#once again reminding everyone that i am not english

[saintsenara]

what is the American performed earnestness? I'm an American who loved parks and rec so I'm really curious

(I love your blog btw!)

go into any shop or restaurant and you'll see.

because - to be clear - it is something different from the fact that americans are much more verbally emotionally demonstrative than the irish [and the british], which - while it can certainly cause some misunderstandings and lead to some friction - is a harmless quirk.

which i think - anon no. 2 - is the thing with new girl.

the characters and the way they live their lives is - unsurprisingly - completely, one hundred percent american. but it's sincere - and its earnestness, however much it would be a bit jarring if the characters were dropped into my actual life, comes across as real - rather than performative.

parks and rec, in contrast, just always feels to me like the worst excesses of american customer service culture. it's not that it's optimistic or emotionally demonstrative [i like lots of media which is sweetly upbeat] - it's that everything about most of its main characters feels inauthentic, like it's pretending to give a shit about you because it's hustling for tips, rather than because it's genuinely interested.

[partially because they're all horrible people, but the show is very selective about who it's prepared to acknowledge that about. someone like liz lemon or dee reynolds or lindsay bluth - while ostensibly much worse than leslie knope - comes across as more rounded and genuine because the writing is prepared to acknowledge them as having flaws beyond "she cares too much!!!!1!!"]

and look, when i'm in the states, i get on board with that - i tip properly and i smile politely while being constantly bothered by waitstaff, and european customers who don't need to tighten up - but i breathe a big enough sigh of relief once i'm back on surly and disinterested soil that i'm not going to voluntarily engage with it via leslie knope...

[whocarloto]

Can someone please Help me learn ignoring very loud neighbors please. I am so very Close to having an anxiety Attack because of it

[wlwsoccerfics]

Big Sister Energy(Alexia PutellasXMeadReader)

Warnings: Google translate used.

Summary: You are 18 years old, away from England and just got dumped by your girlfriend. Alexia is there for you and you have a talk.

You didn't do very well and everyone could see it. Especially Alexia. You still were playing good football, but it was obvious that right now your heart wasn't in it. And you looked like you hadn't slept in weeks. Which was actually quite true. Your girlfriend, well now ex has dumped you for one of her ex boyfriends and went back to him around two weeks ago.

"pequeña? ¿qué ocurre?" Alexia asked you as you both walked to your seperate cars after practice. You frown a little but decided to play it cool. "I am fine, Alexia!" You let her know. Even though it was obvious that you weren't.

"y/n, i know this isn't true! You look like death!" She informed you.

You roll your eyes a little but also felt stressed about it.

"Mi novia rompió conmigo(my girlfriend broke up with me)!" You whispered out. She frowned softly.

"what happened exactly?" The blonde asked.

"Vanya went back to her ex boyfriend!" You sobbed out and now started crying again. Alexia quickly pulled you into a hug, frowning even more. She never really liked your ex and now she was once again reminded why. Alexia was always protective of you. You joined the team almost a year ago. First you were living with Keira until you turned 18 and wanted to be on your own. Keira was your teammate, one of your fellow lionesses. She also was quite protective of you. Probably because Bethy your sister has asked her to to keep an eye on you. But you didn't know If that actually was true.

Anyways you hugged Alexia back who was holding you in her arms right now.

"Estoy aquí para ti." she whispered against your forehead. Palcing a soft kiss on it.

"you act alot like my older Sister Beth!"you told her, smiling slighlty through your tears. honestly you would never have thought that you would end up in Barcelona one day and play Professional football over there. Outside of your comfort zone. You practiced all your Life at Arsenal but never ended up playing for your Senior Team. Instead you were here now. Your sister missed you lots and you missed her as well. But you tried to avoid her because somehow she found out about the breakup And you didn't want to worry her with how awful you sounded. Your guess was that Keira told her. In fact alot of the Girls from the english national team tried to reach out. So did Viv your sister-in-law.

"well you are a bit like a Baby sister i want to protect!" Alexia admitted.

"i am not a baby but i for sure appreciate to have you as my 'sister away from home!'" you told her, smiling softly, wiping away the tears.

"you are still so young. You are just 18 years old. Can't help that i feel protective of you cause of that! Cause you are way too sweet sometimes. It's not a bad thing but Vanya didn't deserve someone as sweet and kind as you cause she is the devil." Alexia answered.

"thank you." You simply just replied. Breathing in and out to calm down as much as possible. Crying was quite exhausting.

"it's true. Now you come home with me and we get some food. Then you need sleep. And tomorrow morning you gonna call your loved ones!" Alexia told you. She didn't leave you much of a choice. Saying you can drive to practice together and your Car and stay in the parking lot. So you just got into her car.

You did ended up calling Beth the next morning and she told you that she was close to dropping everything to check on you personally. So good thing Alexia got you to open up. It was nice to know you had a support system at Home and here in Barcelona.

After a few days you actually started feeling human again. Thanks to everyone that cared about you.

[dragonnarrative-writes]

Transferrable Skills Part 1

Transferrable Skills Masterlist

Your therapist warned you about superstitious thinking. You've been working on it. In fact, you've been very good at catching it, challenging yourself to relax, and letting things go. Even before this big work trip, you consciously avoided the "unhelpful" rituals and reminded yourself that the little ones were just to make you feel secure, not to actually influence the future across an ocean.

"I'm very nervous," you had told Señor Snuggly two weeks ago. Your worn out stuffed lizard hadn't said anything back, of course. "That's normal, because it’s an international flight. So I'm going to give you a hug good-bye, and you're gonna stay here to watch the house. I know it's not going to change anything, but I'll feel better knowing you're here."

At the airport, you realized that you had forgotten your toothbrush. It had satisfied the part of your brain that was looking for one (1) thing to go wrong. Superstitious thinking, but the kind that helped you to relax and listen to music until you boarded.

Now, forced to sit on the floor, surrounded by shouting men with guns, your brain is stuck on your lopsided stuffed animal and blue toothbrush. Of all the things that could pop into your head, why those?

You almost let out a nervous giggle at the mental image of Señor Snuggly using your toothbrush as a shiv to save the day. And then the idea of what would happen if you started laughing right now almost startles you into another burst of giggles. You clap your hands over your mouth and curl into yourself a little bit more.

Next to you, your boss throws you a sympathetic look. "You okay?"

"No talking!" The nearest assailant yells in heavily accented English. You're pretty sure the attackers have been speaking Russian, but you could be mistaken. He brandishes his gun. "You want to die?"

"She needs to go to the restroom," your boss answers.

"No, I don't," you protest. You really, really do, and have for the last two hours. But being escorted out of the room alone seems like enough of a Bad Idea that your bladder can wait.

"No, she does not," the man confirms. "Shut up. Do not talk."

You meet your boss's eyes and try to silently convey, Why are you trying to get me killed?

His doughy face says back, I am a white man who goes to the gym once a week, and I really like the John Wick movies. I have delusions of being a hero. If one man takes you to the bathroom I have the mistaken belief that I can overpower two men with guns to save everyone. Also you're a black woman, so don't you have super powers? I believe in you, queen.

You may be projecting.

Ten minutes later, just as you're wondering if you should suggest a group field trip down the hall to the bathrooms, a series of gunshots rings through the building. The energy in the room goes from nervous to frantic in an instant. Your bladder shuts up. The Russian men start shouting and waving their guns, apparently too agitated to speak English. Two hostages start crying because no one else speaks Russian, just English, French and your half-forgotten, informal, Mexican Spanish.

Another three Russians come bursting in the room, snarling something you can’t understand. They grab at a couple of people, force them to stand at gunpoint and gesture to the rest of you. And then everyone is up and kind of moving in the direction of the door. But you can’t get out of the door because they’re blocking it, but they’re really agitated that the room is still full of hostages. And then some people are being pushed back down to the floor. Your boss ends up sitting back down again. A hard hand closes on your arm before you can get down, and you and four others are dragged out.

The leader says, “You all are dignitaries, yes? Your embassies will send money or they will watch you die.”

This is, potentially, the worst possible scenario. None of the five of you are even remotely important, let alone dignitaries. You’re not 100% sure about most of the others, but you’re an aid. An aid to an aid, really. The blonde woman with the remarkably sharp bob is a personal assistant. Today’s conference was about health data management, of all things.

You decide you’re not going to die with a full bladder. You look to the man holding your arm in an iron grip and point to the upcoming door on the right. “Can I please go to the restroom? I’ll be quick.”

He asks the leader something in Russian, and then you’re being shoved through the bathroom door. He doesn’t follow you into the stall, but it’s still so awkward to pee knowing that there’s a man with a gun waiting for you. You’re so glad you aren’t on your period - opening the wrapper on anything right now would feel louder than it has since middle school.

The door to the restroom opens just as the toilet finishes flushing. You hear a scuffle, an aborted shout, and then something heavy hits the floor. You freeze, heart racing. But then there’s no more sound.

You wait for what feels like an hour but must only be a minute before calling, “H-hello?”

You don’t get an answer. Unlocking the door and easing it open, you peek out and stifle a gasp. The man who had escorted you is on the ground, a pool of blood growing around him. His gun is gone.

You’re halfway through washing your hands before you realize you’re on autopilot.

It takes everything in you to fight down the urge to freeze in place and make yourself inch around the body to the door. When you poke your head out, the hall looks so normal that it makes you dizzy for a second. You try to decide what to do through the anxiety fog. You can’t hide in the bathroom with a dead body, and you probably can’t go back to the big room with everyone without getting shot. You have no idea where the other faux-dignitaries were taken. Apparently, there’s at least one person going around killing people in bathrooms.

You try to think of what your therapist would say in this situation. All of the options feel bad, she would say. So you can’t not do anything because it feels bad. Thank the anxiety for trying to keep you safe, then try to pick the least awful course of action.

“Fight, flight, freeze, fawn,” you whisper to yourself. Fighting is right out. “Flight, freeze, fawn.” There’s a body pouring blood right behind you. “Flight, fawn.” No one is around to appease. “Flight.”

Another gunshot and shouting. It sounds like it’s coming from the left, so you head right.

You shuck off your sensible kitten heels and fervently wish your otherwise sensible pantsuit wasn’t pastel purple in this very beige hallway. Not that a thicker-than-European-average black woman mincing around in a Swiss hotel and conference center would be inconspicuous in a black suit, your mind counters itself. You try to force your brain to shut up, with mixed success.

You wander a good five minutes, reminding yourself not to panic at every locked door you try. The halls are so quiet that you half convince yourself that you’ve gotten out of immediate danger. So of course, right as you’re about the round the next corner, one of the Russians appears, reeling backwards. And then he collapses, a knife sticking out of his neck.

You can’t really worry about that, though, because right after him comes one of the largest men you’ve ever seen. He must catch sight of you out of the corner of his eye, because his head snaps to look at you. You barely register the assault rifle in his hands because his eyes bore into you through the top half of a human skull.

Oh, I’m glad I already peed, you think, staring into the eyes of Death.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell,” the man says, growls really. “What are you doing here?”

“I… bathroom? Please don’t kill me. I’ll cooperate.” you squeak out. Oh, fawning! Cool.

“Price, I’ve got one of the hostages,” he says, nonsensically. “I’ve cleared the east wing.”

You jump when his walkie-talkie - of course it’s a walkie-talkie - squawks back an “Affirmative. Status?”

“She’s up and walking,” the man says, not taking his eyes from yours. “Seems uninjured.”

“Stow her somewhere safe.”

“Negative,” Death says. Before you can panic because what the fuck does that mean? he says, “Bringing her back with me.”

“Copy.”

When he takes a step toward you, you stop breathing. Everything in you is screaming RUN and DON’T MOVE at the same time. His second step in your direction results in a full body twitch. You get the impression that the gun is pointed at the ground, but the only thing you can really see is bone white over a black mask and what might be really pretty brown eyes, but the shadow from the overhead light really makes it hard to tell and your vision is going a bit darkaroundtheedgesandohI’mstillnotbreathingthat’snotgreat.

You’re shocked into gasping when a gloved palm touches the side of your face. The rough material helps you settle into your body, just in time to start hyperventilating.

And that’s when things get weird, because Death says, “Easy, lovie. Settle, f’ me, yeah? Deep breaths, like we’ve practiced.”

Your brain latches on to the familiar command to settle before you can even question why it’s familiar. The way the man makes a long, low shushing noise makes you so suddenly weak in the knees that you stagger where you stand.

And then it clicks. Holy shit. You know this voice. You know these commands. You’ve been listening to and learning them at least once a week for the last six months. He doesn’t even sound that different from over the phone or on a video call.

“There you go, that’s good,” Simon, the dominant you’ve been seeing online, tells you through his skull mask. “Keep breathin’. In through the nose, out through the mouth.”

It’s the second time in your life you’ve been surprised out of a panic attack. “W-what the fuck? Si?” you gasp. “What are you doing here? Did you kill that guy?”

“Questions are gonna have to wait,” he says. “Keep breathing. In for four, hold for two. In for two, out for eight. Can you do that?”

“Why are you in Switzerland?”

“Breathe,” he rumbles. “Settle.”

“No,” you hiss, even as your shoulders relax another fraction. The corners of your eyes start prickling with tears.

“This is a double red light situation,” Si says, staring into your eyes. “I know you’re scared, but I’m going to get you out of here. You trust me?”

“You are wearing a skull on your face.”

“And you’re wearing a purple suit,” he answers. “There are people who want to shoot both of us. You get one more outburst, then you’re breathing and following me. Acknowledge.”

What the fuck? “This isn’t a scene!”

His eyes bore into yours. “Might surprise you, but I’m aware. Acknowledge.”

A distant shout makes you flinch. You relent. “Acknowledged. Four in, hold two, two in, out eight. Follow.”

“Good girl,” he says, patting your cheek once. “Stay behind me.”

[starry-bi-sky]

Clone^2 - Separation Strikes

"Why do I have to go?" Damian asks, surly and accent-thick, it sounds more like a demand and a whine at the same time. Sitting on the kitchen table with his arms crossed, in a green t-shirt that Danny bought him at a whim when he was at a thrift shop, and black shorts, he's never looked more like a kid. There's a little backpack leaning against the table leg, Damian begrudgingly picked it out when they went shopping.

His English has grown in leaps and bounds since Danny found him -- er, or more accurately; since Damian was spat out in front of him. -- and very little did they have to use the translator on Danny's phone these days.

Which meant one thing: Damian can start attending school comfortably now. And 'go' was the Amity Smiles Child Care Center. Danny and Jazz went as kids until they were twelve, and Mom and Dad actually managed to convince the center director to let Damian enroll for the summer.

And it was summer; Damian starts today.

"Because," Danny says, trying and failing to hide the smile pulling on his face, his heart warm and soft, and also laughing at Damian's expense; "being cooped up in the house all day isn't good for you, and you're starting school in the Fall. And, in Jazz's words: you need to have interactions with other kids your age for the benefit of your social development. And besides, it's only for the morning."

Damian's nose scrunches up, and his eyes roll so violently that for a moment, Danny thinks about joking that he'll get his eyes stuck like that. He holds his tongue; his little brother already looks like he's five seconds away from committing an act of violence.

"I don't need social interaction." Damian sneers, his cheek in his hand; a neverend pool of pride. "I am--"

"The Blood of the Demon Heir, better than everyone else." Danny cuts off, waving his hand in dismissive circles, his voice mockingly deep. Damian's brown skin darkens in embarrassment, and he scowls at Danny. "I know, bud. But Jazz is right, -- don't tell her I said that, -- you should be around kids your age."

Especially when he starts First Grade in the Fall. Honestly -- Danny was a little nervous to send him to the center. Damian's long since cut the habit of trying to kill or otherwise maim people, his palms ache-burn with gentle reminder, but his tongue was as sharp and as cutting as his sword. He still struggles with trying to quell it when he's upset. Vicious child-weapon that he once was, and will never be again.

Danny knows that it comes from a place of fear and defense, that Damian lashes out because that's what he's been taught. That at the end of the day, he doesn't really mean what he says, and he's learning to express himself better. But the other kids don't know that, and kids can be unforgiving and cruel.

Danny just...

His slow beating heart sighs, melancholy settles behind his lungs.

He doesn't want Damian to be outcasted. He doesn't want him to be alone.

Not like he was.

Damian sneers again, but says nothing, his shoulders crawling up to hide his ears like a turtle receding into his shell. Danny watches him silently, leaning against the kitchen counter with his own arms crossed. The clock hanging on the wall ticks in their ears -- it's almost time to go.

He watches Damian, careful, and so he sees it when his little brother's stone-shell pride and petulance shudders, and cracks. The darkened furrow of Damian's brows weakens, and for a moment, slants back.

Ah, Danny thinks, his own shoulders slumping. Epiphany washes over him, and his sad-heart soothes in warm understanding. So that's what it is.

His head tilts, and his hair spills over his shoulders, messy and fluffy, tickling his neck. Some of his bangs fall into his face. "Hal 'ant easabiatan ya habibi?" He asks, voice low and soft. Just as Damian's English has improved, so has Danny's Arabic. He still stumbles over himself some days, and Damian says his accent is trash, but they can have whole conversations now in Damian's mothertongue.

(Danny was incredibly proud of himself for it.)

Damian's face darkens, his blush spreading across the rest of his face, and he ducks his head down. Grown-out curls, black-brown and springy, falls over his eyes. "La!" He yells, loud and indignant, and not at all convincingly. "La 'asheur bialtawaturi!"

He was nervous. Danny can see it now, in the hunch of his shoulders and the tightness of his face, and faintly, he can feel it too. In the ecto-rich air of the Fentonworks House, it thrums, barely-there, like a hummingbird behind his lungs.

Danny can't stop the little, fond smile that forces itself across his lips and upticks the corner of his mouth. "It's okay to be nervous, little brother." He says, he sounds like Jazz when he says that. He doesn't think she'll mind him borrowing the nickname.

He pushes himself off the counter, and Damian refuses to look at him, hiding behind his hair and in his shoulders. It takes three long strides for him to reach the table, and Danny turns, plants his hands on the ledge, and hoists himself up. Right next to Damian.

Damian leans into him easily when Danny's arm wraps around his shoulders and tucks him close to his heart. He can feel his ear against his ribs. Danny hunches over him, resting his chin on Damian's head. "It's so okay to be nervous, actually. I was nervous, Jazz was nervous." He tells him, scratching the blunt edge of his nails across his scalp. "Everyone gets nervous."

"'Ana last aljumiea." Damian mumbles, as small and feeble as he was the night on the OPS Center balcony, realizing that his mom and the League weren't coming for him. Realizing that he was replaceable.

Danny's half-working heart squeezes; in grief, in rage, and his faucet eyes sting. He breathes in carefully, and presses his nose into Damian's hair in a loving faux-kiss. "You're right, you're not everyone." He says, steady and strong, because if he's not a pillar for his family, who else is he?

