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cdragons · 9 months ago

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Fuck Everything, But Mostly Fuck You - Part 4

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Summary: You have never, EVER, in a million years hated anyone the way you hated Felix fucking Catton. ...Well, maybe you also hated Annabel Williams as much - but you'd be damned before you let a drunk girl out in the hallway without helping her.

Warnings- MDNI 18+, Sex, Felix doesn't make an appearance (but still mentioned), Reader is a girl's girl, Annabel has an epiphany, Michael hates everyone BUT Reader, Farleigh is Farleigh, alternating POVs between characters, and author has spent too much time researching Oxford crap for this mess for a crack fic to be a crack fic. Also Oliver is barely in this chapter, but who cares about that asshat?

Author's Note: I am so sorry for the prolonged hiatus! It was not intentional! My classes have upped the ante in how much HW they gave me, and I got distracted by reading my old GOT fanfics and got ideas for it. BUT - thank you all who've been reading this fic and sharing wonderful comments! They really help push me to become a better writer!

You were caught in a bit of a pickle – granted, it was a voluntary pickle, but a pickle nonetheless.

…Okay, so quick recap of the events that transpired this week:

Regularly-scheduled Annabel tormenting you

Got sexually-harassed by Catton

Had a self-pity session at Bowin

Got found by Mikey Gravy

Olly, the psychotic backstabber/bootlicker, tried to pimp you out to Felix Catton.

You almost committed aggravated homicide of said pimp before Michael dragged you away.

You went to the movies to drool over Johnny Depp.

You and Michael decided you would crash in his dorm room for the night…leading to your current predicament.

Right now, you were dragging an unconscious Annabel, who was drunk off her ass, with one arm flung over your shoulder as you tried to make get any information of where her dorm was out of her. It was a sad picture – mascara running down her cheeks, vomit from her mouth, and lipstick messily smeared across her face. The smell of vomit mixed with cheap booze was almost enough to make you want to drop her on the ground and leave her there if you hadn’t pitied her so much.

When you realized that you weren’t going to get anything out of her that didn’t involve projectile vomiting, you just decided to bring her to rest up in your dorm.

“I still don’t understand why you’re helping her,” Michael grunted.

Oh, yeah…and Michael was helping you, too.

“Because girl code, Gavey–” you grunted, lifting Annabel’s arm higher when you felt her slipping “–no man left behind – or well, no woman left behind in this case.”

“That’s the Geneva Code.”

“Same difference,” you groaned out. Fuck, how was this girl so heavy?

Michael’s face was getting flushed from the sweat running down his forehead. “So, girl code dictates that you have to help the bitch who’s been making your term hell?”

“Girl Code,” you huffed, “wait, hang on - she’s slipping - okay, there we go. ‘Girl Code’ is more of an honor code expected to be followed by all sisters on their journey to womanhood. And one of the most sacred rules in that honor system is that – fuck, she’s heavy – that if you see a sister drunk and unconscious, you make sure she gets home safe.”

“Or your matchbox dorm room, in this circumstance,” your friend grumbled.

You tiredly nodded. “Exactly! Besides, regardless of how heinous she is, it’s the right thing to do.”

“(Y/N), you realize she won’t be getting hypothermia, right?” Michael frustratingly groaned. “It’s late spring.”

“But that doesn’t mean there aren’t people out there who won’t take advantage of her in her current state. They’d say, ‘Oh, she was asking for it,’ or ‘she’s just imagining things, do you remember how hammered she was?’ And then it’ll be their word against hers.”

You went silent for a bit. “I don’t want that to happen to her. No one should have that happen to them – girl or guy, bully or friend.”

“Well, in any case,” Michael started as the two of you finally arrived at the beginning of your dormitory. “It’s lucky that your dorm is so close to mine. Are you sure you want her in there? There’s still the chance she’ll vomit all over your carpet if she misses the bucket or even your covers.”

You opened the door with your ID card. “I’ll just have to take that chance, I guess. Look, I’ll try to wake her up long enough to see if she remembers any of her friend’s numbers. If any of them pick up, I’ll tell them to pick her up.”

Michael looked at you with heavy doubt in his eyes. “And if they don’t? Pick up, I mean?”

“Then I guess we’ll be having a sleepover,” you sighed as you reached your room at the end of the hallway. “And then we’ll never have to see each other ever again when morning comes.”

Michael loudly snorted while you clumsily reached into your back pocket for your keys. “Don’t jinx yourself. With your bleeding heart, you’ll probably end up donating your liver to her if she doesn’t die of alcohol poisoning first.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, come one. Have a bit more faith in me – SHIT!” you exclaimed after you dropped your keys.

You quickly scrambled to the floor while Michael guffawed at your misfortune. You shot a quick glare at him to get him to shut up. The bespectacled bastard didn’t stop laughing until…like, three minutes passed. In response, you dropped Annabel’s arm from your shoulder to focus on finding your room key. You chuckled to yourself when you heard Michael curse to himself as he tried to balance the drunk girl’s weight without getting her too close to him. When you finally found it, you inserted it into the lock. You sighed in relief when the door opened. You were even more relieved that your roommate had decided to spend the night at her girlfriend’s dorm. You really didn’t want to have to explain to her why you were voluntarily helping the vile witch bitch who was actively trying to make your college years hell. Meanwhile, Michael grimaced and groaned as he held Annabel away from his body at arm’s length.

“Is sluttiness contagious through touch?” he asked.

“Unless pre-Sith Anakin suddenly pops into this hallway, I don’t think you’ll need to worry about that,” you snorted as you opened the door to let Michael drag the unconscious girl into the room.

Michael scoffed at your choice of Star Wars beefcake. “Bitch, please. Young Obi-Wan Kenobi was far superior.”

He went to the center of the room and released Annabel from his grip to let her unceremoniously fall on the floor, and her body made a soft ‘thump.’ You wrinkled your nose and grimaced at the pathetic nature of tonight. She looked less like the glamorous Oxford party ‘IT’ girl and more like one of those sad groupies who OD’d in their favorite rockstar’s pool from a house party. You didn’t know what the hell her story of tonight was – but it still didn’t mean she deserved to be left alone, slumped against a wall in a dirty hallway with vomit all over her.

You turned to Michael. “Okay! Off you trot!”

Your favorite bespectacled blonde nerd gave you a look of complete bewilderment.

“Seriously?” he asked. “Not even a thank you? I literally dragged her body here from my dormitory and risked being the first victim of a new STD contracted through skin contact.”

You rolled your eyes at his dramatics – if he weren’t such a numbers genius, he would have been the perfect theater kid.

“Don’t be such an incel,” you admonished. “It’s not a good look on you. And I carried more of her body weight than you, dumbass. If I left it up to you, we’d never get anywhere with your twiggy arms.”

You poked his arms in emphasis and snickered when he pouted. He crossed his arms and was about to leave when you pounced on him. A bit of Annabel’s “Britney Spears Fantasy” spray perfume soaked into his shirt, but other than that, he still smelled like himself. The scent of fresh laundry, freshly mowed grass, and spearmint toothpaste made you feel safe. His scent, combined with his body heat, enveloped you in comfort.

“Thanks, Mikey,” you whispered. “I know you didn’t have to help me, but you did anyway.”

Gavey wrapped his arms around you as he rested his chin on your head. He usually hated contact with anybody save his family, but you were always the exception. Michael should probably have warned you that the rotten and acidic odor from Annabel’s puke would ruin your shirt, but he just let himself replace her cheap perfume with your fragrance. The scent of your favorite honey and jasmine conditioner in your hair mostly covered the faint traces of turpentine and linseed oil on your skin.

“Of course I did,” he softly replied. “With your shit sense of direction, you would have ended up in the bottom of the ditch.”

You gasped and lightly pushed him away. “Uhhh, way to ruin the moment!”

Michael snickered at the way your jaw had dropped in shock and betrayal. You then resorted to mockingly punching him in the stomach as he did nothing to stop you. He couldn’t help but look at you in total and utter fondness as he continued to ‘beat him up.’

But in all honesty, Michael didn’t mind helping you. He loved it. He’d rather get Crucio-ed than say it, but you were his favorite person in the whole world. In a desert of fakes and masks of insincerity, you were like gentle rain with your genuine vibrance and rare honesty. He loved how endlessly kind and empathetic you were to others. He just hated it when you granted acts of kindness to the plebes unworthy of you. You’d give the benefit of the doubt to the worst of the worst on campus – Annabel being a case in point.

Remembering the drunk elephant in the room, Michael grabbed your fists and stared at you thoughtfully.

“Seriously, though,” he began, “why are you helping her? I know you told me about ‘girl code’ and all that. But is that seriously it?”

You thumped your head against his chest. “Look, I get it. Annabel is a horrible person, and with how awful she treated me – she doesn’t deserve my kindness, my help, or my pity. But that doesn’t change that it was the right thing to do. And if not us, who knows who would have picked her up? If another guy other than you ‘helped’ her…you do the math.”

A groggy voice broke the two of you apart. “Are you two going to shag? Because I can leave.”

You and Michael jumped apart as you watched Annabel lift herself from the floor and stagger to her feet. Her legs wobbled briefly before giving out, and then she fell to the floor. You turned to Michael and gave him one final hug before seeing him out. He looked disgusted at the girl sitting on the cheap carpet before turning to you, concerned. Mikey asked if you were confident you didn’t need him here to help you.

“I’ll take it from here,” you reassured him. You flexed your arm – 80s jock bully style. “I’m a tough girl. I carry my canvases and textbooks and everything, after all.”

“Okay,” he dragged out the last syllable. “But if you end up putting her down, give me a call, and I’ll help you bury the body.”

“Um,” interjected Annabel, “you know I’m right here, you arse.”

“Hey,” you admonished, “he did help carry you here. He could have left you in that hallway alone.”

“Whatever,” she scoffed. “Probably did it so he could cop a feel, the slimy wanker.”

“Please,” Michael sneered, “as if I’d ever willingly touch someone with a higher body count than Dahmer and Bundy combined. I’m only here because I wanted to help (Y/N) – she’s the one who was worried about your sad self.”

Ugh, this was going to be a long night. You turned to Michael with apologetic eyes and reassured him that he wasn’t a wanker. You promised you’d make it up to him by buying all the Crunchie bars he wanted. Mikey’s eyes softened at your sincerity as he began to walk down the corridor to make the trek to his dorm.

You softly closed your door so as not to cause any further disturbance. When you turned around, you were startled by the dead stare Annabel was giving you. You looked down at your feet as you shifted uncomfortably in your spot. You cleared your throat to try and break the tension.

“Um, soooo…I’m glad you’re awake. You were sitting so still in that hall, I was worried you OD’d,” you nervously joked. But all she did was continue to stare at you. “So, do you have your phone with you? I figured it would be best if you called one of your friends. I’m sure they’re really worried about you. I know I’d be going out of my mind if one of my friends–”

“What kind of fucking game are you playing here?” she snarled. Her large, doe-brown eyes narrowed in anger as you stopped talking.

“Uhhh,” your mind was coming out blank. “Wait, I don’t – I don’t know what you mean?”

Annabel rolled her eyes. “Oh, don’t play stupid. Why’d you help me? Did you want to take pictures of me drunk and unconscious?”

Your jaw fucking dropped. “What?! NO! I just–”

“I’m sure that would’ve made some fucking good blackmail material,” ignoring you and continuing, “I can see it: ‘Annabel Williams drunk in the hall after trying to shag fucking sad Ollie.’ You’re so obvious.”

You tried to explain yourself. “Okay, look- I think there’s a big misunderstanding here–”

“Or maybe you want to show the pictures to Felix, not that he’d care or anything. You got him all wrapped up in your little Yankee finger, you know that? It’s so pathetic and sick – it makes me want to–”

“HEY!” you yelled – finally making her just shut UP. You closed your eyes and took deep breaths to calm down. “Look, Michael and I were walking to his dorm when we saw you were sitting in the hallway. I tried to ask you if you had your phone on you and if you wanted me to call anyone, but you were out cold. And I couldn’t just leave you there, okay? That’s dangerous! And I didn’t know where you lived – you know, considering that you hate me–” you cut off your rambling with a deep breath “–so he and I dragged you to my dorm.”

The silence that followed was so stifling you wanted to open a window. Maybe if you let some fresh air in, it might calm the girl down. It would also help diffuse some of the puke odor stinking up your room.

“…Anyway, if you don’t have your phone on you right now, I can always call them myself. Do you remember their numbers? I know you and India are close. Do you think she’s available right now?”

More silence.

You began fidgeting. “I mean, you can stay over if no one is available? I don’t mind since my roommate is sleeping over–”

Annabel interrupted you again. “You’re so full of it. You just wanted to help me? For what? For the sake of being the goody-two-shoes kiss-ass, you’ve always been? Did you want me to bow and worship you?”

“Annabel,” you groaned, “it’s been a really long night, okay? And I don’t feel like arguing when you aren’t sober and in your right mind.”

“Oh yeah,” she bitterly laughed. “Be a pushover, and get everyone to love you. Tell everyone how much of a ‘heinous’ bitch I am. Play the victim – that’s all you’ll ever be. Just go back with your pathetic little nerd friend and be invisible and boring like the goody-goody who thinks she’s better than the rest of us.”

The quiet in the room was surprisingly loud. Shock and disbelief morphed into fury as your fists clenched so hard that your nails left red welts on your skin. Your body trembled in anger as your tongue felt too heavy to express everything you wanted to say.

‘Pushover’ she called you? ‘Play the victim,’ she said?

Who the hell was she to have any right to judge you? Did she have any idea what you’ve sacrificed? How much have you suffered and left behind? Could she even have the slightest decency to understand what you’ve been through? Of what she put you through?

…You know what? …Fuck her. Fuck Annabel Williams and all of Oxford’s elite. They were proof that Michael was right – that doing the right thing meant nothing to them.

Your voice was cold, and your eyes were numb. “…I’m going to take a shower,” you grab a towel and your shower buddy. “I want you to get the hell out of my dorm by the time I get back. Call your friend or don’t? Do whatever the hell you want. I don’t care.”

You slammed the door on your way out.

“Finally,” Annabel thought with some relief, “she’s gone.”

When you left, the room felt ten degrees colder the way the door slammed, and Annabel felt goosebumps form on her arm. This was the worst night of her life. She had never felt so humiliated.

Her mummy told her she was just born blessed because God knew she was exceptional, and she always believed that to be true. For her entire life, she was the girl every boy wanted to bed and the girl every girl wanted to be. She never had to fight for anyone’s attention. Her parents gladly bought her the latest versions of top-of-the-line technology. Her closet here and at her parent’s townhouse in Kensington was filled with designer-brand exclusives and limited-editions. She had everything.

For people like her, life was supposed to be easy. She was born at the top, so she would be there till the day she died.

So why was she losing to you?

When she came to Oxford, she figured it would be as easy as most of her life. She’d spend her time partying and networking with the right people. If she had to blackmail a nerd to take her classes or blow a teacher to give her an “A”? Who would say otherwise?

But then she met Felix Catton and finally felt she had met her match. Finally, there was someone who checked all the boxes: rich, tall, handsome, and fun. That part made Felix the golden sheep who stood above the rest of the flock – he was fun. Not only did he know how to have a good time, he knew how to properly fuck a girl, too.

She was so drunk off the taste of his lips and the feel of him around her – so much so that she broke her golden rule.

“Never fall first.”

Annabel felt herself falling hard for Felix Catton. She thought they were exclusive. He was her boyfriend, and she was his girlfriend. But then…he became distant. He stopped calling he and ignored her when they returned to campus after the break. But then he and she left the bar at Kings’ Crossing, and she was so happy! She wanted to cry when he kissed her hard and ripped her 100 quid top in half.

It didn’t matter if she wasn’t wet when he entered her. It didn’t matter that he didn’t wait for her to adjust when he started to thrust. It didn’t matter when she tried to moan his name; he would cover her mouth with his giant hand to shut her up. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t close to finishing when he came inside her. It didn’t matter when her windpipes were almost crushed when he fell on top of her after finishing.

They were together. He chose her! Annabel and Felix – Mrs. Felix Catton, she could see it now. They’d have a wedding in his house at Saltburn. She would have to meet his parents, but she wasn’t worried – all her flings’ parents loved her! They would be together forever, and nothing would ever–

“(Y/N),” Felix whispered above her – and Annabel’s world completely fell apart.

She immediately shoved his body off hers and hurriedly dressed before getting the hell out of his room. Annabel didn’t bother putting on her shoes before running with tears down her face to her dorm. And when she returned to her single, she flung herself to her bed and cried to sleep. She didn’t bother attending class that week – not when her heart broke.

Felix had been thinking about you – you. He called out your name after finishing. Was he imagining your naked body when hers was under him? Had he been imagining you every time he fucked her?

Annabel smelled Felix’s aftershave and wanted to rip the skin off her body. God, she never felt more like a whore in her entire life.

“God,” she thought, “I was so pathetic! How could I be so stupid to fall for Felix Catton? Why did I trick myself into hoping that we would be together?”

Felix wanted a good girl—like you—the American scholarship student who wanted to paint pretty pictures and was at the top of her classes. The lovely New Yorker who hung around losers and still held your head up high despite every professor thinking you were in over your head to come here. Some pushover bitch who was so pathetic and actually–

The door slammed open again, and Annabel’s pretty sure she’d scream if she weren’t so fucking tired. You came storming in with your towel and shower caddy in your hands, and your eyes were a raging storm while your lips were pursed like you had sucked a lemon. Your nostrils are flaring as you angrily breathe through your nose. Annabel was about to open her mouth, but you menacingly pointed at her with your pointer finger. It felt like forever until you finally opened your mouth.

“Look! We don’t have to be friends and I don’t expect us to be friends – but you know what? YES, I WOULD LIKE A THANK YOU! I dragged your unconscious ass across campus, and you REEKED of vomit and bad perfume! And not to body shame, but you are WAY TOO SKINNY to be healthy to be as heavy as you were when I carried you!”

“Excuse me?!” Annabel sputtered. “Who the fuck–”

“Oh! I’m not done!” you shouted. “I don’t know if you being horrible and a bitch is supposed to be some power trip or some shit, but it’s so cliché! Are we in Mean Girls? Are you Regina George? No, am I Janice from Lebanon? NO! And on that – I have a few bones to pick with you…MISSY!

I–” You pointed to yourself “–am NOT a pushover, okay? I fucking beat your stupid manwhore boy toy like it was goddamn ‘Whack o’ Mole’ for ruining my painting! Pushovers don’t do that! FURTHERMORE – me calling you a ‘horrible person’ or ‘heinous bitch’ isn’t me ‘playing the victim’! You HAVE been a HORRIBLE person to me, alright? And what’s worse – I don’t have the slightest idea why! Was it something I said to you last term? Or were you born a spoilt princess who never had to work for anything in her life because mommy and daddy will always give you everything you want so you could forget that they would probably instead work than deal with their brat? Seriously – what is it? Because you’re driving me CRAZY!”

When you were done, Annabel sat on the floor, completely silent, and stared at you unblinkingly. She hadn’t expected you to come back so quickly – let alone to scream at her. She stared at your huffing and shallow breathing in awe and slight amazement. Your hair looked frazzled from your outburst, and your (e/c) eyes were bright with wild impulse.

Annabel felt her bottom lip quiver and stared at an ugly stain on the carpet. She didn’t want to show any more of herself than she had already. But what the hell? You already saw more of her than most of her so-called ‘friends.’ What was a little more? If she had to show more of the ugliest parts of herself, why not show it to someone she already hated?

Before she could stop herself, Annabel felt her shoulders sag and shake as sobs tore through her petite frame. Tears and snot were running down her face as she furiously tried to wipe them away – if nothing but to try and save some shred of dignity. Annabel was crying so much that she didn’t see the surprised look on your face morph to slight guilt since you thought you may gone too far with your rant. You reached out to tap her shoulder when you heard her speak.

“Why doesn’t he want me?” she sobbed. “What do I have to do to get him to love me?”

If you were taken aback by her crying, you were completely caught off-guard by her questions. You walked over to your desk and grabbed a box of tissues before crouching on the ground. You handed her a few tissues from the box and waved to her face to present them. Annabel noticed how you tried hard not to see how much her hand trembled when she reached forward to grab the tissues from you.

“Who?” you softly asked her. “Are you talking about Felix?”

Annabel blew her nose into the tissue hard. “Who else?! I mean…look at me! Everyone wants me! Everyone – boys, girls, teachers! Do you know how many of my past flings gladly emptied their pockets so I might wank them? But he wants you! What do you have that I don’t?”

Concern and pity shifted to confusion before realization kicked in, and you were so done with this conversation already. Maybe you were a slightly horrible person for this, but you felt so disappointed when Annabel told you that her entire drama with you had been over Felix Catton.

“…That’s why you’ve been tormenting me this entire term so far?” you flatly asked. “Because of Felix Catton?”

“He called out your name–” she gasped a heavy sob “– while he was fucking me! Do you have any idea how that feels?”

“Okay, wow,” you thought, “that’s actually really shitty – fuck.”

“Do you know how humiliating that was for me? He was still inside me, for fucks’ sake! I felt him shrink!”

Okay – that was so much more information about Annabel’s and Felix’s sex life than you ever wanted to know.

You coughed into your hand as your face flushed red. “Oh, um–I’ve never really…done it before. So…I wouldn’t really don’t know how that feels.”

“Ugh, of course, you’re a virgin,” she groaned. “Don’t tell me you don’t drink either.”

When you remained silent, Annabel let out a bitter laugh. “Damn, you think you’re hot shit and everything. But you really are a goody-goody. What – you saving yourself for God or some shit?”

“HEY! Just because I like to keep my head down and not a party and get plastered every five minutes doesn’t make me a goody-two-shoes. I just don’t like the taste of alcohol, and increased chances of lung cancer doesn’t exactly spell out ‘fun’ for me.”

But Annabel ignores your outburst and continues to dismiss you. “Yeah, right. I bet you call your mommy and daddy every night. Do you tell them that you miss them and want to go home? Or do you wish to bake cookies with your mummy as daddy watches the telly?”

Annabel’s taunting is only responded to with silence as she grows confused by your melancholic expression.

“…I can’t call them at all,” you respond. “International calls are too expensive. The best I can do is email or Skype. And planned calls can hardly be reliable since my parents’ schedules are always all over the place with their jobs.”

“When–” Annabel’s voice cracked “– when’s the last time you saw them? In real life?”

“I was supposed to see them during Christmas Break,” you bitterly explained, “but then Felix crashed into me when I was on my way to deliver it. He ruined my painting, and I had to redo it completely, not to fail and completely flush my parents’ money down the drain.”

“I thought you were here on scholarship? Doesn’t that mean you don’t have to pay to come here?”

“I’m here on a partial scholarship,” you explained. “It covers a good part of my tuition, but not all of it – and definitely not for housing and meal plans. Travel expenses alone were so expensive, so I had to leave alone. Mom cried so much at the security checkpoint, and Dad almost didn’t want me to go. I didn’t even want to go. But they wanted me to experience more of the world while I still could.”

“…Do you miss them?” Annabel asked. She felt silly asking a question with such an obvious answer. But, hearing how you talked about your parents crying their goodbyes to you compared to the simple wave she got hers after they dropped her off campus made her feel a deep longing.

You let out a shaky sob. “More than anything. You never realize how much you miss your home and family until an entire ocean separates you.”

Annabel uncomfortably shifted in her spot as she noticed your eyes getting misty. She couldn’t remember the last time she cried over missing her parents and felt that you were being overdramatic. Annabel spent her entire break with her parents at their house, but she couldn’t remember the last time they ate at the same table unless it was for one of her dad’s dinner parties. What did it feel like – to miss and love someone so much after not seeing them for a year?

What did it feel like – to have an entire lifetime of that kind of love?

Does having that kind of love make you?

“…Why did you help me?” Annabel finally asked. She couldn’t bear the tension anymore. “You could have just left me there. Why help me and bring me here of all places?”

“…Because it was the right thing to do,” you explained and shrugged. “You were drunk and vulnerable. Maybe it was fear of being a potential bystander if someone tried to take advantage of you – but I was scared something was going to happen to you. Regardless of my feelings toward you and yours toward me, no one should ever find themselves in a position where if they’re telling the truth, it’s someone else’s word against theirs. I’ve seen it too happen many times already.”

“What do you say in response to that?” Annabel thought to herself – shocked by how genuinely you answered her question. Since you were honest with her, she figured she could at least be honest with you.

“If it were you,” she began, “I wouldn’t have done for you what you did for me.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, “you probably wouldn’t – but that’s neither here nor there. Because I’m me, and you’re you.”

“…Are you really not interested in Felix?” Annabel asked. She was surprised by your disgusted groan.

