#like my pretentious writer voice?

[redbuddi]

While I do believe it can be difficult if not impossible to separate art from artist, especially when the artist is still alive and their success leads to actual institutional change, I think it is absolutely imperative to remove art from fandom. No matter how annoying a fandom is the art can still be good, and no matter how seemingly kind and accepting a fandom is the art can still be harmful. But most of all it's important to come to your own conclusions about a piece before engaging in discourse about it, or else no proper analysis will ever be able to be had.

[earlysunshines]

killshot

im nayeon x fem!reader ; smut!! 

synopsis: your roommate is aware that you hate her and she likes irritating you but oh no she just now realizes you’re hot and wants you so bad

warnings: kinda porn w no plot ; smut!!! ; mentions of alcohol ; hate fucking(???) ; degradation kinda ; insulting each other as they fuck yesss ; face riding ; comp sci major!reader *shivers and shakes* ; fwb-ish but not really ; nayeon is umm lowk manipulative but only if you squint , maybe? ; not proofread as always

wc: 5.1k

a/n: computer science major slander (i'm jealous) and also i don’t like the pacing but oh well maybe u guys will (i'd be such a great writer if i weren’t lazy af... )

with a groan, you lift yourself off the bed after hearing a loud thud. tiredly, you blindly reach for your phone and check for the time with squinted eyes: 1:04am. 

a low “fuck” leaves your lips while you struggle to sit up, still hearing the impact of bodies crashing against the walls and the faint sounds of a woman and man groaning through the bedroom door.  

nayeon is home. 

this is a bi-weekly occurrence; your roommate nayeon stumbles into the apartment all hot and heavy from the alcohol that was in her system, and then you can hear her getting all intimate—against your will—with some random person she’s found at the various clubs she cycles through. to be completely honest, you don’t care for her midnight rendezvous, just as long as they don’t bother you. 

however, this night she’s bothered you greatly; you’re fucking irritated. 

just when you had finally sought solace in the arms of sleep after hours of laboring over a project, your few minutes of rest are abruptly shattered by the intrusion of nayeon. —all drunk and insatiable—who’s barging into your room whilst some average guy latches onto her neck. he doesn’t look like he knows what he’s doing, but it doesn’t matter because nayeon’s senses are too fucked to really pay attention to that. 

“get the hell out of my room.” you yell angrily towards the two. to say you were annoyed would be an overwhelming understatement, you were furious. 

“ah—fuck, sorry y/n,” she responds, voice all airy and light whilst the man’s hand slides down to play with the edge of her dress. “wrong room baby, let’s go.” she says whilst pushing the man off her a bit, much to his dismay. 

they both leave the room, still attached to each other with their hands roaming and gripping at anything. to make matters even worse; they didn’t close the door behind them. 

“fucking whore.” you scoff, falling back down on your bed and groaning.  

- 

im nayeon is an indescribable pain in your ass and unfortunately, she also happens to be your roommate. 

for the most part, you generally pride yourself on your composure and tolerance, but living with nayeon has truly put your patience to the test. she's irresponsible and unreliable, which regularly pushes you to your limits. you find yourself frustrated sharing an apartment with someone who’s always falling hort of your expectations. she's falling far from them, really, and it’s almost impressive. 

she has a knack for disappearing into the lurking in the apartment while you're away, often entertaining friends and leaving behind a mess in her wake. the audacity she possesses to neglect simple chores like doing the dishes or tidying up after herself borders on infuriating, you’re fighting the urge to bodyslam her into the mattress sometimes. it's as though she expects the cleaning fairy to magically swoop in and restore order while you're left to pick up the pieces of her irresponsibility, maybe she thinks you’re the fucking cleaning fairy. 

living with her was hell, you don’t even know how she managed to keep up with her courses and stay sane with how she lived her life. she was a pretentious, sassy little thorn stuck in your skin. 

but still, there are two things that keep you tethered to the apartment, even if it's a bit embarrassing to admit on factor. one: the rent is cheaper, and your shared living space is nice. two: nayeon’s fucking hot. 

the truth is: nayeon is the epitome of physical allure, the hottest person you've ever laid eyes on. as much as you resent her for her shortcomings, you find yourself unable to ignore the pull of her undeniable visuals, which whispers against the urge to pack your bags and leave.  

you despised the stupid allure of her face, the way her figure teased and tempted, and the fact that she held the power to have you on your knees if she poked you in the right ways. it grated on your nerves to know that you weren't the only one drawn to her; half the campus seemed to be either enamored with her, aspiring to be her, or eager to get into her pants. and she wielded her beauty like a weapon, using her "pretty privilege" to her advantage.  

the feeling you had towards her was bitter, but the attraction you had made things complicated. 

it was easy to mask your little attraction for your pretentious roommate with annoyed comments and irritated glares, but deep inside you wanted her in ways that you could never admit out loud. countless daydreams and very questionable thoughts about her invaded your mind at the worst times possible, espeically when she was near. 

- 

- 

your irritation mixed with attraction was mutual. nayeon felt the same way about you; what a match. 

at first, nayeon found herself irritated by your stuck-up demeanor and seemingly perfect self. your involvement in various extracurricular activities, dedication to your studies, and honestly majoring in computer science major as a whole contributed to her initial impression of you as someone who had it all together. it was a stark contrast to her own carefree attitude and laid-back approach to everything, which built friction between the two of you. 

(nayeon could never do all of that, study for hours and keep her shit together. and god, especially watching you type for two hours straight already made her head swirl. how does someone do that without losing their shit? she wonders if you’re okay) 

from nayeon's perspective, you were nothing more than a stuck-up bitch in her shared home, always fussing over cleanliness like a relentless clean freak. it striked a nerve every time you scolded her for leaving behind a couple of dishes or a few stray bottles of alcohol. if it bothered you so much, why not just pick up after yourself instead of constantly complaining? 

despite the irritation you stirred within her, nayeon couldn't deny the undeniable truth: you were actually pretty cute for a nerdy, uptight roommate. in fact, she'd even go as far as to admit that you were pretty hot. 

nayeon has seen the people in the computer science department, most of them are men who look like they’ve never spoken to a woman or gone outside for more than thirty minutes a day. you on the other hand were quite the sight, someone nayeon would describe as “eye candy.” 

and yeah, she kind of overlooked the fact that you were her type after you had yelled at her so much, but then there was this one little moment that changed her mind. maybe she could tolerate you more. 

(maybe nayeon had to put looks first in this case.) 

-- 

-- 

some thursday afternoon, while you typically would be found either buried in books at the library or enjoying the afternoon at a café, nayeon found herself in a predicament—she couldn't find one of her favorite t-shirts. with frustration growing, she decided to take matters into her own hands and went into your room to see if it had somehow ended up there, given that you were supposed to be out.  

to her surprise, she discovered that you were most definitely home, a fact that caught her completely off guard—especially when you’re home in your room, in the middle of taking your pants off. 

she barges into your room to see you with your shirt off and the fly of your pants down, revealing some of the logo of your victoria’s secret underwear. your cheeks flush a dark hue of red when you realize she’s invaded your privacy, and you quickly cover your chest—which, is already covered since you have a bra on, but god is this whole situation embarrassing.  

after you literally push her out the door—slamming it shut with embarrassment—nayeon stands outside the door with a newfound interest.  

nayeon couldn't fathom that someone who dedicated their sanity to lines of numbers and letters on a screen could look so good. there was something mesmerizing about the subtle groove tracing down your stomach, hinting at the definition of your abs, or the glimpse of your bicep as you hastily covered yourself and scolded her for intruding, maybe even the hint of muscle on your shoulders. whatever it was—all nayeon knew was that the little mishap of you not locking the door and giving her the chance see you like that piqued her interest without doubt. 

and after seeing you half naked? the image of you, with your shirt off and the hint of your physique tantalizingly on display? holy shit you had her fantasizing a little (a lot) more than she already had been; she needed some of her fantasies to come true.  

your roommate had already been attentive to your quick—and evident—glances on her body and her lips. she also noted the subtle bite of your lips when she swayed by, your eyes barely caught her, but she noticed it all. getting her fantasies to become a reality seemed easy enough—probably—and she was determined to make it all happen.  

she knew she already had you starting to wrap around her finger, just by those observations, so it should be easy enough to get you hot and heavy, right? 

- 

“oh look who’s finally fucking awake.” you mutter, turning around to see the hungover, marked up woman emerging from the hall.  

nayeon rolls her eyes at you like always and simply responds, “oh shut up, don’t be a drag.” 

“i’m a drag? i’m not the one barging in at one in the morning the same night my roommate stays up to actually do their school shit. not only that, but that fucking guy—” 

“was a terrible kisser,” nayeon cuts you off, pinching the bridge of her nose. “i kicked him out so can you please just—” 

“no!” you scoff, surprising nayeon with this burst of anger. you’re much more irritated than usual, which is weird. nayeon suspects that it’s because she’s never accidentally stumbled into your room, and to be fair; this was kind of intentional.  

you see, nayeon thought that if she could make you a little jealous, it’d increase the chances of you intervening. just what she wanted. 

“i couldn’t fucking sleep and i have a really important assessment today.” 

“yeah yeah, move over i need some tea.” nayeon says tiredly. upon hearing her response, you clench your jaw tightly and lean against the marble counter, gripping it with one hand tightly to suppress your annoyance. 

your roommate looks at you and a laugh slips out accidentally. after hearing that, there's probably a vein visible on your forehead, maybe your neck—somewhere. 

that was your last straw. 

angrily, you lift yourself off the counter and swiftly advance towards nayeon, pinning her against the fridge with force. the impact reverberates through her as her back meets the cold surface, while you lean in closer, your eyes narrowing with intensity.  

now, this should not be turning nayeon on—she’s going to blame it on her hangover and whatnot, and maybe the fact that whoever that guy was and whatever he did didn’t really satitate her—but it does.  

with barely an inch of space separating you, your height advantage allows you to tilt your head down, locking eyes with nayeon with a glare. the tension crackles between you like a firework, it’s thick and palpable, your look shows restrained anger. despite how furious you look, there's an unexpected allure to you, drawing nayeon in even as she senses the little reprimanding you’ll give her. 

“don’t give me that fucking attitude nayeon. you’re fucking unbelievable, you’re a fucking slut, you know?” 

“yeah?” she says, a smirk tugging at her pretty, plump lips.  

you feel your body tense as soon as you start to take in the proximity of the two of you. gulping lightly, you move yourself away just an inch, but nayeon pauses you, pinching your collar. 

“oh don’t get so timid now, you were just fuming earlier pretty.” she laughs. “keep going. this is cute, i like this. what did you call me again?” 

as nayeon's eyes flicker from yours to your lips and back again, the tension between you is like pushing down on a spring, and it’s about to pop back up any moment. sensing an opportunity, nayeon skillfully navigates her way out of the looming scolding, her allure becoming a potent weapon against your mood. she begins to weave her charm, coaxing a reluctant softening in your expression. despite your initial anger, you find yourself drawn to her, you can’t let yourself slip up, not now, not when she’s the reason you might fail your assessment. 

“you’re— you’re so... fucking irritating…” you mumble the last part of your sentence, voice getting smaller. you push yourself away from her and shake your head, trying to conceal your blush. nayeon giggles before going back to making her tea, the tension in the air like an invisible weight pressing down on you, and this whole morning might just completely flatten you down from how distracting it’ll be the whole day. 

nayeon’s relieved, at least you’re not scolding her while she dips her chamomile bag in and out her little mug of hot water. 

- 

the day is filled with the events of the morning, with you struggling to finish various lines of code because the feeling of nayeon toying with your collar lingers, and nayeon trying to force the thought of you finally snapping in her head. 

seems like the two of you are trying to avoid the same thought, despite how badly you two want it. 

it's palpable that there’s something in the air that needs to be swatted away, and nayeon knows you’re too much of a coward to really do anything about it, so she’ll figure somethign out.  

one thing about im nayeon: she always gets her way, no questions asked, no matter what it takes. 

- 

nayeon finds you on the couch typing away later that night, probably doing some homework. 

nayeon plops down next to you, intending to tease and push you over the edge. you turn your head after feeling the cushions under you shift, immediately grimacing once you see your roommate. 

“what do you want?” 

“what, i can’t sit next to my roommate?” nayeon questions, “i’m just going to watch tv, if you don’t like it you can leave.”  

“whore.” you mutter under your breath, quiet enough so she doesn’t catch what you say.  

your roommate lounges lazily on the couch and rests her head against the armrest. as she reclined, her hair spilled over, framing her face like a halo. nayeon's gaze wandered lazily around the room before settling on the tv, and with a languid movement, she turned to lay fully, bending her legs so they didn't intrude into your personal space. 

your jaw tensed, a visceral reaction to the sight before you. the light from the tv in the dimmed room accentuated the allure of nayeon's figure. you couldn't help but steal a glance, your attention momentarily torn away from your screen by the annoyingly captivating vision in your periphery. 

casual sweatpants adorned her figure, the looseness of the bottoms from brandy allowing for comfort yet teasingly hinting at the eye-catching curves of her terribly alluring figure beneath. the fit of her tank top—cropped just enough to expose a sliver of her toned midriff—effortlessly made your gaze linger. the fabric clung to her silhouette in all the right places, revealing the subtle contours that sent a subtle jolt through the room and your veins. you completely forgot about pretending to be irritated in that brief trance. 

the tank top, snug against her skin, revealed a gentle dip of her collarbone, an enticing invitation that you took note of. the image staying in your head even as your attention returned to your screen. a flush settled on your cheeks as you tried to focus again. the ambiance of the room, however, remained penetrated with the downplayed sensuality that lingered in the air. you huff lowly. she's winning whatever game this is without even trying. 

after typing at your laptop for a bit, you hear the faint sound of people talking in the background. you look up from the screen and see some show playing, then turn to see nayeon’s head turned toward the tv.  

shaking your head, you redirect your attention back to the assignment in front of you; the task is quite easy, but it’s insanely tedious and for some strange reason nayeon’s presence isn’t helping you. 

nayeon shifts on the couch and sits upright against the cushion, you don’t bat an eye. your roommate is sick of you being academic, she’s bored and wants your attention. needs it, maybe. 

“when’s that due?”  

without turning your head, you respond, “next week.” 

“why do it now?” 

“why do you care?” your tone is impatient. “and besides, it’s better to get things done earlier.” 

“nerd.” nayeon sighs. she scoots over and peers at your screen, putting her hand down beside you to prop herself up and when she leans over, her boob smushes against your arm a little.  

you glare at her. “aren’t you usually out? it’s a friday night.” 

she shrugs. “didn’t feel like it.” and after she scans the screen one more time, she leans away (to your dismay) and continues on with whatever drama she had been watching.  

the thought of her boob being smushed against you lingers, embarassingly it’s almost tattooed in your mind for the next half an hour. 

when you finish your assignment, that’s when you let out a big, hefty breath and close your laptop.  

nayeon's annoyingly melodic giggle dances in the air as you sink into the plush couch, surrendering to its embrace that eases the pain in your shoulders. after savoring your few seconds of tranquility, your thoughts drift to the comfort awaiting you in your bedroom, your bed, peace and quiet, being enveloped by the blanket.  

as you start to stand up, a delicate yet firm grip clings to your forearm, delaying your departure. nayeon's touch, like a sirens call, invites you to linger, gently coaxing you to stay a little longer. 

she bats her eyelashes at you. “stay here.”  

you brows knit. “why would i stay with you?”  

“watching shows alone is boring, and i know your ass isn’t going anywhere tonight.” 

you groan in response and decide to give in—you might as well lounge on the couch for a bit—earning a smug smile from your roommate. she unpauses her show and you allow yourself to ease into the cushion, then watch with her (against your will), only to immediately tense up at the scene that unravels before your eyes. 

two girls appear on screen, and they’re kissing each other.  

they’re close, kissing, and then fifteen seconds pass and boom—they’re eating each other’s mouths sloppily, groaning and everything, tongue and all. you shift in your seat when you feel a weird pulse down at your core. 

“y/n,” nayeon starts, “have you ever even kissed someone?” 

“of course i have.” you respond, crossing your arms.  

nayeon turns her head in surprise and tilts her head. “seriously?” 

“yes, is it that surprising?” 

“well, you’re always cooped up in the house and whatnot… didn’t think you had any game.” 

“i hooked up with someone last month for your information. i'm not a homebody.” 

“yeah? sure, you did.” she laughs, shaking her head. you roll your eyes at her. 

“fuck you.” you mutter, keeping your eyes on the tv and watching the two girls undress each other. “do you always watch shit like this?” 

“why, does it turn you on or something?” nayeon asks, shifting closer to you. a lump forms in your throat. 

you shoot a quick glare at her and lie, “no.” 

nayeon laughs in amusement after pink dusts your cheeks. “you seem pretty flustered baby.” 

what the fuck? 

as you meet her gaze, a wave of surprise washes over you, mirroring the hunger that burns in her eyes. nayeon's laughter tumbles from her lips, enchanting and playful, as she places her hand delicately on the couch. leaning towards you, she ignites a spark that makes your heart skip a beat. feeling a sudden urge to be closer, you subtly shift in your seat, captivated by the exhilarating simplicity of the moment and giving into nayeon’s intentions. 

“i don’t believe you.” she says. 

“what?” 

“you’ve never kissed someone, hell, like you could even fuck someone.” 

“excuse me?” 

she just laughs at the mix of emotions coming from you; your cheeks are dusted pink, but your tone and expression displays that regular irritated look of yours. 

then she bites the corner of her lip, finally easing into the reason she even bothered you in the first place. she leans a little closer, lips hovering near your ear lobe, and giggles again. 

“how about you prove that you’ve fucked someone, hm?” nayeon suggests, raising her brows. “that you even can.” 

your breath trembles slightly, you’re stiff in your place. 

“if it’ll shut you up then... fine.” 

she clicks her tongue, then pulls away from your ear. now she’s looking at you with a shit eating grin, you want to wipe it off her face. 

the air stilled, your breath shook, and nayeon’s hand inches to your forearm. her other hand grabs the collar of your shirt, pulling you in and your lips meet in the middle. 

she tastes like cherry, well, her lip gloss does. 

your hand finds its way to the back of her neck, pushing her deeper into you so your lips can hungrily slide and suck and gosh, everything, all of the above, both a and c, you name it. 

the last thing you had on your mind for the friday night was kissing your roommate aggressively. initially, you were just going to finish the assignment and take a nap or something, but this? it’s much better than what you had planned originally. 

nayeon practically takes your breath away after simply kissing you, just the way your lips lock makes you greedy. you groan accidentally, embarassed until you have nayeon groaning into you too, even louder for that matter. 

you pull away for a brief moment, voice a little shaky and out of breath. “is this why you bothered me? are you that horny that you wanted me to fuck you?” 

“oh shut up, it’s not like you’re against it.” nayeon’s right, you’re not. not in the slightest. 

“fuck you” is uttered from your lips before you crash your lips against her again, taking the air from her lungs again. 

the kissing quickly escalates and your tongues are in each other’s mouths. you’re both unashamedly moaning and groaning into each other carelessly, it’s funny how quickly everything escalated within seconds, the boundaries between whatever you two had dissolved like sugar in boiling water. you shift yourselves over so that nayeon is under you, both your knees on either side of her legs. you reach over for the remote to pause the two girls who were mirroring the two of you—well, the two of you started going at it after they did so maybe it was the two of you mirroring them. 

each subsequent kiss felt as electrifying as the crackle of sparks dancing in a bonfire. the more nayeon deepened the kiss the more it drove you crazy, irrationally enough to continue kissing her and slip your hands under her shirt. 

nayeon sighs blissfully as you kiss down her neck, her fingers tangle with your hair while she claws at it aggressively, and still, the pain from her grabbing your hair only turns you on more. 

