendship. Just the memory of his words that he wants nothing from you but your friendship sends a cold shiver down your spine. You would love to tell him that you want more from him than friendship, that you desire him, that you want him for yourself - that you love him - but no amount of money in the world would make you reveal your feelings to him. If he actually knew how you felt about him, you would certainly lose the only good thing in your life. And you wouldn't risk that under any circumstances. 

You run your fingers nervously through your hair. What could he possibly give you? You've never mentioned anything to him that he could possibly buy. And there's no way he'd change his mind in a day and confess his love for you. You'd have to be incredibly naive to believe that. 

It's not his fault that he doesn't feel the same way about you as you do about him. It's not his fault that his words have torn your heart apart. And it's not his fault that he can't take your feelings into consideration if you don't tell him about them. 

You take a deep breath and smile at him as he rejoins you. In his hand, he holds a brown envelope, which he hands to you as he drops back onto the sun bed next to you. When you look at him uncertainly, he nods at you. "Merry Christmas, mon ami."

Hesitantly, you open the envelope and pull out several pages of paper, held together at the top left corner by a paper clip. You immediately recognize your name on the first page, with Charles written underneath. The rest is written in French, which is why you look at your roommate even more confused than before. "What's this?"

Irritated, he takes the pages from your hand and lets his eyes wander over the letters for a moment before he hits his forehead a little too hard with the palm of his hand. "Shit. I thought they'd printed it out in English," he says, handing the papers back to you. I'm really sorry."

You raise an eyebrow. "And what's this?" Your eyes wander over the paper, trying to identify any of the words, until you unsuccessfully put the papers down in front of you. 

"This, mon ami, is an employment contract," he explains with a smile and leans back a little. 

"An employment contract?"

" Mh-hmm." He licks his lips once. "Remember when Joris mentioned that he had a new job?"

You nod. Of course you remember. 

After you'd been to the place where Charles had been with his father in the past, you both went to Joris' and had lunch there. Joris had told you that he was starting a new job and when you had been there to burn Annika's things, he had talked about it too. 

"Well," Charles says hesitantly. "Joris was my personal photographer. And now that he can no longer work for me and accompany me around the world because of his new job, I thought - well - maybe you'd like to be my new photographer. You - um - you don't have a job at the moment and - well - I thought it would be cool if you and I worked together," he babbles in one breath, blood rushing to his cheeks. "You'd travel with me to the Formula 1 races and take photos there, but of course you'd also spend a lot of time with me in private. Which would be a good fit, as you and I live together anyway and the fans loved the photo you took of me at the lookout point. And the one you just took of me turned out great too."

Your breath is stuck in your lungs. 

Charles wants you to work for him? That you photograph him so he can post the pictures on Instagram? That you fly around the world with him? 

You'd love to throw your arms around his neck with joy, but you just grin at him. "Are you serious?" When he nods, you squeal with excitement. "You're really serious, Charlie? You really want me to work for you?"

"Of course," he admits openly and smiles at you. "You and I are best friends. Why would I want to work with someone else when I have the perfect and best photographer literally sitting right in front of me? I'd be pretty stupid to ask anyone else."

Carefully and with shaky hands, you put the documents back in the envelope. "I - thank you. I don't even know what to say."

"Just say yes." He leans a little to the side so that he can push your full shot glass over to you. "You'll travel around the world with me, get paid incredibly well and spend a lot of time with me. I'll cover the travel expenses, of course. All you have to do is take good photos of me."

You look at him in amazement. "I'm getting paid and you're still covering the travel costs?"

Your flatmate laughs out loud. "Of course! What do you think? Whether I give you more salary so you can pay for your flights and everything yourself, or whether I pay you everything, it's the same in the end."

Heat shoots into your face. "Then at least let me give you money for the rent. Now that I have a job again."

He shakes his head vehemently. "Absolutely not. The money is yours, you can do anything you want with it."

"Except pay the rent," you reply and get his pillow thrown in your face. 

"Exactly. Everything except pay the rent," he assures you. "So, what do you say, mon ami? Do you fancy exploring the world with me?"