“Oh my god–” you put your face into your hands and loudly groaned “–I don’t understand why everyone has an obsession with this guy.”

Annabel raised her brow. “Seriously?”

“Yes! He’s so gross – I studied in an empty classroom last week. He sat next to me, basically propositioned me, and then put his hand on my thigh! Does that sound like someone I would want to date?”

“You know he’s just doing it to get your attention because he likes you, right?”

You scoffed at her input. “Pffft– and that makes it alright of him to invade my personal space via sexual harassment? I hate how everyone makes excuses for him – and why? Because he’s richer than God and has an ‘alright-looking’ face? So what?”

“Oh, believe me,” snickered Annabel, “he’s more than just ‘alright-looking’ and he fucks as good as he looks.”

You sagely shook your head. “A person like that has nothing to offer himself. He desperately clings to his family’s wealth and the benefits of his status so tightly – and he pretends not to enjoy it, but he’s the type of person to love leeching on someone’s misfortune to feel better about himself.”

You shuddered as you remembered Felix’s constant leering at you since the term began.

“He’s like a vampire – I’ve seen enough of them in high school to recognize them from miles away.”

Annabel was utterly silent at your analysis of Oxford’s Golden Boy. She never considered the possibility of someone out there who didn’t absolutely covet and revere him. She assumed that you were purposely playing ‘hard-to-get’ to get his attention, but maybe you were sincere in his disgust by him.

“Plus, he looks like the type to be absolutely shit at foreplay and only knows how to stick it in.”

Annabel was so caught off-guard by your statement that she immediately burst out laughing. You were surprised by her reaction and started to laugh, too. She was laughing so hard that tears started rolling down her cheeks, and her stomach started to hurt.

“HE IS!” she agreed while nodding. “He does the bare minimum! I’ve been giving him constant blowjobs, and I can count the number of times he’s eaten me out with one hand! The only type of prep he knows how to do is finger me!”

“Oh my god! EW!” you guffawed. “Why did you put up with him for so long?!”

Annabel shrugged. “He’s the most popular guy on campus – even the upperclassmen adore him. I was always the popular girl throughout primary and secondary prep. It just made sense.”

“My parents told me college was all about discovering new things about yourself,” you said. “Maybe…you could do that for yourself.”

Annabel looked wistful before nodding. “Yeah…you know this doesn’t mean we’re friends, right?”

You rolled your eyes. “Please, tonight’s the last night I’m willingly dealing with a demon like you. I’ll stick to forcing Michael to watch my favorite Johnny Depp movies—thank you very much.”

Annabel watched your eyes soften at the mention of your friend…Michael Gravy? Was he the guy who left the two of you together after snarking at her?

…Oh god, it all made sense now.

“Are you and Gravy fucking?” she bluntly asked. She huffed in amusement at how red your face became as you began to sputter.

“WHAT?! No-NO! We’re friends!” you exclaimed before getting all shy.

“You were awfully protective of him a bit ago to be ‘just friends,’” Annabel countered. “Spill it – what’s going on between you two?”

“He’s my best friend,” you explained to Annabel. “He let me stay with his family after I finished repainting my assignment – which was really amazing of him.”

She watched how you smiled when continuing to talk about him.

“I know he can seem a bit odd and rude at first,” you continued. “But Michael is one of the best people on campus. He can be really sweet when you get close to him – especially when he talks about his family. His little sister, Lily, is so adorable! He’s a total nerd but a complete sweetheart when you get to know him.”

Annabel bemusedly watched as you gushed about your ‘best friend.’ It was almost sweet how gone you were for the nerd. You didn’t even realize how gone you were for him. For a bit, Annabel could see why Felix was so enamored with you.

“Well,” she interrupted as she stood up, “I guess your obliviousness to your feelings isn’t any of my business or whatever. Thanks for…helping me – it was really nice of you.”

You warmly smiled at her. “Sure! Do you have to meet anyone tomorrow morning?”

“Uh, no?”

You walked to your closet and grabbed a towel, a worn T-shirt, and old sweats. You handed them to her as Annabel looked at you in confusion.

“Since you’re here,” you began, “and it’s already like…3 a.m. – you might as well shower and stay over since tomorrow’s Saturday.”

“…Why?”

“You still have puke all over you,” you explained, “and it’s getting really hard pretending it’s not extremely gross. Plus, I can’t imagine you’re comfortable right now.”

“What’s with the clothes?”

You shrugged. “Well, I can’t exactly have you sleep in your dress and ruin my sheets! You can shower and sleep on my bed while I sleep on my roommate’s. Now, are you going to take them?”

Annabel hesitated before she took the bundle from your hands. You then opened the door. While holding it, you looked at her as if expecting her to follow you. What confused her most was the way she did exactly that.

While in the shower, she didn’t even mind that you didn’t have any of her usual hair products. Your conditioner looked like it was bought at a cheap dollar store – you didn’t even have a loofah. But when she exited the shower stall before drying herself with your towel and changing into your baggy clothes, she felt calmer than she had these past few weeks. As she crawled under your sheets and comforter, you turned off the night and wished her good night.

Annabel stared at the ceiling for about an hour before she grabbed her phone. She managed to find it while digging through her dress pockets. She was going to wash it when she got back to her dorm. Opening it, she rolled down at the dozens of messages from India and their girlfriends. Her eyes slightly widened at the soft *ping* her phone let out when she got a new message to show it was from Felix.

To her surprise, she didn’t feel anything. She didn’t care he messaged her that he had forgotten their plans. Staring at her screen, she just felt…nothing. So she did the very thing she should have done weeks ago.

She deleted Felix Catton’s number from her contact list.

Annabel slept better that night than she had all term.

After that night with Annabel, life simply went on. She and you weren’t ‘friends’ per se, but she no longer went out of her way to torment you like she had done before. She even told off some of her friends when they talked about you behind your back.

You two weren’t friends, but you hoped that there was at least some fraction of mutual respect. If you couldn’t be friends, then at least you two didn’t have to be enemies – you were happy to settle for being a ‘frenemy.’

You found yourself sitting by yourself at one of the tables in the library. Michael had to meet with one of his teachers about an essay but promised to meet with you as soon as he finished. You were repeatedly listening to Carrie Underwood’s “Before He Cheats” when you heard the chair next to you being pulled out.

Fully expecting it to be Felix, you were ready to tell him to fuck off and bother some other poor soul that needed saving, but you were surprised to find that the person sitting next to you was his cousin, Farleigh Start. He introduced himself by stating his name and giving you a firm handshake. There wasn’t much you could do but reciprocate.

“Quite the save you gave our Annabel,” Farleigh grinned. “Very magnanimous of you, especially considering how she treated you.”

“What do you want from me?” you blurted out. “I’m busy, and I would appreciate it if you just left so I can continue studying.”

You weren’t normally so rude, but this was Felix Catton’s cousin – and if this was a ploy to get you in his pants, you wanted no part of it. But your skepticism only seemed to please the boy sitting beside you more. His wry grin curled into a wide Cheshire Cat smile as he continued to stare at you with eager fascination.

Farleigh started to lean toward you, and you instinctively leaned away from him. You eyed him with extreme caution as if he were a mad scientist and you were a paralyzed specimen. And his eyes looked like he couldn’t wait to cut you open.

“I like you,” he stated. “Let’s be friends.”

Tagging: @ethereal-athalia, @arcielee, @valeskafics, @asa-do-your-thing, @aphroditesmoon, @axelsagewrites, @the1999kid, @poolnoodlerescuer, @aemondsbabe, @winterblu2, @abaker74, @whereismymindno, @agustdeeyaa, @iamavailablesstuff, @bonnieblue0606, @st-eve-barnes, @nyxthoughtss, @immyowndefender, @ilovemydinoboi, @ahristata, @cxp1d, @jinsoulorbitzen12, @temptation-waits, @bollzinurmouth, @jcngw0ns, @seababehh, @destinydestnation, @lankyboi4, @mindless-rock, @cassavacakes, @paradisepoisons, @pansexualpamandabear, @erikasurfer, @lissamans, @cookielovesbook-akie, @thesmutconnoisseur, @izzyisstuff, @lariisouz

Reblog if you liked reading this chapter and want me to continue! Also please comment if you want to be added to the taglist!

#saltburn x reader #saltburn #saltburn crack #saltburn au #michael gavey x reader #felix catton x reader #farleigh catton #farleigh start #venetia catton #oliver quick #michael gavey #saltburn 2023 #saltburn movie

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riririnnnn · 5 months ago

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So, if we were to assume that whatever I said in this post is pretty accurate, then we can say that Kaiser is the one who is holding back Ness 'cause:

His chains are covered with Blue Roses and their branches, and we all know Blue Roses are associated to who in Blue Lock.

So, if we were to reel back some chapters, then we can find why exactly Ness wanted to become Pro:

His family disregarded things which couldn't be explained by logic while he yearned for things which were unexplainable—they made him feel indescribable feelings, and those were the 'things' he deemed magical, so he started his own little journey to find more of this 'magical' things.

And that was exactly when he found soccer.

In simpler words, he finally found the strong feeling he was trying to search for so long. He saw the crazy joy the soccer players felt and made others feel too through the sport—he wanted the same. He wanted to make others feel the same too, and he saw soccer as a way to truly showcase his magic.

However, the tryouts of Bastard München was when he started to wobble and by the end of it, he was on the verge of losing his faint in his magic when Kaiser made his entry in his life. And through Kaiser, he was able to make his magic work which explains his dependency on him.

But somewhere along the lines..

..his faith in Kaiser overshadowed his faith in his own magic.

And that's where I think he started to go downhill.

You see, Ness is not a bad player at all even by himself alone. He literally placed 2nd in that test where Noa was assessing the physical abilities of everyone—he literally beat Wildcard!Kunigami in this test!? That should alone prove it that he has what is needed if he put in the right efforts required.

But, guess, he is just too busy catering for Kaiser.

I had always found it very odd that the difference between Kaiser and his bid is so big when he is the one who provides Kaiser with the needed passes.

No wonder Kaiser is a part of the New Generation World XI while Ness is not.

I highly think that when he is finally free from the chains, he will become just like Sae and Hiori—he'll only pass to those who will make his magic happen. And that being said, his epiphany might be Isagi.

Or in a series of very unexpected turns..

..it might be Kunigami.

What do you guys think?

#blue lock #bllk #blue lock theory #bllk theory #alexis ness #michael kaiser #雪 ranting

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theesirenteller · 1 year ago

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𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐫

divider credit @cafekitsune

Masterlist 💓 Previous Chapter

❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜

Chapter Four | Regálame un poco de azúcar

"Are you sure you don't need anything else?"

"Nah, just my laundry."

The dullness in Rio's voice had caused Beth to roll her eyes. She felt a certain type of 'ick' over his lack of playfulness with her. Her smugness quickly replaced her disappointment. But, that quickly diminished when a few slick thoughts raced through her mind. Due to the pair being seated across from one another in a booth, Beth was able to easily brush her moist hand across his thigh from underneath the table. " Actually, I left it in my dryer," she said in a soft-airy tone with a slight purr. Leaning in closer from across the table. Her breasts spilled over the black tabletop. Mick, who stood nearby, simply shook his head.

Rio's once-blank expression slowly began to change. His eyes slanted upwards as the corners of his lips peeled back into a smile. And then suddenly he began chuckling "Oh really?" he mused. Beth giggled in response but Rio's chuckle grew into robust laughter. When he and Mick held eye contact, Rio slowly shook his head. The men shared a mental conversation where words didn't need to be spoken.

"No, a big fat juicy cheeseburger sounds even better right now."

"Oh my god yes, and chocolate milkshakes but with whipped cream and chocolate-covered strawberries at the bottom." Epiphany existed out of the champagne room alongside Crystal. Both dancers looked at the pair across the table. Vise versa from the opposite side. Despite Epiphany's smile dimming down, her mood was ruined. The sight before her wasn't something she needed to see…ever. It created a sourness in the pit of her stomach that replaced her hunger. As well as a foul taste at the back of her mouth. The sick part of all of it was that she had no reason to feel this way. They weren't anything. But, Epiphany couldn't shake the sick feeling.

"Oh hey guys," Crystal greeted with a bubbly tone and waved on her way to the bar. Epiphany gave the fakest smile she could muster as she followed along. She fought with everything in her to not look his way, and she did a pretty good job of it. Epiphany made sure to sit on Crystal's side and wasn't facing the business partners and focused her attention on the bartender. She didn't have to look his way to feel his stare. Hell, she still could feel him even weeks after their last encounter. Or how she yearned to feel his long fingers fill her, drum her insides the way he would tap them against the table to a tune he only knew. 'Maybe he sprinkled some of that coke over his dick? that's probably what's got me hooked.' She thought to herself. "I'll take vodka, orange juice, and light ice," she ordered.

"Hey uh…do you girls mind putting on some proper clothes or actual robes when outside the champagne room? You don't have to be naked around the whole building." Beth commented while puffing her chest out. Both Rio and Mick raised an eyebrow, a subtle signal of skepticism and amusement.

Beth wasn't a fan of the men's wandering eyes. There was a reason she preferred the Detroit gangster to pick up his cut during the daytime versus the night. Less distractions. She could see Epiphany's topless torso through her mesh baby-blue robe and Beth was disgusted. The girl left nothing for the imagination and Beth supposed that was to be expected of someone who did what she did. The strip club was too cheap for her taste as were the girls in it.

"Strip club by night, nunnery by day. Gee, you're an absolute visionary boss," Epiphany said sarcastically. It was the shared laugh between Rio and Mick that caused the ex-housewife's face to redden.

"Look I know it's hard for you to tell the difference between-" Beth started but was dismissed by Epiphany's loud yawn.

"Ugh, I need a cold shower and a nap." And with that Epiphany got up and strolled to the locker room sipping her drink.

"Looks like you got a lot to straighten out," Rio said to Beth. He then stood up and roughly patted her shoulder, "I'll be back for my cut," He and Mick departed from the side door.

Epiphany's hands shook as she stood in the room on the other side of the club. Her lips formed in a pout around the red solo cup. The cool-to-hot burn of her icy beverage numbed the back of her throat. She was used to her all-nighters at the club turning to a daytime double. But that mixed with her Karen of a boss and seeing the revolting sight of the cardigan wearer with the guy she had the hots for…just didn't mix well. " I don't like this shit" she whispered to herself. It had been a while since a man who she had chemistry with was consistent with her. Rio wasn't at the club the majority of the time but he still managed to send her a text that always consisted of 'Have a good night champ.' or 'You have a good night?'. Then he'd call in the early morning hours of one to two a.m. and they'd talk. Icebreaker conversations about things like soggy cereal were better than fresh. They also liked The Weeknd's earlier albums and Mac Miller. Oddly enough, Rio adored Jazz music. Mostly live rather than CDs. Epiphany looked forward to their midnight conversations. Seeing him in person just felt surreal. In the present, Her annoyance was fixed with a hot shower and getting dressed in fresh clothes. Epiphany left the club in a denim mini skirt, pink Ugg boots, and an oversized mocha-brown fox fur coat over her white Henley top. The crisp fall air sent a feeling of refreshment through her as she walked along the street. The stiffness of the club depleted with each step she took away from it.

"You know green ain't really your color, Champ." She knew that familiar husky voice anywhere. Like a kiss to the side of her ear, it warmed the back of her neck. The burly tattooed man was in the driver's seat, but Rio sat in the passenger side with his arm out the window. His charming smile seemed almost taunting. The black G-wagon drove at the same pace she walked.

"Depends on the shade," Epiphany replied. Crossing her arms across her chest, she turned and faced the truck. Despite being feet apart, a level of intimacy was shared between the two of them. Their mirrored expressions of longing eye contact, raised brows, and playfully teasing smiles. Like a silent tango shared between the two.

"So, where you headed?" Rio asked as he drummed his hand against the side of the car.

"Wherever you're going." She smirked.

"Está loca por ti, hermano." Mick snickered from the driver's seat causing Rio's smile to widen.

"Well come on then," He hopped out of the car and proceeded to open the backseat door. Epiphany smiled his way as she walked over to the car. She placed a soft but swift kiss on his cheek; which reached the corner of his jaw due to their height difference. Stan and Ruby had driven past the pair and the mother of two couldn't help but gawk at the scene with her mouth open.

"Stan," She hissed and smacked her husband's shoulder, "Did you see that? The hoodlum is getting frisky with the new bimbo. That's some straight foolishness." She shook her head with disapproval. Her husband chuckled in response as he pulled in around the corner," I thought the same thing when your girl started hunching with him. That's more normal than our council woman getting jiggy with him." Ruby shot Stan a side-eye but said nothing further.

Meanwhile, in Rio's car laughter was being shared. "No, pero piénsalo (think about it) What type of meat even is two dollars?" Epiphany expressed before shaking her head in disbelief, "No me importa que no sea Carnitas or Pernil. (I don't care what you say, it's not pork or pulled pork)"

"It's an unbeatable deal. Maybe not all pork but it's got some pork in it…somewhere." Mick defended, "Don't downplay Arbys, you ain't built for that type of flavor kid."

Epiphany scrunched up her nose, "Definitely not. That type of flavor will have you ending up in a grave or dead in some gas station toilet."

"That ain't ever happened," Mick replied.

"Not yet." She smirked.

"You're both taking this a lil too seriously." Rio laughed from the passenger seat.

"Like when Reyes Carnitas don't add extra jalapenos on your burger?" Mick muttered, giving his boss the side-eye. The trio continued to bicker, laugh, and roast one another's restaurant and food choices to Reyes Carnitas. Each of them ordered burgers with their preferred fixings and their conversation switched to MMA fights. Epiphany discovered that Mick was a pretty cool guy who was funny in his way. She figured he was the strong silent type but in a non-work setting, he was laidback and quick with comebacks to roasts or opinions. She couldn't help but admire the Brotherhood he and Rio shared. They were more than boss and employee which was nice to get a glimpse of. As the group finished their Coronas, Mick gave Epiphany a head nod goodbye before he and Rio smacked hands. The man left in a separate black Mercedes that had been parked in the restaurant's parking lot.

Rio checked his watch before looking at Epiphany, "You ready to go, champ?" he asked. And once she nodded the pair left the shop. His hand rested against her lower back causing goosebumps to form across her skin. As she climbed into the passenger seat of the truck, her face grew hot at the feeling of his hand smacking against her ass. "Los jalapeños te pesaron!(the jalapenos got you heavy-handed)" she teased and the two shared a laugh.

"Where are we going?" She asked as she filed her nails during the drive.

"You'll see when we get there," he replied shortly.

"Are you taking me somewhere to end me for getting snappy with your old lady?" Epiphany teased as she looked over at him.

"Ha! You got jokes huh?" Rio laughed into his fist as he slouched back in his seat. His laugh could cure even the saddest of people. It was contagious.

"Too many sometimes," She replied with a grin.

The posh country club was the last place she expected Rio to spend his free time. It was far out of her league and looked every bit like a place Elon Musk would attend. The fresh scent of oak trees filled the air; that no doubt had been meticulously placed across the acres of well-structured land that could be seen from the high gates. Epiphany felt so underdressed in her attire. But she didn't let her discomfort show. Instead, she left her jacket in the car and walked in beside him with her head held high. His hand resting against her back gave her a sense of reassurance and a boost of confidence. Epiphany remained close by his side with a tight grip on the strap of her Chanel mini-flap purse. "Hello Mr.Cruz, Pleasure to see you again," greeted the man at the front desk as Rio checked in. His attention then shifted to Epiphany and he smiled at her "Hello, enjoy your afternoon."

"Hi, thank you." Epiphany replied politely. Once she and Rio were out of earshot, she teased"Cruz huh? One more piece solved in the mystery." He grinned slyly as he removed his Nike duffle bag from his shoulder to his hand. As he looked down at her through his dark lashes and amber eyes, he cracked a smile at the corner of his lips. "Two pieces…since I didn't take you for a golfer." she poked fun further. Her breathing started to get unsteady as he tilted his head down and leaned in closer to her. Nose to nose, chest to chest. Her eyes caught the glimmer of the diamond stud in the corner of his nose.

"I don't play golf," He whispered an inch from her lips. He sealed his words with a delicate kiss to her lips that made her mind go hazy. She felt a flutter in her stomach like a butterfly spreading its wings, "If you wanna know something darlin, all you gotta do is ask." he said in a low tone after his lips parted from hers.

With an inaudible exhale she opened her eyes and asked, "What's your name? All of it."

"Christopher Lorenzo Cruz." he smiled.

Something so simple held much weight to it. His sharing of those details with her required a certain level of trust. A layer of one of the many walls he built had been knocked down.

"That's attractive." Epiphany blurted out which earned her an amused chuckle from Christopher.

"Thank you. Keep it to yourself at work though, Champ." He replied. As he earned a nod of agreement in response, he grinned "My girl, I gotta get changed but order whatever you'd like at the bar." And with that, he patted her shoulder and went into the singular changing room.

'Christopher Lorenzo Cruz' Epiphany repeated to herself a few times as she walked off to the bar, smiling.

Who knew watching a man play tennis could be seen as sexy? Well, it was indeed sexy. Epiphany watched Christoper from afar. She sucked the juice out of her Fuji apple as gazed at him. Her eyes rank him from top to bottom. He looked so delicious in his cream-colored club polo shirt and slightly baggy navy blue trousers. Her lips pursed against the flesh of the apple as the juice dripped down the sides of her lips and her eyes narrowed in on him. The sun buttered his tanned skin and the beads of sweat that trickled down the sides of his face gave his skin a luminous glow. She couldn't but admire how quick on his feet he was.

His opponent, an Asian woman who looked no older than sixty. As soon as the two stopped their game and shook hands, Epiphany raised her brow as she noticed four Asian men dressed in black walking their way. The men exchanged handshakes with Christopher and handed him a black envelope. The meat of the apple crunched in her as Epiphany watched him open it and a sly smirk fell to his lips. What contents were in the envelope itched her mind. But curiosity killed the cat so she didn't dwell on those thoughts for too long. Feeling eyes on him, Christopher looked up to the balcony. Epiphany had blew him a kiss to which he waved back to in response. He then stuffed the envelope into his jogger's pocket before jogging off the tennis court. Epiphany and Christopher didn't reunite until a few minutes later. He came out in a fresh Adidas tracksuit and they'd shared coffee on the balcony. "Yo, have you tried the lemon cheesecake yet? It's dope-"

He was interrupted by Epiphany brushing her hand along his thigh. Her thumb pressed down against his crotch and rubbed her fingers along his length. She leaned in close to him from across her seat, "I'd rather have you," she whispered before placing a kiss to the side of his cheek. The sharp stubble of his facial hair tickled her skin. The warmth of his breath sent tingles down the side of her neck as he chuckled in her ear. His hand grasped at the back of her neck, the edge of his nose brushed against the side of her cheek, "So, how you want it mama."

"Surprise me." She challenged with a smirk and lewd glint in her eyes.

Epiphany hadn't expected to be brought to Christopher's apartment. She honestly thought he would take her to a hotel or do her in the country club showers, but she wasn't complaining. The moment she stepped into his loft apartment, The warm scent of bergamot and honey hit her. Despite the minimalist-industrial aesthetic of his place that consisted of black, brown, and various hints of the shade of honey; the place had a lived-in comfort to it. Casual elegance with an amazing view of the city. But, she had only gotten that view for the five minutes that it took to take off her shoes and coat; before she snatched up into his arms.

So swift like a fox capturing its prey. One of his arms had wrapped around her waist, pulling her into his chest with a firm grip. So close that she could feel his heartbeat against her chest. Their bodies seemed almost made for each other with how in tune they were. Their tongues melt into one another's mouths. They spoke of her admiration for one another with their tongues rather than their words. Her legs slid up the sides of his body as Epiphany leaped onto him. Her hands grasped on his shoulders as his mouth indulged in hers. Enough to pull a gasp from her mouth. Kissing against each other hard with lingering kisses that left saliva dripping down their chins. The same hands that broke many bones now squeezed and caressed her ass with the same iron grip from underneath her skirt. The flimsy material of her rose-pink panties was torn off and discarded onto the floor along with her skirt. Just as she bunched up the crewneck and tugged it off his slender frame. Both of them left a trail of clothing down the dark hallway to the door of Christopher's room. The whole city skyline of Detroit was their audience from the surrounding glass of his bedroom.