“fuck,” she groans when you suck on her neck, sinking her nails into your tricep. 

“slut.” you mutter, smirking against her. “so easy to rile up.” 

unashamedly, nayeon begs and begs for you until you’re biting down on her skin, repeatedly uttering your name until you’re leaving marks that’ll have her friends wondering who ruined her this time—and this time, it’s not some person she’s run into at the bar while tipsy. 

still, she could get drunk just off of you. 

you start to undress her, starting with her top and taking a moment to gaze at her undeniably alluring figure. strands of hair just barely stick to her forehead as she gazes at you breathlessly with eyes full of lust. she moves her slender fingers to work at the edge of your shirt, urging you to take that stupid t-shirt you have on off so she can get a sight of your surprisingly exciting figure. maybe she’ll get a better, longer view of what she had seen that night she walked in on you changing. 

“fuck, why have you been hiding this?” she mutters, sliding her hand down your side. “god you fucking bitch.” 

“if i didn’t you’d be all over me, you fucking horny mess.” you spit back harshly, but the way you moan when nayeon latches her lips onto your neck completely rids of that fake, irritated tone of yours.  

nayeon ends up on top of you in a matter of seconds, thenyou’re groping her ass shamelessly as you two devour each other’s mouths again. hands tug at whatever else covers your bodies until it’s just the two of you skin to skin. everything that had just happened in the span of ten minutes was for sure ten times better than whatever else had been going on in the movie. 

you can feel her grinding desperately against your thigh as you kiss her, feeling the moisture from her needy cunt that dampens your once-dry upper leg. you palm her breasts blindly and feel her gasp against you, and then nayeon forgets how to breath when you press your thigh up and against her, adding more stimulus. 

she moans frustratedly, the feeling of just your thigh against her throbbing pussy is far from what she needs. so, she’s putting her hand on the middle of your chest and pushing you down to lay flat on your back. she bites her lip blatantly before lifting her hips away from your skin. 

you furrow your brows in confusion and begin, “what are you—” 

“shut up,” she grunts, shoving one hand in your head and gripping your hair so rough that you whimper. she shifts over so that her pussy is directly above your mouth and orders: “just eat, bitch.” 

this is something you can’t argue with her about, and fuck you’re hungry.  

there’s a meal waiting for you that you’ve been craving, you can’t just lay there and starve. 

eagerly, you lift your head up a bit to meet the aching in between her legs; she’s so wet and you’re definitely teasing her about this later—but who knows how long it will take until it’s later. 

she moans louder than ever and it surprises the both of you, it only leaves you wanting more of her, wanting to hear her when she’s at her limit. your nails sink into the flesh of her thigh as you devour ravenously, taking note of what makes her twitch more and what earns lewder noises. what earns noises that turn you on more than ever. 

it doesn’t surprise you how shameless she is during sex���clearly, she isn’t ashamed of seducing her roommate—the way she rides your face so desperately gives you enough to know how she is. 

nayeon likes when you suck on her clit, she grips your hair tighter with each “pop” sound that’s made after you release the suction. she’s easy to read, her cunt is easy to adjust to. 

“fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” nayeon moans, leaning back little while she continues to ride, head tilted back and face almost parallel to the ceiling. “god-- fuck, oh my—shit, keep going,” 

you can see her tits from your view, nipples all perked up while you grip onto her thighs tighter, feeling her shake in your grasp.  

nayeon's like an alarm clock, ticking and ticking away until the alarm rings, her cry echoing through the room, hand gripping at your hair tighter than ever as her head falls back. you continue to savor her arousal even after she came, earning little whines and whispers of your name. 

“oh, y/n, just like that...”  

you're doing all the work now, which only helps with your aversion towards her, but still, you’ve made her moan, cry—all of the above, so at least there’s something to use against her. 

and then she lifts herself off of you, letting your head rest back against the seat of the couch so you can catch your breath.  

when she looks down, all she can make out through fuzzy vision and overwhelmed senses is the puff of your lips, hooded eyes, and fucked up hair; everything about the sight of you is a product of her desires, a fantasy that’s been lingering in her mind now come true. 

“slut,” you mutter, almost breathlessly. “you’re really loud, you know.”  

“fuck you.” 

“already did.” you retort, giggling. “let’s go for another.” 

“oh so now look who’s a horny mess.” nayeon responds, moving over to sit on your lap. 

you sit up, holding yourself up with your hands placed behind you. “you just never shut up, do you?” 

nayeon smiles before tracing her finger along your skin. “do you me want to?” 

you look at her amusingly before shifting positions so she’s laying down flat on her back, with you hovering above. the two of you kiss again, nayeon savoring a the traces of arousal off you, a muffled hum of delight vibrating against your locked lips. 

she pulls away, thumbing your nipple and making you groan surprisingly. you pull away to glare at her. 

nayeon laughs, “wow, you’re so--” 

you cut her off by shoving your ring and middle finger in her mouth, she almost gags, but the way she sucks obediently is enough to tell you that she’s enjoying this. 

“you just never shut up,”  

in response, she moans with your fingers still in your mouth, right before you pull them out, skin coated with her saliva. 

you bring your fingers down to her cunt, teasing her folds. 

“let’s change that.” 

[wilcze-kudly]

Hey so can we like stop with the "Zutara is for the girls and Kataang is for the boys" thing. It's silly and it's breakdancing just on the edge of gender essentialism.

The assumption that there is something inherent to Zutara that appeals predominantly to women and Kataang that appeals predominantly to men is dishonest because every ship can have appeal to all genders.

The discussion of the "female gaze" in Zutara and the "male gaze" in Kataang is also redundant. I enjoy dissecting the concept of "the gaze", however it is important to note that the "female gaze" doesn't have a set definition or grouping of conventions it adheres to. Lisa French,  Dean of RMIT University’s School of Media and Communication says:

“The female gaze is not homogeneous, singular or monolithic, and it will necessarily take many forms... The aesthetic approaches, experiences and films of women directors are as diverse as their individual life situations and the cultures in which they live. The "female' gaze” is not intended here'to denote a singular concept. There' are many gazes."

Now excuse me as I put on my pretentious humanistics student hat.

Kataang's appeal to women and the female gaze

Before I start, I want to note that the female gaze is still a developing concept

There are very few female film directors and writers, and most of them are white. The wants and desires of women of colour, the demographic Katara falls into, are still wildly underepresented. Additionally, the concept of the female gaze had many facets, due to it being more focused on emotional connections rather than physical appearance as the male gaze usually is. Which means that multiple male archetypes fall into the category of "for the female gaze".

The "female gaze" can be best described as a response to the "male gaze", which was first introduced by Laura Mulvey in her paper: "Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema" , however the term "male gaze" itself was not used in the paper.

Mulvey brought up the concept of the female character and form as the passive, objectified subject to the active voyeuristic male gaze, which the audience is encouraged to identify, usually through the male character.

To quote her:

"In a world ordered by sexual imbalance', pleasure' in looking has been split between active'/male' and passive/female'. The determining male gaze' projects its fantasy onto the female' figure', which is styled accordingly."

Mulvey also brings up the concept of scopopfillia (the term being introduced by Freud), the concept of deriving sexual gratification from both looking and being looked at. This concept has strong overtones of voyeurism, exhibitionism and narcissism, placing forth the idea that these overtones are what keeps the male viewer invested. That he is able to project onto the male character, therefore being also able to possess the passive female love interest.

However, it's important to note that Mulvey's essay is very much a product of its times, focused on the white, heterosexual and cisgender cinema of her time. She also drew a lot of inspiration from Freud's questionable work, including ye ole penis envy. Mulvey's paper was groundbreaking at the time, but we can't ignore how it reinforces the gender binary and of course doesn't touch on the way POC, particularly women of colour are represented in film.

In her paper, Mulvey fails to consider anyone who isn't a white, cis, heterosexual man or woman. With how underrepresented voices of minorities already are both in media and everyday life, this is something that we need to remember and strive to correct.

Additionally Mulvey often falls into gender essentialism, which I previously mentioned at the beginning of this post. Funny how that keeps coming up

"Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema" started a very interesting and important conversation, and I will still be drawing from certain parts of it, however huge swathes of this text have already become near archaic, as our culture and relationship with media evolves at an incredible pace.

And as filmaking evolves, so does our definition of the male and female gaze. So let's see what contemporary filmakers say of it.

In 2016, in her speech during the Toronto International Film Festival , producer of the TV series Transparent, Jill Soloway says:

“Numero uno, I think the Female Gaze is a way of “feeling seeing”. It could be thought of as a subjective camera that attempts to get inside the protagonist, especially when the protagonist is not a Chismale. It uses the frame to share and evoke a feeling of being in feeling, rather than seeing – the characters. I take the camera and I say, hey, audience, I’m not just showing you this thing, I want you to really feel with me.

[Chismale is Soloway's nickname for cis males btw]

So the term "female gaze" is a bit of a misnomer, since it aims to focus on capturing the feelings of characters of all genders. It's becoming more of a new way of telling stories in film, rather than a way to cater to what white, cisgender, heterosexual women might find attractive in a man.

Now, Aang is the decided protagonist of the show, however, Atla having somewhat of an ensemble cast leads to the perspective shifting between different characters.

In the first episode of atla, we very much see Katara's perspective of Aang. She sees him trapped in the iceberg, and we immediately see her altruism and headstrong nature. After she frees Aang, we are very much first subjected to Katara's first impressions of him, as we are introduced to his character. We only see a sliver of Aang's perspective of her, Katara being the first thing he sees upon waking up.

We see that she is intrigued and curious of him, and very excited about his presence. She is endeared and amused by his antics. She is rediscovering her childish side with his help. She is confiding in him about her own trauma surrounding the Fire Nation's genocide of the Southern Waterbenders. She is willing to go against her family and tribe ans leave them behind to go to the Northern Water Tribe with Aang. We also see her determination to save him when he is captured.

As the show moves on and the plot kicks into gear, we do shift more into Aang's perspective. We see his physical attraction to her, and while we don't see Katara's attraction quite as blatantly, there are hints of her interest in his appearance.

This is where we get deeper into the concept of Aang and Katara's mutual interest and attraction for one another. While her perspective is more subtle than most would like, Katara is not purely an object of Aang's desire, no more than he is purely an object of her desire.

When analysing this aspect of Katara and Aang's relationship, I couldn't help but be reminded of how Célene Sciamma's Portrait of a lady on fire (in my personal opinion, one of the best studies of the female gaze ever created) builds up its romance, and how it places a strong emphasis on the mutuality of the female gaze.

Portrait of a lady on fire's cinematography is very important to the film. We see the world through the perspective of our protagonist, a painter named Marianne. We also see her love interest, Héloïse, the woman whom she is hired to paint a portrait of, through Marianne's lense.

We see Marianne analyse Héloïse's appearance, her beauty. We look purely through Marianne's eyes at Héloïse for a good part of the movie, but then, something unexpected happens. Héloïse looks back. At Marianne, therefore, in some way, also at the audience. While Marianne was studying Héloïse, Héloïse was studying Marianne.

We never shift into Héloïse's perspective, but we see and understand that she is looking back at us. Not only through her words, when she for example comments on Marianne's mannerisms or behaviours, but also hugely through cinematography and acting of the two amazing leads. (Noémie Merlant as Marianne and Adèle Haenel as Héloïse. They truly went above and beyond with their performances.)

This is a huge aspect of the female gaze's implementation in the film. The camera focuses on facial expressions, eyes and body language, seeking to convey the characters' emotions and feelings. There's a focus on intense, longing and reciprocated eye contact (I have dubbed this the Female Gays Gaze.). The characters stand, sit or lay facing each other, and the camera rarely frames one of them as taller than the other, which would cause a sense of power imbalance.

The best way to describe this method of flimaking is wanting the audience to see the characters, rather than to simply look at them. Sciamma wants us to empathise, wants us to feel what they are feeling, rather than view them from a distance. They are to be people, characters, rather than objects.

Avatar, of course, doesn't display the stunning and thoughtful cinematography of Portrait of a Lady on Fire, and Katara and Aang's relationship, while incredibly important, is only a part of the story rather than the focus of it.

However, the 'Kataang moments' we are privy to often follow a similar convention to the ones between Marianne and Héloïse that I mentioned prior.

Theres a lot of shots of Katara and Aang facing each other, close ups on their faces, particularly eyes, as they gaze at one another.

Katara and Aang are often posited as on equal grounds, the camera not framing either of them as much taller and therefore more powerful or important than the other. Aang is actually physically shorter than Katara, which flies in the face in usual conventions of the male fantasy. (I will get to Aang under the male gaze later in this essay)

And even in scenes when Aang is physically shown as above Katara, particularly when he's in the Avatar state, Katara is the one to pull him down, maintaining their relationships as equals.

Despite most of the show being portrayed through Aang's eyes, Katara is not a passive object for his gaze, and therefore our gaze, to rest upon. Katara is expressive, and animated. As an audience, we are made aware that Katara has her own perspective. We are invited to take part in it and try to understand it.

Not unlike to Portrait of a Lady on Fire, there is a lot of focus placed on mannerisms and body language, an obvious example being Katara often playing with her hair around Aang, telegraphing a shy or flustered state. We also see her express jealousy over Aang, her face becoming sour, brows furrowed. On one occasion she even blew a raspberry, very clearly showing us, the audience, her displeasure with the idea of Aang getting attention from other girls.

Once again, this proves that Katara is not a passive participant in her own relationship, we are very clealry shown her perspective of Aang. Most of the scenes that hint at her and Aang's focus on their shared emotions, rather than, for example, Katara's beauty.

Even when a scene does highlight her physical appearance, it is not devoid of her own thoughts and emotions. The best example of this being the scene before the party in Ba Sing Se where we see Katara's looking snazzy in her outfit. Aang compliments her and Katara doesn't react passively, we see the unabashed joy light up her face, we can tell what she thinks of Aang's comment.

In fact, the first moment between Katara and Aang sets this tone of mutual gaze almost perfectly. Aang opens his eyes, and looks at Katara. Katara looks back.

There is, once again, huge focus on their eyes in this scene, the movement of Aang's eyelids right before they open draws out attention to that part of his face. When the camera shows us Katara, is zooms in onto her expression as it changes, her blinking also drawing attention to her wide and expressive eyes.

This will not be the first time emphasis is placed on Katara and Aang's mutual gaze during a pivotal moment in the show. Two examples off the top of my head would be the Ends of B2 and B3 respevtively. When Katara brings Aang back to life, paralleling the first time they laid eyes on one another. And at the end of the show, where their gaze has a different meaning behind it.

We see Katara's emotions and her intent telegraphed clearly in these instances.

In Book 1, we see her worry for this strange bald boy who fell out of an iceberg, which melts away to relief and a hint of curiosity once she ascertains that he isn't dead.

In B2 we once again see worry, but this time it's more frantic. Her relationship with Aang is much dearer to her heart now, and he is in much worse shape. When we see the relief on her face this time, it manifests in a broad smile, rather than a small grin. We can clearly grasp that her feelings for Aang have evolved.

In B3, we step away from the rule because Aang isn't on the verge of death or unconsciousness for the first time. It is also the first time in a situation like this that Aang isn't seeing Katara from below, but they are on equal footing. I attribute this to symbolising change of pace for their relationship.

The biggest obstacle in the development of Katara and Aang's romance was the war, which endangered both their lives. Due to this, there was a hesitance to start their relationship. In previous scenes that focused this much on Aang and Katara's mutual gaze, Aang was always in a near dead, or at least 'dead adjacent' position. This is is a very harsh reminder that he may very well die in the war, and the reason Katara, who has already endured great loss, is hesitant to allow her love for him to be made... corporeal.

However, now Aang is standing, portraying that the possibily of Katara losing him has been reduced greatly with the coming of peace, the greatest obstacle has been removed, and Katara is the one to initiate this kiss.

Concurrently, Katara's expression here does not portray worry or relief at all, because she has no need to be worried or relieved. No, Katara is blushing, looking directly at Aang with an expression that can be described as a knowing smile. I'd argue that this description is accurate, because Katara knows that she is about to finally kiss the boy she loves.

Ultimately, Katara is the one who initiates the kiss that actually begins her and Aang's romantic relationship.

Kataang's appeal to women is reflected in how Katara is almost always the one to initiate physical affection with Aang. With only 3 exceptions, one of which, the Ember Island kiss being immediately shown by the narrative as wrong, and another being a daydream due to Aang's sleep deptivation. The first moment of outwardly romantic affection between Aang and Katara is her kissing his cheek. And their last kiss in the show is also initiated by Katara.

I won't falsely state that Kataang is the perfect representation of the female gaze. Not only because the storyline has its imperfections, as every piece of media has. But also because I simply belive that the concept of the female gaze is too varied and nebulous to be fully expressed. With this essay, I simply wanted to prove that Kataang is most certainly not the embodiment of catering to the male gaze either. In fact it is quite far from that.

The aspects of Kataang that fall more towards embodying the female gaze don't just appeal to women. There's a reason a lot of vocal Kataang shippers you find are queer. The mutual emotional connection between Katara and Aang is something we don't have to identify with, but something we are still able to emphasise with. It's a profound mutual connection that we watch unfold from both perspectives that sort of tracends more physical, gendered aspects of many onscreen romances. You just need to see instead of simply look.

✨️Bonus round✨️

Aang under the gaze

This started off as a simple part of the previous essay, however I decided I wanted to give it it's own focus, due to the whole discourse around Aang being a wish-fullfilling self insert for Bryke or for men in genral. I always found this baffling considering how utterly... unappealing Aang is to the male gaze.

It may surprise some of you that men are also subjected to the male gaze. Now sadly, this has nothing to do with the male gaze of the male gays. No, when male characters, usually the male protagonist, are created to cater to the male gaze, they aren't portrayed as sexually desirable passive objects, but they embody the active/masculine aide of the binary Laura Mulvey spoke of in the quote I shared at the beginning of this essay.

The protagonist under the male gaze is not the object of desire but rather a character men and boys would desire to be.

They're usually the pinnacle of traditional, stereotypical masculinity.

Appearance wise: muscular but too broad, chiseled facial features, smouldering eyes, depending on the genre wearing something classy or some manner of armour.

Personalitywise they may vary from the cool, suave James Bond type, or a more hotblooded forceful "Alpha male" type. However these are minor differences in the grand scheme of things. The basis is that this protagonist embodies some manner of idealised man. He's strong, decisive, domineering, in control, intimidating... you get the gist. Watch nearly any action movie. There's also a strong focus placed on having sway or power over others. Often men for the male gaze are presented as wealthy, having power and status. Studies (that were proved to be flawed in the way the data was gathered, I believe) say that womem value resources in potential male partners, so it's not surprising that the ideal man has something many believe would attract "mates". [Ew I hated saying that].

Alright, now let's see how Aang holds up to these standards.

Well... um...

Aang does have power, he is the Avatar. However, he is often actually ignored, blown off and otherwise dismissed, either due to his age or his personality and ideals being seen as unrealistic and foolish. Additionally, Aang, as a member of a culture lost a century ago, is also often posited as an outsider, singled out as weak, his beliefs touted as the reason his people died out and.