He can feel Damian's eyes flick up to him, and Danny smiles into his black-brown curls. Tilts his head to squish his cheek against him instead, hand dropping to thumb below Damian's lashes. "You're Damian Fenton," Because the adoption went through a few weeks ago, and he's still riding that high, "You're my baby brother. O' Artist Extraordinaire, Kickass with a Sword, Vegetarian and Wonderful Co-Ghost Hunter."

Damian tries to stifle a smile, and fails. Score! Triumph gathers in Danny's gut, his smile grows wider. He squeezes Damian tight, and only releases him so he can look him in the eyes. "And if anyone gives you a hard time at school, and I mean anyone--"

Danny has bad memories of the teachers looking the other way when the other kids were bullying him, all because he was a Fenton.

And Danny, bleeding heart, bleeding hands, loves his family more than he will ever love himself, will never let Damian experience the same injustice. Not if he can help it.

His eyes narrow, and the buzzy-film of ectoplasm covers his eyes, making them glow, "--You tell me. And as your awesome great big brother-and-technically-dad-but-only-biologically, I will handle it."

Damian, wonderfully made, full of light, his little brother Damian, giggles weakly at him. A sound that's worth it's weight in gold. The scary eyes dissipate, and Danny matches the sound with a cock-eyed, impish grin, dragging Damian into a soul-crushing, too-tight hug. The kind that only annoying older brothers can give. "Got it?"

That gets a proper, if short, laugh out of Damian. He wriggles in Danny's arms, trying to break free. But Danny does calisthenics, his arms are as big as Damian's head, so it doesn't work. "Understood, now, daeni 'adhhab ya 'akhi!"

Danny laughs, loud and bright, and loosens his hold just a smidge, only so he can adjust his grip and hop off the table with Damian still in arm.

"Never!" He crows, hoisting Damian slightly. One eye flick at the clock, and in one quick move, he secures Damian under one arm like a football, and hooks his foot under the strap of his backpack. Kicking it up, he tosses it into the air and catches it with his free hand, and slings it over his shoulder. "Now, to the car, my boy! Before we're late and Mom and Dad get charged."

Damian groans, childish and dramatic and long, but his face is all squished up with a wide grin and glee. Danny can taste his joy beneath his tongue.

"And, if my little pep talk didn't encourage you," He says, reaching the door to the garage, flipping Damian up onto his hip instead. "If you have a good day today, I'll make you bal mithai when you get back."

Like all kids at the promise of sweets, Damian's eyes widen and glitter. Danny loves seeing Damian be a kid, it's his favorite thing in the world. "I will!"

[del-thetiredwriter]

Saintess of dragons part 3

Part 1 , part 2

English is not my first language.

Gif is not mine

Warning: female reader, not really dark themes.

You watched with sadness as the stone coffin sank into the sea. You were guilty. You felt regret for her death. You could have saved Laena, but you didn't because of your cowardice and selfishness. Rhaenys and Corlys lost their daughters, Laenor lost his sister, the girls lost their mothers because of you.

You didn't speak at all during the funeral. You just hugged the girls and offered your condolences to the Velaryons. Afterwards, you went to your room like everyone else.

.

When you opened the door, you saw a silhouette that you didn't recognize, with her back turned, on the seats. Silhouette of a woman. The woman turned towards the door and smiled and curtsied as she saw you.

“I greet the saintess.”

She was a brunette and elegant woman. Her long hair came down to her waist. She had an attractive yet disturbing smile. It wasn't a reassuring smile, but it fit her mysterious aura.

You straightened your stance. The woman spoke again:

"Would you like tea?"

"Who are you?"

You asked coldly. No one could enter your room without your permission. House Targaryen was also included.

“I am the person you are looking for. I am the person you are desperately looking for, the one who can send you back to where you came from. Shall we talk a little?”

You hesitated for a moment, but you had nothing to lose. You should have taken this gamble. It was the first time in years that anyone had talked about where you came from.

You closed the door and sat across from the woman.

“Please allow me to introduce myself again. I'm Elenor. And I am the person you are looking for. The witch who can open the portal.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“You are already showing that you trust me by sitting across from me. Besides, it's the first time in years that someone is talking to you about the portal. You have no choice but to trust me."

She was right. You tightened your skirts nervously. You tried to look calm.

“So Elenor, why did you come now? Why did you come especially now?”

The witch smiled.

“Oh my lady there is something you especially need to do today. I came to remind you. But before that, we still have time, so I'd like to explain things a little to you. For example, why you don't age or why you suddenly lose your memories."

"Continue."

“The portal door opened 15 years ago, of course I didn't open it and I still don't know why it was opened. However, my lady, you are not from this world, so time and fate do not work on you because you are not in destiny anyway. It's like time has stopped for you. However, you once tried to change fate. You remember. It made you suddenly forget some of your memories.”

You nervously took a sip of your tea. You remembered that time very well. Elenor continued.

“No one can change fate, but you, who come from another world, can because there is nothing binding you. However, every time you change destiny, you become a part of this world. And as you become a part of this world, you lose the memories that connect you to your world, that is, your self.”

With what Elenor said, everything fell into place now.

“So why are you here?”

You asked again.

The witch took a sip of her tea.

“I want to make a deal with you. Prevent this war from happening and I will send you back home.”

Elenor held out her hand to agree. A silence fell in the room.

"Do you realize what you're saying-"

“You need me or you can't go back home.”

Elenor interrupted.

You tightened your skirts. She was right. You wouldn't have found your way home without her help.

“Okay, I accept your offer .”

You reluctantly shook the witch’s hand. The brunette smiled and stood up. She moved towards the window. She looked at you for the last time.

“Then we agreed. See you until our next meeting, Saintess. And you'd better act quickly, because it would be better for you if the crown princess's blood wasn't shed tonight.”

When she jumped from the window, you rushed towards the window, but the sorceress had disappeared. You should have acted quickly.

.

You were walking through the corridors with fast, running steps. The rustle of your skirt echoed off the stone walls illuminated by torches. You finally reached the room and threw open the large doors.

All the courtiers had gathered except you. Alicent stood disheveled next to Visersy.

When you saw Aemond's face up close, you felt truly sorry.

Lucerys and Jacaerys were with their mother.

You sighed. Here we go, you thought.

“The legitimacy of my son's birth was put loudly into question. Called as bastards. My sons are in line to inherit the iron throne your grace. This is the highest of treasons. Prince Aemond must be sharply questioned so-”

Rhaenyra was speaking, but you interrupted her and intervened.

“Excuse me, my king, but it's late and I don't think anyone can think clearly in their current state of mind. It would be best for everyone to return to their rooms.”

Just as Alicent and Rhaenyra were about to protest, you spoke again.

“The children of the princess are the legal heirs to the throne. Don't worry, I will personally intervene in this matter. And my Queen, I understand you, but if anyone is responsible for this unfortunate incident, it is me, so if you wish, I would give up one of my eyes for the prince.”

Alicent bit her lip. Rhaenyra was not fully satisfied. No one could object because you intervened in the incident.

"There's no need." Said the tired queen in a defeated voice.

“Then I will grant the little prince one wish in return. Apart from that, please everyone go back to their rooms now. It's been a tiring day.”

Visersy nod.

“Saintess is right everybody shall return to your quarters.”

While everyone involuntarily returned to their rooms, Daemon continued to sit in his chair, grinning. He slowly stood up and started taking slow steps towards you.

“Wow, this is the first time you've used your authority. Very strange."

"What are you talking about." You spoke harshly. Being alone in the room with him made you nervous. As he moved towards you, you took a step backwards until your back was finally pressed against the wall.

“Whose side are you on exactly, huh? You were inactive until the morning now-“

“You make it up in your head. Besides, I'm not on anyone's side." You interrupted him.

The white haired man laughed.

“We'll see about this, little saintess.”

He kissed you on the forehead.

"Good night then." He waved his hand and left you alone in the room.

[golbrocklovely]

the rakish gentlemen // sam and colby

A/N: just a general statement across the board: i'm not going for historical accuracy here. i did a very small amount of research for this, most of which was based on the language and some of the societal norms but even then, it wasn't a thorough search. so if things are incorrect or not quite right… that's why. also this is heavily inspired by my new found love for bridgerton, so anything in the story that reminds you of that (show or book wise) - that's also why lol anyone that writes regency romances or stories, props to you bc the formal English alone made me want to off myself. just kidding… but not really. anyway, i hope you enjoy this one. it was fun to write once i got the hang out it. lmk what you think and i'll see you guys with another fic (hopefully) soon :)

prompt: being out in society was enough of a challenge, but overhearing two very sought after lords' snide remarks about you made you want to give up altogether. that is until you hatch a plan - make them beg for your hand in marriage, and then leave them high and dry. it should be simple enough. || AU!regency era sam and colby x fem!reader

trigger warning: formal english (lol), historical inaccuracy, lots of 'samuel' and 'cole' so if you don't like that don't read lol, snc are kind of dicks but they turn it around by the end somewhat, just a whisper of smut but not really, cliff hanger ending??, heavy on gender norms of the time period so be weary of that if that's something you don't like, bit of angst, everyone is of age/in their 20s

word count: 6347

~~~~~~~~

The weather in London during the middle of spring was the absolute best time of year, according to most in the Ton. To Miss Y/N Y/L/N, it was the most splendid of weather to promenade with one's closest confidant, and for her that was Miss Amelia Ruteledge. The two had been inseparable since childhood, living across the street from one another. And coming out in society together only strengthened their bond over the last two seasons.

"How eager are you for Lady Gillingham's masquerade ball this evening?" Amelia asked, coyly stealing a glance at Y/N.

"I can hardly wait. I am positively elated." Y/N replied dryly, her faux smile wide.

"Y/N, must you indulge in sarcasm?" She questioned.

"Yes, Amelia. I must," a quiet laugh fell from her lips. "It is hard for me to be excited for yet another ball, one where I will again be doomed to the corner of the room, watching as others dance."

"I had presumed you enjoyed observing." Amelia teased.

"It is not as fun anymore, ever since your courtship with Viscount Throne began." Y/N sighed, wiping away pretend tears from her cheeks, "Alas, my spinsterhood is in full bloom."

She shook her head, patting Y/N's arm sweetly, "Don't be ridiculous. You are nowhere near being a spinster."

"I'm two years out in society with little to show for it. One might believe I had contracted the plague, given how much the gentlemen of the Ton disregard me." Y/N rolled her eyes, her voice bitter.

"You mustn't say that. You are an absolute catch, by all accounts." Amelia argued, looking into Y/N's eyes.

She huffed. "Thank you. But your opinion apparently is the only one that is favorable towards me."

"That is simply not true," she protested back. "I believe many gentlemen in the Ton would admire you once they were acquainted. But I would not be surprised if your charm and wit intimidate them, thereby causing their reluctance."

A cheeky smile appeared on Y/N's face. "I couldn't have said that better myself." The ladies giggled, continuing down the walkway towards a small pond. Y/N glanced upwards, noting the eligible men coming their way. Grabbing Amelia's arm, she yanked her behind a tree close by, pressing her back tightly against the oak.

Amelia furrowed her brow, "What ails you?"

Y/N hushed her, looking over Amelia’s shoulder. "I don't wish to speak to anyone else presently. Particularly suitors."

"So you think hiding behind a tree is wise?" She blinked.

Y/N wanted to glare, but held back. "Guess I'm not as witty as you thought."

Amelia peaked behind the tree, their maids coming closer to them. She gestured for them to stop, not wanting the men Y/N was so flustered by to notice. The maids turned towards each other, giving a knowing look, and faced the pond instead.

"Did they leave yet?" Y/N whispered.

Amelia hummed. "No. They are still coming our way."

"Damn." She cursed, scrunching her face.

"Speak louder. I am sure your coarse tongue will make them leave hastily." She gaped.

Y/N held back more careless words, doing her best to remain calm. "I am certain that any gentleman has heard far worse words than a solitary curse from a lady's lips."

Amelia peaked again, her eyes widening. "Oh, you are correct about that. Did you see who was coming?"

"No. I just knew it was three gentlemen." Y/N dissented.

"It's Mr. Beaumont... with Lord Golbach and Lord Brock." Amelia choked out.

"Ah, even worse than I imagined." Y/N gulped.

Lord Samuel Golbach and Lord Cole Brock were some of the most sought after men in all of the Ton. Eager mamas and anxious daughters alike pined to be seen affectionately by the two Lords. They were not only rich, but handsome - a deadly combination. And with years of friendship under their belt, they were basically family to one another. Everyone out in society knew - to get in good graces with one, you had to be liked by the other.

But even with everyone wanting their attention, they were seldom to give it out. The rakish behavior displayed by the two was known throughout, which confused Y/N deeply. Why play cat and mouse if one knows it's not trying to be caught? Why pretend to be an eligible bachelor if there were no plans to seek a wife at all?

Y/N knew to stay away. She had no interest in them, moreover.

"Mr. Beaumont, I do believe you are one of the funniest men in all of London." Cole chuckled, clasping the man on the shoulder.

Edward bowed, "Such high praise coming from you, Lord Brock. You two are going to tonight's ball, yes?"

"Of course. Wouldn't miss it for the world." Samuel grinned, glancing at Cole knowingly.

"I must ask, are there any ladies that have caught your eye this season?" Edward continued.

Samuel shook his head, "Unsurprisingly, no. Cole and I have very high standards. So high, in fact, it has been impossible to find anyone worthy of matching with." 

"How incredibly rude." Amelia murmured.

"I am confident there are several ladies in the Ton that would be worthy of becoming your wives. What about Miss Mullens?" Edward mentioned.

"Terrible dancer." Cole quipped.

He questioned, "How about Miss Walford?" 

Samuel frowned. "Her character is sorely lacking." 

"Miss Ramsbury?" He puzzled.

"Beautiful indeed, most obnoxious laugh I've ever heard however." Cole jeered.

"Miss Y/L/N! What about her? She seems well." Edward exclaimed.

A silence filled the air, Y/N only hearing the sound of her pounding heart within her breast. While she may not have harbored interest in either Lord, the notion of their thoughts about her caused her skin to tingle thrillingly. She had never heard a man speak of her in any way, romantic or otherwise. She was eager to know.

Both men snickered, an almost childish laugh cutting through. Samuel cleared his throat, "You must be joking, Beaumont. That lady, would be the last on our list to ever be courted by us. Remember, we have high standards."

"Not even worthy of considering, if I'm honest." Cole sniveled.

“I suppose those are the lower ranking ladies of the Ton.” Mr. Beaumont chortled.

Amelia moved to jump out from behind the tree, ready to give all three gentlemen a piece of her mind. Y/N grabbed her arm, yanking her close. She motioned for her to remain silent, listening once more to the Lords and Mr. Beaumont.

"It is getting late, good sirs. I must be arriving back home soon for late afternoon tea with the missus. Good day, Lord Golbach. Lord Brock. Best of luck on your endeavors." He bowed, the Lords following suit.

Y/N finally turned to all three gentlemen, still covered by the oak tree. She watched as the Lords went off in the opposite direction as Mr. Beaumont. She waited until they were far enough away, taking her first breath in for what felt like years.

"I cannot believe those men!" Amelia screeched lowly.

Y/N slid down the tree, resting her head back, exhausted. "It's incredible, really. Dare I say... humbling?"

"Calling them rakes is the nicest thing I can think of. They are-" She started.

Cutting her off, Y/N placed a hand up. "Save your words, Amelia. Heaven knows I'm thinking far worse than you."

She stared at the ground for a moment, replaying their words over and over in her head. It hurt to hear how cold they were towards her, someone they had never even had a single conversation with.

"Lord Golbach and Lord Brock don't know you, Y/N. And by the way they speak of strangers, they don't deserve to know you either. No wonder no one has won their affections. They have far too much for themselves." Amelia retorted. She fanned herself, feeling her skin growing hot with anger.

Y/N mumbled. "High standards, remember?"

"I have heard of the numerous rejections they’ve given to the ladies of the Ton. It's astonishing how sought after they remain." Amelia declared, utterly appalled.

Rejected. The word echoed in Y/N's head. No one knew that feeling quite like her, especially not the Lords. Who could ever reject them...

Abruptly, Y/N jumped to her feet with an incredulous smirk; an idea rushing to the forefront of her mind.

"Pray tell, what is that look for?" Amelia queried.

"I believe the Lords just need a dose of their own medicine." She sang snidely. 

Amelia raised an eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"

"What lady in all of the Ton has ever rejected them? Every girl and mama swoons at their feet; that's why they feel they can judge and dismiss anyone they want, regardless of how perfect a match the lady might be," Y/N stated. "So... what if that is turned on them?"

"How?" Amelia leaned back against the tree, studying her friend.

"Tonight's ball. It is a masquerade. Those two have never spoken to me, not once in all of the two years I've been out. Yet somehow, they've already declared I'm not worthy to be their wife just from mere appearances alone. Well, what if they aren't worthy enough to be my husband?" Y/N's eyes were wild, a mischievous glint sparkling within.

She gasped, "You're going to reject them?"

"I shall make them plead for my hand in marriage, only to desert them after all." She boasted.

"Do you think you can do that?" Amelia cocked her head to the side.

Y/N rolled her eyes, "I plan to beat them at their own game. I am sure they won’t know what to do with themselves when a woman is actually disinterested in them. Plus, anything else my charm and wit can make up for… hopefully."

"Are you sure your skills are up to the challenge? This could possibly ruin you if done incorrectly. A man won't take his pride being scorned." Amelia worried, holding Y/N's hand briefly. 

She gave Amelia's hand a gentle squeeze, "I have been watching for two seasons what works and what doesn't. I've always been too frightened to be myself, to be vulnerable. But I have nothing to lose tonight. I am not interested in them, and they do not even see me as a potential match. I have to do this, for my pride alone." 

Y/N strutted away, nodding to her maid to follow her. She stopped for a moment, turning back to Amelia. "After tonight, no more Miss Wallflower." 

~~~~

Luckily for Y/N, being friendly with the modiste had its perks. For one, she was able to have some alterations done to her gown long before the ball. She was used to wearing more muted colors; colors that faded her into the background of any dance. But now, staring in the looking glass at herself, her rose colored gown almost sparkled in the candlelight.

She knew this would be one of the more flashier gowns, even for a masquerade. Lady Gillingham's balls were always known as being a bit uptight; the masquerade was the only one where going against her rules was allowed. But most in the Ton dared to not break them even so.

Y/N felt a rush of nerves hit her. Would this be enough to cause the Lords to notice her? She hoped. If not, her whole plan would be foiled.

The carriage ride to the Gillingham estate felt like an eternity. Y/N fanned herself repeatedly; the cool night air doing nothing for her warm skin.

Amelia and Y/N wrote to one another to meet at the Gillingham lineage painting that adorned the entrance. Both ladies concurred that the face of Viscount Gillingham in the painting always looked like he was cocked eyed; something they both had jested about their first time out in society. They knew that was their spot to meet if they needed to step away from it all. But tonight, because of their masks, they wanted to be able to find a familiar face in the crowd if anything was to go awry.

