#makes you think how the west sees the east

[scorpioriesling]

Dangerous Woman (pt 2)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Pairing(s): Eris x reader

Warnings: ehh… none

Summary: Now that Eris is finally ready to confront his feelings, will reader do the same?

SR’s Note: My apologies for the wait! I have so many WIPs, requests, multi-part series, etc. right now. I appreciate your patience & continued support <3 Tags: @lilah-asteria @infintyfandoms @peachcontour-blog

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

The soda water is a relief to your pounding headache as the morning progresses, a constant reminder of the night before and just how much alcohol you’d consumed. If not for the headache, the state you were in would surely give it away; smeared makeup, ratty ponytail, the works. Thankfully, you’d rested in your own bed last night, Eris being the gentleman he is escorted you home after your… well…

That in itself was a reminder.

You couldn’t help but smile just a little bit, even though you knew today you’d have to face up to what had happened. It wasn’t the part about wondering if Eris would return his feelings — he’d all but laid them out on a silver tray for you last night. However, would said feelings change when he found out how you’d manipulated him into thinking you were someone else for a sexual experience? Well, yes. That part was rather terrifying.

Usually you’d feel heavier than a ton of bricks trying to drag yourself from bed, but this morning it’s the hope in your heart lulling you to the shower and quickly to your vanity to allot extra time for your primping before work. You knew you’d see him today, you had to be sure you were ready and obviously looked your best. Not that you’d been out drinking and, well, having sex with him the night prior.

Your burgundy milkmaid dress was simplistic but flattering, dipping low enough but not too low to anger the High Lord. Tying a ribbon to match in your curled ponytail and touching up your lip gloss once more, you set off for the Autumn Palace.

ﾟ:* ✧

“These need to be filed immediately.” Beron’s voice was flat as he plopped another hefty stack of papers onto your desk in the East Wing of the Palace. He only so much as glanced at you, making to move from your office without so much as further instruction. You nod quickly, the Lady of Autumn catching your eye from the doorway as she followed him out.

“Thank you,” she mouthed. You nodded your head politely at her, earning you a kind smile in return, one that reminded you so much of her oldest son. Speaking of…

The clock on the wall read half past three, and you hadn’t seen him all day. Usually you’d at least see him during your lunch hour as you’d stroll through the gardens, sitting under an oak tree for a quick chat or catch him passing your office a few times a day. Come to think of it, he didn’t have much need to be in the East Wing, but you’d at least find him passing by your office once if not twice a day.

Sighing, you move quick work of the record keeping, signing and dating the records and filing them into the correct folder drawers lining the walls. You tried to focus on your work, you only had thirty minutes before you were to leave, but you hoped to finish early and maybe find Eris somewhere. He had to be around, where else would he go?

Your mind wandered to last night, the way his hands felt on you, his lips, how beautiful he looked bathed in the moonlight…

You stop yourself, halting from filing a record in an incorrect folder. You shake your head, ponytail swinging side to side. Let’s just get through this, you think, turning back to your work.

ﾟ:* ✧

It’s nearly four in the afternoon when you shove the last file away, and you practically race from the office, locking it hastily and bounding down the long marble hallway toward the central courtyard. Your eyes dance from left to right, no one in sight inside or beyond the windows. All that is heard are the pattering of your maroon flats as you continue your hasty path toward the West Wing — the family chambers. If he wasn’t in the East Wing, the gardens, the offices, even the central courtyard, he must be in the West Wing.

You skid to a halt when you hear a conversation becoming louder and louder, the High Lord of Autumn’s familiar angry tone increasing in volume as you continue down the hallway. The last thing you need is to be caught, especially near the family’s quarters after hours. You make a split second decision, veering right down an unfamiliar hallway and pushing through the large wooden door at the end of it.

Your eyes squint at the afternoon sun blinding your vision, and taking a deep breath, your nose furrows at the pasture smell you’ve come upon. Taking in your surroundings, you realize you’ve left the palace, running right outside to the horse stables in the back. You glance around, noticing the large barn in front of you and not a soul in sight. Taking a few exasperated steps inside, into the shaded barn, you let out a loud sigh and sag your shoulders.

“What the FUCK!” You shout, a soft neigh coming from a stall in the distance. You bury your face in your palms, the weight of the day finally sinking in and your longing feeling all too heavy. You didn’t want to wait, you’d waited too long for this, been a coward too many times over to keep waiting. Now it was simply because you couldn’t find the male-

“Y/N?” A soft voice from behind you questions. You immediately straighten, your arms falling to your sides at the recognition. You turn slowly, heavy footsteps drawing nearer by the second.

“Y/N, are you,” Eris’s fingers lightly grace your exposed shoulder and you literally jump at the contact, causing him to retract immediately. His eyes search yours, his face the portrait of concern at your unusual attitude towards him.

“My Gods, Y/N — are you alright?” He asks softly. You face him, your mouth only opens to speak and you close it, unsure what to say.

“I… um…” You try. He reaches for you again, but thinks better of it, curling his fingers into a fist and dropping his hand.

“My dearest friend have I,” he swallows, unfurling his fingers to twist the silver ring on his index finger nervously. “Have I done something wrong?” He asks. Your eyes widen, and you take his hands in yours. His gaze flicks toward the contact, but your focused on his face.

“No! Oh Gods no Eris, never,” you assure. His whisky irises meet yours again, brow furrowed in uncertainty as his thumbs delicately trace across the backs of your palms.

“Well then, what has you so upset?” He asks. His tone, the honestly in it just breaks your heart in two. You knew this would be hard, but standing before him, before your Eris, the male you’d loved so long… admitting your truth would be the hardest thing you’d ever done.

But, it had to be done.

“I… I didn’t see you. Today.” You begin. He smiles a little, the corner of his mouth tilting upward as his gaze fixates on your delicate fingers still sitting in his.

“…I didn’t know you’d been looking for me.” He says after a moment’s pause.

“I was,” You continue. “I had… a matter. To discuss, with you I mean.” You stammer. His eyes drift toward yours once more, gazing at you through his half lids.

“Mhm… and that matter was?” He prods. You sigh, pulling your hands from his grasp and turning from him. You pace, taking a few steps and then turning back toward him once more.

“What’s so important you can’t talk to me about? Come now, we’ve been friends for…” he tilts his head. “Well, forever, anyway.” He shrugs. You meet his gaze again, and he scoffs looking away. “Unless you came to tell me you dropped the male you’ve courted, I can only await the day-“

“I never courted a male, Eris.” It comes out more forcefully than you’d like, but it has him peering at you once more in confusion.

“What are you talking about.” His voice has dropped an octave. He doesn’t ask — he demands. Heat creeps up your neck, all the words in your head feeling like the milky substance of the Cauldron, bubbling, bubbling…

Bubbling over.

“I never had a male to begin with Eris, I only said that because I was doing things to try and get your attention, because every time I would think I was getting close with you, you’d shut me out so I made it up-“

“Stop.” His voice halts your rambling. The short red locks of his hair fall to his forehand as he shakes his head slowly, eyes downcast toward the ground below. “Just… stop.”

You bite your lip, trying to keep it from trembling. You were sure he was going to banish you from speaking to him ever again, and you hadn’t even gotten to the worst part yet.

“Eris, I… there’s more-“

“I slept with someone last night.” He interjects. You raise your eyebrows at his interruption, and his apologetic gaze meets yours after what feels like an eternity. “I went to a brothel. And I slept with another female.”

You only stare blankly at him. “Eris, that’s… you’re allowed to bed whomever you please-“

“Not when I’m so madly in love,” he steps forward, grasping your hands once more and holding them close to his chest. Your breath hitches, his eyes searching yours for any answers. “I’m in love, Y/N. I have been for a very long time, I think.” Your bottom lip quivers and you allow it, tears stinging the backs of your eyes as the moment you’d only ever dreamed of was finally happening right before you.

“Then why push me away for so long?” You whisper. Eris’s face falls slightly, but his hands slowly snake their way around your arms and down your back.

“I wouldn’t live if anything ever happened to you Y/N,” he says, leaning in closer. One tear falls as you gaze hopefully into his eyes, and he wipes it away with his thumb. “You know how my father is. He’d destroy anything I hold most dear to my heart.” He swallows thickly, and his nose bumps yours gently. One hand rests on your waist, the other still cupping your cheek as his thumb gently brushes over the skin.

Inch by inch, he pulls you closer, eyes fluttering closed when his soft lips finally touch yours again. This feels different, this kiss is so soft, so tender and full of love. You can’t help but allow a few stray tears fall, parting your lips to keep kissing Eris as your hands find their way to his shoulders. He holds you close to him, only pulling away to come up for air a few minutes later.

It’s quiet, the only sounds that are heard are your shared breaths and the fidgeting of the mares in their stalls around you. He gazes down at you, resting his forehead on yours before he shakes his head and chuckles. You can’t help but smile up at him.

“What is funny?” You ask. He sighs, pulling back a bit to run his gaze over your face, down your neck and over your chest.

“I’m but a fool for not realizing it sooner,” he mutters, still shaking his head. You only raise an eyebrow.

“Realizing… that we could have been together much sooner if you’d just allowed me in before now?” You tease. He looks skyward, contemplating.

“Perhaps,” he suggests. “Or, realizing the beautiful female who sits behind a desk all day is actually quite the little performer after hours,” your cheeks heat at his accusation — the realization that he’s finally figured it all out.

“Isn’t that right, bunny?” Your jaw drops dumbly, and he tuts.

“Ohhh bunny,” he purrs lowly, running his thumb over your bottom lip. “Don’t leave your mouth open like that unless you want me to put something in it.” You close your mouth, eyes wide at his bold choice of words outside the confines of a private room. His hand has begun tracing idle circles through the fabric of your dress at your waist.

“Eris… I was going to tell you-“

“Doesn’t matter. Figured it out anyway.” He shrugs, his other hand moving to cup your cheek once more as his amber eyes bore into yours.

“Right now I’d rather you use those pretty lips to kiss me again anyway.”

ﾟ:* ✧

[lancerlovesick]

The Private Conference

(this lovely moodboard was created by @vintagedebutante ♥︎)

Pairing: President John F. Kennedy/Petite!Reader

Summary: As Cold War tensions rise, President John F. Kennedy calls one of his secretaries into the Oval Office to help him relax.

Word Count: 2.8k

Further Info: 18+, includes swearing and smut, specifically oral sex

A/N: happy Fourth of July, everyone!! simply cannot think of a more patriotic way to celebrate than posting a fic about America’s hottest president. in this one, i tried to combine a few different requests, including one asking for the setting to be in the Oval Office, one asking for an angry/angsty Jack, and one asking for the reader to be on the petite side. i hope this fic at least somewhat does justice to those amazing ideas, and i hope you all have a wonderful, safe holiday! ♥︎

You froze for just a moment, almost like your shoe had caught on the carpet, when you stepped into the Oval Office and saw the President on the phone. This wasn’t uncommon—in fact, you’d estimate that at least half of all the “private conferences” you’d had with him since becoming his secretary had been interrupted, at some point, by a call. Typically, it didn’t put a damper on things (though you liked to groan and pout up at him whenever the phone rang, but that was only because you liked the way he would give your nose a playful, reprimanding pinch and tell you to “hush now, baby”). In all honesty, it made you feel oddly powerful, like a glamorous concubine of old, to sit with this big history book figure and listen while he discussed Castro and Khrushchev and all the other monumental responsibilities he carried on his wide, ex-Harvard-football-player shoulders.

On this particular afternoon, however, you immediately picked up on the fact that his call was putting him in a very bad mood. You knew tensions had been heating up with Cuba (you weren’t let in on any of the specifics, but you figured whatever threats Castro was making must’ve been pretty severe because, recently, you’d noticed your coworkers in the West Wing laughing less and pointlessly bustling around more), and you figured that was what the President’s call was about because you’d never seen him glower quite like he was now. His eyes were solid stone as he tracked you across the royal blue carpet; it was almost like he couldn’t truly see you through the dark film shadowing his gaze—he didn’t even offer you so much as a wink or a little throwaway smile.

As you came closer, you decided to test the waters and cast your usual finger-twiddling wave his way, but the only response you saw, and the only confirmation you got that he’d even registered your hello, was his eyebrows suddenly furrowing—drooping, almost—down his brow, as if your wave had actually stolen energy from him somehow. You quickly dropped your hand back to your side. The President was in serious need of some de-stressing today.

“Here’s the problem I have,” he was telling whoever was on the phone as you came up beside his looming Resolute Desk. “You can’t give me a definitive answer as to how long that’s gonna take.”

As he listened to the little voice (voices?) that jabbered away in response, he slowly swiveled in his chair to face you—and you supressed a delighted shiver. Since he was so tall (or maybe because you were so pitifully short), the two of you were exactly at eye-level whenever he sat down, and at this proximity, you swore you could feel the hot, agitated energy emanating off of him in thick, nerve-frying waves.

“Well, there’s no sense in you making any kind of official statement,” the President snapped abruptly, cutting the other man off (and making you flinch instinctively, which you normally would’ve been deeply embarrassed about after the fact, but the President hadn’t seemed to notice; at this point he was still looking more through you than at you), “until I can get up there and restore order.” You noticed then that his trademark East Coast accent sounded especially thick today, almost British. He pronounced “restore order” like ree-sto-ah oh–ah-dah, and he spit cigar smoke with every syllable.

Though the thought of turning around and leaving made your ribs clench around your heart with a yearning, almost schoolgirlish disappointment, you knew his needs ultimately came before yours. So, you started to mouth Should I come back later? as animatedly as your lips could manage, hoping you’d finally grab his attention enough to at least get a goodbye, when suddenly, his hand swung out to grab the skirt of your pencil dress and he pulled you, half-stumbling, between his large, knobby knees. Your hand flew to the edge of the desk so you wouldn’t trip over right into his chest (admittedly, if he was in a better mood, you probably wouldn’t have been so quick to catch yourself), and as you regained your bearings, you found yourself sucking in your cheeks to stave off a full-on beaming smile. You should’ve known better than to think John F. Kennedy was ever not in the mood, phone call be damned.

You were close enough to him now that, when you finished smoothing your rumpled skirt and looked up at him, you could smell the confused mix of cigar and minty toothpaste on his breath, and you could see the secret swirls of gray and green surging through the stormy blue of his eyes. He was definitely the most handsome man you’d ever been with—the combination of his boyishly-freckled, chronically-sunburnt cheeks with the square-shaped, no-nonsense masculinity of the rest of his face was undeniably endearing. During the quick half-second you two hung there staring at each other and his pupils (at last!) zeroed in on you and you alone, you felt a sudden sear of jealousy for the First Lady. It must be wonderful, you sighed inwardly, to be loved by a man so attractive. Sure, you were called in almost daily to the President’s office or the White House pool to help him “blow off some steam,” but you weren’t dumb enough to think that was love. You’d seen how he and his wife giggled like teenagers while they whispered in each others’ ears and how, whenever she spoke, he gazed down at her with eyes so soft and tender it made your heart hurt. The two of them simply sparkled. And though you liked to think you’d achieved a certain level of friendship with the President, he’d always made it clear, without ever having to say a word, that no one—not you or any other pretty young secretary, no matter how good you all got at giving blowjobs—could ever hope to reach the height of the First Lady’s pedestal in his mind.

As if to illustrate that very point, the President moved the receiver a few inches from his mouth and tore you from your thoughts with the very first words he’d spoken to you all afternoon, which were: “Don’t waste any time now, alright?” with a pointed glance down between his legs for emphasis. Then he added, “I’m having one hell of a day” and reached around to plant a firm pat on your butt.

And so, you began the familiar routine of stripping off your clothes and laying them neatly to the side—to ensure they’d stay wrinkle-free—until you were wearing nothing but your skin-colored stockings and the cross around your neck (for some depraved reason, the President liked it when you wore that necklace while you sucked him off).

You barely had time to kneel before he was clasping his hand around the side of your head and hooking his giant, hairy-knuckled thumb in your mouth to practically drag your face closer. Your throat tightened around a sharp intake of breath. Lord, he was impatient.

While you were in the middle of unzipping his slacks and pulling his penis out from the big bramble of hair beneath his belly, you suddenly jumped, startled once again as his voice sliced through the room, deeper this time and undercut with a predatory rumbling you could feel in your chest. “That fucker,” he snarled into the phone, which was now balanced between his shoulder and ear. “You oughta tell him he can stick that silly little ultimatum, if that’s what it is, right up his ass.”

Electricity sizzled up through your stomach. The President was going to be rough with you today, you could tell. You almost wanted to thank Castro personally for riling him up so much (you might’ve felt guilty for thinking something like that, but you were so confident the President would never let anything happen to his country that you truly didn’t see why Castro’s threats should be any cause for concern). Why the idea of the President taking his anger out on you was such a thrill, you weren’t sure. You were simply desperate for human touch as fast and hard as you could get it, you supposed—and in that way, if in no other, you thought you and the President were sort of kindred spirits.

You were practically leaning into his palm like a purring cat when he pulled his hand out of your mouth and ran it up over your cheek and back across your scalp to gather all of your hair into a makeshift ponytail. He was muttering into the receiver all the while (“Uh-huh. God, I know. Shit.”), his voice wet with saliva from the two or three painkillers he’d popped absentmindedly into his mouth.

Once your hair was all out of your face, you spit into your hand just like he’d once taught you to and gave the length of his gradually-stiffening cock a few long, indulgent strokes. But to your dismay, he gave absolutely no reaction. You watched, puffing your cheeks out with frustrated air, as he slowly set his cigar down in the ashtray and, like you weren’t even there, began tapping his pointer finger against his teeth like he always did when he was lost in thought—thought that clearly had nothing to do with you.

You didn’t waste any more time before bending over and wrapping your lips around him, eyes fixed frenetically on his face, and you swore your heart itself squealed with joy when, finally, his eyes flicked down to you, and he tilted the receiver away again to let out an appreciative, whistling breath.

You felt your hair tangle around his fingers as he moved his hand from the back of your head to the nape of your neck, and then, barely giving you enough time to adequately relax your throat, he pushed your head down with appalling strength, his tip jamming up into you with enough force to rub the insides of your cheeks raw. Your hands latched onto his knees.

“There we go,” the President said in a soft half-whisper-half-groan that made your inner thighs flush hot. “Atta girl.” Always the one to set the pace, he began moving you hastily up and down.

After working through the first eye-watering, throat-burning few seconds, you thought you were adjusting pretty well—until his hips made a sudden, violent twitch while he was buried to the hilt in your mouth (which was accompanied by a heaving grunt that could’ve been either from pain or pleasure, you weren’t sure), and you hacked a loud, wet cough that made the guy talking in his ear falter and go silent for a moment.

Your eyes fluttered wide. Had the President’s men heard you?

The President certainly seemed to think so, because he suddenly jerked you still halfway up his cock, which only served to send you into a fresh fit of choking, your whole body wracking with every cough. In an attempt to drown you out, the President leaned back in his chair and spoke louder into the phone. “Well, that bastard’s incompetent,” he said, patting his fingers against your cheek as if that would somehow shut you up. “I wouldn’t have him running, uh, a cathouse.” His wedding band burned cruelly against your skin.

Eventually, he oh-so-benevolently relented and lifted his hand from your neck, and you instantly whipped your head up—not so much to catch your breath (you were pretty sure you would’ve gotten ahold of your coughing fit without having to interrupt your “de-stressing” session if he’d have given you just a few more seconds) as to gauge whether or not you’d only made him angrier with all your noise. But to your relief, he was actually smirking now as he looked down at you, his lips twitching like he was holding back a laugh, completely unfazed by the men now clearing their throats and timidly resuming the conversation in his ear. That figures, you thought. The President probably wanted those men to hear you, deep-down. You knew him well enough by now to understand that he occasionally got off on the fact that his bodyguards and cabinet members were plainly aware of how many doe-eyed, obedient women—not just secretaries and interns but Hollywood starlets, too—he had giggling and dropping to their knees at the snap of his fingers.

At least you’d gotten him to smile, though—if not exactly in the way you’d hoped.

After a long pause, during which you were trying in vain to wipe away all the spit and pre-cum that had dribbled down your chin, the President said with an air of finality, “Alright, there really isn’t anything more to say here.” Say hee-ah. You froze mid-wipe and let out an excited gasp.

He responded by scooping a strong forearm under your armpit and hoisting you up onto his lap like you were nothing but a tiny doll, forcing you to clamp your hand over your mouth to muffle a squeak of surprise.

Leaning against his warm chest was like reclining into a giant sofa back as you settled onto his muscled leg. His penis, now only half-erect again, stirred plaintively against the inside of your thigh, seemingly sulky after having been abandoned.

“I’ve got my hands full over here.” The President was grinning widely at his own pun as he took to rubbing his free hand down your body, the width of his fingers splaying across the entirety of your stomach as he inched toward your clit with agonizing slowness. In retaliation, you reached back over his shoulder to grab a fistful of thick auburn hair.

“Call me back this evening with some good news, would you?” was the the last thing the President said before, in a blur, the receiver was slammed into its cradle and his hand was around your neck, his fingers were in your mouth, his hips were twitching up into your backside with an eager mind of their own. Suddenly, you could feel his heart thunking between your shoulder blades and your ear growing moist with heavy, animal-like breaths.

“God,” he groaned as he finally let his hand fall to your clit. “God-fucking-dammit. You drive me crazy, you know that? You dirty little girl.”

He started nibbling on your neck (he’d never actually kissed you—this hungry, barely-restrained biting, like a wolf chomping at its muzzle, was the closest he ever came) and cupping your breasts and tugging at your nipples with the same fiery-eyed ferocity you’d seen when he was on the phone. You and the other secretaries teasingly referred to this do-or-die passion of his as the famous red-blooded Kennedy “vigor” the press always talked about. Though what the press didn’t know, you and the girls always joked, was that this eager, youthful energy—this incessant, almost pathological need to dominate and conquer—extended far beyond just bull-headed political policies.

“They heard you,” the President was murmuring between his little bites. “God, they all heard you. That excites you, doesn’t it?”

Unwilling to admit how right he was, you instead smothered your face in his hot, pulsing neck to cover up a whimpering moan, and then you were twisting around to loosen his tie, unable to stop yourself—when a loud knock banged against the Oval Office doors.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” the President griped dramatically against your ear, making you laugh.

“I can come back later,” you said, more pleading with him than anything, whispering right into his mouth. You watched his eyes flick ravenously around your face as you wrapped your hand around his cock and added, with a small chuckle, “To finish you off.”

“That you will,” he said, “if you know what’s good for you.” Then he gave you that long-awaited wink and grin before wrapping his hands around your waist to stand you back up, and you were pleased to hear him groan softly at the loss of contact.

When you bent down with wobbly legs to pick up your clothes, he offered you his hand to hold and steady yourself on, and you felt yourself blushing at this perversely chivalrous gesture, even though he’d done similar things countless times before and was always unabashedly ogling your body as he did so.

“That knock means I’m going to have to head down to the Sit Room,” he told you then, wearily running his fingers through his perfectly-mussed hair while you tugged your blouse over your head, one hand still cradled in his. “But in about an hour, when I come back,” he continued, “I want you in here, naked and lying on that sofa over there.” He flung a finger towards the parlor area across the room.

You breathed a smiling sigh and shook your head, knowing you’d soon be in your office counting down the seconds. “Whatever you say, Mr. President.”

[pineapplecrispy]

I will not be reblogging fandom posts for sometime everyone. It would feel so wrong to post about trivial everyday things when I’m feeling so helpless inside.

I don’t know how many of you care but if you’re bothered you can unfollow or whatever.

I just think that in times of war, singing about anything other than the war is a great act of treachery

[rynbutt]

mansplaining. | spencer reid.

request: @a-second-hand-sorrow "hey queen, just wanted to say i absolutely love your spencer stuff, you write him so well!! as a fellow aussie I was wondering if maybe you could write something with spencer and an australian reader? just something cute and silly, maybe with him infodumping everything he knows about australia ahaha, love your work!"

you can find my other fics on my masterlist.

requests are open!

cw: fem!aus!reader, none really, fluffy, silly fr

a/n: short and sweet hehe

Henry held your hand tight as you guided him to the elevator.

JJ had just gotten back from a trip to Michigan for a case. She ended up sleeping for a couple hours before she had to go back into work again, all before little Henry woke up for the day. Since she hadn’t seen her son in almost three weeks, you thought it would be nice to bring Henry to her with some lunch as a surprise.

You had been JJ and Will’s nanny for almost 8 months now. Since Will had returned to work and JJ’s job was still incredibly demanding, they started looking for a nanny for their 3-year-old son. You just so happened to be looking for a job and to finally put your experience as a nursery assistant back home to good use. 

“You excited to see mummy?” You asked Henry as you stood in the elevator, his little FBI visitor badge far too big on his little body.

“Yeah!” He replied excitedly, jumping up and down while still holding your hand. You had taken Henry to pick up some lunch at JJ’s favourite place then let Henry pick out a pastry for each of you to have for dessert.

“Alright, remember, you have to hold on tight to my hand, okay? There are lots of people around,” you reminded the young boy, crouching down to his level.

“Uh huh,” Henry nodded, his tiny hand squeezing yours.

The elevator dinged and you gently guided Henry toward the bullpen, silently searching for JJ’s office. Henry stayed close to you as you swerved through the busy agents. You decided to ask someone who you thought looked vaguely familiar.