Physically, Aang doesn't look like the male protagonist archetype, either. He isn't your average late teens to brushing up against middle aged. Aang is very much a child and this is reflected in his soft round features, large eyes and short, less built body. This is not a build most men would aspire to. Now, he still has incredible physical prowess, due to his bending. But I'm not sure how many men are desperate to achieve the "pacifist 12 year old" build to attract women.

Hailing from a nation that had quite an egalitarian system, Aang wouldn't have conventional ideas surrounding leadership, even if he does step up into it later. He also has little in the way of possessions, by choice.

As for Aang's personality, well...

I mean I wouldn't exactly call him your average James Bond or superhero. Aang is mainly characterised through his kindness, empathy, cheerful nature and occasional childishness (which slowly is drained as the trauma intesifies. yay.)

Aang is very unwilling to initiate violence, which sets him aside from many other male protagonists of his era, who were champing at the bit to kick some ass. He values nature, art, dance and fun. He's in tune with his emotions. He tries to desecalate situations before he starts a fight.

Some would say many of Aang's qualities could be classified as feminine. While the other main male characters, Zuko and Sokka try to embody their respective concepts of the ideal man (tied to their fathers), Aang seems content with how he presents and acts. He feels no need to perform masculinity as many men do, choosing to be true to his emotions and feelings.

These "feminine" qualities often attract ridicule from other within the show. He is emasculated or infantiliased as a form of mockery multiple times, the most notable examples being the Ember Island play and Ozai tauntingly referring to him as a "little boy". Hell, even certain Aang haters have participated in this, for example saying that he looks like a bald lesbian.

I'd even argue that, in his relationships with other characters, Aang often represents the passive/feminine. Especially towards Zuko, Aang takes on an almost objectified role of a trophy that can be used to purchase Ozai's love. [Zuko's dehumanisation of others needs to be discussed later, but it isn't surprising with how he was raised and a huge part of his arc is steerring away from that way of thinking.]

Aang and Zuko almost embody certain streotypes about relationships, the forceful, more masculine being a literal pursuer, and the gentler, more feminine being pusued.

We often see Aang framed from Zuko's perspective, creating something akin to the mutual gaze of Katara and Aang, hinting at the potential of Zuko and Aang becoming friends, a concept that is then voiced explicitly in The Blue Spirit.

However, unlike Katara, Zuko is unable to empathise with Aang at first, still seeing Aang as more of an object than a person. We have here an interesting imbalance of Aang seeing Zuko but Zuko meerly looking at Aang.

There is a certain aspect of queer metaphor to Zuko's pursuit of Aang, but I fear I've gotten off topic.

Wrapping this long essay up, I want to reiterate that I'm not saying that Zutara isn't popular with women. Most Zutara shippers I've encountered are women. And most Kataang shippers I've encountered are... also women. Because fandom spaces are occupied predominantly by women.

I'm not exactly making a moral judgement on any shippers either, or to point at Kataang and go: "oh, look girls can like this too. Stop shipping Zutara and come ship this instead."

I want to point out that the juxtaposition of Zutara and Kataang as respectively appealing to the feminine and masculine, is a flawed endeavour because neither ship does this fully.

The concept of Kataang being a purely male fantasy is also flawed due to the points I've outlied in this post.

Are there going to be male Kataang shippers who self insert onto Aang and use it for wish fulfilment? Probably. Are there going to be male Zutara shippers who do the same? Also probably.

In the end, our interpretation of media, particularly visual mediums like film are heavily influenced by our own biases, interests, beliefs andmost importantly our... well, our gaze. The creators can try to steer us with meaningful shots and voiced thought, directing actors or animating a scene to be a certain way, but ultimately we all inevitably draw our own conclusions.

A fan of Zutara can argue that Kataang is the epitome of catering to the male gaze, while Zutara is the answer to women everywhere's wishes.

While I can just as easily argue the exact opposite.

It really is just a matter of interpretation. What is really interesting, is what our gaze says about us. What we can see of ourselves when the subject gazes back at us.

I may want to analyse how Zutara caters to the male gaze in some instances, if those of you who manage to slog through this essay enjoy the subject matter.

[vamph00n]

★ Oblivious ★

by: vamph00n

★ WIP ★

!!heexfemreader!! !!minors dni!!

darker fic

Tags: PWP, Heavy implications reader & Hee are well off, Toxic Heeseung, Fem Reader, College age, Family Friends, Unhealthy Family Dynamics (mom), angst, more to be added.

Synopsis: Having everything truly out of your own control, after a gap year of so called self reinvention; you finally can say goodbye to the confinement of your house in the suburbs. You can find yourself, leave the ball & chain of your mental reliability towards others behind. Everything you do is for yourself, until he came back. Heeseung knows more about you than you think, and as much as you hate him for being the pretentious son of your mother’s friend; you can’t deny his otherwise, unprompted advances.

Ft. Sunghoon and other enha hyungline members tba

!!Smut Tags!!: dubcon, added later

WC: est 10k-14k

CWC: 9k

Release Date: tbd (shit hit the fan)

Disclaimer: Nothing of what I write reflects any real scenarios of the people depicted. It’s fiction, and if you dislike any of the topics at hand, do not consume my work.This is a wip so there’s a lot more to be added.

I’d like to thank all the lovely writers on this platform who inspired me to write this fic!!

TAGLIST OPEN!!!: @lovingvoidgoatee @eskopiganja @httpsneptvnn @seokseokjinkim @adeoluhh @iamliacamila @maein25 @skzenhalove @wonsbaer @sparklovespink

!!SNEAK PEAK!!! ↓

"Hey neighbor." A voice rang amongst the sound of cicadas and heat waves.

His shoulders were brazen, dressed for the summer heat. Hands in his pockets walking over, his honey skin glowed in the sun accentuating his well defined muscles. It's like he hasn't heard of freshman fifteen, you'd think with all the shitty frat parties and drinking he's probably done would've made him look less like that. It's uncharacteristic of him, to actually make conversation with you.

"So the shorts, did you leave them in the dryer too long or— are they supposed to be this short?"

You feel your mind go blank, for a second you can't believe what he said.

"Fuck off." It's actually the most you've spoke to eachother lately.

…

copyright: vamph00n 2024

[cornyforjk]

Drive you Crazy| Day 6 | jjk

⤷ SUMMARY In which you are stuck living with an arrogant rookie racer who thinks of you as an obstacle, ready to ruin your glory, but things get heated when he has a pervy smile hidden under that pretentious attitude. Emotions that are complicated. You could never fall for your enemy! He's sabotaging you.

Pairing: racer!jk × racer!oc

Genre: angst and pure filth smut

Warnings: trash language, a surprise at the end

taglist: @tatamicc @jwnghyuns @nono13bnd @hagridshaircare @tatzzz-25 @suashifts @kyuupii-blog @bananaminn @rispwr

A/Note: I'm going through a terrible writers block and I feel like day 6 is shit. I've been trying to make it work and idk wtf is happening w me😭😭 but yeah, you guys please just this once and I'll try to be better from the next time😔

___________________♡____________________

Jungkook didn't answer me, he just continued making smoke rings out of that filthy thing.

"This isn't normal, Jeon!" I mumble a bit loudly, the small crowd of Alex and his friends watching me and him like hawks.

"Define normal."

"That's it." I step forward, on my toes leaning towards him pulling out the cigar that dimly burned between his rose-tinted lips which made me stop in my tracks and just stare. Touche.

He instantly grabs my wrist, swatting it away and stepping on the cigar. Feeling overwhelmed and overpowered, my hand clashes against his cheek in disbelief. All of it happened in front of me, by me, yet I couldn't comprehend anything.

"Keep your damn pussy out of my face Y/n, stay away."

I knew I should've left long back, but my dumbass thought we were finally getting along together. Now enough is enough.

"Stop thirsting over my pussy." I pull him by his collar, thrusting him closer only to hear his throaty yelp. Jungkook's breath fanned over my face, beads of sweat studding his neck.

"Okay hear me out, I'm gonna make one thing clear and that is my pussy isn't made to sit on men's faces and drive them crazy. It's made to sit in my car and drive the whole race..." I pause staring into his almond eyes.

My grasp loosened, and I pushed him away earning a disgusted look.

"Understood?"

He grunts and silently leaves, leaving me with snarky jerks grazing me from head to toe.

Jungkook harshly breaks away from my hold. Everything I wanted to say to him slowly disappeared. My vision blurred when all I could see was Alex and his group mocking my words with nasty snarls on their face.

Turning around with a heavy heart I ran after Jungkook, dragging myself after him, desperately searching for his heavy footsteps. Frantically running my eyes all over the place watching him take a speedy exit that left my core etching cold.

What the hell did I do...

"Jungkook, wait!" Grabbing onto his arm I turn him around, his eyes bloodshot, confused orbs with tears collected at the lashes, frustration lining his thick brows.

"Don't ever try to get inside my head," he snarled, slamming me against the door, my back throbbing at the sudden shove that left me breathless and petrified.

He had my hands locked. My eyes locked. My legs locked. My body locked under his.

For several beats we stay like that,

feeling his breath steady, his grip tightening on my wrist. My stomach drops and churns as I look away from him.

Finally, his dark brown eyes soften under that light, "It's too dark for you there." He sighed, "My thoughts are too dark for you."

It was the moments like these that had me in his trance-full eyes, the moments that I wished never ended. The moments when I would see through him.

He was wrong about himself. He wasn't filled with the thirst for revenge. He wasn't filled with dark thoughts. He wasn't filled with hate towards me.

Feeling calmness wash over, foggy words form again, a slight hope to find my voice rushing back. I cleared my throat causing him to look back up.

"Have a little faith in yourself Jeon," I say, prying his fingers off my wrist.

"If your thoughts were as dark as you say them to be then you would've never looked out for me."

"Y/n-"

"both of us know that, Jeon." I free myself, slowly backing away with a crooked smile of pain. Felt trembling tips, finally turning my back and never looking behind.

___________________♡____________________

Two days and yet he has been ignoring me like I don't exist. Everything between us has just been awkward and tense.

With a frustrated sigh, I ran up to Natalie for advice, Jungkook being the only 'friend' here makes him important.

"Natalie! I don't know what to do, just give me a new room already. Jungkook hates my presence, he has been coming back to our room late at night just to ignore me. Come on...do something." I beg her to find a solution.

"Well...I have good news and bad news. Care to listen?" I eagerly nod my head.

"The race will be taking place in France, we are officially shifting spots!" She eagerly cheered. "We leave a day after tomorrow so no more 'sharing' rooms." She rolls her eyes, laughing it off playfully.

"Bad news, deal with it for another day."

"Well, that isn't as bad as I thought." I plop a candy in my mouth that's kept in the glass bowl while leaning against her table.

Suddenly I'm jerked off by a forced tug at my elbow.

"Road trip." Jungkook appeared in front of me, throwing his backpack in my direction.

"What?"

"Let's go on a road trip."

"Right now?" My eyes bulge out in astonishment.

"Right now."

Jungkook calmly throws our room keys in Natalie's direction, dragging me across the hall as I try to comprehend his words. By the time I'm back to my senses, it's late. I'm already in the front seat with locked doors.

"Jungkook!? Let me out!" I bang on the glass window, the stubble hits being noticed by people walking past the car with weird looks, trying to ignore hard.

Dammit, I must be looking like a crazy person right now.

I glare at Jungkook, sinking into my seat as he stands outside cracking up a lopsided smirk, flipping his sunglasses that elegantly slide on the bridge of his nose.

Such a show-off.

"Ready to hit the road, little wisp?"

He narrows his eyes and I ignore them completely, focused on the window.

"Fine. Ignore me." He grunts, angrily.

___________________♡____________________

I am brought to a secluded place, the roaring engine finally calming down. Throughout the trip no one spoke, so I didn't bother glancing at Jungkook.

Quickly scrambling out of my seat I ran towards a lake, popping in my airpods that were luckily kept in my pocket.

"Y/n! Listen." Jungkook pulls me,roughly turning me around as his grasp on my shoulder tightens, nails digging into my shoulder blades. My eyes scrunch at the action, causing Jungkook to take a step back with fear striking his face before it's back to neutral.

"We need to talk."

"We do." I replied. Sitting down near a patch of grass.

"I-" he hesitates.

"I'm sorry Y/n. Those things I did to you, the stuff I said, I meant none of it."

Desperation takes over his expressions, I observe the constant flickering of his orbs and trembles of his thighs.

"Then why did you say that? I thought we were friends." I look away grasping the green grass under me with grubby fingers willing to yank anything for the sake of soothing my bottled outrage.

"My mom..."

"Huh?" I look at him in confusion.

"Remember you came here for the first time and we're told you were the second youngest racer to come after 50 years..."

"Yeah?" I patiently wait for the whole explanation, quickly averting my gaze when he looks my way with the weakest smile ever worn. The tug of the lips held so many sentiments.

"50 years ago, the first ever racer- was my mother. Jeon Yein. The most popular female racer known that created history for the first time...all I wanted to do was win every race in her name and Alex..." Jungkook's chest heaves up and down, he deeply inhales.

"Alex- h- he got into my head, played with what I felt, and I was triggered to win the race so I tried hurting you." he hung his head low in shame but I pushed the differences aside scooting near him, my hand tracing the back of his.

"A part of me understands what you did. So I forgive you."

"for real?"

"yeah"

"Thank you." We lay in the grass for a long time, watching clouds in weird shapes float past us, the hollow wind peacefully soaring like a song about love.

"It's going to be dark soon." I comment. "I know."

"What are we waiting for?" I question him, his mysterious eyes gazing into mine.

"The moon."

"Moon!" I happily sit up, with the excitement of a child hitting my heart.

"I know you love to see the moon." "How?" I'm baffled and curious at the same time.

"I googled a fellow racer," He winked, tilting my chin and pulling me closer, surprising me. My whole face feels warm, a million thoughts fogging my brain. I'm stuck in a trance.

Jungkook pats my head and I instantly look away, lightly shoving him.

"Oooh~ is the little wisp embarrassed." he teased.

"Stop it, grumpy grinch."I shy away embarrassed.

"But...for your information, we aren't friends anymore." I suddenly say, regretting it when the rosy colour from his cheeks drains.

He looks at me with soft eyes trying to look through me, as if trying to figure me out. My intentions.

But shit

The way he's pouting rn, his eyebrows furrowed slightly, and his cheeks all puffed. He looks so kissable and it's so hard to be mad at him.

"you're not gonna pull this shit again, would you?" I asked him, getting lost in his eyes.

"No! Never" he says with an exaggerated expression, making me laugh.

"then I'll think about it", i said with a sigh.

"think about what?" He asks, while he gets up the ground and shifts a little closer to me.

"whether we're friends or not" i reply, my entire attention on his very full and inviting lips.

He notices me staring and boy, he shifts even closer. Like he's allowing me to leave everything and kiss him like it's the end of the world.

"or yk, we can not be friends, rather be more than that hm?"

Oh fuck, what?

my eyes snap to lock with his and this time, I don't stop myself. Idk who made the move but both of us kiss eachother with all of our forces.

Our lips locked instantly, while we sucked on each other's tongue. He tasted like the strawberry yogurt we had on our way here, and that is so addictive.

I can kiss him non stop for rest of my life.

___________________♡____________________

Day5 | Day7

DM me or just send an ask if you wanna be added to the taglist.

[blakbonnet]

AUTHOR OF THE WEEK: @darcylindbergh (@forpiratereasons)

Ever since the cancellation (and the second cancellation, thx max 🙃) I've found comfort in going back to fics that started it all for me - the OG fics that remind me of a happier time when the fandom was buzzing with activity, when it was all about meta and discussions and the love of the characters - and the first author I go back to to relive that is Darcy, without fail. I don't think you can read their work and be unaffected by it. Every single person I know has a favourite fic by them. Beyond lovely, lyrical prose, and brilliant plot - Darcy just gets them ✨ Read on to know a bit more about their writing process:

What's your writing process like? Do you start with the beginning or the end? Do you write in order or as the scenes come to you? 

Depends a little bit on how I came to the idea - was it an idea born from having a scene leap into my mind and now I’m just building the rest of the fic around it, or do I have a prompt, or do I have a goal I need to meet? So I start with whatever’s driving me to write the thing and I write the elevator pitch which is usually about 50 words of “what is this about.” Then I write a 500 word outline. Then I write a 1000 word outline. Then I start from the beginning and fill in to the end. I don’t usually write out of order, but I will if something really takes hold. 

Favourite trope or headcanon you like to explore while writing? 

Hurt/Comfort as a general trope. I like to write about finding the people who see you for who you are, the insecurity of disbelieving people could really love you, and the realization that it’s true, it’s really true: they do love you, not just as much as they say but so so so much more than they could put into words.

Whose voice is easier to write - Ed or Stede? Why? 

I think Ed is easier to write because his mind is very like mine (it’s definitely the untreated ADHD), but Stede is very fun to write because I think his sense of humor is quite like mine (it’s definitely the pretentious bitch /affectionate). They’re both so fantastically complex, I love being in both their heads. 

Your personal favourite thing you've written that you'd like more people to read 

Oh man this is a hard question. I will say I’m especially proud of “Bedtime Stories” which was a bit of an experiment and I’m so happy with how it turned out (@lindie-kninjaknitter did a great podfic too!) - and “Tenderly the Light” which I literally cried trying to write because I wanted it to work so bad and I trusted it so little, but with some distance I think it turned out really nice.

What is the one word that you think you use a lot? 

Not a word necessarily, but I like to write emotions as being felt in the inside of the elbows. I come back to that description a lot. 

Do you have a beta reader? Have they made you a better writer? 

I have a betaing cheerleader in @mintly who keeps me sane on the day to day. She reads about 75% of what I post in advance - the other 25% I’m just winging it really. Yeah, she’s absolutely made me a better writer, not just by helping me hone the story but by helping me trust myself too. 

Why OFMD 🥹

Gosh okay, the big question. For me OFMD is about - we spend a lot of our lives being put into little boxes ‘cause it’s tidy. It’s easy. And for a lot of our lives, we stick to our boxes because it’s easy for us too. We let it happen because there are expectations and we have responsibilities and obligations and these boxes keep us pinned in place, and it’s so easy to just stay where we’re put. 

But OFMD is about opening the lid to the box. It’s about seeing the light. It’s about how it’s never too late to open that lid. It’s about how if you just trust yourself enough and you trust the people around you, you can reach for a hand to lift you up and you can find one in the dark to help pull you out. You can find people, and you can find joy, and you can get out of that box and there’s so much room out there. And I know it’s hard. It’s so fucking hard. It’s okay if it’s hard. OFMD is about how it’s hard and scary and you will definitely fuck up and you will definitely have some scary moments wondering if you’re going to lose your balance and fall back in, but just hang on a little longer. Let that trust in yourself grow a little stronger. It’s better to stand unsteadily than to let yourself be made small again. 

And yeah, there will always be someone who wants to put you back in the box because it was easier for them, but you find your people and your joy and you hang on fucking tight and that’s stronger than easy. Our joy and our song and our communities and our hope will always be stronger than their commitment to easy. 

Rhys Darby’s legs don’t hurt either. 

Please head over to @ofmdlovelyletters (who also made the header) and send your love to all your favourite authors (and authors of the week 😈 watch that blog for some special letters coming your way)

[trashyvanillabean]

So, not gonna lie, I do have a few gripes with how the writers handled Taoran. (Image below taken from the fan wiki.)

NOTE: IF YOU HAVEN’T PLAYED/ARE STILL PLAYING 2.5, BEWARE THE SPOILERS!