Y/N pulled her cloak tightly to her bodice, making sure her dress was covered. She gazed around the foyer of the estate, the grand ceilings always making her feel so small. She could hear the ball had commenced, a fanciful melody being played by the orchestra echoed down the halls. She waited under the painting, glancing at all of the attendees coming through the doors. Which one would be Amelia and her Viscount?

Rounding the stairs, a golden dress shone in the corner of Y/N's vision. She turned, making note of the matching locks of hair.

Along with their meeting spot, Y/N and Amelia devised a query only they knew. Y/N studied the woman, finally speaking. "Excuse me, have you ever read Emma? It is one of my favorite novels."

"There is nothing like staying home, for real comfort." Amelia quoted, relief hitting her at the sound of her friend's voice.

Y/N sighed, "Oh thank Heavens it's you Amelia. I thought you might already be in the ballroom."

Amelia shook her head, "I informed you I would wait until your arrival to enter the ball."

Y/N gazed over Amelia's shoulder, looking for someone. "Where is your Viscount?"

She smiled, "He had affairs to tend to, and said he wouldn't be able to make it tonight. So I'm all yours."

"You don't have to stay with me all night. Just until my plan works on the Lords." The girls locked their arms with one another, slowly walking towards the ballroom.

"They've already arrived. I saw them come in moments before you." Amelia whispered low.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, "Well, let's make our grand entrance then."

As the ladies walked into the ballroom, Y/N noted that they were the last two to enter. She held her breath, staring over the railing of the beautiful marble stairs. She could feel all eyes turn to her and Amelia. Amelia trotted down the stairs, her gloved fingers holding the banister gently. Y/N waited until she was at the bottom, and began her descent. 

Now was the time to woo over the men of the Ton, she thought. She untied her cloak, letting it fall off her shoulders; leaving it on the stairs. Light gasps fell from around the room. She knew her alterations would cause a stir, but gasps? She was taken aback by such sounds.

Not only did she go gloveless to this event, but her slightly lowered neckline showed off her most precious of jewels in more ways than one. The modiste spoke of how most of the Ton was not breaking Gillingham's rules, disregarding the whole point of a masquerade. Y/N knew this was her time to shine. To become a rule breaker.

Lord Golbach and Lord Brock were rule breakers themselves. And even more so, heartbreakers. They were aware of this too. Samuel and Cole gave each other a quick glance, noting the breathtaking beauty dressed in rose coming down the stairs.

Eligible gentlemen from around the room scurried over to Amelia and Y/N, doing their best to introduce themselves quickly. Cole smoothed out his suit jacket, parted his way through the crowd and reached Y/N in no time.

Y/N was taken aback by all the men surrounding her, never having this much attention before. As she glanced up, her eyes immediately made contact with a pair of striking blue ones. The pleasing smile, the chestnut hair, the almost devilish gaze.... she knew it could only be one man.

"Miss Rose, lovely to make your acquaintance." Cole bowed, speaking over all of the men pining for her.

She scrunched her face, confused. "Do you believe that to be my name?"

He blinked, "No. I'm simply calling you that because of your gown."

"Oh..." Y/N cleared her throat awkwardly, returning to a more disinterested persona. "How clever."

"May I accompany you to the floor?" He asked, his voice as smooth as silk.

A man in the small crowd let out a scoff, "Good sir, I do believe I was-"

"I think I can speak for myself, your grace." She turned back to Cole, a playful smile on her lips, "I'm afraid you aren't the first to ask. But if you care to wait, I'll gladly dance with you second."

Lord Brock was surprised, but he chalked up this misunderstanding to her not knowing who he was. No one ever denied Cole a dance. Even those with cards completely filled out. He bowed graciously, moving out of the way so she could be guided onto the dancefloor by the other gentleman.

By his short stature, Cole could tell it was Viscount Davis. While he did have a lot of money, he was a tiresome presence to be around. And surely, Miss Rose would soon find that out herself.

And Y/N did, in record time. Being eye-level with a gentleman was not exactly something she was used to, but all it did was make her very aware of his eyes stealing glances at her bosom. The song ended rather quickly, the Heavens listening to her pleas. Before she could even curtsy at the gentleman, Cole was already next to her, waiting to join her in the next dance. She almost laughed at how eager he was; how easily her plan was playing out. They bowed to one another, and the music slowly began. His expert hands slid into hers, warm and welcoming. His close proximity made her aware suddenly just how handsome he really was. She could understand, for a moment, why so many ladies fawned over him. And her heart skipped a beat.

"Would you be alright with me breaking the rules this evening?" Cole chimed in suddenly.

Y/N cocked her head, "That depends on what you intend to break."

"I would like to tell you my name, and perhaps you will tell me yours?" He wagered. 

"Perhaps..." She trailed off, detached.

"I'm Lord Brock. And if you glance over your shoulder now, the man by the refreshments table is Lord Samuel Golbach." He motioned with his head behind her.

Y/N did peak, noting the eyes of Samuel following her and Cole around the room. "Hmm. Interesting."

"May you wish to tell me yours now?" Cole smiled.

"No, I do not." Y/N shook her head plainly.

"I am surprised. But maybe I shouldn't be," Cole spun her, pulling her back into him. "It appears that you resemble me in many respects."

"And what respects are those?" She questioned.

"If I may presume, you seem inclined to forge your own path. You do not heed merely because it was asked of you." He remarked honestly.

Y/N felt her heart skip again, damning her feelings internally as she kept up her charade. "And you have been able to deduce all of this from the mere twenty minutes I've been in this ballroom?"

Cole smirked confidently, "What can I say? I possess the ability to read others well, particularly charming young ladies."

She held back the urge to roll her eyes at his response. While she wanted to beat him at his own game, she didn't want to be rude. "And how well has that worked out for you, my Lord? Since apparently you and Samuel can't seem to find a match."

Hearing Sam's name fall from her lips was shocking, but that alone made him like her more. She was feisty, and he enjoyed that quality in a woman. "Having standards set high has caused some issues, yes. But maybe I will find the one tonight."

"Have you already encountered someone that has peaked your interest?" She inquired. 

"I would say so. It shouldn't come as a shock since you're the only one I've danced with tonight. And the only one I plan to." He brought his face closer to hers, flashing a charming smile.

"How delightful," Y/N mimicked his look. "I cannot say I feel the same, unfortunately."

His face dropped instantly, "I beg your pardon?"

Y/N wanted to relish in this moment for forever, but the music was slowly coming to an end. "Oh, my apologies, my Lord. I thought we were speaking candidly." 

"You... you don't enjoy my company?" Cole stammered. Stammered.

"Well, you are an accomplished dancer and pleasing to the eye and yet... I am unable to see you worthy as a potential suitor." She curtsied dramatically as their dance finished, her mischievous eyes sparkling from the flames of the candles. "My deepest gratitude, my Lord, for being my second dance. If you'll excuse me, I must go see my other suitors, however."

Y/N turned away, swaying her hips sensually as she walked over to Amelia. Her skin felt like it was on fire from where Cole had been touching her. Even though she hated admitting it, something about Cole was mesmerizing. Intoxicating, even. If she hadn't heard what he said this afternoon, she could see a world in which she would fall for him.

But she couldn't focus on that now. She couldn't believe she had actually done it. She successfully rejected one of the Lords.

Amelia gaped, staring at Y/N. "I'm in awe of you, truly. You are a goddess amongst men."

"I feel like I'm going to faint." Y/N grabbed Amelia's arm, keeping her back turned towards the dancefloor. 

"Really?" Amelia pushed her glass to Y/N, who nodded a 'thank you'.

"Sort of." Y/N downed her lemonade, the refreshing citrus drink calming her nerves only slightly. "Is he still looking over here?"

"If by 'looking' you mean casting daggers, then indeed, that is the case. And," she giggled nervously, "try not to faint when I tell you this, but Lord Golbach is making his approach."

Y/N swallowed hard. "You jest."

Amelia gave a weary smile, "No, but I must make my getaway."

She backed away quickly from Y/N, who called out, "Wait, Ame-!"

"Miss Rose, how wonderful to finally meet." Samuel interjected suddenly.

Y/N took a deep breath, spinning on her heel to face him. "Lord Golbach."

He raised a brow at her, "You know who I am."

"How could I mistake a face like yours for any other?" She replied with a sneer tone.

Sam sucked his teeth, her biting tongue captivating him immensely. Ladies hardly ever truly said how they were feeling around him, and it was refreshing to hear such honesty. "I would entertain that notion if Cole had not informed me of disclosing my identity to you."

Her smile dropped, "I would still be able to pick you out in any crowd, my Lord. I would just have to look for the trail of broken hearts and I would instantly find the two of you."

"My reputation makes me sound harsh." He deadpanned.

She held back the urge to roll her eyes, "I think you and Cole are, in fact, harsh. Reputation or not."

A playful grin rose on Sam's face as he reached out his hand towards Y/N. "Dance with me, Miss Rose."

"And if I say no?" She responded defiantly. 

"I will leave you be," he answered. "But what fun you will miss, declining a dance from a gentleman whom you have already passed judgment upon."

She was surprised by Sam's charisma, his almost flirty nature. She politely took his hand, allowing him to guide her onto the dancefloor. Bowing, she steadied herself.. She was not used to this attention, especially from such desirable gentlemen. She knew deep down she shouldn't like teasing the Lords, but part of her enjoyed knowing they found her coveted.

He gazed down at her, inspecting her. "Your gown is quite suitable. You must come from a high ranking family."

"Thank you," she replied plainly. "And yes, some would say that. It helps that I am acquainted with the modiste in town, as well."

"Really? Not many are like you in that way. I've always found it odd how the higher ranking families in the Ton look down upon the working class." Sam admitted.

Y/N nodded, "Truly. It is such a pity. They are no different than us, the only major thing is that we were born into wealth."

"We are all human, after all." He concurred.

"Respecting our fellow man and cherishing the relationships we have and can make should be number one priority. It's a shame how many in the Ton don't see that." She remarked.

Samuel raised his eyebrows, spinning the young lady in time with the music. "You are one of the only women to think so. Many I have courted never spoke of such qualities."

She could feel her skin grow warmer with annoyance, "Interestingly, my beliefs stem from other women I've had the pleasure of knowing. How often do you ask any? Or do you merely go off of appearances and assumptions alone?"

His face dropped, a bitter smile resting on his mouth. "You and I must be similar in that regard."

"Possibly, yes. However, you are the one with a reputation of casting aside women you don't deem fit enough to be courted." Y/N argued, glaring.

He scoffed, "My apologies for having-"

She interjected, "High standards. Yes, I know."

The dance slowly began to end, her grip falling limp in Sam's hold. An anger unlike Y/N had ever felt was bubbling inside of her. Her grace and dignity almost flying out the window when she looked up at Sam, who seemed perplexed by her words. "I thank you for proving my assertions correct."

"And what exactly where they?" He narrowed his eyes.

"Your character is sorely lacking, and I will never want to court or be married to a man like that." Y/N spun on her heel, pure fire filling her veins. She ought to not have become so agitated, but she was unable to restrain herself. While both men played innocent and kind to her face, she knew of how mean they spoke of her mere hours ago. The sole reason they were like this was because of their ignorance of her identity. She had been taught her whole life to be respectful, to both men and women, no matter what ranking they were. And to see such blatant disrespect come from such a high caliber of men in the Ton infuriated her to no end.

This is who was supposed to be the aspiring husbands in the marriage mart? Being a spinster did not sound too bad after all.

Y/N wanted to find Amelia, but decided against staying in the ballroom. She ventured off to the entrance, standing at the portrait. She paced for a moment, trying to calm her nerves. She heard footsteps coming from the ballroom, expecting Amelia to be following her. But two men walked through, Samuel and Cole.

Her eyes widened as she watched them search for her. She rushed up the stairs, finding the closest room and hiding inside of it. It was a study, most likely Viscount Gillingham's. She closed the door swiftly, praying they hadn't seen her do so. She scanned the room, her eyes landing on the window. Fresh air sounded absolutely wonderful to her. She walked over to the window, attempting to open it.

The door swung open, Sam and Cole staring at her quizzically. "What do you plan to do? Shimmy down the garden wall?"

She huffed, turning to the gentlemen. "Do you take pride in stalking ladies or is that just an extracurricular for you both?"

"You have a surprisingly mean spirit for a lady. You must have suitors lining the street waiting for your hand." Cole sassed, stepping into the room.

"Well, as long as you both aren't in line, I shall have decent prospects." Y/N sniveled.

Samuel ranted, "Pray, what precisely is your objection to us? You do not resemble any woman we've previously courted. Why do you harbor resentment?"

"I do not have to have been courted by you to dislike you, Lord Golbach. Perhaps I find your inability to care for a woman's heart atrocious and that alone sparked my malicious feelings." She rebutted, her hands firmly on her hips.

"Did we hurt a sister of yours? Perhaps a friend." Cole responded, almost in jest.

She shook her head heatedly. "No. No. As humorously as that would be, you hurt mine without ever courting me. So congratulations are in order for that feat."

Both of the gentlemen's faces dropped, annoyed. "How?"

"I overheard you, today, at the park. Along with your friend Beaumont. You all had such a delightful time picking apart different women, none of which measured up to your standards for one reason or another." She spat.

Cole shook his head, almost trying to reset his vision. "A-And what is wrong with having standards?"

"There is nothing wrong with that," Y/N grunted. "The problem lies in how you go about finding those standards. Let's not play foolish here: you both know how sought after you are. And you also know that you most likely won't be finding a match anytime soon. So why be out in society?"

Sam’s eyes rolled for a moment. "Are we not permitted to partake in revelry?"

"You can, but not at the expense of women's hearts or reputations!" Her voice boomed off the walls of the study. The room fell silent, the men watching her with wide eyes. 

She continued passionately. "Do you know how completely ignorant it is to badmouth a woman to one of your fellow gentlemen? It is already hard enough as a lady to find a suitable husband when you have every other lady fighting for said affections. But to have fellow men berate and downgrade you as if you are a second-prized poodle is humiliating. Because if you two think that way about me, how else do the other men of the Ton feel? How am I supposed to navigate a labyrinth I had no realization I was in?"

Both men were stunned into silence, but finally Cole spoke. "We should be wiser with our words, yes. But it's not exactly easy for us, either."

"Oh please." She murmured, exhausted.

He moved towards her, shaking his head. "We are told to act a certain way, to be men. The rakish behavior we have to put on is all but a front. At least for him and I. It is exhausting wanting to be open and vulnerable and honest when no one reciprocates those feelings back. So it's easier to put up walls and guard yourself and pretend to be something you're not. But in the end it all hurts the same."

"But you're a man. And not just any one, a prominent one. You could..." Y/N exhaled. "Change what is expected."

"It is not that simple. And it's already a lonely road for those that do not follow what is to be asked of you." Cole paused, swallowing. "I often wonder if a love match is something I will ever find, or if I'm doomed to face a marriage with a woman that is a complete stranger to me for the rest of my days."

She frowned, "Find someone to love, then."

Cole bit his lip harshly, holding back his hurt, "I wish I could. I wish my family would allow that. There are certain expectations I've been destined to meet since birth that I wish I could shake. But it's not as simple as it sounds."

Y/N looked towards Sam, "And what about you?"

"I... I don't know how to express myself. At all," he muttered, stoic and awkward. "This life of mine is not even remotely fulfilling. And I am afraid I am wasting it being someone I never wished to be."

For a moment, Y/N's heart ached for both gentlemen. She stared at them, and they were no longer men, but boys. And for the first time in years, when she expressed exactly how she felt without fear of rejection, she felt like a girl again. The brutal honesty of being a child with no expectations placed.

"I apologize for being so… careless." Her demeanor softened,  "Maybe I shouldn’t have assumed so harshly.." 

"No. Your honesty is refreshing. I don't think anyone has called us out in years." Samuel commented.

Cole smirked, "Or ever, really."

She giggled, and genuinely smiled, for the first time all night. They smiled back, their grins earnest. 

"You have the sweetest of laughs. Almost like honey." Samuel complimented.

She bowed her head, doing her best to hide her blush. "T-That is very kind of you to say, my Lord."

Cole chimed in, the men sharing a look. "May I ask you a question, Miss Rose?"

Y/N nodded, watching them as they drew closer to her.

"Would it be alright if I call upon you tomorrow?" He asked.

Samuel added, "I too, would wish to do that, as well."

Her eyes widened, "I beg your pardon?"

"You are merely unlike any lady I have ever encountered. Unlike any we have met before. And I am certain that both of us would cherish the opportunity to become better acquainted with you." Cole explained genuinely.

"Even after I've insulted you to your face?" She sassed.

"Even more so, yes." Samuel's eyes glimmered mischievously.

Y/N questioned, "Are you sure that would be wise?"

"I would say it's about as wise as you being in a room, alone, with the two of us. Unchaperoned." Cole's voice deepened, causing Y/N's eyes to flutter.

Y/N suddenly became very aware of how close the Lords were to her. Her lips parted, wanting to gasp, but she was rendered speechless. She glanced between the two of them, watching as the space between them and her came to an almost close. Her back was up against the window sill, and she could feel the heat of Sam and Cole's bodies rolling off onto hers.

She closed her eyes tightly, savoring the moment. This was her first time truly feeling stirred by the presence of a man. Multiple men.

"But you are gentlemen." She choked out.

His eyes darkened. "Of course. We would never do anything untoward an honorable young lady, like yourself."

"All you have to do is say so, and we'll stop." Sam uttered huskily. 

Cole spun Y/N to face him, her mouth falling open in surprise. He stared at her devilishly, his eyes taking in every part of her slowly. A breath blew across the back of Y/N's neck, startling her. She glanced over her shoulder through hooded eyes to see Sam, closing the space between her and him. His mouth danced up her neck, stopping right under her ear.

"Do you want us to stop?" Cole whispered softly.

Y/N shuddered a breath, his hands cupping her waist as he stepped closer to her. His mouth was on the other side of her neck, peppering light kisses up and down her throat. Y/N closed her eyes, her chest heaving as her breath fought to catch up. Y/N had had one kiss before in her entire life, right before coming out into society. And she had heard whispers of what... intimacy, between a man and woman was like.

But this was a whole new world for her.

Heat pooled low in her stomach as the men traced their lips over her skin, breathing her in. Sam's hands rested lightly on her lower back, tracing up and down her corset lining. Cole's hands rubbed up and down her bare arms, goosebumps rising in their wake.

Their bodies were firm up against hers. It was almost like a waltz the way the Lords' movements guided her. She was entranced by it all, following their every direction. Then, suddenly it hit her.

She won. And not only did she win, but the clock was very close to midnight. And it was time to leave.

Y/N took a deep breath, something she felt she hadn't done in ages, and slithered her way out from between each man.

"Well, gentlemen, this has been a lovely evening. But I must be getting home." Y/N stated calmly.