“Uh, Emily, right?” You gestured toward the dark haired woman sitting at her desk.

She glanced up at you, seeming to recognise you and little Henry almost instantly, “Oh hey! You’re Y/N, right?”

“Yeah, I was just wondering if you could point me in the direction of JJ’s office-”

“Did you know the Australian mainland extends from west to east for nearly 2,500 miles?” someone behind you said, obviously hearing your Australian accent.

Emily rolled her eyes and looked at you, “don’t mind, Reid.”

You turned around to look at ‘Reid’, he was cute, probably the young doctor JJ told you about. You pointed at him, “Dr. Spencer Reid, right?”

He ignored you, “And most of the rocks forming the foundation of Australia are from the Precambrian and Paleozoic time… about 4.6 billion and 252 million years ago respectively,” he looked up at you, “yes, I’m Dr. Reid.”

“Mm,” you hummed.

“I’ll go get JJ for you,” Emily sighed, frowning disapprovingly at Reid. You sat down next to Emily’s desk, picking up Henry to sit him in your lap.

“Where are you from?” Another man asked, “I’m Derek Morgan, you must be Henry’s nanny?”

“Yeah, I am… I’m from Melbourne,” you smiled.

Spencer interjected, “Melbourne isn’t said like that. The spelling negates that.”

“Kid… she’s from there, I think she knows how it’s said,” Morgan retorted. 

You just chuckled softly, “I’d love to hear you mansplain my country to me, Dr. Reid.”

“I’m not mansplaining,” Spencer replied, seeming offended.

“You kind of are,” Morgan added, leaning back in his chair.

“Mansplaining!” Henry exclaimed, making both you and Morgan laugh. Henry bolted from your lap the moment he saw his mum. You stood up to greet JJ as little Henry tackled her in a hug.

“What are you guys doing here?” JJ asked, cuddling Henry close to her.

“We thought we would surprise you for lunch,” you smiled, “Henry picked some pastries out for us too, for dessert… I hope it’s okay?”

“No, it’s perfect,” JJ replied, “it’s just what I needed honestly,” she sighed, giving you a side hug as she guided you to her office.

Henry sat on the floor playing with a few toys you brought along for him while you and JJ talked, “so, that Dr. Reid? He’s a character.”

“You met him, huh?” she leans back in her chair with a laugh.

“Oh yeah,” you replied, “he seems…” you trailed off.

JJ nodded knowingly, “Yeah, he’s like that.”

“He’s cute though,” you shrugged with a small laugh.

“Mm, I’ll make sure to tell him that,” JJ teased.

“Don’t you dare,” you retorted quickly. 

You spent the last half an hour of JJ’s break sitting with her and Henry on the floor helping him do a puzzle he had left from the last time he was here. It was nice for JJ to see her son, she missed him terribly but she knew he was in good hands with you.

JJ had to get back to work shortly after and she squeezed Henry in a tight hug, reminding you she might be late again tonight, which you didn’t mind. 

“Say ‘bye-bye’, mummy!” You held Henry’s hand, waving at JJ. 

“Bye-bye, mommy!” Henry called, waving his little hand around. 

You spun around, guiding Henry through the bullpen again before an idea popped into your head. You turned on your heel at the side of Spencer’s desk.

“Hey, Dr. Reid?” You asked softly.

“Yes?” He peered up at you.

“Ever heard of drop bears?”

a/n: i hope you liked it! i know it was a short one but i think it's funny. another chapter of pierced coming soon >:)

[ineylesian]

— FELL ON BLACK DAYS

AVENTURINE X FEM! READER

AO3 | NAVIGATION

WORD COUNT — 9.5k

WARNINGS — spoilers for penacony’s storyline, enemies (??) to lovers, slowburn fr (it gets good i promise) mentions of genocide, mentions of child exploitation (not explicit), weapons & violence, smut, fem anatomy reader, sub!aventurine, mentions of traumatic events, one bed troupe

SUMMARY — Risk. It’s the word Aventurine lives by, a motto that claws at your heart when he’s gone. A reality that spills tears when he closes the door to your apartment, leaving only the ache of your heart in his absence. A danger that never guarantees the next time he chases his destiny will not be his last. 

You will never fight to change it, because that’s all it is. Destiny.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — AHHH i love aventurine so much he made me write again <333 i will defend this man to the end of the earth i swear. also holy word vomit, this is officially my longest piece!!

“BREAKING NEWS: Reports incoming that the International Peace Corporation has been seen with an employee suspected of Avgin origin from the planet Sigonia-IV. All habitants from this world were thought to have been wiped out or lost to the galaxy, so the appearance of this mysterious individual has grasped the attention of–”

The broadcast slowly fades into the background, overtaken by the synth and snare of a song that lightly shakes the ground at your feet. 

Sometimes you’re better of dead–

“Oh, you think you’ll be an asset? You’ll have to learn to make tough decisions on the go here if you want to succeed, so tell me…”

There’s a gun in your hand, it’s pointing at your head–

“You want to help this clan? Help claim this world and rid it from the remaining filth that roams?”

There’s a piercing screech amidst the bar, the high pitched wail of the speaker blasting the music fighting against the volume. A few seconds pass before the song picks back up again, a few lyrics skimmed through.

Which do you choose, a hard or soft option? (How much do you need?)

In a West End town, a dead end world, The East End boys and the West End girls–

“...”

“Before your initiation, you must make a prayer to the winds and mountains. Do you swear to devote your thoughts and beliefs to them, and reclaim the glory of Sigonia-IV?”

We’ve got no future, we’ve got no past

Here today, built to last–

“I swear.”

The bass fades and you’re left standing amidst a crowd of chatting people, some high on buzz, others passed out beside the restroom. Your eyes slowly fix forward, coming to a halt as the masses shift in formation, curving in a circle around the biggest table in the casino. Lined with forest green felt and red chips, hands bang against the surface joined in a cry of frustration. 

“God damn it. This is rigged!” A player screams, hot-faced and teeth grit. “YOU!”

He stomps his way around the table, stopping at the dealer’s chair, failing to gain any attention despite the magnitude of his boots on the floor. In retaliation, the man takes a fistfull of the dealer’s hair, spinning him violently around and grabbing the collar around his neck.

Seldom have there been times where you didn’t see him in this sort of setting, a man with glasses that carried the same orange tint as the drink in his hand, die mounted between his fingers as he speaks with a wealthy patron. His words weave like velvet on a fine tailored suit as he invites you to play a game of chance, and before the game has even begun, you’ve lost.

His name is Aventurine, and, just as his reputation precedes him, the corners of his lips turn upward as you enter his field of view. He is never one to be down on luck.

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to exit the casino. The drinks have riled you up a bit too much, and I’m afraid you’re no longer sober enough to keep playing.”

The smell of outlandish alcohol hits your nose in a foul wave as he turns, rudely shrugging your hand off of his shoulder. 

“And who do you think you are? Protecting this weasel like that.” You take a step back as he advances, completely abandoning his grip on Aventurine as his gaze focuses on the emblem tailored to your shoulder. “You’re in on this scam too, aren’t you? Fuckin’ IPC, always looking to take money from people.” A sizable crowd has gathered at this point, and with that, guards are quick to stand at your side. You tilt your head to the side, extending a hand to gesture at the coat draped over his empty chair.

“You may gather your things and leave now, sir. Refusal to comply will result in you being forcibly removed.” 

A few more seconds of seething stares pass before he grumbles an insult toward you and rushes to gather his things, attempting to push the guards following him away. You sigh, turning to the dealer, who is now comfortable in his chair, feathered hat placed neatly on his lap as he shuffles the pool of cards pushed his way.

“Alright folks, now that’s over with, how about another–”

“Mr. Aventurine unfortunately won’t be able to join you all this round.” You quickly cut him off, laying the newly layered deck of cards onto the table. “May I have a word, please?”

The blonde takes a glance between you and the rest of the patrons at the table before nodding, allowing a charismatic smile to decorate his face as he slides the cards forward. 

“Of course. Miss Antonia, would you please find another dealer to step in for the remaining games?”

He gathers a kind nod from a nearby waitress, before turning to follow you outside of the casino. As the door opens, strong drafts of icy wind blow against your face, and you hear a shiver from behind.

“Sheesh, couldn’t we at least have talked inside? I didn’t come prepared to stand in the cold…”

You send a look his way, and Aventurine’s hands rise, lips pursed in faux apology. He pushes his glasses farther into his nose bridge as you lean against the casino’s exterior wall, shielding yourself from the chill. It’s clear he’s not taking you seriously, stifling out a yawn and rubbing his eyes before he even spares you a glance.

“Here to lecture me about the, wait…” His eyes suddenly narrow, honing in on your uniform. “Who are you?”

You remain silent, watching as he taps a few fingers against his forehead, thinking. The talisman of the IPC’s Strategic Investment Department sits firmly laid into your uniform. A smoothly carved onyx, inferior to the cornerstone you know he possesses and certainly lacking in power. His eyes linger on the stone for a few moments, biting the inside of his cheek as he tilts his head back up.

“Never seen that stone before..” He says after a few seconds, voice substantially lower. “What rank are you?”

His gaze is opaque, on guard. You resist the urge to bite your lip, figuring lying in this kind of situation wouldn’t be the best decision. Subconsciously, you bring a hand up to your stone, adjusting your coat flap before bringing it back down. 

“P39.”

His eyebrows form a sharp line, but his lips remain flat. The lens behind thick shades linger on the stone, burning into the lights that reflect off of the darkness. He’s never seen someone who isn’t a part of the Ten Cornerstones wear something like this, so who are you?

“If you’re here to try and convince me to do something, I’m not interested. I’ve had enough orders drilled into my head since I came to Jarilo-VI.”

His forefront is confident, but you can see the hand that lingers at his side, struggling to stay put. It reeks of mild uncertainty, and a lack of security. He doesn’t feel safe when he’s not in control.

“I’m here to tell you that your assignment’s changed.” Your response is straight and to the point. There’s no room to betray any underlying feelings of guilt you may have from years passed. “You’ll be with me and my team, we’re going to the Loufu in three days to sort some business out. I suggest you finish your deals here before we go.”

“Well then.” Aventurine clicks his tongue, mild annoyance riding the smile that forms on his lips. “Let’s acquaint ourselves then, shall we? You must know who I am, so please allow me the pleasure of returning the favor.”

A small passage of frosty air rises into the atmosphere as he breathes, hand extending in formality. You take it, slowly shaking, taking in the defensive rise of his shoulders. It seems he has zero tolerance for strangers.

“Nice to meet you, Aventurine. They call this stone the onyx.”

–

The Interastral Peace Corporation only takes workers to be strong-minded and just as toughly willed. In the Strategic Investment Department, greed is a virtue, and wanting nothing but it all is a prayer. Those who earn their spot as a cornerstone will stop at no means to chase their desires. 

Aventurine values risk, but he always loves to have control in his corner. Without control, the chips in his hands are of no use, and his bargains crumble beneath him. 

A gambler's true nightmare, sitting right between his eyes.

Your relation to him is a true mystery, despite all of the digging he’s been doing after arriving at the Loufu. Despite the numerous deals you’ve closed together, he still fails to know anything about you, other than the fact that you have quick wit and fascinating knowledge of the universe. He won’t dare approach you directly, his inhibitions are too high and he knows too little.

However, there’s something off about you and that stone of yours. It’s unlike anything he’s ever seen before.

“Does the IPC really need that many funds to perform a vitality check on the Sky-Faring Commission? From what I remember, this is nearly triple the amount of last year’s fee.”

“Well, Helm Master, from what our reports say, you had agreed to the accumulation of interest based on reports of safety in the Loufu. Based on recent events, there has been a substantial raise in alarm concerning the safety of the citizens here. We hope you can understand.”

Aventurine unfolds his hands, sliding a glossy black dossier over to the woman known as Yukong. After skimming over the first page of analysis, she sighs, and places her hand over the cover.

“Is it possible that we could touch bases on this later this week? I need time to look over these documents and discuss them with my team before making any decisions.”

Biting back a groan of exasperation, you nod, politely shaking her hand and bowing your head when she stands. What you thought was going to be a quick excursion of debt collecting had turned into two long weeks of debate, and you’re starting to lose sleep. After Yukong exits, you run a hand through your hair, allowing the flow from the outside to flood your ears..

You can admit, the place they chose is certainly impressive in its theatrics, blooming with tall fountains of pristine water and a live band of foxians playing classical music on a mahogany stage. 

After a few minutes of jotting down notes you find yourself leaning against the bar’s edge, elbows cool against smooth wood. Your thoughts swirl like the vibrato of the woman singing a cover of a local song in a language unknown to you, but it’s calming, and you begin to itch with the desire to order a drink.

The waiter polishing glasses near you seems to pick up on your wants, quietly gesturing with her hand that she’ll take your order.

“A Rose in Rain, please.”

She makes your drink at an astonishing speed, sliding the glass next to your hands with a smile. You stare at the royal blue liquid sitting at the rim, contemplating if the hangover will be worth it.

Aventurine eyes the finger that rests along the base of the glass, humming quietly to himself. He figures there’s no better way to get to know someone than through a few drinks.

“You gonna drink that or keep staring at it?”

You turn your head, watching as he slides onto the barstool next to you. He raises his three outer fingers, ordering a small glass of Wintry Garden before turning to face you.

It’s been a long month with the Cornerstone. His approach remains restricted, evident in his snippets of sarcasm that he still doesn’t trust you. Your situation is… unusual, so you tolerate it. However, there still lies a fear within that he’ll go deeper than what’s for his own good.

“Do you usually drink? Or are you afraid to spill your guts?”

His words drip with conviction, blindly accusing you with the corners of his mouth tilted upward. It’s been too long, and he still doesn’t know a damn thing about you other than the stone you wear. He needs to flip this in his favor, fast.

Aventurine’s fingers drum against the bar’s edge as he picks up his drink, taking a small sip. The slight tilt of his head inclines you to start yours too, drinking half of the tall glass in one swig. His eyebrows raise in surprise when the drink hits the table, taking all but a few seconds to completely down the entirety of its contents, a resounding clink following.

When you don’t rush to finish your own drink, Aventurine chuckles, crossing his arms as he turns to face you fully. He’s eyeing you, daring smile plastered on his face.

“What, scared?”

He’s challenging you. And it works, since your drink is empty and you’re ordering a second round in a matter of seconds. Fizz sluggishly bubbles down your throat, followed by rich spots of thick, clear syrup.

A few drinks is all it takes for you to begin feeling lightheaded, pressing a palm into your eye to try and alleviate the nausea. Aventurine is at least 6 drinks in, setting down his next with an exaggerated sigh. Raising his hand for another, he lightly dings his glass against yours, the scent of redsunset sauce high on his breath.

“Let’s talk, Onyx.” He remarks, placing his hands on the table as the bartender comes over. “What’s the real deal with you? How come I haven’t seen you anywhere in the IPC and you show up in my faction one random day?”

You cough, attempting to clear your throat before you answer. It’s tough to keep your resolve with the amount of alcohol in your system.

“Maybe you’re just not perceptive enough, I’ve always been around.”

It’s clear he doesn’t like your answer. Another drink down.

“How many years have you worked for the IPC?”

“Almost 4 now.”

“What’s the entrance project that got you into the Strategy Department?”

You hesitate, and he grins, satisfied. This interrogation is going as planned.

“Well then? I’m sure it couldn’t have been that bad, unless you’re more dangerous than you seem.”

It’s your turn to down a drink, wiping a small trace off of your chin as you think.

“Izumo.” You answer, short, watching as his fingers clasp tighter around the glass in his hand. Surprise.

“You really expect me to believe that?” He scoffs, a tinge of fire evident in his voice. “No one goes to Izumo any more, not after the slash.”

“You’d be surprised at the sheer amount of people that go to Magatsu no Morokami to uncover history. The IPC has their eyes set on valuable relics left behind from the war.”

He leans forward, dangerously close to your face. Past the thick orange lens of his aviators, you can see the irate spark in his eyes, alight with a plethora of shades you’ve never seen before.

“It’s not wise to lie to your superiors.”

You back away, sliding your card across the counter to the bartender. The moment Aventurine gets up to follow, you stop in your tracks, holding a small drive in his direction. You have some tricks up your sleeve, too.

“You’ll change your mind.”

He pauses, slightly bent over in a stupor of alcohol. 

“Best keep your cards close to your chest, Aventurine. Snooping in places you don’t belong bodes bad fortune.”

His mouth opens, but no words come out. Slowly, he takes the drive from your hand, leaning back onto the bar’s surface, eyebrows knit in thought. The world is suddenly too loud and amidst a flurry of harmonic bellows and blinding lights, you disappear. 

—

INTERASTRAL PEACE CORPORATION, STRATEGY INVESTMENT DEPARTMENT HQ | ONE MONTH LATER

“I guess I should apologize.”

Several weeks of absence. You look up from the papers on your desk, watching as Aventurine places your drive back on your desk. He straightens back up, waiting for you to respond.

“Understandable.” You answer, finalizing a document with a quick signature. “I would have had my apprehensions too.”

“Still do, but it’s better to work with someone you tolerate, right?”

You look up. He shrugs, eyeing the papers you have scattered around.

You had given him a flash drive with your report on Izumo, or, at least, a report on it. Sometimes things are left best buried. Still, Aventurine is certainly not stupid, and you know that. The final version of the report is vague and full of small incidents that contrast the planet’s true history There are inconsistencies, but he seems a little less hostile for the time being.

“Whatever you’re hiding from me, I intend to find out in due time. But I can’t do that if we’re at odds.” A hand is extended your way, held a little less straight and professional. “Let’s just try and hate each other a little less, huh?”

Fighting the urge to roll your eyes, you take his hand and shake it for the second time. Aventurine smiles at you, a little less pointedly, but still on guard.

“Friends it is, then.”

His grip tightens slightly at the proclamation, leaving your veins seared and eyes wavering. As if you just made a deal with the devil. Your gaze drags along the fancies of his coat, figuring this is just another gamble he’s won. Something closer to certain death; the passion for it intrigues you.

Sooner or later you’ll suffer the consequences of a lie, you tell yourself. There’s no good outcome when striking up an agreement with a gambler, especially one like Aventurine.

Especially when the gambler is holding a knife to your throat.

The blade is cool, barely holding back from your trachea. Leather gloves hold a fistfull of your hair, shoving you down onto the filing cabinet you were sifting through moments before. Your eyes dart around, only able to see the edge of his shoe pressing against your ankle and the papers you dropped scattered across the floor.

“Just as I thought we were getting along.” His spits, words slithering around your chest and settling around your neck. “It was only a matter of time before you slipped up.”

Confusion spreads across your features, and Aventurine scoffs. His shoe digs deeper into your achilles, and you stagger against the metal. 

“What the Hell are you talking about?” Your words come out choked, gasping for air against Aventurine’s hold.

“That man, the one you had a long conversation with at the meeting tonight? You two seemed to get along.” Aventurine’s breath runs short out of anger, grip scalding against your skin. “You know him, don’t you?”

You close your eyes, tracing the night’s events back several hours. You only recall shaking two men’s hands, one being the esteemed Doctor Ratio’s, and the other the reason why you were down in the IPCs archives. He was dressed nothing short of what a gentleman would wear, offering you many commending words as he spoke of the recent inflation concerning the astral economy. However, you didn’t miss the brilliant stone embedded in the shell of his tie, reflecting vibrant colors you’ve only seen once in your lifetime. And neither did he.

“Pretty stone isn’t it?.” Aventurine continues, pressing your hands against the wall you’re shoved against. “I’ve seen it a lot throughout my lifetime, but I’m sure you know that already. Silly me, forgetting how easy it is to conceal them.”

He reaches for your shoulder, and you push back, using the slightly stagger of his feet to grab the blade’s edge, violently smashing your head into his and spinning him around. His blade traded for your stone. 

“I’d like to know…” His fingers flip the stone around, taking in the colorless mass, like a void amidst the stars. With a quick swipe of his hand, a lighter is held to it, engulfing the black in a dance of pale fire. Aventurine shakes the rising smoke off of him after a few moments, and your eyes narrow.

“...Why you have this?”

Turquoise meteorite, a brilliant blue stone infused with veins of a green just as bright. A kind of beauty that could only be found on Sigonia, tailored in a way only an Avgin could. The crafter spoke of a tactic that could hide the stone’s true color, while keeping its spirit alive with you still. 

Blood drips from your hand, staining your clothes a deep crimson. Gritting your teeth together, you slice a sleeve of your dress shirt off, slowly wrapping it around the wound. 

Aventurine stands, still, fury riding his waterline. His glasses sit beside his feet, hues of purple and blue wavering in the dim light. His hand slowly clenches, in and out, smoothing the cooled piece over his palm.

“What now, Katican?” His voice is quiet, gently ricocheting off of concrete walls. “Came to settle one last score, fulfilling your dream of tracking down the last Avgin? Oh, I bet you’re itching to use that knife right now.”

You step to the side, shaking bloodstained papers off of your feet. The knife drops to the ground, scraping cruelty against the ground as you kick it to a corner far out of your reach. A sharp intake of breath follows, and he steps back.

“I’m no Katican.” Your tone is low, locking eyes with Aventurine, his gaze darts from the knife to you. “The stone was a gift from an Avgin I saved during the second extinction.”

The air is stale, prickling with fear as you pass. Aventurine stands tall, but you know all too well that his greatest fear has come alight in this very room. The thought of coming face to face with a Katican chases him in his nightmares each dusk, a terror looming over his head akin to a raging storm. For once, he’s speechless, completely dumbstruck, mind racing to comprehend all that you’ve bestowed upon him. So little said, yet so great a burden unveiled. 

You would be right in telling him that such information is better left buried. Yet Aventurine knows only how to shatter the destiny that calls for him, and monumental change has left in its wake.

He opens his mouth to speak, yet words fail him. The hand holding the stone sits slotted behind his back, holding on to it as he would a birthright. A piece of his past that would never bless him again, sitting in the shade of Sigonia’s darkest nights, mimicking a color that does not belong to it. He wants to scream, take his knife and shove it so hard into your chest that it comes out on the other side. 

“I am on your side, Aventurine. I always have been.”

After forcing himself to swallow, he straightens up, but you’re already gone.

Distantly, a heavy thud hits the floor.

–

TUMBLEWEED, SALSOTTO.

“I’m Daisy, here this morning with Tumbleweed’s daily weather report. As usual, there’s sun about. However, a rude awakening is coming at around 6pm, as a pretty hefty thunderstorm is coming our way. Make sure you carry your umbrellas! And remember, as our beloved Fleetworld Marc says, thunder only happens when it’s destined.”

Destiny. The word lingers in your head as a pang of hunger hits your insides. Placing your last suitcase beside your bed, you set off for your hotel room’s kitchen. Reaching over and opening a cabinet, you groan when it reveals itself to be empty. 

Shrugging your coat over your shoulders, you pocket your room card. However, when you open your door, you’re quick to step back, feeling your heart rate spike instantly in shock. 

“Uh…” You take a few short breaths, regaining your composure. “Can I help you?”

The man standing before you is no other than Aventurine, chin receding as he looks at you with evident confusion.

“Can I help you?” He retorts, flipping his hotel card up to the light. “This is my room.”

You pull the exact same card out of your pocket, and the two of you share looks of bewilderment. After reading over the numbers on your card for what felt like the 50th time, Aventurine sighs, long and drawn out. 

“Well, this isn’t what I imagined when the front desk told me they could fit a room in for me.”

“I’ll go ask–”

You’re cut off with a swift wave of his hand.

“Don’t bother, I already did. They’re fully booked for the next week.”

Before you know it, both Aventurine and his bags are heading into your… your room. Exhaling, you mutter a quiet “okay..” and follow him inside. However, he’s quick to stop you once you make it past the bathroom, exaggeratedly pointing toward the wall to your right.

“This has to be some kind of joke, right?” Aventurine laughs, pulling his glasses off as if attempting to see better. 

His gaze is fixed on the bed sitting across from you. The single bed, accompanied with a single nightstand and a TV. In that moment, you both share a second groan, and Aventurine palms his face.

“I’ll figure this out.”

In a matter of moments, he’s gone, suitcases set haphazardly on the ground beside you. After a few minutes of thought, you head to the bathroom, soaking your hands in cold water. A brief inhale follows the icy chill that drags over your face, and you silently curse destiny. 

A few hours pass before Aventurine returns, shirt slightly ruffled, annoyance clearly displayed upon his features. The click of boots melds into the soft step of socks as he enters the kitchen, and you silently pass a bowl of fried rice you had been able to scavenge from a local grocery store over. Running a hand through his hair, he nods your way, sliding into the stool across from you and stopping the bowl with his fingers.

“As you could have guessed, there are zero people in this whole building willing to switch rooms with us.”

“Ah, yeah. Tourists are usually snobby.”

A hum signifies his response. Silence encompasses the room as a blanket would, save the soft clangs of silverware on bowls. You fix your gaze on the granite countertops, following intricately woven lines of mixed stone and drawing patterns in each section you come across. Becoming so immersed in the cracks, you don’t even notice when Aventurine passes you twice, once with his bowl, and once without. Seconds turn into minutes as you stare at the sheet of stone, only taken away from thought when he returns to the table, dressed in a black set of silk pyjamas. 

“What’s your story?”

Your eyelashes flutter, taken aback by the sudden inquiry. Raising your head, you push the now cold rice to the side and glance at the man across from you, fingers interlocked in wait. 