"Por Favor ruin me Papíto," Epiphany begged him as he bit at her neck. The weight of his body pressed down into hers as she sank into the cloud-like mattress. Her hips desperately buckled up against his, " I miss you inside me," she shamelessly admitted as he kissed her all over her neck and breasts. His hot tongue lapped over her hardened brown nipple with a soft bite. Epiphany couldn't help to be greedy and needy, she grasped his long-length dick in her hand. 'Coñyo, his dick is so pretty.' she thought to herself as she stroked him with her fingers, admiring his smoothness. An ache in between her thighs made her feel every inch of it stuff her full. How they'd managed to get it all to fit inside her the first time was sheer luck and endorphins bliss. Carefully, appreciating every inch with a warm grip as their lips met once more. His hands caressed her neck, tracing her jaw as they kissed. Epiphany almost squirted on his sheets from the animalistic, Nearly lion-like groan that escaped from the back of his throat to her lips.

"Aw, que te pasa amor? Can't wait?" Christopher chuckled deeply against her lips followed by his tongue trailing along her neck. His hand covered hers as he guided the head of his cock along her slit; nudging at her clit. Her soft, needy moans were music to his ears. For a moment, just for a single moment in time...he needed to look at her. His warm hand grasped her jaw and neck, "Look at me Mamitá." His gold Cuban link dangled an inch from her chest. Christopher basked in her loveliness as their dark eyes stared into one another. A subtle smirk laid across his lips.

Nothing but their shallow breaths could be heard in the room. Epiphany suddenly grew nervous. Gulping as he edged in closer. This sinister look in his eyes made her clit throb like a second heartbeat. "Por favor," she pleaded with her big eyes. Her pleas were answered but not how she expected. His strength was the way he managed to flip and bend her over onto her stomach and knees with little to no hassle. Like he owned her. And he did. Epiphany arched her back like a cat as his palms slipped down her sides. She let out a sultry moan filled with glee the moment he plunged all eight inches of his length in its entirety into her soaked pussy. Her drenched center hugged his fatty length tightly. The filled feeling he provided made her pupils widen as that familiar endorphin high that cocaine usually provided was now replaced with an even harder hit of bliss.

This time the feeling was mutual. This was some quickie in a bad bathroom or a drunken hotel hook-up. This was Christopher's dessert after a long day. The essence of 'Feng shui' lay between her lips. He stroked her deeply causing a stretch within her opening. His hips rolled off her plump and perky ass. Mounting over her tanned body with his own, He held her throat firmly in his hand with a firmer hold each time he ravenously jack-hammered Jack into her cunt that adorned his cock with thick, and warm, layers of her sweet nectar. Her pussy grew wetter around his length, taking him and swallowing him whole. Sending body-jolting shockwaves through their bodies and shaky breaths to release from both their mouths. Christopher's brows knitted together in fascination at the sight of her maroon-reddened cunt clenching around his shaft. A sense of arrogance ignited within him over the fact he was the sole reason for her eagerness, her downright need for his dick, the way her body curled up against him, and the muffled moans that came out her pretty mouth were a confidence-boosting sight.

His body slipped off of her then he sat upright on his knees, spreading her asscheeks apart to reveal her sloppily soaked pussy. Glistening messily around his cock "Que lindá, that is the prettiest pussy I've ever seen mamitá," he smirked with a rough smack to her ass with both of his hands. He couldn't help but to palm at her soft skin as it jiggled against his palms, He then relentlessly pounded into her center of heat, working her wet folds open wider with the erratic, deep, thrusts that caused her to cry out. Lewd, squishing noises of their skin rubbing and bouncing off one another bounced off the windows.

Christopher's cock was so deep that Epiphany could feel the pressure of his thrusts in the center of her chest. Heat rushed to her cheeks and the back of her neck as she clawed at his black sheets, "Fuck! A-aah fuck!" she nearly hated him. Hated how alive he made her feel. He knew every nerve to hit. Every beat, every tempo. He knew it all in a matter of moments. Like an animal eating her from the inside out he ruined her. He controlled her body with his stronghold to her waist; yanking her back so that she couldn't squirm away from the ravenous rath of his dick plunging into her pussy to split her open wider. The once tight muscles loosened and stretched like violin strings being strung. His relentless thrusts had turned to affectionate, sensual strokes that massaged the depths of her throbbing core. Every half a minute he'd pull his long length out and fuck into her with one rough thrust that hit the core of her bundle of nerves. And lord, it made the dancer sob loudly "Shh I know Mamita, I know." His deep voice comforted, sounding as refined as aged whiskey, "Ábrete más para mí, dame un poco de tu azúcar, amor." with a rough smack to her ass. As if her body only worked on his command, Epiphany's hips shook violently causing her knees to dig deep into the mattress the moment that she messily came. Cumming felt like she had jumped off the edge of the highest mountain and dove straight into an ocean. Nothing but air filled her lungs, her chest tightened, and behind her closed lids she saw stars. Sharp needles and pins shot through her nervous system. Her soul smiled. Her hot skin felt cool.

She slowly was brought back to life as he left love bites on her shoulders, back, and all the down to the top of her ass. His teeth sank into the smooth flesh of her left chest, biting her tenderly and then leaving hot, sloppy wet kisses in its place. Christopher was greedy, intimately greedy when he had something worth possessing. Worth fucking, adoring, worshipping, etc. Someone that he just clicked with, without words needing to be involved. The peak of heaven he brought her to didn't stop when she adorned his dick with her sweet nectar. Time slowed down in that moment and all he focused on was her. Riding out that Tsunami wave with her was the only goal. His tall frame overlapped her petite one, Epiphany felt his warm, sweaty skin against her back. She couldn't help but hold on tight to the side of his thigh, digging her nails into his skin for stability from his thrusts."C-chris…Chris mm-papí I can't," she whined and whimpered. Beads of sweat dripping down the sides of her face caused her dark hair to cling to the sides of her face, neck, and breasts. 'This is it, I'm gonna die' was all Epiphany could think as she blabbed protests between her moans. The crown of his cock continuously rubbed against her most sensitive spot and the rest of his length rocked hungrily into her wetness at a frantic pace that made her heart race.

His open-mouthed kisses against the side of her face felt like fire; with his fingers tangled in her hair. Gripping at it by the root with a firm tug that caused her head to tilt back, “ Sí, You can take it,” Sound of smacking flesh and his balls bouncing off of her skin echoed amongst their shared groans and cries. Drilling into her at an unrelenting tempo, massaging the deepest spots of her walls a sensual yet sinister tempo caused Christopher's jaw to tightly clench and eyebrows to crease. Her dripping cunt was in a perfect sink with his throbbing cock until both of their bodies shuddered. "Coñyo!" they both loudly groaned as they reached their peak. Both of their hearts stopped for two seconds and their world halted. Like an LSD trip; the stresses, tensions, and annoyance of reality and all ordinary consciousness functions were demolished and nothing but a weightless ease took over. The miracle of the naked existence of the sacred ritual of sex that brings out the essence of serenity was shared between them at that moment. Epiphany was filled with his seed that felt like she was filled with the warmth of the sun. Neither of them could move an inch. Far too busy basking in the frequency that buzzed between their bodies.

Two things Epiphany was sure about after that. One, he had high-quality dope. And the second, he had a higher quality dick. A sugary, tropical fruity aroma filled the air of his bathroom. Premo-grade Mary Jane straight from Cameroon was passed between the two of them in a skull-shaped bong. The two were seated on the floor of his black-marble step-in shower. Epiphany had her head rested against his shoulder as warm water sprinkled down their bodies. The 'mist' setting of his shower head allowed a nice sprinkle without the heaviness of being drenched. "I'm gonna steal the skull, sorry in advance," She said. Earning a chuckle from Christopher.

"You know people usually don't say what they're gonna steal," He passed the bong her way.

"Mhmm, well…it's either this or that very pretty gold clock on the nightstand." Epiphany replied, which caused him to shake his head. That infectious smile of his made her swoon.

"Nah, need that for business." he dismissed.

"Oh?" she turned her head and faced him with a coy smirk, "What's a pencil-pushing businessman need with a gun? Gold plated at that." she teased. Christopher side-eyed her before the two shared a chuckle. He the. reached his hand over and grasped her jaw before his lips softly pressed against hers. Slowly, sensually, and carefully their lips moved against one another. Playfully, he then bit at her bottom lip before pulling away to rasp,

"To keep you in line."

@lovedlover @niaaalovesficton @darqchilddaydreamz @nobodygetsza @spaghettificationandpretzels @fvckthisbxtchup

#theesirenteller fanfic #theesirentellerstories #rio; dealer fanfic #rio good girls x oc #rio good girls fanfiction #rio gg #fuck beth boland #rio good girls #good girls nbc #manny montana fanfiction #manny montana #Christopher good girls #Rio good girls smut #manny montana character smut

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thatsmzbitchtoyou · 6 months ago

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The Fuck Up Chapter 4

Summary: Bucky fucked up. A few times. Will his best friend ever be able to forgive him?

Warnings: language, smut, mentions of war, injury, pregnancy

Previous chapter Next chapter

Becca scoured the internet, trying to think of anything that could help her find Y/N. She searched local records and tried to find state records to see if her name would pop up anywhere. As she scrolled through her Pinterest one day she had an epiphany. She went to Y/N’s deactivated Pinterest page and looked at her username. It was a play on the nickname “honey” Bucky had given her and her favorite band. Becca started typing things in the search bar of her browser with that username or a mix of the two until a website popped up. It was a photography studio that looked like it had been started a few years ago, but its contents had picked up in the last ten months. Becca looked through the pictures then froze, gasping at one picture in particular.

It was a baby. A newborn baby with a full head of dark brown hair and bright blue eyes and Bucky’s nose. Becca stared at it, reading the short caption below it that just said: Avi. Becca looked for the contact information on the site and copied the email address. She made a new email under a different name and sent an email to the address asking about setting up a meeting to discuss pricing and ideas for a family portrait. She got a reply about twenty minutes later, and set up a meeting the following day.

Becca drove an hour away to the address the person gave her on the email. When she arrived she saw a small house that looked like one of the dream homes that Y/N had on her Pinterest and dream boards. She went up to the door, knocking firmly and waiting. She turned away from the door as she heard footsteps walking up to it on the other side, afraid of what she might see.

“Hello! You must be—” Becca whipped around to see Y/N standing there. Y/N gasped, her eyes widening and her body tensing. “Becca.”

“Y/N!” Becca cried and flung herself at her, hugging her tight. “We’ve been looking for you. Why did you…” she pulled away and held Y/N’s face, who looked like she was in shock. “I know what happened the night before Bucky left. He was such an idiot. But Mom and Dad and I have been worried sick wondering where you were. You’re family, you can’t just up and disappear—”

A baby cry came from inside the house, snapping Y/N out of her stupor and she closed her eyes as the crying continued. Becca froze at the sound. “Come in. I need to go get him,” Y/N instructed and turned back inside the house. Becca did as she said and walked in, closing the door behind her and looking around as Y/N moved to the side where a hallway led to some bedrooms. She went into one bedroom where Becca heard her speak softly. “Hey now, little man, what’s the problem?” Y/N came out just a few moments later holding a baby that must have been about a month old.

“You…you have a baby,” Becca said.

“Yes,” Y/N said as she walked past her to the kitchen on the other side of the house, opening the fridge and grabbing a bottle.

“And it’s your baby?”

“Yes.”

“And he’s…a month old?”

“He will be in three days,” Y/N said, putting the bottle in the baby’s mouth, his little whimpers dying down as he ate.

“Is he…Bucky’s?” Becca finally asked, though already knowing the answer.

Y/N breathed deeply before looking back up at her. “Yes.” She walked over to Becca and moved so she could see him. “This is Avriel James Barnes. Avi for short.” She looked down at the baby and cooed at him. “This is your auntie Becca.”

Becca’s tears flowed freely as she held a finger out to Avi and caressed his soft, tiny hand. “Hey. Hey little guy,” she whispered. “He’s beautiful.”

“Thank you,” Y/N said, giving Becca a small smile.

They both sat on the couch in the living room. “Do you want to feed him?” Y/N asked.

“Yeah, can I?” Becca asked. Y/N nodded and moved Avi into her arms, helping her get into a position comfortable enough to hold him and feed him. Becca stared down at him. “Why didn’t you tell us?” she whispered, sniffing hurriedly. “We would have helped you. We would have supported you.”

“I know,” Y/N said quietly, looking away. “I just…after he left without saying goodbye I couldn’t face anyone. I understand why he did it the way he did, I just couldn’t do it again. Writing the letters, doing the weekly family phone calls, waiting to hear if he’d made it another week. He promised me he was done, and he lied,” she stopped, fighting back the lump in her throat. “So I kept my distance from everybody. I needed a break. But then I started to feel off, and I realized we hadn’t been smart that night.” She laughed bitterly. “It was just so spur of the moment, we weren’t thinking. I got tested and…here he is,” she gestured toward Avi.

Becca nodded. “I get it. But, we miss you,” she said, looking at Y/N pitifully. “Mom has been freaking out, Dad’s always looking so dejected. Bucky is beating himself up real bad about how he handled it. And I’ve missed my friend. I don’t expect you to come home but…”

Y/N sniffed as a few tears of her own fell. She wiped them quickly. “He fucked up. I fucked up. It’s all just a really fucked up situation,” she chuckled. “I planned on telling him, but I didn’t want to distract him while he was out there.”

“Can I tell everyone?” Becca asked as Avi finished the bottle. She pulled him up to burp him as she looked pleadingly at Y/N. “Just to put their minds at ease.”

Y/N looked hesitant but nodded. “Yes please. And depending on how he reacts, you can give Bucky my information and he can reach out when he’s ready.”

Becca smiled wide, nodding enthusiastically.

“I found her,” Becca announced later that night.

“Y/N?” George asked, Winifred gasping and Bucky standing up from the couch.

“Where is she? Is she okay?” Bucky asked, his eyes widening as he walked toward her.

“Buck, sit down and let me explain,” she instructed. He frowned but sat back down and waited. Becca sat across from them all and took a deep breath. “She’s fine. After you left she said she needed a break. She was upset and just needed some time, and moved about an hour away from here. Then she found out that she was pregnant.”

Bucky felt like he was going to throw up. He thought back to their night together and realized that they hadn’t protected themselves. It had all been so unplanned, so passionate, that it hadn’t even crossed his mind. He let out a shuddered breath as he felt his mind short circuit. Winifred and George were speechless next to him.

“She gave birth about a month ago,” Becca said, watching Bucky intently. Bucky looked back at her, his eyes filling with unshed tears. “It’s a boy,” she said, looking at him with a small smile on her face. “She named him Avriel. Avi for short.”

Bucky broke down, his tears spilling over as he hung his head in his hands. Winifred held him, whispering soothing words to him as George reached over and put a hand on his knee. Becca moved toward him, kneeling in front of him. “She didn’t tell anyone because she wanted to handle it, she didn’t want to be a burden, and she didn’t want to distract you while you were out there.” Bucky shook his head, crying harder thinking of the fact that Y/N had been alone the whole time, going through a pregnancy and then giving birth by herself with no one there to help or support her. “He’s beautiful, Buck. Look,” Becca pulled out her phone and held up a picture to him. Bucky and his parents gazed at the picture of the baby, curled up in Becca’s arms. He looked like a carbon copy of Bucky, and he took the phone from her and stared at the picture, a small smile lighting up his face.

“Y/N is still angry, but she wants to see you. She says you deserve to know and be a part of his life if you want. She wants all of us,” she looked at him and their parents, “to be a family again. But we need to take it slow and do this right.”

“Please,” Bucky said as his finger grazed the baby in the picture. “Tell me where they are.”

Becca gave him a small smile and took her phone back and texted him Y/N’s contact information. “Text her, don’t call, and see when you can come over.”

Bucky nodded as he received the text and stared at her name on the screen. He contacted her there and then, with his parents watching him:

Y/N? It’s Bucky. Can I please come see you?

He waited until three dots popped up.

Yes. Tomorrow at 3?

Ok. See you then.

#marvel #smut #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #series fanfic #chapter 4 #buckywiththelonghair #soldier!bucky barnes #marine!bucky barnes

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siconetribal · 8 months ago

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Put It On My Tab: Chapter 8

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!reader

Tag: @vbecker10 @wordsfromshona @harlequin-hangout @harpy-space @tild3ath @gone-batty-fics @princessbl0ss0m @dakotali

Warning: Epiphanies, violence, crime fighting, and staffing issues

Summary:

Everyone deserves time off, and the vigilantes of Gotham are no exception to the rule. The boys decide to take a weekend to let loose. Who knew a few drinks would lead to a stranger in bed?

Author Note:

Sorry about the delay, I wasn't sure on where to go with the story for some time, and health problems started popping up more and more. Things are still hectic, but hopefully manageable.

Personal matters aside, I hope you all continue to enjoy. Thank you for all your support always.

A big shout-out to my friend who is a manager of a facility much like Citlalli. How you handle the various incidents that you do with such grace is inspiring.

A huge thank you and shout out to @harlequin-hangout for the amazing banners you made for me.

If you’re new to the story, here is a link to the other parts:

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7

It was moments like these that reminded him of the benefits of wearing his red helmet. The contents of his head remained intact and inside his skull at all times..

Holy shit, she was the barista at the counter! Red Hood quickly got back up onto his feet, bobbing to dodge a hook before grabbing the bigger guy's sleeve, yanking the guy forward to grab his head. A sickening crunch followed by a cry of pain was satisfaction to the vigilante’s ears. The lumbering giant fell to his knees, holding his face. “It wasn’t that bad,” he scoffed, waiting for his opponent to get back up. The clang of metal was all he heard before watching the crook fall face-first into the pavement. “Now that, that would be pretty bad.” He shrugged, looking up at Nightwing. “You know I had him, right?”

“Is that what you call being plowed into a brick wall? I swear, the lingo of the youth these days.” The elder Robin ran a gloved hand through his hair, looking down at the unconscious bodies littered around. “Two, four, I think that’s all of them.” He nudged his foot into the one on his right, watching the body roll over.

“Looks like it. Now we just gotta wrap ‘em up and drop ‘em off for the cops.” Red Hood motioned towards the street with his head. “I guess today wasn’t a total waste.” He muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. Dammit, I can’t believe I didn’t notice it sooner! This could’ve all been nicely packed and solved, stupid, stupid, stupid! He berated himself as they dragged the culprits to one of the nearby working lamp posts, tying them up. Clearly finding some Jane Doe of Gotham was not as easy as he thought, especially when he looked right at her and failed to realize it. His pride as a detective was bruised to a point that he was not sure if it would ever be restored. No way in hell I’m telling Grayson about that, I’ll really never hear the end of it. He glared at the guy with the broken nose. Once again, he was grateful that he wore a red helmet instead of a domino mask. His red cheeks and peeved expression was hidden to all except for himself as the two wrapped up for the evening.

Y/N lay crumpled and slouched on the old sofa of their apartment, exhausted and defeated. How many weeks had it been since all this started? How many more were left? She had just paid the first installment of the bill, a glorious moment, until she saw the damage to her bank account.

Life’s not fair, I get it, but this is cruel and unusual! She sighed for the umpteenth time, sinking into the old cushions a little deeper. He had to have noticed her, there was no way her attempts at anonymity were successful. Not to mention, he literally caught me falling! Ah, then there’s the stroke of genius Cici had. Really, a victim of Joker laughing gas? Now he’s really going to think I’m insane and refuse to pay! Then again, maybe he’ll pity me enough and actually pay? He did leave a sizable tip between the two of us. She forced herself to sit up straight and crossed her legs.

“No, get it together! You need to talk to him and explain the situation. I’m sure we can come to a reasonable conclusion through proper discourse! We’re both adults, and he clearly has a savior/hero complex because he did help me at the bar. I’m sure he can be reasoned with when he’s not inebriated or asking a billion questions.” She nodded to herself. “The real issue is how do I find him and prove I’m not some nut case?” Her pursed lips slid side to side as she tried to figure out a method to meet up with him again.

Citlalli had suggested she just turn up at Wayne manor or Wayne Enterprises. It was a tempting option, but with her luck, Y/N had a feeling she was going to be labeled as the new arm candy of the billionaire playboy and that was nothing but trouble. The last thing either of them needed was a horde of paparazzi hounding them or breaking into their rickety apartment and potentially breaking whatever they got their hands on.

Was Bruce Wayne handsome? Yes, there was no denying that. But handsome hardly scratched the “worth it” surface. Just look at where she was stuck now thanks to one of his adopted children. No, good looks did not make things worth it, like Citlalli always said. It only made matters worse. “And triple-y so when a Wayne was involved.” She muttered. “What if he never returns to the coffee shop? It’s been a whole month since then and nada!” She threw her hands up in frustration and slouched on the couch once more. “Doesn’t help that Arkham_Knight has been MIA, too! None of the quests are as fun without him. But he did say he’s going to be out of town or something about no gaming access. I wonder if kicking Wonder Boy’s butt is still on the table if he knew who he was.” It was so very tempting to just give in to the siren call, but she knew better than that. For starters, it would ruin the dynamic between the two of them and one or both of them would end up in jail for attacking a trust fund kid like him.

Her thoughts were broken by the clatter of her phone vibrating on the coffee table. Grabbing the device, she hit the green button on the outdated device. “Hey Cici, what’s up?”

“Hey chica, where are you right now?”

“At the apartment, sprouting on the couch like a potato, why?”

“Can you help me out, pretty please?” Y/N could hear the batting of her lashes through the phone.

“Hmmm, I dunno, I do have a pretty tight schedule between germination, wallowing in my financial crater, and staring out into the darkness.” Y/N tucked the phone between her shoulder and ear as she made her way into the kitchen. “What’s up?”

“Oh, woe is you, so busy.” Citlalli scoffed. “Anyway, I really need your help! I just got word that Ryan had asked Stacy to cover his shift and she agreed. Neither of them confirmed that he would be taking up her shift today, and he's saying that he asked her but never agreed to pick up from her. Yes, it's stupid, and I’m going to have to sit these over privileged brats down and explain to them how swapping shifts work again. But, that's not the point! I need someone in today and I thought you may want to pick up some hours to save up faster. Are you able to?”

“Yeah, ok, I’ll head in. Thanks for the chance, I really appreciate it. You don’t worry your little curly head about this and just enjoy the weekend away with your family. Send me any open shifts, and I’ll cover where I can, cool?”

“Miha, you’re a lifesaver! Thank you so much!” Citllali quickly dissolved into heaps of praises and prayers in Spanish out of sheer relief before she finally hung up the call and texted the information.

Another Saturday night shift left unmanned because why would they honor the hours they said they'd work? Not like I can complain though, I’m hitting overtime now and that means more money for me to get these payments over with. She made her way down the narrow hallway to her bedroom, quickly getting changed into a simple black tee and jeans, with the café apron tucked away into her backpack as she locked up behind herself.

The shift had started out busy, the store filled with students and professionals burning the night oil fueled by caffeine and pastries. But as the hours slowly ticked by, the number of in-store customers dwindled down alongside the drive-thru patrons. The moon was now up in place of the sun, and no one really dared to be out too late in this part of Gotham. Only the foolish and desperate, like herself, remained at work because the company insisted on a 24-hour shop to help spruce the town.

Did she want to be out here at night? No. Was being at home in the apartment alone any better? No. At least there was surveillance here. Any trouble that could happen would be recording, and she would be safe, sort of. Shrugging off self-preservation, Y/N began to sweep the floors to pass the time. It was better than standing at the counter waiting for no one to come in. It was another dead night, nothing serious was going to happen.

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haptronym · 4 months ago

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Okay, I’ve been quietly enjoying MHA as it finished up. The fixation has waned and I’m generally not obsessed enough anymore to put the effort into making more fanworks. But it seems like I have a few beehives left to kick before I move on. On this episode: I got set off by this industrial-level optimism and am going to rant about misleading story shortcuts.

(Spoilers for the end of the manga.)

There's a very common phenomenon that crops up in stories everywhere. A character goes though an experience obviously meant to Teach A Profound Lesson. The character gives a wrenching speech about how they're so changed now. And then... they go right back to doing the exact same shit they were doing before. The story writes "THEY'RE DIFFERENT NOW! DOESN'T THIS FEEL SATISFYING?" on the character's forehead in big block letters, but doesn't bother to follow through. It just hopes that people will do exactly what that post does: i.e. not think very hard and pretend it’s what actually happened.

MHA does this a lot. And Izuku and All Might are both poster children for this phenomenon.

The post I linked at the top is not an example of amazing character development. It is extremely awkward proof that neither of these main characters have meaningfully changed at all. I’m also going to go on a brief tangent and argue that their behavior has absolutely nothing to do with quirklessness because the narrative itself has not given a flying fuck about quirklessness since chapter 1.

Let's start with Izuku. At the beginning of the series, his greatest dream was to be a hero. But he did nothing to achieve it. He muttered and he scribbled in a few notebooks. No training, no real effort. And then he was ready to just give up completely after talking with All Might. All Might had to chase him down and dump a miracle intervention into his lap before he finally put forth any real effort.