Both men were stunned into silence, again, by her. "Wh... What?"

"Did I say something surprising?" She gazed innocently at them, then headed towards the door.

Samuel and Cole stared at her in awe, an almost amused smile resting on their lips. She truly was incomparable.

As she opened the door to the study, Samuel called out, "You must tell us who you are, at the very least."

She paused, her hand resting on the handle. She had considered making her getaway, not letting them know who she was. But part of her wondered what their faces would look like once they knew it was her, Y/N, that left them this way. Hot and bothered.

She untied her mask slowly, holding it delicately in her hands. She turned back to the Lords, gazing at them both.

"Goodnight, Lord Golbach and Lord Brock. I hope you have a splendid evening." She bowed, and rushed out, taking the stairs quickly.

Sam and Cole stood in silence for a while, reliving the moments they had just shared with Y/N. Neither one could wrap their minds about what took place, or that it was Y/N - of all people - that had caused these feelings to occur. Feelings that both men had not experienced in a very long time, if ever.

Sam stuck his hand out to Cole, raising an eyebrow at him. "May the best man win."

Cole smirked, grasping his friend's hand tightly. "Indeed."

The gentlemen knew only one of them would win Y/N's heart. And now it was time to see who could ever conquer such a feat.

[lovefoolholland]

about you - theodore nott x reader

summary: the train reminded theo of you. thestrals reminded theo of you. what did theo remember about you that wasn’t as heartwrenching? 

warnings: angst, a couple of lines from little women (greta gerwig’s movie) 

a/n: i can’t stop picturing theo as a the 1975 type of guy. like, he gives off matty healy’s vibes, you know? 

English is not my first language! 

The platform didn’t quite spark memories of you, but boy did the compartment he and his friends shared sparkle something.

“Theo!” exclaimed Pansy Parkinson, clearly confused by the looks on Theodore Nott’s face “Are you alright?” 

That was an understatement. 

“Indeed” he answered instead. 

“You don’t seem alright” Blaise inquired, and Pansy gave him a glance. 

“I’m just tired” Theo said, rolling his eyes. 

“Tired of spending all summer thinking of Y/N, I’m sure,” Draco’s voice spilled like venom, and Theo turned to look at him with a dark demeanor in his eyes “am I wrong?” 

“Shut up Draco” Pansy said, and then looked at Theo with an apologetic smile. 

“It’s fine,” Theo heard himself answer “but you’re incredibly wrong. Apparition always tires me.” 

No one mentioned Y/N again, but Theo could feel the tension in the air. 

The compartment reminded him of the smell of freshly baked cookies, and how – somehow – you always managed to smell like that. You’ve mentioned before that you’d stayed over at the Weasley’s for a couple of days before going back to school, but it had never occurred to him until later in the relationship that cookies were something Molly Weasley surely did the morning her children (and her friends’ children) left for Hogwarts. 

Now, he missed the smell and he missed having his head dipped into the top of your head while his arms tangled on yours as you read some boring book that had to do with the classes to come. 

“We’re here mate” said Blaise when everyone but him had gotten out of the compartment. 

“Thanks” he said, and watched as a bunch of students started walking towards the thestrals that always drove everyone to the castle. 

He didn’t find you in the crowd. 

He got up and got out of the train in order to get to the castle in no time. He didn’t want to keep depressing himself over his failed relationship and the memories everything in Hogwarts brought him upon with. 

At least not until he saw your wild hair waiting for a carriage. 

“Hey” he said, and you couldn’t help but jump in place once you saw him. 

“Oh, hi” your voice was as soft as the day he left you “, waiting for a thestral?” 

He stared at you for a solid minute, watching how you curved your hands in your robes and a shy blush creeped up your cheeks. He then nodded. 

“Yeah,” you nodded along “how long have you been here?” 

“Not that long” your voice came out squeaky, noticeably ashamed “I just got off the train. I fell asleep.” 

“What?” he asked, quite interested now “Why? Didn’t your friends wake you up or…?” 

“I was alone” you said, pulling your lips together. 

Of course you were. 

“Right,” he said, uncomfortable “we should probably start walking. 

“We should, yeah.” 

The two of you made your path down the castle in silence, both of you unconsciously thinking of the other. 

Theo remembered the first time he got on one of these carriages. He was incredibly nervous, and that’s when a girl with a bright smile sat next to him and started asking him questions. Just… Asking. She didn’t know about his nerves, if anything, she was interested in meeting new people and getting to know them. 

That girl was you. 

Four years later, during the Triwizard Tournament year, he had told you about the Yule Ball during your ride to the castle and had noticed the way your cheeks flushed when Draco mentioned he was going to ask Pansy to go with him, pretty proud of himself. 

Days later, he asked you, and you went together. 

Now it all seemed like a daydream, a cruel, plain daydream he had the day he told you he didn’t want a relationship with you anymore. How he told you that anyway or another, you were an obstacle in his life. 

How stupid of him. 

“How has your family been?” you asked, head tilting towards him. 

He frowned. 

“Father’s been pretty busy. And mother's portrait has been asking about you.” 

Of course he had to say that. 

He looks up to you to find a startled, yet satisfied expression on your face. He feels as if hot porridge has been spilled all over his face and neck because he knows he has turned red out of embarrassment. 

“Send them my greetings” you simply say before accelerating your pace “, come on, we’re going to be late for dinner.” 

“Wait, T/N,” the lights of the path leading to the school flick a little, and you stop in your tracks as he reaches to you “how have you been?” 

You open your mouth and then close it. It almost seems as if you want to tell him everything about your summer but… But you can’t. 

“Good,” you say, and start walking, slower this time, to the castle “my parents have been pretty busy too. The Ministry is going mad over the news of the return of You-Know-Who.” 

“Yes, of course,” he says, and then slightly smiles “did you stay at the Weasleys?”

He’s met with silence. You look at him with suspicion, and he notices. 

“What?” 

“What is the point of you asking these questions?” 

He scoffs. 

“Alright, sorry. I won’t be asking anything else.” 

“No, Theo– I mean, Theodore,” your breath hitches in your throat “it doesn’t bother me. At all. You know it never will.” 

He knows what you’re asking. 

But why? 

As the two of you step into the entrance of the castle and Flitwick tells you to register yourselves, Theo realizes why. 

“I’ve missed you” he confesses, and notices you try to evade his eyes “, Y/N–”

You take a sharp breath before speaking. 

“Stop it,” she says, and he notices the tears forming on your eyes “Theo, you’re being mean.” 

“Mean?” he asks, eyes narrowing. 

“Yes, mean” you emphasize in the word, and suddenly the two of you find yourselves right at the doors of the Great Hall. 

Theo realizes neither has the intention of going in. 

“I’m telling you how I feel, I don’t see how that’s mean.” 

“No,” you say again, and now inevitably make eye contact. He instantly regrets, you’re on the verge of tears “you don’t get to say this, not after hurting me so much.” 

“Y/N…” 

“Not when I haven’t forgotten about you, not completely” you hiss, and take a step back. 

Theo’s mind runs wild. 

“You haven’t forgotten about me?” 

The choice of words amuses him. How can you forget all that you’ve been through? From sleeping in each other’s arms on the train to the sight of you wearing captivating robes to the Yule Ball, dancing until the last song ran out. 

“No, okay? I’ve tried, and I’ve tried, and I’ve tried, but I can’t” you say, tears sprinting down your cheeks as they turn red “I miss you on the train, I miss your arms around me, and I never know what to think about but…” 

“You think about me” he finishes off, and takes a step towards you “, do you think I’ve forgotten about you?” 

He knows you know that’s impossible. 

You put your lips together tightly and look up at him with a frown. 

“No.” 

“That’s right,” he says, cupping your cheeks with your hands. He cleans the tears with his thumb “I’m sorry, I’m really sorry.” 

You close your eyes once you feel his skin against yours. 

He silently dips his head and kisses your forehead. You still smell like freshly baked cookies. 

“I’m sorry.” 

You simply nod. 

He sighs and dips even more, sliding his hands against the back of your neck before kissing you more feverishly than before. Both of your heads spin as every student storms out of the Great Hall, and even a poltergeist calls you two out. 

“I will never forget you,” he assured you “all I can think about… Live about, is you. I’ve never stopped.” 

You smile and nod, opening your eyes and clenching him by the robes surrounding his body. 

“Never let go, Theodore Nott.”

[dreamsofbroflovski]

Dude, I just— I made a Tumblr account to follow you JANDKSND and ask for a request 🤧🤧

Can we have some of Kyley-B x reader? 😵‍💫 I would like to read a cliché of the innocent girl and the bad boy who incites her to do illicit things (with smut, of course). 🙏🙏🙏🙏

Heeeeeyaaaaaa my first request! ❤️

I am so so so so sorry for taking so long to get to it. Really need to make my writing more speedy and efficient.

Hope you liked it, and once again, really damn sorry 😭😭😭

Also, a belated merry christmas/happy holidays to everyone!

Kyley-B x Reader - trinitrotoluene

Also available on ao3!

Summary: An innocent librarian's whole views on the world - as well as her guts - are rearranged when she takes into the equation South Park's resident New Jersey asshole. And she wouldn't have it any other way.

Warnings: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content (everyone involved is above the age of consent), Penis In Vagina Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Semi-Public Sex, Doggy Style Position

A/N: Gods was this one hard. I never imagined writing Kyley-B would be this hard. Props to everyone who has managed thus far, because this guy wrestled against me in my mind for the whole 14 pages of the Google Docs and even now that I'm posting it I'm not sure I actually won.

I tried my hardest to put together what an adult version of Jersey Kyle would be if he really donned the mantle. Hope I did him justice.

The story of how my life changed forever was rooted in New Jersey, but happened nowhere near there.

When I applied to work at the South Park Public Library, I thought it would be an easy task. Library work in a small secluded town, in a day and age where people mostly forgot about physical books due to the convenience of Kindles or their own phones? How hard can it be? Turns out, very. The place greatly suffered from a lack of useful employees, so I ended up doing a lot of extra work that had nothing to do with what I was hired for, with no extra pay, when the salary was already not that stellar to begin with. Not a great headstart for a fresh-out-of-college English major such as myself, but it was this or the 7/11.

Days like that one kind of made the whole thing worth it, though. Summer weekends in the middle of July, when all the students were on vacation and people lacked the urge to read in favor of other activities, and the only people that would actually visit the library would be soft-spoken loners who just craved the social connection but at the same time didn’t want to chase it. In those days, I was able to just sit back on my chair at the reception counter and take full advantage of the amount of books around me, reading to my heart’s content for almost a full eight hours and getting paid for it.

Such a situation is how I found myself at that particular moment. Curled up as well as I could get in my tiny office chair, my shoes forgotten under the desk in favor of the comfort of being barefoot, yet another book in my hands that wasn’t part of my enormous ‘To Read’ list. It was all cruising up to be another quiet and peaceful day, just a few check outs and some small talk.

Except it wasn’t.

I heard the sizzling of a dynamite’s wick before seeing a full blown atomic bomb. Loud squeaky sounds of sneaker soles trudging across the hardwood, strings of profanities being spewed with each step, followed by the shocked gasps of some of the people seated nearby and their hurried movement as they got out of the way in every direction. Noise like this would usually have me kindly remind its emitter of the setting around them and beg for more silence, but as I raised my eyes from my book, I knew it would be of no use.

Already in front of the counter was one of the most obnoxious-looking men I had ever seen. His blazing curly red hair was slicked back with an obscene amount of gel on it, to the point where it made me wonder if it just started to stay that way after his showers. I couldn’t see him from the waist down, but he was wearing a loose fit wife beater, showing off the muscles of his arms in all their ‘glory’. A golden chain dangled around his neck, clearly fake, the paint already chipped in places where its links connected. His tanned skin already looked out of place in the cold town in the middle of the mountains, where its citizens were mostly pale due to never seeing enough sun to actually get a tan to begin with - but this man was just a few shades away from orange, painfully artificial, he’d stand out like a sore thumb no matter where he was.

“That’s right, you better fucking go, bitch!” The loud addition to my peaceful workplace called out angrily, looking over his shoulder, finishing up his threats on the last bypasser he could before turning his face forward again, which finally let me take a good look at his features. There I saw which had to be the only real thing about him - intense olive eyes that glinted with a fire unknown to me, pure passion and energy, the type that could either burn someone to the ground or keep them warm and safe in the winters. Right now, however, they could set the entire library ablaze by sheer feral glares alone.

I hurriedly scrambled to adjust my position in my seat and rested my book to the side of my computer. “Good afternoon and welcome to the South Park Public Library, restrooms are at the end of the first corridor to the left,” my explanation was kind and gentle, accompanied by a gesture of my hand in the general direction I spoke of.

“I don’t wanna know about no fuckin’ toilet,” the man spat, as if me merely opening my mouth to say something that was of no use to him was enough to make him angry beyond measure, “I’m here to return this.”

With an unneeded display of strength that made all the other items in the counter shake slightly, he slammed a book on it in front of me, his hand staying splayed on top of the cover, allowing me to see that his fingers were fully decked out in fake gold rings in the same fashion of his chain.

Even without seeing the full thing, I recognized that book immediately. My eyes widened. If I was to be honest, I didn’t even imagine the guy in front of me was capable of reading to begin with - and the book he brought was such difficult literature, even I struggled with it at first, so to imagine he deliberately checked that one out and allegedly read it to completion flabbergasted me.

I forced myself to blink and reel back from my shock before continuing the interaction. Get it together, I told myself mentally. My mother told me all the time to never judge a book by its cover - even if that defeated the whole purpose of book cover graphic designers to begin with -, and this was what I was doing right now; letting my prejudices get in the way of what could be a healthy interaction with a fellow bookworm.

Lightly, I placed my hands on the sides of the book and pulled it slowly towards me, letting it slide under his palm, which I avoided touching altogether lest it make him more angry. “Of course, sir,” I managed to assemble a gentle smile on my lips, trying my best to not let my previous thoughts show up on my face.

“Don’t call me sir, I’m not that old,” this complaint was slightly less persistent, but I was still not about to test his limits on it.

“Of course… Mister,” the word in that context sounded way too weird to me, but it was better than the two alternatives of either insisting on ‘sir’ or just not calling him by any title at all, “I’m just gonna need your library card, if you have it on you right now…”

His hand left the counter to retrieve something in his pocket, before swiftly passing to me a tiny rectangular piece of plastic - his library card, the old design of them at that, which meant he had it for quite a while now. My eyes narrowed as I scanned it, my brain multitasking with my fingers typing his card number on the database, and I found myself repeating the information out loud. “Alright, let’s see… Kyle Br-”

“Kyley-B,” his correction came harsh and immediate, stopping me from saying even one more letter of his government name, “And don’t you dare forget it.”

I really hadn’t. It wasn’t like I didn’t know his name, everyone knew it well - he was an infamous face in town. Originally from New Jersey and carrying with him every single terrible stereotype about the place, the man before me caused trouble wherever he went, having very little regard for anything that didn’t concern himself, and yet expecting everyone else to show him the respect he lacked for them. He had actually been in South Park longer than I did, but apparently what was said held true: you can’t take the Jersey out of someone.

“M-My apologies… Kyley-B,” I tried my best to abide by his request and use his nickname in a sentence no matter how ridiculous it sounded, while still typing on the computer to avoid enhancing his anger in any way, “It’s all set. Feel free to peruse the collection if you’d like to borrow something else.” Please don’t was the thought that came right after.

He nodded curtly, taking the card from me to put it back in his pocket, and I noticed his shoulders relaxing a little. Apparently, me being polite and understanding appeased him greatly, like he had understood that I wasn’t one of the assholes trying to get him pissed or something. For as long as I was respectful, I’d stay out of the path of destruction. I could swear I saw the intensity in his eyes shift a bit - but I avoided staring too long, both in fear of getting him angry again and in slight embarrassment at the thought that he might notice me doing that. “Thanks. I think I will.”

Leaning back in my chair and picking my book back up in my hands, I figured that was that. Kyley-B would go off somewhere looking for trouble and I’d be back to my silence and my reading. Yet I didn’t hear the same noises I had when he arrived; no cursing, no loud shoes, no nothing. When I raised my eyes again, he was still there - leaning towards me with his forearms on the counter and a curious expression on his face.

“Do you… Need any help?” I inquired, slowly placing the book on my lap and rolling the chair closer to the desk so he wouldn’t believe for a second that he didn’t have my attention.

A smirk curved his lips as he eyed me up and down. “Nah, just… Perusing.” 

Well, now that’s a word I would never hear out of the mouth of a Jersey guy.

“Okay…” My fingers nervously tapped the cover of my book. “If there’s anything I can do for you, then-”

“There is, actually,” his body swayed slightly as he shifted his weight on his feet, “Has to do with my phone. You can put your number in it.”

Another jolt of bewilderment crossed my features. Allowing myself to focus my eyes on his again, I then understood what it was I saw on them earlier. Attraction. Now that he wasn’t angry anymore, Kyley-B was allowing himself to see me as a woman instead of Personal Enemy Number Ten Thousand. And he made no attempt to hide that he liked what he saw. The blood ran to my cheeks and ears before I could compose myself, my body clearly not accustomed to such unabashed interest. “E-Excuse me?”

“Your number, baby,” he repeats as if it’s nothing, “Could say I’m tryna make a movie with you here, but you clearly rather have your erotica in book form.”

What kind of Jersey asshole even knows about the word ‘erotica’? “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

A ring-adorned index finger pointed towards the book on my lap and I froze. I had deliberately chosen the version of this book - a rather obscure piece of erotic literature, the first of a series - that had a more passable cover, absolutely nothing in it that could give away its themes, in a way that they could only be known by someone who already knew the title. And there was no way Kyley did, right?

“I’ll tell you right now, stop at the first one. The sequels are garbage.” Kyley did. He shook his head with his own advice, like the memories of having to go through the continuations of that book brought stress back to his mind again.

My hands quickly grabbed the book and tried to hide it behind my computer monitor, away from his eyes, but the damage had been done. I tried to retort, but the words got stuck in my throat, coming out as gasps that enhanced further my petrified face, my wide eyes and the intensifying blush in my cheeks and ears. 

“Cat get ya tongue?” Kyley teased as if reading my mind, his upper body leaning over the counter so his pointing finger could brush softly against my cheek, “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. I’m no blabbermouth.”

Still I took a bit to relax and believe his words. This was a small town, gossip spread as easily as the snow fell, it would be hard to show my face anywhere without having jokes hurled towards me about being a ‘closeted freak’. Which was extremely far from the truth, to be honest - that genre of book was not amongst my most read, I was as vanilla as they came, it was literally an unfortunate circumstance that led to anyone finding out about this.

The fact that Kyley-B was so uncharacteristically decent and understanding about it too, despite the initial teasing when he was hitting on me, threw me off even more. He had no reason to help me, and he was notorious for being unhelpful, so this was odd behavior on his part. My mind raced with reasons as to why that would be, trying to make sense of the madness - maybe he had secrets of his own, or maybe he just understood how it was to be the subject of unsavory discussions everywhere he passed. Either way, I found myself thankful for his actions.