His first “appearance” (just his voice) was in the Myriad Celestia Trailer: “History of the Xianzhou: Exodus of the Five Dragons.” Anything else so far (because there might be things that I personally missed) comes from the “Preceptor Assembly Chronicle Fragment” readable, which has him and Preceptor Fenghuan accusing Preceptor Xuepu of attempting to replace the High Elder system with the council of Preceptors (basically accusing her of being power-hungry, which is rather hypocritical as some of us will have undoubtedly noted come version 2.5).

The problem with Taoran’s introduction is that, unless players have tried to dig into the lore, this is probably their first time ever seeing, hearing and/or reading about him; so, what small amount of time he has on screen is most likely going to be somewhat lukewarm and have players asking, “Who the fork is this handsome muddlefudger?????” (Not even gonna hide this under a strikethrough: his design is 🔥 but it’s wasted on this lame old man. 🙂‍↕️ No one even points out his horns, unless that turns out to be common among the Preceptors rather than just the High Elders. <- It’s been a while, I can’t remember this part more accurately.)

And while I greatly enjoyed watching Dan Heng get as close to making this guy some kinda piscine-reptile kebab as he might be willing to…Taoran’s first physical introduction is otherwise slightly lukewarm. What little buildup we have comes from Lingsha, Jing Yuan and Dan Heng carrying out their investigations in the Shackling Prison. After that, he’s only given one scene confessing right out of the gate to colluding with Sanctus Medicus and aiding the borisin in freeing Hoolay, throwing out excuses that it’s all to preserve the Vidyadhara from extinction, and trying to hide behind Bailu and the oath between the Vidyadhara with the Xianzhou Alliance to not harm any Vidyadhara on their territory (which should honestly be rendered null in the event where the Vidyadhara in question is a criminal, and could potentially be evading arrest, like what the fudge).

I think it would have gone better if Taoran was introduced much earlier when we first arrived at the Luofu during or after version 1.0, like during the main trailblaze mission when we visit the Alchemy Commission and Scalegorge Waterscape, or during Dan Heng, Bailu or Jingliu’s companion missions. Either set him up as an ally at first, and then have us finding clues and be warned by a few people (Qingzu, Fu Xuan, or Jing Yuan himself <- just tossing Jing Yuan in here as just an example) to not trust Taoran and the Preceptors. Or, have him try to stop us from reaching Scalegorge, and that’s unfortunately where that idea stops because I can’t think of anything else. Sorry. 😅

One thing I liked was the “boss fight” that followed, but that actually felt a bit worse than his introduction…? Like, again, lukewarm, but definitely more like tap-water-that-hasn’t-really-been-boiled-long-enough lukewarm. 😅 (Or maybe my team comp was just that strong enough to bring him and his mooks down in a few hits.) Even the confrontation with him before that fight didn’t feel threatening at all, just…pretty annoying, like having to sit in a really boring lecture in a classroom.

Even Skott’s mechs put up more of a fight, and Skott himself riled me up much more just by opening his mouth. (Note: I was listening to Skott’s English voice, and I think they did a great job of making him obnoxious.)

Taoran was just all pretentious “blah blah blah.”

I’m suddenly reminded of that one post comparing Taoran to the Abundant Ebon Deer, and some people might think I’m crazy for thinking this, but I just… *heavy sighs* I feel like the writers really wasted potential for an interesting villain and following up with a stronger boss fight (even if I hate fighting that darn deer). 😞

Oh well, at least we got to enjoy Dan Heng in the spotlight~ 🥰

@artheresy tagging you in this for funsies. 👀

I’ll also put screenshots of that readable I mentioned under here and the map location, in case anyone wants to read it immediately before searching for it on their own.

[soulofapatrick]

Not What I Thought - Henry Fox x Male Reader

Summary: You meet Henry at Philip and Martha's wedding to find you're both as enthralled by the other as the other

Words: 2.1k 

Warnings: None really, almost smut but interrupted

Notes: Henry and Alex from RWRB have taken over my life 🤣🤣🤣

Y/N’s POV

To say that I wasn’t absolutely shitting myself would be a lie as I step out of the limo with Alex, my older brother, and Nora, the vice president’s daughter. Usually, Alex and Nora would take this job but mother wanted me to start getting out into the spotlight and making a name for myself as Alex is about to start running the campaign in Texas and June has officially become a speech writer for the Whitehouse while I’ve done nothing. I’m only just eighteen and I have the whole world knowing my name which is rather daunting, but, not as daunting as this…

Buckingham Palace is fucking huge, and gold and full of fancy shit that I don’t know the name of. I’m not even sure why I said yes to this. Alex is grumbling and rolling his eyes about how snobbish and pretentious Prince Henry is while Nora is basically bouncing as she walks, full to the brim with excitement, as she drags my stumbling self behind her to line up and greet the royal family as they enter the hall. Or ballroom. I’m not sure, all these rooms are too big to distinguish them. 

Prince Philip and his new wife, Martha, look to be the snobbish ones, noses upturned and voice articulate as they shake hands with every important member of governments and royal connections in this line. He looks at us three like we’re the dirt under his shoes and shakes Alex’s hand like he has the plague before skipping me entirely and greeting Nora with a little better attitude. Next is Bea, the middle child and the wild child from what I hear. She’s pleasant if somewhat reserved but she greets the three of us like we’re long lost childhood friends reuniting and it leaves a warm feeling in my chest even if I don’t actually swing that way. She’s waltzing Nora away before anyone can say anything and suddenly I’m face to face with beauty. 

Prince Henry. He stands tall - taller than Alex - and regal amidst the opulent surroundings of Buckingham Palace. His blond hair impeccably styles, the locks sweeping messily back from his forehead with natural elegance. The subtle curl at the ends softens his appearance, giving him an approachable air despite his royal stature. The rich hue of his hair contrasts perfectly with his fair, porcelain complexion. His eyes, a light shade of blue that seems to hold a depth of emotions, are set beneath finely arched eyebrows. They radiate a mixture of curiosity, kindred and a hint of despair - a combination that makes it hard to look away. 

His features are finely chiseled, with a strong jawline that adds a touch of masculinity to his ethereal beauty. His lips, full and oh so inviting, seem to hold a natural grace that could effortlessly break into a smile or a quick teasing grin. His tailored suit fits him like a second skin, emphasising his lean build and hinting at a strength beneath the refined exterior. The way he carries himself, with an air of confidence tempered by genuine interest in those around him, makes it easy to see why he captures the attention of all who meet him despite Alex’s stories of how entitled and narcissistic he is. 

As his voice reaches my ears, it’s warm and inviting, breaking through the nervousness that has settled within me, “Good evening,” He says, his tone polite but not distant, “I don’t believe we have had the pleasure of meeting before. May I have your name?” 

His hand, when he extends it for a handshake, is warm and firm, his grip confident yet not overpowering. There’s a sincerity in the ay he clasps my hand, a fleeting connection that carries a sense of genuine interest. As his blue eyes meet mine, I can’t help but feel that beneath all the rumours I’ve heard and the expectations, there’s a complexity to Prince Henry that is both intriguing and captivating. 

“Y-your majest- Oh no! Your royal highness-“ Alex facepalms from beside me, watching me fumble over my words as my brain displays images of Henry pressing me up against the nearest wall and having me any way he likes, “Y-Y/N. It’s Y/N Claremont-Diaz.” 

“Well,” His eyes seemed to have darkened as they sweep over me once, not in the same way Philip did, and oh fuck me. I am not going to make it through this evening if he keeps looking at me like that, especially when he leans in close, breath hot against my cheek, “I hope to see you later.”

As quickly as he appeared, Henry is gone, and Alex is at my side, steering me toward the bustling ballroom where the after party is in full swing. Amidst the crowd, Alex seems to vanish in search of alcohol, leaving me to navigate the sea of unfamiliar faces. My eyes find Nora, her laughter blending with Bea's in a way that suggests they've been friends for years. I decide to do what I do best, explore without getting seen, blend into the shadows and find a quiet spot where no-one will disturb me, except maybe Amy who is my PPO for the day. Deciding to retreat into my comfort zone, 

I slip away quietly, becoming a shadow in the corners of the palace. It doesn't take long before I stumble upon a room, a hidden oasis amidst the grandeur, filled with books. Floor-to-ceiling shelves line the walls, laden with leather-bound volumes and dusty tomes. The soft glow of sconces illuminates the space, casting an inviting warmth that contrasts with the glitz and glamour outside. I step further into the room, running my fingers over the spines of the books. It’s mesmerising, the sheer collection of knowledge and stories tucked away in here. For a moment, I forget about the grand event unfolding just beyond these walls. I lose myself in the comfort of solitude and the intoxicating scent of aged pages. 

Just as I’m lost in my thoughts, the door creaks open, and I spin around to face the intruder, expecting to be Amy or Alex, having found me finally. But the sight that greets me is anything but ordinary. Henry stands there, his presence no longer commanding but somehow ordinary, like another person in the streets. His blue eyes meet mine, and there’s a shared understanding that in this moment neither of us are from royalty or fame, we are just Y/N and Henry. 

“You are an enigma, nothing at all how I imagined.” He tells me, quietly closing the door and making his way over to me, gesturing to the sofa. I sink straight into the plush cushions, Henry sitting on my left, one leg tucked under himself and arm flung over the back of the sofa, expression open and I have to adjust my seat imagining pushing him back and kissing him breathless. 

We exchange banter, light teasing, and the kind of easy conversation that’s reserved for moments of genuine connection. Henry’s flirting is subtle, a glint in his eyes and a playful quirk to his lips. It’s a dance of words that feels both exhilarating and comfortable, as if we’ve known each other for far longer than just a few hours. 

But then there’s a pause, a fleeting moment where the air between us changes. It’s as if time is holding its breath, our eyes locked, and the room is charged with a palpable tension. And then, in an instant, the atmosphere shifts again. It’s a surge, a magnetic pull that neither of us can resist and as if guided by an unseen force, we’re both leaning forwards, closing the distance between us. Our lips meet in a kiss that’s hesitant, testing the waters to see if awe are both wanting the same thing. It’s a slow exploration, a gentle press of lips that converts a shared curiosity and a mutual yearning. There’s a softness to the touch, a tentative dance that feels both intimate and tender. 

The hesitation doesn’t last long. As if a dam has been breached, the atmosphere between us surges with an irresistible pull. Henry’s lips mould against mine with more urgency, his hand finding it’s way to the curve of my cheek as if he’s trying to memorise every contour and scar. I respond in kind, my fingers threading through the soft strands of his hair, a silent invitation for him to come closer. And he does. The kiss deepening, a dance of desire and longing, a magnetic force that draws us closer until there’s hardly any space between us. 

I feel the shift as Henry’s hand traces the line of my jaw, his touch igniting sparks along my skin. And then, suddenly, the world tilts as he pushes me back onto the sofa, not dissimilar to the way I was picturing doing it to Henry. There’s a controlled urgency in his movements as he claims over me, body hovering just out of touch and the sensation is electrifying. Our lips collide once more, a collision of passion and aching want. It's a fervent dance of tongues and shared breaths that leaves me dizzy and craving more. His hands, exploratory and confident, trace the contours of my chest and shoulders. The path they leave in their wake is seared with fire, a trail of sensations that has me arching into his touch. 

As the kiss deepens, I can’t help but let my own desires take over. My hands, emboldened by need, glide down his back until they reach his waist and I pull him down to close the achingly large gap between us, drawing a whimper from me as his hips brush against mine just right. 

“Jesus, you know exactly what you want, don’t you?” Henry pants, breaking the kiss to focus his gaze on my shirt with an annoyed expression. His lean fingers with the buttons on my shirt, his touch almost impatient in it’s eagerness to explore what lies beneath. He looks breathtaking, hovering above me, honey hair mused and blue eyes glazed with want and abandon. 

I can’t stop myself reaching up and tangling my hand in those locks, grumbling, “You talk to much.” Before yanking him down into a bruising kiss. My hips raising up to meet his, causing a delicious friction that has me swallowing the sounds Henry makes, his hips rocking to meet mine. 

“Y/N, I told you not to-oh my god.” Amy is turning around and walking back outside, closing the door with a meaningful clearing of her throat. Henry is scrambling off of me and to his feet, eyes wide as if he’s realising what we’ve done and there’s a sinking feeling in my gut. I sit up, adjusting myself, the suit pants doing not much to ease he uncomfortableness and trying to make myself a little more presentable, keeping my head bowed away from his royal highness. 

“Oh no, no, no,” Henry is appearing between my legs, doing nothing to help my problem, those fantasy inducing fingers gripping my thighs higher than they should be, “Y/N Claremont-Diaz, you are a pleasure and I do hope we can see each other again. I would…” He pauses, looking up at me through hooded lashes and his right hand shifting even higher and a strangled sound escapes my throat, “I would like to see more of you.” 

“Fuck.” I’m letting my head fall back, the dull pain from the couch frame helping ease my raging erection that is currently being groped by someone I never thought. I think I get whiplash when Henry pops the button on my suit pants, “Hen- fuck… Henry, Alex is looking for me…. We don’t… we don’t have-“

“There you are Y/N!” The door bursts open and Alex stops short, eyes wide and jaw almost hitting the floor before he screeches, “HENRY?!” 

“Alex-“ 

“OF ALL PEOPLE? YOU PICK HENRY?” He’s staring bug eyed while Henry is still kneeling there, worry on his soft features. 

“Get out.” I grumble at my older brother who just rolls his eyes and focuses his gaze on a very red in the face Prince. 

“You hurt him, I hurt you.” Then Alex is gone with a half hearted slam of the door. 

I’m gripping Henry’s chin between my thumb and forefinger, guiding his gaze to mine to see the same nervousness and intensity in them. He parts his lips when my thumb ghosts over his plump bottom one and I think I die and go to heaven right then and there. 

“Where were we?’ He murmurs, guiding my hand to his hair again and yeah, I’m dead. How the fuck did I get the Prince of England to want me back in the span of four maybe five hours? I’m not gonna question it, just gonna take it as it is. 

Fuck Me.

-------------

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[sunshinevanfleet]

brat - d. wagner

pairing: danny x reader

a/n: hey y'all!!! i'm back again with another fic. i'm trying to keep up with the writing and avoid some writers' block, so here's another fic. i am hardcore in danny's lane rn, and planned to write some fluff and then ended up with the exact opposite lol. so here's some enemies to lovers, hate-fuck smut with our lovely danny. he's kind of an asshole in this one and it's very sexy so pls enjoy. let me know what u think!! luv you all. (p.s. this is unedited and not proofread so excuse me for any mistakes thx ok bye)

genre: smut (18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT), enemies to lovers

word count: 4k

warnings: alcohol consumption, explicit sex scenes, unprotected sex, car sex, danny being an asshole, some light degradation, etc.

“You have got to be fucking with me.” 

You barely noticed the words leaving your lips as you stood by the bar, the plastic cup in your hand crunching as you gripped it. You glanced over your shoulder at your friend; she was still distracted by the hot bartender flirting with her. Nudging her with your shoulder, she finally glanced over.

“No way, is that–”

“It is,” you muttered, shaking your head. “I’m going to fucking murder Josh Kiszka.”

Kara laughed at your words, just as shocked as you were. The bartender was forgotten, still chatting away distractedly as you two stared at the man in the doorway of the bar. The low light obscured him slightly, not to mention the blurriness of your eyes from the couple of drinks you had. But it was him, silhouetted there, all broad-shoulders and dark curly hair framing his face. 

“Daniel Wagner…” Kara shook her head, taking a long swig of her drink in front of her. “Josh totally did that on purpose.”

“You think?”

“I mean, I dunno.” She shrugged. “He knows you hate each other, obviously.”

You sighed heavily. You should’ve called anyone but Josh. You should’ve spent your last ten dollars getting an uber home. It would be worth sacrificing your pretentious cold brew from the coffee shop down the street in the morning in order to avoid riding home with Danny Wagner. 

“This is so fucked.” You turned around to face Kara. Danny was canvassing the crowded bar, obviously searching for you since he had been called to be your savior tonight. “I’m never calling Josh to pick me up again.”

“You should’ve expected this, Y/N,” said Kara. “Josh is always sending someone else to get you. Remember last time? He was taking fireball shots at home with Sam, so he sent Jake…”

“That’s the difference!” you hissed at her, trying not to call attention to yourself. You were beginning to panic. How were you going to survive a twenty minute drive in the car with a man you hated? “It was Jake! He’s not my–my arch nemesis!”

Kara snorted, covering her mouth as she began to laugh. “Your arch nemesis… I can’t with you. Sound like a supervillain,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“I’m being serious.”

“You’ll be fine, Y/N,” she waved her hand halfheartedly. “At least he’s hot.”

Your features screwed up into a scowl. It felt like all of your friends were setting you up for this. The two of you never got along; he always had some snarky comment any time you said anything, and the sound of his voice hit the wrong nerve with you. Something about him was just infuriating. But he was a staple in the Kiszkas’ lives, and so were you, so you tolerated each other. Josh, however, was always trying to get you to get along. This was another one of his plots, and you knew it. You were going to strangle him. 

“Oh, shit, I think he’s spotted us,” Kara said, eyes widening. She forced herself to look back towards the bartender, and sipped her drink aggressively. 

You took a deep breath and smoothed your hands over your face. This would definitely be interesting. It took everything in you not to turn around and watch him saunter over, that stupid cocky look playing on his features as he realized the rest of your night was in his hands. There was no doubt in your mind that he was going to make every second a living hell. 

“There you are, sweetheart,” came his voice from behind you. You resisted the urge to scream at the pretentious nickname.

You turned to face him, your face curled into the nastiest smile you could muster. “Daniel,” you said, feigning politeness. “Look who the cat dragged in.”

“Kicking and screaming,” he agreed, nodding his head. You eyed him for a second. His hair was pulled back messily, stray curls fanning his forehead and cheeks. He wore a black muscle tee and a pair of gray sweatpants that were hanging dangerously low on his hips. He must’ve been in bed when Josh called him. 

“Where’s Josh?” you asked bluntly. Your two-second show of getting along was over. He was the last person you wanted to be face-to-face with right now. 

“Incapacitated,” said Danny. “You know how he loves a good Friday night drinking game.”

“And you weren’t playing?”

“Nope,” he continued, “I was all cozy in my bed, going to sleep early. Then Josh calls me to come rescue the princess, so here I am.” 

You rolled your eyes. With a huff, you decided not to push the subject any further. If you ignored him, maybe the next half hour would go by in a flash. Next time, you’d be calling your Mom before you called Josh to come pick you up. Unreliable little shit.

“Let’s get this shit over with,” you said under your breath.

Standing from the bar, you grabbed your purse and slung it over your shoulder. You shoved your phone inside, and said a quick goodbye to Kara. She smiled sweetly at the both of you as you left. Danny led you out into the warm night air, where his car was waiting. 

“Don’t look so miserable, sweetheart,” he said, a twinge of amusement in his voice.

“Oh, shut up,” you muttered, tone laced with venom. You had never met anyone with such a smackable demeanor, someone so hell-bent on pestering you until you broke. 

“What? Not happy to see me?”

You wrinkled your nose. Ducking into his car, you dropped your bag on the floor and kicked off your heels. In the back of your mind, you wished you drank a little more before you left. Danny’s presence was a wonderfully effective buzzkill. 

“Well, don’t get your panties in a twist. You don’t have to see me for too long,” he said, grinning.