You’re shocked at the simplicity of it. The lack of accusations are a breath of fresh air when it comes to his words, typically cold fronted and dripping with malice. You would expect him to be angry still, perhaps even worse, giving that you lied, but you can feel the genuine curiosity lingering within. He seems to want to understand.

“I joined the IPC when I was young, almost ten years ago.” You start, fighting the urge to snap away from his gaze. “In my second year, word was out that there was trouble on Sigonia. It was thought that the IPC had it under control, but everyone knew there was something else coming.”

You pause. Aventurine remains quiet, attentive.

“I took it upon myself to convince my superiors to send me to Sigonia, despite their warnings. But… the work we did there, it wasn’t enough. I could help no one under the bounds of the IPC, so I sought out the Katicans. No more bounds. I was on the inside, where I could do things my own way.”

“Such lovely people, weren’t they?” He questions, apathy leaking from deep within. “Didn’t have a single care in the world other than themselves. They wanted to see everything burn, the women, children.”

“I have never seen a deeper hatred than what lies within them.”

You stop, again, toying with your fingers. Aventurine’s silence beckons you to proceed.

“I could only help so many, and they all ended up dying anyway. There was no escaping them, they were ruthless.” Your voice trails off, shaking your head slightly at the recollection of dark days in the wasteland they call Sigonia. No horrors match the ones that took place there. “I couldn’t imagine what you went through, any of you. And still, you’re alive.”

A word softly chants in your head. Destiny.

“Ever since I was born, I knew what was made out for me was never good.” Aventurine says, a hint of irony in his voice. “I fell on black days without knowing what it was like to live on the other side, and it’s been like that since.”

Flashes of your past mix in with current thought. You remember them, the Avign children, clinging to scraps of life even when it was evident their lives would soon end. Their eyes, just as brilliant as his, drowned by crashing waves, yet afloat on the prayer of hope. You imagine Aventurine was just like them, and you understand. Anger breeds and it seethes.

“How do you control it?” Such a simple question, yet so many answers. 

“I put it all into risk. Every single last bit of it. I gambled, and I won.” His pointer finger gently hits the table, and he raises his hand to wave it through the air. “I survive, and I bet again.”

“A bold motto, I must say.”

A small smile graces his features, shrugging lightheartedly.

“Luck seems to be on my side.”

You look to the side at the sound of a crack, noticing that rain has started to fall. The sky is obscured by deep grays, and the rumble beckons you to the sliding door separating you from the balcony. The crash of drops on concrete is soothing to your ears, bestowing a peace upon your heart you’ve failed to find for a while now. The serenity thickens as Aventurine steps to your side, the hues in a ring of his eyes reflecting the storm outside.

“I didn’t rain much back then.” He muses, gaze following the slow drizzle of fallen streaks on the balcony’s edge. “A privilege I can keep alive, now that I see it so often.”

You look to the side, meeting Aventurine’s eyes halfway. The corners of his lips turn up as he looks past you, covering his mouth as he stifles a yawn.

“Almost forgot about the bed.” He laughs, running a hand over his lower face. “You can have it, I’ll be okay on the floor.”

“Absolutely not!” You counter, head tilting in defiance. “I’ll be fine on the floor.”

“That would be extremely impolite of me.”

“As it would be for me…”

“Will you please just sleep on the bed?”

“I brought extra pillows! I’ll be more comfortable than you on the floor.”

Aventurine stops, sending you a half lidded look. You walk over to your suitcase, swiftly pulling the two large pillows you packed out, holding them at your sides. He walks over to you, snatching a pillow out from one of your arms before walking toward the bed.

“Or, how about this?” He shoves your pillow on top of the hotel provided one. “We put the extra pillows on the bed, and we both take a half.”

You purse your lips, and shrug in reason. After patting your pillow into place, you climb onto the bed, turning on your side to ensure you’re only taking up half of the bed. 

As you land on your other shoulder, you nearly touch noses with Aventurine. He chuckles, eyebrows raising in a teasing manner.

“It’s not often someone gets the chance to be this close to me.”

You groan, tugging the coarse blanket to your chest as you flip to your front. Stifling a few chuckles, Aventurine turns so his back is facing you.

Within a few minutes, quiet snores begin to drift through your ears. You sigh, and roll your eyes. And yet, only peace visits you in your dreams.

–

There have been few nights of your stay in Salsotto without rain. You’ve grown accustomed to the melodic pad of morning to the erratic roar of the night. This night is different, however, as dew is high in the air but the clouds of the afternoon are white, tainted with swirls of pink that bode better weather. 

You fumble with the pearls on your neck, carefully positioning them so they rest on your collarbone. All IPC events require a clearance of wear that is above the standard grade of formal, nothing short of extravagant, explaining the fine tailored suit you wear over your dress. Ivory on cream, a palette that bodes well when making business deals. 

Heels click on pavement, Tumbleweed’s National Museum in sight. Golden lights cast the establishment in an elegant glow, and the stream of classical cello welcomes your ears as you approach. Welcoming smiles are given your way as you enter the building, and you start a long night of shaking hands and business chatter with the esteemed mechanical aristocrat Screwllum. 

Leisure chats of the Genius Society’s next project flow in and out of wine chutes, with gentle opera joining new deals of funding. Another hand shake bodes your farewell to a philanthropist from the Herta Space Station, and you take a seat at one of the tables nearby, attempting to gather your thoughts. Sipping on a glass of sparkling rose, you start jotting down tonight’s business proposals onto your phone.

“Having fun?”

You look up, offering a smile toward your temporary hotelmate as you pull the chair next to you back.

“Was wondering when I’d run into you, Aventurine.” You say, clinking glasses with the blonde. “How many deals have you clinched tonight?”

“More than you, I bet.” You scrunch your nose, folding your arms after sliding your phone his way. Aventurine takes a look through your notes, smile expanding on his face as he progresses.

“...And it seems I would be right.” He exclaims, holding up two full hands. “Don’t feel bad. It’s the natural charm.”

“Mhm. Super natural, and not annoying at all.” You quip, earning a light jab in the shoulder.

Your past two weeks with Aventurine had proved to be an easier feat than you had thought. Beside the snoring (that you had learned to tune out), he had served as a good source of company, squandering your worries of lingering grudges as you spent more time around one another. You were grateful he had the will in his heart to see the reason behind what you had done, although you were a little surprised to see that he had forgiven you with such ease. 

Now, to you, he seemed to be an easy soul forced to carry burdens that were undeserving of him. 

“Hey.”

You’re roused from your thoughts by the gentle tap of Aventurine’s foot against your heel. He cocks his head, and you’re suddenly aware of the soft serenade filling the room, sung by an artist famous for this piece.

“Let’s get our minds off of business for a while. Care to dance?”

He straightens his jacket before standing up, beckoning you to do the same. You accept the hand outstretched, threatening to roll your eyes as Aventurine lays his other on your back, guiding you to the floor.

“Trying to show off?” 

Aventurine slowly spins you into a shroud of spotlight, laughing when your eyes go wide from the precision of his arms slowing you back down. 

“Of course.”

A look is shared between the two of you, and the dance begins. You recognize the piece, Seid Umschlungen, Millionen! (Be Embraced, You Millions!), and fall into a sort of waltz, slow, quick, slow. Your feet move in a symphony of chirping violin and cello vibrato, swirling carefully around other dancers as you step from box to box. 

The music quiets in a moment of repose, and you slow, winding your hands around his neck as you sway, in wait. 

“What’s with the long face?”

The question catches you off guard, as you weren’t aware that your thoughts had reflected off of your face. Lips pursing, you wonder whether taking the chance and ruining the moment is worth it, but the question nags deep within, festering like a cancer that will not cease until it is freed. 

“Do you forgive me?”

Strings echo and rise; Aventurine fits a hand behind your back before spinning you into dance. His eyebrows are furrowed lightly, as if your question had caught him off guard in some sort of way, but you both knew it was coming. Trust is an uncertain entity, not easily won or wagered, never certain in whether it’s attained or lost. Forgiveness is a trial for trust, and within inquiry lie a question of deeper truth that never made it to the surface

Do you hate me, Aventurine?

There have been many times in the passing days where you’ve been questioned about your time in Sigonia-IV. A test to determine whether your actions deserved merit. Recounting stories of countless lives you worked tirelessly to save at the risk of your own. Gallons of blood stained on your hands from the guilty, those whose karma ran the empty river beds of the desert red. 

So much, and yet nothing at all. It’s as if life is out to play some game of twisted fate, as you see all of the lives you could not save in the man right before you. The brand slightly hidden by his collar and wispy blonde, jewelry glittering at his wrists, irises that shine in the darkest of nights. Bewitching, yet so alive. 

“There’s nothing to forgive.” He says, after some time. “You did a brave thing, I would be a fool to condemn you for it.”

Elation. It’s the feather touch of his hands, graceful in the way they dip you, nearly stopping time as you lay suspended. Your eyes lock, and you nearly drown in the glow of lavender and maya that stare back. Slowly, you feel one of his hands leave your back, dipping in his suit pocket and coming to rest in your vision. 

“Their memory is always alive somewhere. It’s up to us to keep it.”

You’re lifted to stand, and, amidst a rather slow spin, Aventurine pins the turquoise meteorite you’d thought was long gone onto the span of dress fabric above your chest. The resounding smile shared is trust.

You twirl and sink until the song comes to an end, stopping in a hold of hands and interlocked legs as orchestra is overtaken by voice. In the midst of fading spotlight, your breath evens out, and you find yourself following the gambler’s hand to escape the noise, elbows brushing on a balcony railing as you stare out into the fading daylight.

The sky is tinged with the baby blue of afternoon, arising into a deep interweave of violet and blush. A small, red casino chip flips between Aventurine’s fingers, rolling to sit between his pointer and thumb in short pauses.

“Got any tricks up your sleeve, gambler?”

Aventurine tilts his head to the side, invigorated by the rise of your lips, challenging, daring. The game you propose has risk, but what is life without taking leaps blind? Aventurine is sure he can see you now, after all.

With a flip of the chip and a wave of his hand, the red disappears, and a cool sensation lands firmly on your lips. His face is inches away from yours, fingers gently pressing against the chip that severs the distance between you.

“There are tricks to any risk, as long as you know what you’re doing.”

You raise your hand, sliding the chip from your mouth and palming it. When he doesn’t move, you tug on his collar, chin tilting upward to press your lips to his. The sensation is warm, gentle, as if you tread on ice that threatens to shatter. Honey sears your tongue, and you revel in the touch of his lips, soft as the velvet of his tie.

The moment is all too short, yet your mouth feels numb as you break away. In a moment of silence, you take the hand that sits lightly clamped around your wrist, sliding the chip in his palm and closing his fingers.

“I think I’ll be gambling a lot with you, Aventurine.”

His face moves closer, and you look down for a moment, noticing the hand that sits behind his back.

“I look forward to it.”

–

INTERASTRAL PEACE CORPORATION, STRATEGIC INVESTMENT HQ | TWO MONTHS LATER

Knock, knock.

“Coming.”

The door opens in fluid motion, revealing a room cast in gloom, tan shade, blinds drawn. 

“Hey, Aven.” You sigh, placing a chaste kiss on the blonde’s cheek. “Long day?”

“Long day.” He mirrors, offering to take the stack of papers off of your hands. You accept, slipping into the chair across from his desk. “Are you done for today?”

“Mhm.” 

Aventurine sits in his desk chair, shrugging the navy coat he sports onto the back. You stretch your arms behind your back, watching as deft hands undo the cross hatched tie representing the cornerstones from his collar. As he sets the piece down, his office phone starts to buzz, and he groans.

“Hello, this is Aventurine… Uh huh, what time?” He draws circles into ebony, holding the phone to his shoulder as he reaches for a notepad. However, as he clicks the pen in his hand, he nearly drops the phone, clearly startled. “Can you repeat that? Si- okay. I’m coming.”

In a flurry of movement, he stands, tie and coat snatched. 

“We have to go, right now.”

His tone is impatient, brimming with anxiety and unwilling to contest. You blink a few times before following him out of his office, grabbing his coat to hold onto as he fits his tie back to his shirt. The walk is silent, save a quiet “thank you” when you hand the coat over and the click of shoes on tile. Your nerves rise as you move, watching the way he frets with his gloves, tugging on the ends repeatedly. 

In a matter of minutes, you arrive at the boardroom of the IPC’s Strategic Investment Department, stopping at the edge of the table as Jade turns around, followed by a concerned looking Topaz.

“Ah, Aventurine. What a surprise, I was sure not to include your name in the list of attendees tonight.“She sends a look to the white haired cornerstone, before directing her gaze to you. “Unfortunately, ranks below P40 are prohibited from attending this meeting. Guards, please see her out.”

You push against the guard that seizes your wrist, but are unable to resist as more come to his aid. After having the door shoved in your face, you’re dragged to the hallway outside of the meeting hall, forced to sit in wait. 

30 minutes. Another 30. An hour before the doors open, with Aventurine first, Topaz following close behind. He rushes past you, eyes on the ground, gone within seconds. Concern etches your features as Topaz runs up to you, lips pursed in distress,

“Aventurine-” She pauses, hand on her chest as she catches her breath. “Please go after him. You’re the only one that he’ll see now, after what just happened.”

“What happened?”

At your inquiry, she shakes her head, nodding her head toward the direction Aventurine took off in.

“It’s best you hear it from him. But, please, go see him tonight, he needs someone who’s close to his heart.”

Worry is quick to seep into your features, but you nod. A quick visit to his office and you’re off, taking the next jet off of Pier Point, to Klimt Republic. Weaving through streets and bullet trails full of life, you arrive in the heart of Klimt just two hours later, standing on the penthouse floor of an apartment complex worth more than the entire block you’re on.

Knock, knock.

Silence. You hesitate, and knock again. 

The shuffling of feet hit the floor, and you wait in anticipation, hands firmly at your sides as the noise stops. After a few moments, the door slowly opens, and you sigh in relief.

Aventurine stands, slightly hunched against the doorframe, hair disheveled, eyes red and irritated.

“Aven, what happ-”

A pair of hands seize your wrist, tugging you inside and slamming the door behind you. 

“Not now.” Your eyes widen at the plea in his voice, whole with a basal need that makes your chest tighten. “Please, just, make me forget about it right now.”

He looms over you, yet the shadow he casts is the antonym of threatening. Fear reeks off of him like vodka, as tears brim on his waterline. The feeling spreads to your skin like wildfire, and you feel him shake as you take his face in your hands, breathing shallow and scared.

The first taste of his lips is sweet, but the salt of his tears is quick to sink in. Clumsy and trembling, your bodies rock and hit walls as you make your way to his bedroom. You throw his coat to the side as he does yours, pushing him down onto his bed as you break for air. 

Aventurine’s hair flows out around him as he falls onto the mattress, shrouding him as a halo would. You chase after him, littering his neck with soft bites that elicit soft groans from the skin beneath. You unbutton half of his shirt before diving for his collarbone, reveling in the whines that respond as you nip and bruise. 

His hands reach for your pants, and you stop him before he can reach for your panties. 

“Ah-ah, hands behind your head.” Your voice pools out smooth, running a hand down his shirt. “Just relax and let me take care of you.” 

Gently pinning his hands above him, you let go, and he complies. You reward him with a kiss, messy and careless, pulling a string of saliva between your lips when you leave them. Your free hand pushes hair out of his eyes while the other works on the zipper of his slacks, watching as his fingers lock together as you apply pressure.

A shudder leaves Aventurine’s lips as you pull his boxers down, hand gently running along the length of his dick. Teeth tug at lips as you spit on your hand, working at his cock while running your free fingers along your folds. His neck lifts up as your hands move faster, and you grin, choking the noises that threaten to spill from your mouth at the display before you.

A sight like heaven, an angel laid out for worship. Aventurine’s skin is coated in a soft sheen of sweat that shines in the dim light, hand laid over one eye whilst the other remains barely open. Under the mix of hues that resemble wild fields of flowers, blush coats his cheekbones, a light to the darkness that blooms on his neck. The vulnerability of it makes your heart soar, and you feel a fire ignite in the depths of your being that fails to stoke.

The hand that toys with your clit lifts, prodding at Aventurine’s mouth as you lower yourself on his cock. Muffled whines vibrate around your fingers, and you moan at the fullness that envelops you. You swirl your fingers in his mouth, biting on your cheek as his tongue wraps around them, sucking on the sweet taste of you. 

His hands abruptly reach up, fingers winding and tangling in hair as they pull you down, replacing fingers with lips. The sensation is hot, as if an unquenchable balm has set your skin alight. 

“Feel good?”

“What kind of- ughh- question is that?” 

You clench around him as if it's instinct, and Aventurine calls your name as he would a prayer. His moans are akin to song, divine in melody, alluring in a way that shuts your mind off from anything else but him. One of his hands leaves your hair, fingers clumsily clamping around your own, holding you like fine china. 

The stretch of his dick does little to quench the hunger within, you crave more, a devout worshiper crying a hymn of need. Your motion becomes erratic, a twist of limbs and friction that siphons tears that streak down your cheeks, falling to mix in with the sweat on your lover’s face.

“Gonna-” Aventurine chokes on his own words, eyes shut harshly as he blinks back ecstasy. “Cum.”

Your words are lost to you, only managing to groan in response as Aventurine pulls you back to him. His lips seal over yours in a searing kiss, arms winding around your back to hold you still as your orgasm shakes you. White light flashes through closed eyes as you spasm around his dick, mixing with the cum that leaks inside of you. 

The room is quiet, save the howling wind of night and the dance of unstable breath. Blankets shuffle as you drop to Aventurine’s side, allowing him to drape your discarded shirt over your bare chest. Time seems to cease as you meet his gaze, touch serene as the plains of distant worlds as he encourages you to come closer. You accept, eyes closing for a moment, feeling the warm fan of his breath over your nose.

“The IPC is funding a project to excavate Sigonia.” The silence breaks, peace shatters and your eyes snap open. “Turquoise meteorites are rare, so they’ll scrape the whole planet dry until every last piece is gone.”

Your face falls, corners of your lips pulling downward. Aventurine’s eyes are half lidded, seemingly already accepting the fate of the planet he calls home. He refuses to look your way, eyes focused somewhere past you, the sorrow spreads and leaks into your soul as it opens further. A place so full of hatred and loss, yet a place that he will never be able to let go of. It burrows within the deepest neurons, refusing to snap and forget.

“You have to say something, Aven.” You pull at his face, forcing him to meet your gaze. “Whatever you have to do, I’ll help you.”

“The IPC doesn’t have time to listen to Avgin.” He sighs, hope stale on his breath. “Not even if it's the last one alive.”

You still, fingers falling to rest against his cheek. Aventurine’s eyes close, brows furrowing lightly against pale skin.

“Sigonia will fall, and only Kakavasha will remain.”

Defeat. It seems that what events occurred in that meeting room left no room for conversation. Guilt flows through your veins like it’s replaced the red, and your chest aches, latching onto the horror that no doubt holds sovereignty in his head.

Kakavasha. Blessed by the heavens yet cursed by the living world. Such a beautiful name that deserves no hell it endures. 

Amidst the quietude, Aventurine’s hand slithers under the blankets, latching onto your wrist. He traces skin, knuckles brushing against your own, coming to rest intertwined.

“Can we try something?”

You nod, and your hand is slowly lifted to the air, palm against palm between your chests. You’ve seen this motion back on Sigonia, yet it’s always remained distant to you, and the words echo in obscurity. 

“I’ll go through it once, and we can do it together.”

You nod, once more. Aventurine closes his eyes for a moment, reciting a prayer lost to you in time.

“May the Mother Goddess thrice close her eyes for you… keeping your blood eternally pulsing. May your journey be forever peaceful… and your schemes be forever concealed.”

A brief pause passes. You sigh in unison, and lock eyes. A voice whispers within the depths of your mind, and you smile.

The memory is always alive somewhere. It’s up to us to keep it.

“May the Mother Goddess thrice close her eyes for you… keeping your blood eternally pulsing. May your journey be forever peaceful… and your schemes be forever concealed.”

As the last words drift off of your lips, you bend your fingers, slotting them between his. Aventurine shares your sentiment; hope flashed in the gentle smile that graces his lips. Your eyes wander, and notice that a single tear trails down his face, disappearing into his skin as it rolls.

Outside, you hear the crack of thunder. You pull Aventurine in, and in your clutch, the downpour begins.

–

Some months later…

The chatter of voices on the phone rouses you from sleep, rubbing a hand over your eyes in annoyance as you come to. Light spills through drawn curtains and open glass doors, filtering the room in hues of honey and hazel. 

“Mhm. Alright, I understand. Let’s schedule the interview for today.”

Songs of canaries and mourning doves flow through the air, and you sit up, raising a hand to block out the sun’s gaze. Aventurine sets his phone down on the bedside table, stifling a yawn with his hand. You roll onto your side, hand propped up onto your chin as you soak in the sight of your lover.

His hair is slightly ruffled from sleep, bangs astray and cast into his eyes. Only the top button of his sleep shirt is buttoned, leaving lean, sun kissed skin on display. 

“It’s rude to stare, you know.” You roll your eyes, allowing him to pull you in for a kiss. “Morning. Sleep well?”

“Mhm.” You hum, knowing full well tonight has been one of the worst nights you’ve slept yet. Aventurine sees right through you, but chooses to say nothing, opting to pull you forward so half of your body drapes over him.

Today Aventurine leaves for Penacony. And, seeing as he was called in for a meeting, he’s probably leaving even sooner now. 

He seems to read your thoughts, offering a comforting peck to the corner of your lips in apology. Your hands card through his hair, head resting against his collarbone. 

You have your apprehensions about Penacony, having heard whispers on the streets of mysterious disappearances of people in the world’s famous dreamscape. The IPC has had a limited number of run-ins with the family, leading you to assume a recent grounds of suspicion has arised, and Aventurine was chosen as the solution. In his eyes, it’s just another gamble of life or death.

You’re roused from your thoughts by a tap on your cheek, making you look up at him.

“Don’t worry about me, sweetheart.” His words do little to soothe you, but you listen regardless. “The risks I take are always foolproof.”

Risk. It’s the word Aventurine lives by, a motto that claws at your heart when he’s gone. A reality that spills tears when he closes the door to your apartment, leaving only the ache of your heart in his absence. A danger that never guarantees the next time he chases his destiny will not be his last. 

You will never fight to change it, because that’s all it is. Destiny.

His phone rings, and the two of you groan before he gets up and tells the person on the other line that he’s on his way. You watch from his side of the bed as he throws his clothes on, grabbing two packed suitcases from the side of the bed before bending over to give you a kiss. The touch of his lips is bittersweet, nearly taunting as it is over before it even begins. You peck him again, running a hand over his hairline to straighten his bangs.

“Be safe out there, Aven.”

He smiles, so radiant it rivals the sun and all that it shines on. You think yourself blessed to see it survive.

“I will. Luck is always on my side.”

And he leaves. You turn to the window, awaiting the rain.

[fairuzfan]

Hey I am a Sudanese and I want to provide context to why what Motaz said is racist ... (I have to no ill feelings towards him or anything similar ... this is just for education purposes).

1. Attaching being black/dark skinned to being Sudanese. Yes it true Sudanese are "black", but people with dark skin exsist across all the Arab nations ... and Sudanese people have different sade and tone of blackness, you won't find two people with the same "color" in the same household (i.e siblings...etc).

We use different specific terms to describe different skin tone of blackness ... • wheat قمحي • Asmer اسمر• green اخضر •blue ازرق •black اسود.

Attach blackness to Sudanese lead to multiple racist remarks like some can reserve a question "how can you be Sudanese and be light skinned? You are probably mixed right?" .... and multiple portrayal of Sudanese by non-Sudanese actors in media lead to them doing "black face". (For example: ادوار ناصر القصبي في مختلف اجزاء "طاش ما طاش") and (there is a scene in the Egyptian movie "عيال حبيبة" where they meet a light skinned Sudanese person and they end up painting his skin black because light skinned Sudanese do not exist).

I am not talking about South Sudan or the west part of (north) Sudan "Darfur", I am talking about Sudan as whole. Sudanese are East African of course we are "black" (I am not gonna touch the subject of Colorism and tribalism that we suffer as a society).

2. The way he pronounced "Ana Asmar" it sounded like he is trying to imitate the Sudanese dialect by changing the "s" sound to sound like a "z" sound. (It ended up being more like "أنا أزمر" and not "أنا أسمر") ...

First of all: we don't talk like this ... sure some people sometimes change the "س" to "ز" like in the word "nine تسعة تزعة"، but never the word "Asmar اسمر" we say it as it is.

Second: it maybe a reach ... but sounded like a broken Arabic. We are Arabs we speak a normal arabic dialect like any other Arab nation ... (to tell how many times I met Arab for different nations and be surprised that I can speak and understand Arabic... like they expect us to speak in a different language).

This is why what he said in the video is racist and problematic.

Side Note: something related to racism towards Sudanese that unrelated to the video, I am saying this to educate people ... for the love of God عليكم الله when you meet a Sudanese person and know they are a Sudanese for the first time don't say "يعني انت زول؟" ... it is condescending. "زول" means: person/شخص/human it is not a specific term that mean Sudanese it is just a normal word that just means a person. Of course I am a "زول" and you are a "زول", everyone on this earth no matter their nationality/ethnicity/race is a "زول" ... so stop being racist.

I apologise for the long rant.