You nod with a grin. "Definitely." You raise your shot glass. "Thank you, Charlie. That's the best Christmas present I've ever been given."

A blush creeps into his cheeks as he scratches the back of his neck nervously. "Really?"

You nod with a smile. "Definitely. I can't thank you enough for that." 

The thought of being permanently close to Charles scares you as much as it makes you happy. As his best friend, you're looking forward to spending every minute with him, traveling the world and discovering the most beautiful places. And getting paid for it too. 

As the woman who loves him, you're a little worried about what will happen if he meets someone he falls in love with while you're traveling. You don't want to imagine the pain if he gets into a committed relationship with someone and all you can do is stand on the sidelines and watch him be happy. There's no question that he deserves to be happy - but the thought that the person he's falling in love with isn't you makes you feel sick. 

You try to suppress the thought and smile bravely at him. "It's absolutely the best present. Thank you so much, Charlie. No one's ever done anything like this for me before."

There is a loving sparkle in his eyes. "I'd do anything for you." Before he picks up his glass as well, he pulls out his cell phone again and taps on it. "Can I post it like this?" he asks you and holds his phone out to you. His screen shows the picture you just took, with a simple caption. 

You shrug your shoulders. "I think so. But do you think it's a good idea to post something when you've had so much alcohol?" you ask him with a grin. 

"Oh nonsense," he grins at you and taps his phone one last time before activating the keypad lock and putting it back in his pocket. "I only have good ideas when I'm drunk." He reaches for his shot glass and holds it out to you so you can clink glasses. "I'm glad you said yes. I can hardly wait." 

"Me neither," you reply with a smile. 

He takes a deep breath before his eyes search yours. He would love to put the glasses aside, pull you onto his lap and kiss you until you can't breathe, until the sun rises, until the world ends. But that's just the alcohol whispering to him, he thinks. 

He knocks his glass against yours. "Here's to us."

-

liked by pierregasly, carlossainz55 and others tagged: yourusername charles_leclerc: ma mère approuve

[ryo-maybe]

can u explain why AI art is bad without fearmongering, moralizing or bootlicking lol

I'm going to answer in good faith, even though the tone you're using sounds like you're harboring anything but. The issue with AI art isn't specifically inherent to the tools used to produce it, because, ultimately, a tool is merely that: something devoid of will which, in the hands of a human, can produce a specific outcome. It's the human element that taints what we could otherwise enjoy for the unquestioningly fascinating topic that is AI art and, by extension, AI software as a whole.

Now, the problem isn't people, period, but the kind of people that are responsible for giving AI the bad rep it's been getting, along with the intent that goes into both the development of AI tools and the things produced by dint of said tools. I'm talking about the tech bros happily rubbing their hands, waiting to provide business moguls with a brand new means to commodify and mass-produce what artists stake their entire livelihoods upon, because when you have enough zeroes lined up in your bank account, your eyes are utterly blinded to the soul and personality that human beings put into their handiwork, and which a machine won't ever be able to reproduce no matter how much stolen art you feed it. Oh yeah, by the way, that's how AI art tools have been making the rounds: by chewing on thousands upon thousands of stolen pictures made by actual people so that they may learn how to ape someone's style and spit out absolutely soulless derivatives, while the original authors don't see a lick of recognition or monetary retribution for any of it. Do I need to tell you why stealing and parading someone else's art as your own is a terrible, vile thing to do?

But sure, you did ask me to refrain from "fearmongering, moralizing or bootlicking", which I guess I've already done. So since you'd rather I skipped straight to the point in a concise manner, lemme offer some quick examples of why the culture surrounding AI art has already developed into one of the most abysmally disappointing displays of how greed and an utter lack of human decency can ruin something objectively brimming with possibilities:

Less than a week after the sudden death of Korean artist Kim Jung-gi, someone trained an AI model to mimic his artstyle, having the audacity of asking for credits if anyone wished to use it. I sincerely hope I don't have to explain to you why this is a ghoulish example of the kind of tone-deafness sported by tech bros who buy wholesale into the AI art craze.