Eventually, I let out a deep sigh, my lungs almost hurting as I did. “Thank you… Kyley.” I murmured, nodding slowly, my eyes shining with the gratitude that I couldn’t express with words without sounding corny.

He brought his hand back to himself, and I looked at his face again, seeing the exact same intense expression as before. Maybe, in my slight delirium of trying to build up Kyley-B as an actual human being with thoughts and feelings instead of your stereotypical Jersey playboy, I had imagined it faltering.

“That’s something I like to hear,” the flirtatious tone of voice was back with a vengeance, “Now, about that phone number of yours...”

And just like that, I was avoiding his eyes once more, my hands drifting down to fidget with the hem of my skirt absentmindedly, making me look even more suspicious. “I… I don’t know if that would be appropriate.”

“We only have to get inappropriate if you want me to,” his smirk grew. His voice didn’t even drop in volume as he said this, like he was completely comfortable with talking to unknown women like that - which he probably was, “We can just go party, have a couple drinks, make some noise, shit, whatever it is you like.”

Whatever it was I liked did not involve any of the things he mentioned. “I… I’m afraid I might not be the ideal person for that.” As I tried to let him down easy, I felt a striking pain in my chest; like the act of refusing made me uncomfortable, like I somehow wanted to accept it, even though it didn’t belong to me at all. “But thank you for the offer.”

“‘Not ideal’? What the fuck is that about?” He retorted, and for a moment I thought I might’ve riled him up again - but, although he was still loud, he didn’t seem angrier. More so confused about what I said rather than the circumstances of it. “I’m inviting ya, ain’t I? How the fuck is that not ideal?”

“It’s not the invitation!” I was quick to respond, “It’s just I don’t think I’m the right kind of company for all that… I’m sure there’s better people in town who would love to go clubbing with you.”

“Well, I’m not inviting those other people, I’m inviting you!” It was clear the insistence would not wane anytime soon. He rubbed his eyes with his palms for a bit, his mind trying to come up with a solution, before taking a deep breath and looking at me again. “How about some coffee, or tea, then? You into that?”

My eyes widened in surprise and he probably knew he struck gold there. A coffee shop was much more up my alley, but never in a million years would I imagine the likes of Kyley-B in such an environment - somewhere with no alcohol, no loud music, and where fighting was not tolerated. “I… I am, yes.”

“Coffee it is, then,” his tone was every bit as comfortable as he was when he mentioned partying, “Just gotta avoid that one place near the movie theater. Tastes like shit and the owner is a piece of garbage.”

A small giggle left my mouth. I had been to that coffee shop and knew its owner personally, it wasn’t hard considering the town was pretty small. For once in his life, Kyley-B was right, even if I personally wouldn’t phrase it all like he did. The business was probably only kept standing due to the fact people were too used to it by now, but it was the one place where I wouldn’t mind seeing a Jersey-level rage outburst take place. 

My reaction was stifled by a glare Kyley shot at me, his eyebrows furrowing as he tried to understand if I was laughing at him or with him. “I’m sorry! It’s just… I don’t like that place either.” I admitted, immediately scanning the library hall with wide eyes, trying to see if there was anyone around that could’ve heard me say that. 

His expression relaxed and he nodded. “You ain’t gotta be so shy, you know,” he commented, his tone slightly more serious, “If you have your truth, then you gotta just say it. It’s how we do it in Jersey, and it works!”

It didn’t really work, but I wasn’t about to question him, not when the structure of his message was in the right place. My whole existence happened inside strict lines ever since I was a kid, I was one to keep my opinions to myself and rein in my actions to keep myself palatable to the people around me. This lifestyle had me sheltered to a fault, but until that moment I was fine with it; going through life avoiding trouble kept me healthy and safe, and I didn’t want to jeopardize that. However, Kyley-B’s advice still held some sort of water, and I found myself willing to hear more, even though it came from such an unreliable narrator.

“I know, I know… I just didn’t want anyone to hear me say that. It feels weird.” I shrugged.

“Well, maybe if that place wasn’t so trashy, you wouldn’t have to complain about it, it’s exactly what I am saying!” He retorted, the serious edge in his voice gone and replaced by the usual annoyance. “And I keep telling people that, but they won’t listen!”

With every passing millisecond, Kyley-B managed to confuse me more. While a part of me was stuck on the still present image of the annoying jerk who only knows how to pick fights and be rude to others, another part slowly took form; one that was intrigued about that man, knowing that although he could be a little too much, he was still completely true to himself, which is more than what can be said about a lot of the people around me. Right now, he carried his actions like a motorcycle zig-zagging through the traffic of my mind. Its destination? The inside of my skirt. 

“I’ll keep that in mind… Thank you.”

Kyley-B nodded with a smirk, content that I wasn’t disputing him like people usually seemed to do. Though something told me that even if I did, I still wouldn’t be subjected to the same type of verbal abuse others would if they tried that. “Now, back to that coffee…” 

I then managed to notice that we weren’t alone in our conversation anymore when a hand sneaked from behind the Jersey man, tapping his shoulder a bit. Immediately my brain was blaring sirens, the word ‘DANGER’ being transmitted by every one of my neurons. “Excuse me, sir?” Another male voice called out, well-mannered enough, yet still firm.

Kyley-B immediately turned to face the unknown third party, his eyebrows furrowing and whole expression hardening into anger. “What the fuck do you want? Can’t you see I’m in the middle of something here?”

Apparently the stranger had very little regard for his life, because he didn’t back out from the rude display, their tone instead becoming louder and more insistent in retaliation. “Well, your ‘something’ needs to happen somewhere else, because I have to check out this book and this is the only counter available!” He lifted his hand to show Kyley the book he was holding, as if that would drill the information into his skull.

All it did was make him more angry. He quickly snatched the book from the client’s hand, throwing it with such force it managed to hit the wall farthest from us, before stepping closer to the stranger and crossing his arms in front of his chest. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

The client was stunned for a second, both from his book being thrown and from the sudden inferred physical threat. “What the fuck is wrong with you, dude?” Through his shock he still managed to spit back, trying his best to mirror Kyley’s body language and tone; but it’s hard to be as violent as a guy from Jersey. “Can’t you see you’re fucking wrong? Back off!”

“No, you back off!” Kyley used both his hands to push his adversary away - the other guy stumbled backwards a few feet, but luckily didn’t fall. However, the Jersey man was quick to breach the freshly created distance with hard steps. “I’ll fucking teach garbage like you not to mess with me!”

Right in front of the stranger again, Kyley cracked his knuckles and squared his shoulders. The other guy straightened his posture and balled both fists at his sides, prepared to strike the Jersey threat right back if it came to that.

Mustering the small courage I had in me and having to force my fear-frozen legs to move, I ran from behind the counter towards the two men, putting my hands on their shoulders and praying to all deities that my presence would make them back off instead of turning me into a casualty of the upcoming brawl. “G-Gentlemen, please, don’t…” My voice was thin and desperate, reflecting the state of my mind as I tried to diffuse this situation to the best of my abilities, “There’s no need for any of this! Please, calm down!”

Luckily, they heard me well enough, and my guess is having to acknowledge the presence of a woman put a damper, however small, in their urge to clash. For a moment, our little group was completely silent except for the heavy breathing noises coming from the three of us - the two men furious like bulls about to strike, and me in terrified anxiety over the situation. They maintained a quiet staredown for what felt like forever, and I knew that if they were telepaths, the offenses they’d be mentally hurling at each other would contain curse words that could make a sailor blush. Then Kyley-B did something I didn’t even think he could physically do - he took a step back from a fight.

“Screw this noise,” he huffed, before turning his face to me again and making a gesture with his arm that beckoned me to accompany him somewhere, “Come on, can’t fucking talk in here without a shithead butting in.”

“W-What? Come on where?” My hands gestured desperately towards both my counter and the client in front of Kyley, who the redhead was now clearly ignoring as if he was nothing more than a decorative piece of the library, much to the other’s confusion, “I mean, I’m working right now!”

Before I could stop him, he walked back to the reception and reached over to the space of my desk, his hand clumsily scattering a bunch of the items on it before he could retrieve what he wanted - a small desk sign that just said ‘Be Back Soon’. He placed it firmly on top of the counter, the text facing him. “There. Now you ain’t.”

Kyley-B didn’t even allow me to put my shoes back on before he grabbed me by the wrist and started taking me away from the reception. I sent the other client one last apologetic look over my shoulder as Kyley dragged me, his sneakers louder than ever as he brought a barefooted me all the way to the farthest hallways of the library, down the always empty and slightly dusty Latin Literature section. His hand only loosened its hold when we stopped walking completely. Place was empty except for me, him and one of the trustworthy metal library carts, containing an assortment of books that needed to be delivered back into their proper shelves.

When he put both his hands in his pockets, I realized that now, away from the reception counter, I could see the lower half of his body. Even though he wore a belt, his acid wash denim jeans still hung a bit low on his hips - when his shirt shifted slightly, I could see the top of his boxers’ waistband peeking out. A look that normally would have given me pause when it came to a guy, but at that moment, what paused was my gaze, that I had to forcefully tear away from the region as I imagined what he looked like minus the outfit.

“Fucking finally. Can’t stand those hicks sticking their nose in business that ain’t theirs.” He spat, looking over his shoulder a bit towards the direction from which we came, like he was still trying to send his message to the other man who couldn’t even hear him anymore. 

“I guess...” I didn’t really want to continue dwelling on what just transpired; Kyley’s anger was still fresh - was it ever not? - and the last thing I wanted was for him to decide to head back and finally start what he was about to before I intervened. Besides, from our small interaction in the reception desk, I had learnt that he had a ‘not complete jerk’ side to him that was much more tolerable to be around.

“I swear, people in this town stress me the fuck out. Gahbage, all of them.“ He shook his head and with that, finally turned his face back to me - his expression was still intense, but at least he wasn’t completely pissed off anymore, and a hint of that cocky flirtatious grin had returned to his lips. “Well, not all. But enough about that bullshit. What do they call you around these parts?”

The way he asked for my name sounded weird to me, but I guess that’s the type of sentence someone’s got to use when their name is ‘Kyley-B’ and they refuse to be referred to as anything else. “I’m Y/N.”

‘Y/N, huh? That’s hot.”

Of all the adjectives he could have chosen, he went for the one I had never seen used before to describe a name, especially mine. “What do you mean by that?”

Kyley frowned a bit in confusion. “I mean it’s hot, what of it?” The answer came with a dismissive shrug, as if it was obvious and I was dumb for even having something to question. “Your name is hot, you’re hot, there’s not much else to say.”

My mouth spoke before my mind could catch the words this time. “Well, that’s a surprise.”

His frown intensified and I put my hands over my lips, the mistake getting to me. “And what do you mean by that?”

“Well, it’s just, I’ve seen you around,” my brain cells worked themselves into overdrive trying to find a way to say it that didn’t sound accusatory, “With some girls, and…”

Lively laughter that almost seemed to rumble the books on the nearby shelves interrupted my train of thought. “Oh, so that’s what this is about?” Kyley ran his fingers through his own hair - it almost didn’t even move due to the sheer amount of hair gel. “Don’t ya worry about it, baby. I like the covered up look too. You’re really pretty.” 

He eyed me up and down slowly, still grinning, as if he truly appreciated what he saw. I looked down at myself as well, taking in my outfit - a loose-fitting blouse, a skirt that ended just barely above my knees, my bare feet that were earlier covered by a pair of flats. Miles away from the style of the women that I’d seen Kyley-B have in his arms - women who wore clothes with much less fabric, shoes with much higher heels, makeup with much more vibrant colors. Women that dressed like they wanted the attention, in the way that Kyley’s personality denounced the same thing.

Yet that Jersey man still looked at me like he wanted me in a much worse way than he’d want any of those girls, beyond just flirting for the hell of it or so he could add another number to his body count. And I was eating it up despite myself - having the undivided attention of Kyley-B in a somewhat private setting like this, instead of fighting other women for it at a club or something, was deliciously feeding into my ego, and it took everything in my mind for me to remind myself that this was my job and I was working and there is no way anything can happen and oh my lord his eyes are so gorgeous.

My eyes drifted to the floor, suddenly very interested in the nail polish on my toes and the small creases on Kyley’s Jordans. “Thank you…”

 “See? This is what I’m talking about.” One of his hands made its way to my chin, tilting it upwards just enough to bring my attention towards his face again.“That’s the fourth time you’ve thanked me now. Makes me wanna actually give you something to be thankful for.”

Now forced to look at him - honestly, I don’t know how ‘forced’ I really was, considering I made no attempt to dodge my head away from his hold -, the fire reddening my face was on full display for Kyley, a sight that made his smirk widen.

“There’s no need for that,” I murmured, though the little vain monster in my heart yearned for him to continue talking about me like that, to continue making me feel actually interesting, “It’s just… who I am.”

He stepped closer, keeping his eyes on mine. “Who you are? I wanna know all about that… Inside and out.”

My nervous hard swallow was audible. I was sure I could boil a kettle using only the heat radiating from me at that moment. His voice was dripping with desire; the double entendre almost making the air around us crackle with how charged it was. Despite my whole body presenting all my real feelings, my personality still clamored for some semblance of that decorum that Kyley-B was trying to make slip away. "I don’t know… I don’t think we should…”

“Why not?” This time, there was no anger in his voice as he questioned me; its volume had dropped lower, matching the ‘private’ nature of the conversation. “I’m into it, you’re into it, I don’t see the issue.”

I could’ve denied, said he understood everything wrong and I was just being polite, thanked him for his time and left that place with my decency intact. But I was always a very bad liar, and there was no denying the way my heart beated like a drum with his proximity, how my face got beet red just from our simple conversations, or the way I eagerly paid attention to every word that came out of his mouth.

Why was I feeling so drawn to his offer anyway? Was it the forbidden aspect of it all, the knowledge that I’d be going wild and letting loose while still maintaining the looks of a productive member of society? Did I internally enjoy the attention of someone who usually went for women that had nothing to do with me in either appearance or personality? Was the savior complex acting up again, the ‘I can change him’ mentality? All of the above would lead to the same outcome.

Another thing that really led me towards the path of surrendering to Kyley was the fact that, during all of this, he still hadn’t touched me in any way that was inherently sexual, despite all of his verbal advances. He was still waiting for my consent, exhibiting atypical patience, which made me believe he would’ve been okay even if I legitimately rejected him - the thing he couldn’t take was me hiding myself from the both of us, my attempts at masking my interest, and that’s why he was still pressing the issue. He wanted to take me, but he also had to make sure I wanted to be taken.

“Come on, baby… Talk to me…” His voice dropped even lower as he took the final step towards me, our bodies inches from each other now, “Wanna know what’s going on in that pretty little mind…”

The deep shuddering breath I took brought to me the smells of old books and some very strong cologne, the latter of which I could easily imagine on my pillow. “Need you…”

His hands grabbed both sides of my face and he pulled me into a fierce kiss, groaning into my mouth once we collided. His lips were surprisingly soft, likely due to a religious application of chapstick, but the kiss as a whole was still rough in a figurative sense; tough, possessive, everything that man was now being transferred to me through the clashing of our mouths, basically demanding me to respond in kind.

Which was something I didn’t even know I could do. I wasn’t necessarily a virgin, but that doesn’t mean I was all that seasoned, either. My years in university weren’t necessarily the great breeding ground for sexual experience that they seemed to be for everyone else - turns out all the other English majors were more interested in reading about steamy affection and whirlwind romances rather than actually living them. 

So that moment with Kyley-B, in the back of my workplace, was the first moment of my life I actually felt desired - like my whole presence did something for the man in front of me, something he couldn’t ignore. And I found myself in equal measure wanting him as well, entranced by his untamed nature, like a tiny wild side of me I didn’t even know existed was slowly coming to life now that he was close enough.

We needed to have each other. So, letting my last sliver of rational thought become dust and settle on the books in the shelves around us, I kissed him back, my hands resting on his shoulders and gently bringing him even closer. Kyley’s hands tightened around my waist and he pushed me backwards until I felt my ass lightly hit the library cart, hearing the faint squeak of the wheels as they moved a bit from the slight impact. His tongue led mine in a sensual dance, one that I initially didn’t know the moves to, but that quickly became second nature under his expert tutoring. His hips pressed against me and I was a bit glad to notice he was clearly affected too, seeking whatever friction he could get by grinding his bulge against my lower abdomen. 

Both of us had our chests heaving heavily when we pulled back in need of air, and that’s when I realized my whole body was trembling with a mix of nerves and anticipation. “Please…” was all I could manage to say, and I didn’t even know what I was begging for; for Kyley-B to calm down, to keep going, to do more, to bring me somewhere else or take me right there. Just whatever it was that would calm down the heat on my lower abdomen, since I knew only he could take care of that now.

“You really know your magic words, what a good girl,” Kyley murmured with his mouth still inches from mine, his words teasing, but with an undertone of praise. One of his hands slowly drifted down from my waist, pulling up the fabric of my skirt a bit just so it could slide under, a feather-light touch making its way towards my inner thighs until it settled right over my clothed pussy - the material already thoroughly damp from just his previous contact.

Two of his fingers traced my slit over my panties before they stopped right on top of my clit, applying slight pressure to it before rubbing tight firm circles over it, the fabric of my underwear providing even more friction against my extra sensitive bundle of nerves. My teeth dug into my lower lip as I stifled my whimpers, squirming quietly under Kyley’s teasing moves.

“You’re real wet, ya know that?” He moved his head so that he could whisper in my ear, his teeth grazing my earlobe. The tip of his tongue then slowly traced the outline of my ear, a seductive gesture that sent goosebumps through my whole body. “Love to see it. Basically dripping for me.”

His digits moved back lower between my thighs, tracing me yet again, but the pressure on my clit wasn’t missed for long, as his palm was now flat against it, applying a bit of pressure and moving just barely to still keep me sensitive. He pushed my very damp panties to the side, a finger now circling my entrance, the small wet sounds it made almost deafening to me, proving Kyley’s previous claim without a doubt.

When he pushed his index in, I grabbed hard on the library cart handle, making it rattle a bit with the sudden movement. My breath hitched with the sudden intrusion, and Kyley chuckled in satisfaction, his face lowering to my neck. The pleasurable pain of the bites he started to place on the sensitive skin came in tandem with his middle finger also plunging inside of me, all the way to the last knuckle.

Kyley-B wasted no time before curling his fingers in a come hither motion, pumping them in and out with a type of strength that made my whole body shake with each push inward. My hips moved towards his palm in sync with his ministrations, subconsciously trying to get extra friction on my clit. 