With love

thank you so much for sharing, i think this is really important for people to read. i really appreciate you taking the time to write this out.

i remember seeing other reasons why people were angry at what he said including how he was laughing instead of asking why the aid was in gaza and not sudan also, making it seem like hes taking the situation in sudan lightly.

[bandgie]

Beast of a Man

Smut!Tarzan

Synopsis: You were on an expedition with a team to investigate ape behavior. After setting off a booby-trap accidentally, it's not your team that finds you, but an ape-like man. Is he the missing link anthropologists have been looking for? You need to take him back to camp, and you're thinking of luring him in by more than one way.

A/N: I dont give a fuck if this movie is older than me this man is HOT no one talks about him and im SICK of it.

3.9k words

You take a deep breath through your nose and exhale through your mouth. You were growing irritated. You were somewhere in West Africa sweating your balls off (if you had any) trying to follow where the shrewdness of apes went. They had a tendency to relocate to avoid predators, and they happened to the night you slept in.

You didn't bother asking your team to help you look. You all have been up doing your notes for your dissertation and you decided that they deserved some shut eye. You were tempted to ask the person who was guiding you through the jungles, but the language barrier made you decide not to. Too much work, but the apes couldn't have gone far right?

Since it was blazing, you decided to wear some white shorts and a tan button up shirt completed with a safari hat on top. You made sure your bag was packed with snacks and water before leaving. Of course, you also brought your hunting knife. You prayed it wouldn't be necessary to use, but being out in the open made you a prey to all sorts of things.

You started your journey, keeping close to the trail you were familiar with. You started East since that's where the sun rises, praying that they would be there. You weren't sure how long you walking for until you finally found a piece of ape hair. You gasp excitedly and bent down to grab it, you were getting close.

You wiped the sweat from your forearms and continued forward with new resolution. You were going to find the nest and since it's still early afternoon, you might even be able to see-

"Ahh!" you screamed. Something tightened around your foot and you went up in the air upside, hitting your head on the ground in the process. A pained groan left your lips as you opened your eyes. You were hanging upside down by one of your ankles.

"Aw shit..." you cursed, looking up to see your foot tangled in...vine? Your eyebrows furrowed, wouldn't it have been better to use rope? Maybe your team put this here as a trap, or maybe it was the locals to catch some animals. You felt stupid as you reached upwards to grab your foot and get yourself loose.

Which was much harder than you initially thought. It was too far for you too reach and when you did manage to grasp your ankle, pain would surge from your lower back to your neck as you continued to awkwardly bend your body. Your head was pounding, blood drumming your ears before you finally gave up. They'll find you, you just have to be patient.

"HELP!" You yelled, voice echoing in the trees. You started calling your team by names, then last names. You felt your eyes water in frustration, thinking about how stupid you were to travel alone.

Granted you couldn't be that far from the trail, maybe 6 miles. But you don't know how much longer you could stand being upside down. Then it hit you, your knife! A sound of relief escaped you as your reached behind your back to grab your knife. Only your bag wasn't there. It must've flown off when you were thrusted into the air because it was 20 feet away from you on the ground.

Now you were going to really cry. No, that won't help, you think, I just need to keep yelling, but should you? Here you are alone in the jungle, making all these noises. What if you attract a predator. The thought makes you stop.

You take deep breaths as a way to keep your cool. You'll be fine, they'll find you, you just need to wa- a crunch distracts your thoughts. Your eyes try to find from where the sound came from, turning your head frantically around.

"Hello?" You call, gentle. You're not sure if it's your people, but from the lack of response you doubt it is. The crunching gets faster and louder, you hold your breath in and prepare for an animals to jump our and devour you.

Instead, a man emerges from bushes, a naked man. Almost naked, save for the piece of cloth that wraps around his waist. You narrow your eyes, unable to comprehend what you're seeing. He doesn't look like he natives that live here. The main thing to give it away is the way he walks, or more like knuckle-walking. He scoots closer to your, eyes intensely staring at you. He quadrupedaly walks to you, and you scream.

He wildly moves back, hooting as a response. You thrash around, fear bubbling in your stomach. "No! Fuck off! Go away!"

He knuckle-walks around you, inspecting to see if you're an actual threat. You're not of course, you're tied and on the verge of fainting from being upside for so long. It doesn't take long for the ape-man to realize it and come within 3 inches of your face. You stop moving and stare into his eyes. He's actually... beautiful. Looking past the dirt on his body and his tangled hair, he had a strong jaw and a large nose with a bump at the bridge. He had high cheekbones, thick eyebrows, and deep eyes. Not to mention he was staring at you in the same way, only 100x more intense. He was looking at you like you're the only woman he's ever seen, maybe the only person he's ever seen period.

His hand reaches to touch your face, his fingers gently play with your features. Starting with the nose, eyes, eyelashes, ears, then your lips. He touches his own afterwards as if comparing them. He grunts to himself as if he's talking outloud.

His hands get more explosive, moving to your neck. His hands keep traveling until they feel your breasts, he stops. He feels his own chest and a look of confusion crosses his face. When he goes back to feel your body, you thrash.

"No!"

Your stern voice makes him take a step back, but he knows you're not a real threat. He moves back to his original place and touches your top, playing with the buttons. Sweat starts to drips off your neck to the ground, you don't know how much longer you can stand this position.

His hands discover that you can unbutton these little circles, and that's exactly was he does. He doesn't even notice the bra that holds your tits, his focus completely on the shirt. When he does, his hands take no shame in touching some more.

His touch is so gentle that you instinctively puff your chest closer to him. His fingertips travel from one breast to the other, not knowing your bra can also come off.

Wait, why are you thinking about him taking off your bra? You don't know this man, if he even is a man. But the way he touches you is addicting. You love the softness of it, how he touches you as if you're the most fragile thing on this Earth.

You gently use your hands to grasp his, he jumps at the contact and look back at your eyes. You guide him to the inside of your bra, having your tits spill out. His eyes widen is surprise, as if he's never seen such a complicated contraption. He looks at his chest quickly and back at yours. He starts grabbing them and kneading them, enjoying the softness you have.

He grunts in what seems like approval. He sees you nipples harden from his touches and he pinches them. You moan in response, though you think you're just groaning from pain. You're going to blame your behavior on the lack of blood supply in your brain, but right now the dampness in your underwear is more important.

You use your hands to take off the rest of your shirt and bra, completely topless to him. This man was so entranced by your body that you have to use your hands to make him look at your face. You point to the vine that has you hostage.

"Help me down, and I'll help you," you don't even know if he can understand you, but he must because he climbs a nearby tree and loosens the knot. You fall with a thud and groan, finally feeling the extra blood leave your head.

The man climbs on top of you and looks into your eyes as if he's asking something. You nod, already knowing what he wants. You guide the back of his head back to your tits and he gratefully pops a nipple in his mouth. His hands are on either side of you, possessively keeping you under him. Your hands tangle in his hair and he continues to suck.

You hum and squeeze your legs together, wetness gathering between your legs. He releases your boob with the small pop! and goes to the other side, letting his tongue roll over your nipple. You use your hand to grab his, placing it on your other boob. He gets the message and starts massaging your boob while keeping the other in his mouth.

You moan and grind your body against his, trying to get some friction. The need in your pussy is almost unbearable, you want it to to touched, paid attention to, but you hold back. You don't want to make a decision you would regret, but you're not sure if anything you're doing is helping with that.

He suddenly stops, a whine leaving your lips when he does. He closes his eyes and inhales, looking all over your body. His smells different parts of your body, shoving his nose between your breasts.

"What?" You ask, suddenly self-conscious. The beast of a man travels down you stomach, down your navel, occasionally sticking his tongue out to taste you. Then he stops at your shorts, eyes looking into yours.

He puts his attention back onto your clothes, attempting to take them off himself. He sees the familiar button on the top of your shorts and decides he should start there. You're amazed at his intelligence. He may not be verbal, but he has amazing innovative and cognitive ability.

Your thoughts are pulled away as he manages to do the same to your shorts. He tugs them all the way down to you ankles and stares at the spot he's been aching to devour. You know you must not have the best taste considering how much you were sweating but 30 minutes prior, but this man couldn't care less. He leaned down to your core and took a deep breath, groaning as he did. His hands gripped your thighs and he squeezed them. You whimpered at his touch, opening your legs to give him better access to your pussy.

You were soaking, you could feel you essence dripping down to your body and the way you're underwear felt cold against the wind. The ape-man went it, licking your wetness and widening your legs even more. He bent your legs forwards, folding your back so you knees were almost touching your face.

You squealed at the movement never being in this position. It was pretty uncomfortable, but the way his hands held your legs by your under thighs made your stomach coil in anticipation. He used his tongue more than anything, not knowing that he could so much more.

He used his muscle to collect the remaining drool your pussy produced, trying to find the source. He was beginning to get irritated, but little did he know that your underwear was covering his desire. A part of you loved watching him struggle, but the need for him directly on you was stronger. You reached your arms around your hips and moved your underwear to the side, using your thumb to rub yourself in circles.

You tapped your pussy, making sure it made wet noises to get his attention. "Here, do it here."

The man stopped for a second, bewitched by the sight of your dripping folds and pulsing pussy. He had never seen anything like it, like a rare cuisine he was lucky enough to stumble upon. He experimentally stuck his tongue out to taste you. You hummed in satisfaction and used your fingers to spread yourself. He let your taste settle on his tastebuds, licking his lips hungrily as he decided that this was the best meal he was ever going to have.

He pushed your legs further back and buried his face into you. You moaned as his tongue shot out all over your pussy, smearing both of you juices all around. The ape man moved his face up and down against you, his large nose occasionally touching the bud of your clit.

You squirmed when he did and he noticed your behavior. He moved his tongue up to flick your bundle of nerves and you jolted. An intrigued smile found his lips as he continued his movements. It was too much, you were too sensitive and you instinctively yanked on his hair to pull him away.

You moaned in relief, but the man above you was anything but. He grabbed your hands held them down to your sides, using his chest and face to keep you in your bent position. As if to show you that he wasn't happy with your action, he ate you out brutally. He used his teeth to gently scape against your clitoris, a move he shortly found out gave him the best response.

"No no it's too much! Stop im sorry im sorry!" You cry. You pleas fell on deaf ears. He sucked hard on your bud, stretching it as he pulled away. A loud cry left out lips and he finally stopped to look at you. Your legs were shaking, sweat all over your body, back aching, and tears falling.

He gently let your legs fall so you were flat on the ground. A small sob and thank you left you as your legs closed together. The man closely looked at your face and licked your tears away, an apology. His hands soothingly went through your hair with a look of slight worry on his face.

He had such an intense gaze, you thought he would kiss you if he knew how. You sat up and put your hands on his chest, having him lay on the ground this time. Your eyes found the tent that formed in his patch of cloth. You smiled and had your hands explore his chest. He eyes you warily, not used to being under anyone or anything.

A devious smile played on your lips as you leaned down and kissed his ear, "My turn."

You sat back up and scooted down so you could place yourself between his legs, eagerly lifting off his little wrap so you could see his glory. Your eyes widened at his cock. He was so thick, veins wrapping around his length. The tip was a pretty pink, a sharp contrast to his tanned dick. You felt you mouth salivate at him and you leaned down to place a kiss on his tip.

He groaned, thrusting his hips up to feel you more. You playfully tsked and shook your head, "So impatient."

You got on all fours to be face-to-face with him, hands playing his thighs. You kissed over his pelvis, his bush, his inner thighs, anywhere besides the one place where he wanted you most. His hands went outwards besides him to grasp onto the ground beneath him. You could tell from the way he was straining and groaning, he was holding back from grasping your head. You blushed at his consideration, he's kind of a gentleman.

You decide to thank him by finally taking him into your mouth, making sure your tongue covers his slit and slowly bobbing your head up and down. He thanks you by whining, a sound that's going to forever imprint in your brain. You use one hand to keep on his stomach and the other to wrap around his shaft. You worked in one fluid motion, tasting his salty pre-cum and feeling you spit dribble out of your mouth onto your hand.

You really wanted to test your limits to see how far you could take him, but know with his girth that would be difficult. You still decided to try anyway, moving your hand to play with his balls and pulling your mouth out. He huffed in protest and looked up at you, eyes hazy.

You made sure to gather enough spit and drool over his cock. You relaxed your jaw and went back in. You took a deep breath through your nose and keep sliding down. You gagged when his tip hit you throat, but he still more than halfway to go. You closed your eyes and willed your head forward, mouth opening almost painfully.

Your pussy throbbed in excitement, imagining that it was getting stretched out instead of your mouth. The man beneath you broke, hands grasping the sides of your head and shoving you down. You violently gagged around him, eyes pooling with tears. Your nose tickled his bushy pelvis. You looked up at him to plead to let you go, but seeing your begging eyes and cock covered mouth did the opposite to him. He used your mouth as a cock sleeve, harshly dragging your lips up and down his length.

Your hands gripped his thighs, he was going so hard and fast you started thinking you were going to throw up. You eyes rolled to the back of your head you felt your pussy drip down your thighs. You've never been used by this, and you never wanted it to stop. You could probably just cum from giving him head, but your need for air was starting to get the better of you.

It took both of your hands to rip away one of his before you finally popped your mouth off his dick, gasping and coughing for air. The ape-man sat up, finally recognizing that you were on the verge of passing out. He brushed the air out your face and cradled your face into his hands. He watched as you steadied your breath, holding you close to him.

Never had a man treated you with such care and such disregard at the same time, it went straight to your aching core. You adjusted so you were straddling his lap, hands gripping his shoulders. He wasn't sure what you were doing, but when he felt your folds grind against his cock he knew what you wanted.

You grabbed the base of cock, moved your underwear to the side, and smeared hit tip over your clit. Both of you hummed in unison, his grip tightening on your hips. You moved your legs so you were in a squatting position, preparing yourself to take him in.

He patiently waited as you dipped the tip of dick cock into your pussy, shivers enveloping your body. His face twisted in unfamiliar pleasure, teeth gritting. You put more of your weight on him, sinking more and more onto his cock before you finally felt him fully in your gut. Your eyes rolled back placed your head in the crook of his neck breathless. Once you adjusted, you softly bounced on him, feeling his teeth and tongue get a feel of you exposed neck and ear. He growled approvingly once you started moving more aggressively.

One of his large hands went into your scalp, yanking your hair back to bare your throat at him. A part of you grew scared, but the way he was drooling out of the corner of his lip made you bounce with more determination. He bit the base of your throat making you cry out, then licked it apologetically. He didn't know that his nips at your neck distracted you, so when you slowed your movements down he grew upset. Taking matter into his own hands, he grabbed your ass and slammed you down hard.

You yelped, picking your head up as you looked into his eyes. He has a certain glaze over his eyes, as if he wasn't really looking at you. You leaned back to show a better view of where your bodies connected, his eyes immediately went there.

This must've been some encouragement for him because he started thrusting upwards too. The pleasure was too much, twisting your gut and providing a fiery sensation in your stomach. You whimpered and wrapped your arms around his neck for better support. You let him abuse your pussy, not caring about how he ripped your underwear off to properly see himself pound into you.

"Fuuuuuck," you moaned, "you feel so good." He had no reaction to your words, but you didn't care. He was going to bruise your hips form how hard he was holding you, but you were so close to finishing that none of that mattered.

You used one of your hands to rub your clit, attempting to finish faster. Your whines got louder and more frequent, he did the same. You tried not being loud, but you almost screamed when you came. He felt the way your walls squeezed around him and how your juices flowed out. He watched as your body nearly went limp, putting all your weight against him.

He took his opportunity to slam his cock all the way down into you until you could feel him kiss your cervix. You don't know if the noises you were making could count as moaning, but he frankly couldn't give less of a shit.

Finally, you felt the sweet warmth of his orgasm filling you up. You squeezed around him again and he moaned, wrapping his arms around your torso to make sure you didn't move from him. He couldn't stop leaking inside you as you felt some of it dribble out and possible drip down his balls.

You could tell he didn't want to pull out, satisfied with letting his cock soften between your legs. The thought to let it happen was tempting, but you already let a strange man fuck and cum inside you. There had to be some morals left.

You lifted your head up from his neck and pushed away from him. He huffed in defiance, content with his current position. You untangled yourself form him and wobbled upwards, standing. He slowly got up and looked around as if he was looking for something. Then he crawled over to your torn underwear, grabbing and putting it up to his face. You laughed as he took a deep breath, inhaling your scent like he couldn't get enough.

Once you had your top on, you walked over to him and stuck your hand out for him to give it back. Rather than obeying he growled, not threateningly, but rather in resistance. You sighed and decided going comando would be your only option.

Then an idea popped into you mind. It would be such a waste to leave a man here who seemed to listen to almost your every word. Who you could mold into the perfect fuck. Plus, you needed to study apes anyway and he seemed like the perfect willing participant.

You squatted down to his level and gently ran your fingers through his long, tangled hair. He closed his eyes and leaned into your touch. Oh yeah, you think, a perfect candidate.

You gently tapped the underwear in his hands and his eyes shot back open into yours. "Ya know," you started, "I have more of those back at camp. Wanna see?"

a/n: part 2 here

[repulsiveliquidation]

Too Dangerous

Ona Batlle x Reader [SMUT! rough.] Mafia and Football, can the two worlds coexist?

two part series, part two is in the making.

i had to use the new gifs im sorry, they’re not mine!

//

“I expected it to be dropped off by noon today, Michael.”

“I-I was five minutes late! There was t-traffic!”

“That’s not my fucking problem. I said noon, I want fucking noon!!”

Your hand slaps across his face, eyes seething with anger. You chuckle darkly, your fist forming tight before you punch his face repeatedly. His face slices open from the ring you were wearing, you hold yourself back from leaving another bruising blow on his mangled face. You put your hand out and a wet towel slips into it which you use to wipe your knuckles off.

Your right-hand man, George checks his pulse, nodding at you.

“He’ll be alright.”

“Of course he will, I didn’t even hit him that hard.”

“What do you want me to do with him?”

“Send him home with another shipment for tomorrow and see if he’s learned his lesson.”

You turn on your heel and throw the towel somewhere. The mansion is big with four wings; the east wing is reserved for activities such as this. You’ve two bodyguards that follow you around everywhere, your head of security insists that you can never be too careful.

“Pat, James, give me a fucking minute to breathe yeah? I think I can handle any moron that tries to jump me in my own house.”

“Yes ma’am,” James says gruffly, walking away with Pat to hang out in the security room.

Stepping into the west atrium, you hear your favorite sound in the world. You hear your girlfriend laughing at something when you also hear the chef telling her one of his serially bad jokes.

“What’s brown and sticky?”

“What?”

“A stick!”

It’s a stupid joke but Ona is too nice not to laugh wholeheartedly at it. You walk in and she hears you, leaving the conversation to jump into your arms. It had been days since she last saw you, you were on a business trip and she had shoots to do after training.

“Hi baby girl,” you say, catching her when she jumps up into your arms.

“Hi…,” she whispers, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, darling. The boys pick you up on time?”

“Sí, they were waiting for me when I walked out and saw your text. I think Martin drove my car here for me too.”

“Good, I told him to. Are you hungry? Gio would be more than happy to whip something up for us. Approved from your diet of course.”

“Mm, I am a little hungry.” You gently put her down, she presses her lips to yours and controls a searing kiss for a while. Your hands find her small waist, pulling her into you before she pulls away.

“Okay, I’m not so hungry anymore.”

It's your turn to laugh, pecking her forehead.

“You’re something baby. Come on, let’s get you fed.”

Ona requests Spanish breakfast for dinner, and Gio goes a little crazy when fulfilling her request. There are plates upon plates of food, the smell making everyone’s stomachs growl with hunger. You sit at the head of the table, Ona deciding to scoot in and settle herself in your lap. Your hand slips around her hips as she leans back into your chest.

“What’s wrong, love?”

“I have a concern, can we talk after dinner?”

She pulls back and looks down at you, eyes looking a little worried. You nod, rubbing the small of her back softly.

“Of course, baby. I’ll get a bottle of champagne chilled, we can relax by the pool and have a little swim, how’s that sound?”

"Suena perfecto, bebé.”

She looked a little more relieved then, she moved to get off your lap and into her usual chair on your right. You grasp her waist a little tighter as she tries to stand, whispering only to her.

“Stay.”

The voice used insinuates obedience, she nods and begins to pile her plate high. She digs in, feeding you off her plate.

“Gio, these tostadas are divine,” you say as Ona feeds you another bite.

“Gracias! My mother would kill me if she knew I was selling her sacred recipes online.”

“Oh, could you slip a Boërl in the chiller Gio? Ona and I want a bottle to have by the pool tonight.”

“Already have, madame, it’ll be ready when you are.”

“Perfect, feed the boys will you? Lord knows they’ll never let a speckle of your cooking go to waste,” you say, pushing your chair back and helping Ona to her feet before standing yourself. You take her hand and walk towards the bedroom, climbing the quartz stairs with a little pep in your step.

The entire dinner consisted of being one, fed by Ona, and two, wracking your brain as to why she wanted to talk to you about something that was concerning her. Was it the club, or did something happen? Was there someone bothering her at the facility, a stalker I needed to get rid of? Did she want to break up with you? You’ve been together for 4 years, maybe she was bored of all the secrecy and the vows of not making your work interfere with her life when you made a mistake when we started dating.

You called her over in the morning a year ago on her day off, forgetting that she was coming soon after. You had a money laundering prick who scammed little old ladies come in and you had to “deal with it,” she walked right into the east wing where a newbie security detail moronically brought her to me.

She stood and watched you break a man's ribs, and jaw, then proceeded to cut a few fingers off to find in a bucket of others to have sewn back on. Only when there was a loud gagging sound and a flash of brown hair did you realize who was watching.

She ran to the closest bathroom and threw up, yelling at you to go away. After coaxing her to open the door, she pushed herself as far as she could away from you; she was scared. You had never let her into this part of your work, scared for this very reason. She had seen a side of you that you kept well hidden, reserved for people who fucked with you. It took her days to even look at me, let alone be in the same room as you. You had made it crystal clear that what you did was not for her to know, but for her to enjoy the wealth that came with it. She had a vague idea, and was warned severely of the consequences, should she be inclined to speak to people who could end it all. But as time went on, you knew she was not one to betray you; she had turned into one of the most loyal people in my world, someone you would gladly lay you life down for.

“I’ve got you a present,” you say, pulling her into our bedroom.

“What is it this time? You spoil me way too much.”

“It’s not another car, I promise. It’s little, fitting for tonight.”

You pull out a brand-new swimsuit, one that leaves anyone who would see her in a minute jealous that she was all yours.

“Oh bebita, it’s gorgeous.”

“Put it on, I’ve been dreaming of you in it since I bought it.”

She hops into the bathroom to change, as you pull on a swimsuit yourself. It’s plain black, and if the night goes to plan, will end up next to a lawn chair in about 30 minutes.

She walks out shyly, hands behind her back, standing in all her muscular glory.

“Fuck, it is so much better than I imagined. C’mere.”

She timidly walks over, wrapping her arms around your neck. She leans in and kisses you, lips soft and tasted like cherry. You kissed back, humming softly into her mouth. She pulled away, hands softly stroking the back of your neck.

“I love you,” she whispers, “and thank you. It’s so pretty.”

“Just like you, my girl.”

She blushes again, grabbing your hand and running down to the pool outside. She lets go of your hand and dives in, coming up and swimming to the edge. She rests her arms on the side, taking the glass of champagne from you with a soft “thank you, amor.”

You sit by the edge, feet dipped into the cold water. Sipping on the expensive alcohol, she suddenly pushes herself out of the pool and sits beside you. Remembering why you were here in the first place, she finishes her glass and you immediately fill it up again. The bubbly wine gives her liquid courage, and she feels brave enough to admit her troubles and not let her brain convince her that she’s overreacting.

“I think someone’s been following me.”

You stop drinking, head slowly turning to look at her.

“What do you mean?”

“There’s been this car I’ve been seeing for weeks. At first, I thought it was just a new staff member or something but I saw it in the parking lot when I was grocery shopping the other night and I thought it was a new fan or something but now I think it’s someone because of you.”

“How long? Do not lie to me.”

“2 months.”

“Fucking hell Ona.”

Your brain immediately goes into protective mode, coming up with all the ways to find the fucker and cut him into a million pieces. You run your hand down your face.

“I want a detailed description for George tomorrow. I’ll increase your security, and put George on your team. You will not go anywhere without him, I will make sure you get to training and whatever on time. I’ll have a word with Jonatan too, see if my men can hang around to protect you and the girls if necessary until I fucking kill the bastard.”

“That’s too much baby,” she begins to negotiate but you stop her, hand raised in front of her face.

“No, not when it comes to you, darling. You only get the best, if the girls get to enjoy that too on my dime, so be it.”

She sets her glass to the side and surges forward, pressing her lips desperately on yours. You kiss back, cupping her face gently. Ona pulls away and grins, before slipping back into the pool. You’re about to jump in when she grabs your hands and pulls you in. You squeal in surprise, coming up with a cheeky grin on your face.

“You’re in big trouble, baby girl.”

“What if I want to be?” Oh, bold Ona. Very bold, my love.

“Then you won’t be opposed to being punished, hm?”

“I didn’t do anything!”

“You pulled me into the water, and you didn’t tell me about your stalker for two months. You’re lucky he didn’t do anything.”

“I’m sorry, I just didn’t want to be wrong.”