“My panties are perfectly untwisted,” you said haughtily. “Can you just shut up for the next twenty minutes? It’d make my life a lot easier.”

He laughed. “I’m not here to make your life easier.”

“Believe me, I’ve noticed.”

You could feel the smugness radiating off of him as he pulled away from the bar. You wished you could hitch a ride with Kara, but you knew her boyfriend was picking her up and they would be nearly as insufferable as this car ride with Danny. It was quiet for a moment, but you knew he would be back to bugging you any minute now. You merely hoped you didn’t explode once it started. 

He reached between you, flicking the radio on to kill the silence between you. The station was set to something hard-rock. The drums and guitar blaring through the speakers were really starting to worsen the headache threatening to come on.

“Can you turn that off, please?” you asked, glaring at him.

“No, I like this song,” Danny said, reaching over to increase the volume.

Your face flushed with anger. 

“I have a headache, Daniel,” you said bitterly. “At least turn it down.”

But he was steadily cranking the volume up, up, up. The grin on his face was only widening. Your head pounded, both from the drinks and the immeasurable rage coursing through you. 

“What?” he shouted. “I can’t hear you!”

You half-groaned, half-screamed, and reached over to pull his hand away from the volume. You knew you looked like a crazy person, and you didn’t care. He laughed as you pushed his hand away from the radio. You muted it without a second thought. 

“My head is fucking pounding,” you hissed at him. “Asshole.”

“Oh I’m an asshole,” he added, chuckling. “That’s rich, coming from such a brat.”

You glanced over, and met his gaze briefly before he looked away. His eyes were dark, and slightly hooded with sleep. He really must’ve been sleeping.  Your heart thundered in your chest. If you weren’t so pissed off, you might have noticed the butterflies blooming in your stomach and spreading down between your legs. There was no way that Danny Wagner insulting you was turning you on. You ignored the feeling, twisting one leg over the other and flopping back against the seat. 

“You are an asshole,” you said.

“I am a perfectly nice guy.”

You snorted. “You’re fucking delusional.”

“You know it. You just don’t want to admit that you’re the instigator in this relationship,” Danny said.

“Instigator? Which one of us is constantly, intentionally, pissing the other one off?” You raised your eyebrows expectantly at him.

He grinned at you, shrugging. “Which one of us is constantly getting so worked up over absolutely nothing?”

“I’m going to ignore you, now,” you stated. You turned away from him, staring off into the distance as he drove you home. You couldn’t stand looking into those intense eyes any longer. Your thighs were clenched together so hard that they were beginning to shake. It was about time you got the hell out of this car, before shit got out of hand.

“Looks like I’m right,” he continued. “Poor little brat knows I’m right, huh?”

Brat… The word made you squirm in your seat, the brief throbbing in your core making you swallow hard. He was going to be the death of you, the gorgeous shithead sitting in the seat beside you. God, you hated how easily he could push your buttons in all the right ways. You hated to admit it, but underneath all of the outward animosity, there had always been some serious sexual tension. 

“I must be really getting under your skin, huh sweetheart?” 

There it was again, another one of his condescending nicknames. It felt wrong to say you were almost enjoying this. You squirmed slightly again, trying to avoid his attention. The sound of your pulse thundered in your ears. In the back of your mind, you wondered if he could tell. 

“I hate you,” you muttered. Your voice was hoarse, and so quiet it was barely audible between you. You were afraid if you spoke any louder that the shake in your voice would give it all away. 

“Doesn’t seem that way,” said Danny smugly. His car came to a stop at a redlight, and you turned to glance at him. He was looking at you, almost hungrily. He looked you up and down, shaking his head as the light finally turned green and he pulled off. “Can’t sit still over there, can you?”

“What are you talking about?” 

“Don’t act all clueless,” he chuckled. “I see you over there, squirming and writhing…” His eyes flicked down to your legs twisted together. Your skirt had ridden dangerously high up your thighs, almost enough so that your panties would be exposed shortly. 

“I am not,” you hissed, uncrossing your legs and pulling your skirt down. Your face flushed red, and you prayed he couldn’t see it in the dim light. 

“Are too,” his voice was tinged with amusement. “Bet that little pussy’s just throbbing when I call you brat.” 

His words sent a jolt up your spine, and you knew he could see your red face now. Your eyes widened like a deer in headlights. He laughed darkly at this.

“You know I’m right.”

You swallowed the planet-sized lump in your throat, trying to figure out how to breathe again. What the fuck were you supposed to say to that? 

“I– Danny, what–” You were lost for words. You couldn’t take your eyes off him as you rode the last two minutes to your house. He seemed to be completely focused on the road, not paying you any mind as you sat there in complete shock. What the fuck was going on?

The car came to a stop in your driveway with a jolt. There was a short pause, where the two of you just stared at each other for a moment. Then, without a word, Danny leaned his seat back, and you caught the hint.

You climbed across the center console and straddled him with all the ease of a professional. He leaned up and caught your lips in a heated kiss. It was hot, and messy– all lips and teeth gnashing and saliva everywhere. His hands had fallen to your ass, bunching your skirt up around your hips and kneading the fleshy skin. Your own were tangled in his curls, pulling more hair loose from his bun as you pushed him down against the seat.

“God, you’re fucking soaked,” he groaned against your mouth. One of his fingers teased along your panties as he squeezed your ass. There was barely any friction, but still you sighed heavily. 

“Fuck,” you hissed as he dragged the finger up and down the fabric again, teasing you through your underwear. You ground your hips down against him, trying to get some kind of relief. 

“What got you this wet for me, sweetheart? Hmm?” His lips traveled down your neck, sucking the skin hard as he left bruises behind. You rutted your hips against him again, desperately as he continued teasing you. “This sweet little pussy loves it when I call you my brat, huh?”

His deep, silky voice sent a jolt through your body. You needed him so bad. To touch you, to taste you, to fuck you. Anything at this point. You couldn’t take the sound of him teasing you anymore. You needed him to destroy you.

“Fuck, Danny, stop teasing me, please,” you hissed through clenched teeth. Two of his long fingers swept past your panties and swirled against your soaking wet core. Your eyes almost rolled back into your head at the feeling of it. 

“Teasing you is the best part,” he said breathily. His lips skirted across your collarbones, nipping harshly at the skin. You were going to be fifty shades of purple come the morning, but you didn’t care. You wanted his mouth–his teeth– on you, everywhere. 

You grunted, swirling your clothed center against his bulge and fingers again. It was almost pure bliss, having two of his fingers prodding your entrance and his clothed bulge dragging against your clit. You knew you could cum like this, but you wanted him, all of him desperately. 

His fingers finally pushed into your soaked cunt, and you moaned loudly. Your face flushed with embarrassment; it had been so long since you’d been fucked properly. The desperation in your movements made you feel something like a virgin again. You didn’t have time to worry about what Danny would think– his free hand had snaked up your body to wrap around your throat.

You gasped, throwing your head back as his fingers sank into you to the base. 

“You like that? You like my fingers stretching that little cunt open?”

You nodded, clenching around him as he slowly began to thrust them in and out of you. He curled them slightly, the pads of his fingers grazing your sweet spot deliciously.

“Use your words, brat.”

“Y–yes, Danny, I–” a moan broke through as he curled his fingers more harshly, driving them into your g-spot. “Fuck, I love it.”

“Oh, you love it?” he asked, his voice amused. “C’mon, ride my fingers, then.”

You obeyed instantly, lifting yourself up and rolling your hips against his fingers. Your entire body seized as his fingers hit that spot over and over again. Your eyes were screwed shut, bottom lip tugged between your teeth as he held you up by the throat and let you fuck yourself on his fingers. Pleasure coursed through your veins; you were sure he was the best lay of your life, and he hadn’t even fucked you yet. Stars bloomed in your vision, and your legs began to tremble.

He breathed sharply as your walls clenched tightly around his fingers. “Feels so good, doesn’t it sweetheart? You’re so close to cumming all over my hand, aren’t you? Yeah, that tight little pussy’s gonna cream all over my fingers, isn’t it?”

You whimpered at his words. You forced your eyes open and glanced down at him, and you nearly came at the sight. His lips were raw and swollen from his assault on your neck; sweat glistened on his forehead and cheeks, his curls plastered to the skin as he watched you with black eyes. His expression dripped with pure filth– no one had ever looked at you this way. You leaned down into him, pressing your open mouth against his. You breathed his air, tasting his breath and sucking it into your lungs as if it were your own lifeforce. Your tongue darted into his mouth; you throbbed at the wet, lewd sounds emerging from the two of your mouths together. It was disgusting, and you were loving every second of it. 

Chest heaving, you began to grind yourself down onto his digits, hard. You vision began to go black.

“Danny, oh my god, Danny,” you breathed, rocking against him. “I’m gonna cum, fuck me, I can’t hold on…” You were practically screaming, hoping that his car was muffling the sound of your shrill moans from the outside world.

“No, no, not yet, sweetheart…”

Your heart dropped as he dropped his hand from your throat, and grabbed you around the waist. You gasped as he pulled his soaked fingers out of you, your cunt clenching around nothing as he laughed darkly. 

“Danny, what the fuck–”

He grinned. “Relax, Y/N,” he said, amused. 

“But I was so fucking close,” you groaned, squirming above him as he watched you. Without saying anything, he brought his slick fingers up to your mouth and held them in front of you. You stared at him for a second, before he reached his other hand up and tapped you on the chin with his thumb. Opening your mouth, you allowed him to insert his fingers into your mouth, tasting yourself. He groaned at the sight; you felt his cock twitch underneath you, straining against his sweatpants. You rolled your hips against him, and he bit down on his lip with a grunt.

“You’re gonna cum all over my cock, okay? Gonna be my good girl and ride me,” he said, watching as you nodded, bobbing your lips over his fingers. You swirled your tongue around his digits hungrily, your eyes widening as you watched him pull down the waistband of his pants. His cock slapped against his abdomen. You knew from feeling it that it was bigger than average, but you never would have expected this from Danny Wagner.

“Fuck, where have you been hiding that thing?” you muttered, incredulous. 

Danny laughed, taking his saliva soaked hand and wrapping it around his shaft. The tip was slightly purple, leaking shining clear precum. He spread your spit and juices over himself, groaning thickly. 

“Let me,” you replaced his hand with your own, swiping your thumb over the tip. He grunted, closing his eyes and leaning back against the seat. You leaned forward, letting a string of saliva drip from your mouth down to his cock. You bobbed your fist up and down over him, feeling his thighs twitch as you teased him.

“Enough,” he groaned thickly, his voice deep with arousal as he reached forward to grab your wrist. “Sit on it. Now.” He commanded.

“Yes, sir,” you said snarkily, lifting yourself up and positioning your hole over the tip. You dragged the tip through your folds for a moment, soaking it in your arousal. The two of you moaned in unison, and a deep breathy groan spilled from his lips as you finally sank down onto him.

You squeezed your eyes shut at the stretch of his cock; it felt as if you were being split in half in the best way possible. 

“Holy fuck,” you panted, rolling your hips slowly against him. You didn’t know how you were going to take him for very long. Your legs trembled on either side of his, and you could barely lift yourself above him.

“What is it, sweetheart?” Danny grasped your chin as you stared down at him. “Need some help, baby? Need help riding my big cock?”

You nodded, “Yes, please. I can take it, please.” One of your hands wrapped around his wrist, and the other grasped his shoulder. Your nails dug into his skin as he wrapped his arms around your waist. He lifted you off of him a bit, and began to drill into you from beneath you.

You pressed your forehead against his, your mouth open in a silent scream. You couldn’t think as he set a relentless pace, barrelling into your swollen hole without abandon. Your thighs quivered and began to shake; if it weren’t for him holding you up, you would have collapsed on top of him. He was so deep, abusing your pussy as tears of sheer pleasure clouded your vision. 

You felt his hips stutter beneath you, and you moved your hand from his shoulder, to his throat. “Don’t fucking stop,” you moaned, your voice cracking. “If you stop, I’ll kill you.”

He laughed throatily, his breath fanning over your face. “Oh, if I had the willpower to torture you with my cock right now, I promise you I would, sweetheart. But I’ve gotta cum in this pussy, now.”

Tears swept down your cheeks as he maintained his rhythm. Sweat poured down your face, and mingled with the dampness of your tears. You squeezed your eyes closed, your entire body shaking as you approached your release. 

"Poor little pitiful thing..." he muttered. "I love seeing you cry over my cock. Feels good, huh baby? Splitting you open like that..."

“Fuck, fuck, fuuuck, I’m cumming, Danny– Oh, motherfuck–” Your voice was cut off by the heaving breaths breaking from your throat. Your cunt tightened around Danny’s thick length, squeezing deliciously as he fucked you straight through your orgasm. Your entire mind was blank, your vision cloudy as you slumped against him. But he wasn’t done with you; his pace was more relentless than ever as he chased his own high. You used the last of your energy to meet his thrusting, pushing him closer to the edge.

“Almost there,” he whispered, his features twisted in focus as you fucked down onto him. You rocked your hips, swirling around on his cock. His mouth fell open, and his features screwed up in pleasure. A strangled moan fell from his lips, and you felt his hot cum shooting inside of you, staining your walls. He came with a deep groan of your name, and you throbbed around him. 

You whimpered at the feeling of him pulling out of you, his strong arms still holding you above him. Gently, he released your waist, and you slumped down onto his chest. The two of you were covered in sweat, sticky and smelling distinctly of arousal. Around you, the windows of his car had fogged up enough that you could barely see out of them.

“You okay?” Danny asked quietly as you rolled back into your own seat, pressing your back against the door. You were still panting, your skirt hitched up around your hips. Your panties had been ripped to shreds in the process, threads dangling from your thighs. Absent-mindedly, you struggled to remove them.

“I’m good,” you nodded, taking a deep breath as you tried your best to fix your appearance. 

“Didn’t mean to make you cry,” he said, sounding almost sorry.

“It was a good cry.” A laugh fell from your lips, and you were glad to see him smile. A real smile this time. Not the shit-eating grin you were used to. 

“Want me to walk you up?” He nodded towards the door to your house, slowly becoming visible through the fogged up windows. 

You nodded. “Sure,” you said. “Think I might need you to carry me after that.”

“I can manage that. If you can do me one favor in the morning…”

“And what would that be?”

“Tell Josh I said thanks for calling me,” he said cheekily.

“Oh, shut up,” you reached over and smacked him on the chest, then shook your head as he ducked out of the car. What were you going to do with him?

[kairiscorner]

Throwback to the very first thing i requested from u bc i think it’s been over a month HAHAHA

For ‘i’m stuck with you’ (art student x stem student miggy) EXCEEEPPPTTT make the reader a english/langlit major, or just really good at writing (bc i love my writers)

Okay, we have established that reader is fucking terrible at math (i am them, they are me)

But how about miguel needing help with essays? Because sci students are lowkey kinda bad with essays

Cause yeah, even though i hc that miggy probably has really, really good grammar, when writing essays? Nah, that mf is all over the place.

Like he has the ideas, but he lacks the creativity and writing skill to get them onto paper

(Not a request, but write it if u want to :D)

SHIEEEEEETTTTTT i am forever in love with college miggy <333

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

i'm stuck with you. — miguel o'hhara x reader pt. 2 (college dorm mates au)

summary: it should come as no surprise to anybody that miguel o'hara was extremely good at running his mouth off and pretentious when it came to grammar and spelling... but making him write an opinionated essay, or a book report? oh, you're stumping him. luckily for him, he has a super adorable, english-smart dorm mate; unluckily for him, however, you can't put up with his annoying, whiny ass about how "boring" all this writing seems to be.

pairing: college!dorm mate!miguel o'hara x college!dorm mate!reader

genre: fluff <333

word count: 965

author's note: when is it my turn to have a cocky, math and science smarts stem boyfriend that sucks ass at creative writing ,,, i'm alr the writer gf, universe, ano ba 😭😭😭

he stared at the flashing cursor on the document he was supposed to be writing his book report for the english class he had to take. he sighed and folded his arms over his chest in frustration, his eyebrows crinkling as all he could do was sigh again at the lack of ideas swirling in his head. "this is why i took genetics, nobody needs to write reflections on alleles or why DNA is shaped as a double helix... this is idiotic." he muttered under his breath as he forcefully hit the backspace key repeatedly and sighed for the third time.

you soon arrived back to your dorm after attending all your classes for the day and was surprised to witness your so-called "genius" dorm mate slump over his desk, his forehead pressed down against the surface as his laptop remained open and the document remained empty–even emptier than before, actually. you walked over to miguel, half concerned and half unfazed, ironically. you had yearned to see the day when his ego would break, but unfortunately, you weren't there to see the fall–hence you drew barely any enjoyment out of seeing him all stumped.

"hey, genius, what's wrong?" you asked him in a partially sarcastic and partially worried voice, with miguel groaning as he thumped his forehead lightly against the surface of his desk. "words are hard." he muttered. you raised an eyebrow at him and chuckled lightly. "words are hard? wow, and you can piece together a bunch of letters and greek symbols together... either you're speaking an alien language of incomprehensible numbers, or you're just good at everything but linguistics." "the latter." miguel mumbled all muffled and groan again.

you chuckled and moved closer to him, practically hovering over him as you looked at the very blank document before you. "what's this supposed to be?" "an... essay." "an essay has words, you realize that, right?" you asked him sarcastically with a smile. he scowled at you as he sat up a bit from his computer chair. "it's... it's loading." "nah, i know exactly when words are loading, i'm around documents a lot–you've got nothing on it." you pointed out with a snicker as miguel rolled his eyes.

"well, if you're so good at this, why not you do it?" he asked you with narrowed eyes. you rolled your eyes and placed your arms over his shoulders, bringing your fingertips to the keyboard to type for him. you were in such close proximity to miguel that he couldn't focus on anything but the feeling of your forearms brushing against his shoulders and neck occasionally, and the scent of your perfume filling his nose. he felt a bit flustered at the feeling and scents he was picking up from you.

you tilted your head slightly. "what is it, mig? care to tell me what your essay's supposed to be about?" you asked him, snapping him out of his trance as he pushed his glasses back up on his face and cleared his throat. "it's about... my thoughts around my favorite person. i know, pretty rudimentary, it's a question for a first grader. but the problem is... i can't even begin to describe that 'favorite person' of mine. the thoughts are pouring in, the words just... don't come as fluidly." miguel admitted as he shrugged.

that was no problem for you, however–you had the ability to come up with the most effective and creative ways to write feelings, thoughts, and ideas out with ease; you were just the person miguel needed. you articulated his thoughts out on the virtual document for him, listening to him patiently describe his favorite person in such layman terms; and you, with your very eloquent and unique way of delivering his scrambled thoughts, wrote him a 7 page essay in that one sitting. all he did was open and close his mouth, speak in such simple terms to describe his favorite person–stuttering, stammering, repeating words involuntarily due to his limited vocabulary for adjectives that could properly describe that person, expanded by your own broad vocabulary aiding him in drawing a picture of this favorite person of his that... felt familiarly unfamiliar, in an uncanny way.

you two finished the joint work you were doing, and miguel's mouth hung open in surprise at how quickly you could type and how you never repeated a single adjective to describe his favorite person–and especially at how long the work you wrote was. "no... way." he muttered aloud as he rolled the mouse's cursor all the way down to the seventh page, his eyes bulging from their sockets as he took in every word you wrote for him. "my professor's not gonna believe i wrote this." he gushed as you chuckled. "is it that bad?" you asked him with a shy smile as he looked at you in disbelief.