And at the end of the series, once Izuku lost the last of his embers, he... apparently gave up again, became a schoolteacher, and spent his days spouting cope so lame that even other teachers didn’t believe it. It seems obvious he was not truly satisfied, but we weren’t told he did anything to change his fate. He just sat around complacently, for eight years, until All Might once again swooped down and shoved a second Deus ex Machina into his hands.

Oh, and did he have a whole arc about how he shouldn’t run off alone and try to do everything himself? He should rely on the help of his friends? That’s cute. Well, anyway, he’s going to run off alone for his final fight until his friends chase him down, again.

Contrast how Izuku learned to be not so reliant on All Might's guidance. That was very cool, and most importantly, it had consequences - it got him to learn kicky kick instead of punchy punch and triggered many of the events of the Dark Hero arc. But man, it was a pretty minor epiphany for a main character carrying an entire series on his back.

I like Izuku! He's a great character. I think it's cool and realistic that he defies the typical gung-ho overcome-every-obstacle Shonen stereotype. But it’s clear he didn’t change very much over the course of the series.

And All Might? Man.

All Might sees and learns a lot of things during the story. Many of his assumptions are, seemingly, challenged. But in his badass final fight, does he show any indication that he's learned anything new over the course of the series? Any proof that he's changed as a person? Anything at all? He runs off to fight alone, like he always has. He (apparently) doesn't even tell anyone he had the suit up his sleeve! So much for working together and sharing burdens with others. "I thought your quirks were cool so I copied them for my secret robot suit lol" hardly seems like a meaningful act of connecting with those around him. And has he learned anything from watching Izuku's heartbreaking unnecessary self-sacrifice? Not according to his suicide-bomb attempt. He’s only saved by the bad guy's overpowering urge to monologue.

"But but but he learned that you can still be a hero despite being quirkless!!!" Here's the problem: All Might never says Izuku can't be a hero without a quirk. Here's what he actually says:

What does he give Izuku at the beginning of the series? Power. What does he give Izuku at the end of the series? Power, after letting Izuku stew for eight whole years. (What a swell dude. What a dad!) It is the exact same scenario.

Yes, at the beginning, he used the shorthand of quirklessness = no power, and by the end, he's eager to hand out Iron Man suits. Believe me, I wish this change happened because he struggled with his deep-seated feelings of inferiority due to his latent quirklessness and finally learned that even the quirkless are inherently Worthy and Valid. But the way the story handled it, this "character development" boils down to "Oh, right, my buddy's kid can make rad support items!"

I've pointed out before that quirklessness showed up in chapter 1 as a cool story hook and then went out for cigarettes and never returned. We learn all about heteromorph discrimination but nothing about quirkless people, even in the movie about bad guys trying to eradicate all quirks! All the story's main conflicts are about strong vs. weak quirks, "good" vs. "bad" quirks... not quirks vs. non-quirks.

It doesn't matter to the characters either, to a truly bizarre degree. It gets dropped into Aoyama’s backstory to explain why AFO had power over him, but that’s about it. He even said it didn’t bother him as much as it bothered his obsessed-with-status parents. When Mirio is rendered quirkless... he might as well have torn his ACL. No existential grappling, no consoling speeches from Izuku or All Might, nothing besides Izuku briefly overthinking things and wanting to play quirk-hot-potato. And then Eri presses the undo button and nobody speaks about the issue again.

You'd think it would be a huge deal for born-quirkless Izuku and All Might. But they never talk about it. They never even think about it! They discuss it together for an entire two pages during the sports festival. It makes a surprise appearance in a single sentence in a single flashback of All Might's (which doesn't even make much sense... he says quirklessness means he "has no role"... after impressing Nana with the clear and detailed role he's invented for himself).

Its most important function is as a convoluted, unnecessary plot device explaining why Izuku and All Might were the most bestest OFA holders. Aside from the too-many-quirks-breaks-the-OFA-holder plot device, they could both have been born with unimpressive quirks and pretty much nothing would change about them, fundamentally, as people.

Even in the very last chapter, the part that's clearly reenacting the events of chapter 1... Izuku's mini-me symbolic stand-in is not a quirkless kid. He's just a kid with a weak quirk. You know, like 9/10 of Izuku's middle school class. The story doesn't even want to touch quirklessness in the callback to the scene where it mattered most! It treats it like an embarrassing promise it blurted out while blackout drunk that it wants to forget ever happened.

All Might still thinks of heroism in largely the same way. There are technically changes, but they’re all surface-level. He doesn’t go on about the ways you can be a hero by, say, using your huge influence and monetary resources for good. No, you’ve gotta have power. It could have been poignant that he expanded his definition of “power” from “quirk” to “cool technogadget,” but the story didn’t explore that. Izuku pays some lip service to the idea of alternate versions of heroism in the last chapter, but as soon as he gets the opportunity, he ditches his school job to go do real hero work.

If anything, All Might’s biggest character development comes from understanding that his legacy will live on. His dream won’t die with him. The many lights of his students now burn bright with his inspiration and will see his work continued.

But this realization is not tied to his quirklessness, and does not really affect his definition of heroism. And once again... no concrete evidence of change. Partially because the ending rushes past like a runaway freight train, but still.

This issue isn’t exclusive to All Might and Izuku. I’ve seen a lot of criticism thrown at MHA as a whole because this pattern has repeated over and over and over everywhere. Lots of poignant speeches and gripping scenes, and then the world and the characters just traipse on as if nothing happened.

After a lifetime of watching cartoons... I find it hard to get upset when serialized comics do things like this. It’s a bit like getting upset at episodic cartoons for resetting to the status quo every episode, or dinging a children's show for oversimplifying good and evil (MHA fandom: take note of this, too). Sure, there are story formats, like novels, that ought to have a well-thought-out, meaningful progression from start to finish. But that is overwhelmingly not what you’re going to get with stuff like Shonen Jump stories, where authors have to sacrifice story integrity for a million different reasons, like merch tie-ins or fluctuating character popularity or trying to ensure a high view count so they don’t get dropped. (Hi, eighteen billion explosion cliffhangers! You’re still stupid!) It is really, really hard to make a coherent story under conditions like these. I want to believe that everyone is trying their best.

But I still think it’s very important to at least be aware when this attempted switcheroo is happening. We should not let ourselves get fooled when someone goes "Yep! Lesson learned!" We need to remember that actions speak louder than words.

It's almost inevitable that certain genres, like this one, are going to take these shortcuts. It's a bit pointless to spike one's blood pressure getting mad about it. But it's still always important to pay attention. And then go write nice fanfic where things have actually changed.

#toshinori yagi #izuku midoriya #bnha #mha spoilers #hap pops off about meta-narrative

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mads-weasley · 1 year ago

Text

Epiphany Pt. 1: Enchanted

Lewis Nixon x Reader

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

A/N: heyyy guys! i've decided to start a lewis nixon series!! and yes, the chapter titles are all taylor swift songs. i'm super excited to post this first chapter! please enjoy and let me know what you think! hbo owns the rights, and this is about the fictional portrayal of easy company on the show. nothing but love and respect for veterans on this blog!

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: Arriving at Camp Toccoa to join Easy Company, (y/n) (y/l/n), a participant in a new WAC program, has her first encounter with the men of Easy.

It was a hot and unbearable day under the Georgia sun when (y/n) (y/l/n) arrived at Camp Toccoa. She tried to ignore the looks she got from the men as she rumbled by in a jeep, but what she couldn’t ignore was the rambling of her driver.

“Hi,” he introduced, glancing over at her. “The name’s Lorraine. Well, it’s Gerald, but everyone calls me Lorraine.”

She shot him a kind smile. “Nice to meet you, Gerald. (Y/n) (y/l/n). I’m part of the Athena program.

“I haven’t heard of that.”

“Well,” (y/h/c) began. “it’s a new part of the WAC that’s sending a few women into the Army as a sort of trial run for the future.”

A look of disbelief passed over his face before he reigned it in quickly. “What made you want to join up, then?”

“Well, who wouldn’t after Pearl Harbor?” She asked, wiping sweat from her forehead.

Lorraine simply nodded and kept his eyes on the road, almost as if he was contemplating a woman’s place in war. To (y/n)’s relief, he chose to keep his conclusion to himself. Vest turned down another long dirt road that seemed to lead directly to the base of a mountain she assumed was the famous Curahee. With a deep breath, (y/n) silently prayed she had the strength to prove to him and everyone else that women belonged in the army; that she belonged.

The morning after Sobel’s canteen tirade, Winters and Nixon were in line for breakfast in the mess hall, trying to figure out what to do about their CO.

“So, what did you do?” Lew asked, walking toward an empty table. There were times when he was thankful he was in intelligence instead of with the rest of the men, and most were because of the hell Sobel put them through.

Dick trailed him with a sigh. “Picked six men and gave them latrine duty.”

“The lucky six?”

“McDonald, Toye, Perconte, Lipton, Muck, and Guarnere,” he stated, sitting across from Lew.

“Why them?”

“It was their turn.”

Nix chuckled, looking down at his messy food in thought. It was his job to know things, and he happened to hear about a controversial topic flowing down the ranks. “Hey, have you heard about the new WAC program integrating women into the Army?”

“I’m glad you mentioned it. Our own Athena participant should be arriving at 16:00.”

Lew’s head shot up. “In Easy?”

“Yep.”

Lew didn’t have anything against women in the military but also didn’t know how the men would handle it. “What do you think about it?”

“Well,” Dick began, putting down his utensils softly. “I’m trying to have an open mind, but I’m worried about some of the men.”

Nix nodded and took a sip of coffee with a smirk. “We’ll just have to wait and see, then.”

Little did he know that later that day, his life would change forever.

Lorraine and (y/n) arrived at Colonel Sink’s office a few minutes after 16:00, and the woman was almost sick to her stomach with anxiety. While Lorraine was inside informing Sink of their arrival, she tried to calm herself down. All she wanted was to make an excellent first impression on the Colonel and her superiors.

Lorraine returned and ushered her into the small building serving as Sink’s quarters. (Y/n) followed him down a hallway to a single office room. He nodded and closed the door behind her once she entered. The woman turned and raised her hand to salute him.

“Ah, Miss (y/l/n),” Sink called, words dripping with his North Carolina drawl as he held his hand out. “At ease. Welcome to Camp Toccoa.”

She shook it firmly, praying he overlooked their clamminess. “Thank you, sir. I’m happy to be here.”

Sink gestured for her to sit as he took a seat at his desk, which was neatly arranged in piles of folders and other stationery. “When I first heard about the Athena Project, I didn’t know what to think. My wife was the one who showed me that women have the same right to serve their country as us men. She’s a modern Abigail Adams if you understand my meaning.”

“Yes sir,” (y/n) replied.

He interlocked his fingers above the desk. “If I may ask, what made you volunteer for the program?”

“Well, sir,” she spoke softly, willing her voice to stay strong. “My brother was stationed on the Arizona at Pearl Harbor. He was 20. I couldn’t let the opportunity to follow his footsteps pass by.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Thank you for your family’s sacrifice.”

(Y/n) wanted to respond, but her throat seemed to close up on her. Unable to answer, she nodded stiffly, willing the tears from her waterline.

He noticed her distress and cleared his throat suddenly. “Let’s get to it, shall we? You’ll be in Easy Company of the 101st Airborne. You won’t get any special treatment, but we’ll try to accommodate you as much as possible.”

The door scraped open behind (y/n), and she resisted looking back at the newcomer. The footsteps sounded like a single person, and she hoped they wouldn’t catch on to her moment of emotion. Luckily, Sink addressed them, giving her time to gain control of herself.

“ Winters, where’s Lieutenant Sobel?” He asked with furrowed brows. “He’s supposed to be here.”

Dick spoke up. “I don’t know, sir. I last saw him in the mess hall around noon.”

With a huff, Sink rose and introduced her. “Lieutenant, this is (y/n) (y/l/n), our Athena participant.”

The redhead smiled politely. “Dick Winters. Nice to have you with us, (y/l/n).”

“Hi,” she nodded, shaking his hand. “Nice to meet you, Lieutenant. Call me (y/n).”

Sink led them out of the office and into the main room of the building. “Lieutenant Winters here is going to show you around camp before supper.”

From there, the pair walked around the camp, and Dick informed her of their daily training routine, as well as the expectations of Easy company. Toward the end of their tour, he asked about her family back home and was surprised that she dodged the subject before having to answer. Sensing her discomfort, he made a mental note to not bring it up anymore.

Before they knew it, it was 18:00, and supper was being served at the mess hall. Dick led her to the large building and ushered them inside. When (y/n) walked into the room, the stench of sweat and body odor mixed with food hit her like a bus. Bile rose in her throat, and it was all she could do to keep from throwing up.

‘Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up,’ her mind repeated, eyes sinking to the floor.

Dick chuckled beside her. “You get used to the smell,” he quipped. “Let me introduce you to some of the men.”

Before he could take her to them, a shorter brunette man with a boyish look walked up to them, a sly grin on his face. “Lieutenant Winters, sir,” he saluted. “George Luz, ma’am. We’re all glad to have you.”

Two faces popped out from behind his shoulder with smiles of their own. Without missing a beat, George rolled his eyes and pointed at them. “These two idiots are Skip Muck and Alex Penkala.”

Skip smacked him on the back of the head with an aggravated look on his face. “You’re the one that had to be the first to meet her, George, so really, we’re not the idiots here.”

She squinted her eyes as giggles burst from her lips when Luz’s face turned beet red at the comment. She knew immediately that she liked the trio.

“Nice to meet you, too, boys. You can call me (y/n).”

Penkala’s eyes widened and glanced at the two in faux horror. “She called us boys.”

“We are boys.”

“We’re boys,” George mocked. “No, Skip, were men.”

“How old are you three anyways?” She asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

Alex was 18, Skip was 20, and George was 21. After hearing about their ages, she realized that they were just boys. They still had most of their lives to live, much like millions of other soldiers in their position. Much like her.

Dick left (y/n) with the trio and went to attend to his other duties. Once they took a seat, the boys started rambling on about everything from their terrible CO to the best types of slop they were given at mealtimes. (Y/n)’s eyes wandered around the room for a moment before another pair caught hers. When their eyes met across the crowded mess hall, everything around them seemed to vanish as time slowed to a standstill.

The soft, warm gaze in his eyes felt like a long-lost memory, a memory that had been tucked away in the depths of her heart, waiting for the perfect moment to resurface. (Y/n)’s heart fluttered as she felt an undeniable pull toward him, and she couldn’t help but be captivated by the genuine curiosity and surprise that emanated from his gaze. The man was, without a doubt, the most attractive man she’d ever laid eyes on, and her heart skipped a beat at the realization.

His eyes seemed to whisper, “Have we met?” And (y/n) found herself asking the same question.

She held the stranger’s gaze for a few seconds before he slowly got up and started making his way to her. As he approached her, she noticed him anxiously tousling his well-groomed dark chestnut hair with his hand. (Y/n) was suddenly self-conscious and did the same, taming her hair ruined by the southern humidity. Her heart was racing in her chest, almost anticipating the life-changing moment that was about to happen.

Making it to her table, Lewis grinned and sat beside her, his smile making her blush slightly. “It seems George likes you almost as much as he likes Rita Hayworth,” he said.

The soldier scoffed, ”No offense, (y/n), but Rita is the love of my life. She may not know who I am, but I plan to change that someday. It’s going to happen. Just wait and see, right Penk?”

Alex raised his eyebrows and nodded reluctantly, “Absolutely, buddy. You’ll show her what she’s been missing.”

(Y/n) pressed her lips tightly together, stifling the sound of her impending laughter. She scrunched her nose slightly as if trying to hold back a giggle. Her efforts, though valiant, were ultimately futile as a few muted snickers managed to slip through her defenses.

She soon gave up, and her laughter filled the air. He couldn’t help but be mesmerized by the sight before him. (Y/n)'s face lit up with joy, and her eyes sparkled with delight. The sound of her laughter was infectious, and he found himself chuckling along, almost entranced by how she expressed her happiness so freely.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, (y/l/n),” George said, getting up from the table. “See you all at breakfast.”

Skip and Alex bid their goodbyes as well, following him out of the mess hall. Realizing it was just her and the handsome soldier beside her, (y/n) turned to him with a smile.

Nix stuck out his hand. “Lewis Nixon. As an intelligence officer, it’s my job to know things, so I can’t believe I don’t know your name.”

(Y/n) couldn’t help but notice a subtle nervousness in his eyes matched with a hint of mischief. “Pleasure to meet you, Lewis. I’m (y/n) (y/l/n), Easy’s Athena.”

“Call me Lew,” he charmed, still shaking her hand softly. “We’re happy to have you, (y/n).”

When the realization dawned upon them that they were still holding hands, shy smiles spread across their faces. Lewis cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

"Have you met Captain Sobel yet?" He asked, grimacing.

"I don't think so. Is he over Easy Company?"

"Yeah. He's also the biggest jacka-"

"There's no way he's that bad," she interrupted, eyes widening.

Lewis chuckled under his breath. "Trust me. Every Friday night, he makes Easy march twelve miles in full gear, just out of spite."

"Do any other companies march?"

“Nope. Just Easy. And after marching last night, he made Dick make up six infractions and punish the men for it. He ended up giving latrine duty to the men who were on this week’s rotation.”

(Y/n) rubbed a hand down her face, groaning. “Lieutenant Winters didn’t say anything about Sobel when he was showing me around.”

“Well, Dick is pretty straight-laced,” Lewis said shrugging with a smirk. “Not everyone can be a cool, calm, and collected intelligence officer.”

"Someone's ego is a little over-inflated," she laughed, raising her eyebrows at him.

“So, how’re you liki-,” he started to ask but was interrupted by someone calling his name. Following the voice, he looked behind him to see Dick near the doors, motioning him over.

“Well,” Nix sighed, looking back at (y/n) with a sheepish smile. “Duty calls.”

As he got up, she called after him. “See you later, Nix.”

She didn’t miss the lack of a ring on his hand, and for the rest of the night, she replayed the enchanting encounter in her mind. How could a stranger seem so familiar?

Tag List: @softguarnere @mrsgeorgeluz @flowers-and-fichte @inglourious-imagines @peggyvan @rebeccapearson @hxad-ovxr-hxart

Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

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finalfrontierpublishing · 2 years ago

Photo

A Great and Gruesome Height by @moku_youbi.

So this bind was a wild ride, with experimentation galore. It’s my 10th bind (HURRAY) and I started this bind knowing I wanted to play with thread, given I had so much fun with the stab binding. I had some red thread which i had originally purchased for the VTE bind - and just the right shade i was going for so i went for it.

the original idea i was going for was ‘red thread of fate, but make it MURDER’ and so this tidy little concept was born. half way through the design conceptualization phase i had a little epiphany while watching season 3 of hannibal that blood spatter stringing was ALSO red thread and i just couldn’t resist (yes i know hannibal’s little murder tableaus seldom have blood but the string! MORE STRING!)

More photos under the cut.

Statistics:

115559 words || 426 pages

Body Text: Crimson Text

Chapter Headers: Cormorant Garamond

I quite like the experimentation with body fonts and trying to divert away from regular Garamond. So far, I’ve only used Baskerville, Garamond, Liberation serif and Cardo, but I do like this one. I lack the typography terminology but it feels fancy and posh and something Hannibal would enjoy.

I also aggressively rounded this book - boy is it ROUND, perhaps a little too so. i had a difficult time getting the spine piece to be as round as I liked.

Also, it was my first time putting a quote on the first few pages - i have zero regrets. Also featuring my new imprint page with AN ERROR (IT’S DECEMBER 2022 NOW OOPS).

I didn’t have enough heat-reactive foil and this fic has 40+ chapters so I could only foil the last couple of chapters which were actually short mini-sequels to this fic which I also added in. I have to say, using a laminator over an iron for heat-reactive foil is MUCH superior. I didn’t have to work myself into a frenzy trying to get an even layer of foil on it.

Endpapers are a little bunchy because of the thread. But i had to put butterflies because THE CHRYSALIS has hatched (i will never tire of hannibal metaphors).

See below for the conceptualization phase on cricut and er paper. I have zero art skills and have aphantasia so I had to print it out to try and figure out where everything needed to go.

This bind is also the bind where I won my blood sacrifice badge - don’t use rusty tools guys. The spouse had borrowed my rotary cutter to cut wrapping paper for christmas wrapping and is RIGHT-HANDED. Self is LEFT-HANDED. Tool returned to me as is and I did not check if the blade protector was on the correct side as the tool will get flipped direction wise depending on the handedness of the user. So guess who needs to get a tetanus shot today? :joy:

All in all, still a successful bind. It is a little busy, and if I had to do it again, I might not put the titling on the spine (always a little crooked, cause I roll that way). The Siser gold and silver metallic HTV for the hands fought me the entire way, and I’d probably not use it for such delicate lines - only part of it adhered and it made me very upset at first but since the bind is for myself it’s fine.

I’d also use a thinner red thread next time (the thick waxed linen thread for leather work doesn’t fuck around, WILL NOT BUY AGAIN) because as you can see 3-4 rounds around the finger looks like it’s choking it and i had some space limitations at the edges.

Well, a fun idea, with less than perfect execution but I’ll probably do it again one day if i ever summon up the courage to consider making this again (perhaps for the author if i get over my massive to-bind pile). PROBABLY NOT IN WHITE - gad WHITE IS SO SMUDGEY - nothing to remind you how dirty your hands are than white bookcloth. this is off-white pearl BUT fingerprint smudges!!!

Resources: Page dividers made by evil-robot-cat here.

EDIT: THE AUTHOR WANTS A COPY!!!!!!! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH 🥳 😱 🫠 yessss AUTHOR COPY!!!!

#mokuyoubi #a great and gruesome height #hannibal #hannigram #fanbinding #bookbinding #fanfiction #my books #renegade bindery

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witchysquirrel · 8 months ago

Text

Epiphany

Chapter Thirteen

Ravenna found her way to her room, immediately ridding herself of the gown that felt restrictive and hot now that she was at home. She changed into a pair of black lounge pants and a black sweater, leaving her jewelry in place out of laziness. The healer felt like she could hardly keep her head on straight. At least she’d have good news to give Rhysand if Fetrin had indeed told her the truth about his stance on the slavery happening on the Continent.

Maybe she’d ask Rhys about her dynamic with Cassian, too. She trusted his opinion… most of the time.

The anxiety lost out to the exhaustion at some point, and Ravenna slept long and hard. She stayed in bed the entire next day in addition, just because she couldn’t bring herself to leave her bedroom.

She awoke the next morning with a decent headache, and dragged herself to the bathroom. Beginning to draw a bath, she turned the faucet all the way right, then moved to the medicine cabinet above the sink. She poured herself a small plastic cup full of a tonic she kept on hand for this type of headache, and threw it back. It left a metallic taste in her mouth, but worked nearly 100% of the time. Stripping from her clothes, Ravenna settled into the warmth of the tub and closed her eyes.

Her mind wandered back to the night prior, flashing from Fetrin’s words, how sure he had been in what he’d told her; then to Cassian, the image of him spinning her around with the biggest smile on his face etched in her memory forever. She’d prefer to just replay the last image over and over again, and avoid thinking about any other context. She resolved to ask Rhys his opinion when she saw him later today. She needed someone else’s perspective to even everything out.

Ravenna wore a black velvet gown that fell just above her ankles, inky curls falling loose behind her shoulders. She made her way quickly to Rhysand’s study, hoping to avoid talking to anyone else on her way there. When she arrived, he glanced up at her from where he sat at his desk, puzzling over a lengthy piece of correspondence, which he set aside as she hastily closed the door behind her.

“How did your night end up going, my spy in training?”

She took a seat in the plush armchair across from his desk. “It was mostly good, honestly,” she said. “I don’t think we need to worry about the Dawn Court, if everything he told me was true.”

Rhys nodded. “Good. You held up okay emotionally?”

“Mostly, yeah,” Ravenna answered, biting the inside of her cheek.

“Mostly,” Rhys repeated, looking at her with curiosity.

“Fetrin said something that kind of threw me for a loop,” she said, quietly. Rhys continued looking at her, waiting for her to fill the silence that followed. He narrowed his eyes.

“Spit it out, Ravenna.”

“He thought Cassian and I were mates.”

Another weighty silence followed, Ravenna attempting to read the expressions on her friend's angled face.

“What made him say that?” Rhys asked.

“He said it after watching us dance together,” she said plainly. “And he seemed very sure about it.”

“That’s interesting,” he replied, eyes trained to his desk once again.

“I thought so too,” she said, watching him.

“Well? Have you felt the bond?” he asked, resting an elbow on the surface in front of him and looking at her carefully.