“I’m not mad, my love. I’m so proud of you for being brave and coming to me. Let me worry about it now, yeah?”

“Okay.”

You pull her in for a kiss, hands roaming her body. You won’t lie, the swimsuit she had on was a massive turn-on and if we weren’t about to fuck in the pool, you was sure as hell going to devour her before bed.

“You look way too fucking good in that two-piece not to be ravishingly worshipped, my darling.”

She blushes, kissing you hard. Ona pulls your hands around to her ass, which you squeeze hard and draw a deep moan from her. Your hands pull at her cheeks, fingers rubbing gently at her asshole and folds. You maneuver her around to the edge again, picking her up easily to sit. She leans back, as your fingers pull her bottoms to the side and bury your face in her folds. She’s soaking wet, arousal thick and delicious.

She whimpers for you, strong hands tangled in your wet locks. Your tongue darts into her, throwing her legs over your shoulders before pulling her closer to the edge. You're practically holding her hips up, lips suckling at her clit hard. Ona moans loudly, back arching off the ground.

“Please!” she moans, fingers tightening in your hair as her legs squeeze at your head deliciously. You slip two fingers into her, pumping in and out of her slick pussy hard. They press up into her sweet spot, fingertips rubbing circles over it to get her to come faster. She huffed and puffed, face contorting into all kinds of pleasure. She makes eye contact and cries out your name, coming hard and fast. Ona pants, licking her dry lips.

“A la mierda esto, if you don’t fuck me right now, I will die.”

“Picked out a new strap for you to be split open on, mi amor.”

//

“puta madre!”

“Yeah, this one’s pretty fuckin’ big huh?”

“Feels s-so good!”

Your hips pound into Ona, swimsuits abandoned at the foot of the bed. She’s on her front, trying her best to push her ass back on you as you fuck her from behind. She tries to keep up, knees buckling every time the new strap finds a new erogenous spot she never knew she had. It was significantly bigger than she had ever taken, with three prior orgasms and a fingering of a lifetime, she was finally open enough to take the head. Coming once again was the key to taking the whole thing, Ona looked absolutely wrecked when speared on it.

“You’re so fucking hot baby, taking my cock so well princess,” you cooed, hands turning her onto her back as your fingers rubbed her clit that you just spat on. She was sensitive beyond words, her speech slurred, and was barely babbling, hyper-focused on her pending sixth orgasm for the night.

“Are you gonna cum, my sweet?” you whispered into her ear, leaning over her as your hips did not slow down one bit. Hands pressed her legs wide open, harness dragging over her clit with each powerful thrust.

“Yes, yes!” she croaked out, head nodding hard and fast as she cried tears of frustration and sexual arousal.

You spat on her hot clit again, fingers rubbing messily at her folds as you sped up even more. She screamed, orgasm ripping through her hard. She was convulsing and begging for you to not stop, the aftershocks making her beg again, this time for you to stop.

You chuckle and do, pulling out and pulling the harness off. She tucked in your chest immediately, cradled, and kissed softly.

“You took that so well, darling.”

“Can we take a bath together please?”

You pick her up, heading into the huge en suite. She sits pretty on the counter, feet dangling as you start a hot bath. You help her in, climbing in behind her as she settles back against your chest. Her eyes close, pulling your arms around her middle. Your lips press against her shoulders, sucking softly at her skin. She hums, biting her lip gently.

“Can we do one more?” you ask her, grinning against her ear, hand already caressing the inside of her thighs.

“Amor…” she whines, body jolting in surprise when your fingers gently rub at her sore folds.

“Just one more baby girl, then we’ll go to bed.”

Your fingers, long and thick, fill her pussy with unsurprising ease. They drag slow and taut, mulling her pleasure like an aged wine. She whines, legs opening wider in the water as your fingers slip in deeper. She grasps your forearm, grinding carefully into your hand.

“Already so close, mi vida? I can feel you clenching around me hm?”

“You feel just…so full…”

“Come for me baby, you’ve done exceptionally all night, love.”

She comes with a cry of your name, going boneless in your arms. You finger her through the aftershocks, her whines dying in her throat.

All dried and tucked in bed, Ona suddenly presses herself up on top of you. She looks down with fear in her eyes.

“When you find him,” she takes a deep breath, “You’re not going to kill him are you?”

Your hands brush up on her thighs, thumbs softly rubbing her hips.

“It depends on what choice he gives me, darling. What I do with him is none of your concern.” Your tone is final, and she doesn’t argue, instead scooting down and resting her head on your chest.

"Buenas noches, mi amor".

“Good night, my beautiful girl.”

//

“I’ll see you at the game. You won’t be late, right?”

“No, my love. George will take you; I have some business to attend to first. I’ve also spoken to security at the stadium, my men are there as an extra precaution looking for the description you gave us. It’ll be a little stuffy for the girls, I apologize.”

“Can you come and explain the situation to the girls with me?” Ona asks with wide eyes, wrapping her arms around your neck. Your hands hold her hips, gently pulling her into yours.

“Of course, bebita. Anything you want.”

She walks out of the house with three more security guards than she’s used to, shoved into a huge van with tinted windows that she couldn’t even see out of and instructions to not engage with fans for today.

“But, they’re here to see us! I can’t just ignore them!” Ona argues, determined to put her foot down.

“I’m sorry ma’am, we have to be safe,” George informs her, looking back from the front seat.

“No, I will not do it. The fans have nothing to do with it, you don’t get to tell me what to do. I’m calling Y/N,” she says firmly, dialing your number.

“Amor?”

“Missing me so soon, princesa?”

“Why am I not allowed to meet with the fans today?”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t.”

“Can you tell George that please?” 

She hands the phone over, deciphering the conversation you two were having, grinning when she heard she had her way.

He hands her phone back with a slightly annoyed look.

“No one gets a shirt signed until I’ve determined they don’t look funny.”

//

“Chicas! Why the hell are there so many men in suits outside?” Patri yells out as she enters the changing room. Most of the girls nodded and began to talk amongst themselves. Suddenly, the door is opened and you walk in, the door locking behind you.

“Hola girls, hi baby,” you announce, Ona running up to you for a hug and a kiss. You spin her around and put her down before you shrug your coat off.

You greet everyone else with hugs and kisses before Alexia pipes up and enquires about why you’re here.

“Board members don’t usually visit their teams before an easy game,” she questioned, hands on her hips dramatically.

You’ve owned a sizable chunk of Barcelona for years, something your father passed down to you along with his “business” when he died 7 years ago. It was how you met Ona, having been a close friend of Alexia’s when she introduced you two at a Spain international friendly when you had visited to see Alexia play. It was love at first sight, at least for you. No one could ever compare to her.

“Sorry girls, this one’s my doing. We have a situation, I’m handling it. It’ll be this way for a while until it’s resolved.”

“Is this about that guy that’s been hovering around the facility for weeks now?” Caro asks, and the whole team begins to nod.

“Is there something I’m missing here?”

You look at Ona, then at Alexia. Alexia opens her mouth to speak when Ona lifts her hand.

“All of us have been stalked bebé. It’s the same guy,” she says, some of the girls discussing his description, and it was becoming clear that it was the same guy that Ona was talking about.

Your eyes change and you run a hand down your face. Just as you’re about to call George, he does.

“Ma’am, I have the information you asked for.”

“I do too although I have a feeling you’re going to tell me something I already know, you go first.”

The girls listen in, the room is silent except for your voice and George’s muffled one.

“He’s more than just Ona’s stalker, he’s been following all the girls.”

“Well, it looks like we’re both on the same page.”

“How did you know to check?”

“A hunch. You better have more than that for me.”

//

El Clasico goes as smoothly as it could, with Barça getting an easy win over Real. You’re in the stands, phone pressed to your ear. Ona and Aitana walk over to sign autographs and such, you wave and go back to talking to George on the phone. Ona gets close enough to hear you, sighing when you move away and walk into the tunnel without her.

Aitana notices, asking her friend if everything is alright. Ona shrugs, signing another fan t-shirt.

“Something’s wrong, I can feel it.”

//

You’ve made your way into the changing room as the girls slowly filter in. You look at little angry but smile at Ona when she walks in with Aitana.

George continues on the phone.

“He’s got a few favorites. Besides Ona, he’s been frequenting Alexia, Aitana, Lucy, and, this one was a surprise, Ingrid.”

You pull your phone from your ear, looking at the girls whose names were listed.

“Ona, Ingrid, Alexia, Aitana and Lucy. With me.”

Mapi gives Ingrid a look but lets her go, the five girls following you out to an empty physio room. They’re silent, looking at each other with great concern.

You keep talking to George.

“What’s the plan, boss?”

“He isn’t here, is he?”

“No ma’am, we’ve searched every nook and cranny.”

“The house is the safest for them right now.”

“I agree.”

“I’ll call you back in a minute.”

Click.

“Do not panic,” you start, walking into the room towards the girls. “As George said earlier, he’s been stalking everyone. But he’s followed you five more.”

"¡Oh, Dios mío!"

“What the fuck?”

“What does that mean?”

“You four will stay with Ona and me until we find the bastard.”

//

“The maids have your rooms ready. You’ve each got your own, the kitchen is through there, the gym is beside the theater, we’re having dinner by the pool on your left and I wouldn’t go near the east wing if I were you.”

“Sí, gracias,” Alexia says, grabbing her bags and taking the closest room to her. The others follow while Ona sticks around.

“I’m worried for them, bebé.”

“I am too, they’ve just been put into a world that they did not sign up for and it’s all my fault.”

“It comes with the job, amor. These stalkers aren’t something new.”

“I know but, for him to be this close to home makes it a reality I am scared to face.”

She wraps her arms around your neck, caressing the soft hair on your nape. Ona leans in and kisses you chastely, thumbs rubbing your ears softly.

“I know you will do everything possible to keep us safe, bebita. We trust you.”

“Sí, we all do,” Aitana says softly and you both turn to look at her, surprised to see all of them standing there; you hadn’t heard them come in.

“We may not know what you do Y/N, but we know enough that nowhere else is safe but here.”

//

“We’ve got extra guys on the ground, I called in a favor from an old friend of mine and we’ve gotten access to all the camera footage in the stadium that Barcelona has refused to give me. If he’s here, we’ll find him.” You tell the team at training one day, fear of him getting bolder and bolder had spread to the whole team now. Everyone was on edge, scared to go home even; you had arranged for an Airbnb for the rest of the team with the highest security you could buy, even then it didn’t feel like it would be safe till the asshole was found.

A couple of weeks had gone by and every time we got close to catching him, he managed to slip away. It was getting increasingly frustrating, the girls were getting more and more anxious about him potentially getting away with it.

There was a cryptic note on our car last week after training, with pictures of Ona and Ingrid at the park with Zeus, my dog. The letter inside said, “I know your every move before you make it, give up your search and give her to me and maybe I’ll leave the rest alone.”

The picture showed Ona circled in red. There were also five bullets in the envelope; five bullets that belonged to your gun. You knew it did because a. they were a specific size handmade for you and b. your initials were stamped on each case, hidden within the shell upon further inspection.

“George, what the fuck, are you out of your mind?! We’re not using my girlfriend as bait!” You yell, slamming your hand into the table. George sighs, shaking his head.

“Boss, please-”

“We are NOT using her as bait, George!”

“Who?”

Both your heads whip towards the sound of the voice; Ona stands in the door frame of your office in the east wing. She’s not supposed to be here.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” George starts but you raise and hand and point at the door then at him.

“Out,” you tell him before looking at Ona, “Hello, love.”

She sighs and steps aside for George to leave; he closes the door behind him.

“George is right, you’re not supposed to be here.”

“I wanted to see you,” she reached out for your hand but she looked a little hesitant, “ever since you’ve been looking for this guy, you’ve been obsessed and so stressed. It’s wearing you out, bebita.”

“I have to find him, Ona. I have to protect you, protect the girls.”

“But you’ve been neglecting me.”

Her tone was sad and dejected, one that pained you to your core. You had been ignoring her, ignoring her needs. She was here and yet you were always in your office or out somewhere working. This guy had taken over your life for a while and you didn’t see the damage he was doing within.

[haechvn]

Sit Down Please (Headcanon) (18+ NSFW)

Pairing: Shuri x F!Reader

Warning: Nasty whoreish good for nothing filth..

Summary/Request: Am I the only one that thinks Shuri would love when reader sits on her face 👀🥵

Word Count: 0.7k+

Author’s Note: Just read you whores. Thank you Anon! <3

Taglist :  @melodykisses, @blackhottie25, @tonakings, @coalmistyy, @szalipcombo, @prettyluhlaiiii, @yelenabelovasgf, @callmeoncette, @clqrosmgc, @beautybyfire, @homelessmicechild, @shurisbitch

Translations: Sthandwa = My love

The S in Shuri also stands for seat in case you didn’t know

Her facial structure is so pristine and clean cut. Why you may ask? IT’S BC THAT’S WHERE YOUR COOCHIE IS DESIGNED TO BE

Wants to eat you out in her lab, the throne room (ON THE THRONEEEE), on a ship. Literally everywhere

Don’t think about how Shuri practically begs you every morning to eat you as a part of her breakfast

“Sthandwa, as Princess of Wakanda, I decree that you must place yourself on my face in order for me to truly be able to guide my country in the best way possible. I cannot go without it. ”

Just the thought of her tongue circling your clit gives her more strength than the heart-shaped herb

She loves when you choke her with your pussy, constantly moaning into your pussy and rubbing both of her hands over your ass

Breathing isn’t that important anyways

You could see your juice fall down on the sides of her face and make her jaw glitter omg

She would ask you to wipe it off with your fingers and stick them in your mouth I—

Tugging you further and further into her mouth as if she is treasure hunting up your insides

Shuri would force you to always keep your eyes on her

But other times, she would shut her eyes so tight and just focus on how soft and luscious you feel in her mouth and she wouldn’t be able to stop moaning i promise

Being the kinky fuck she is, she may or may not put a finger up your a—

She wouldn’t let you go until you’ve cum at least twice and she would want you to watch her gulp your cum down her throat OMG AH

Constantly shaking her head north south east and west, wanting to catch every part of you in her mouth

SPITS ON YOUR CLIT EVERY TEN SECONDS BC THE S IN SHURI STANDS FOR WHAT??

I think she would also have a thing for biting your clit

Like when you feel like you are going to explode and want to run away, she would teasingly bite you and pull you down even closer or wrap your legs around her head even tighter bc she could care less if she died between your thighs or not

I feel like when she goes down on you, she’s more of a munch vs a fingering kinda gal buttt

Every time she fingers you, it's always three fingers bc she needs you to feel her in all her glory

She likes doing the infamous ‘come here’ motion but at any extremely slow place so you would feel her fingers on your g spot for AT LEAST five seconds at a time

DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG FIVE SECONDS IS???

while doing that, Shuri would move her whole head in circles going in one direction (#zarry) and have her tongue moving in the opposite direction!!!!

SHURI IS A DIRTY GIRL LIKE YALL

Would force you to sit on her during zoom calls and phone conversations

WOULD PURPOSELY SPEAK XHOSA INTO YOUR PUSSY WHEN YOU ARE ABOUT TO CUM BC IF THAT DOESN’T THROW YOU OVER THE EDGE I DON’T KNOW WHAT WILL

“You better bounce this pussy on my face Princess before I punish you for not being slutty enough for me” !!!!!!

Loves when you grab her hair and force her head up and just GRIND THE FUCK OUT OF THAT STUNNING FACE

WANTS YOU TO BE AGRESSIVE WITH HER SO SHE FEELS SLUTTED OUTTTTT

You would always be seeing her eyes roll to the back of her head and fuck does she look amazing

Would completely blow down to you when you reach back and start stroking her pussy bc your Queen needs attention too &lt;3

Rubbing on her clit or fingering her would literally bring growls out of Shuri likee

She would deliver the hardest and loudest slaps to your ass, and groan like the little bitch she is bc truth be told, SHE LIKE BEING HANDLED LIKE A WHORE

She would grind her hips up to meet your fingers and just whore herself out

“Fuck baby right there ughh” BUT YOU WOULDN’T EVEN KNOW WHAT SHE’S SAYING SINCE HER MOUTH IS VERY MUCH FULL

I can see her wanting to eat you out for an entire hour but “baby you have an entire country to rule”

“yea and somehow this pussy is still more important” 

I rest my case

[moosesarecute]

You’re bleeding

15 years old

You had been out flying, feeling the air in your hair. It was finally nice weather in Windhaven and you didn’t waste one second. You woke up, ate breakfast with your family, hurried to do your lessons and then immediately went flying.

You took your usual route. Above the trees, towards north, then towards west, before you went south-east and towards your home. You had been flying for an hour, but you were still quite far away from home, when you suddenly felt intense pain in your lower stomach.

You became dizzy and lost control. You hadn’t even realized you were falling before you hit the top of the highest tree.

You fell in between all the branches, but luckily managed to take some control back before you hit the ground. That was before you felt another pain in your stomach and you fell the last meters to the ground.

It took some time for you to get back on your feet. You had small cuts on your arm and face, but luckily your wings seemed unharmed. Most of all you felt embarrassed.

You knew that if some of the Illyrian boys saw you lose control in such a manner, they would never let you forget it. You already had a hard time making friends in Windhaven, you didn’t want to make it worse for yourself.

You curled together on the ground as another cramp spread through your body. Within seconds you also started to smell the blood.

You had started your first cycle. And you were alone, in the middle of the illyrian woods.

You realized to had to hurry home so that no one would find and hurt you.

With one foot in front of the other you started to walk home. You had to stop every other minute when the pain became too unbearable, but you tried your best to move as swiftly as possible.

You felt like you had walked forever. Your back was killing you, your legs hurt and your stomach felt like it was going to fall apart.

But none of that mattered, because you were home.

With three slow steps you walked up the stairs to your home. You carefully opened the door and walked in.

All you needed now was a bath and your mother’s comforting embrace. Then all would be better. At least that’s what you told yourself.

However as you walked into the living room, you were not met by your mother, but rather your brother’s best friend. Unfortunately for you, it was not the friend you looked upon as another brother, of course not, that would have been too big of a favor from the cauldron. It was of course the friend you had a massive crush on, Azriel.

“This can’t be happening,” you muttered to yourself and made your way towards the stairs.

“What do you mean?” Azriel asked you and you felt your face turn red.

“Nothing,” you answered quickly and tried to get up the stairs.

Note the word “tried”.

You took two steps and a new cramp, worse than any of the previous ones, spread from your stomach to your back and legs, making you fall down the stairs.

“Shit,” you heard Azriel say and you soon felt his arms helping you stand. “Are you okay? What’s going on?”

You looked into his worried eyes and deep down you knew that he only wanted to help you, but you felt more embarrassed than you ever had before.

In only one day you had managed to crash into a tree and fall down the stairs. Everyone must think you’re a fool.

“Are you in there?” Azriel carefully waved a hand in front of your face.

“I’m fine,” you answered with an awkward laugh. “You clumsy me.” You did a hand movement to emphasize your clumsiness. “This moment is going to hunt me for the rest of my life.” you thought.

The way Azriel was looking at you made you understand that he didn’t believe you at all.

That’s when you started to realize how awful you surely looked. You looked down on your arms and some of the deepest cuts were still healing. And even though you felt like you were drenched in blood, you wore dark pants, so you couldn’t see the blood. However that didn’t mean you couldn’t smell it.

“You’re bleeding,” Azriel stated.

You’re sure your cheeks were as red as the blood between your legs when you turned around, out of Azriel’s helping arms, and carefully made your way into the bathroom.

You had just laid down into bed after a long and warm bath when you heard a knock on your door.

Knowing that it was Azriel, since you hadn’t heard anyone else come home, you chose to not answer.

“Rhys is on his way home. He tried to contact your mother, but she is in an important meeting in Velaris with your father. It will be a few hours before she comes home.” He took a break. “I’m leaving some stuff here if you need anything. Or you can just ask if you want something else.”

You heard him set something down and then he walked back down the stairs.

It took you over a minute to even get out of bed. You felt dizzier and more exhausted than earlier and the pain was now constant.

Carefully, you opened the door. You didn’t want him to know home helpless you were and you thought that if he didn’t hear you, he would never know.

What you saw almost made you cry.

On a big plate you had two different types of chocolate, a pain tonic, your current book, a bowl of your mother’s soup and a cup of your favorite tea. In the middle of the plate was a note where it stood in beautiful handwriting “you need to eat something before you can take the pain tonic, if you want it of course”.

Beside the plate stood a few different period products.

You took everything into your room and suddenly the pain felt more bearable.

You woke up to the sound of your bedroom door closing. You had eaten the soup and taken the tonic and not even minutes after the tonic started to work, you had fallen asleep.

“Mind if I join you?” Your brother asked you.

You only nodded.

Your brother laid down beside you and held his arms around you in a careful embrace.

“How are you feeling?”

“Everything hurts,” you said with a whimper. “And I’m so cold.”

He tightened his embrace a little, but lifted one of his hands and held it to your forehead.

“Seems like you’re running a little hot as well.”

“I feel awful,” was all you managed to respond.

“I know, little one, I know.”

Your brother kept you company and soon both of you had fallen asleep.

Hours later, your mother came home.

“Where’s Rhysand and Y/N?” She asked Cassian and Azriel who currently were the only two in the living room.

“Up in her room I think,” Cassian said.

Your mother walked up the stairs and slowly opened the door to your bedroom.

She had to hold back tears as she saw her son and daughter sleeping, knowing that they would always take care of each other, even if she wasn’t there.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

430 years old

“What’s going on with y/n?” Azriel asked as soon as Rhys answered his mental calls.

He was out on a small mission and his mate had silenced the bond. You didn’t even answer when he tugged.

“She didn’t show up to our meeting,” Rhys said. “I haven’t been able to go check on her yet.”

“I’m coming home,” Azriel told his brother and put up his mental shields.

When you didn’t open the door when he knocked, Rhys became even more worried.

He slowly opened the door to your cottage and walked in. Everything seemed to be in order, so he calmed down a little.

“Y/N? Are you here?”

You didn’t answer.

Rhys made his way up the stairs and found the door to you and Azriel’s bedroom. He knocked on the door.

“Come in,” you answered.

When he heard the tone of your voice, Rhys immediately knew something was wrong.

He opened the door and immediately smelled the smell of blood.

“I’m sorry I missed the meeting, Rhysie. I didn’t realize I fell asleep again,” you explained to your brother.

“Can I get you anything?” Rhys asked with a worried look.

“I’m fine, I just need some more sleep.”

“Okay…but call for me if you need anything. Or want anything. I’ll get it for you.”

Rhys left the room and immediately reached out to your mate.

“She started her cycle,” he said. “I asked her if she needed anything, but she said no. What can I get her?”

Azriel cursed to himself. His mate’s cycles were never regular. This one came only 5 months after the last one. He hated that he wasn’t there for her.

Azriel told Rhys what he usually does when you are on your cycle.

“I’m on it,” Rhys answered and began looking around.

You woke to your bedroom door closing once more. Slowly, you sat up and saw your brother standing with a tray of two types of chocolate, a pain tonic, a new book, some soup and a cup of tea.

“You have to eat before you can take the tonic,” your brother said. “It should give some pain relief and lower your fever, according to Madja.”

He sat the tray down on your lap and you immediately started to eat the soup. You needed the pain tonic as fast as possible.

“Thanks, Rhysie,” you said in between spoonfuls.

Your brother stayed as long as he could, before he had to go back to being High Lord.

Azriel entered your bedroom and sat down on your bed. He had flown the fasted he could to get home to you.

He started to move some of your hair away from your face as a way to carefully wake you up.

“Hi,” he said as soon you opened your eyes. “Mind if I join you?”

You nodded and he soon laid down next to you. You moved closer to him and he embraced you with both his arms and wings.

“You took the tonic?” He asked and you again only nodded as an answer. “Not feeling any better I guess?”

“Everything hurts,” you told him and you felt his embrace tightened a little. His hand moved to your lower stomach and the other one started to brush through your hair.

Your mate’s small actions made you feel a little better and sleep found you easier than before.

You found comfort in knowing that you always had someone to take care of you.

[netflix]

Spotlight: Adam Stockhausen

Production Designer, The Wonderful Story Henry Sugar

Oscar winning production designer Adam Stockhausen (not pictured above, that’s Benedict Cumberbatch), whose work you may know from Wes Anderson films like The Grand Budapest Hotel, Asteroid City, The French Dispatch, Isle of Dogs, and Moonrise Kingdom, as well as titles like Bridge of Spies, and West Side Story (2021), took the time to answer some questions.

Which details from or aspects of The Wonderful Story Henry Sugar did you focus the most on while adapting it to the screen? How did you meld Roald Dahl and Wes’s worlds?

The details on this one started with Dahl’s writing hut! We matched the details pretty carefully and exactly. As soon as we step outside of the hut though we start to move through the world of the story and the world of the stage at the same time. Wes had the idea of how he wanted to do this from the very beginning. My main challenge was trying to figure out how to pull it off—making the parts move and getting each to have the right detail.

What’s a small change you made on a project that ended up having an unexpectedly significant impact? 

Lots of times this happens—where what seems like a small thing at the time becomes a very significant turning point. I’m in Berlin now writing this and remembering being here scouting for East Berlin for Bridge of Spies. We were struggling to find a section of town that still felt old enough to show the early 60s, and decided to take a chance on a quick search in Poland. That quick search changed the whole production plan and ultimately gave us the look of our East Berlin.