A piece of AI art was submitted to an art contest and won. The "artist"'s work amounted to little more than picking a series of prompts and letting the machine do the work. It's as much art as googling a smattering of terms and making a collage of pictures taken from Pinterest (and even then, you would have put more work into it than this person did). That they won at all says a whole damn lot about how abysmal the respect given to artists - real artists - nowadays is.

There are a multitude of people out there already selling prints of AI-generated art. I could link some of them here, but honestly, type "ai art prints" on a search engine and you'll get inundated by them. I've seen and personally know artists who have had to undersell their works because commissions were the only thin, frayed string they could hang on in hopes of making it through the week without fucking starving themselves, but here we are: any random asshole can now yell "MASSIVE BREASTS, THIN WAIST, COCKTAIL DRESS, HUGE BADONGAS" at a computer, let it mash together a trillion of other people's hard work, and print it for easy bucks that the actual authors of the basic ingredients of their insipid soup will never, ever see a dime of.

It really bothers me that you mentioned "no bootlicking". Whose fucking boots is this side of the debate supposedly tasting? That of the artists who post every day about how angry, sad and terrified they are by the prospects of what the development of AI art will entail for their livelihood and passion? What kind of gall did your mother birth you with that you have the spiteful spunk to type that word, when you've got shit like an artist who had their sketch stolen while they were drawing it on stream, then fed to an AI and posted by someone passing it off as their own art? How does that not ignite your indignation? "Bootlicking". Like anyone's tongues have been tasting leather but those of the same tech bro chodes who kept trying oh so hard to convince us NFTs were the future while ruining the environment to make the absolute stupidest point ever made in the history of humanity.

[iceunhie]

distraction

⟨ wc. 447 ⟩ jiaoqiu likes to think you aren't a good distraction, but you both know that's a lie.

a/n: wrote this at 1am low on sleep and not proofread. i apologize for the person that i am for this stupid fox

“do you enjoy tormenting me?”

currently behind the kitchen counter of your shared home, the smell of the delicious broth permeates the entire room, spices and herbs that blend harmoniously to create a tingling experience for one’s nose, the sun’s warm rays by the window bathing the room in the golden afternoon light.

although admittedly, you cared less about that stew, the view and the smell and more about how jiaoqiu looks very good in an apron, his hair in an uncharacteristic ponytail, the sight of which makes you smile until your cheeks hurt. he can be so unhealthy for you. can a foxian even be that pretty?

“mm, take a guess.” you drawl, and jiaoqiu's face turns as red as his hair when he feels the weight of your body pressed against his back, your chin stabbing his shoulder. “is it working?”

you're clinging to him like a trotter is to its mother, and jiaoqiu's heart is beating erratically fast right now, threatening to burst out of his chest and explode all over—not a pretty sight. the incessant wag of his tail does nothing to help him either.

“i'll mess up the stew, baobei.”

“you're the most renowned medicinal chef in the yaoqing. you'll live, qiu-er.”

“but it's for you.” because everything he does, he does to devote himself to you. to love you, to keep you by his side, because he will never, ever get tired of this—of you.

“yeah, and it doesn't have to be perfect.”

“it's your favorite—i have to make sure it's according to your preferences….” which means it has to be perfect. (he'd do a disservice to you otherwise.)

“but i love anything you cook, jiaoqiu. i’m literally the embodiment of the term ‘the way to one’s heart is through the stomach.’ even if it's garbage, which it's not, by the way, it's the thought that counts, you know?”

he laughs slightly at this. you always did have a way to keep his spirits high. “still, you’re… watching me.”

“and i don't see how me watching is a problem because….?”

because i can't focus with you here, jiaoqiu thinks, though he keeps it to himself. because you make him feel warm and unable to comprehend anything but you. (the urge to lean into you, to touch you, is maddeningly difficult to control.)

“...you're a distraction.” he settles for that instead.