Ravenna blinked. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“I don’t know what it’s supposed to feel like,” Ravenna replied curtly.

“I suppose I don’t either,” he answered. She rolled her eyes.

“You’re being weird. Tell me what you know,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I think you should talk to Cassian about it, not me. I really don’t know anything,” he said, shrugging smugly.

“I brought it up because I wanted your opinion, actually,” Ravenna shot back, leaning forward in her chair.

“I mean I will say, it has seemed like you guys have gotten closer recently,” Rhys answered, hands raised in surrender.

“Was that so hard?” she half-joked. “I feel like we’ve gotten closer too, since we started speaking mind to mind.”

“Since you started speaking –” Rhys cut himself off, just before the point of clapping a hand over his open mouth like a cartoon character. “No, you know, that’s really interesting. My honest opinion, Ravenna, as your friend and High Lord, is that you should talk to Cassian.”

“What if I don’t want to… ruin things? And he has Celeste. I just don’t know.”

Rhys paused, gaze returning to Ravenna. “He and Celeste broke up last week. I thought you knew already.”

Ravenna felt her stomach drop. “I didn’t know,” she said, quietly, looking back to Rhys. She shook her head. “That doesn’t change anything.” And with that she rose, leaving the way she came, the door swinging in her wake. Rhys rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, impressed with himself for not giving in to her questions, allowing it to be Cassian’s responsibility.

Ravenna left, heading straight for Mor’s side of the house. She flung open the door of Mor’s suite to find it in complete disarray, with Mor in the center of it all snoring softly. Ravenna stepped over out of place furniture and a stray glass bottle, until she reached Mor, shaking her awake. Mor jolted awake, but relaxed when she realized it was Ravenna.

“I need your companionship,” Ravenna huffed, resting back on her knees. “I was going to say I need someone to get drunk with, but you look like you don’t need that right now.”

“No, no! Those bottles are from the night of the ball. I honestly just haven’t cleaned up yet,” she snorted, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, although it was nearly 6pm. “I’ll never turn down the proposition of Rita’s.”

Mor changed into a casual midnight blue gown that plunged so low, Ravenna actually checked to make sure everything was covered. Ravenna put on light makeup, flipped her hair a few times, and called it good. Rhys offered to fly them into town, which they gladly accepted, and Ravenna wondered if he was pitying her. They arrived at Rita’s, each ordering a glass of wine, and picked a couple of seats at the end of the bar.

“Tell me everything about the ball,” Mor said, bringing her elbow to the bar and resting her chin in her hand.

Ravenna sipped from her glass slowly. “It was fine,” she said. “I actually had a fine time with Fetrin, it was nice to talk with him again.”

“Oh good! So he wasn’t a complete asshole?”

“Surprisingly no! Only a slight asshole.” The two laughed in unison.

“Well that’s great, Rav. I’m glad it wasn’t entirely awful,” she replied, her features soft.

“Speaking of which, I didn’t see you at all after the first twenty minutes of the ball,” Ravenna said, sitting up slightly and raising an eyebrow at her friend.

“I was around,” she reassured. “I did bring someone home fairly early but I was mostly there.”

Ravenna giggled. “So you had a good night, I take it?”

Mor nodded, taking another huge gulp from her glass of red wine, before something caught her eye behind Ravenna, towards the front door. “Oh there’s Cassian, let me-“

“No!” Ravenna yell-whispered, eyes wide as she smacked down the hand Mor was raising to wave him over. Mor’s eyes widened at Ravenna’s behavior, but she stopped what she was doing. Mor was surprised at her outburst, as was Ravenna herself, and she covered her face with her hands.

“Do you wanna tell me what in the hell that was about?” Mor asked, brows raised at her friend.

“I really don’t want to talk about it, but I know I should,” Ravenna replied, grimacing slightly.

“Okay… spill then,” Mor answered, and flagged down the bartender. “We’ll take a bottle of Merlot to share.” Mor joked about wondering if they had any larger wine glasses, and Ravenna offered to ask for her.

“So anyways,” Ravenna finally said over the din. “Fetrin was convinced that Cassian and I are mates.” She said it all in one breath, letting the words hang weightless in the air. Mor’s eyebrows raised once more, her face morphing into a huge smile. Ravenna immediately began shaking her head.

“Oh come on! This is a best case scenario, Ravenna,” Mor mused excitedly, as Ravenna continued shaking her head.

“No.”

“Why not?! I love the idea of you two together, I can’t believe I hadn’t thought of it before! Ravenna. Please.”

“I have no idea if he’s actually my mate,” Ravenna answered. “Or if he feels anything even remotely for me.”

“I mean you did tell me about his voice in your head,” Mor shrugged. “That’s not very common for someone who’s not entirely Daemati. Could be the mating bond.”

Ravenna hadn’t considered it that way, her chest feeling tight as she realized the truth to Mor’s words. She drank more wine and tried to take a deep breath, to calm down.

“I’m telling you, this is such a good thing. Why are you so scared?”

“We have such a good friendship. I don’t want to ruin everything.”

“Ravenna. The friendship part doesn’t have to end,” Mor said, “you get to be friends and have crazy sex. It’s the best of both worlds. And I’m sorry to say this about your potential mate, but also, happy for you when I say that their little ‘wingspan’ jokes are absolutely true.”

Ravenna couldn’t help but crack at that, laughing with Mor and taking another gulp of wine.

“Maybe you’re right,” Ravenna replied, sighing. “I guess I’m scared of all these hypotheticals I’ve created in my head. They’re all hypotheticals where I get hurt.”

“You’re scared of getting hurt,” Mor repeated back to her. “I don’t think it’s unreasonable. I just don’t want you to miss out for fear of something that hasn’t happened yet.”

The healer looked at the blonde next to her with gratitude. She was so thankful for Mor; her ability to level out Ravenna’s anxieties was nearly unmatched. Ravenna needed Mor’s confidence, more of her willingness to believe she deserved something good.

“I still don’t know what to do next,” Ravenna said. “I’m not sure what the bond snapping is meant to feel like... There has been one time… or maybe a couple times, that I thought I felt something, when I’d been, uhm, close to him. But I got scared, and I left.”

“Replicate the conditions,” Mor said with a devious smile. “And then give into the feeling instead of running away from it.”

“You’re right, I guess. I should talk to him.”

“Good thing he is quite literally across the room.”

Ravenna sighed. “I was thinking more like tomorrow, the next day, something like that.”

“Just do it! He’s literally right there.”

Ravenna chugged the rest of her wine, took a deep breath and then turned from the bar to face the rest of Rita’s. Her vision was slightly fuzzy in the dim lighting, but she made out familiar wings across from where she and Mor sat, but to the left.

“I don’t know if I can do it,” she said, face wrought with worry.

“You can!” Mor urged with a smile, nudging her off of her barstool and onto her feet. It was the push she needed to propel her in Cassian’s direction. Before she knew it she was crossing the floor, black velvet swishing at her ankles as she walked. Cassian was standing against a far wall, arms mostly crossed in front of him, holding a beer in one hand as he mostly listened to the males around him talk. His eyes softened when he saw her approaching, and a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hey,” he echoed.

“Can we talk for a second?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Cassian followed her through Rita’s until they reached the corridor where the bathrooms were, and then they branched off into another hallway adjacent, stopping before a door marked ‘Employees Only’.

Cassian almost looked amused, watching her as she turned to face him again, waiting for her to speak first. She looked up towards the cracks in the ceiling to avoid his face as she started talking.

“I feel like our relationship has changed, recently,” she started, attempting to keep her voice steady. “I feel closer to you.”

He hummed a little, contemplating her words. “I agree,” he said, swallowing. Ravenna watched his adam’s apple bob as he did so.

“I think…” she began, taking another breath. “I don’t know..” she said again, stuttering. “I just wondered what you thought about that, I guess.”

“About the fact that we’re mates,” he said bluntly, Ravenna shocked to hear him voice what she hadn’t been able to.

“So you know,” she replied, quietly, cheeks flushing.

“I suspected, for a while there. Until the bond snapped for me,” he added. “Then I really knew.” She met his eyes then, their soft hazel burning into her with an intensity she hadn’t expected. She wet her lips with her tongue, heartbeat pounding in her ears.

“I’m worried,” she said, after a moment. “I really love our friendship. I don’t want to change anything.”

He took a half-step closer to her. “We’re still friends,” he said, quieter than before. “We’ll always be friends.”

She bit the inside of her cheek, heart continuing to flutter madly in her chest. “What did it feel like?” She asked him. “When the bond snapped?”

He smiled a little bit. “It felt like something opened up in me,” he began, touching the base of his sternum. “Like deep inside, and it wanted to reach out for you. I ignored it the first time, I don’t think I realized what it was. I accepted it the second time, fell into it, that’s an entirely different feeling.”

Ravenna was quiet. “I think I’ve felt it,” she said softly. “But I’ve been too scared to accept it.”

“I know it’s scary, and I know I’m acting really normal right now but I absolutely fucking freaked out at first, too,” Cassian said.

“What did it feel like once you accepted it?”

He broke his gaze from her, flushing just slightly in the cheeks as he scratched the back of his neck. “There’s no way for me to say it nicely, honestly. I wanted to take you right there, and everywhere.”

She turned pink at his words, laughing nervously. “I shouldn’t have asked, truly, I knew the answer.” Cassian chuckled, shoving his hands in his pockets. Ravenna took another deep breath in through her nose, exhaling slowly before looking back at him again. “I’m willing to take the risk,” she said. “It’s really hard to ignore this thing, believe it or not.”

Cassian took another step closer to her, close enough that she had to look up at him a little. “Are you sure?” Her heart pounding in her chest, Ravenna hesitantly closed the distance between them, lifting her arms and snaking them around his neck. His hands found her waist, settling in lightly. She looked up at him, breathing in the scent of him, that feeling beginning to grow in her chest once more, spreading its warmth through her. She nodded, a shiver of warmth traveling down her spine. “Positive? Once we start I’m not going to be able to resist you anymore.”

She nodded a second time.

Epiphany Masterlist

#acotar #acotar fic #acotar oc #cassian acotar #acotar angst #cassian angst #acotar fanfiction #cassian x oc #cassian x reader #acotar smut #sjm universe #acowar #acosf

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dingochef · 10 months ago

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Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x You (OFC)

Warnings: Swearing, Smut (MDNI 18+ Only), Stalking, P in V, oral (female and male receiving), Semi-public sex, light spanking, light bondage, blindfolds, shitty parents, nightmares, arguing

Summary: You and Jake work through the details that make marriage work and deal with a few bumps in the road. News from your Dad doesn't help.

Word Count: 5.0k

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

A Rose By Any Other Name

You're walking home, (and still in constant awe and adoration of your engagement ring) from the ferry terminal towards your house. When your phone rings, the display showing "Dad". You keep walking and answer the call.

"Elsa, Congratulations on your engagement," your dad practically shouts on the phone.

"Thank you, Dad," you reply cautiously, "Is Mom there?"

"No, she isn't."

You're not sure how to continue the conversation, so you go with the 'running away' tactic.

"Well, I'm almost home, so anything else you want to talk about?" you ask, hoping he says no. The awkwardness palpable even from 2,000 miles away.

Your Dad takes a deep breath,

"Yeah, Elsa, I have a few things to talk about with you, if you want to."

You reach the front porch of your house and sit down on it.

"Umm, yeah, I'm listening."

"I've been doing a lot of thinking about what happened at Christmas. I heard everything; I apologize for being a coward and staying in the kitchen."

You give a small hum of assurance that you're listening. He continues,

"I'm so sorry that I failed you for so long. I know now I should have done more to balance out your mom. It's not an excuse, it's a regret."

He pauses and takes another breath, "I was checked out, should have been there more."

"Dad, what's done is done. This is feeling a little like Cat's in the Cradle," you answer, finally having something to say.

He laughs,

"There's that wicked sense of humor," he pauses, "I want you to know how incredibly proud I am of you and what you've become."

"It's good to hear you say it, Dad, but all our family dysfunction isn't going to be solved in one day."

"I get that, Elsa, I really do. But it's a starting point."

"There's something else I need to tell you, your mother and I are separating."

You croak out a very surprised, "What?"

"Christmas was a wake up call, that I haven't been happy in our relationship for a long time, but I stayed because it was comfortable and familiar."

Jake pokes his head out just as you say,

"It seems like a drastic step to separate, did you guys try couples therapy?"

Jake looks at you and mouths

"Who is that?" to you.

"My dad," you cover the phone and whisper back. Jake's eyes narrow and his brows furrow together. He goes to say something, but heads back into the house.

Your dad has taken his time in responding, he sighs,

"I invited her to go with me, I've been going on my own since Christmas, or find a new one, but she didn't want to go, or try."

Your dad's voice cracks on the word try. He is starting to cry and for the first time in a long time you wish you were in Michigan to give him a hug, this is the most vulnerable moment you've ever experienced with him.

Jake has reappeared and hands you a gin and tonic and squeezes your shoulder as he gives you space to talk.

Your dad draws in a deep breath to settle him and starts to talk again.

"My time left on earth is a diminishing resource,"

you interrupt him, "That's a little grim." He huffs out a soft laugh.

"I had the epiphany that I want to spend it with the people that make me happy, not just out of habit. A big part of it is how she never let go of the argument from Christmas. I won't be with someone who is driving away our children chasing the past. You kind of inspired this, by the way."

"That kind of sounds like I caused your separation when you say it that way," you try to joke.

He laughs on the other end, the tight band around your heart loosens a little.

"That's not what I mean exactly, just you've built this world of people who love you for just being you. Every time you've faced something that would decimate most people, you jumped back up and kept going to do what made you happy. Like you know that the love you share with Jake is worth fighting for, even if it means a fucked up relationship with your mother. I need to do what makes me happy and loved, and right now that's not being with her."

You laugh a bit darkly, trying to keep the tears at bay that threaten to spill,

"Dad, don't know if you didn't notice, my relationship with Mom has always been a bit fucked up."

"Yet another thing I ignored, I've missed so much, Elsa, I'm so sorry for that."

"It's okay Dad, you're at least self aware now, plus it's another thing you can add to your therapy list, you know in case you run out of stuff to talk about. Want to use every minute of that hour, get your money's worth."

"Did you just make a cheap dad joke about therapy?"

He's laughing and you can feel him lightening even over the phone.

"Yes, I did. You're the only person I've ever known to cut open the toothpaste tube to get that last little bit."

"Hey, it works. There's at least two more tooth brushings in there," he's at least joking a bit.

"Well, I'll let you go Elsa, you probably want to eat dinner with your fiance and not talk about an old man's laments. I want you to know how proud and amazed I am at what you've done with your life. I think Jake loves you deeply and he's good for you."

"It's really good to hear that," you pause,

"You might want to consider a trip out here, alone, actually get that visit in. I love you, Dad."

"I love you so much, Elsa."

"Bye."

You hang up the phone and hold the cold drink to your forehead as though the coolness could soothe your inner turmoil. When you go inside Jake is sitting on the couch, pretending to read a magazine. He chose his spot on the couch because he could keep watch over you outside on the porch. A wave of warmth rolls over you to know how protective and loving he is. He starts to get up and you motion for him to stay. Putting your drink on the coffee table, you flop down on the couch next to him. He waits patiently for you to talk and pulls you into his arms.

You break the silence,

"I didn't think I'd have to add 'Parents Getting Separated Likely Divorced' to my Matthews Family Dysfunction bingo card, but here we are."

Jake is visibly surprised,

"That's out of left field, you were talking to your Dad, right?"

"Yeah, he called to congratulate us on getting engaged and decided to let me know about them separating at the same time. You know for efficiency reasons, couldn't have those be two different phone calls," you snort thinking of the range of emotions in one phone call.

"So, they're separated. Any particular reason why?"

Jake is cautiously wading into the emotional quagmire.

"He said he's been doing a lot of thinking and therapy since Christmas, and realized he wasn't happy in their relationship and hadn't been for a long time."

"Wow, you'd think that he'd just run the last mile of the marathon and stay with her and not start over so late in life."

You laugh,

"I got the impression it was more of a 'I'll be damned if I'm going to run my last mile with you.'"

Jake at least rewards you with a light smirk.

"Part of it was my mom's insistence on holding onto the past, he said he wouldn't be with someone who would drive his kids away for something that could have been."

"So, how do you feel about this?"

He pulls you closer for a hug as he kisses the top of your head.

"Surprised and not at the same time, my parents have always been together but I don't know that I ever saw them in love with each other. I remember Dad as a little kid being really bright, laughing, and funny. Always smiling, that started to fade over time, I don't know if that was the toll of a strained relationship or if it was him kind of checking out trying to cope with it."

"I'm glad he's going to therapy, that's pretty smart of him," Jake offers.

"He said he has regrets from my childhood and how he let my mom dominate my life, so he's at least aware of that. He also said he is really happy for us and thinks you love me deeply and am good for me, which I'd have to agree."

You lean over to give him a peck on the cheek. Jake can tell you're still processing the conversation and will likely talk to him again about it.

"You ready for some dinner? I made a stir fry," he asks quietly.

"That sounds lovely," you stand up and wrap your arms around Jake's torso.

"I love you so much, Jake Seresin."

He replies,

"I love you very much, Elsa Matthews, soon to be Seresin."

You know you have to talk about some of the details of married life like keeping your last name, but you're emotionally spent for the day.

–

It turns out that conversation happens very soon on the next sunny Saturday afternoon. You and Jake have convened at the dining table to discuss “Life Stuff” as you called it. A file folder of your financial stuff, your laptop open to your financial tracking software, and Jake's tablet are laid out on the table. He keeps all his financial info electronic so that he can access it from anywhere the Navy sent him.

You start,

"So, I want to get married sooner than later, I don't want a really long engagement because we're trying to plan the 'perfect wedding.'"

"I agree, we'll have to see what's available for locations and work from there," Jake nods.

"Okay, that's good, that's probably a whole nother day of effort, but I thought we'd tackle the hard things first before picking wedding colors, you know the things that actually make marriages work."

Jake is smiling his panty dropper smile,

"God, I love it when you get all engineer on me, planning stuff, solving problems. It's kind of hot."

He smirks as he slides his hand up your thighs under your dress.

"Jake," you stop his hand and pull it off your leg,

"This is important stuff and you doing that is highly distracting and you're not going to get me all wet and bothered to discuss whether we do a prenup or combine bank accounts."

"Okay, I'll behave for now," he raises one eyebrow and gives you that smirk again.

"So, I came up with these things to discuss from my research. Not that this is the only time we'll talk about it."

You look down at your list,

"First, what debt do you have? I'll start, I have," you scroll through your accounts on the laptop,

"$367 on a credit card that is paid automatically each month from my checking account. You?"

He scrolls,

"Credit card only, $582. Also paid automatically each month."

"Okay, that was stupidly simple, by some stroke of luck, we have no student loans, car loans, mortgage, or a crippling gambling problem."

Jake laughs,

"You know this might be easier if we just swap the laptop and tablet with each other."

"Okay," you shuffle the tech around and scroll through Jake's accounts. Checking, savings, credit card, investment account, and what looks like a retirement account. All of which are healthy and reasonable.

You look over to Jake and he looks shocked,

"El, I didn't realize how loaded you are, maybe I should have made you pay for dinner more often."

You laugh,

"Most of my net worth is in this house, I've been maxing out my 401k and Roth IRAs since I started working. That's a lot of it, but also I don't really live an extravagant lifestyle as you've noticed. I drive an 8 year old Honda, probably the second most expensive thing I've bought in the last few years has been my bike. I've been putting the equivalent of a monthly payment for a house, since I don't have one, into a money market account since I bought this place. That's all because I really do earn good money at my job, six figures."

Jake has been nodding the whole time,

"So, level with me, what was your gross salary last year?" he asks.

"$150,000," you answer, waiting for Jake's response.

He has a pleased look on his face, none of the insecurity or jealousy you've seen from guys before,

"Nice, beats my $85k a year."

"It doesn't matter who makes more money, because I think it's our money when we get married which leads me to the next question. How do you want to manage money? Combine accounts or keep separate accounts?"

Jake answers,

"I think that combining is the way to go, it seems complicated and kind of petty to have to balance out every transaction to make things even. If it's one account, it's our money that we use for our lives. You?"

"I'm in favor of the combined account, pretty much for the same reasons. I see you're a member of a military credit union, so that might be the place to have our accounts. We can compare that stuff and choose the best one."

"Sounds good, what's the next question?"

"What purchases can we make individually and what ones do we need to consult each other on?"

"Obviously the big ones, houses, cars, anything that you might consider taking out a loan for. I'm not sure if there's a dollar amount that would trigger it, because spending $500 on a couch is different than spending $500 on shoes. Not that you're the type to do that," he looks at the ratty Chaco flip flops you're wearing.

"Hey, they still work. I'll get a new pair when they break. It's just my Midwestern soul and the ingrained thriftiness. I think it's context dependent too. I'm going to go with the 'when in doubt ask' policy."

"Agreed, what's next? This feels like a job interview almost."

"We should discuss if we want a prenup."

Jake starts,

"I think it would be wise to protect your assets, Elsa."

You scoff,

"It feels really cynical. Like we're expecting this not to work. The big thing is the house, it's in my name obviously, I was considering adding you to it, so you'd get if anything happened to me, or we can set up a trust that automatically transfers it to you. A trust might not be a bad idea if we plan on having kids. Hah, that's the next question."

You look at Jake and he seems a little overwhelmed,

"Are you okay over there?"

"Who knew getting married would be so complicated. El, I don't want the appearance of me marrying for your money. Your mother has already made me paranoid about not being enough."

"Jake, if you wanted a sugar momma, you could have reached way higher. There's plenty of rich old ladies on Coronado Beach looking for a young buck like you."

He relaxes and laughs a little,

"Who says I'm not playing the long game for when you'll be a rich old lady?"

It's your turn to laugh now,

"Jake, this is our house, I need to set up a will anyway and we can discuss options with a lawyer if you want."

Jake looks satisfied with that answer. He looks at the list of questions,

"So, kids, yes or no, and how many?" he asks.

"I do want a family, not giant, but at least two kids. All the only children I know are kind of weird. Seeing you with Ellie and Gigi made something click on in my uterus, because I was definitely filled with the urge to give you babies."

"I'm sure I could help you with that primal urge," he jokes,

"I'd like a family, but as I said before you get to make the ultimate decisions on all of that because it's your body and you'll bear the brunt of it."

"Fair, would we both work if we had kids? I don't really think I'd like to be a stay-at-home mom, I'd like to keep building my career."

"While in an ideal world you or I could take a multi year sabbatical and raise some kids, I'd expect that we'd both want to work, and I'm okay with hiring a nanny or daycare, are you?"

"Yeah, I am. I was a daycare kid as my mom was a teacher. I went during the school year and I think there's some good to it, the socialization. It just depends on finding the solution that feels right."

"Alright, hit me, what's next?" Jake asks, rolling his shoulders.

“How do you feel about me keeping my last name? You've casually mentioned me changing my name."

Jake thinks for a moment,

"I just assumed you would, you know tradition and what not, why wouldn't you?"

"My whole professional life is under Matthews, my patents, licenses, and journal articles. All under Matthews, keeping that consistent is important to my professional reputation. Plus, it always felt a little patronizing and demeaning to me. It feels like a relic from the past when women were just traded around by fathers to husbands like property."

Jake's face twists into a disagreeable expression, his mouth pulled tight.

"I guess, I've always thought of it being a unifying thing, like 'Team Seresin'. Not you submitting to me like property."

He looks worried as he continues to speak,

"Do you not want to be Mrs. Lieutenant Seresin? Were you going to change it for Liam?"

"No, I wasn't and that's not what I'm saying, it's just arbitrary that it has to be the woman who changes her name, do you want to be Mr. Dr. Matthews?"

He shakes his head,

"Why would I change my name? It's not what people do."

"Jake, just because it's been done that way for a long time, doesn't mean we have to do it. We can be committed to each other without the same last name."

You sigh a little louder than you should.

"I just thought that it would be something that brings us together, being the Seresins, a family unit. What if we have kids, what is their last name going to be?" he asks and clenches his jaw waiting for the answer.

"I'm more than fine with them having Seresin as a last name. I wouldn't want to burden a kid with a hyphenated last name."

"You could hyphenate, what about being Elsa Seresin-Matthews?"

Jake raises his eyebrows like he's found the magic solution.

"That's a giant pain in the ass and you know it." you huff, feeling your cheeks heat up. Jake's eyebrows drop and furrow together as he considers what he's going to say next.

"Elsa," you're surprised he's using your full name and not just El,

"I can understand why you wouldn't want to change your name, but it just feels like you're bucking tradition just to do it."