How has technology changed the way you approach your work? 

Technology has definitely changed the way we plan the work. We used to model everything in cardboard or sometimes just plan in two dimensions with pencil and paper. We can now plan in 3-dimensional space using modeling programs and see what real lenses will do.  This allows for more accurate planning and makes scenery moves like the casino set in Henry Sugar possible.

Do you have any signature easter eggs you like to leave? Any small details that you are particularly fond of? 

I wouldn’t say there are easter eggs in this one. But there are loads of special details! I think my favorite might be the levitation boxes where we painted a perspective view of the background onto a prop box. The actor sitting on the box appears to be floating in a very special and theatrical way.

Did you talk about reflecting the iconic Quentin Blake illustrations in production design? How would you go about doing that? 

Not really. They are such incredible drawings and I’d say they’ve been inspiring me since I saw them as a child! But for this the starting point was really the machine Wes devised to move us through the story—and pairing that to specific references scene by scene.

There is such an intentionality to the aesthetics of a Wes world. Is there a set or frame that took you a long time to get perfectly right? 

All of them! It’s a very labor-intensive process getting these frames right. Occasionally one will click right away, but usually it’s a process of refining and refining. The jungle for instance went from sketches to models to samples and back again several times before the final look settled.

If you had to present one frame that showcases the best of your work, what would it be? 

Oh my. Maybe the jungle? I really enjoyed making the jungle!

With all the moving sets in the trailer for The Wonderful Story Henry Sugar, it feels reminiscent of a theatre production. Are there distinct differences in approach between film and theatre and how much do you blur the lines between them in your work? 

I think the lines are blurred completely! Or maybe they aren’t even there. I love that Henry Sugar is so incredibly theatrical in its storytelling.  It allows us to show the artifice of the sets all the time which somehow makes them even more satisfying when they finally do line up and create a complete picture. I think the casino set is a perfect example—the pauses where it all lines up for a second are even more enjoyable because we get to see it broken apart and sliding away.

Thanks, Adam!

[yourstrulybluelover]

Title: Heat

Pairings: Na’vi Reader (23) x Lo’ak (20)

Warnings: MDNI

Contains: fingerings, oral, p in v, rough sex, forced, dom Loak, sub reader

Word Count: 2460

The hunting party decided to split up in an effort to catch the next meal. Meat has been scarce lately due to the Strumbeest retreating further into the hinterlands. This only made your jobs more challenging as the hunting party would now have to spend more days away from home to provide food for the clan. It's been a day already and 3 miles from home. You would have packed some belongings to camp out, the team expected to spend at least three days to get enough meat for the clan. You sighed in desperation, beads of sweat dripping down your neck and back, the weather has not been kind either. This dry season was one of the hottest the clan had ever encountered. Strangely enough, everyone was not as bothered by it today as you were.

“Y/n, how you doing over there?” Jake called out to you as you propped yourself up by the tree.

“I’m fine sir.” You breathed out rapidly as you stiffened up trying to regain your stance. You did not want to appear weak, it was rare for women to be a part of the hunting party but not impossible, three other women were already part of the team, and two decided to stay back to assist the clan with fishing.

“I told you we don’t need to bring women with us they just slow us down.” Your ears perked at the sudden comment, and your face grew hotter from the share gall of that comment you opened your mouth to turn to the younger Navi man but your were abruptly interrupted.

“HEY! We don’t make those comments here! Keep that narrow-minded thinking in your hut! Y/n has more endurance and more kills than you, so watch it!” Neteyam hissed as he flashed his fangs.

You shot him a thankful glance, to which he nodded in acknowledgement before returning to his father, Jake. You smiled as you observed Akwey shoot glares at both you and the Sullys. Neteyam has always backed you up no matter what, part of it was due to the fact that he was your hunting instructor at the get go. Insulting you was like insulting him and his teachings.

“Don’t worry about them y/n, you felt a familiar smack on your shoulder, they’re just jealous you’re one of dad’s favourites.” Lo’ak said smirking at you as he handed his canister offering you some water to combat the heat.

“Second to Neteyam, of course.” You said sheepishly.

“Alright guys we’ll split up.” Jake said beckoning the team to come forward. We know that the main river is here, he explained therefore if we split up we can reach them on either side, ambushing them.”

You nodded in acknowledgement before grabbing your bow and hunting knife. “Neteyam, you take your team and your brother and you head down east, we’ll go west.” Before leaving you see Jake whisper into Neteyam’s ear while looking in your direction.

“Alright guys we’ll split up, ensure your comms are working,” Neteyam said. “Lo’ak keep an eye on y/n, she doesn’t look so good, and we both know how stubborn she is.’’

“All right bro,

You rolled your eyes in annoyance. Usually you would have found some witty comeback, and purposely out run them to show them who was truly weak. However, the heat had you dazed, you were suddenly feeling weak when midway through the journey you stopped.

“Shit.” You watched as Neteyam led the team, beckoning some to take to the canopy of the trees. You felt a familiar wave overcome you as you began to sweat profusely. Your skin suddenly felt feverishly hot when the throbbing sensation began to grow in your lower stomach.

“Y/n?” Lo’ak stopped and turned to you, brows furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

“I-I uh, shit, I uh I need to leave.” You stammered, face flushed from both embarrassment and agony.

“What? Y/n why are being so weir-” Lo’ak walkes swiftly towards you grabbing you by your arm when your pheromones punch him right in the nose. He loosens his grip and reaches to cover his nose. He stops to watch you, your body now soaked in sweat, your clothing and hair clinging to your skin, your top now clutching at every crevice of your mounds. Your eyes suddenly darken and pupils dilate as whimper escapes your lips.

Lo’ak turns away sharply. Walking away from you to meet with the team way ahead. You began to back away to continue to distance yourself from the party, avoiding the direction of the wind. One whiff of your pheromones and you’d have the team prying at you. You see in the distance Lo’ak and Neteyam mumble, before Neteyam sends the troops further up, with his second in command.

Lo’ak comes running towards you where you’re now propped up against the tree, in significant pain.

“Y/n, we’ll notify Dad so we can get him to send a Banshee to fly you back home. The comms are down so Neteyam is gonna go look for him. I’ll escort you back to base before the others pick up on your scent.”Lo’ak said hurriedly as he tied a torn garment around his nose and mouth in effort to prevent the infiltration of your intoxicating scent which has evidently gotten stronger.

“I don’t think I can make it back Lo.” You mumbled bent over in pain clutching to the tree.

“Y/n come on you’re stronger than this.” You hear Neteyam coach you, his hands are covering his nose as he struggles to maintain the distance between you two.

“So much for a woman being a part of the hunting party huh” you laughed as you lifted yourself up from the hunched over position.

You hear the brothers hiss at your bad joke in efforts of comforting you.

“Look after her brother.” Before you can thank Neteyam, he springs to his feet climbing to the canopy of the trees as he leaps from branch to branch.

Lo’ak leans to your side propping you on his shoulder as he guides you back to camp, unaware that his touch intensified your heat. Twenty minutes into the walk you began to feel your legs weaken. Not here. You thought to yourself. You pause, moving off from Lo’ak as he looks at you intensely.

“Break?”

“Something like that Lo” you mumbled breathlessly.

“I’ve never seen you like this y/n” he said huskily, his voice low, his face hardened.

“I had no intentions of anyone seeing me like this Lo, this one, this cycle is way off it’s normal course.” You admitted, slightly embarrassed that the Sullys are going to see you experience the onset of your heat.

You propped yourself onto a boulder, asking for water. He reaches out to hand you the canister, the garment over his nose seems to be useless as your pheromones permeate the forest air. You sip on the water in efforts to conserve, but the drops do nothing to tame the heat. You desperately splash the contents of the canister onto your face and chest.

“Don’t worry about it, I have another” Lo’ak says he back now facing you.

Your whimpers soon grow louder as you take advantage of the little privacy Lo’ak gives you. The heat growing between your legs intensifies with evey breath. In desperation to make it stop you quickly reach to touch yourself, but instead of easing the pain, it makes it worse. Your finger pressing slightly on your clothed clit does nothing but make it worse, you decide to push through. Rising to your feet only to collapse once more onto the boulder.

Lo’ak turns to face you, almost entranced by your weakened state, he takes a second to take it in, before reaching down to help you back up onto your feet. You both continue your walk back in silence minus your whimpers and breathless pants. Lo’ak’s grip is stronger and based on his contorted expression one can easily tell that his is fighting the pheromone scent. A sudden snap and within seconds you lose balance, clinging to the younger navi for support only to cause him to crash down with you.

You both groan in pain, looking up there is Lo’ak a tangled and heavy mess on top of you, your legs are sprawled, with his hips snuggly between them. The sudden pressure between your legs caused you to redden, as you began to feel the wetness pool. Lo’ak looks up to meet your eyes feeling the dampness, his eyes widen and the mess before him.

“Sorry y/n” he says huskily, quite aware of the moisture seeping from your loincloth.

You stutter in embarrassment.

“It’s okay y/n,sshh. I can make you feel better.” His eyes are no longer soft but narrowed, and lust-filled as he is now fully enthralled in your scent.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, to try and get up, but Lo’ak wouldn’t move. You contemplate for a minute as your eyes roam the younger Sully’s body tracing his chiseled shoulders down to his toned chest and lower to his abuse to see the vine dip, your core only getting hotter by the second.

“Just say it and I’ll make you feel better.”

You whimper at the sound of those words as you feel your conscience leaving you before leaning forward to press your lips into his. Within that second, all self-control gives way, you both are hungrily devouring each other rustling through the grass as you both undo your coverings His hands rough and hard, manhandle you as he strips you of your top to only grab the soft tender mounds and massage them roughly, biting and sucking at your neck simultaneously as you struggle to undo his loincloth. His focus now leaves your breast to your loincloth. In one swift movement, you’re naked before him as his fingers make their way to your folds. Expertly rubbing and massaging your clit before prying at your already wet entrance. His hands stop moving as he locks eyes with yours before plunging his fingers into yours. You arch your back a bit dumbfounded that the younger Sully was doing everything right. You reach down to grab his member, pumping him as he fingers you and soon your hand is covered with precum. He growls at the sensation and soon you find yourself begging him to fuck you senseless.

He flips you over on your tummy, lifting your hips slightly as he reaches down to now taste you. You gasp from emabrassment, but your heat makes you forget it in an instant. Your push yourself forcefully into his mouth while his tongure ciricles your throbbing bud. Your maons grow louder as you try to turn slight to catch a glimpse of Lo’ak. He smirks, stopping his assault before grabbing your hands, pinning them behind your back. He leans over, towering you, to kiss your check, dragging his fangs down your neck. You hissed at the sudden touch before feeling his mushroom tip push on your entrance. A sudden pressure is felt, as he pushes past, stretching your walls. You scream in both pain and pleasure, before the air is knocked out of you. A sudden thrust causes you to gasp, another hits your walls mercesillessy, another angled thrust finds your g-spot and now you’re spewing his name, begging him to make you cum as you push back onto his cock. Lo’ak lets go of your hands and now graps onto your fleshy waist, digging his nails into your skin as he rams himself into you forcefully. Your moans continue to grow louder as you feel your walls tighten with the familiar build in your lower stomach growing.

“Fuck y/n you’re so tight!” Lo’ak growls.

Within seconds you’re spewing your juices onto him as he throws his head back trying to hold his back. You scream his name as you grind yourself onto him to milk every bit of your cum from him when he suddenly spills into you. A wave of relief washes over you before you come to terms with what just happened.

You’re naked slumped on the forest floor and just had the sense fucked out of you by the younger Sully. You turn around to see Lo’ak recollecting himself with a smirk on his face.

“Didn’t think you were a screamer y/n”

Before you can answer you hear a familiar voice, stern and disappointed.

“Lo’ak what were you thinking!” Neteyam bellows, anger evident on his face. “You know better than to take advantage of someone in their heat, especially y/n.”

“Bro, I swear it wasn’t like that, her scent was so strong-”

“Shut the fuck up and get dressed! Your comms were on during the whole thing, I heard you!”

“Wha-, bro come on what are you talking ab-”

“You said just say it and I’ll make you feel better !” Neteyam yelled angrily.

Oh my god. You instantly went pale. “Did everyone hear?” You got up and asked flabbergasted while trying to tie your loincloth back on.

Neyetem doesn’t look at you, still angrily staring at his little brother. “No everyone ditched their comms as there was a signal problem due to the altitude, I kept mine on in case I contacted Dad on the way back.

You sighed in relief but couldn’t help but notice the bulge evident in Neteyam’s loincloth as he stared angrily at his brother. The familiar wave of your heat consuming you again.

P.S I hope you all liked this. I know I have some others to finish off lmao but this one just happened and I'm also not sure if I'll make a part 2 but it has been awhile since I posted. Thanks for the love thus far 💗❤️

Also the comms part was totally inspired by @puddleswimmingnerd-blog has amazing work particularly "Throat Comm Sex"🔥🔥🔥

[hamsterclaw]

Fugitive

You're kidnapped by a desperate man and you can't see a way that this is going to end well, for either of you.

Pairing: Yoongi x f! reader

Word count: 10k

Genre: Escaped criminal, convict Yoongi

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Sex, swearing, mentions of a gun, threat of gun violence

Author note: This story is based on the romance novel Perfect by Judith McNaught. I've taken a few liberties with the plot and characters.

The coffee at this mountainside diner is good, warming your belly as you frown at the snow outside. 

All the weather reports say there’s a storm coming from the east, but it doesn’t take a trooper to know that. 

Even a city girl like you can see how the sky’s darkening, how the wind’s relentless, how the temperature is rapidly dropping.

You’ve got snow tires on, four wheel drive, emergency supplies in your trunk, but you think you won’t need them, you’re heading west and you’ve made good time on your way to visit your sister and her newborn.

Like your dad used to say, your family’s full of grit. 

You swallow your smile when you see the man standing just outside the diner looking straight at you.

Did he think you were smiling at him?

You look down hastily.

The waitress comes round with the check you signalled for, you put money on the little acrylic tray and get ready to go.

By the time you step outside, the wind’s picked up even more, snow swirling, making your eyes want to screw shut under your beanie.

You don’t hear him until he’s almost on top of you.

He’s not a lot taller than you, and he’s not particularly dressed for the weather, in denim on denim, a parka. No hat or gloves.

His hair is dark, as are his eyes, and his skin is pale, like he doesn’t get a lot of sun.

He looks vaguely familiar but you can’t really place him.

‘You have a flat,’ he says, pointing to one of your front tyres.

You look down in dismay only to see that he’s right.

Shit!

‘I can help you change it, if you’ve got a spare,’ he offers.

‘Would you?’ you ask, grateful.

‘Yeah, not a problem.’

You show him where the spare and tools are, and as he crouches by the tyre, you’re very aware of how, unlike you, he doesn’t have gloves on. 

You feel a surge of guilt.

‘Hey,’ you offer, ‘whilst you’re doing that, can I get you a hot drink or something?’

He looks up at you, hands braced on the flat.

‘I wouldn’t mind a coffee, if it’s not too much trouble.’

‘Of course,’ you say, relieved that he’s not too polite to take you up on your offer. ‘I’ll be right back.’

You hurry back into the diner to get him a coffee. As you wait you wonder if he might want a sandwich too, and impulsively, you order him a hot sandwich.

He can always say no if he doesn’t want it, you reason.

By the time you come out, he’s putting the flat in your trunk, tidying up the tools he used.

‘Thank you,’ you tell him, passing him the drink.

‘No problem,’ he says.

A little awkwardly, you hold out the wrapped sandwich. ‘I got you a sandwich too, if you want it. It’s turkey.’

He accepts with another murmured ‘thank you.’

You’re wondering if you should offer him money for his kindness when he says, hesitant, ‘I could use a lift, if you’re heading west. I’ve got a job interview I’m hoping to make it to.’

Now you’re the hesitant one. He’s shown you nothing but kindness, but he is still a total stranger.

He waits without looking at you, sipping his coffee, keeping his distance.

You think about his lack of warm clothes, and as you’re looking at him, you notice the crispness of the creases in his clothing, remnants of how they must have been folded when he bought them.

You think about his calloused palms and how he accepted the sandwich without hesitation.

‘Hey, it’s ok,’ he starts to say, and it’s that, more than anything else, that spurs you on to reply.

‘It’s fine,’ you say. ‘I’ll take you as far as I’m heading.’

***

He gets into the passenger seat, and from the sigh that passes his lips you realise that he really was as cold as you thought he might be.

You start the engine, and warm air starts to blow through your A/C vents.

You check that the GPS is still set and glance over at him. 

‘You ready?’

You’re a mile or so out of the diner, listening to the radio, when it occurs to you to ask him his name.

‘I’m Y/N,’ you say. 

‘Yoongi,’ comes the reply.

In here, away from the whistling wind, you can hear the gravel in his voice.

‘What job are you going for?’ you ask.

‘Just some construction job my friend’s lined up for me near Maisan,’ Yoongi says.

He glances in the rearview mirror. 

‘I hope you get it,’ you tell him. ‘Do you live around there?’

He seems to hesitate.

‘I don’t mean to pry,’ you say, quickly. 

To bridge the sudden silence, you say, ‘I’m going to see my sister and her new baby. She chose a good time to have him, right before a storm.’

You notice movement up ahead, a police roadblock.

Beside you, your new acquaintance sits up. 

‘Nice and easy,’ he says, and you look at him, confused, until you notice that he has a gun in his hand.

Pointed right at you.

You straighten up so quickly your neck cracks.

‘What —-‘

‘Nice and easy,’ Yoongi says again, a hardness to his voice you haven’t heard up until now. 

‘There are six shots in this gun, but I’ll only need one to hurt you,’ he continues.

Your hands tighten on the wheel, and your lips clamp together, trying to stifle the squeak of terror that threatens to slip out.

‘I just want you to know that I will hurt you if you try anything,’ Yoongi says. There’s a seriousness in his voice that makes your blood chill. ‘So nice and easy, get us past this roadblock.’

You’ve slowed automatically as you approach the uniformed policemen, your years of driving making your body do the expected things despite the way your head is reeling.

Yoongi has a gun, and he seems perfectly capable of using it on you.

The fear crystallises into a single sob before your throat closes completely. Your breathing quickens but you know you’ll need to look normal, unsuspicious, to get you and Yoongi past the police.

‘Are they looking for you?’ you ask. Your voice is shuddery, you’re trembling so hard.

In response, Yoongi jams the barrel of the gun against you, high up, against your ribs, so hard it’s like he’s impaled you.

‘Shut up and get us through this,’ he snarls.

Your lips snap together again, and you make a conscious effort to pull yourself together.

Just before you stop, Yoongi says, ‘If you try anything, I won’t just be trying to hurt you. I’ll kill you.’

His tone is low, and another shiver runs through you.

You roll down the window.

The police trooper leans in. ‘Where are you headed?’

‘We’re going to see my sister in Maisan,’ you say, grateful at least, that your voice is steady.

Beside you, Yoongi’s sitting perfectly still.

‘You’ve not picked a good time to go,’ says the trooper.

This time, it’s Yoongi who answers. ‘I did say we should wait, but my girlfriend’s been looking forward to seeing her new nephew.’

He shrugs, a picture of indulgent exasperation.

The trooper laughs along with Yoongi even as you try to make desperate eye contact with him.

‘Better carry on then, hopefully you’ll make it before the storm hits.’

Then he’s waving you off, and you have a split second of panic, a moment where you consider screaming, before Yoongi’s gun jabs into your ribs again.

Again, your body responds before you do, driving you away from your last chance to seek help.

***

Twenty miles out from the diner, Yoongi tosses your phone out of the window.

Forty miles out, he programs a different address into your GPS.

It’s another ten miles before you find your voice again.

‘You can take the car, you know, and leave me here. I can’t call anyone.’

Yoongi almost looks like he’s considering it. 

‘I can’t leave you here out in the mountains in the middle of nowhere,’ he tells you. ‘You’ll die of exposure, especially if you can’t call for help.’

‘Also,’ he adds, almost as if it’s an afterthought, ‘you know the address of where we’re going.’

‘I didn’t see it,’ you say, too quickly.

Yoongi’s silent.

Finally, he says, ‘Just keep driving.’

‘Please,’ you plead. ‘Just let me go. I won’t tell the police where you’re heading.’

Yoongi’s grasp on the gun, still in his lap, tightens.

‘You’re a fucking idiot. Why the hell would you give a ride to a strange man you’ve just met?’

You don’t have a good answer to that.

‘You changed my tyre,’ you say. ‘I thought —‘

‘I slashed your tyre,’ he says, low, cold. ‘I was hanging around outside the diner, I saw you pull up, saw you were alone.’

His admission chills you.

Tears start to spill down your cheeks when you realise what a fool you were to trust him.

‘I just wanted to help you out,’ you tell him. ‘You seemed hungry and down on your luck, and you didn’t even have any warm c-c-clothes!’

You swipe at your cheeks furiously.

‘Didn’t have any warm clothes,’ Yoongi repeats, incredulous, scornful. ‘You’re some fucking good Samaritan.’

You’re crying quietly now, despairing over your naivety.

Yoongi doesn’t say anything for a good long while, and neither do you.

***

By the time you reach your destination, it’s snowing so hard you can barely see six feet in front of your car. 

Snowy walls close in either side of you, buffeting you from the wind but heightening your sense of claustrophobia. 

The clearing’s upon you before you quite realise it, and you end up stopping in front of a huge structure in the woods. 

It’s more than a cabin, it looks like a proper house, from what you can make out, with a shed and a carport. 

Yoongi reaches out and takes your car keys. 

‘Wait until I come round to your side.’ 

He doesn’t point the gun at you, but you don’t need reminding. 

He gets out, walks around to your side, pulls open the door, pushes you in front of him.

You try to take note of your surroundings, landmarks, but all you can see is snow.

Your boots clomp on the concrete as you approach the front door.

Behind you, you can hear Yoongi rustling, glancing at his phone before he punches numbers into the keypad discreetly placed by the door. 

He cups a hand over the keypad, you don’t see a thing.

He pulls you in as he enters, and you’re initially just grateful to be out of the snow. 

Yoongi says, ‘Take your coat off.’ 

He makes a move as if to do it for you when you don’t react quickly enough, and you snap into action, pulling the snaps apart, unzipping hastily. 

He takes your coat, tosses it carelessly to one side, grasps your wrist, tight. 

You flinch as he tightens a cable tie around your wrist and attaches you to the steel flap of a radiator by the entrance hall of the house. 

‘I can’t trust you not to try to run,’ he tells you. ‘I won’t hurt you, but I can’t afford for you to interfere with my plans, not now.’ 

You’re barely listening at this point. 

The terror of the last few hours has drained most of your energy. 

Yoongi stands over you for a few moments, as if to make sure you aren’t going to bolt, and then he heads further into the house. 

***

Time passes, you’re disorientated by the darkness brought on by the storm outside and your own sense of disjointedness. 

It doesn’t seem like that long ago since you loaded your things into your trunk and set off from home, and yet, it seems like forever. 

Gradually, you become aware of the hardwood floor under your salopes. The entry hall you’re being held captive in gives you the impression that this is a nice house. 

Whoever had this built has money. 

The ceilings are high, the wood panelling rich and beautifully rendered.

The radiator beside you has started heating up, the steel flaps burning you whenever you let your hand move too close. 

Your snow boots have made puddles on the hardwood. 

Where the hell are you? Who owns this place? Why did Yoongi have the code for the door? 

If he has friends this rich willing to let him use their house why the hell did he need you to drive him? 

Your mind swirling with thoughts you can’t reconcile, you pull your knees into your chest and tuck your chin in, wrapping your arms around yourself. 

You fall into an exhausted, dreamless sleep. 

***

You wake to complete darkness and a searing pain in your hand where you’ve let it fall against the radiator. 

It all comes back to you in a flash. 

The diner. The state trooper. The house. Yoongi. 

Your hand hurts, badly, but it’s too dark to see. 

As you straighten your legs, your foot hits something that falls with a soft thud, then rolls. 

A water bottle. 

You’re suddenly aware of how dry your throat is. 

You reach for the bottle, but maddeningly, it rolls out of your reach. 

There are tears on your face but you’re not crying, not really. 

Maybe you are. 

***

When you next wake, the cold thin grey light filtering in through the windows tells you it’s morning, or early. 

You look up to see your captor standing over you. 

You look at each other wordlessly. 

Yoongi crouches next to you. 

‘Do you need the bathroom?’ he asks. 

You nod. 

He reaches down to detach you from the radiator. 

Your hand. 

You can see it clearly now, the blistered, reddened side of your palm, the thin line of blood where the cable tie’s cut into your wrist. 

You say nothing. You don’t know if you can form any words. 

You get up carefully, follow Yoongi down the hall to a small bathroom. 

‘I’ll give you five minutes,’ Yoongi says. 

You take care of business, trying not to sob at the pain in your burnt hand and wrist. 

The window to the bathroom doesn’t open, and there’s nothing that you can use to break it. 

There’s a knock at the door, you feel a surge of hysterical laughter threatening to come out. 

He’s kidnapped you, locked you to a radiator, and he’s knocking because he cares about your privacy? 

The door opens, and Yoongi comes in. 

You stare at the scissors in his hand. 

‘Your wrist,’ he says. 

You watch, detached, as he cuts the cable tie. It falls to the floor, and you instinctively raise your hand to your chest to rub at your wrist. 