Despite never having seen me before, it was like he had a complete map of my body in his mind. He knew exactly what to do at all times to make me feel good, and handled my body with a type of care that I would never expect from the likes of him. My worries about his nature or his intentions were gone with the wind; he could be whoever he wanted, as long as he’d continue laying his passion on all the neglected erotic parts of both my body and spirit. Soon my nails started making scraping noises against the metal of the handle, like I wasn’t just holding on to it, but also to the last little bit of my sanity before Kyley-B would kick me right into the deepest ends of pleasure.

Then suddenly, it stopped. His fingers withdrew from me and he took them to his mouth, cleaning my whole arousal out of those digits as he sucked on them. Not saying a word, he then used both of his hands to hike up my skirt completely so that it would be bunched up on my waist, immediately pressing his body against me again while his fingers drifted to the side of my panties. With a fierce tug that would’ve made me lose balance if not for his presence, he tore the damp fabric clean off, dropping it on the floor near our feet.

“What… Why did you…” I stuttered a bit as I looked up at him with my mouth hanging slightly open, looking every bit needy and desperate for him, absolutely pathetic in my yearning for the touch of that man.

His response came as a series of quick yet sensual kisses, the last one prolonged by the soft pulling of my bottom lip between his teeth. “Think we’re both gonna like it a lot more if you cum on my cock, baby,” he cooed, “And ya want it too, right? Don’t think you’d want to come all the way here just to get two fingers in.”

My head moved in a meek nod. My brain would’ve normally scolded me for agreeing so easily to words like these, so overtly sexually charged, but I couldn’t exactly lie to Kyley, either. I wanted him to fill me up. Taking in my agreement, he pulled back just a bit so he could make quick work of the belt and buttons in his jeans and pulled both them and his boxers slightly down, just enough for his cock to spring free. 

A lot of times, when people see feisty men with boisterous personalities, they like to say that those men are compensating for a lack of something. Kyley-B absolutely was not. He had the inches and the girth to back up every single aggressive display and explicit word that left his mouth. I pressed my thighs together, both in a gesture of fear for my poor pussy and also as a way to create some sort of pressure in the area that could calm me down until he would finally give it all to me.

My light squirming did not go unnoticed by his ever observant olive eyes. For all his violent behavior, he was still a really sharp individual. “You can take it,” he stated in a way that left no room for questioning, “I’ll make sure of it.”

Kyley took my lips back in his as his hands then moved from my waist to my ass, the unfamiliar sensation making me gasp against his mouth. He kneaded the soft flesh a bit, feeling it around. Then, without warning, both his hands delivered hard smacks to each side of my bottom, and I broke the kiss with a loud high-pitched yelp - the sounds almost echoed in the quiet library. He immediately started rubbing circles with his palms on the areas he slapped, as if trying to soothe them, contented groans rumbling in his chest. His next sentence came as an order. “Turn around. Need to feel this ass on me.”

I spun 180 degrees on my feet without a second thought and he pushed my back unceremoniously, making me bend over the library cart in front of me before shoving my head down towards it so that my back would be even lower and my ass would be in a more prominent position. My face landed on its side on one of the books that I was supposed to put back in place - Don Quixote. I had the feeling that by the end of my encounter with Kyley-B I too would be crazy enough to fight windmills.

I could only hear the noises his shoes made as he settled properly behind me, the hand he had used to shove me now placed at my back, putting slight pressure to keep me bent. He held his cock with the other one, giving a few light taps with it on my ass, and I just knew his gaze was burning into me as he watched the soft flesh jiggle a bit. When he positioned himself to start dragging the head across my slit, gathering up my already plentiful arousal and spreading it around even more, I whined and bucked back a little with my hips, the library cart under me rolling a bit as well. 

Immediately the hand that had been resting on my back moved to my ass and grabbed it fiercely. “Damn desperate for my cock, are ya, baby?” I could almost hear the smirk in his lips as he said those words, “Don’t worry, Imma give it to ya… And you ain’t even gonna need to thank me for it…”

Fortunately Kyley-B did not make me wait much longer after that. He was all about that instant gratification, and my submissive behaviour fed right into it. He traced my slit a few more times with the tip of his cock before pushing it fully inside of me in one swift motion, taking advantage of my wetness buildup. 

Another yelp from deep within my throat, this time accompanied by a deep grunt from Kyley-B’s. Both his hands grabbed my hips with such ferocity it felt like he was trying to get his fingers to break through my skin - but he’d have to settle for them just leaving a couple bruises. The stinging sensation deep in my walls as they stretched around his cock was like nothing I had ever felt before; worse than it felt when I lost my virginity, yet it was better, as in, actually good. I took a deep breath, hoping the air coming inside my lungs might help ease the burning somehow.

“Fuck, you’re so fuckin’ tight,” Kyley-B grunted behind me, his tone of voice faltering for a moment, becoming less brutish than usual - he was lost in the feeling of being inside me just as much as I was on the feeling of taking him. “Gonna end up ruining ya… If I’m not careful…”

He already had.

His grip steadied on my hips as he pulled away from me, before slamming all the way back in, giving me no time to calm down as he quickly settled into a steady pace, each thrust burying his cock to the hilt inside of my cunt. He was so big I could feel his tip hitting my cervix, constant jolts of pain coursing through my lower abdomen with each hit - yet I didn’t feel any urge to bring myself away from it or make it stop. It was the best pain I had ever felt in my life, which is a sentence I never thought I’d put together. 

Before I knew it I was letting out loud pleasure whines, my perception of the environment around me slowly being lost. Kyley still seemed to maintain his for a bit, though - to stifle my noises, he quickly shoved his index and middle finger inside of my mouth, almost all the way to the third knuckle. As if on cue, I started sucking on those digits and swirling my tongue around them like it was second nature.

“Fuck, girl,” he groaned with a husky voice, “If ya pussy wasn’t this fuckin’ good I’d be using my cock on this great tongue ya got instead.”

His other hand grabbed a fistful of my hair and pulled it with reasonable strength, making me gasp and bringing my head up - my mouth opened wider and I could now taste the brass of his fake rings on my tongue as he pushed his fingers all the way inside, having the surprising care of positioning them in such a way that they wouldn’t make me gag, while I continued to work on them.

He didn’t keep my noises muffled like this for long. Soon he seemed to realize it was of no use and we were already loud anyway; so he let go of my hair and my face immediately fell forward, his fingers leaving my mouth with a wet noise and slight pain to me as his rings clumsily hit my teeth from the sudden movement. His hands slapped both sides of my ass again and I yelled with full force of my lungs - now that I was free to make noise, he seemed interested in testing my ability of it, and I could swear the squelching noises my pussy made with each of his thrusts became louder as he sped up a bit.

With each potent snap of his hips against my ass, my whole body would jerk forward and cause the library cart to hit the tall wooden bookshelf right in front of me, shaking the whole thing up and making it bang against the wall behind it. Heavy hardcover books rained from the shelves, hitting the parquet floor with loud thuds.

Completely immersed in the pleasure the Jersey man was giving me, I failed to notice the danger I was in, of a book striking my head and knocking me out cold. I only realized that situation when all of a sudden Kyley-B had the whole weight of his upper body against my back, his harsh breathing on my neck sending shivers down my spine while his arm moved at the speed of light to backhand a falling book out of its path towards our bodies, sending it flying a few feet away like it was nothing. He hissed between his teeth, likely from the pain of the smack, but didn’t voice any complaints besides that, his pounding against me not faltering for even a second.

I adored the new sensation. Though I was almost fully trapped against the library cart, him leaning on top of me like this was strangely comforting, seeing all of that oppressive strength being used for my protection. Kyley-B clearly took care of what was his, and at that moment, that’s exactly what I was.

Best as I could, I sneaked one of my arms over my shoulder, my hand clumsily grabbing a fistful of his gelled up hair. He grunted roughly against my neck, apparently not used to being touched like that - maybe it was usually the other way around - but making no move to stop my awkward attempt at a caress either. His thrusts slowed a bit as he stayed like this for a moment or two, before he straightened his posture back up with his chest away from my back and gave my ass another slap, picking up speed again - maybe that was his way of taking for himself the smallest bit of control over the situation I held for a bit. 

Not that I minded. Him taking charge was all that I wanted at that moment. Not a single useful thought graced my brain while he fucked me senseless, all of my neurons hyper-aware of how his cock felt when it pushed against the most sensitive spots inside of me and not much else. Everything was Kyley-B, the world around us irrelevant, merely a void environment that could absorb all of my moans and screams of pleasure, as well as the squelching and slapping noises of his thrusts, with no repercussion. Even the swear words he grunted every so often now sounded like music to me; because it came from a place of intense pleasure, which I was giving him, so he could curse as much as he wanted near me as long as he’d do it in that lascivious tone.

Kyley’s thrusts became even quicker and more erratic, as if he couldn’t bear to have a single inch of himself not buried inside of me for any amount of time. He bullied my walls and my cervix with wild abandon, and I felt myself tensing up under his chest, my toes curling against the hardwood floor as my body braced for the impact of the release that his cock was about to give to me. 

He noticed the physical aspects of my buildup and a hoarse chuckle cut through the sounds of his hips slapping against me. “Gonna cum for me now, are ya, babe?” He murmured huskily, giving the lightest of taps to my ass, an action that felt weirdly reassuring. “Told ya it was gonna be better with my cock… Go on, let me see ya…”

My eyes rolled almost to the back of my head and I let out a cry that made my whole throat quiver as the most intense orgasm of my life crashed on me like a tsunami, my spine arching and making my upper body press even more against the cart under me. While I whimpered and trembled through the ripples of pleasure in my system, Kyley-B grabbed my hair again, pulling my head back some more as he used the newfound reins to jackhammer into me with my cunt clamping fiercely against his cock, trying to make it a permanent attachment to my body - a very smart decision on its part, really.

Despite riding my climax out to the fullest, I did not get any time to catch my breath - Kyley-B’s attack on my walls had already started to cross the line into overstimulation, making me whimper from the continuing massage on the extra sensitive region, before he suddenly withdrew from me. Although I already had way too much everything considered, that action surprisingly made me legitimately angry for half a second - I missed him inside of me. His breathing shook and faltered while thick jets spilled over my ass and lower back, his seed warm against my skin.

As he came down from his high and his breathing became more steady, I heard him reach inside of his pocket again, then felt the slightly rough sensation of lace being rubbed against me - he was cleaning up his release with the very same panties he tore away. Seemed thorough about it, too, as he took his time and by the end of it I didn’t feel sticky anymore. Yet, the knowledge of what we did had painted my body forever, the warm sensation still very much psychologically present, even if I was physically ‘clean’.

I looked over my shoulder just in time to see him stuff the panties in his pocket. The normal confusion I’d exhibit if seeing such an act did not grace my features, either because I was too fucked out to care or because I actually liked it.

He tucked his softening cock back inside of his boxers and closed the buttons and belt on his jeans before leaning towards me again, this time to put his nose to the side of my neck, inhaling my scent sharply while his arms wrapped around my waist.

”Did so fucking well for me, baby. You were so damn good.” Kyley-B whispered against my skin, his voice once more taking that less rowdy tone I heard earlier. Hearing it again, in a full sentence this time, sent shivers down my spine - different shivers from the ones that had coursed through my body earlier. Like I could catch a glimpse of the man behind the fake tan. He made sure to leave one tiny nip at my skin before pressing a kiss right on top of that region - a surprisingly soft kiss, like he was now trying to be careful with me.

He stayed like this for a little more before straightening up again and letting go of my body, giving my ass one last playful slap, chuckling as he watched it jiggle. “You’re the real deal, Y/N,” the Jersey playboy voice was back at full force, “Let’s go out sometime. I’ll call you.”

Which was a weird thing to say, considering I hadn’t given him my number at all, but for some reason I just knew that was the least of his problems. He knew where I worked. He’d find a way, and I’d give him as much direction as I could for that.

As soon as I couldn’t hear his footsteps anymore, my knees gave in, and I fell right on them, letting the library cart hit the now much less packed bookcase a final time. My hands clung to the side of it with what little strength I had in my body, that still felt like it was made of jelly. I could’ve fallen asleep right then and there, the exhaustion from the unfamiliar ‘exercise’ getting to me. Dozens of books laid around me on the floor, waiting to be put back in their places, but I decided to just make that a problem for future me, instead choosing to let my muscles catch a break.

When I finally managed to pull myself together enough to return, alone, to the reception desk, I realized I was in deep shit. Every single set of eyes in the location turned to me, wide and horrified; apparently, the whole time I was with Kyley-B back there, my clients at the library were frozen in place listening to the whole thing. I tried to avoid my shame by looking elsewhere, but then my eyes rested on a decorative piece of mirrored glass at the wall; I could now see myself clearly. My hair was messed up beyond belief from all of Kyley-B’s pulling, my whole makeup was smudged - with special attention to the huge pink blur of lipstick around my very kiss-swollen lips -, my shirt was creased everywhere. Not to mention that now my underwear was hanging out in a New Jersey man’s pocket, leaving me totally commando. And I had a few more hours of my shift ahead of me.

It didn’t affect me as much as it should.

༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩♡𓆪༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚

Surprisingly enough, I did not get fired from my job after that. My guess was they knew they couldn’t find anyone else who could put up with the extra work that had nothing to do with my appointed position, not for the money I was paid. So I got to stay.

What did happen was the influx of people at the library augmented significantly. This did not mean a proportional increase in the number of books checked out, however - it just meant way too many people were suddenly interested in Latin Literature, and my workplace became a lot noisier.

Dividers by @cafekitsune

[airenyah]

A LOOK AT STYLE'S JOURNEY | Ep 7

(Overview | Ep1+2 | Ep3 | Ep4 | Ep5 | Ep6 | Ep8 | Ep9)

Hi y'all, this is the longest one yet. Don't ask me how much sleep I've been getting. And don't ask me about how my uni assignments are going. Or the studying for any exams. You don't wanna know.

ENJOY <3

Disclaimer: I just want to remind everyone that I am not a Thai native speaker and also in no way fluent yet (I'm roughly at B1/B2 level). There is a whoooole lot of language stuff in this meta and I didn't double check every single thing with native speakers because I didn't wanna overwhelm anyone with the number of questions, even though I already split my questions between three different people. That's how much language stuff I've packed in here this time. Oops. (There may be mistakes. I'm open to corrections.)

Pronoun situation: As usual, just assume Fadel and Style use the rude pronouns guu/mueng with each other unless I specify otherwise.

To recap: When we last left Style he was absolutely stoked to have his boyfriend back. Fadel even confessed his love to Style, and while Fadel was acting a little weird, things were mostly all good, right? Nothing to worry about, thinks Style...

No. 1: How to Clean Your Boyfriend's Face

We start the episode with Style actually doing his (real) job for once, which is nice for a change, because I don't think we saw him actually working on a car ever since he started flirting with Fadel. However, he gets abruptly interrupted in his work when Fadel suddenly pulls him out from underneath the car with no warning and attacks him with a shower of kisses. Style is very amused about it, but it's not the right time or place for something like this and so he complains, reminding Fadel that Style's father could show up. Fadel asks him if Style is scared and personally, I don't think it's that Style is scared. I think it's more about how off-guard Fadel caught him, Style wasn't mentally prepared for a sudden kiss shower/potential make-out session from one second to the next. And also, Style knows his dad is out and could return at any moment and let's be real... This would be a very awkward situation to have your parent walk in on you, for both you and your parent.

But Fadel doesn't care and continues to shower Style in kisses anyway. Since the message didn't reach Fadel the first time or Fadel is deliberately ignoring the message, Style tries again, now explicitly asking Fadel if this was the time for kissing (I know in the subs it's a statement but in Thai he actually phrases it like a question). Instead of answering, Fadel goes into an explanation about the difference between a kiss and a peck which ends in a demonstration of what a kiss really is. Style is still very amused and even laughs, but he's getting more suspicious by the minute. He pushes Fadel away again and starts questioning him: "Why are you here?"

Now, this isn't literally what he's saying in Thai, but I can see why it would have been translated that way, because I, too, am struggling to find a way to make the literal translation sound smooth and natural in English. Plus, the second part of what he's saying can be taken a few different ways:

นี่มึงมาหากูอ่ะ มีอะไรหรือเปล่ว [nîi - mueng - maa hăa - guu - àh • mii - à-rai - rĕu bplào] [interjection] - you - come visit - me - [particle] • there is - something, anything - or not

Now, the literal translation of the first part is pretty straight forward, it's just "you came to visit me". The second part is slightly more complicated because the literal translation is "Do you have anything?" or "Do you have something?" which doesn't really make any sense in English. This phrase means something along the lines of:

What's up?/Is something up?/Is anything up?

Is there a problem?

Is something on your mind?

What's the matter?

Is something wrong?

Basically, the sentiment here is something along the lines of: "The reason why you came by, is there anything going on?" (Funnily enough I find this a lot easier to translate into German: "Dass du zu mir gekommen bist, gibt's denn was?")

Point is, Style isn't just asking "Why are you here?" because he's surprised and wants to know the reason, but he is specifically asking if there's anything up, because he can tell there is something off about Fadel's behavior and that there's got to be a reason for it. And when he says "You could have let me know you were coming", in Thai this is also phrased like a question:

Why didn't you let me know first? ทำไมไม่ทักมาก่อนอ่ะ [tam-mai - mâi - ták maa - gòn - àh] why - not - speak to - first - [particle]

Again, Fadel doesn't really answer any of Style's questions and just comes up with a counter question: "We’re dating. Can’t I just pop by and see you?" Style is still very amused about this and the way he looks at Fadel is full of love and affection. However, as much as Style appreciates the sweetness, it's very out of character and that has him even more skeptical now: "What is this? You’re being weirdly nice. What’s with you?" By the way, when Style says "nice", the word he uses in Thai is หวาน [wăan], which translates to "sweet". Style is explicitly calling out Fadel's odd overly clingy behavior.

And again, Fadel deflects Style's inquiries about what is going on with him, this time with a complaint: "You don’t like me being nice. You complain when I’m cold. What do you even want?"

I'm just gonna share the literal translation with you, even though it doesn't really make much of a difference (except for Fadel also saying "sweet" instead of "nice") simply just because I found it amusing:

When I'm sweet, you don't like it. ตอนกูหวานมึงก็ไม่ชอบ [dton - guu - wăan - mueng - gôr - mâi - chôp] when - I - sweet - you - [sentence link] - not - like When I'm hostile, you still scold me. ตอนกูโหดมึงก็ด่ากู [dton - guu - hòht - mueng - gôr - dàa - guu] when - I - aggressive - you - [sentence link] - scold - me How exactly do you like it? มึงชอบแบบไหนกันแน่เนี่ย [mueng - chôp - bàep năi - gan nâe - nîia] you - like - which way - exactly - [particle]

I just find it amusing that Fadel complains about Style scolding him, when Fadel has spent the first few episodes doing nothing but scold and yell at Style himself.