"That's what you got from this discussion? I'm just being contrary for the fun of it? Please stop saying it's tradition, because sometimes tradition is a word for the stupid way we've always done things."

You wince internally at the last part, momentarily forgetting how much of Jake's life is ruled by tradition and the Navy.

Jake's mouth stretches into a thin flat line, his anger telegraphing across the room.

You and Jake are now staring each other down, obviously both angry. You're about ready to leap in for another round like the hot headed idiot you can be when Jake holds up his hands in a surrender motion.

"Let's hold up a second. You've said your piece and I've said mine. I think we need to cool off and separate for a bit before we make this nasty. I know how I can be a righteous asshole when I'm pissed off and I don't want to go there."

You take a deep breath,

"Fine, I'm going to go for a bike ride, might as well use this energy for something."

Jake nods curtly, acknowledging you.

You change into your workout gear and head out on your bicycle. As you round the corner of the block, your phone dings with a message from Jake,

"Went for a run."

You snort that he's also expending angry energy in a physical way. Your conversation plays over and over in your head. Changing your name, beyond the professional reasons, just always felt off. Like you know intrinsically that you're Elsa S. Matthews, PE, PhD. The way Jake didn't really get the professional reasons why keeping your name the same was probably what hurt the most. He knows how important your career is to you. Changing names and not having that continuous professional history could undermine your career. Just another piece of bullshit female professionals have to deal with. Another mile and your white hot rage dims and your brain fixates on the rhythm of "Elsa S. Matthews". The syllables syncing up over and over in time with your legs pushing down the pedals as you try to burn this frantic electric energy.

You stop to look out over the bay and it occurs to you that there is a compromise here, the S standing for Samantha, a name you don't care about. You weren't named for anyone, your mom said she read it in a novel when she was pregnant and liked it. How easy would it be to change your middle name to Seresin? Elsa Seresin Matthews. You can keep your professional name the same, Elsa S. Matthews. That feels right to you, like the joining of names not obliterating one for the other or tacking on a clunky name at the end of a full name.

Your ride home is quick and you fall into the same rhythm as before except to Elsa Seresin Matthews. Desperate to find Jake and resolve this, you pick up your pace.

Arriving home and you put your bike away as fast as you can, desperate to see Jake. You walk in through the back door just as Jake walks in through the front door shirtless, sweaty, and wearing rather skimpy running shorts. His golden treasure trail just peeking out of the waistband. Your brain automatically wants you to wrap your legs around his waist and fuck him as soon as possible, but you know you and Jake need to talk.

You meet in the middle of the living room and start talking at the same time,

"El, I didn't–

"Jake, I was being–"

He cock his head when you laugh.

"This feels like a rom com where the characters fight over something to add a conflict to the plot. Like we both just enter the house at the same time and start talking over each other."

He cracks a smile and starts to talk, "El, I didn't think through all the professional implications of changing your name. I can see how that would upset you, given how hard you've worked and how much your career means to you. I was wrong to diminish that."

You swear you see a light bulb go on above Jake's head. Like he unlocked the Rosetta Stone, and figured out what bothered you most.

"Did anyone ever tell you you're a smart one?" you tell him. He smiles and shakes his head.

"You're right that's why I got upset. I don't fault you for assuming that I'd change my name, a lot of women do. I also can see how it looks like I'm rejecting your name and in a way you."

Jake looks away for a second.

"It stung, and I fixated on us having the same last name as something critical to being married, when it's not."

He takes your hands in his,

"Us being married and committed to each other whatever our names are is the important part."

"I have a proposition," he raises his eyebrow and takes a step toward you. You laugh at him as you stop him with your hands on his chest, his hands landing on your wrists,

"Not that kind of one, yet. Keeping my name as Elsa S. Matthews is important for me, but the S stands for Samantha. A name I have no affinity for, my mom got it from a trashy romance novel. I want to change my middle name to Seresin. A name that means a lot to me and to you. What do you think?"

The panty dropper smile blooms wide and open on his face,

"You're calling me smart, but you are the smart one. I would be very touched if you took my name as your middle name. I was at peace, okay, a grumbly peace," he slightly rolls his eyes, "With you keeping your name, but I really like this idea. Elsa Seresin Matthews, sounds good."

You lean up to kiss him,

"I'm glad. And we just had an honest to goodness fight, didn't we? I think we came through it all right, good communication skills, go us."

You wave a tiny pretend flag with your hand in celebration.

Jake pulls you close to him, and whispers in your ear, his voice low,

"Know what the best part of a fight is?"

A shiver rolls along your spine as Jake drops a light kiss just under your ear. His hands sliding down your back to grab your ass and pull you close to him.

You stutter a little as you answer,

"N-no, what's the best part?"

He smirks into your neck, stopping his efforts to give you a hickey he replies,

"The make-up sex."

A wave of arousal flushes down your body as you gaze into Jake's eyes, the green blown out by his pupils wide with desire. His hands slide from your ass to under your thighs. He lifts you up with ease and your legs finally wrap around his waist. You kiss him like you're both running out of oxygen and you're trying to steal it from each other's lungs. He backs you up to the nearest wall and pins you up against the wall, his legs supporting you and your hands around his neck. You are grinding at each other desperate for some friction. You whine because you're wearing padded bike shorts, and you can't feel Jake like you need to.

"Need more,” you pant against his lips,

“Need you,” he also pants against your neck, where his head had slipped down.

He unzips your bike jersey to get more of your skin against his, and he huffs,

"Stupid sports bra.”

"Put me down for a second."

He lets you down gently and you peel your clothing off as fast as you can. Jake has the same idea and pulls his running shorts and underwear off in one smooth motion. As soon as he can he pulls you back up to him, moaning at the contact of skin on skin. He steadies you against the wall again, your legs wrapping around his waist on instinct.

"I didn't think you'd be able to rip through my bike shorts like you did my underwear," you gasp out as Jake enters you. Jake's only answer is a string of curse words and sex babble, "Fuck, god you feel so good, El. Love you so much."

“Love you so much, Jake.”

He starts a fast rhythm, your mutual need to be close and chase your highs spurring him on. The feeling of being completely surrounded by Jake and his hard wall of muscle, his scent, and the feeling of your sweat mixing as you slide against each other is amazingly overwhelming. Your brain is reduced to one thought as he pounds into you,

“Jake. Jake. Jake.”

Jake lifts you a little higher, grips your thighs a bit harder, and you are seeing stars as his cock hits the deepest spots in you.

"Love you, oh fuck, right there, so good. Don't stop," you plead with him.

The pleasure is overwhelming with each thrust, the room is filled with only your heavy breathing, moans, and the obscene sound of fucking and skin slapping on skin for the next few minutes.

"Touch yourself, El, make yourself come, so beautiful when you come on my cock,” Jake grits out as he grips your thighs and ass harder. You comply, and snake your hand down and start rubbing your clit frantically, trying to match the pace. You look Jake in the eyes and start talking,

"I wanted to wrap my legs around you the second I saw you come through the door, half naked, sweaty, and my god, your chest. Want to fuck you all the time."

Jake's reaction is to pound harder and faster, erasing your ability to form coherent sentences.

“Fuck, El. I want you all the fucking time. I can't believe this pussy is all mine.”

"Fuck, I'm so close, Jake, so close. Come with me, please."

Your climax slams through you like a car hitting a brick wall. Your eyes close involuntarily, and you can see stars dance across your eyelids.

“Fuck, El. Milking me so good, so fucking tight,” Jake grits out as comes, right on the heels of your orgasm. His hot come filling you up as you spasm around him on each wave of residual pleasure. Somehow Jake holds you up through the aftershocks, his head on your shoulder as you catch your breath. He kisses you sweetly on the lips, and says,

"I'm going to put you down now, you good to stand?"

You just nod and hum as he pulls out and sets you down. You wrap your arms around his torso to lay your head on his chest, only to realize how sweaty it is. I pull my face back and suggest,

"I think it's time for a shower, we both are sweaty and reek of sex."

"Excellent idea." He responds, and you can see from the look on Jake's face that he has more thoughts for later.

Chapter 20

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sad-drake-lyrics · 1 year ago

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alright, i’m having a lot of feelings™ about giyushino & i have to talk about it because otherwise i will implode. i’ve liked the idea of them together from s1, like most people who ship them seem to; but then i stopped thinking about them much due to obsession with other ships, and also because after their initial altercation on Mount Natagumo they don’t really get much screentime together, so i just lost interest.

but in my modern day obamitsu AU (you can find my ao3 link on my page!), i’m featuring giyushino as a background ship, & i am starting to catch fucking feelings myself from writing them. (if you head off to read the fic, there’s only two chapters posted so far & Giyuu + Shinobu are not in it yet, but will be very soon.)

so, here we go. gimme a moment to ramble about what inspired these HCs / character analyses before i get to the meat & potatoes.

youtube

street lights by killedmyself is one of my favourite songs despite the fact it being really more of a piece of audio art than a song - it’s mainly a movie dialogue sample mixed with sad boi lo-fi beats, but i play it all the time because it somehow hurts so good. so i was listening to it when thinking of the aforementioned modern AU, & i had an epiphany like “holy fuck, this is exactly how a giyushino relationship would go down, whether in a canon AU or any other story.”

the sample in the song is from No Strings Attached, a typical romantic comedy/drama about two close friends who have a deep understanding of each other and casually have sex, but the guy catches feelings and the girl wants nothing to do with a relationship.

(honestly, most people would probably find this movie boring - it’s a basic white het ship storyline; i only watched it because of the song, & the conversation in the song is literally the best part - otherwise the movie is hella bland & i wouldn't care if i never saw it again LOL so i’m def. not saying “go watch this” here.)

anyway, i’m listening to this song, and i’m like “omg, i can hear Giyuu & Shinobu saying every fucking line.”

basically, in my mind, Giyuu & Shinobu would start hooking up just for the sake of it - probably as a result of a quiet development of closeness born essentially out of convenience (they are always at the Ubuyashiki Estate together or working together), and then one night boning goes down. they’re attracted to each other; they like each other as people; and then the sex is good, so it keeps happening.

& very quickly, sad boi Giyuu, who is typically self-isolated and depressed, starts crushing hard. he’s alone and he’s desperate for human interaction and affection, even though he doesn’t realize it - and Shinobu is beautiful, and he admires her. plus they’re starting to have a lot of sex; & it’s pretty common for that to bloom some sense of love, ranging from base level attachment to infatuation to real feels - and it gets to the point where Giyuu wants to be with her.

but Shinobu doesn’t want the same thing. she cares about him (more than she can admit), but she’s fiercely independent and immensely dedicated to her work (with all her research and crafting of medicines & poisons). she puts this work above absolutely everything else with self-denying devotion - her happiness doesn’t matter; like she tells Tanjirou, she’s angry, and all that matters is success. a relationship for her would be a distraction, & she doesn’t need it - doesn’t want to deal with it; too many emotional ups & downs; too much drama; too much risk; too much intimacy with someone else, which actually terrifies her. so when Giyuu tells her he wants a relationship, she rejects him.

now let’s take the samples that slap me in the face with giyushino feels from street lights, which i can literally hear coming out of their fucking mouths.

Shinobu: You know me, this stuff freaks me out. It's fake. What’s wrong with what we’re doing? It’s working, we don’t have to fight -

Giyuu: Maybe I wanna fight.

Shinobu: Yeah, well I don’t.

Giyuu: What are you gonna do - you’re just never gonna feel anything? How are you gonna do that?

Shinobu: I don’t know. I’ll figure it out.

^ this exchange already starts murdering me because i feel like once Giyuu realizes he has legitimate feelings for Shinobu, and is wrestling with his own self-denial and inability to accept love from others because of how much he hates himself - he sees that Shinobu does the same thing - she doesn’t want to feel anything too deeply because she’s traumatized from Kanae’s death. she doesn’t want to love anyone else in a way that makes them more important than anything else (though, yes, we have to also acknowledge her love for Kanao here, but i imagine that's it for her - no more), so that she can’t experience loss again. she’s scared; she protects herself by being self-sufficient and dedicating herself to her work.

she's also stubborn asf, and sincerely believes in herself and what she's capable of, and so "I don't know. I'll figure it out." is literally what she would respond to this challenge.

Shinobu: I don’t need you to take care of me. I take care of myself. That’s what I do.

^ destroying me because this is exactly what Shinobu does. this is her MO; her armor.

Shinobu: Why don’t you go find some other girl who’s not gonna hurt you?

Giyuu: Because I love you.

^ help. why are they like this. it’s because Giyuu’s so alone, but when he feels, he feels deeply (seen even in his initially inexplicable sentimentality for Tanjirou & Nezuko from the beginning, all the way to when we finally hear his backstory with Sabito). he’s smart and intuitive, he can see right through Shinobu - right through everything she does to protect herself. he also doesn’t give up on people he cares about, and his sad boi meter is off the charts - he probably thinks he deserves rejection. plus we have Shinobu pushing everyone away so hard because she can’t handle it.

also going off the HC here that they’re casually hooking up throughout this: oh boy is this a mess of confusing emotions for both of them, both struggling to keep it bottled up, and Giyuu is clearly the weaker link. he just would be. he’s too sensitive.

Giyuu: It’s obvious, I completely love you - there. You’re such a wimp.

Shinobu: I am not!

Giyuu: Well then be with me.

^ why is this dialogue like, canon. it’s their personalities to a T - the way they push at each other in a way of making fun of each other; the way Giyuu is honest despite his problems with feelings; the way strong, independent Shinobu would be so offended at him calling her a wimp (which he totally would fucking say) - calling her out on how she blocks out feelings for others to stay focused on her mission so she can protect them, but so she also can’t get heartbroken, because she can’t go through that again.

*cough*

anyway. there’s my roughly 1k word count essay on how i envision a romantic giyushino dynamic. i’ll be trying to work this into my modern AU - but considering Giyuu and Shinobu are secondary characters, i don’t know how much i can explore this; still, i don’t have the full fic planned out, so nothing’s off the table.

but seriously, this shit hits me in my gut so hard i could probably write an entire fic about them just on this premise lol.

anyway, yeah. woke up at 7:30, made a cup of coffee, sat down on the computer and just wrote this essay out of nowhere in an hour because suddenly giyushino is also ruining my life.

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violetmina · 2 years ago

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Chokehold - Ch. 5

Chokehold Masterlist

Accepting taglist requests!

Taglist: @roundroald @i-wished-upon-a-star-one-night @sexytholland @scraftsku35 @avastrasposts @missihart23 @ladyvillainous @elementress44 @haibara-ai-tsii

Pairing: Billy Butcher x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5,895

Warning: Swearing, mild violence and injury, threats of bodily harm, alcohol, pervy assholes being pervy, sexual tension. And probably the biggest warning of all - Butcher.

A/N: I honestly don't know if I love or hate this chapter. But we're gonna blame a certain song by Sam the Sham & The Pharaohs for how this ended. Got stuck in my head, gave me ideas and wouldn't fucking let go. I'm praying it's not too cheesy. Enjoy.

By the time Butcher had returned with a bounty of greasy Chinese takeout, you had managed to put your epiphanies in the back of your mind and recomposed your face. You had work to do and admittedly you were feeling a little famished. A desk with a simple chair was crammed against the wall opposite the beds, a TV perched haphazardly above it. Butcher had swung one of the ends out so you could sit on your bed to eat while he took residency of the chair. Under his bulk it looked almost child-sized and creaked frequently.

After he had worked through half of his entree you decide to finally breach the previous topic. "What do you think? Are we following Frank, getting him to talk or…?"

Butcher finishes a thick bite of lo mein before he answers. "Find him first. Lucky for us, the delivery guy was a chatty type. Got him to talking and he mentioned that the science guys from the big city usually start clocking out and hitting the nightlife around seven. Gives us about six hours before we head to the bar."

"So we start tonight. That helps with our time crunch. But again, if he shows up, what are we doing?"

"That depends," Butcher shrugs and sneaks another bite. "Ideally we'll be able to watch him for a bit then follow him home. Much easier for me to get him to talk without witnesses."

"What if we can get him to do both?," you ask. "We let some liquor loosen his lips. And when he staggers out, he leads us home."

"Can't rely on him getting drunk," Butcher shakes his head. "Even arseholed, he's gonna be real skittish about two randoms asking him questions. And if he's gambling, which he's there to do, he'll be uptight from the word go."

"Would splitting up be the better option?," you inquire after a bite of rice. "Especially if he might have friends from the lab there. One of us could take Frank, the other another scientist, and when he leaves we follow him."

Butcher wipes some sauce from his lip, shaking his head. "I told you, best chance getting him to spill his guts is outta sight. Not in the bar, and not if he's got friends."

"Who says you have to talk to him in the bar?" He pins you with a confused look. You shrug. "You could try to work the locals or the other scientists for information. And it's not how I usually handle things, but maybe Frank will be less receptive to you, and a little more open to…feminine wiles?"

He stabs his chopsticks into his food, a brow shooting to his hairline. "You're suggesting we go in there, have you try to hustle Frank for intel while I distract his buddies somewhere in the bar?" He shakes his head. "Nah. Not liking it."

"Why not? What else are we going to do?"

"For starters," Butcher says as he begins to tick off on his fingers, "It's risky splitting up. Secondly, who says Frank is into 'feminine wiles'? And lastly, if you don't wanna be treated like a kid, don't ask me to play babysitter."

"I didn't ask you to!," you snap. "I can handle this! We're not really splitting up, we'll be in the same bar. And who says Frank doesn't swing both ways, hm?"

He waves a hand at you dismissively, stuffing his mouth with more lo mein. You start for another bite of food yourself but stop and sigh instead. "I've told this to Hughie," you say softly. "I shouldn't have to tell you of all people. Don't treat me with kid gloves. If you throw me in the deep end and I start to drown…well then, I learn to swim. Or I drown."

"Not on my fucking watch, you won't," Butcher replies in a low voice, steely eyes flashing.

You meet his gaze, refraining from fidgeting. "Then trust me to swim, Butcher." He stares at you for a moment before he sighs and looks down. "I know you don't like it. But what other options do we really have?"

He doesn't answer for a long moment, slowly twisting his chopsticks. Finally, just as you try to think of how to argue, he looks back up at you. "I'm gonna need to scope out the bar within the next hour or two. When I come back, we'll devise a way to communicate when we divide and conquer. Savvy?"

^^^

After the takeout has been devoured, Butcher quickly heads out the door to look over Danny-Boy's. You suspect he's also brooding over having you there but you figure he'll just have to deal with it. You glance over at his open bag, spotting a couple sidearms, and some bugs and tracking devices you've seen the Boys use before. An idea sprouts in your mind when your phone buzzes, diverting you from snooping further with a text. It's Hughie.

Missed seeing you in the office today. I'm sorry. I really hope you're ok.

A little wave of petty, bitterness washes over you. But you take a deep breath before you let your fingers lash out a response. You consider calling him to chew him out for yesterday, but you're supposed to be ill and you don't dare risk the possibility of him realizing what you're really up to. That and the risk of Neuman suddenly tapping your phones loomed at the back of your mind.

I'm ok, you reply. Nothing I can't handle. I didn't want to bring crap to work. Hope to see you soon.

Satisfied for the moment, you turned your attention to the upcoming recon. You had packed with other scenarios in mind, like, say, running for your life, or swinging your FBSA credentials if need be. Not that you were high ranking but people didn't need to know that little detail. You looked over the few clothing options you had with a frown. None of these screamed seductress to you but you settled on dark pants and a silky black blouse. Practicality had made you ditch the stilettos at home, but you had brought a pair of wedge pumps that were neither too high or low that you favored at work. Maybe, just maybe, you could swing for a subtle, sexy secretary look.

That thought alone made you cringe as you left the ensemble out on the bed and put away the rest of your clothes. Why did I suggest going this route, again? Did I really just volunteer to be a cliche?

You shrug off the distaste of the idea and head into the shower. You're not into the lingering scent of Chinese food and sweat, and you doubt Frank will be either. The motel water pressure is subpar but the temp is to your liking, and you make quick work of scrubbing clean. When you step out and begin to dry, you wonder if Butcher has returned.

The instant your mind starts to idle over the idea of him just a few feet and a door away while you're undressed, you squash it. It reminds you of the night ahead of you and you bite back a groan of frustration. Don't make this night any longer than it has to be, you admonish your lurid mind. Stick to the plan, deal with Frank, get back here safely. One hurdle at a time.

You speed through drying your hair and applying the minimal makeup you had brought, sticking to subtlety over flashy. You sneak one more look over Butcher's bag, and about the time you're stepping into your shoes, he comes breezing through the door. "Not a bad little place. If we stick close to the bar, we might actually be able to signal each other without a fuss."

"So what are our signals? We doing it by phone? Body language?" When he doesn't reply, you look up from finishing your shoes. You're not sure if he's looking at you or through you. You wave a hand at his zoned out expression. "Hey Butcher! How's Binky the spaceman doing?"

He blinks, snapping out of whatever weird daze he's in to give you a rueful smile. "I do hate to bring it up but uh…" He makes a wave in your general direction. "Is this how you intend to lure Mr. Lazzell?"

Your eyes widen and you give him an indignant scoff, standing up as you cross your arms. "I wasn't exactly planning on going clubbing when 'recon' came up. Am I seriously about to get wardrobe advice from Billy Butcher? Mister 'my shirts make the blind weep'?"

"Only 'cause I make this shit look good," he smirks, holding out his arms wide. He ignores your eyeroll and strides towards you as he continues, "Not so much fashion advice, love. More like…friendly advice as a man. If you're gonna play the bait, this needs just a bit of fine tuning."

He scratches his chin in a dramatic pose of musing and motions with a finger to give a twirl. You give him an incredulous look but he does it again. You heave a sigh and do a quick turn. A snide remark is on the tip of your tongue but suddenly disappears when his fingers slip into your hair and musses it ever so slightly. Then they drop down, fiddle with your collar for the briefest moment, thumbing the smooth fabric.

"Nice shirt on you," he mumbles with a faint nod. Next thing you know, you feel his knuckles brush against your skin as he swiftly pops open the first two buttons of your blouse. You blanch back out of his reach, too startled to manage more than a breathy curse and wide eyes.

"There. Can't go wrong with a touch of bedhead and a little skin," he says with a devilish grin, wagging his brows.

"How about a little warning, asshole!?," you snap, finally finding your voice. You can feel just a tinge of color in your face that you can't repress, so you focus on remaining indignant. "I could have done that myself! And just because you hate buttons, doesn't mean the rest of us do! Jesus!"

You look down, grateful that you're not as exposed as you feel. But there's definitely a peek of sternum and the v-neck highlights your collarbone now. "The things I do for this job," you mutter as you smooth out the blouse.

He turns away and calls your attention to start devising a code. And you try to focus. But in the hours before leaving the motel, you question if you imagined his gaze lingering just a second too long where his fingers had been.

^^^

As it turns out, Butcher was right; Danny-Boy's wasn't too bad for a little sports bar and club. The outside was unassuming white brick with a crimson stripe around the top. Inside, however, was rather clean and sleek. The bar itself stretched out like a long island in the middle of the floor, well-polished dark wood highlighted in cool-toned led strips. Above it TVs followed its length, all flashing one game or another, their light just barely reaching into the dark ceiling. Along the right wall clung several booths, one of which you currently occupied in the corner.

From here you had a good vantage point of overlooking the entire bar, as well a decent view of the dance floor stretching from half the left side to the back left corner, guarding the restrooms. It's also from here you can just see the billiards tables through the growing evening crowd, comprising the front half of the club. At one of them is Butcher, already engaged in a game with two younger men. You're not certain if they're locals or from the lab. But even you pick up the air of inexperience about them from across the room, and you suspect the poor duo are being hustled out of money as much as they are information.

You poor suckers, you think, recognizing that look of Butcher when he's calculating and adapting three or four steps ahead. No rush, throwing out jovial bits of false hope, biding his time like a shark slowly circling in. Hope you're betting low.

As rivulets of people begin to come through the door again, you check the time on your phone. It's almost nine-thirty and doubt begins to gnaw at you. If Frank was planning to come after work for his gambling fix, he should have been there by now. A few patrons have already gathered in small groups under the TVs, placing bets on their phones and amongst themselves.

Just as you begin to wonder if this was going to be in vain, you spot him. You recognize the pug-like face, eyes too big in a gaunt mask. Besides his face, he is the most vague human being you've seen. Average height, build, maybe hint of pudge at the middle, brunette hair cropped a little too close to the scalp. If you weren't deliberately looking for him, he'd probably just be a body in the crowd. He's perched near the end of the bar, barely on the fringes of a group taking bets.

You waste no time and calmly remove yourself from the booth to head for Frank. When you're halfway up the bar, you glance in Butcher's direction. He's lining up a shot in a corner pocket and when he looks down the cue stick in your direction, you make a motion of scratching the outer corner of your right eye; Target spotted. To your relief, Butcher pauses in his shot to mimic the motion, then sinks a striped ball; Copy that.