Yoongi says. ‘I have food for you.’ 

He takes you down another hallway, to a huge kitchen full of windows. The early morning sun filters in, bright and blinding, adding more of a sense of unreality to the situation you now find yourself in. 

Yoongi gestures to a seat at the kitchen island, sets a plate in front of you, like he’s made you breakfast. 

You stare in disbelief at the food. 

‘The car’s coming for me in two days, I’ll let you go then,’ Yoongi tells you, like you’re making plans together. 

Like you’re just two people who know each other, discussing plans over breakfast, instead of captor and captive. 

Now you’re staring at him. 

‘You’ll let me go?’ you ask. Your voice comes out in a rasp, you have a vague recollection of trying to drink water but being unable to reach. 

Yoongi winces a little, pours out a glass of water that you gulp down. 

‘You should have told me you wanted water,’ he says. 

‘You took my phone so I couldn’t text you,’ you say, the snark coming out of your mouth surprising you. 

His brow lifts. ‘You don’t have my number anyway.’ 

‘Don’t need it,’ you snap, gulping down your refill. ‘We’re not going on a second date.’ 

Now it’s his turn to stare at you. 

‘You’re not my type anyway,’ he snaps back. ‘Eat your food.’ 

For a moment you contemplate going on a hunger strike but you suspect he wouldn’t give a shit anyway so you examine your plate. 

You fork up some eggs and chew cautiously. 

They’re good. Better than you expected. Your stomach growls as you eat. 

The food’s doing wonders for your energy levels. 

‘Why are you running from the police?’ you ask. ‘What did you do?’ 

‘I was convicted of murder,’ he tells you, cold. 

‘Did you do it?’ you ask, unimpressed. 

‘I didn’t, as a matter of fact,’ he replies, flat. 

‘Wait. Were you in prison?’ 

‘I escaped,’ he tells you. ‘With a little help from my friends.’ 

You mull this over as you finish the last of your eggs. 

‘You have friends?’ 

Yoongi gives you a look that makes your chest tighten a little. 

‘Hard to believe, isn’t it?’ he agrees. 

He takes your plate, gathers up your cutlery, turns his back to put them in the sink. 

‘Don’t even think about throwing your glass at me,’ he says, back still to you. 

Your hand stills on the counter. 

You change the subject. 

‘This is a nice house. Do your friends know they’re harbouring a fugitive from the law?’ 

‘My friends have nothing to do with anything,’ Yoongi tells you, giving you a hard look. 

He sets out a bandage and some ointment on the kitchen island in front of you. 

‘Your hand,’ he prompts impatiently, when you don’t make a move to take them. 

You’re about to reach for them when he sighs, unscrews the top of the tube, drops a dollop on your burnt palm. 

You stifle a hiss of pain as he rubs the ointment in. 

‘I’m sorry,’ Yoongi says quietly. 

He’s close to you now, so close you catch a whiff of the freshness of his shampoo. 

‘You should be sorry,’ you say. ‘I thought you were just some guy who was down on his luck who needed a break, and next thing you’re waving a gun in my face and threatening to kill me.’ 

You can feel the tears threatening to rise again, but you blink them back. 

Yoongi’s touch is gentle on your sore hand. 

‘I am sorry. Believe me, if there were any other way I would have taken it. I promise, I’ll let you go. I have no intention of hurting you.’ 

He says the words with conviction but you know you can’t believe anything he says. 

Trusting him is what got you into this in the first place. 

You let him bandage your hand. 

‘Which radiator next?’ you ask, resigned. 

‘I won’t tie you up again, but I’ll have to keep an eye on you,’ Yoongi says, surprising you. ‘There’s a den we can sit in, if you want.’ 

You don’t see that you have any better options. 

***

You start off in the furthest corner of the den from him, back to the wall, wary. 

Yoongi ignores you completely as he turns on the TV, scrolls to the news.

You glance over the books on the bookshelf along one wall, but the TV catches your attention.

‘The search continues for Min Yoongi, the disgraced former rapper who was convicted of the murder of Han Jisung three years ago.’

Your gaze snaps to Yoongi, but he’s not looking at you, attention fully on the screen as an old media clip of him rapping plays.

‘The federal police are looking into several leads, and members of the public can contact the number onscreen if they have any information as to his whereabouts.’

The next story flashes up, and Yoongi sits back. You can see the tension leaving his body.

He catches the way you’re still gaping at him.

You blink, clear your throat. 

‘So, you used to rap?’

Yoongi’s expression morphs into one of incredulity. ‘That’s your take-home from all that?’ 

You try again. ‘Too bad I don’t have my phone to call the number. Do you think there’s a reward?’

Yoongi stares at you.

‘I didn’t kill Han Jisung,’ he says. 

He refuses to be drawn into any further discussion about it, and finally, you give up and pick up one of the books from the shelf.

***

Lunch is a sombre affair, sandwiches that you eat mechanically while looking at the grey outside.

The storm’s upon you, you doubt your snow tires would be up to the challenge even if you could get your car keys off Yoongi.

There’s no visibility at all, and if the wall of ice that’s forming around the glass of the floor to ceiling windows of the house wasn’t enough to deter you, the fact that you have no idea where your parka is certainly helps put you off.

You grew up in a mountainous area like this, and you’ve got a healthy respect for the weather conditions when it's like this.

You wonder how your sister’s doing, and your new nephew, if they’ve noticed you’re missing yet.

Maybe they think you’ve stopped to seek shelter and are waiting for the storm to pass before you continue on your journey.

You wonder if they’ve put your lack of communication down to a signal failure.

You wonder if anyone will notice you’re missing.

Your thoughts drift to Seokjin, the man you’ve recently had a few dates with. 

He’s a good looking guy, outmatching you in looks if you’re being honest about what you think, but he seems to like the way you look, and to enjoy spending time with you.

You realise that Yoongi’s talking to you.

‘Are you all right?’ he asks, nodding to your half eaten sandwich.

‘I’m fine,’ you answer. You pull a face. ‘Well apart from being held captive against my will.’

Yoongi looks like he’s resisting the urge to roll his eyes. 

‘Were you really going to see your sister?’ he asks. ‘Will she notice you’re missing?’

You eye him narrowly. ‘I don’t think anyone’s sending out a search party for me just yet, if that’s what you’re asking.’

Yoongi says, unexpectedly, ‘Why not? You’re pretty, you’d catch attention on the front page of the newspapers.’

You say, incredulously, ‘I bet dozens of women go missing every single day.’

‘They probably do,’ Yoongi agrees. 

‘How did you get put in prison if you didn’t kill that guy?’ you ask, changing the subject. ‘I’m sure you could afford a good legal team.’

Yoongi takes a while to answer. 

‘I was fucking Han Jisung’s fiancee.’

You raise a sceptical brow at him. ‘And?’

‘I think his half-brother set me up.’

You mull this over.

‘So what’s the plan? You escape from prison and leave the country?’

Yoongi shrugs, but his gaze is hard. 

‘I stay on the run until I get enough evidence for a re-trial. Prove my innocence.’

‘Seems a long shot,’ you say, but you have no desire to piss him off, at least not while he’s got a gun in his possession.

‘I have influential friends who are willing to help,’ Yoongi says, simply.

You say nothing.

‘Do you know what it’s like to be put away for life for something you didn’t do?’ Yoongi asks, suddenly. ‘I’ve lost three years of my life to this, there’s no chance of parole for another 7 years.’

His voice rings with anger and frustration.

‘I’m sorry,’ you say. 

You have no idea if he’s telling you the truth, but you’re convinced of one thing. He believes it. 

If he’s telling the truth, you can’t think of anything more awful.

‘Some say I brought this on myself,’ Yoongi says. 

He shakes his head. ‘I don’t blame them. I was an asshole and a womaniser.’

‘That doesn’t surprise me,’ you retort.

Yoongi looks at you, momentarily speechless with surprise.

Then he laughs. 

‘Has no one ever taught you not to make fun of a man with a gun?’

You look at him seriously. ‘You promised you’d let me go in two days. Was that a lie?’

‘No,’ he answers. His eyes meet yours, gaze steady and unwavering. ‘I’ll keep my word.’

With him looking at you like this, you almost believe him.

***

Night’s falling, or so you think, it’s been dark all day but you get the sense that daylight’s fading fast.

Yoongi gets up, says, ‘Come on, I’m going to bed.’

‘You want a bedtime story?’ you ask, tetchy.

He just waits patiently by the entrance of the den for you to join him.

‘Any chance I could take a shower?’ you ask.

You’ve been in the same clothes for a day and a half, and you feel pretty grimy.

‘Sure,’ Yoongi says, surprising you. ‘Need clothes?’

Yoongi takes you to what looks like a pretty impressive master bedroom, with an equally luxurious looking bathroom.

He rummages in a drawer, hands you a set of grey sweats.

He says, the faintest note of embarrassment in his voice, ‘There’s no women’s clothes here.’

You accept the clothes with a murmured ‘thanks.’

Yoongi says, ‘the door doesn’t lock, but I won’t walk in on you. The window’s too high to jump from.’

You eye him.

‘I have no interest in walking through this snowstorm without a coat.’ 

You raise an eyebrow. ‘Unless you want to give me the car keys?’

Yoongi chooses not to answer, steps back so you can close the bathroom door.

You get undressed quickly, step under a shower of water so hot it feels like heaven after you’ve been cold most of the day.

There’s toiletries that you avail yourself of, and by the time you get redressed, you feel practically human again, burnt hand and sore wrist notwithstanding.

You wrap a towel around your hair, step out to see Yoongi sitting on an armchair by the bed.

His gaze flicks over you once, his expression unreadable.

‘I don’t want to tie you to another radiator,’ he says.

You wait to hear where he’s going with this.

‘I’m going to lock the bedroom door. You can share the bed with me, or there’s that couch.’

‘I’ll take the couch,’ you say. 

You get onto the couch, pull a blanket over your head, and you must be more tired that you thought, because you’re thinking of everything Yoongi’s told you, and then you’re not thinking of anything at all.

***

You wake in complete darkness, quiet save for your own breathing.

As your eyes adjust, you realise that the lump near the window is Yoongi. 

He’s looking out, facing away from you.

‘What time is it?’ you ask.

Yoongi inhales, keeps looking out.

‘Sometime after midnight,’ he says. ‘Does it matter?’

You sit up, curl your legs under you.

His profile is strangely lovely, the slope of his brow, the high bridge of his nose, his jaw.

‘What are you going to do if you manage to prove your innocence?’ you ask.

It’s a clumsy question, but Yoongi doesn’t seem to mind.

‘I’d like to live near a beach,’ he says. ‘Make music. Be away from people for a bit.’

You guess there’s not a whole lot of privacy in prison.

‘I have a beach hut,’ you say. ‘We used to spend summers at the seaside. When my parents died, my sister and I inherited it.’

‘Yeah?’ Yoongi asks, turning towards you.

‘Yeah. We swam a lot. Explored caves. Did some rockpooling.’

‘Sounds fun,’ Yoongi says. ‘When I was a kid I spent summers trying to earn money.’

‘Yeah?’

‘I did a lot of gigs, trying to get exposure. I had my own crew though.’ He sounds wistful. ‘We busted our asses.’

He laughs. ‘When I signed my first record deal I got a house so my crew would always have a roof over their heads.’

‘No diamond encrusted chains?’ you tease.

‘Baby, that was after I got my first platinum record,’ he shoots back.

You laugh, and after a moment, he does too.

‘You got a job?’ 

You look up at the ceiling.

‘I teach,’ you tell him. ‘Grade school. I’ve got a class of seven year olds.’

‘You do have that whole teacher vibe,’ Yoongi remarks.

You’re amused.

‘What whole teacher vibe?’

‘You know. Responsible, prepared for everything. I mean, I saw the supplies in your trunk.’

You can’t argue.

‘You’re too soft,’ Yoongi continues. He’s still turned towards you. ‘You shouldn’t have offered me a ride.’

‘Like I said,’ you reply. ‘You looked like you needed help.’

He scoffs. ‘If I were your man I’d teach you to make any man regret even thinking about messing with you.’

‘I don’t need a man to teach me that,’ you say. 

Yoongi shrugs, a rustle of his sweatshirt. 

‘All I’m saying is you should work on looking less sweet and harmless.’

You toss a couch cushion in his direction.

‘I’ll show you how to crush a trachea tomorrow if you want,’ Yoongi volunteers.

‘Can I practise on you?’ you mutter, disgruntled. 

Yoongi just laughs. 

He turns back to the window. 

It’s too dark to tell if the snow’s still falling but it doesn’t make a difference to you, because soon enough, you’re asleep again.

***

Yoongi’s quiet today, prepping breakfast with a distracted concentration that makes you wonder what’s on his mind. 

You’re fixing coffee, looking for filters. 

You pull open a drawer and freeze. 

Out of the corner of your eye you can see the way Yoongi’s back stiffens. 

There’s a revolver in the drawer. The same gun Yoongi used on you that first day. 

Yoongi turns around slowly, and your eyes lock. 

He’s too far away to have any chance of getting to it before you. 

Yoongi tilts his head. 

‘It’s fully loaded,’ he says. ‘You cock the trigger to arm it. Point and shoot. It’s reliable. It doesn’t jam.’ 

You blink at him. 

‘The car keys are in my pocket. The snow’s still a little crazy but if you wait a few hours it might settle. It’s safer to go tomorrow.’ 

Thoughts swirl in your head, too much for you to process. 

Finally, you reach out, and close the drawer wordlessly. 

‘You’ll let me go tomorrow?’ you ask, wondering if you’ve just made the most stupid decision of your life. 

‘I’ll let you go tomorrow, I promise you. Even if my friend doesn’t come through.’ 

You can’t look at him. 

You can hear him approaching, but instead of heading for the drawer, he heads for you. 

‘Thank you,’ he says. 

You look over. 

His eyes are serious. ‘It’s been a while since anyone who didn’t know me before trusted me.’ 

‘Like you said, I’m dumb and soft,’ you reply. There’s a wobble in your voice that belies the snarky tone you were going for. 

His hand lands on your shoulder. It’s gentle. 

‘You’d be eaten alive where I come from,’ he agrees, when you look his way again. ‘But that’s never going to happen, if I have anything to do with it.’ 

He squeezes your shoulder, reassuring. ‘Forget the coffee. I’ll make it. Go and eat.’ 

***

The unfamiliar sound from overhead is making the wineglasses rattle. 

You glance at Yoongi. 

He’s quicker than you, mouth set in a straight line, heading for the window in the lounge. 

‘What is it?’ you ask, but a moment later, you know. 

It’s a chopper, flying directly overhead. 

Yoongi turns to you. 

‘If that’s the police, stay inside, hands up, away from the windows whilst I turn myself in.’ 

You’re staring at him, again feeling like you’re three steps behind. 

‘It’s the way that it’s safest for you,’ he says, patient. ‘They’ll want you to come in for questioning once they take me in. Just tell the truth, don’t try to hide anything.’ 

Your throat feels like it’s filled with cotton, your heart’s pounding in your ears. 

‘They won’t hurt you, will they?’ 

‘There are other ways to hurt a man than shooting him on sight,’ Yoongi replies. The bitterness is back in his voice again. 

There’s a truth to his words you can’t deny. 

Overhead, the noise intensifies, until finally, it starts fading away. 

You don’t know if it’s just wishful thinking at first, but eventually it becomes clear that the chopper’s becoming more distant. 

Yoongi hasn’t moved from his spot by the window. 

‘They’re not here for you,’ you say, unnecessary, but the silence is so loaded you have to fill it with something, anything. 

‘Not this time,’ Yoongi agrees. 

***

Around mid-day, Yoongi switches on the news in the den. 

You don’t have to wait long for an update. 

‘The search for convicted murderer Min Yoongi intensifies. CCTV footage from a mountainside diner near east of Maisan suggests that he was aided in his journey by an unidentified female driving a 2004 Grand Cherokee Jeep.’ 

You watch, your heart in your stomach as grainy footage of Yoongi getting into your car is played. 

The clip is less than 10 seconds, and your face is barely visible, but it’s definitely you. 

The same information about how to get in touch with the police flashes up, but you’re beyond listening. 

You get up shakily, rush to the bathroom, and throw up the partially digested remains of your breakfast. 

By the time you emerge from the bathroom, Yoongi’s waiting outside. 

‘Are you ok?’ he asks. He’s holding out a glass of water that you accept automatically. 

‘Yeah,’ you say. You take a big gulp, swipe at your face. ‘Am I in trouble, Yoongi?’ 

‘You’ll have to make a statement when you get to your sister’s,’ Yoongi tells you. ‘Tell them I forced you at gunpoint.’ 

You think of the gun you had the opportunity to take this morning. 

‘I offered you a ride voluntarily,’ you say. 

‘I don’t give a fuck,’ Yoongi says, harshly. He steps forward. ‘And they won’t give a fuck, either. This won’t affect me, I’m already a convicted murderer. But it’ll affect you if they think you helped me.’ 

He slams his open hand against the wall next to him, startling you. 

‘You need to wise up. I don’t care if you throw me under the bus, and it won’t make a difference to the charges against me. But this could affect your future, so you need to do whatever it takes to make sure you come away clean from this.’ 

What he’s saying makes sense, but he doesn’t know you. 

‘I promised them,’ you burst out. 

Yoongi stops dead. ‘What?’ 

‘I was adopted, when I was eight,’ you say. The words are coming out in a rush now, garbled, and you’re not sure if you can make him understand but you need to say it all. 

‘I promised my adoptive parents I’d never lie again. I was some dumb kid when they adopted me, I’d been in and out of foster homes. I’d developed a thing for taking things I wanted.’ 

Stealing, your inner voice says, accurately. 

‘And when my parents adopted me, I promised them I’d never lie again.’ 

Yoongi’s staring at you now, incredulous. 

‘I’ll tell the police the truth,’ you tell him. ‘But I’m not going to ‘throw you under the bus’.’ 

Yoongi lets out a long breath. ‘Fucking hell.’ 

He shakes his head. ‘I wish I’d never got in your car.’ 

You kind of wish the same thing. 

***

Yoongi’s cracked open a couple of beers with your dinner. 

‘Be careful when you’re crossing the stream tomorrow – the bridge is hard to see at the best of times, and I don’t think the snow’s made it any easier.’ 

‘Yes, dad,’ you say, rolling your eyes. 

You’d listened the first time he said it, but he’s repeated himself a few times now. 

He’s acting like he’s more worried about you getting to your sister safely than himself evading the entire manhunt that’s looking for him. 

‘I did survive an entire adulthood without you, you know,’ you say, teasing. 

He ignores you. 

‘There’s an SOS box two miles west when you get to the main road —’ 

‘Yes, I know how that works,’ you say, cutting him off. 

‘And if any man sends you dick pics you should block him right off the bat,’ Yoongi finishes. 

You stop, processing his words, then realise he’s joking. 

Your laughter makes the frown line between his brows disappear. 

‘And you don’t owe any man anything even if he makes you come,’ Yoongi continues. 

You raise an eyebrow at him. ‘Should I be writing this wisdom down?’ 

Yoongi frowns. ‘I just don’t want anyone to take advantage of you.’ 

‘Show me how to crush a trachea,’ you suggest. 

Yoongi swigs his beer. 

‘Yeah, good idea.’ 

He gets up, pushes his sleeves back. 

You catch a glimpse of a tattoo on his upper arm. 

‘If any asshole tries anything with you, you should go for all his weak spots.’ 

He points to his own neck, the hollow between his collarbones. ‘Jab them right here, elbow up into his nose, knee into his balls. Then, fucking run.’ 

He holds out his hands. ‘Come on, try me.’ 

You look at him uncertainly. ‘You want me to hit you?’ 

Yoongi says, patient, ‘Hit me now so when you hit the next asshole you’ll know how to do it right.’ 

‘Who are all these assholes that I’m meeting?’ you ask, but you comply anyway. 

Yoongi rolls his eyes as you jab your fingers into his neck. 

‘Harder,’ he says, grabbing your hand. 

‘I don’t want to hurt you —’ 

‘Hit me as hard as I shoved that gun into your ribs,’ Yoongi says. 

The memory makes you wince, and you redouble your efforts with the next jab. 

When he coughs and splutters, you jerk your elbow up, straight into his nose. 

He’s doubled over now, but there’s one last move he’s asked you to do. 

You knee him in the balls, and he grabs your thigh at the last second so hold off the blow. 

You wrench his hand off and take two steps back. 

‘Fuck,’ Yoongi swears. 

He folds over onto the kitchen floor, still coughing, eyes watering. 

‘You’re supposed to run now,’ he wheezes out. 

‘Do you — do you want some water or something?’ you offer. 

He shakes his head. ‘I think you’re good. You’re pretty damn quick.’ 

‘Sorr—’ 

Yoongi fixes you with a glare. ‘Don’t even think about apologising,’ he scolds. ‘You fuck the asshole up, and then you run. You did it perfectly.’ 

‘Can I practice it again?’ you ask, sweetly. 

Yoongi says, ‘Yeah —’ 

It takes him a moment to realise you’re joking. 

***

Yoongi steps out of the shower, fully dressed, his hair still wet, making little trails of wet course down the neck of his sweatshirt. 

You’re already on the couch, covered in a fluffy duvet. 

‘You can take the bed if you want,’ he offers. ‘I’ll take the couch.’ 

‘I’m fine,’ you tell him. 

He sits on the edge of the bed, towel drying his hair. 

You don’t realise you’re staring at him until he asks, voice dry, ‘Something on my face?’ 

‘Nothing,’ you answer, startled. ‘You look good clean.’ 

His laughter is deep, gravelly. ‘I’d have taken a shower earlier if I’d known you preferred me clean.’ 

‘You should get clean for yourself,’ you answer, primly, but your lips are curving in a smile anyway. 

‘Your hair looks pretty like this,’ he says. 

You tug at a lock of hair, self-conscious. 

‘I’m surprised you’re not better at handling compliments,’ Yoongi continues. He’s looking at you now, teasing in his voice. ‘Given how pretty you are.’ 

You bury your face in your duvet. 

‘Stop teasing me,’ you say, muffled. 

He seems to hear you just fine. 

‘I’m not teasing,’ he says. ‘I’m just telling you what I think.’ 

‘Just turn the lights off,’ you grumble. 

Yoongi laughs again. ‘You’re not the first woman to tell me to shut up, to be fair.’ 

He gets up, turns the lights out. 

***

You wake in the middle of the night to Yoongi groaning, tossing and turning in bed. 

‘Yoongi?’ you call, sitting up to look at him. 

He doesn’t answer, but his groaning intensifies. 

You get up and pad across the room to him. 

He’s drenched in sweat, thrashing in the sheets, holding out his hands. 

He’s having a nightmare. 

‘Hey,’ you say, grasping his hand. 

He sits up abruptly, looking around in the dark, bewildered, disoriented. 

You don’t have to think about it. 

You pull him in a hug, wrapping your arms tight around him. ‘You’re fine. It was a nightmare.’ 

You don’t think he’s really listening, but he holds you back. 

His heart’s thumping so hard you can feel it under your arm. 

‘You’re fine,’ you tell him again. 

Eventually his grip loosens, and he pulls back a little. 

‘That was some bad dream,’ you say, breathless from how tightly he’s been holding you. 

He doesn’t answer, and you realise he’s staring at your lips. 

His kiss takes you by surprise, but you don’t pull away. 

His lips are soft and warm. When he licks into your mouth you can’t help the whine that falls from your lips. 

Your hand fists in the material of his sweatshirt as he kisses you again and again, pulling you into a haze of pleasure so deep it takes you a moment to realise he’s stopped, his hand on your side, on your bare skin, under your top. 

He says your name. 

‘Do you want this?’ he asks. ‘We don’t have to do this if it’s not what you want.’ 

‘This?’ you ask. ‘You mean us kissing like this?’ 

You run your hand along his chest, stopping when you get to the waistband of his sweats. 

‘You mean touching each other like this?’ 

Your hand delves lower, and he lets out a low groan as you wrap your fingers around his hardness. 

‘Like this?’ 

‘I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do,’ Yoongi says, his hand closing over yours. 

‘I want to do this with you,’ you tell him. 

He groans again, pulls you fully onto the bed, helps you tug your sweatshirt over your head. 

His warm hands slide up from your waist, making slow passes over your sides, and by the time he cups your breasts, your nipples are fully hard. 

‘Don’t tease, Yoongi,’ you say, trying not to moan as he rolls a nipple under his thumb. 

‘Not teasing,’ he says, voice low, thick. ‘I just — fuck, you’re so pretty–’ 

He dips his head, and at the first flick of his tongue against the tip of your breast, you moan. 

‘Yoongi,’ you plead. 

‘I’ve got it,’ he tells you, lifting off your breast. ‘I’ve got you.’ 

Yoongi mouths at your breasts until your hips are writhing under him. 

‘Please, please,’ you plead. 

He tugs at your sweatpants, and when you raise your hips to help him get them off, he leans down and presses a warm kiss to the bare skin over your hipbone. 

‘Wanna taste you,’ he tells you. 

He pushes your thighs apart, stops with his face over your core for a split second, breathing you in. 

Then he kisses you, open-mouthed, tongue delving into your cunt like he’s starving for you. 

Your moan changes into a cry of pleasure as he licks at you, nose nudging your clit. 

You reach out for something to grab, fisting the sheets, and Yoongi’s hand grips the flesh of your thigh, firm. 