Anyway, Fadel turns it around on Style and Style is quick to conciliate him ("I’m just not used to you like this.") and then explicitly tells Fadel that he is being out of character ("You don’t sound like you, you know?"). And let me just share a literal translation with you, for funsies:

I'm just not used to the tone of your voice right now. กูแค่ไม่ชินกับน้ำเสียงมึงตอนเนี่ย [guu - kâe - mâi - chin gàp - náam-sĭiang mueng - dton - nîia] I - just - not - used to - your tone of voice - (right) now - [particle] You don't seem like you at all, you know? ดูไม่เป็นมึงเลยรู้วะ [duu - mâi - bpen - mueng - loiie - rúu - wá] seem, look - not - be - you - [particle for emphasis] - know - [particle]

Fun fact: the word that is used to say "seem like" is ดู [duu], which also means "to look". That is to say, the sentence could also give a feeling of "it looks like it's not you at all" or "you don't look like you at all".

Fadel doesn't sound like himself in the way he speaks, and Fadel doesn't seem ("look") like himself in the way he behaves. Something is wrong with the Fadel that Style knows and loves, and Style can very much tell. So he keeps pulling back, keeps refusing to accept Fadel's affection and kisses until he's gotten to the bottom of what is going on. But Fadel hits him with a (seemingly) romantic line: "Don’t you ever think that I’m only like this because of you?" This has Style smile. After all, Fadel isn't exactly wrong about this. Fadel has indeed changed through Style's influence since their first meeting. It's the most sincere thing Fadel has said in this entire conversation so far. Style looks at Fadel fondly and finally lets him kiss him without a protest. And that, of course, is the exact moment Style's dad has to arrive home. Our lovebirds ended up being walked in on by a parent after all. How awkward.

Fadel quickly jumps to his feet and Style sits up. After a short banter between Style and his dad, Style's dad turns to Fadel and asks: "You’re here so late. Where are you guys going?"

And again, I wanna share a more literal translation of the ensuing conversation:

Dad: Where are you inviting him to go to? จะชวนไปไหนกัน [jà - chuuan - bpai - năi - gan] will - invite - go - where - together Official subs: Where are you guys going? Fadel: I'm not inviting him anywhere. I was gonna come to ask to spend the night. ไม่ได้ชวนไปไหนครับ จะมาขอนอนค้าง [mâi dâai - chuuan - bpai - năi - kráp • jà - maa - kŏh - nawn káang] not - invite - go - anywhere - [krub] • will - come - ask for - spend the night Official subs: We’re not going anywhere. I’m just staying over.

It doesn't really make much of a difference here, but I find it interesting how just a little bit of rephrasing to "I'm just staying over" makes it sound like Fadel had already decided and was set on it (which to be fair he probably was anyway) while in Thai that decision is less straight foreward, because he says he wanted to ask to spend the night (he's not just barging in, but asks for permission first. Although, let's be real, I'm sure if Style had said no, Fadel would have done his best to talk Style into letting him stay over anyway. That is, if he had even planned on spending the night at Style's in the first place or if he just said that to appease Style's dad, considering Fadel didn't even seem to bring his own PJs for a sleepover).

Anyway, Fadel wanting to spend the night is news to Style. He looks at Fadel with question marks all over his face. This isn't helping in making Fadel's behavior seem any less odd.

Style's dad is cool with Fadel staying over, but wants to have a chat with him under the guise of Fadel helping him. Once the dad has walked off, Style starts questioning Fadel again: "Hey. Why didn’t you tell me you wanted to stay over?" Fadel crouches down, takes Style's head in his hands and says: "It’s only normal for boyfriends to cuddle to sleep, right?" Style smiles at him and while there is so much adoration in his expression, he is also not at all convinced or reassured.

Style goes uncharacteristically quiet and almost kind of passive after Fadel crouches down, as if he's letting Fadel's touches and kisses just sort of happen to him. Style clearly has a bad feeling about this. He doesn't even keep the smile up until Fadel has walked away, instead his smile falls the moment Fadel has turned his back to him.

Something is very much not right about any of what just happened with Fadel and Style knows it:

Side quest: Protective Dad

Okay, so by now you're probably well aware of the fact that for this meta series I only look at scenes featuring Style. However, I do wanna take a quick dip into the scene between Fadel and Style's dad, because it confirms what I said in my ep6 meta when I went into why I think Style's dad asked Fadel whether Fadel was Style's one-time thing or if he was taking Style seriously:

[I]t's more [Style's dad] being a bit of a protective dad who wants to make sure the people his son keeps company with aren't gonna cause heartbreak to his son.

And it already shows in the scene when Style's dad walks in on them kissing. I actually shared this specific literal translation for a reason:

Dad: Where are you inviting him to go to? Fadel: I'm not inviting him anywhere. I was gonna come to ask to spend the night. Official translation: Dad: Where are you guys going? Fadel: We’re not going anywhere. I’m just staying over.

What is happening in Thai is that Style's dad is addressing only Fadel with his question. Where are you taking my son? What are you gonna be doing with my son? What are your plans with my son?

Style's dad trusts his own son, but Fadel is a stranger to him and so he needs to make sure his son will be safe in Fadel's hands. After all Style's dad and Style only have each other now. And we've already heard from Style how important they are to each other. And when Fadel lets dad know they're staying in, dad is relieved: "That’s good. Stay over so I don’t have to worry."

After that, he immediately pulls Fadel aside to question him some more away from his son: "So I take it you’re serious about him, then?"

I wanna share some of the ensuing conversation with a more literal translation again:

Fadel: Serious in what way? จริงจังแบบไหนครับ [jing jang - bàep năi - kráp] serious - how, in what way - [krub] Official subs: What do you mean? Dad: Well, serious as in calling it dating. (lit.: "calling it being each other's faen") ก็จริงจังแบบที่เรียกว่าเป็นแฟนกันน่ะ [gôr - jing jang - bàep - têe - rîiak wâa - bpen faen gan - nâ] well - serious - like - that - be called - dating - [particle] Official subs: You’re really dating him, aren’t you? My son isn't imagining it, right? ลูกกูไม่ได้คิดไปเองใช่ไหม [lûuk guu - mâi dâai - kít bpai eng - châi măi] my son - not - imagining/thinking by oneself - right? Official subs: He’s not being led on, is he?

I wanted to share this mostly because of the last sentence. Usually, Style's dad uses the rude pronouns guu/mueng when talking to Style (he does with Fadel, too) and so he also uses the rude pronoun man when referring to him in 3rd person in this conversation with Fadel. But in the last sentence he refers to Style as "my son" specifically, which I adore. That's his son! Style is his son! And he doesn't want to see his son get hurt because the guy he's with was just playing him and it was all just one-sided on Style's part in the end.

Fadel says he's not leading Style on. Style's dad is a bit relieved and shares that he was worried since Style was the one who hit on Fadel first. Now this is a very interesting, because that feeds right into the discussions from after episode 3 dropped about Style preferring to be pursued rather than doing the pursuing himself which I also address in my ep3 meta.

Anyway, Style's dad says that he won't have to worry anymore and then continues to say:

I don't know what the world of two men together is like, กูก็ไม่รู้หรอกนะว่าโลกของผู้ชายกับผู้ชายมันเป็นยังไง [guu - gôr - mâi - róo - ròk - ná - wâa - lôhk - kŏng - pûu-chaai - gàp pûu-chaai - man - bpen - yang-ngai] I - not - know - [particle] - [particle] - that - world - of - man - with, and - man - it - is - how Official subs: I don’t know anything about dating boys, but if you like him, then like him for a long time. แต่ถ้ามึงชอบมันอ่ะก็ชอบมันให้นานๆ [dtàe - tâa - mueng - chôp - man - àh • gôr - chôp - man - hâi naan naan] but - if - you - like - him - [particle] - then - like - him - for a long time Official subs: but if you’re gonna date him, I hope it’s steady.

There is no deeper reason behind me sharing this except that it amuses me that the dad phrases gay dating as "the world of a man with a man" and that I think somehow the dad asking Fadel to like Style for a long time sounds almost sweeter to me than the word "steady". I don't know, maybe the word "steady" simply just sounds kinda weird to my ESL brain. And I like how phrasing it as "like him for a long time" makes liking Style something that Fadel actively does. Fadel is an active participant in this relationship, this relationship is not something that kind of just is. Fadel can actively influence how the relationship is gonna go and how it will affect the well-being of dad's son. It's almost like a task that Style's dad is giving him.

Style's dad closes with "My son may talk big and annoy people, but when he loves, he does with his whole heart. Just like his old man does." And we know dad is speaking the truth when he says Style loves with all his heart. Episodes 5 and 6 are proof of that. (Btw, the literal translation from Thai actually sounds less poetic in English: he says that when Style loves someone, he "truly loves them". I can't speak for the connotations in Thai, though, because I didn't ask anyone about it. Maybe it sounds more poetic in Thai.)

Anyway, I just adore this scene, because in episode 1 and episode 4 we already got some glimpses into the dynamic Style has with his dad and in episode 5 Style revealed just how important his dad was to him. And now in episode 7 we get to see dad's side of it as well. He is so very protective over his son and he will let Fadel know. In fact, so far in every single scene in which Style's dad and Fadel have interacted, Style's dad has made it very clear to Fadel that he is worried about Fadel's intentions with his son. Honestly, the fact that Style's dad is so adamant about this makes me wonder if maybe he's had to watch his son get his heart broken before and doesn't want a repeat of that. Either way, I just adore this father-son relationship and I hope Style's dad will make it out of this story okay (no one dies in a romcom, right? 🥺). And I hope he adopts Fadel in the end.

No. 2: Scent Addict

Just as a quick reminder, we left Style sitting on his cart on the floor of the garage looking very concerned and very confused, clearly suspicious of Fadel and uncharacteristically quiet. Now we come back to Style sitting on his bed on the floor, watching his boyfriend make a big show of sniffing his shirt (shout out to the costume department for using the chance to put Joong in a crop top! They're the real MVPs). Fadel compliments Style's smell and Style is not impressed. In fact, Style immediately calls Fadel out for being weird again: "I think something’s wrong with you. It’s not like you to talk so sweet." Or in it's more literal wording:

I think you're unwell. กูว่ามึงไม่สบายแล้วนะ [guu - wâa - mueng - mâi sà-baai - láew - ná] I - think - you - ill, unwell - already, now - [na] It really doesn't seem like you to be so sickly sweet. มึงหวานเลี่ยนแบบเนี้ยดูไม่ใช่มึงเลย [mueng - wăan lîian - bàep níia - duu - mâi châi - mueng - loiie] you - overly sweet - like this - seem, look - not - you - [particle for emphasis]

I mainly wanted to share this, because in the second sentence he uses almost the exact same wording like earlier on the garage floor when he said that Fadel didn't seem like himself:

ดูไม่เป็นมึงเลยรู้วะ [duu - mâi - bpen - mueng - loiie - rúu - wá] seem, look - not - be - you - [particle for emphasis] - know - [particle]

Compared with what he says now:

มึงหวานเลี่ยนแบบเนี้ยดูไม่ใช่มึงเลย [mueng - wăan lîian - bàep níia - duu - mâi châi - mueng - loiie] you - overly sweet - like this - seem, look - not - you - [particle for emphasis]

Again, the image Style is being presented of Fadel doesn't look like the image of Fadel that he knows and loves. Fadel laughs, says he's fine and sits down on the bed next to Style. Back in the garage, Fadel responded with "Don’t you ever think that I’m only like this because of you?" which was a truth so sufficiently sincere that it satisfied Style enough to the point to let Fadel kiss him without a protest, completely oblivious to the fact that Fadel didn't necessarily mean this truth in the way Style thought he meant it. Now in Style's room, Fadel's response to Style's accusation of not seeming like himself is similar to the one on the garage floor: "Meeting you has brought out a different side in me, is all. Didn’t you notice? I’m happier. I smile more." Again, Fadel goes for the truth. We know it's the truth because we've watched Fadel smile and laugh and just be happy whenever he was around Style ever since their conversation by the car in episode 4 that led to a change in their relationship status. We know this, and Style knows it, too. There is no need to be suspicious about this, what Fadel said makes complete sense. Style agrees: "You’re right. You were like a vicious dog before this. You even beat me up. I should get the credits for bringing out this sweet side in you."

Fun fact, Style actually doesn't want the credits himself but wants to give them to his charm specially instead:

I have to give credits to my charm for being able to pull this extreme sweetness out of you. นี่กูต้องให้เครดิตเสน่ห์กูนะ ที่ดึงความหวานเลี่ยนออกจากตัวมึงได้อ่ะ [nîi - guu - dtông - hâi - kreh-dìt - sà-nèh guu - ná • tîi - deung - kwaam wăan lîian - òk - jàak - dtuua meung - dâai - àh] [interjection] - I - have to - give - credits - my charm - [particle] • that - pull, draw - overly sweet sweetness - out - from - your body - be able to - [particle]

Fadel laughs and throws his arms around Style, resting his chin on Style's upper arm. But Style feels stinky after having worked on a car and really doesn't want to be hugged right now because it's kinda gross. Fadel doesn't care, though, and just starts smelling Style on purpose. In Fadel's opinion, Style doesn't smell bad. In fact, Fadel likes Style's smell. Or at least that's what Fadel claims, because Style just can't imagine it to be true. He jokes that Fadel must really be unwell if he likes the smell of gasoline. Style informs Fadel that you can get addicted to that and Fadel responds that he thinks he's already addicted, then. Style smiles fondly. Fadel says he hella likes it to the point that no doctor anywhere can cure it:

I like it very much. โคตรชอบเลย [kôht chôp loiie] extremely, very much - like - [particle for emphasis] Like this, no doctor anywhere can cure it. แบบเนี่ย หมอที่ไหนก็รักษาไม่ได้ [bàep nîia • mŏh - têe năi - gôh - rák-săa - mâi - dâai] like this • doctor - anywhere, somewhere - [sentence link] - cure, treat - not - be able do

What I love about this whole bit is that Style keeps complaining and keeps questioning Fadel's sense of smell, but he still lets Fadel hug him and smell him without trying to shake him off in any way. And ultimately, he is also charmed that Fadel is still so into him, even when he himself feels so dirty and smelly and gross:

(↑ This is Style's face in reaction to Fadel saying he's addicted to the smell of gasoline aka Style's smell, btw. Look at him smiling and leaning closer. This absolutely worked on him.)

Now, the question that we, the audience, get to ask ourselves is just how much of what Fadel is saying and doing here is for show and how much of this is genuine on Fadel's part. Personally, I do think all of the kisses and his opinions on Style's smell come from a genuine place and Fadel just takes what's already there and plays it up a lot more than he usually would. It's both genuine and ingenuine at the same time. In a way, it's also almost as if he's also trying to use the opportunity to get as much out of it for himself as well while he still can. In any case, from the moment he sat down on the bed, Fadel is definitely being more genuine and sincere than compared to earlier at the garage. And Style also reacts to Fadel's behavior differently. In the garage he kept trying to push Fadel away, kept asking him question to get to the bottom of things. But now, especially after Fadel has truthfully pointed out how he's gotten happier and has started smiling more because of Style, Style lets Fadel get closer again. Style still looks confused and skeptical when Fadel hugs him, and while he does lean away from Fadel a little when Fadel gets close, he doesn't try to push him off immediately. It takes over half a minute before he finally wiggles in Fadel's arms and insists on showering for the first time. And when Fadel then just continues to shower him with kisses, Style doesn't try to push him away like he did in the garage, nor does he try to get his own body away from Fadel in any way. He doesn't even try to wiggle his way out again when he repeats that he's gonna take a shower. What's more, back in the garage, Style also kept asking Fadel questions to find out what the hell had suddenly gotten into him, but now, even though it definitely registers that Fadel is clingier than usual, Style is still reassured enough to go along with it and to have flirty banter about being addicted to the smell of gasoline instead of interrogating Fadel about his behavior. Style isn't really pushing Fadel away this time, but goes along with it, not just in letting Fadel shower him with kisses for a significant amount of time or in taking part in the flirty banter, but also later in complying when Fadel asks for kisses. Style even leans a little closer to Fadel when he asks "Happy now?" after obeying to Fadel's wish. And of course Style is still weirded out about Fadel's uncharacteristically clingy behavior, but I think when they're sitting on the bed it's happening more on a subconscious level and his main concern really is that he is gross and stinky and just wants to go get cleaned up already.

And so he tells Fadel just that. That he'll go take a shower. But instead of letting Style go, Fadel just goes back to sniff kissing Style's arm. Style tries again. Fadel stares at him for a moment, then points at both of his own cheeks. Fine. If that is the price Style has to pay for Fadel letting him go take a shower, Style will gladly pay it in full. Style makes sure Fadel is completely satisfied now, even dropping a "krub" on him:

Happy? You happy, krub? พอใจมั้ย พอใจมั้ยครับ [poh-jai - mái • poh-jai - mái - kráp] be satisfied, content, pleased - ? • be satisfied, content, pleased - ? - [krub]

(German speakers: พอใจ [poh-jai]​ has the same vibe as "zufrieden" to me.)

Fadel finally releases him and Style gets up. But he doesn't get very far before Fadel catches his hand and holds him back. Style turns back around, laughs, and is affectionately annoyed. There really does seem to be something going on with Fadel and Style directly calls him out, questioning him again:

Why are you being so cutesy today? ทำไมวันนี้อ้อนจังเลยอ่ะ [tam-mai - wan-níi - ôhn - jang loiie - àh] why - today - cutesy - so much - [particle] Official subs: You're so weird today.

The word that Style uses here that I phrased as "cutesy" is อ้อน [ôn] which was explained to me as acting a certain cutesy way because you want something from the other person (which can also be something like simply just wanting affection). In the words of my friend, the mood this word conveys is basically "a cat rubbing up against you". And it makes sense for Style to call out Fadel for being so overly clingy and affectionate when Fadel has never really been that way with him before.

To Style's surprise, instead of being more clingy and affectionate (or asking to join Style in the shower, which I personally was expecting to happen), Fadel asks him on a date the next day. Fadel then reveals that it'll be Bison's birthday and Style wants to buy him a present, but Fadel says Style doesn't have to. That it's Kant's duty. Style should buy something for Fadel instead. Style asks on which day his birthday is and Fadel tells him it's on Christmas. Style loves that and tells him: "Lucky you. That’s a good day to be born on. I'll be your Santa Claus sneaking in your house and leaving a present for you." Fadel wants to know what that present will be. Style doesn't say anything, just looks at Fadel for a moment before he leans forward and plants a kiss onto Fadel's lips. When he looks at Fadel afterwards, his expression is full of adoration:

It's as Style's dad said: when Style loves someone, he really truly does. With all of his heart. And that heart full of love is exactly what he will give to Fadel. Fadel laughs. Style's smile widens a tiny bit*. He's in love. Then he turns around, making sure he gets his face just a liiittle bit closer to Fadel's while he turns, and then finally makes it to his shower.

*see second image above

Style can't see the way Fadel's expression darkens after Style has walked away.