“a good one, i hope.” a very good one, to be exact.

you turn your head and press a light peck to his cheek, and warmth fills jiaoqiu from head to toe. though he raises an eyebrow and rolls his eyes, he leans in to feel your lips for a little longer.

the stew tastes a little more delicious this afternoon.

as you can see i wrote this with my heart not my head so i apologize for how clunky this is lol

@ ICEUNHIE: do not repost translate or plagiarize my works.

[inkspiredwriting]

Double Trouble: Five vs. Five

Five Hargreeves x Fem!reader

Warnings: none

The Umbrella Academy mansion was unusually quiet, save for the soft hum of activity coming from the living room. Five Hargreeves, his wife Y/N, and his brother Luther were sitting on the couch, enjoying a rare moment of peace.

"Are you sure you don't want to join us for dinner?" Y/N asked, looking at Five with a warm smile.

"I'll pass," Five said, sipping his coffee. "You know how I feel about sitting through long meals."

Y/N rolled her eyes affectionately. "You're impossible."

Just then, a bright flash of light filled the room, followed by the unmistakable sound of temporal displacement. When the light faded, an older version of Five stood in the middle of the room, looking slightly disoriented.

"Well, this is unexpected," Old Five said, straightening his tie. "Hello, Luther. Hello, Y/N." His gaze lingered on Y/N, and his eyes widened in disbelief. "Wait a minute—you're married to him?" He pointed at his younger self.

"Yes, we are," Y/N said, exchanging a puzzled glance with Young Five. "Who are you?"

"I'm Five," Old Five said with a smirk. "But from a different timeline."

Luther stood up, towering over both versions of Five. "So, what brings you here, old man?"

Old Five ignored the question, his attention still fixed on Y/N. "I must say, I never imagined I'd end up with someone like you, Y/N. You have excellent taste." He stepped closer to her, his smirk widening. "Tell me, what do you see in my younger self?"

Young Five narrowed his eyes, standing up to face his older counterpart. "Watch it, old man. She's my wife."

Old Five chuckled, clearly enjoying the tension. "Relax, kid. I'm just curious. Besides, it looks like I've still got it." He winked at Y/N, who looked decidedly uncomfortable.

"Don't call me 'kid,'" Young Five snapped, his fists clenching at his sides. "And stop flirting with my wife."

Luther, sensing a potential fight, stepped between the two Fives. "Alright, let's all calm down. We don't need a Hargreeves showdown right now."

Old Five laughed, but there was a hint of irritation in his eyes. "Fine, fine. I'll back off. But it's interesting to see how things turned out in this timeline."

Y/N, trying to ease the tension, placed a hand on Young Five's arm. "It's okay, Five. He's just being... well, you."

Young Five took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "Yeah, well, I don't like it."

Old Five raised an eyebrow. "Jealous, are we? That's new."

Luther rolled his eyes. "Enough, both of you. Why are you here, Old Five?"

Old Five shrugged. "Curiosity, mostly. Wanted to see how things turned out for me in this timeline. And I must say, I'm impressed." He glanced at Y/N again, his expression softening slightly. "You got lucky, kid."

Young Five scowled. "Don't call me 'kid.' And yes, I did get lucky. Now, if you don't have any pressing business here, I'd appreciate it if you left."

Old Five chuckled. "Alright, alright. I'll go. But just remember, don't take what you have for granted."

With another bright flash of light, Old Five disappeared, leaving Young Five, Y/N, and Luther standing in the living room.

"Well, that was awkward," Luther said, scratching his head.

Y/N turned to Young Five, wrapping her arms around him. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," Five said, though his jaw was still clenched. "I just didn't expect to meet my older self today. And I certainly didn't expect him to hit on you."

Y/N laughed softly. "Well, I only have eyes for you, Five. No matter what timeline you're from."

Five's expression softened, and he kissed her forehead. "I know. And I love you for it."

Luther, trying to lighten the mood, clapped Five on the back. "Hey, at least now you know you'll age well."

Five rolled his eyes but couldn't help but smile. "Yeah, I guess so."

As they settled back on the couch, the tension slowly faded, leaving behind a strange sense of camaraderie. They had faced yet another bizarre situation, and once again, they had come out stronger together.