‘Shit,’ he says, ‘ you’re so wet you’re gonna make me come.’ 

The idea of him coming before he gets inside you could make you cry. 

‘Get inside, Yoongi,’ you moan. 

‘Not gonna last, not with you like this,’ Yoongi tells you. He strokes between your legs, presses his thumb in firm strokes over your clit, licks into your cunt again, and you cry his name as you come. 

‘Fuck, that’s my good girl,’ Yoongi grunts. ‘Can you take me now?’ 

He slides his cock into you, hard, thick, whilst you’re still pulsing from your orgasm, and you keen with the pleasure of it. 

He’s breathless, head thrown back, eyes shut as he moves, fucking you deep. 

You kiss along his bared throat, and he swears. ‘Fuck, baby, stop – I can’t —’ 

He pulls out suddenly, and a moment later you feel the warmth of his cum spurting on your belly. 

‘C’mere,’ he says, pulling you close, kissing you deep. ‘Stay.’ 

***

You wait on the porch whilst Yoongi drives your car out of the carport. He pulls up in front of the porch, gets out. 

‘Remember what you have to do?’ Yoongi asks. 

‘Yeah,’ you say. 

You’ve talked about it so much you don’t think you can bear to go over it again. 

‘Drive safe, ok?’ Yoongi says. He’s looking at you, intently. ‘And thank you, for everything.’ 

‘Good luck with being exonerated,’ you say. 

It sounds stupid, you sound stupid, but you don’t know what else to say. 

Yoongi walks you over to your car, waits until your seatbelt’s buckled. 

‘I’ll see you, Yoongi,’ you say. 

‘Take this,’ he says. 

You look at the phone number he’s got scribbled down on a scrap of paper. 

‘It’s a burner phone. I can’t check it all the time but do you think you could —’ 

He breaks off mid-sentence, then pushes on. ‘Do you think you could text me when you get to your sister’s? I just want to know you’re safe.’ 

‘Sure,’ you say. You slide the scrap of paper into the pocket of your salopes, zip it up. 

‘Good,’ Yoongi says. 

You reach out, tug the collar of his parka. 

His kiss is as good a way to say goodbye as any, you think. 

Yoongi closes the door, waits on the porch as you drive away. 

He gets smaller and smaller in the distance, and eventually, you can’t see him at all. 

***

It’s been nearly a month since you left Yoongi at the house. 

You’d pulled up at your sister’s house to find out she’d just filed a missing persons report on you. 

You’d had an emotional reunion with your sister, an equally emotional introduction to your new baby nephew, and one meal and one hot shower later, you’d found yourself at the police station, being questioned by a couple of detectives who’d regarded you with suspicion so strong it was a short step from open accusation. 

You’d been questioned for hours but had eventually been allowed home. You’d been truthful, as you’d told Yoongi you would be, apart from one thing. 

It was only later, when you were on your bed in your sister’s spare room, that you’d picked up your phone and scrolled to the name you’d saved Yoongi’s number under. 

You’d typed out a text, two words, unincriminating, you’d thought. 

I’m safe. 

The next morning, there was a text back, similar to yours in brevity.

I’m glad. 

You’d refrained from texting again, or calling, not wishing to put Yoongi at risk in case anyone looked into your phone records. 

You’d been called in again for questioning on two separate occasions after the initial interview, once by people who’d introduced themselves as federal agents. 

You’d thought that was the end of it until the media got hold of your identity. 

There was a week or so of reporters stopping you outside your house, waiting for you in the school car park, until eventually something more newsworthy came along. 

You’d been photographed more times in that week than you’d even been in your life. 

You’ve taken to watching the evening news every night, but as time stretches on and Min Yoongi hasn’t been found, he’s been dropping down the list of top stories, barely scraping a mention. 

You’re glad. 

You hope he’s closer to getting what he wished for. 

***

‘Y/N,’ says Bora, your head of department. ‘Mr Lee wants to see you.’ 

You look up from your grading, a little surprised. ‘Did he say what it was about?’ 

‘Nope, just that he’s free now.’ 

You pocket your phone, straighten your ID badge and get up. 

Mr Lee is the school principal, and you’d organised a meeting with him when the media frenzy over your involvement with Min Yoongi was at its peak, but you’ve not seen him since. 

Mrs Choi, his PA, waves you in. 

‘Mr Lee,’ you say in greeting. ‘Did you want to see me?’ 

‘Yes, please come in and have a seat,’ Mr Lee says. 

He’s a serious man in his mid forties, and as far as principals go, you know he’s got a good reputation. 

‘There’s been a complaint put in about you,’ Mr Lee says, sparing you any preamble. 

Your stomach drops. 

‘What about?’ you ask. 

‘I know the media furore has died off over Min Yoongi, but the PTA has fielded a number of concerns raised by worried parents over your involvement in the case.’ 

You’re taken aback. ‘A number of concerns? It’s not just one —’

‘I’m sorry,’ says Mr Lee, and to his credit, he does seem genuinely upset. ‘I’m going to have to ask if you can take a few weeks off.’ 

‘Off?’ you ask, worried. 

‘It’s not a suspension,’ Mr Lee says, somehow giving the impression that a suspension is exactly what it is. ‘You’ll be paid, and at the end of four weeks we’ll meet again to discuss what your future is at this school.’ 

You’re trying to make sense of this. ‘My future at this school?’ 

Mr Lee gets up, moves to take the seat next to you. ‘I’m hoping that having you off teaching for a month will give enough time for these parents to realise that you’re not a bad influence on their kids.’ 

‘And if they don’t?’ you ask. 

‘I’m hoping they will.’ 

You swallow, and to your horror, tears prick the back of your eyelids. 

You blink them back. 

‘Should I look for another job, Mr Lee?’ 

‘It doesn’t hurt to keep your options open,’ Mr Lee says gently. 

You suppose that’s that. 

***

You wake to a dozen missed calls and texts from your sister. 

You blink blearily at your phone and swipe to answer. 

‘Yeah?’ you grunt. ‘Is everything ok?’ 

‘It’s Min Yoongi,’ your sister says. ‘He’s all over the news.’ 

You sit up abruptly. ‘Is he ok?’ 

Your sister, who’s heard all about your time with Yoongi, barring the details of your one-night stand, laughs. 

‘He’s more than ok. Get online, sis. There’s a press statement you might want to watch.’ 

You’re still a little drowsy, but by the time you’ve got your laptop open and made yourself coffee, you’re wide awake. 

Your phone rings again whilst you’re reading about how new evidence and a new witness was brought forward, resulting in a swift retrial. 

Distractedly, you swipe to answer. 

His voice makes you stop in your tracks. 

It’s gravelly, low, with the distinct mix of sardonic and soft that brings you back to the house in the woods, over a month ago now. 

‘Hey,’ he says. ‘How’re you keeping?’ 

You close your eyes, suck in a breath. 

‘Jeez, you telemarketers are getting a little personal, aren’t you?’ you ask. 

His laughter makes you feel warm inside. 

‘I just wondered if you wanted to go get dinner with me sometime.’ 

‘Depends,’ you answer. ‘Are we going to have to avoid the police?’ 

‘Always,’ he says, making you smile. ‘But I’m a free man now, I guess you haven’t heard.’ 

‘Your friends came through, huh?’ 

‘All of them,’ he says, the warmth in his voice palpable even through the line. ‘Including you.’ 

***

You’re a little nervous as you wait for Yoongi at the restaurant he picked. It’s a little out of the way for you, but at least it’s not snowing. 

He’s dressed in black, a cashmere sweater that sets off the glow in his skin, his hair styled back. 

The rings in his fingers, the earrings in his ears gleam in the golden light. 

He’s so beautiful you can’t quite believe he’s real.

Yet it’s him who stops in front of you, gaze flickering over you with a flattering intensity. 

‘How can you be even prettier than I remember?’ he asks, tilting his head. 

‘Guess you have a bad memory,’ you say. You’re smiling so hard your cheeks are hurting, but Yoongi doesn’t seem to mind. 

‘I’ve thought about you a lot,’ he says. 

‘Yeah?’ 

Yoongi pulls out your chair for you. 

‘Yeah. I saw the footage of those reporters hounding you.’ 

‘They got bored after a while,’ you tell him. 

‘I’m glad you’re all right,’ Yoongi says. 

Over dinner he tells you about how the retrial resulted in all charges against him being overturned, how he’s been back home resting. 

‘Been to the beach yet?’ you ask. 

Yoongi looks at you over his wine glass. ‘You inviting me? You’re the one with a beach hut.’ 

‘We can go,’ you say. ‘I’ve been informally suspended from my job.’ 

This is news to him. 

‘Is it to do with me?’ he asks quietly. 

You shrug. ‘I’m hoping it’ll die down, especially since everyone knows you’re an innocent man now.’ 

‘I’m sorry,’ he says. 

‘Don’t worry about it,’ you tell him. 

He frowns a little, but lets the subject slide.

After dinner he walks you to your car. 

‘Can I take you out again?’ he asks. 

‘I’d like that,’ you tell him. 

He leans close, brushes a kiss against your cheek that sends a thrill all the way to your toes. 

‘I live about a half hour drive from here,’ you tell him, when he pulls away. 

‘Maybe I can drive us this time,’ he says. 

***

Yoongi slips his hand into yours as he walks up the front driveway to your house with you. You look over at him in surprise. 

‘What?’ he teases. ‘Don’t you want to hold my hand?’ 

You stick your key in the lock, push open your front door. 

‘Baby, I want to hold more than that,’ you tell him. 

Yoongi’s eyes darken, and he lets you push him against the door. 

He’s already leaning down, lips seeking yours. He kisses you hungrily, his large hand slipping behind your neck to deepen the kiss, tongue slipping into your mouth. 

‘I’ve fucking missed you,’ he murmurs. ‘Shit, I’m so hard it’s embarrassing.’ 

‘Been deprived, huh?’ you tease, breathlessly. 

‘Nah. Just you.’ 

He kisses a fiery path down your neck, into the hollow between your collarbones. 

His hands slide down into the small of your back, cup your ass to pull you against him. 

You can feel the ridge of his cock against your belly, and you roll your hips, trying to get closer. 

‘Pull these down,’ Yoongi says, thumb looped in the band of your lacy panties. 

They’re stuck to you, the wetness between your legs trails a path down your bare thighs that Yoongi’s only too happy to lick off. 

‘I wanted to wait,’ he tells you, lifting the skirt of your dress, unzipping his trousers. 

‘Wait next time,’ you tell him. ‘Want you now.’ 

‘You’ve got me,’ he tells you. 

There’s the rustle of foil, the snick of elastic, then Yoongi���s parting your legs, sliding inside you with a groan deep in his chest. 

Just like before, he fills you perfectly.

Yoongi kisses you again, slow though you can feel his heart thudding wildly in his chest. 

‘Feels so good, every time,’ he tells you. 

He starts to move then, doesn’t stop when you part your thighs to take him deeper, doesn’t stop when you cross your ankles behind his back and cry his name, doesn’t stop until you’re panting, sticky with your release, clutching him tight. 

It’s only then that his thrusts start to become erratic, speeding up then slowing as he reaches his peak. He comes with a shout of your name, buried deep inside you, hips still moving like he, too, can’t get enough. 

***

When you wake in the morning, it’s with Yoongi’s finger tracing a lazy path down your spine, his fingertip warm on your bare skin.

‘More, Yoongi?’ you ask, sleepy.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, you can hear the rumble in his chest as he suppresses a laugh.

‘Tapping out on me so soon, my love?’ he asks.

After the first time when you hadn’t made it to your bed, you’d fucked three more times before you’d finally collapsed in a tangled heap.

You’d woken once, to see him flat on his back, looking out the window, fingers intertwined with yours. 

‘Can’t sleep?’ you’d asked. 

He’d turned to you, pressed a kiss to your forehead. ‘Just thinking how lucky I am. I’d thought being wrongly imprisoned was the worst thing that had happened to me. And here I am.’ 

‘Here you are, you lucky sonofabitch,’ you’d laughed, squealing as he’d pinned your hands to the bed and half-heartedly climbed on top of you again. 

‘I am lucky,’ he’d said, his free hand sliding under your ass, squeezing. You’d have fucked him again if he’d wanted, despite the soreness between your legs, but he’d wrapped you in his arms instead. ‘Sleep, baby.’ 

So you had. 

Now your phone rings, distracting you from Yoongi’s wandering hands, just about. 

‘Shit, it’s Mr Lee,’ you say, sitting up straight. 

Yoongi cocks a brow at you as you take the call. 

‘Y/N, I wanted to let you know that the school board have voted to have you back taking your regular classes,  at your earliest convenience. If you’ll have us.’ 

You frown. ‘I hadn’t realised there was a vote?’ 

‘An emergency meeting was convened last night,’ Mr Lee says. ‘You don’t have to let me know now, but we’d love to have you back.’ 

You hang up, thoroughly confused. 

‘I guess I’m not informally suspended any more,’ you tell Yoongi. 

‘For a new gym with a fully functional basketball court, and a grant for gym equipment, they’d better be giving you a raise too,’ drawls Yoongi. 

‘You did this?’ 

‘What? You thought I was some deadbeat who held you at gunpoint and wasn’t going to repay everything you did for me?’ 

‘I never thought you were a deadbeat,’ you say. 

‘I know,’ Yoongi agrees. ‘You’re an idiot.’ 

You swat at him, outraged. 

‘You’re my idiot,’ Yoongi says, deflecting your blows easily. ‘And I’m going to make sure no one takes advantage of you ever again.’ 

He hesitates. ‘If — if you’ll have me.’ 

You pretend to think about it. ‘Well, you’re not perfect,’ you say, ‘but I guess you’ll do.’ 

©hamsterclaw 2023

[revasserium]

oh don't ask me for requests, you know I deliver. What about Zoro with number 30?

send me one + a character and i'll write u a drabble

30. invention of the dictionary

opla!zoro; 882 words; fluff, teeth-rotting fluff, strawhat!reader, gn!reader, no "y/n", unconventional format, whipped!zoro

summary: truth, love, still, and stolen

a/n: been a while since i've written something so chill but i rly like this one u__u nice, short, and sweet!

He has never been a man of many words, but meeting you has made him wonder about the exact reason dictionaries were invented. What scholar (for it must have been a scholar, Zoro thinks) could have amassed such a knowledge of words and meanings that they decided the only way to keep track was to write it down? Or perhaps it was simply someone in love — someone who felt too much and yearned too hard and never had the words big enough or heavy enough, wide enough or deep enough, to fully encompass the way they were feeling.

Because he’s never been a man of many words, but meeting you has him reaching for the tattered dictionary they’d found in a treasure chest, washed ashore on a small, insignificant island — not unlike you. You with your windswept hair and your skin smelling of salt and cream and a thousand midnight mysteries. You, and the way your eyes hold worlds that Zoro’s certain he’d never have the privilege of seeing.

But sometimes when he kisses you, he thinks he can taste the remnants of their exotic fruits beneath the sweet of your tongue, and sometimes when you kiss him back hard enough, he can feel it in the crescent moon marks you leave inked into his skin. Like dotted lines on a treasure map.

You’d been a traveling bounty-hunter, not so unlike who he’d been in a past life, one that he can barely even remember. And your laughter had been just the right shade of lost for Luffy to take notice. No one had thought twice about it after that — and you blended in with the crew as a shot of rum in a morning espresso — which is to say perfectly.

He finds himself flipping through the thin, water-warped pages of the dictionary, pausing on words he’d always thought he knew — words like truth, and love. Words like still, and stolen.

And so, here are some words that Roronoa Zoro has learned and re-learned the meanings of. All because of you.

truth noun.

the quality or state of being true

a fact or belief that is accepted as true

a thing so fundamental that it never has to be questioned — like the rising of the sun in the east or the setting of the moon in the west; something that pulses with the very rhythm of the universe, like the ebb and flow of the tides or the way that autumn always feels a little bit like goodbye — or how birdsong will inevitably be followed by the sprouting of spring, and how March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb, and how Zoro’s never questioned just how much he’s loved you, or even whether or not he’d fallen in love. He simply woke up one day and knew.

love noun.

an intense feeling of deep affection

a great interest or pleasure in something

you, your smile, the way you hold your chopsticks, how you press your hand to your stomach when you laugh, the way your lips feel as they trail along Zoro’s jawline, the way your heartbeat rhymes with the gentle rush of the sea

verb.

to feel deep affection for someone or something

to like or enjoy very much

to dream of a life with you, and all the things you might do — to lie awake at night counting your breaths as you fall asleep next to him, to press his lips into the seam of your hair and know that when he wakes up in the morning, you’ll still be right there next to him

still noun/adj./verb

not moving or making a sound

deep silence or calmness

to make or become still

the way the world feels the first time you cry, how the planets themselves seem to grind to a deadly halt, how Zoro’s world tilts on the axis of you and doesn’t stop until he wonders if everything around him is upside down and inside out — how you curl into yourself when the monsters in your past become more than shadows and whispers that creep in the dark, or when the darkness comes knocking and you bury your face in his shoulder, your voice a whisper as you beg — please… help me.

adverb

up to and including the present time mentioned

nevertheless; all the same

how he knows he loves you, the way that the sea loves the sky — even after a devastating rainstorm; how there’s blood on his swords, blood soaking through the wooden planks but he’s got you in his arms so it’s going to be alright; how you let him carry you and hold you close; how he lets you carry him as well; how the pair of you curve around each other like a parenthetical, two bookends to a library of memories stored in the negative space between you; how you are with each other after all of this, still.

stolen verb (*past participle of steal)

take without permission or legal right, without the intent to return

move somewhere quietly or surreptitiously

his heart, his mind, his body, his soul — and him with you.

[yumeka-sxf]

Japanese Linguistic Observations in Spy x Family - part 4

Part 4 - Furigana and double meanings

I discussed in Part 2 how Japanese is comprised of three different alphabets: hiragana and katakana (together referred to as "kana") which represent pronunciation, and kanji which represent meaning. With there being over 2,000 kanji in common use, as well as various ways to pronounce any one kanji character depending on the word it's in, children learn kanji gradually throughout their school years. So manga and books aimed at a younger audience will typically have kanji "translations." These are comprised of small kana called furigana which are printed to the right of the kanji to show how to pronounce it. In the below panel for example, the one word that has a kanji is the 嬉 in 嬉しい. The furigana shows that 嬉 is pronounced うれ ("ure") to make the adjective "ureshii" (happy).

Sometimes manga authors will use furigana+kanji in creative ways to convey different meanings to words that specifically suit their story/characters. This alternate way of translating kanji is called 当て字 (ateji). One way of using ateji is to help introduce fictional terminology. In SxF for example, Ostania and Westalis are made-up words, but Endo assigns them their own kanji: 東国 for Ostania and 西国 for Westalis. The second kanji for both of them is 国 which means "country," and the first kanji for Ostania is 東 which means "east" while 西 for Westalis means "west." However, to differentiate them from the actual words these kanji represent ("toukoku" and "saikoku," which mean "eastern country" and "western country" respectively), Endo writes out their pronunciations in katakana next to the kanji. You can see this in the panels below.

Even though they're not real words, by assigning them kanji that represent what they are – "east country" and "west country" – even without any context, Japanese readers get more information about these terms than English readers do thanks to the use of kanji and furigana.

Another way manga authors can use ateji to suit their needs is by telling readers to pronounce otherwise normal Japanese words in the "language" they want. For example, the word used for "codename" in SxF is 暗号名, which is a real word that is pronounced "angoumei." However, when we look at the furigana that Endo assigns to it, he specifically tells us to pronounce it like the English word "codename" (コードネーム).

Since SxF is a series that takes place in a fictional version of Europe, Endo must have found it more fitting to use English for specific keywords like this.

While the above examples are fairly common throughout all manga, especially those that have a lot of fictional terminology, Endo also gets creative with using ateji to form double meanings that lend insight into the characters' thoughts/feelings. And we get one of the best examples of this in the very first chapter:

This is the scene where Twilight's saying that he became a spy to create a world where children don't have to cry. The word for children, 子ども, should be pronounced "kodomo," however, the furigana is telling us to pronounce it as じぶん (jibun), which means "self." By creating this double meaning of Twilight saying he'll make a world where children and/or he himself doesn't have to cry, points out in a subtle yet poignant way just how much Twilight's trauma as a child shaped his determination to make sure other children don't have to suffer the same fate. It's a brilliant way of showing a deeper side of the character that he wouldn't outwardly show.

A similar example occurs in chapter 49 during the cruise arc, in the scene where Yor is guarding the room at night, thinking about how she was dragging her feet during the Barnaby fight. Her last thought during that scene is wondering what she's fighting for, however, even though the word used is いばら姫 (ibarahime), which means "Thorn Princess," the furigana tells us to pronounce it as わたし, which is the "I"/"me" pronoun that Yor uses.

The ambiguity of reading the word as "I" or as "Thorn Princess" emphasizes how she's struggling with her Thorn Princess identity at that time. It can almost have a different meaning when reading it one way or the other. For example, reading it as わたしは何のため ("For what reason am I [doing this]…) or as いばら姫は何のため ("For what reason is Thorn Princess [doing this]…) gives the impression that she's trying to distance herself from "Thorn Princess"…that she's unconsciously seeing herself and "Thorn Princess" as different people.

Another example that's not as deep but still interesting is from chapter 87, where Sylvia visits Fiona in the hospital and tells her not to push herself so hard, even for his sake, with "his" referring to Twilight. The kanji used is 黄昏 (tasogare) which means "Twilight," but the furigana translation is あいつ (aitsu) which means "that guy/that person."

This is a clever way to use kanji/furigana to indicate that Sylvia is indeed aware of Fiona's feelings for Twilight by having her not refer to him by name, but also informing the reader that she definitely knows who she's talking about.

I also find it interesting that all three of these examples are spoken from a character we're viewing from behind. I think it's just a coincidence, but still interesting 😅

I'll wrap up with one more example from chapter 58, where Loid notes that his understanding of Bond is lacking, just like Anya. Once again, the word for children, 子ども (kodomo) is used (Loid likes making double meanings with that word, doesn't he?) but the furigana translates it to アーニャ(Anya).

I interpret this as him saying he needs to understand children better, but he specifically means Anya (even though he doesn't want to admit his particular yearning to understand her).

If you're wondering how the anime handles these ateji, it seems to vary. In the anime version of the chapter 1 example, Loid says the correct kanji translation "kodomo," but in the chapter 49 example, Yor says the furigana translation "watashi."

The anime seems to use the reading that would make the most sense if spoken out loud by the character.

I haven't read enough manga in Japanese to say that this use of furigana+kanji to create double meanings is a common thing, but even if it is, I'm sure Endo has his own unique style of doing it. I know there's more examples in SxF that I missed, and unfortunately I don't have the time to look through every chapter to find them. But if you happen to come across any others, feel free to let me know 😃 I may amend this post or create another one if more interesting examples pop up.

<- Return to Part 3

[punkitt-is-here]

Yknow i love fo4 and fo76 as games but hate them as Fallout games yknow?

Like theyre nice to play and i love some of the characters but man. They just. Are not Fallout. Its literally like if you took Fallout but made it for a general audience, theres no spice!! Theres no grime!! Why is everything so clean!!!

That's the thing; these games are built with inherently different base goals in mind. Bethesda in the modern day thrives off selling the idea of player empowerment, of being an explorer in a foreign land that you conquer through hard work. You shape the world to your liking by questing and exploring and conquering. And genuinely? I got no problem with that. I think games that gas the player up like crazy and set you loose on a world to make it your own are totally fine conceptually! Like, the fantasy of being able to shape the world the way you see fit is something I think a lot of people can get into, whether you're just looking for control in your life or you just want the experience of feeling like you can have some grand effect on the world at large.

But because of that, I think the core of what makes Fallout so interesting has to be put on the backburner. I don't play Fallout to feel powerful necessarily, and I certainly don't play it for the fuckin' gunplay. I play it because it has such a fun dedication to weird stories that feel like they have something to say, a staff of writers dedicating their time and effort to being a proto-DM at a table, trying to provide interesting and thought-provoking or at least real damn fun stories in front of you, because ultimately, the West Coast Fallout games are about people. They're about characters! And when you focus less on the idea of telling stories in a world and more on empowering the player as a fourth-wall observer, those priorities clash and in the East Coast Fallout's cases, it makes for a game with no spice or edge. Having something to say about, say, the US Military or American Expansionism and Exceptionalism or the nature of clinging to the past kind of fundamentally clashes with the player empowerment fantasy that Bethesda Fallout games want to sell you. You can't have these philosophy-based, morally-interesting factional conflicts that want the player to look inward when the very concept of your game is built around collecting loot and shooting guys instead of learning about that loot and learning about those guys you're shooting and why you're shooting at each other. Having radiant quest loot loop gameplay just doesn't mesh well with a world where choices are meant to have far-reaching impact, because if it did, it'd be impossible to program under a normal development timeframe, and it would likely make the player look inward and go "what the fuck am I doing with my time?" at the endless meaningless quests to go on.

I don't think the "Lone Wanderer Comes Across A Microcosm Of Adventure" format is bad, not at all, but you have to put a lot of work to make that feel cohesive with the larger character and faction-based narratives that 1, 2, and NV are built on, so instead those Bethesda-style games opt more for a toybox, playground approach to the post apocalypse. And when your primary goal is showing the player how cool of a sandcastle they can build, it'll never be structurally sound enough to sustain even a wave of nuance.