You quickly slink up onto the stool on Frank's right, wedging your way past a disgruntled frat boy type who takes the seat next to you. As you settle in the crowded space at the bar, you place your hand on Frank's shoulder with a little squeeze, pretending to crane over him to peer at the alcohol selection.

He scowls at the hand on his shoulder, but out of the corner of your eye you watch his gaze trail up your arm, the hint of collarbone and…start to smile. There's the hook, you think, suppressing the instant repulsion you feel at not so subtly being ogled.

"Sorry," you chirp over the noise, withdrawing your hand and plopping back down on the stool to turn to face him. "Couldn't see. Been a long day and I need a stiff drink. And a little luck."

"Luck hasn't been much of a lady for me. But maybe you can," he leers. "I'm Frank. Are you a betting gal, Miss…?"

There's his line. "My friends call me Red," you give him your alias with a smile. "And tonight I am. But I'm embarrassed." You wave your phone in your hand with a shrug. "I'm new to this mobile thing."

"How about you let me buy you a drink and I'll teach you?"

Your smile turns to a grin, more from surprise at how stupid easy Frank is making this than part of your act. "I think you just saved my day, Frank."

He turns all too eagerly to track down the bartender. You seize the moment to pretend to look around the bar and find Butcher again. The two young men seem to be arguing about risking another game with him, and he casts his eyes just over their shoulders in time to catch you hooking your thumb in your pocket and tap two fingers on your leg; Engaging, standby. Butcher shifts his eyes back to the duo like he's bored, rocks on his heels and mimics you again.

You fight back a laugh, absently fidgeting with the gadget in your pocket. God this is way easier than I thought.

^^^

Two hours in, however, you wonder if you had unintentionally jinxed you both. When the first Long Island Iced Tea showed up -not a small one either - and Frank had insisted, you knew then his goal; get you drunk as soon as possible. It was to be expected, but you still had to bite back the anger at the creep. You had tried to pace yourself, sipping as you picked at him for tidbits of info in the name of flirtatious small talk. He had not been as cooperative as you hoped, and the less you chugged, the more bored he seemed to become.

That wouldn't do. So you changed tactics, you drank a little faster but amped up the theatrics. To a degree it was successful. The more you started to slur, the more you would begin to sway, the more Frank would drink himself. Even at one point you'd given a drunken giggle loud enough to catch Butcher's attention, and you caught the hard, annoyed look he'd shot your target. Getting intel outta him around the bad flirting and god-awful innuendo was like pulling teeth, but you managed.

The first drink was long gone by that point. You're just starting to work on another when Frank's phone starts to buzz impatiently. At first, you thought it was gambling results. He's clearly not on a winning streak. But his growing agitation tells you something's off. Out of the blurring corner of your eye you spot Butcher again. The duo are growing suspicious, or just tired of losing money. He's losing their attention, too, and Butcher taps the face of his watch as he leans against the pool table. That one is pretty clear; Hurry the fuck up.

"Y'know, sweetheart," Frank snaps your attention back, glancing at his phone. "You seem like a lot of fun. Really, but -" His screen glares again and he curses. You realize that you're losing him and very precious time.

"Aww, c'mon, Frankie. Don't be like that," you croon, slipping a hand out of your pocket. You flash a fifty dollar bill before dropping it on the bar before him. "Let's make a bet. You like bets, don'tcha?"

Frank greedily eyes both the cash and your hand fiddling with your blouse buttons. "You know I love a good bet. But I don't know…" He starts to rub the back of his neck and you feel it in your gut that he's rapidly slipping. At that same moment, you realize that the duo are slamming down the last of their losses on the pool table and shuffling out with their tails between their legs. You have to act. Now.

You tug on Frank's sleeve to pull his hand from his neck and slip one hand in the collar of his coat, deep like Butcher had shown you. But you don't go for a choke. Instead, making sure your fingers are tight in the collar, you pull him towards you. "I bet," you slur in his ear, "you can't figure out the color of my bra before you get me home."

When you slowly release your grip and he leans back, you have to fight the urge to slap the lecherous look off his face. The sound of a ringtone amongst the music and chatter however spares you, and you both glance at the interrupting device. You catch a glimpse of a name before he groans, and looks at you like a kid that's been denied a toy at the store.

"I gotta go," he grumbles. "You have no idea how sorry-! Shit!" And he's sliding away from the bar and answering the call before you can say anything. You catch Butcher's eye as he puts away his cue stick and there's no need for a signal. He slinks against the wall and through the crowd, eyes on Frank's receding form.

You sigh and turn back to the bar with a bit of relief. Not quite what you planned, but thank God you didn't have him call you on your bluff. You shudder at the idea. Now you just needed to head back to the motel and wait for Butcher to follow him wherever and -.

And a hiccup slips past your lips. You blink at the bar, slowly slipping the fifty back in your pocket as you feel a slight tilt in the room. It suddenly hits you that maybe it wasn't all theatrics. You might actually be a little more inebriated than you realized. When you go to slip off the stool, your ankle almost rolls under you and confirms your suspicion.

Oh, you think as a giggle bubbles out of your throat. Well shit. Oops.

As you start to look about to find the front door a hand wraps around your wrist. You turn in confusion. It's the frat boy, the one that's been sitting next to you. "Hey, sugar. Where are you going?"

Oh shit. You gotta be kidding.

"I'm heading out," you say as dryly as you can manage. "I've got friends waiting for me -."

"Kinda overheard you and whats-his-face." His grip tightens on your wrist and in that moment you realize that you can't remember any of the escapes Butcher taught you. You're too foggy. "His loss," frat boy leers. "But I'm game, sugar. I'll take that bet."

"Not betting with you, asshole!" You try to wrestle out of his grip but you stumble instead. Alarm bells start to go off in your head.

"As a matter of fact, I bet I'll figure out the color before we get outside to-"

"There you are!"

Both you and the frat boy jump when an arm wraps around your shoulders. Butcher smiles down at you and you blink to make sure you're not seeing things. But the weight and warmth around your shoulders feels real enough. "I've been looking for you, Red. Bachelorette party starts in fifteen minutes, the brides gonna have both our heads if her maid of honor's late!"

Even in your fog, you jump on the lifeline. "Shit, fifteen?! I thought I still had an hour," you whine. "I'm sorry. I was just leaving, I swear."

"It's alright. Thanks for holding this one down for me, mate," Butcher says to the frat boy, giving him a firm slap on the back before reaching for your ensnared wrist. "She's a little wild. I'll take her from here."

"I don't give a shit, dude!" You wince when the grip on you tightens. "She’s not go-!"

Your captor's words cut off into a little squeal when Butcher's grip locks on his wrist and cranks. You think you hear a slight crackling sound over the din of the bar as Butcher's eyes grow wide and far too bright. It's almost manic. "You wanna play odds with me, son? How much you wanna wager I'll scatter all your fucking teeth across this bar in thirty seconds or less?"

When the frat boy only whines a mantra of "sorry" in response, cradling his arm and leaning far from you, Butcher scoffs and releases him. The manic look fades as quickly as it came. He nearly seems disappointed. His arm slips down your back and around your waist, pulling you in to lean on him. Your arm closest snakes around him the same, your other hand splaying blindly across his shirt. "C'mon, Red. Don't wanna be late."

You have some balance but it's far from graceful as he guides you across the floor, towards the front door. You try to glance up to look at him but nearly trip over air. "Butcher, about Fra-"

"Not a fucking word," he snaps just loud enough for you to hear. "Not here."

You purse your lips and focus on walking. When you stagger out through the entrance, leaving the hot, cramped atmosphere of the bar, the outside air crashes over you in cool relief. For a split second, your mind clears…and it quickly registers what just happened, and Butcher's fingers digging sharply into your waist. You swallow thickly, wincing at the aftertaste of the alcohol in your gullet.

Crossing the gravel parking lot is much slower going, Butcher having to catch you from nearly collapsing once or twice when your ankles would falter. But it's a bit of smoother sailing once you reach the sidewalk, and you glimpse the motel waiting up the way. You suffer the thick silence until you're about two-thirds of the way back, and finally dare to speak.

"This wasn't part of the plan-"

"Oh! Really?!"

"I tried not to get drunk!," you mirror his snippy attitude, grimacing when you stumble again.

"Well fuck me sideways if I could tell!," he sneers. "What with all that coquette, eyelash batting, giggling what-the-fuck you were doing, a couple free drinks didn't seem to bother you none."

"Oh fuck off with that," you groan. "He wouldn't play along unless he thought…Well, you know. I tried damn it."

"And look where that got us. I manage to line my pocket with a few more bills, but learned nearly fuck all on Vought or the lab. Our main lead is gone in the bloody wind, and you three sheets to it."

"He's not gone in the wind."

"I don't know if you noticed, darlin', but I didn't tail him long enough to catch his cab! Had to come in and play your goddamn babysitter-!"

"Butcher!"

"WHAT?!"

He brings you to an abrupt stop at the curb. The motel sits just across the intersection now. You take a deep breath, making sure your footing is steady before slowly looking up at him and the snarl twisting his lip. "Please listen to me. Just fucking humor me. Lazzell is not in the wind. Look at your phone."

"What does my-!?"

"Oh my god! Pleeeease!," you groan. "Just check your goddamn phone."

He glares for a second, the snarl twisting further before he dives into his pocket and yanks out his phone. The light from his screen illuminates his face and how his brows slowly crease. "The fuck is this?"

"Did you really think I'd go in without some kinda insurance?" You can't help the corners of your lip twitch into a sly smile.

He turns from his phone to peer down at you. "You went through my stuff? You nicked one of my bugs! You-!"

You can't help the smile from growing wider when he stops. You can practically see the lightbulb go on over his head as the scowl drops. "Turns out that, uh, that collar grip you taught me isn't just good for chokes," you say gleefully.

"You planted one of my bugs on him." It's hard to tell if it's a statement or a question. Either way, a smile of his own starts to form as he puts away his phone.

"Aaand before he dashed out the door I saw he was getting a phone call from somebody. A contact listed under 'Walsh'. Now who do you think that might be?" An uncontrollable giggle slips out of you and dances in your next words. "Ended up drunk and I still planted the bug without getting caught. On a moving target! Suck on that, Hughie!"

He stares at you for a moment before breaking into a grin. His arm tightens around you, squeezing you hard enough to cut off your giggle, and placing his other hand on the side of your face. "You fucking, cheeky beauty!," he says with a laugh of his own and plants a quick kiss on your brow. It's less than half a second. But if the alcohol didn't make you feel all warm and tingly, that certainly did, and you grin as big as him.

He pulls back, holding up a stern finger between you. "Nice one. But don't you ever go through my shit again."

"Don't go through my buttons," you hiccup.

He quirks a brow. "How many drinks did he ply you with?"

"Pretty sure that was, uh, the third?" You nod slowly. "Yeah, left the third Long Island on the bar. With the douchebag."

"C'mon, you fucking lightweight," he shrugs you back into position. "You should start sleeping that off. We gonna be busy tomorrow."

"Fuck you. You…yer a lightweight," you grumble. Butcher only smirks as he guides you across the street and over the parking lot. When you just about reach the trunk of the car you speak again.

"Hey Billy? 'Bout back there…with the douche. I really didn't mean for you to have to save me. I hate that, you're not a babysitter."

"Don't worry bout it, love," he grunts as he swings you up the short step and lets you lean against the doorframe as he digs one handed for his keycard. His other hand rests on the small of your back.

"No, really," you press, now in more hushed tones as there's a slight shift in gravity. You grab his shoulder for a little balance. "Thanks fer…for breaking that guy's wrist. I mean, I think you broke it…Coulda been real bad for me."

He chuckles as he struggles sliding in the card. "Cunt deserved it. And I told ya, didn't I? Not gonna let you drown."

You can't help but smile. You rest your head on the doorframe, feeling a different shift as you watch him, noticing the little threads of silver in his beard, the ones beginning to dust his temples and the shape of the scar there. The door finally beeps and he pops the handle, coiling his arm back around your waist. He meets your eyes as if he's about to say something but it fades and he stares with a look of…surprise? Concern? It's there and then gone, like a mirage replaced with that glower look you know so well. "You really shouldn't do that. Don't look at me like that," he says gruffly.

"Like what?"

He looks away as he starts to sidle you through the door. "Like I'm fucking Prince Charming."

"Oh," you whisper. You try not to worry your lip as you stumble after him. That's not the alcohol warming your cheeks and suddenly the carpet looks very, very interesting. But your sloshed little brain replays his words and you snort, "You are definitely not Prince Charming."

"Oh, so you did notice?," he quips, nudging the door shut with his boot.

"No, no, no, you misunderstand," you insist as he awkwardly shuffles you towards your bed in the dark, cramped space. "Prince Charming is a lie, Butcher. He's a lie."

"The fuck you going on about?," he mutters into your hair, peeling back your covers with his free hand.

"He's a lie! With his too big smile, and, and with the rehearsed pickup lines he doesn't mean, and promises he never keeps. You know who the Charmings are?," you ask as he coaxes you to sit on the bed and taps the lamp on the lowest setting.

"No, who-? Oi! Don't reach for those bloody shoes like that! You want a concussion, that it?!" He rights you with a hand on your shoulder and only kneels down when he's certain you won't topple over. "Just fucking sit still, will ya?"

"You wanna know who? The Deep. And Homelander. And A-train. All those fuckers. To use your favorite word, Prince Charming is just the grandmaster cunt."

He shakes his head, grumbling something about your footwear. But you don't hear him and prattle on. "But I have a theory. I think the fairytales got all spun on us. We shouldn't want Charming. It's…" You shrug. "It's the wolf."

Butcher looks up at you just looking all the world like he is done with you. "The wolf?," he asks flatly. You nod. "The big, bad wolf? You sure it was only three drinks?"

"Hear me out. The wolf wasn't really bad, just doing what any animal does to live. Still more honest than Charming, anyway. Ya know? And wolves are loyal…Loyal to the point of violence." You wince when Butcher yanks off the first shoe. He gives you an amused glance as he chucks it into a corner.

"Oh thank you," you sigh. "That's so much better…Maybe that's what this fucked up world needs. For us to be a little more wolfish." An idea flits in your mind and you hum as a lazy smile crosses your face. "Besides, can't argue with what they said in the stories. The wolf will hear you better, he'll see you better and clearly e-ee-eeee…Um…"

You suddenly remember who the hell you're talking to. And you trail off when you discover that the amused look on Butcher's face has changed. His lips are curled into a smirk you're not used to. And you're sure it's the alcohol running with your train of thought, twisting your perception. But suddenly in the low light, his wild locks remind you of dark, thick fur. And you know damn well his eyes are hazel but for a split second, you could've sworn they looked gold. And feral.

"Don't mind me," he says, his voice in a deeper register than before. "You were saying?"

He slips off your other shoe, letting it clatter to the floor as his hand slides up your ankle to the back of your knee. He sits up taller on his heels. He doesn't blink.

"I, uh…I guess…I-I forgot," you breathe. Your face feels far too warm. When did you get so heady?

"How about you remind me, lil' Red? How's the story go?" He raises three fingers on one hand, the other rubbing lazy circles about your knee with his thumb. "Let's see…Eyes to see you better…Ears to hear you better…" He slowly lowers the last finger and leans in. "What are the teeth for, my dear?"

Your lips part but words fail you as you stare back at him. You feel a little dizzy but you're not sure you can blame the liquor anymore. Those firm fingers now gripping your thigh, however…

The next breath you take shudders loudly in the space between you. You try to piece a coherent answer and instead another hiccup bubbles out. You clap a hand over your mouth, startled.

Butcher looks at your hand over your mouth for a long while. Then lowers his eyes and sighs. "Aww fuck. Fucking hell." He shakes his head. "This ain't no bloody fairytale at all."

A confused crease forms between your brows. "What's that mean?"

"It means," Butcher says quietly, shifting an arm under both your knees and the other behind your back, "That you, love, are drunk off your ass." He tilts you back onto the bed and you groan as everything spins. "And you're already gonna hate yourself enough when that hangover finds you in the morning."

"M'not tired," you slur, turning on your side, face halfway in the pillow.

"Sure you're not." He pulls the coverlet and sheets up to your shoulders. "Shut your eyes and have a little kip."

"Wait," you yawn as you hear the jangle of keys. Your fingers snag his coat sleeve when he turns off the lamp. There's a glow in his other hand. Your brain slowly recognizes it as his phone. "Billy? Where you going?"

"Shhhhhh." Your eyes ignore your attempts to stay awake and slip closed at the sound. "I'll be back. Go to sleep, lil' Red." The sleeve slips from your fingers and the door clicks shut, but you never hear them. It's the warm whisper in your ear you hear last before sleep curls around you.

"The wolf's going hunting."

#billy butcher x reader #billy butcher #the boys fanfic

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runningupthatvecna · 2 years ago

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night drive | part 1

joseph quinn x fem!reader

masterlist

story summary: you're just out there working your job when you encounter a special (and very familiar) client that is going to change your life. for the better, obviously. but should you really entertain personal relations with a client of yours?

general tags/warnings: rpf (don't like, don't read), strangers to lovers, mutual pining, fluff and eventual spice, slow burn, this will be just a small fluffy happy story tbh :)

chapter summary: it's just another day at work. at least that's what you think to yourself when you leave your flat in berlin one morning, yet unknowing that this day – or more like the client you have to drive to his destination – is being surprisingly gentle and kind to you, his personal driver. and the best part about it? he doesn't seem too scared of you wanting to get your daily dose of adrenaline.

cw/tw: fluff! just the overwhelming smol bean sweetness that is joseph quinn really, mentions of driving at high speeds on a highway, very brief mention of throwing up and usage of drugs, y/n mentioned once (1) at the end

word count: 3,9k

a/n: this idea has been engraved in my brain for literal months and i'm being reminded of it every goddamn time i am at work. so i had to get it out, right? jesus, yeah this is gonna be incredibly self-indulgent since i am german (stereotypes apply), but i tried to keep this as non-german as possible so more of you can relate in some way. hope that's alright and not too underwhelming in general. also, please leave me feedback/reblogs if you've enjoyed this so far! thank you and i love you :)

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Let's see who's gonna be flying in today, you thought to yourself as you shoved the last bite of your toasted bread slice into your mouth. Always have to have some form of breakfast at least.

Early signs of sunrise were making an entrance across the sky as you downed the last sips of your orange juice, leaving a tickling sour-sweet taste on your tongue.

Thankfully, your work uniform could easily be changed into something lighter and more casual during the summer months, which is why you only had to throw on a linen blouse and a pair of pants of the same fabric, supporting the flow of air around your skin to help keep your body at a reasonable temperature.

Berlin summers could be brutal, mainly regarding temperature, which is why the air conditioned environment you found yourself working in was the main reason for you to feel grateful these days.

Earning the bread while driving people around? And not in a oh god this guy is so drunk he's going to spill the insides of his stomach in my uber kind of way, but being the exclusive chauffeur for important people? Yeah, it could definitely be worse.

Especially in Berlin, where you can be anything you want.

Most people here get lost in the consumption of intoxicating substances while spending their entire weekends at Sisyphos; they have epiphanies about starting a career in dj-ing, before abandoning that idea again two weeks later just to start a food blog or become a yoga teacher. Long forgotten be the actual reason they once moved here in the first place. For studying or something.

There was a time when you used to think that this specific culture was cool, the same thought a lot of countryside kids think before they wave goodbye to their boring stuck-in-1982 German village life, trying to escape the impending doom of getting tied down to the soils of their direct ancestors, and decide to move here.

But the years of seeing what you had seen here had changed your mindset. A lot.

You loved the morning. The peaceful silence and quietness, empty streets when you could still hear the chirping of the birds, before the rush and heat of the hectic city would cast its overlay over East and West, before most people would start their day, trying to make it to everlasting work, meetings, important business corporate tralala on time.

It was something you had learned to appreciate early on after moving here.

Lighter shades of blue creeped upon the sky now, a sign for you to get ready to leave for your first client of the day.

Airport runs, all day long.

The morning shift, yeah.

You wondered how many people with sticks up their ass you would encounter today, since Germans were usually more of the awkward silence type. Some proved themselves to be quite bearable though, engaging in friendly small talk you would always try to initiate, just to break the tension in the air which sitting in close proximity to total strangers could evoke.

Plus, you never knew who else you would have to transfer. Could it be some important sheikh from Dubai today? A South African basketball player? Maybe the ambassador of Canada, though that would require a police escort.

Ever since you got your license, you had always enjoyed driving. You kinda have to get one if you grow up in small town Germany, where there is a bus service going, but only once per decade or so. Driving had to essentially be part of your DNA at this point.

Grabbing your keys and handbag filled with a water bottle, tissues, really good smelling deodorant, some chocolate you hoped wouldn't melt in the heat of late-ish May, and other small and useful things, you headed outside.

A shiny pearly white Audi A6 was sitting in your street elegantly, a bit further down from your building. Not your own, sadly. It was owned by the agency you worked for; however, with the frequency you found yourself driving it, it could be considered your property anyway.

You really couldn't complain. It was the latest model, seat and steering wheel heating, Apple carplay, a grade A sound system, cruise control, lane assist and all sorts of other nice features a modern car had these days.

From time to time the astonishment about being trusted enough to steer this four-wheeled beast in Berlin traffic was getting to your head.

The click of the lock was like music to your ears and you threw your bag on the passenger seat, since the clients you were supposed to transfer usually sat in the back.

Like a cab, but more personal and exclusive.

The warmth of the previous day had stayed inside the car overnight, which made you lightly turn up the A/C.

You had driven the route to the airport enough times to have figured out alternatives when the main roads would be too full with traffic during rush hours, so you were never really late for work. A true German virtue.

The first client of the day was some journalist working for the German broadcasting service ARD and it was your job to deliver them to the headquarters.

As per usual you asked them a few questions, from where they were flying in, how long they'd be staying, if they'd been to the city or even the country before, etc.

Right after drop off in the center, waving the journalist goodbye and wishing them a great time, your work phone received the message with further info for your next commission.

It was always like this. You'd receive a text message with pick up and drop off address, name of the client and their time of arrival at the airport. Sometimes additional instructions.

And yes, you needed to hurry.

You needed to hurry so much in fact, that your brain completely overlooked the name of the client next on your agenda. Your sole focus was on the time, and it became clear to you that you only had thirty minutes to make the distance.

The time aspect was always but thankfully the only stressful part of your job, still you loved it nonetheless.

You could be on the road twentyfour-seven, if one would let you.

Exceeding the speed limit on the A113 only slightly by 19km/h, you made your way back out to the airport before sliding out of the driver's seat. And yes, you had to get into the building with one of those cringy signs that spelled out the name of the person you'd be awaiting.

As you locked the car out front, parked between two cabs not too far away from the huge sliding doors of the immense window front underneath the massive concrete roof of terminal 1, your entire system flooded with the tingling sensation of nervousness.

You felt your heart make five million jumps, heat rising to your cheeks, and it wasn't because the early morning sun was already casting its heat down onto earth.

It was because of the name next to the arrival time info that you only now had to pay attention to.

It was half past seven, ten minutes after his estimated landing time, and you wondered how long it would take for him to make his way through the maze that BER could be and waltz through those sliding doors in the arrival hall.

The thoughts in your head went faster than what you'd just been going on the highway to get here.

You were about to pick up Joseph Quinn.

British actor, one of your absolute favourites. You knew about all the roles he had been working on, before his international breakthrough on Stranger Things' latest season, which is exactly why now, internally, you were screaming.

Your nervousness only got worse with every opening slide of the doors, built into the wall that kept the arrival hall and baggage claim separate, revealing behind it another random person that wasn't him.

The feeling of impatience grew with each passing second, mixing into the blood you felt getting pumped through you at increasing intensity, mingling with the rushes of euphoria and thrill caused by the thoughts of meeting someone you had so much admiration for.

And yet, a yawn escaped you just in the right moment, just when the doors opened for what felt like the millionth time within the fifteen minutes of you waiting behind the little gate.

He was wearing a dark blue cap, flattening down his light brown curls and making them stick to his (fore)head, brown sunglasses sitting on the brim, a white button down with chest pockets paired with light blue jeans and two rather thin silver chains around his neck. The sleeves of the button down folded right below the elbows. A black leather jacket hung over his forearm, his phone in the hand. A small dark blue suitcase on wheels was following behind him pulled by his free hand, alongside a middle-aged woman you guessed was his manager, because she stuck by his side, holding onto her own phone and own suitcase for dear life.

Didn't seem too fond of airports, you guessed.