"bad? this is spectacular, beyond everything i ever expected–thank you." he expressed his thanks to you as you smiled wider and shrugged. "dunno, i... think i could've elaborated more on paragraph–" "oh, please, if you elaborate any more, my professor's got fail me on the spot, they'll know i didn't write it by then. it's beautiful, it... really encompasses how i feel about my favorite person. thank you..." he said as he grinned up at you brightly. you had witnessed a side of miguel that no one had ever seen before... a grateful side to the cocky, arrogant genius of this college; and you swore, that from the corner of your eye... a hint of a genuinely happy, adoring miguel was staring back at you through those hazel brown orbs of his that peered into the deep recesses and depths of his soul, of his heart.... have you finally figured out who his favorite person is?

tags !! @miguelswifey04 @binibinileonara @melovetitties @arachnoia @luvstarrstruck @ophanimgold @popeheywardssecretgf @meeom @simsrandomstuff @hisachuu @wreakingmarveloushavok @fictarian @yuridopted0

©kairiscorner (don't steal my work, i'll steal your kneecaps !)

[pascaloverx]

Sweet Love

Summary: You're an up-and-coming writer, congratulations. To protect your beloved job, you're willing to do anything. Even strike a deal with the devil, better known as your sister's neighbor. You and Dean Winchester don't really see eye to eye, but in a moment of desperation, you agree to collaborate with him for a greater good.

Author's Notes: Many characters do not belong to me but to the Supernatural Universe (2005-2020). I hope you enjoy the fanfic's story. The fanfic will contain strong language and future adult content.

preview chapter two

CHAPTER ONE

You never imagined yourself knocking on Dean Winchester's door. I mean, you don't count having had dreams about him that involved you getting to know each other intimately. But going to his apartment to ask for help wasn't in your plans.

"I need you." You say softly as if telling someone a secret. Maybe your speech sounds like a whisper. Dean's obviously not hearing you properly, because he's humming Livin' On A Prayer as the song plays inside his apartment at full volume.

"What?" Dean says almost shouting as he looks me up and down. He looks confused like he doesn't hear you at all. You then decide to do something. You approach Dean almost seductively and say close to his ear that he won't regret it if he turns down the volume.

"Does your sister know you're here trying to get me into bed?" Dean asks as he turns off the music that was playing. Nothing against Bon Jovi, but seeing Dean turn off the sound for thinking he's going to sleep with you kind of lifts your spirits.

"If I were going to let you fuck me, I wouldn't ask my sister's opinion. I don't think you ask Sam's opinion when you decide to have sex." You speak while still standing, hoping that Dean will notice that he is only in his underwear and change into more decent clothes.

"You come over to my house, make me turn off my music and now I've suggested that I ask my brother if I can have sex. This conversation seems better by the minute." Dean speaks clearly enjoying this moment. You end up looking at his body from top to bottom but as soon as he notices, you turn to face the door.

"I need your help." You say while avoiding looking at Dean. He might have noticed, since he put on some pants. Not that you watched him put it on.

"With what?" Dean asks as you turn to face him. He put on his pants but is still shirtless. But now is not the time for you to notice these things. Even though his body is...

"I need to write steamy scenes in my book. But I just can't do it. It's like I can't think of anything sexy and I need to get this book published soon." The words coming out of your mouth don't seem to fully fit together. I mean, what is wrong with you that you would look to Dean Winchester for help?

"And what do I gain? Helping you will take up a lot of my free time, you know..." He seems too convinced, as if his ego could fill the air in the entire apartment.

"Free time? You mean wasted time. You've been living off your rich mother for I don't know how long. And I intend to pay you for the consultancy." You say everything with a certain pretentiousness in your tone of voice. Somehow, Dean Winchester brought out the worst in you.

"Do you think that just because I have a rich mother my life is easy?" Dean says, getting even closer to you, getting so close that you could smell his perfume invade your nostrils. In fact, Dean Winchester smells like men's perfume and sex.

"I think. Maybe it's not the easiest thing for you but it seems easy. So do it as an personal fulfillment, do it for the money, do it to show your mother that you are more than her son." You say feeling a heavy conscience as you realize that maybe you were rude to Dean, maybe even a little unfair.

"Nice attempt to manipulate me. I'm going to deny the offer and urgently ask you to leave my apartment. I'm accompanied and my visitor should be waiting for me in the room. So there's less you want to insult me ​​more or join me and my visit, I suggest you go to your apartment." Dean looks offended, maybe a little irritated. You look at him a little regretfully.

"I'm sorry if I seemed rude. But I would really like your help and I'm willing to give you whatever you want." You say, desperately trying to appeal to the side you know exists within Dean. He might not even notice, but claiming you're willing to give him whatever he wants is just a lure to make him interested. At least that's what you tell yourself. But it doesn't seem to work, he closes the door just as you're about to cross the hallway that separates his apartment from your sister's. What a disaster, now you'll have to stop being a writer and move on to a new field. You can't live forever with your sister.

"Be in my apartment later. Let's start working on your book. And I'll decide what I get for the help I'm giving you. As you said yourself, you'll give me whatever I want." Dean says as he opens the door to his apartment while you open the door to your sister's apartment. You immediately turn around and hug him. Without any explanation, your first instinct was to run into his arms. And you only realize how strange that is when you see the half-naked woman coming out of Dean's bedroom and staring at the two of you hugging at the door.

"See you later, buddy." You say, giving Dean Winchester a slightly friendly punch on the arm so that his visitor doesn't find it so bizarre for him to be hugging you at the door. He looks at you as if you've lost your mind, and then you quickly leave, entering your sister's apartment, hoping that the partnership with Dean Winchester is a good idea.

[that-ari-blogger]

Part Of Who I Am (More Than Anything)

A duet is a conversation and a contrast. That’s not me being pretentious, that’s literally what is happening. A duet is two characters communicating with each other and with the audience. Sometimes they agree, the vast majority of the time they don’t, but they are talking to each other and presenting their perspectives.

In a musical, the songs tell a story, and duets are a powerful tool to show changing perspectives.

But, there’s more to a song than just the lyrics, especially in a musical, and when all work in tandem to create meaning, you get something like More Than Anything.

Let me explain.

SPOILERS AHEAD: (Hazbin Hotel, The Wild Robot)

First, some framing. This song is told by a father and a daughter, a king and a princess, a protagonist and… that’s actually rather complicated.

As such, there is a generational theme to this song. It’s two times colliding, the past and the present. But it’s also two sensibilities colliding in a truly brutal way.

Lucifer’s objective throughout this whole musical has been to protect his daughter. He has been utterly awful at it, but he hasn’t wavered from that goal.

Case and point, he believed that he was a bad influence on his daughter, so he stayed away. This was, in my most humble of opinions, a bone numbingly stupid decision. Supporting his daughter by not supporting her.

This then got exacerbated by the drive to redeem sinners. Lucifer saw himself in his daughter and saw only his mistakes. He saw his pain and tried to save her from failure by not letting her taste success. Supporting his daughter by not supporting her.

Notice where the spears and arrows all came from. They were the ones aimed at Lucifer in the previous shot. From his perspective, anyone near him is in danger.

His objective is in the right place, and while I’d like to say that Jeremy Jordon carried him in terms of likeability, I have to give credit to the writers and animators for his incredible characterisation. But the execution of his goal was about as flawed as you can get.

“There are times when I still wonder about you. You are someone I have loved, but never known And you'll never see the reasons I had For keeping my claws away when they were close enough to hurt you.”

In 2015, the Crane Wives released an album called Coyote Stories. Now, I am biased by the fact that I love this band to no end. But if you have spent any time browsing the Animated Music Video space online, you will have come across this album.

Most notably is the album’s twelfth song, and the one I just quoted, Never Love an Anchor.

This is a cover by Førest Fincent. They made another but this one had some art I loved for a thumbnail, so I'm recommending it.

The Crane Wives have complex emotions down to an art, but I want to focus on this song because of how it relates to guilt and fear of connection.

It’s a song trying to justify itself. The narrator has convinced herself that, for whatever reason, she is a negative part of someone’s life, and so she positions herself as the anchor in the titular metaphor. You can’t love something that holds you back.

"On some level I think I always understood that a ship can never really love an anchor. So I did the only thing that I could and severed the rope to set you sailing from my harbour."

But that’s not what anchors do. Anchors hold you steady. They keep you safe in a storm. They hold you in the dock and they let you move around without straying too far into danger. But crucially, they come with you. When you need to go somewhere, you can lift the anchor and take it to wherever you are going next.

The song emphasises it’s point with rigidity that it breaks only twice. Throughout the song, there is a delicate rocking rhythm brought about by the guitar and the backup voices. It is mournful, but cyclical. Nothing happens, it’s safe but motionless.

Even the lyrics find a constant rhythm and repeated tune. Except for two places.

On “never see the reason”, the singing rises in pitch to become a plea before sinking back down, swallowed by the rest of the music that hasn’t changed one bit.

It doesn’t matter her reasons, you’ll never understand them, you don’t need to, the song doesn’t care. Instead, the song wraps around itself to present one thing as real:

“I am selfish, I am broken, I am cruel I am all the things they might have said to you Do you ever think of me and my two hands? And wonder why they never soothed your fevers? And wonder why they never tied your shoes? And wonder why they never held you gently? And wonder why they never had the chance to lose you?”

The entire song contorts around this segment, with the guitar hammering out chords like a bare-knuckled boxing match while the bass and drums desperately try to keep a brave face up, only to falter at the end and join in the assault with those final words.

“And wonder why they never had the chance to lose you.”

This was not about you. This was about the singer. This was her protecting herself. It was a selfish desire that no excuse could possibly remedy.

This was never about you.

There are no more lyrics after this, the music just plays a victory lap to gloat over the lyricist. It drew out her weakness and guilt, put it on display.

I kid you not, my favourite trope in all of media is this shot. The door closes and the camera looks back at a person, who drops their happy demeanor just a second too quickly. We see all that joy before hand, then we see it was an act. I love this trope so much.

The reason I talk about this song instead of the one I’m ostensibly analysing is to point out the power of the music itself. In Never Love an Anchor, the lyrics and the music represent different sides of the same person. Her excuses and her true intentions. What she says, and what she means.

It's also the exact same as Lucifer’s worldview. This was not about Charlie at all. Everything I said before was true, but objectives can be sabotaged, and it was exactly this that messed up Lucifer’s relationship with his daughter.

This was never about Charlie for him.

Speaking of whom, Charlie is relentlessly optimistic. She is the child who wants to push boundaries, and yes, she is going to get hurt, but that’s the point.

In a way, she relates to the Spiderman proverb. “With great power comes great responsibility.” Charlie has access to the power of authority, but also that of the king of hell, and she is using it to protect people from extermination.

Charlie is unconditionally good, and her father is the literal devil.

So, music as a vehicle for storytelling.

Well, this song is split into three parts. Charlie’s, her Dad’s and the finale where they both sing together. There’s a bridge, but we’ll get there in a moment.

We start with a guitar.

This is the pattern. It’s floaty, and draws you forwards, before looping back to itself. It’s stable, and nothing happens.

For the record, take a look at the opening of Never Love an Anchor and see if you notice the similarities.

It’s the movement. They both feel like they are rocking, like a lullaby. They both have the high note to draw you forwards but are kept grounded by the base. And they are both fundamentally static.

It also continues throughout Lucifer’s section of the song until we reach his daughter’s section. Nothing changes in the guitaring of Lucifer’s backing music. There is one slight addition, but we will get there in a moment.

Before that, however, look at Charlie's part of the song.

The difference here is multifaceted. First up, the key signature changes from D flat Majour to B Majour, but second, we have a new instrument that needs to be taken into account.

Now we have a drumkit. It’s a simple rhythm, but this is a simple song, and it repeats along with the rest of the tune.

Lucifer's name means "light bringer. It comes from a roman deity of Venus who's Greek counterpoint was named Phosphoros, meaning the same thing, or Heosphoros, which meant "dawn bringer". Our boy is associated with change, and the beginning of a new day. He is the herald of the closing of night, a man who exists to let you know everything is going to be ok. That's going to come back later on in the show.

Suddenly we have a theme. This song is about Charlie taking what her father tried to do and doing it her own way. It’s fundamentally based off of the same thing, but she has shifted things around and added her own flair.

It’s a reframing, and if you look at it, that’s exactly what this song is about. Charlie has tried to convince Lucifer by showing him that the things he says are false, but this isn’t about that. So, she switches track to showing him his own legacy and how the stuff he believes about himself is wrong.

“So in the end, it's the view I had of you That showed me dreams can be worth fighting for”

No sir. You ain’t a bad influence on me at all. You inspired me to do this. You’re a good person ya dingus.

This is best exemplified by the song’s titular motif.

I haven’t really spoken about the piano much yet because it really hasn’t been a big part of the song up until now. It’s been backing up the guitar and playing the same bass note to make that seem louder. But on its own? Not much.

Until now. Every time Lucifer sings the song’s title, he is echoed by this descending melody that once again repeats itself until the final section, which is notably lower. It sounds like descending a scale. When he sings, it rises, and the piano brings him back down to start again.

That final note drop however gives an air of resolution to the piece. It’s his final decision, yes, but it’s not one he has willingly taken. The key signature reenforces how this isn’t something he is happy about, but he feels it’s necessary.

Compare that to when Charlie sings the same section.

It’s the same. It’s shifted down a bit like the rest of the song, but it’s the exact same melody.

So… what gives?

For starters, this is the same thing as before, with Charlie trying to persuade her father that she is doing the same thing as him. She is inspired by him, but giving it her own taste. Most notably, the key signature once again makes this seem hopeful.

Although, there is one more element here that is giving some motion to Charlie’s part of the song, and that is the rest of the piano part.

Is Charlie builds up to the titular motif, the piano starts to build with her, gaining power and emotion as it goes until she says those words and…

It’s the same as her father. That power is held for a moment as the song stores it while Charlie is just plain and open to her father.

“I need to save my people more than anything.”

She’s made the point that she is inspired by her father, but this is what is actually important right now. Heaven is an actual problem worth more than Lucifer’s self-loathing.

Ok, I have questions about Alastor. This shot frames him as reassuring and supportive, and he is. He's a villain, but he is also genuinely supportive. He is the opposite of Lucifer. Where the king of Hell's intentions were good but his actions were terrible, Alastor's intentions seem malevolent, but as far as I can tell, his actions towards Charlie have been, for the most part, positive.

But at the same time, she’s still making that point. This is exactly Lucifer’s motivation at the start. He wanted to make people’s lives better and that’s exactly what Charlie is doing in a very real sense. It is also portraying her as the type of royalty that acts how parents should act. She needs to save her people. It’s not a want, it’s a need, and her father should pick up on that.

“Your life is not negotiable.”

The Wild Robot is a film about parenthood. It is a film about being more than you thought you could be. It is a film about neurodivergence. And it is a movie about how fate and purpose are utter bollocks. This film will mess you up, I would highly recommend it.

But this isn’t a review blog, and instead I would like to point out how it uses programming and the heart as metaphors in conflict.

A key theme in the film is decision making and the causes behind it. With “programming” taking the form of an entirely logical type of rationality.

Roz extends that metaphor towards others as a way of understanding how that part of the brain works, so this doesn’t just apply to robots.

Incidentally, Roz and Brightbill are programmed differently to everyone else. That is the neurodivergent coding.

On the other hand, the idea of the heart is so much more complex and harder to pin down.

“Brightbill was never supposed to get this far. You know that. It is more dangerous for him than anyone else. But he has a chance if, where his wings end, his heart can pay the balance.” “His heart is 48 millimeters.” “From what I’ve seen, Brightbill’s heart is much bigger on the inside than the outside.”

This makes no sense at all, and I love it. The heart is a source of strength, its willpower, but it’s also not framed as something that anyone has control over.

The heart is emotion, it’s fundamentally irrational. Brightbill was not supposed to get this far, but he did. A robot cannot be wild, but Roz is.

The heart is hope, its tenacity, it’s fear and bravery, it’s love and affection. It is everything other than programming.

The final conflict of the film that comes very close to Wall-E and then realises and takes another direction is very clearly a conflict between the Heart and Programming, and the heart wins.

“To survive, we must become more than we were programmed to be.”

This is Charlie’s entire deal in Hazbin Hotel. At face value, she is making the sinners into more than everyone thought they could be. But on further inspection, all of Charlie’s motivation comes from the heart.

I have already talked about her hope in a previous post, but this song drives home how subconscious it is for her. She wants to save Hell, but this is more of a need for her. The sinners’ lives are not negotiable, that’s what she is trying to get her father to see.

Remember earlier, though, when I said that the energy from the piano is stored? Well, here is where that comes crashing back.

That holding out makes the audience wait for a resolution to the rise, and if we combine that with a powerful set of chords, we end up with a real sense of catharsis and triumph.

We have movement, and a pattern that changes. Only slightly, but we’re finding something new for the first time since the drum was added.

Specifically, that movement is upwards. It’s about that hope that Charlie has inspired in her father.

“All that I’m hoping. Now that my eyes are open. Is that we can start again, and not be pulled apart again.”

The final section of the song doesn’t introduce any new elements at all. It’s the first section but with both Lucifer and Charlie singing. The two have started again, but this time they are singing together, and on the same page.

The song is a conversation between two different ideas. But the music itself goes out of its way to show just how similar those ideas are. One was built on optimism that failed, the other on hope that cannot be crushed.

Final Thoughts

I’m back. I had a break for a month and missed Halloween, something I am more than a little miffed about. But there’s nothing like some Jeremy Jordan to bring me back. Jeremy Jordan can do no wrong.

Do I have a crush on this man? No. No I do not. Why do you ask?

In all seriousness, I really like this song and I’m glad it’s one of the most popular in the series. It is, however, really fast paced.

This song would have served the story better if it had an entire episode to back it up, rather than sharing that time with Hell’s Greatest Dad. Both songs are fun, but the difference between them in such little time is jarring.

That is, however, a problem with the management cutting the series to eight episodes and not with the crew. But it is a problem that carries over to the next episode and the next few songs.

I have thoughts on Welcome To Heaven. Lots of thoughts.

Stick around if that interests you.

Previous - Next

[retrospacejelly]

Hello! I would like to request SpiderNoir crushing on a Fem Reader throughout the Spiderverse Movies. For example maybe he started crushing on her in atsv and it parallels Miles and Gwen's Relationship in a way. Does that even make sense?

Hi there! I am so sorry for just posting this now, things have been kinda hectic. I hope I did your request justice!  I was having some writer's block with the plot, so hopefully, it’s okay!

Misunderstandings

Pairing: Spider-Noir x FemScientist!Reader

Summary: Y/N L/N is among the many non-spider people at Spider Society. Despite this, she’s somehow managed to befriend the mysterious Spider-Noir. However, convinced she’s stuck in the friend zone, a date with a certain cowboy may prove her wrong…

Not Proofread

Warnings:  Language (barely)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Just another drab day at work. Clock in at five in the morning, try to get the first cup of coffee from the freshly brewed pot and be sat in her office by 8:15.

And as usual, she’s right on schedule. Booting up the monitor, Y/N sighs quietly, mentally preparing for the long day ahead. As she checks her emails, a dark figure creeps up in front of her. 

Without bothering to look she mutters, “I haven’t even drank my coffee yet. Don’t ask me for anything.”. The figure chuckles softly, amused at her words.