With the way he was dressing it almost looked like he was here for much more casual reasons, but you were mostly to never driving people around just for leisure.

You could see him scanning the gathering of people awaiting someone, in search for a sign with an all too familiar name on it.

When his eyes fell on you, he smiled, warmly. Approached you, in fact, and with the way this man maintained eye contact, you felt your knees go weaker with each step he took in your direction.

You now understood what everyone that had met him was going on about.

Your breath hitched in your throat, forcing you to clear it to avoid your voice coming out as a squeak.

While dragging in one long inhale, you tried to gather every last ounce of your confidence, praying to whatever higher power there was that neither of them would catch a whiff of your tense nerves.

Okay, okay. Oh god. Okay, be professional.

He's just another client.

"Good morning, welcome to Berlin!" A smile appeared on your lips as you were met with Joe's warm reaction before you went on with your usual routine as your brain defaulted to that, telling them your name, mentioning that you'd be here to drive them to their destination.

"Hey darling, pleasure to meet you", he shot you another warm smile, lightly touching your upper arm right above your elbow to emphasize what he had just said. You just couldn't help but chuckle lightly at his Britishness and his subtle yet intentional touch made your arm almost twitch. And the skin underneath your linen blouse warm up.

Darling.

You knew well enough that it was more of a casual thing for a British person to say and that there wasn't anything to read into, buuuuuut you just couldn't help the way you found yourself attracted to him. It was melting you. You felt warmth spread on your cheeks at his words.

All of a sudden, it became so much clearer as to why everyone's brain chemistry seemed to be altered in a good way after an encounter of this kind.

And to your surprise, your nervousness was slowly vanishing into thin air. His presence, the way he was looking at you all soft and gentle, his entire aura was calming you in a way you just didn't expect to happen at all while being around him for the first time.

The realisation that he was indeed real and just a human being was doing its part, you guessed.

As you lead them out of the building, straight to your car as discreetly as possible, trying not to evoke the attention of any potential fan, you felt his eyes on you.

Okay, let's stay professional.

Sure you had met all sorts of interesting people through your job, and yes, there also had been moments you had gotten a bit starstruck before. For example when you'd met Dave Grohl while driving him to an appointment at Universal the other day.

However, nothing you had experienced at your job had you feeling quite like Mr Joseph Quinn was making you feel.

You were internally dying to ask him a million questions. And you were going to be surprised at how many he was going to direct towards you.

"So, what brings you to Berlin?", you asked after the carry-on's got safely tucked away in the trunk and all of you had settled into your seats. His manager behind you, him behind the seat your handbag was still occupying.

From the address that was given to you, you could already tell what his answer was going to be, yet you wanted to hear it from him and avoid making assumptions.

You set the car into motion, leaving the parking bay to make your way towards the highway, and while you asked your question number one, you briefly stole a few glances at him through the rear view mirror, awaiting his response.

And yes, he noticed.

His smile appeared back on his face, before he started explaining how this trip was going to be the start of him being on the move back and forth between London and Berlin for the coming weeks since he got cast in something and was now set to film said something here.

"I am quite excited to be part of it, actually. It's gonna be directed by one of my favourite directors and I honestly have had my eyes on working with him ever since I went to drama school years ago", he explained further with a nod, another look at him through the rear revealing the small spark in his eye.

You were getting excited for him.

"You must be quite nervous then, meeting him and the cast and all for the first time?"

You were also almost stunned at yourself for how many words you were able to put into a cohesive sentence in his presence.

A light chuckle escaped his chest, "oh yeah definitely. It's always a bit nerve-wrecking meeting everyone. But the excitement about being somewhere new and being surrounded by new people and getting to experience new things kind of balances it out quite bearably."

His deep brown eyes found yours again through the mirror. The eye contact this man was able to hold, even without being face to face with his person opposite, was honestly impressive.

You wanted to tell him. About how you'd seen all of his previous work, how all of his performances always left you completely stunned out of your mind since you were unable to wrap your head around how anyone could be this good at acting and portraying characters the way he always managed to. About how proud you were of him, seeing him succeed and receive things he'd been dreaming of, getting the things in life he'd always seemed to want and work towards. About how you had nothing but utter admiration for him. But you couldn't, because that would mean overstepping your boundaries.

Maybe, just maybe you would say that at the end of the week, when you were scheduled to shuttle him back to the airport.

"That sounds .. bearable", you quipped before continuing on a more serious note, "is this your first time here then?"

"Yes and no, I think I was here one time with school, but that was ages ago. We went and saw a few places, as part of history class, but I didn't pay enough attention back then to remember details, if I'm honest."

He let out another one of his deep chuckles.

Delightful how he was elaborating on his answers instead of keeping them one or two-worded.

"Oh, that doesn't count then", you answered while putting the car in cruise control as you switched back onto the A113. Speed limit was at 120km/h and you intended to stay there this time.

"Yeah, I definitely need a refresher I think, maybe I'll have some time on my days off during the next weeks. What about you, are you from here?"

Why, need a tour guide, Mr Quinn?

Just now, the A/C brought a whiff of his scent around to you, which you hadn't really taken note of before when he had stood close enough while greeting you at the terminal. Sandalwood, bergamot, a slight note of lingering cigarette smoke.

Once again you shot him a little glance through the mirror, which is when you noticed that his manager had passed out with her head resting against the window.

Sleep deprived, aren't we all?

"Yes and no", you mirrored him, "I grew up the South, in an insignificantly small town somewhere between Stuttgart and Munich, if you happen to know where that is?"

Joseph nodded, still with a curious expression decorating his facial features.

A bit impressed at his geography knowledge, you continued.

"I was born in the West, my family's from there originally. But I've been living in Berlin for a solid five years now, so I do consider myself somewhat of a local."

"That sounds sweet. So you know all the good spots then, hm?"

"Oh, for sure", you replied quirking up an eyebrow and then paused when you took the exit onto the A10, just to ask him, "ever been on a German highway before?"

"Not that I can recall", his voice changed into one of a slightly worried tone and you had a feeling that he was raising an eyebrow at you, "um, why?"

"You're about to see, just let me know in case the speed is making you uncomfortable or anything, I can go slower."

You could tell from the expression on his face that he wasn't sure if he should laugh or be terrified about what you just said to him, but he ended up giving you the green light anyway.

You thanked him mentally for the trust he was instilling in you.

No speed limit for at least 12km, aka getting paid to play Formula 1 in real life. Unfortunately, morning traffic crossed your plans of mildly and humbly impressing him (and his still asleep manager), so the top speed for today stayed at a cozy 173km/h. And maybe it was a good thing, getting speedblocked by traffic and keeping you from exposing yourself as a douchey sucker for speeds above two hundred kilometers per hour.

"You must really enjoy driving", you heard him almost mumble, a smile playing on his plush pink lips, almost making the colour in them disappear as it grew wider. He looked as if something in his head just clicked into place and he had come to a realization.

"Oh, what gave me away?"

"I think it's the way you stay so calm and collected while switching lanes at light speed."

His conclusion made you snort a little, the way he said it with such British seriousness.

"It's actually my German genes, you know?", you quipped back at him, without taking your eyes off what was happening in front of you.

You figured Joe would be appreciative of that.

Throughout the whole rest of the thirty minute ride to Babelsberg, a part of the town of Potsdam, with Babelsberg itself being a prestigious area with all sorts of different film sets and a bunch of production companies located at, there was not a single second in which you felt uncomfortable. No awkward silence whatsoever. And you hadn't even have to be the one breaking the ice this time.

Because there wasn't any to break in the first place. It was almost like the two of you had met before.

However, you kept the topics of your conversation on a strict small talk level. Your own level of professionalism was nagging at your brain in the back of your head continuously. You shouldn't be engaging in sharing personal info. You weren't supposed to make and entertain any sort of deep(er) connection with clients.

They were just clients and you were just their designated driver.

So you kept the convo at a strictly friendly brief small talk level.

Eventually you reached the hotel your two passengers were going to be staying at for the time being, and after you had gotten their suitcases out of the trunk for them in the hotel entry way, you actually worked up the courage to ask Joseph for a picture.

You knew yourself well enough that if you didn't, you'd regret it for the rest of your time on earth. And surely this was a once in a time-on-earth encounter, right?

-----

Another few airport calls were awaiting you silently through single respective vibrations of your work phone.

The outlook on the rest of the day was making a rather dull impression on you, not surprising after the morning you just had.

Pick up a medium known German actress and transfer her to the set of a talk show. Some athlete needing to get to the olympic stadium for some training camp. Another journalist scheduled to attend a convention. Another random rich person able to afford private shuttle service asking you to drive them to some hotel in the center.

Your thoughts kept drifting to your (by far) favourite encounter of the day. Over and over and over again.

During your lonely lunch break on the parking lot of the airport's closest gas station, you couldn't stop yourself from grinning at your private phone screen, the few selfies Joseph had taken of the both of you being reproduced on the display and being swiped back and forth by your thumb.

He had swung an arm around your half a head smaller figure, pulled you surprisingly tight into his white button up covering his side, cap still forcing this light brown curls to stick to his forehead, the arm not surrounding you stretched out, holding your phone into the warm early summer air, spinning the both of you around to find the best angle and background with one of his silly little giggles filling your ears.

In one of the photos, a toothy smile spread across both of your faces; another was slightly blurred because his focus was lying on taking you in instead of bothering to hold the phone steady.

Yeah, just a client.

The rest of the shift went the utmost ordinary and usual way. Time flew, which you were thankful for, since the only thing you wanted to do at this point was go home, refresh yourself through showering your warmed up skin in cool water, and keep staring at those photos juuust a little more.

For what would be the last time today your work phone vibrated once more, and the reason appeared entirely clueless to you as you were already on your way home.

A direct message from your boss.

Hey y/n, special commission for you this coming week. You're going to be assigned to Mr Quinn exclusively for the entirety of his stay. He will need transfer between hotel and film set twice daily until his ADT on May 27. I know I can count on you. Cheers and enjoy the rest of your evening.

– Laurenz

The letters of the words became a blur in your periphery.

Oh dear lord.

-----

taglist is empty and open

#oh god here we go #nora writes #joseph quinn rpf #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn x fem!reader #joseph quinn fluff #oh boy #part one here we gooooo #night drive

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fellfirst-fellharder-fight · 1 year ago

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Round 1: Fight 9

Kokoro Aichi | Heartful Punch/Undine Wells | Alchemical Water (Sleepless Domain) vs Napat "Pat" Jindapat/Parakul "Pran" Siridechawat (Bad Buddy)

Propaganda under the cut!

Kokoro Aichi | Heartful Punch/Undine Wells | Alchemical Water:

So my Girl Kokoro has a lot of pride, she hates being seen as weak bc of her daddy and mommy issues and because of that hates it when people call her by her real name and tends to prefer to just go by HP in honor of her magical girl title, but within like TWO days of knowing Undine and hearing her call her HP she was just like '...you can call me Kokoro' and then Undine does just that all of HP's friends go absolutely bananas quoting it as 'the forbidden name' and then react even more dramatically when Kokoro just sort of rolls with it. Girl's had it bad since this waterbender pretty girl first tidal waved into her life Meanwhile Undine, whom as a magical girl struggles to kill monsters on her own since her powers are more 'support class' as it is, she's not super strong on her own, kills a HUGE monster in basically one shot when Kokoro is threatened to nearly get swallowed by it, turning her water into essentially a jet cutter. she often has dreams about Kokoro, though only realized she had feelings for her during that noted save, she's ALWAYS worried that just by being around her she's putting a target on her back (bc she's the main character so the bad guys are gunning for her) she seems really chill most of the time bc she's just a really reserved girl but like this girl can and will commit murder to keep her pink gf safe and like- they're canonically super gay end of chapter 15 they kiss for the first time it's great

Napat "Pat" Jindapat/Parakul "Pran" Siridechawat:

Prans been in love with Pat since they were kids, Pat didn't realise that he loved Pran until they met again in Uni and then fights more to keep their relationship because Pran is scared to get sent away again

Childhood enemies to lovers (except Pran was in love with Pat since at least highschool. Probably a lot longer), seperated and then met again at uni. Pat comes to a crashing realisation in like 2 days that he is in LOVE with Pran, confesses to him that same day, and never looks back. Though Pran is hesitant (external pressures keeping them apart like family rivalry, university shenanigans, and already being a secret friendship), Pat pursues him into danger and remains steadfast in his love until Pran is comfortable. He is consistently showing up and proving to Pran that while Pran has been in love for years, Pat's emotions are no less deep, and will always lose to keep Pran happy.

look Pran was out here having his gay angsty awakening as a teenager realizing that he was in love the boy he was supposed to hate because of the rivalry between their family and starts repressing shit meanwhile Pat is living the himbo life and still unaware that his bestie is a lesbian and in love with his sister. it's not until they get to college where Pran is so resigned to his feelings that he doesn't expect anything to happen and then Pat attempts to confess his feelings to his lesbian bestie to which she responds "are you sure about that?" and he suddenly has an epiphany that he's in love with Pran and goes full on "if i don't have this man on me in five minutes i stg"

#bad buddy #patpran #sleepless domain #waterpunch #kokoro aichi #alchemical water #undine wells #heartful punch #fellfirst fellharder fight #round 1

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warningsine · 2 months ago

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I think if you watch the show from the beginning, you can feel it morphing from what it starts as into what it ultimately becomes,” Christopher C. Rogers says of Halt and Catch Fire, the drama he cocreated with Christopher Cantwell that returns for its fourth and final season this Saturday on AMC. “The sense of having lived with these characters has let them become real for four seasons. I think the beautiful thing about the fourth season is, we know these guys now.”

On the eve of its home stretch, Halt and Catch Fire has long since outgrown the “copycat prestige turned groundbreaking television” narrative it’s been saddled with since 2015, when the period drama returned for Year 2 with a new setting, a reshuffled ensemble, and a reconsidered sensibility. As Rogers points out, we’ve now had years to steep ourselves in the fully realized version of Halt: the story of messy, stubborn, ultimately sympathetic adults stumbling their way toward a changed world.

In 2017, Halt’s success no longer comes with caveats. The story of the modern tech industry’s beginnings, told through the personal and professional lives of four hopelessly complicated people, is one of the best shows on television, full stop. No, you don’t have to watch the first season—but you should watch the next three, or else you’re missing out on a prime example of what happens when TV’s potential for long-term, character-driven storytelling is taken full advantage of. Yet knowing where Halt started is essential to understanding how far it’s come.

Rewatching parts of the first season a few weeks ago, I was struck by how the early episodes’ weakest points have, over time, developed into the series’ greatest strengths. When Halt started, the show was criticized (or, as the ratings showed, simply overlooked) for how closely its setup hewed to an obvious template, made all the more obvious by the originator of that template still airing new episodes on the same network. Halt’s pilot aired exactly a week after Mad Men’s midseason finale, even inheriting its prime, Sunday-night time slot. Its antihero, Joe MacMillan (Lee Pace), was a blazer-clad, sports-car-driving, Gordon Gekko’d version of Don Draper. The other principals felt similarly typecast: rebellious programming prodigy Cameron Howe (Mackenzie Davis); dweeby engineer Gordon Clark (Scoot McNairy); Gordon’s wife, Donna (Kerry Bishé), equally knowledgeable but saddled with the additional burden of work-life balance. Nuances in all four archetypes emerged over the course of the season, but their first impressions didn’t offer much of an incentive to stick around.

Three years later, those of us who kept the faith have watched Halt’s core four endure nearly a decade’s worth of cross-country moves, accidental epiphanies, overnight successes, failed business ventures, marriage, infidelity, divorce, and depression. More importantly, we’ve borne witness to the changes those seismic events have wrought on the people directly involved in them. The Halt cast of today feels impossible to pigeonhole the way earlier versions of it easily could be, and were. With time and care, they’ve deepened into some of the most layered, believable people on TV. And along with them, Halt has evolved from one of Mad Men’s many imitators into its only worthy successor, a workplace drama that gives the work epic stakes by driving home what it means to those doing it.

Halt and Catch Fire is ostensibly about the computer industry, and key moments in that field’s early history have frequently dictated when and where the action takes place. That strategy has led the show into something like benevolent mission creep over the years, expanding from a relatively unknown chapter in tech’s early history to a mini-history unto itself, made manageable by its specificity. It’s a trajectory that was all but impossible for both viewers and the creators themselves to predict from Halt’s initial episodes. “When you sell a pilot, they go, ‘Do you know where this will go?,’ and you smile as big as you can and you say, ‘Absolutely!’ But deep inside, you really don’t know. And thank God that sometimes those initial ideas we had about where it would go proved to not be the case,” Rogers reflects. “Halt and Catch Fire for us, both personally and what you see on screen, has been the story of learning to listen to your show and let it become what it wants to be, not what you thought it was going to be.”

The series opens in 1983, with Joe and his team competing directly against IBM, building computers on Texas’s “Silicon Prairie.” By Season 4, it’s the early ’90s, and the gang has (mostly) relocated to Silicon Valley, where they’ve scattered across the booming tech landscape. After an abortive partnership in upstart gaming company Mutiny, Cameron and Donna have parted ways, with time only exaggerating the already marked differences between them: Donna, the pragmatic businesswoman, has become a high-powered VC partner, while Cameron, the principled creative, has become a reclusive game designer based out of Tokyo. Joe and Gordon, meanwhile, have a more successful company of their own, though Gordon does most of the heavy lifting while Joe remains literally stuck in the basement, hung up on a wallowing project (an early browser) that’s a not-so-subtle metaphor for his unrequited passion for Cameron, who’s married.

Rogers and Cantwell frame Halt’s significant time jumps, which total seven years over just a handful of episodes in seasons 3 and 4, as a matter of following their material. “We realized that, while the web was created in 1990,” where Season 3 left off after starting in 1986, “it wasn’t until the release of Mosaic, this browser, the precursor to Netscape, in ’93 that things started to take off on the web,” Cantwell explains. “We did discuss having the characters just continue to sit in the house and play with HTML code, but we thought maybe that was too avant-garde and that we’d be swinging above our weight class if we tried to do something like that.”

Instead, Season 4 opens with a brilliant montage that shows the three-year interim from Gordon’s point of view, bearing witness to Joe’s frustration and stasis even as he builds a business from the ground up. “We thought a way to differentiate the time jumps was to have the characters really feel like they’re waiting, because they would be,” Cantwell says. “So it was a fun way to approach the season—to isolate them and see them really drumming their fingers on the desk, waiting for their lives to change, and the rest of the world waiting for the World Wide Web to come to fruition.”

A side effect of following tech’s IRL timeline is how much ground the story is able to cover. Conveying seven years’ worth of life experiences in just a few hours of TV is an enormous challenge: If too much in the protagonists’ circumstances stays the same, the show’s reality starts to ring false; if too much changes, we risk losing our connection to people and places we no longer recognize. But Halt seizes the opportunity to take its characters further than it likely could have had the show confined itself to a more limited time frame.

Take Cameron, who we meet as a punky, arrogant college dropout only to see her grow into a much more mellow 30-something—still an uncompromising visionary, but one who’s been humbled by the disappointment of seeing of her ideas collide with practical obstacles. “It’s interesting for Cameron, who has always been labeled a genius and a prodigy from a very early age and has always been so confident and so self-assured in her amazing abilities, to suddenly be full of self-doubt,” Cantwell notes. “We’re seeing a real change and shift in the character as she matures. It’s a lot of those anxieties that all of us are familiar with once we reach adulthood and realize that we don’t know shit about shit.”

Cameron’s story line this season, in which a poorly received game forces her to question her own judgment for the first time, is a perfect example of what Halt does best: finding situations and conflicts that unlock a character’s hidden depths, forcing them to adapt while keeping their core motivations intact.

No character has changed more drastically, or benefited more from that change, than Joe MacMillan. Perhaps the smartest move Halt has made has been incorporating outside criticisms of Joe into the show. To other characters, Joe’s bluster and rash, destructive grand gestures don’t make him a genius asshole, in the ends-justify-the-means vein of a classical antihero; they just make him an asshole. But after spending Season 2 isolated from the rest of the cast in de facto purgatory and half of Season 3 as a full-blown villain, Joe has been successfully rehabilitated into the fold, partly because the show has given his actions serious consequences and partly because it’s given him the time to absorb and recover from them. “Joe is somebody that has been put through the wringer by everyone on the show, and last year,” when Joe’s latest bit of corporate subterfuge directly led to his protégé’s suicide, “was probably the roughest one yet for him,” Rogers notes. “I’d like to think we played fair with how that would change a person.”

Seven years later, Joe is still visibly shattered; it’s easier for the audience to forgive him because he so clearly hasn’t forgiven himself.

Halt deals with the difficulty of change as well as its inevitability: When Joe gets his hands on a new idea, essentially a preliminary version of Google, he flips right back into executive mode, throwing himself into the project and practically bullying prospective colleagues into joining him. (“You push people, Joe,” Gordon tells him. “Whether they’re ready for it or not.”) In many ways, it’s Season 1 all over again, but with the acute awareness both on- and off-screen that this is history threatening to repeat itself. Or, as Rogers puts it: “We find Joe returning to some of the dynamics we’ve seen before on this show that didn’t work and seeing if maybe now is the right time—if the changes that these 10 years have brought upon them as people have fixed those edges and smoothed them to the point where this time, they can reach their arms out farther. I think Joe is actively engaged in that, and has a little more perspective, but: Do people really change? Some of that stuff dies hard.”

Halt’s foursome has now been in a dizzying variety of combinations, both romantic and platonic. Gordon and Donna were unhappily married, then amicably divorced, and are now direct competitors in the nascent search-engine space. Cameron and Donna were acquaintances, then work spouses, and are now isolated and weathering the storm of tech’s institutional sexism on their own. Joe and Cameron were a tempestuous couple, then bitter enemies, and are now tentatively entering into an actual adult relationship.

Over time, though, certain constants and steady alignments have emerged among the four central players. Cameron and Joe have their differences—she creates; he sells other people’s creations—but they’re both dreamers at heart, constantly chasing the future and skipping over trivial details. Gordon and Donna may not be together anymore, but they’re both workhorses, picking up their more high-minded collaborators’ logistical slack. It’s in these tensions that the show’s personal and professional strands collide, with questions about how to run a business (or, on a much grander scale, how to build the future) growing inextricable from ones about how to live your life.

“You want them to be happy … and I think they struggle with realizing in the final season, that it’s not just about the next thing,” Cantwell says. “They’re all looking at the possible next thing, as they’ve always been looking for the past 10 years and over the duration of the series, and starting to question if the cycle of reinvention and innovation and finding the new idea is really the cure-all that they thought it was at the beginning of our story. That’s a big, existential question that they’re all wrestling with in the final season of the show.”

“It’s always been a show about having the right idea at the right time, and our characters’ failure to do that at certain moments,” Rogers adds. “That’s usually true in the business story, but I think it can also be true in the personal story.” This attempt at a relationship is only Joe and Cameron’s latest, and it remains to be seen whether conditions are finally right for things to work out this time around; Gordon and Donna figured out their issues only after they split up—though, as some excellent sparring scenes remind us, just because a divorce is amicable doesn’t mean it’s conflict-free.

In a way, it’s essential for Halt to work so well as personal drama because we already know how the the tech side of it ends. While the Halt crew lives in a world where Silicon Valley is a wide-open landscape, we live in a world where Google exists, and neither Joe MacMillan nor Donna Clark created it. Sometimes, Halt addresses this fact head-on; Cameron is dismayed to see gaming drift inexorably toward ultra-gory first-person shooters and away from the cerebral journeys she loves. But when I ask Cantwell whether the show has some tragic undertones, he pushes back: “I think there’s something interesting in American culture where we have a very black-and-white view of the term ‘loser,’” he observes. “We know that our characters are not going to be the ones with the Wikipedia articles written about them, but what’s fun about our story is, we can somehow still get excited about their excitement, because they’re in the fog of war and they don’t know what’s coming. I think there’s a beautiful parallel to their personal lives, and a person’s personal searches as well. We just don’t know, and as much as you think you know where it’s headed, you don’t.”

Halt and Catch Fire may be a show about tech, but it’s a show that uses tech first and foremost as a backdrop to and conduit for its characters’ universal struggles. You don’t need to understand ISPs or search algorithms to understand the impulse to perfect something before someone else gets there first, or see the difficulty in negotiating boundaries with an ex. As fitting as the Mad Men comparisons may be, Halt’s characters don’t speak in grand metaphors for the soul of America. They’re speaking as people, and in terms it’s possible for anyone to engage with. “Every season of this show has been a little less about technology, on the pie graph of what it’s about,” Rogers says. “That’s to its benefit.”

#halt and catch fire #exactly. it starts off shaky like a mad men copy (which i personally like) but it gets so much stronger as it goes

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