“Guess you don’t want this hot, better quality coffee from down the street then, huh?” he asks. Y/N’s head shoots up, an apologetic smile creeping onto her face. “Sorry, Peter. Had a long night.” 

The spider hums at her response, handing her the cup of coffee. “Heavy workload today Angel Face?” he asks, plaopping down in the chair on the otherside of her desk.

Y/N felt a blush spread across her face. She really shouldn’t have this sort of reaction. He always gave her names like that. “Not really, Miguel’s been too busy trying to track down that Miles kid. So just answering emails and filing paperwork. Sorry you couldn’t catch him the other day, by the way. But I do understand where the poor boy’s coming from.”. She says, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

Spider-Noir nods, his expression turning sour under his mask.

“Yea, it’s okay. Saw you and that cowboy talking yesterday. What did he want?” he asks trying to keep his tone monotone.

Y/N gave him a smirk, placing her head in her hands. “Why do you wanna know? Jealous?” she shoots back.

He lets out a scoff. “And why would I be jealous of you?” he snaps, his stomach dropping at his attitude.

She had to admit that his words stung. She mentally cringed, regretting poking fun at him. “It was,It was a joke, Peter. No need to get so offended.”. 

He’s in a stunned silence, trying to justify himself. Of course he’s jealous! Him and Y/N were close friends, and he wished more than anything that it could blossom into something more. And all of a sudden that pretentious Web-Slinger just waltzes in like he’s known her or years.

If it was any other spider he wouldn’t be as concerned, but Web-Slinger was known for his flirting amongst both scientists and spiders.

Her voice brings him back to reality.

“If you really want to know,” she starts, her tone quieter “He asked me if I was free this evening.” 

Spider-Noir sat tall. “He what?” he almost barks, his blood boiling.

“He offered to take me out to the new Italian place that opened up a couple blocks down. He says it’s a thank you for helping him clean the cuts he got while chasing Miles.” 

The dark spider’s shoulders tense. “Seems a bit fancy, doesn’t it Doll?” 

Now its her turn to scoff, rolling her eyes. “He’s paying, how could I pass up free food? And besides, you’re not jealous of someone like me.” 

He sighs, standing from the chair. “You’re right, I’m not jealous.” and with that, Spider-Noir walks out of her office, practically slamming the door.

Y/N was confused, frustrated, and angry. Clearly something upset him, but what? Was he that offended by her jesting? 

Shaking her head, she turns to her computer, staring blankly at the email filled screen in front of her.

-------------------------

The day had dragged on longer than she would’ve liked. But with Peter giving her the cold shoulder all afternoon, time seemed to have slowed.

She sighs, packing up for the evening. She had about an hour before Web-Slinger, or Patrick O’Hara, would pick her up from her apartment.

-------------------------

Maybe the food wasn’t worth possibly losing her best friend. 

Y/N mentally sighs as Patrick went on yet another tangent about his heroism. Her pasta now long forgotten, she makes glances towards the windows behind him, praying that Peter would show up.

A flash of grey and black.

What the…?

She blinks once, twice, before turning her attention back to Patrick. 

Eventually Patrick gets called to put a villain away in his universe, and Y/N couldn’t be more grateful.

Walking out of the restaurant, to go box in hand, the scientist makes her way to her apartment. So much for a ride home.

“I know you’re there, Spidey.” she says, not bothering to look behind her.

Spider-Noir makes an appearance beside her. “Guess I’m not as sneaky as I thought, huh, Angel Face?” he asks, trying to lighten the awkward atmosphere.

“What are you doing here, Peter?” Y/N mutters, not hiding her scowl.

The two continue to walk to her apartment. “I wanted to apologize, Y/N.” he admits, now stopping in front of her door.

“For what? You didn’t do anything wrong.” she responcds passive aggressively, looking through her purse for her keys.

“Will you just,” he stops her hands with one of his, “listen to me? Please?” he begs, his voice soft.

She looks up at him expectantly. 

He sighs, “I was jealous, okay? We’re best friends, and I want to be more, but seeing that hound dog Web-Slinger just…It got on my nerves. You could do so much better! I am sorry that I snapped at you, and I’m sorry that I even took it out on you in the first place. I care about you, Y/N. I really do.” he confesses, not taking a breath.

Her eyes widen in surprise, and her face heats up. “You, care about me?” she asks.

Peter nods, stepping closer. “I do, Doll. I fell hard for you the first day we met.” 

Y/N smiles softly, looking up at him. Without a second thought, she reaches up to lift the bottom of his mask, mindful of possible passerbys. She leans in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

He feels as though his heart had just exploded, quickly responding to the kiss. Peter bends her down dramatically, before pulling back up and releasing for air.

Panting softly, Y/N lets out a small cough. She holds up the to go box. “Wanna come in and share? It’s really good, and I kinda lost my appetite a bite in when Web-Slinger wouldn’t stop talking about his adventures.” she says, unabl to hide the smile the creeps onto her face.

Peter chuckles, nodding. “Why let good food go to waste?” he asks rhetorically, following her inside.

-------------------------

The two sit cuddled up on the couch, a movie playing on the tv as they eat the leftovers.

“So does this mean we’re dating?” 

Y/N snorts and hits him playfully on the shoulder.

“Of course it does, Peter.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[escapedaudios]

God I hate how online influencer terminology has seeped into every aspect of every creative endeavor. I almost feel pretentious saying this but idgaf it needs to be said. The voice actors in my audios are the cast, they aren't collab guests. I don't have them on as part of some act of cross promotional growth strategy, I want them in my audios to tell a story that I can't tell on my own. I'm an audio story teller, a script writer, a voice actor, literally anything other than a "content creator". I refuse to refer to my creative work with the soulless generic term "content". As though it were something made to fill space on a website or app rather than something I made for it's own sake.

I can't abide the word influencer at all. It's a term that stems from the way big businesses see independent online creatives. From their point of view, the value they have isn't in their art, but rather the amount of influence they have over their audience to shift consumer choices in their favor. I don't care if I get a million subscribers, I will never call myself an influencer. As God is my witness, if you call me an influencer I will shoot you in the streets like a rabid animal.

[plantinghobbies]

The Same Damn Thing (collab with @sycophanticsolipsism)

Here’s part 5, can’t believe we’ve only got two parts left! Thank you to everyone for your likes and reblogs and kudos and feedback, can’t tell you how much it motivates us and how much we appreciate it. It truly lifts our spirits so thank you thank you. The most thanks to @sycophanticsolipsism for supporting my sorry ass through a writer’s block, this thing would probably still have like 100 words without you! 

If you need to catch up, check out the masterlist.

Warnings: MDNI, smut, angst, probably some typos

Part 5: If I Could Go Back To That Evening We Met…

“I’d kill to go back to that evening we met. Trembling hands as I’d ask for your number again, you saw me different then…when I held your heart in my hand” - Lewis Capaldi

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Nobody on the flight is happy to be leaving the magic of Rome, clutching their Prosecco and pecorino Romano from duty free as if it will evaporate upon takeoff. Nobody except Val, that is. She is buzzing, fidgety, can’t get out of this goddamn country fast enough. She has been in constant motion since the moment she’d woken up this morning. 

Val’s had her share of mornings (less than some of her friends but more than she likes to admit) where she woke up disoriented and hungover, unhappy with where she was and a little foggy on how she got there. But this morning? This one was by far the worst, because she didn’t wake up next to a strange guy wearing one sock drooling on her shoulder. No, instead it was Matty - adorable, inconvenient, sexy Matty. By one night stand standards, it was probably the safest she’d ever been. And yet it was the most reckless, brainless thing she’d ever done.

‘It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine.’ She’d repeated it to herself over and over - during her shower, throughout the most chaotic packing job of her life, and all the way to the airport. But no matter how much Val tried, her treacherous bitch of a brain would not let it go. She rocks up to the gate after boarding has begun, sliding into her seat at the front of the plane (she’d used the few minutes waiting for a taxi at the hotel to switch her seat), keeping her head low and her sunglasses on (she takes back all the times she previously called people wearing sunglasses on planes pretentious twats. She gets it now). She’d held her breath as he boarded, pretending to be asleep when she saw his eyes searching for her.  Her noise cancelling headphones provide little relief from the rattling around in her head. Now that she’s stopped, albeit forcibly, it’s harder to keep the thoughts she’s desperate to avoid at bay. 

She catches up on texts as the plane taxies, until her friend Dina responds to a picture of Barry Keoghan in the group chat with a resounding “fuck me” and Val’s transported back to the moment Matty whispered that in her ear as he slid into her for the first time. Opening her email once they’re airborne, her inbox is flooded with emails from him from the last few days, running commentary on the conference sessions they’d attended separately. Reading his cute ramblings on the boring presenters and arrogant question askers felt like a shiv jabbed through her ribs. Finally, she gives up, slamming the laptop shut and closing her eyes. Maybe if she’s unconscious she won’t think about it. 

If her life were a movie, Val would have stirred to light stubble nuzzling her neck, his hand snaking down her front, his gruff voice whispering filthy nothings in her ear. But life wasn’t a movie. Instead, the blare of the wakeup call had jolted them awake, her elbow colliding with his jaw as they both scrambled to answer it. By the time Matty’d thanked the hotel staff with broken Italian, Val was already in her jeans, searching for her earring while avoiding looking at him completely.

“Val…” His voice is low, shaky, uncertain, like he’s approaching a caged animal. Val’s heard him employ that tone a hundred times before - with clients and colleagues when he wants to win them over, with their uni friends when he was trying to mediate a dispute between them, with Marin when she was pushing herself too hard toward the end. But he’s never used it with Val before, until now. He thinks it’s full of charm and confidence and take-charge-ness. But what it feels like right now is patronizing. It’s the first time Val fucking hates the sound of his voice.

There’s a twinge in her neck she’s not sure the cause of as she whips her head around. “Don’t give me that tone.” 

Matty physically recoils, blinking stupidly back at her. “I don’t know -“ He looks down at the bed before standing, moving to the chair in the room, maybe to put more distance between them, escape the scene of the crime. 

“Yea you do!” 

“Look, I’m confused too but…” But she isn’t. Confused that is. She may not be on board with all her actions over the last several hours, but in this moment, she is in full control of how she feels. 

Angry, that’s how Val feels. Angry at herself for being an idiot cliche who slept with her boss. Beyond annoyed at him for not just leaving her the fuck alone to languish on Richard’s team all those months ago. Furious with whatever early Roman asshole invented wine in the first place, with its inhibition-altering goodness. And don’t even get her started on Marianne, who landed them in this joint-room trope predicament in the first place. Yep, her shit list is growing by the minute. She would have NEVER done this at home. Never. She needs to get back - to her bed, to her routine, to her goddamn sanity. Oh, she is clear on her emotions alright. 

“Oh, I’m not. I know what this was, no need to explain it.” Sheets and pillows are flying now as the search continues for her earring. “Listen, we can’t miss our flight and I need to find my earring. I can’t lose it, it’s—“

“Marin’s, I know.” 

“Of course you do.” She’s looking in the mini fridge now, which she knows is ridiculous, but she just has to keep moving. “Obviously, you’d remember your girlfriend’s ear—“ 

Matty’s chair scrapes against the floor with a harsh sound, drawing Val’s eyes over to his body. Bad idea,  as he sits up abruptly and leans forward. “Listen, I don’t know what you heard about us.” Us. The word hits her like a visceral gut punch, a dull ache radiating out from her chest. It’s one thing to think it and another thing altogether to hear it. Her worn patience snaps, she can’t sit here with the smell of sex still lingering in the air and think of them. She just can’t. “It’s not what you th—“

“Aaah, got it!” Fuck, thank god. Her shirt she can do without but there was no way Val was leaving without that earring. She readies to flee, gathering her bag and looking around for her key card… before it settles on her that she’s in her room. She can’t leave, at least not without looking even more erratic than she feels. Plus, they really need to get a fucking move on to the airport and he’s still shuffling by the bed in just his pants.  

She pauses, back turned to him as she speaks. “Listen” she repeats - it’s what her mum would refer to as a verbal tick, “umm, I’m going to hop in the shower, we’ve really got to go and I’m sure you have to pack and—” she’s moving toward the bathroom now, and the blessed door that will put a much-needed barrier between them so she can wash his scent off, and catch her breath and think. Something she clearly wasn’t doing last night. “And I forgot to pick up one last bag of coffee for my neighbor so I’m gonna run to that place down the square. I’ll just meet you at the gate.” The last part is thrown over her shoulder as she slams the door shut, not broaching any argument. She presses her back to the door, holding her breath, hanging on to her resolve by a thread. After eighteen seconds (her youth swim training finally came in handy), she hears the rustling of his clothes, the click of the lock, and then nothing. The sound that she makes as she finally takes a deep breath sounds like relief, and yet it doesn’t feel like it.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

When they land, Val is off the plane like a shot, power walking through border control, not looking back. She implores every God she’s ever heard of - she even throws Dumbledore in there for good measure - that her suitcase is already waiting for her at baggage claim, assisting her quick getaway from the walking reminder in a wrinkled black suit and raybans somewhere behind her. But she must have exhausted all her luck between rounds two and three last night because the conveyer belt hasn’t even started moving yet (fucking Heathrow). He catches up to her a few minutes later, which is unfortunate because she was hoping to not see him until sometime next month. Maybe year. Decade. Never? She knows she’s being childish but at least now her mood matches her actions. Her boss! Her sister’s something. Her friend.    

The look he levels her with is heavy with impatience. Oh, he’s waiting for her to say something? Fat chance, talking to him is what got her into this mess in the first place. Val talked herself right out of her senses and into his bed. Her bed. A bed. Speaking of, she wants to get to hers so she can crawl into it and die. “Where the hell are these bags?!” Mumbling to herself as a hideous green paisley suitcase makes a full go around the luggage turn style again before Matty seems to get fed up with their verbal game of chicken, taking a deep breath and letting a long sigh preview his words. “Well I guess I’ll sta-“

“Matty?” A high-pitched voice calls from somewhere behind them. Saved! Maybe there’s some magic left for her after all.

He whirls around to the voice, which is attached to a striking woman who Val does not recognize. Probably an enterprising networker from the conference. Now’s her chance to back away, book it to the other end of the carousel. Hell, maybe she should just abandon the bag, she can always come back and get it later. Having decided on letting present Val off the hook and leaving future Val to deal with the postponed chat with Matt, she turns to leave - when the woman steps into (invades is more like it from where Val’s standing) Matty’s personal space, confidentially, almost intimately. Val is glued to the spot, curiosity getting the best of her.

“Cheryl…hi, what are you - it’s nice to - aah” He awkwardly goes to hug the woman but they get tangled as they lean in, barely manage a weird half hug, half cheek kiss. Awkward is not a trait she’s used to seeing on him, and it really doesn’t suit. 

Val doesn’t know if it’s years of computational science training or the hours of true crime documentaries she’s devoured but something has her mind whirring, interest piqued, collecting data on this new person. Tall, brunette, well dressed, older (she can’t be more than Matty’s age but Val is feeling petty all of a sudden). 

“So that’s why you’ve been so hard to reach lately. Long trip?” Cheryl’s eyes dart towards her and then back to Matty, clearly content to not make Val’s acquaintance. She’s toe to toe with Matty now, which Val knows from no more legitimate source than Cosmo is a sign that they’re clearly comfortable in each other’s personal space. Physical space. Val doesn’t like where this is going but can’t seem to look away. 

“Ehm no, just Rome. Conference.” He clears his throat into his fist and begins rocking on his heels in a way she’s never seen him do before. Who the fuck is this woman? “You?”

“Showcase in Sweden,” Cheryl says as if this explains everything. It doesn’t, not nearly enough. Be more specific Cheryl, you’re not giving me a lot to work with here! “But I’m home for a few weeks. We should…ummm…get together again, last time was… fun.” She punctuates the last part, dragging a manicured nail down Matty’s chest. Val knows later (once she’s home and showered and slept and sane again) she’ll admire Cheryl’s boldness, wish they were friends so she could ask her how she seems to manage more confidence in that one finger than Val seems to have in her whole body. 

For his part, Matty does finally step back - or maybe he just loses his equilibrium in the presence of Miss Congeniality (she can’t help it) - and collides with Val, startling as if noticing her for the first time. And in this moment, the data set is complete - she doesn’t need to gather any more information to come to her conclusion - they’ve fucked. Recent enough that Cheryl doesn’t hesitate in initiating contact. Intimate contact that had him seemingly forgetting all about Val. The woman he slept with last night! 

Keep moving. 

Before he can move to introduce her or address her or do anything with her, she spots her bag, lunges for it, and leaves without another word. 

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Keep moving. 

There’s a Diet Coke stain on Val’s sweater, a general stale smell in the air that she’s pretty sure is coming from her, and she’s stiff and sore in areas she hasn’t been in a while. But she can’t go home. Because home has the couch where they sat till her head ached and back screamed, pulling and fixing data and railing against their colleagues for fucking up. It’s got the blanket she’d caught him wiping his eyes on as they watched Manchester By the Sea together. And the fucking grease stain on the edge of her carpet that he didn’t think she knew about from the pizza he’d dropped on it. (She might have to burn that rug, or sell it.) And the old journal tucked away in her closet filled with her thoughts of him that show just how stupid she’d been for him and for how long. 

So no, Val doesn’t go home. When the cab driver asks where to, she rattles off the first place that comes to mind, dragging her suitcase behind her out of the backseat and into the cinema. The obviously-stoned teenager behind the counter doesn’t bat an eye when she asks him for one ticket to the “least fucking romantic thing you’ve got going here,” punching a few buttons before spitting out a stub and receipt for the latest installment in the Saw franchise. But not even gore and guts can keep her mind from drifting. The torture on screen ramps up - Val wants to picture Matty groaning in agony as she tortures him for all the shit he’s put her through today but all her mind can seem to conjure are his moans of pleasure. 

She’s pictured him between her thighs so many times that she’s probably imagined every move he’s making tonight, from the moment he started trailing his lips down past her breasts. The way his mouth licks at each of her ribs as he slinks down her body seems familiar. And Val knows that she’s pictured him licking his bottom lip the way he does now as he slides her panties to the side with his finger. But all of these fantasies, she realizes now, have been devoid of the single hottest thing she could never imagine. His sounds. Because the gutteral groan that escapes him as he licks into her for the first time is like nothing she’s ever heard before. It must have surprised him too because he pauses after that first taste, resting his forehead against her pelvis, heavy pants tickling her skin. Val’s hands instinctively find his hair, raking through it, fingertips massaging the top of his head. She’s a little uncertain why he paused but she can’t help but stop and appreciate the intimacy of this moment, something new for them even after all their years of knowing each other. 

“Christ,” he mutters, rolling his head slightly back and forth as he plants lazy kisses wherever his mouth lands, seemingly unhurried. But not knowing what he’s thinking begins to make her anxious. Was there something wrong? She’d waxed recently (not that it mattered and fuck him if he thought it did)…right? Yes, yes definitely. Maybe it wasn’t his thing, had she pushed him to do it? Oh god, was she the problem?

Her hand slid from his hair to his jaw, trying to coax him back up her body. She gasps at the quick snatch of her wrist, firm but gentle, his large hand encircling her wrist easily. He slides her other one alongside it, pinning both of her wrists in place easily on her left side. 

“I just….you don’t have to….listen, just come up and we’ll…”

“Val?”

“Yea?”

“You are the fucking best thing I’ve ever tasted. Now stop thinking and let me enjoy it.”

She walks out halfway through the movie, her fickle mind unable to give into the distraction for long. There’s a cafe right next to the theater and Val ignores the annoyed glances she gets for hogging a table meant for two. But she needs room for her baggage. ‘Fitting’, she thinks. 

She’s on her second latte and third episode of Derry Girls when her mum calls. Normally, she’d put her off until she’s in a better mood to chat, has more energy to pretend. One of the hazards of having a psychoanalyst for a mother is that every interaction can feel like a session, unable to avoid her trained instincts. But she’d already dodged her calls twice and Val is certain that even though her mother knows she was traveling with Matty (her mother was so relieved when Val said Matty was going, you’d have thought he was a 6’5 bodyguard instead of a 5’10 casual exerciser), if she doesn’t pick up a third time Gwen will start to panic. After what her mother’s been through, she tries not to blame her. 

When Gwen asks how the trip went, Val picks her words carefully, trying to muster believable excitement behind it. “Good!”

“Really? It doesn’t sound good?” Clearly, her acting needs work. 

“No, it was.” She tries again, hoping the raised octaves in her voice would make up for the lack of it in her mood. 

“You and Matty were in Rome for a week and it was only good? I find that hard to believe.”

And she doesn’t know if it’s the sudden softness in her mothers’ usually firm voice or her own jet lag but Val feels the dam crack and break easier than it has in years. And it’s not a dainty crack either, where a tear slides down her cheek accompanied by one of those cute hiccups. No, Val is not a cute crier, never has been. It’s full on sobs, her splotchy face screwed up and her attempts to breath turning into snot-logged guffaws. She’s word vomiting her train-wrecked thoughts to her mother, trying to hide her teary face behind her crumpled napkin. The guy at the table next to her - some young college kid who probably hasn’t lived long enough to make the idiotic mistake of wanting someone you can’t have - tries to appear casual as he side-eyes her, giving her increasingly dirty looks before he slides his laptop and book off the table and jogs out of the place. ‘Yea kid, run so you don’t have to see what your life will look like in ten years,’ she thinks, reaching for the unused napkin on his table and blowing her nose loudly. 

Val spares her the more salacious details but knows Gwen gets the gist. Silence follows, for so long that Val pulls her phone out of her bag to check the connection is still good. 

“He calls me every year, you know.” Her mother’s voice is soft, vulnerable.

Of all the things she expected her mother to say, this was not it. “Who? Matty?!”

“Yesss darling, Matty. Every year around the anniversary.” Val rolls her eyes, of course he would. He couldn’t just make it easy for her and be a dickhead she shouldn’t have feelings for. Her mother’s voice is still flooding her earbuds “…started out with a card the first year but then he missed the second one and called all flustered from some party boat…in Ibiza, I think.” Gwen’s laugh is another thing that Val doesn’t hear that much of, wishes she heard it more. “Said he was rubbish with anything analogue and asked if I wouldn’t mind if he called from then on.”

Val grips her napkin, busying herself with shredding it into pieces. “He always asks about you. Bless him, probably thought he was being so coy, but it was obvious that he was digging for info on you.”

“Me?” The shrillness in her voice attracts a glare from the guy who’s taken over the recently-vacated table. She glares right back. She can be hysterical if she wants to here, it isn’t a bloody library. 

“Don’t sound so surprised. Of course, you. Who else?” There’s rustling on the other end, the unmistakable whimper of her parent’s golden retriever as he scratches at the back door, desperate to go out. Val is suddenly homesick in a way she hadn’t been in over a decade. “I thought you all had something going at school before…”

“No, mum.” Val interrupts before that thought can even fully form, can’t take hearing someone else verbalize it. “It was him and Marin…”

The sharp bark of laughter cuts her off. “Marin? No darling, definitely not.”

The confidence with which her mother says this should make Val feel better, someone outside of her own thoughts refuting her worst nightmare. But instead, her hackles rise, instantly petulant at being so easily dismissed. Her next words are biting.

“Well, I was there so I think I would know.”

“You certainly know a lot.” Great, her mother’s passive voice. It’s a reliable tool for de-escalation, but all it seems to do for Val is piss her off more.

“Well, how would you know? You weren’t here!“ She hates how easily she reverts to sounding like a child with her mum. 

“Because she told me things.” The unlike you goes unsaid.

“I-“

“Honey, you’ve always kept things close to the vest. Ever since you were little.” Her mother anticipates her defensiveness “It’s ok, it’s just your nature. But it wasn’t the same for your sister. She told me eeeeeverything. Including the fact that she was asexual.” 

Val’s cheeks flame in the way they always did whenever either of her parents even said the word sex. “Wait, what?”

“Yes darling.” She says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

“No, I-“

“Honestly Val, it’s perfectly normal, some people just aren’t driven by carnal ins-“ At that word, Val is transported back to the mortifying moment she’d asked her mother the definition of carnal at the ripe old age of 7, having come across it while trying to read one of her Nan’s trashy paperbacks with Fabio on the cover. Her dad had been livid but her mum had simply sat  Val down and explained the birds and the bees. Val had never asked for a clarification on another word since. 

She’d very much like to not relive that whole ordeal now, or ever again. “Mum, I know what asexual means. I just, well…” Val pauses, biting her lip in contemplation unsure of what it is that confuses her about the finding. Her sister was allowed to keep things for herself. Val had obviously never told Marin about her feelings for Matty. Thou can covet thy sister’s boyfriend as long as you don’t tell anyone…that’s how the commandment went, right?  But this, this was news that would have changed Val’s whole world that first year of uni. Maybe her whole life. And she’d kept it from her! Just because Val didn’t have a right to be angry doesn’t mean she wasn’t anyway .“I guess I don’t know why she didn’t tell me.” 

“Oh bug, I think she would have. If she had had the time.” Gwen’s voice goes soft again in the way she only gets when talking about Marin. Or her own parents. Val hates making her mum sad. 

“Well, good to know, I guess. Still doesn’t mean he didn’t fancy her.” The sigh on the other end of the line 

“Honey, this isn’t really about your sister, is it? It’s about you. I mean, it’s fine to be guarded.” ‘Well, thanks for your permission mum.’ “But if you like someone, sometimes you, well, you’ve got to go out on a limb. Do something that you can’t walk back.”

“Uh uh Val, eyes on me baby,” Matty’s thumb taps at her hairline, bringing her eyes back to his. “There she is, that’s my girl.” His smile is so soft, so incongruous with the harsh snap of his hips moments before. He dips his head, nose nuzzling hers as his lips skim over her Cupid’s bow. “I want to see you.”

Well, she’d definitely done that. 

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The elevator dings as it arrives at her floor, Val’s mind barely registering it as she stares at the hideous bargain carpet that covers every inch of her building. Two days ago, her Mum’s revelations would have had her spinning. But today, they just make her more tired. Tired of trying to decipher what it all meant - every word, every action. Tired of carrying around hope for all these years, foolish, unfounded hope. Hope could be heavy and she’d been carrying it since an early age, when Hollywood had filled her brain with stories of men who gave the smallest crumbs of affection and the women who devoured them like they were full feasts, never giving up and somehow always getting the guy. Beauty and the Beast, My Best Friends Wedding, Jerry Maguire, Bridget Jones’, Sleepless in Seattle. And those were just a few of her favorites growing up. But what those movies didn’t show was the nights filled with insomnia, the self-doubt, the second guessing yourself, the exhaustion that comes with taking every interaction with someone you would die to have - literally every single second together - and reliving it over and over again looking for the seIcret subtexts that would reveal how he felt about you. Wondering, confused, if it was love or if you weren’t just mistaking kindness for care. 

Well, Val was officially giving up. Throwing in the towel. She couldn’t do it any more. She was no Hollywood heroine, she was just a mere woman, and she was tired. Of burying her feelings under shy smiles, then friendship, then a night with him that had only made the idea of friendship impossible. Of wondering if she was wasting time pining for someone when she didn’t even know how he felt. I mean, clearly he was attracted to her but just because he wanted her didn’t mean he wanted to be with her; just because he wasn’t in love with Marin didn’t mean that he was in love with Val. Contrary to how she sometimes acted, she knew she was not the only person of interest on the planet and he could have anyone he wanted. 

And that was all just the personal anxiety. She hadn’t even begun to process how stupid this all was for her professionally. 

As she makes the turn down her hallway, her eyes are drawn to a body, slumped in front of the door to her apartment. Asleep? Dead? Several particularly grim facts about stalkers and serial killers flash through her mind before she clocks the curls, the scuffed shoes, the pack of cigarettes lying next to him he’d clearly taken out to smoke before he must have realized where he was. On instinct, hope rises in her chest before she slaps her palm over her heart, holding it at bay. No, that was enough of that. 

She kicks at his shoe, startling him for the second time that day. “How long have you been here?” 

He doesn’t respond as he clambers to his feet, eyes dragging to his suitcase as if to highlight the obvious answer.

“Ok, other question. What are you doing here?” It comes out breathier than intended but she is genuinely surprised. Thought he’d be off somewhere with that troll Cheryl (she is not proud of how her feminism utterly abandons her in this moment). That she’d at least have a few well-timed sick days to prepare before seeing him again. 

“I’m uh…” The toe of his brogues scrape at the floor .Whatever he wants to say, it’s enough to make him anxious. Which is enough to make Val want to avoid it at all costs.

Summoning her self-preservation, she cuts him off. “Listen, maybe we should do this when we’ve both-“

“Goddamnit Val, for once, please shut up!” His voice explodes in the small space, her gaze immediately going over her shoulder to her neighbor’s door. The last thing she needs right now is a noise complaint. Matty itches at the skin around his throat, as if raising his voice at her is as foreign to do as it was to receive. “I’m sorry, I’m sor- I just, I can’t risk any confusion here. Just need to get this out. Need you to listen. For once.” The attempt at a joke lands with a thud. 

“When I’ve tried to get this out…and, I, just, it gets fucked every time.” His breath is noticeably shaky, hands on his hips as he gazes at the floor. “And I’m sick of, well I’m not sick of trying cause I’ll do that, not afraid…but I’m sick of the…if only I’d been clearer, got it out faster….in that pub, and I just, can’t take it any more…” 

She’s about to tell him she’s not following when he seems to gather that for himself, head lifting to meet her eyes. She’s never been great at eye contact, always hates how put on the spot she feels by it. On instinct, Val glances away, over his shoulder, somewhere safer. A blurred hand lifts in her periphery, hovering near her face but not touching it, until her gaze turns back to his. Reminding her of the eye contact he’d insisted on the night before, as he went down on her, as he slid into her, as she came on his cock and as she’d fallen asleep. 

“Val, I’m crazy about you. Have been for years… and before you say it, Marin and I weren’t anything. Or nothing like you think… I loved her, sure. But not in the way I do you…”

Val’s heard the phrase about the world going sideways before but she’d never really appreciated what it meant until now. She swears her body actually tilts sideways until it feels like the handle of her suitcase is the only thing keeping her upright. And with her equilibrium goes her ability to think straight.

“From the moment I met you when you had just got accepted, there was just something… and then you were dating that prick Roger from the cricket team.” God, Val hadn’t thought of him in ages. She’d been using him, trying to get under him to get over Matty. “…kicking myself that I’d just assumed there’d be time, like you wouldn’t just get snatched up by someone—“

The sleep deprivation seems to pick that very moment to redouble its efforts - she can’t think fast enough to respond. To buy herself time, she vomits out the first thought in her head. “Why didn’t you say something? Back then?”

“What? Rock up to you on the first day ‘Hey Val, d’you remember me? From that one weekend we hung out? Will you please go out with me? Oh, let me help you unpack, show you how shitty the beds are...’” He scoffs, she fucking hates that. “C’mon, I’d like to think I’m better than that…” 

Her eyes look away, not willing to admit he’s right.

“I don’t know if you remember that night…in the pub—“ He stops, the effort of self-editing written all over his face. “What the fuck am I—Of course, I know you remember, like, the shittiest night of your life but I meant right before, when you and I were— “

She’s not intentionally tuning him out but her brain is now unhinged, skipping around and ahead, trying to determine what conclusion he’s coming to. Because the truth is, even if he’s telling the truth (she knows he has no reason to lie about this but she still can’t comprehend this monumental fact that he’s liked her for, it sounds like, almost as long as she’s liked him...) she still can’t have him. Because as the personal anxiety begins to ebb in the face of his declaration, the professional anxiety seeps in to take its place. She knows how this would go. She trusts Matty, of course she does (even after all these years, she couldn’t imagine doing anything else). But in her experience, shit like this - a relationship with a coworker - doesn’t stay quiet, no matter how hard two people try. Someone catches her glance at him differently, he says her name a certain way and suddenly it’s all anyone can talk about. The rumor mill must be fed, anything to make the mundane office more interesting, the hours less boring. It’s not that she blames them, has even joined in in her weaker moments, feeling slightly gross as she listened to the latest gossip, just wanting to be part of the inner circle, to be included. But she’s seen what it does to women, it’s always the women that pay. 

“So, you can choose not to give this a shot, but it won’t be because of some bullshit misunderstanding you have about me and Marin.” There’s that tone again, like he’s confident in the case he made, assured of its persuasiveness. But once again, he’s underestimated her. 

“Marin isn’t the reason.” It’s clear that’s not what he was expecting her to say, he’s caught off guard, eyes flitting back and forth between hers as if trying to scan them. “Well, not entirely. Matty, you’re my boss…”

“I’m well aware, trust me. We can handle it. Or I can.” Her eyeroll is instinctual at this point, honed from years of listening to men brush away her valid concerns as if they were so obviously not an issue that it’s idiotic that she’d even been thinking about it. “It doesn’t matter, as long as we’re tog—“

“No, it does… matter, that is… Cause this won’t be a problem for you, but for me it will be. A big one. My reputation, my career. People will think I slept my way into every job opportunity from here on out…” Val crosses her arms in front of her chest to stop wringing of her hands. 

Matty is shifting his weight from side to side, clearly uncomfortable with the way the conversation has veered off course. “No, they won’t… and if they do, I’d immediately address it. We’d report them! I’m not really a nobody here, y’know.”

“Oh great, I can hear people now. ‘There goes Matty, taking Val ‘under his wing’” the air quotes aren’t really needed with the sarcasm laced in her voice but it’s important to her he knows how much that idea offends her. “I fucking hate that phrase.”

The smell of his cologne tingles as he takes a step closer, that confidence back in his voice. “Listen, I’m not stupid enough to think that it’d be totally fair, or that there isn’t stuff we have to work out—" (he says stuff as though the problem was (is) a small glitch in the code and not a huge attack on her entire system, her career) “—but I am falling in love with you… I want to do that with you. Want to do everything with you,” he chuckles softly, peering into her eyes, “And I think you do too, or at least I would hope so.”

Her resolve is crumbling, she needs him to go away, leave her so she can fall apart in peace. “No.”

“No?” Matty rakes his hands through his hair, interlocking his hands behind his head, his biceps flexing in a way that Val can’t help but find hot. 

“Matty, I…I am just…I can’t…I’ve worked too hard for everything I’m accomplishing now for it to be credited to you. It would kill me to have people think that.” She hates thinking out loud but her trusty brain-to-mouth filter is failing her right now. Thankfully, he fills in the gaps for her. “It’s not worth the risk—“ The words are said carelessly but she can’t stuff them back in. 

“No, I think what you mean is I’m not worth the risk” He says, and on his face she can read all the hurt her simple denial has inflicted. She wishes he would understand, that he would just listen and see it from her perspective because when she puts it all down on paper…well— the cons outweigh the pros, and her lists have rarely ever failed her. What if they don’t work out? What if after all this time pining for each other, they go on a couple of dates and realize they’ve made a mistake? It’s not like they can walk this back. Data isn’t subjective, it’s objective, it’s rational, reliable. Everything that they are not right now. She’s about to summarize it for him, a task which would be made easier if she had time to write it out, organize it. 

Her thoughts feel scattered. “I’m not saying—” but it doesn’t matter that she’s not organized because she doesn’t get far. 

“Got it,” he cuts her off, voice suddenly gruff and cold. “I’m an idiot. Thought last night meant you were still mooning over me the way you used to—jokes on me, I guess.” It’s been a while since she’s seen him like this, wounded animal cruelly lashing out at a perceived attack. This Matty is an unpleasant addition. 

“Oh, fuck off, sounds like you were pining right back. Not that you kept your bed cold waiting though, did you? Fucking Cheryl and…”

“Cheryl?! God you’re unbelievable” His bag slaps against his thigh as he hauls it over his shoulder violently. “Cheryl is nothing. She was a one night stand—“

“—so was I!” They are screaming now and Val is almost surprised that the landlord hasn’t already been called. 

Val doesn’t have time to see his reaction before he moves past her to the elevator. “Your words, not mine” He bypasses the elevator altogether, slamming the door to the stairwell open and disappearing into it. 

When she’s finally in her apartment, suitcase sprawled open in her living room and temporary bed made on her couch, she lets it wash over her. All the emotions she has kept in a vice like grip since the second her feet hit the floor this morning, or rather till her feet landed in the heap of denim where Matty’s jeans had landed the night before. Val wants to be proud of herself for cutting it off, not feeding the beast (figuratively or literally) but what she really feels is regret.

[swallowedbyfandom]

When Lord Debling questions her about Colin, in that tone of voice that saids he has already made up his mind about the situation something in her snaps. She is so very tired of gentle society and their narrow minds. All of them no matter how worldly or intellectual they consider themselves to be are the same. Easily offended and overly entitled children, the lot of them. This ridiculous pretentious herbivore included.

She does not even bother to justify herself to him. She shall not explain herself to the sheep of this society any longer. She is done with them all. She meets his eyes with her head held high and responds.

"I can see that after speaking with Miss Cowper, a lady who has desperately sought your hand you believe you already have the answer. I will not waste my breath explaining myself to someone so willing to believe the worse of me. Thank you for showing me your true nature before I made a mistake I could not take back. Safe travels, my Lord."

She gives him a graceful curtsy before turning on her heel and walking away. She can feel him watching her as she walks away. She manages not to laugh at the look of sheer disbelief he had worn on his face. It appears no one has ever denied him anything before. She hears him call after her but she does not look back.

Let the whole Ton watch as Cressida scrambles after her leftovers. Let Cressida live with the knowledge that she is his second choice. She can have his hand knowing that he is hers only because Penelope rejected his suit first. She has handed her a hollow victory, Cressida's pride will eat her alive. Never will Cressida rest easy in her marital bed. Penelope knows she will linger between their sheets like a ghost.

Colin Bridgerton gets into her carriage and ruins her night further. His grand confession was of course given to her under the cover of darkness. Where there would be no risk if she rejects him. His declaration is beautiful. As a writer his words are perfect, heartfelt, and almost enough. They do not have the intended effect on her however. If anything his declaration makes one thing clear to her. She does not trust him. He does not respect her.

She lets herself fall to his seduction after all if she is to be a spinster she wants to learn her body enough to bring herself pleasure. That he thinks that entitled him to her hand in marriage is so laughable that she does not even bother to ponder her answer. She politely declines, "No thank you, Colin."

She has her carriage take her home quickly after. She is done with Bridgerton delusion and hypocrisy. She just wants to get her article out and then sleep off this hellish night. She is sure her mother will be angry tomorrow morning but she does not have it in her to care anymore.

She thinks she shall enjoy the rest of this season as a spectator sport before forging documents and running off. She has enough saved up that she can buy herself a cottage and live for at least a good 10 years comfortably with a small staff. That is plenty of time for her to come up with new avenues of sneaky income.