No. 3: I Know You Don't Know I Know

The date turns out to be a BB gun war. Of course the lovebirds have teamed up boyfriends vs. boyfriends. Style is in the middle of firing a few shots towards the other team when Fadel stops him. Style tells him that he can handle the enemy himself, but Fadel says Kant has to go through him first. Then he makes a very shady comment: "He started all this, after all." Style squints at Fadel, alarmed and confused.

That's weird. Fadel isn't supposed to know this. Style asks for clarification and Fadel elaborates: "Because he hit on my brother, you got to know me." Or in his actual wording, because I'm having too much fun with this:

Ai'Kant came to hit on my little brother and you came to hit on me. ไอ้กานต์มาจีบน้องกู แล้วมึงก็มาจีบกู [âi Kant - maa - jìip - nóng guu • láew - meung - gôr - maa - jìip - guu] Ai'Kant - come - hit on - my little brother • and - [sentence link] - come - hit on - me

Fadel then repeats that this is how Kant started it and subtly throws Style a challenge: "What did you think I mean?" Or also:

What were you thinking (of/about)? มึงคิดอะไรเนี่ย [mueng - kít - à-rai - nîia] you - think - what - [particle]

While this sure is plausible, Style still isn't very reassured. It seems like a weird time to bring this up, especially with Fadel having acted very out of character the day before. Not to mention, why would Fadel pull a correlation between Kant hitting on Bison and Style hitting on Fadel? For all Fadel should know, him and Style first met when Style crashed into Fadel's car. There is no reason for Style's flirting to be related to Kant hitting on Bison in any way. But Style can't exactly tell Fadel all that, so he brushes Fadel's question off, saying he wasn't thinking of anything. Then he brings the topic back around to their war game: "But you gotta let me play, too." Now here I do desperately need to share Style's actual words, because we've got something very interesting going on here:

But let me take a shot some time, too. แต่มึงให้กูยิงบ้างดิ [dtàe - mueng - hâi - guu - ying - bâang - dì] but - you - let - me - shoot - some - [particle]

(Alt. translations": "But let me shoot some too." or "But let me take some shots.")

Style doesn't just wanna play the game, no, he actively wants to take a shot himself. Might that be foreshadowing? Will Style be shooting someone at some point? If this was a video essay, I would now put a counter in a corner that takes note of every time there is a reference to Style shooting a gun this episode.

Style says Fadel doesn't have to act like his bodyguard all the time and then leans closer to tell Fadel: "I know you’re good at this. But I ain’t no loser, either." There is a lot of weight to Style's words, he really means what he says. This is important to him. He wants to be able to stand his own ground, too. Although, it's actually kind of ironic that Style says this. We all saw how he did in that fight at the host club in episode 3. But then again, maybe watching Fadel take on three grown men on his own while being completely useless in the situation himself has kicked Style into determination to be able to fight for himself alongside Fadel, especially once he found out about Fadel's hitman identity. Or maybe he's played a lot of BB gun war games before and is actually good with guns, but is simply just useless in a fist-fight.

Anyway, this time it's Style who's said something that suspiciously alludes to something that Style actually in reality should not know. He doesn't know that Fadel now knows Style knows and so when Fadel calls him out on it, Style is caught a little off-guard. "How’d you know I’m good at this?", Fadel asks. It's a very pointed question, a suspiciously specific question. Style stutters for a moment before he comes up with a plausible reason: "I can tell from how you hold your gun. It’s obvious you’re a professional." Without Style's knowledge his word choice betrays him again. Right after the words are out of Style's mouth, Fadel suddenly leans over to fire some shots at the other team past Style's shoulder (part of me wonders, if Fadel really did need to shoot right then and there or if he just did it for the dramaaa~~~), then grills Style some more: "Professional what?" Now, here's a the literal translation of how this conversation goes:

S: Just from that I already know you're a professional. รู้เเค่นี้ก็รู้ว่ามึงมืออาชีพ [rúu - kâe née - gôh - rúu wâa - mueng - meu aa-chîip] know - just that - [sentence link] - know that - you - professional F: What profession? อาชีพอะไร [aa-chîip - a-rai] profession, occupation - what

There is definitely something not right here with the way Fadel is phrasing his questions. With the way he is explicitly asking Style to state what Fadel's occupation is, an occupation through which one would gain expertise in how to hold and shoot guns. "What profession?" This is not a genuine question, it's a challenge. Does Fadel know anything that Style doesn't know?

Again Style takes a while to answer, searching Fadel's face for any hints before he says "Professional BB gun shooter."

Fadel laughs and finally stops grilling Style with questions he can't yet answer truthfully. Instead, Fadel drops a cheesy line on him. "I can’t help but get protective over my boyfriend." Although I feel like the Thai version sounds a bit less cheesy (at least the English translation of it, I forgot to ask my friend about the connotations in Thai):

I have a habit of looking after my boyfriend. กูติดนิสัยดูแลแฟน [guu - dtìt ní-săi - duu-lae - faen] I - have a habit (of) - looking after, taking care of - boyfriend

Then, Fadel takes up on Style's wish to get some shots in as well and suggests Style watches his back, telling him not to let anyone shoot Fadel. Style still looks at Fadel with that searching look on his face. Fadel is clearly playing at something, but Style can't figure out what exactly that is. Then Fadel hits him with another pointed question:

I can trust you, right? กูไว้ใจมึงได้ใช่ป่ะ [guu - wái-jai - mueng - dâai - châi bpà] I - trust - you - can - right?

Style still doesn't answer immediately, but instead of question marks, there is now determination in his face. This is a question he can firmly answer from the bottom of his heart. "Yeah. You can trust me." Fadel acknowledges it, but then waves his BB gun at Style in a subtle threat: "Don’t let me down." The message certainly reaches Style clear as day. He doesn't say anything, instead just searches Fadel's face again for answers he can't find.

Fadel gets up and throws himself back into the battle. Style stays put and watches him run off. Style squints a little as he stares after Fadel.

Something was very much not right about this conversations. Fadel's questions were too specific, too threatening even at certain points. Fadel is clearly onto something but Style just can't find the missing puzzle piece that would explain Fadel's recent behavior or all his probing questions. This isn't really the time to dwell on this, though, so after a moment Style gets back to playing as well.

The very first thing we see of Style next after Style says Fadel can trust him is Style shooting Kant in the back, which has me wondering if he will end up metaphorically shooting Kant in the back in a future episode. The "Style + guns" counter is up to 2. Style tells Kant "Love sure makes you do something stupid" which has got to be foreshadowing (exactly what stupid things are gonna be happening out of love?? 👀) and then Fadel walks over, puts his arm around Style's shoulder and brags about him. Style looks at Fadel, his expression content and pleased as they stand there arm in arm. Style got his shots in. He did Fadel proud. He did not let him down.

No. 4: The Power of Love

Now this scene is very interesting, because it's like Style does a complete 180. From the way he talks you'd think he's entirely forgotten how he's called out Fadel for behaving weird and saying weird things in literally every single scene from this episode so far. You'd think he's forgotten how Fadel was suspiciously dodging most of his questions on the garage floor. You'd think he's forgotten about how uncharacteristically sickly sweet and clingy Fadel was when he stayed in Style's bedroom. You'd think he's forgotten about how only earlier that day they were dancing around the topic of Fadel's true identity and how Fadel kept challenging and even subtly threatening him. What happened to the Style that was so very skeptical and suspicious of Fadel all episode?

Now, I think everything Style is saying here makes complete sense for his character. Style has always been a character full of optimism and hope (showcased perfectly well in episode 6) and especially in scenes with Kant he has often been the optimistic counterpart to Kant's pessimism and realism: When Kant was worried about James, Style suggested that James could simply just be out of town. When the Captain was about to arrest the brothers, Style figured the brothers would be free as soon as their boss was caught before Kant reminded him that that's not how it works in real life. When Kant and Style stood in front of closed restaurant doors, Style reminded Kant of and held onto how attached the brothers were to them. Now in the showers, when Kant voices his suspicions, Style is overly confident and optimistic again.

Style tells Kant "you think too much" when Style has done nothing but think a lot in all his scenes with Fadel so far. And all his thinking shows in the way he immediately has counter-arguments ready without even thinking about it. Style has been through all of this in his head already. I don't think that Style is necessarily actively talking himself into believing what he says, because his mood is too good for that and what he says sounds a bit too genuine for it to be addressed to himself. I think this really is the hope within him talking. And, frankly, also his confidence. I mean, look at the two of them. Who wouldn't quit their assassin job to be with them? Style and Kant are that awesome. Style fully believes that. And he fully believes in the power of love.

What was the thing that Style's dad again? When Style loves, he does truly does with all his heart. Style loves so sincerely, so intensely that of course it would feel powerful. Of course there is power in love. Of course it can turn a bad guy good. Why wouldn't it? Fadel went from a grumpy cat to someone who constantly smiles around Style because of Style's love. Fadel wore the matching couple shirts because of Style's love. Fadel danced and sang karaoke in public because of Style's love. Fadel wore fan make-up in public because of Style's love. Why wouldn't Fadel stop killing because of and for Style's love? And why would the same thing not go for Bison and the love Kant has for him? I know there've been some entertaining posts going around making fun of how Style puts killing people on the same level as stealing cars, but that's just genuinely how Style thinks. Because Style doesn't draw a comparison in which one is worse. Both are simply bad. Both, Kant and Bison did bad things. They can connect over that. And the power of love will fix things.

Just like in episode 6, Style refuses to just sit there in misery. He refuses to be stressed as long as there is still a small glimmer of hope that things end well. Yes, Fadel has been acting weird, but until Style has definite proof that something is indeed extremely wrong, he'll go and enjoy life. As long as there is still a positive, plausible explanation or a positive way out, he'll go and enjoy life. There could be something wrong, but there doesn't have to be and so Style chooses to hold onto the thought that there isn't anything wrong for now until proven otherwise. And with that energy, he goes bowling that same night.

No. 5: Eventful Evening

The four of them round off Bison's birthday with a double date at the bowling alley. Style is in the bestest of moods. Kant and Bison walk off for some bowling. Fadel and Style stay back at the table and watch from a distance as Kant hands Bison his birthday present. Style is impressed at how romantic Kant is is being. Style could never. And now that I think about it, that actually seems to be true. Style has been romantic towards Fadel, but from the top of my head I can't remember a single instance in which Style pulled a pre-planned and prepared romantic gesture on Fadel. But that's okay. Because Fadel likes Style exactly the way he is. And Style is cool with that. He continues to say: "But you know, maybe I get like that, too. I could spring a ring on you one day and just ask you to marry me."

You never know! Fadel reacts fondly. Style throws him another happy smile. They both go to take a sip of their beer. Out of the blue, Style starts choking and ends up on the couch. Fadel panics. Style springs a ring on him and goes: "Will you marry me?"

Pronoun time! For just this one sentence, for just the marriage proposal Style switches to the polite phom pronoun before he jumps back to the rude guu pronoun:

แต่งงานกับผมนะครับ [dtàeng ngaan gàp - pŏm - ná - kráp] marry - me - [na] - [krub]

Now, at this point I sincerely need to apologize to those who read my ep6 meta before I went ahead and edited it because I made a really big mistake: I completely forgot to mention a very important language note in a specific scene because there was so much else going on that scene and it was only when I watched the cast reaction to ep6 that it hit me. I have since edited my meta post and added it, but if you missed it let me tell you there is a word play I failed to mention in the scene where Fadel puts make-up on Style: you know when Style says "Then you should put some makeup on, too"? The word he uses here is แต่ง [dtàeng], which is used in the sense of แต่งหน้า [dtàeng nâa] which means "to put make-up on" or is also used in the sense of แต่งงาน [dtàeng ngaan] which means, well, "to get married" or "to marry". In Thai, Style leaves out the second part of the phrase that makes it explicit which of the two it is and so the sentence can be heard either as "So, will you put on make-up with me?" or as "So, will you marry me?"

And it's just veeeery interesting that Style asks Fadel to marry him for the second episode in a row. If it happens again next episode, I'm calling it. But for now, let's wait and see 👀

Style is absolutely delighted that his little prank actually worked on Fadel: "You’re usually too smart for me." Fadel stares at him for a moment, then shakes his head, sighs, and replies: "Not at all. I’m a damn fool. That’s how you got me."

And fun fact: when he says "That's how you got me", in Thai the word that was translated as "got" is หลอก [lòhk] which means "to trick" or "to deceive". Style tricked Fadel. And we know Fadel definitely isn't referring to just the marriage proposal alone. As perceptive as Style has been all episode about Fadel's weird behavior, now the double meaning slips right by him. Personally, I think it's because at this point he's too tipsy to pay attention to this and he's also too good in a mood to care. Besides, he's already decided to be optimistic about Fadel's behavior. Style grins at Fadel, slips the ring back onto his own finger, then holds out his hand to Fadel and looks up at him. With an eye roll, Fadel obliges and pulls Style up onto his feet. Style then excuses himself to go to the restroom.

Style is so tipsy, he is about to fall asleep at the urinal when a random guy he doesn't know walks in and strikes up a conversation with him. Now, I think the whole thing about "We gotta keep these good things, don’t you think? People don’t seem to appreciate antiques anymore" is definitely alluding to something, but we're gonna have to keep watching to find out. And Style certainly wouldn't know, after all he doesn't know this dude. The guy walks into one of the cubicles and honestly, considering the ensuing interaction between Fadel and Style, I think Style is drunk enough that this didn't even fully register with him or maybe he just immediately forgets about it the moment Fadel walks in.

Style is quite surprised to see Fadel enter the restroom as well, but is also very happy about it: "Did you miss me so much you had to follow me to the bathroom?" This thought excites Style. Then Fadel asks about the other guy and starts looking through the stalls. Fadel's behavior is kinda weird again, but I think this time around Style really is too drunk to properly take note of it and connect it with Fadel's secret life. And as mentioned before, Style has decided to focus on the positives and not to stress unless given a solid reason to do so. And so for a moment Style observes Fadel checking the stalls before pushing Fadel against the wall and asking if he is jealous. When Fadel finally says yes, Style huffs a little, looking kinda pleased. And I can't help but think of @secriden's post about how back in episode 5 when Style said "I hope you're not the jealous type like your brother is" his body was saying the exact opposite of his words. And let me just share @braceletofteeth's tag on that very post too, while I'm at it:

#Style wants Fadel to claim him as his so bad it makes him look stupid #just like he takes pride in choosing his own man #he would be proud to be chosen as Fadel's man #delighted‚ if Fadel let others (and Style) know he's the one who earned the space reserved for his special someone #in his heavily secured heart #if he was so special to Fadel that he wouldn't want him to be taken away #or to share him with anyone else

I think we can really see this here in this scene as well. Fadel claims he's jealous and from Style's POV is in search for the random dude in order to take it up with him and defend his position as Style's boyfriend and that thought immediately has Style horny for Fadel. He advances on Fadel, trapping him against the wall on one side and goes on a monologue about how he only has Fadel now. The thought of Fadel being jealous has Style so horny for Fadel, he's ready to hook up with him right then and there in the bathroom stall. By now, Style has most definitely gotten too distracted and as a result forgotten that the random dude from earlier is still there. Lucky for Keen, Fadel declines and leaves the bathroom. Style stays back for a moment, watches him walk away, licks his lips and then follows him out.

Side note: Okay, so over my previous metas I've been very clear about how I think that Style isn't the kind of person to enjoy sleeping around all that much (at least not as much as Kant does). And in my ep3 meta I said that I think Style enjoys flirting around much more than sleeping around, attention hoe and chatty cat that he is. Now here in the bathroom, when he says that he only has Fadel now that of course could be taken as Style hooks up with many people. However, what he says right before that strengthens my belief that Style much rather flirts than actually hooks up: "I know I’m cute and all that. It’s only normal people strike up a conversation." Style never shuts up. And flirting? Hitting on someone? Is typically done via talking. So of course he'll engage with people striking up a conversation. And also, Style calls himself cute. I mean, I'm ace so I wouldn't know, but if you wanna end up in bed with someone wouldn't you like them to consider you "hot" or "sexy" rather than "cute"? At least that's how I'm imagining it that it goes (allos feel free to share some personal experience that I'm lacking). Anyway, yeah. I think, Style very much enjoys the whole flirting part. After all, that'll give him both attention as well as an excuse to talk.

Edit: FUCK, I JUST REMEMBERED THAT STYLE ACTUALLY HAS SEEN KEEN BEFORE IN EP3 WHEN HE EAVESDROPPED ON THEIR CONVERSATION!! That, of course, changes things significantly. I'm currently very busy working on my ep8 meta, but I'm gonna have to go back at some point and rethink this scene from the viewpoint of Style knowing that Keen has something to do with Fadel.

When Fadel and Style return from the bathroom, to Style's surprise he finds Kant with a kid. Style immediately walks over to say hello. I've seen discussions and headcanons on Style potentially helping Kant raise Babe. So far we saw Babe and Style in a scene together only one single time and they didn't even interact, so we don't really know what Style's relationship with Babe is like, but it certainly is quite likely that Style is an honorary older brother or uncle to Babe. Another thing I'm thinking is that Style probably also simply just likes kids. He is very excited and motivated to interact with the kid and I'm wondering if Style would like to have children of his own some time. After all, he did seem very open to the idea of being impregnated by Fadel back in episode 4.

But from one moment to the next his happy little interaction is interrupted by an unexpected gun shot. Some guy is waving around a gun and screaming bloody murder over his (ex) girlfriend. Style stays with Kant and the kid. That is, until Fadel claims to be the girl's new boyfriend. Maybe you've already seen a post about Style's outcry going around, but if you haven't, then let me just explain what Style literally says when he goes "Take it back!"

ผัวเค้าเหี้ยอะไร [pŭua - káo - hîia - àrai] husband - her - fuck, damn - what

Now, several things here: the characters use the word ผัว [pŭua] which is a slang term for "husband" which is also used in the sense of "boyfriend" (meaning, as far as I've picked up on the word doesn't mean that the people are married for real, though I might be wrong about this). In the following I'll use "man", because "husband" sounds too formal and "hubby" also sounds kinda weird in this context. Next, the word เหี้ย [hîia] is a curse word kinda like "fuck/fucking" or "shit" or "damn". Word for word the Thai sentence makes "her man fuck what" (alt.: "her man fucking what"). The sentiment of it is roughly:

Her man, my ass.

The fuck you on about, her man??

Her man, the fuck??

Her man, fuck no.

What the fuck, her man??

Take your pick. Style is very upset about this, even if rationally he knows that Fadel is doing it do protect the girl from being murdered. But in his drunken state and this being a life-or-death situation, he reacts emotionally instead (which tends to be his main route even when he's sober anyway, it's just worse now). This brings us back to: Style wants Fadel to claim him as his so bad it makes him look stupid (quoted from @braceletofteeth). Only minutes ago Style was excited at the prospect of Fadel being jealous and fighting for him and now here Fadel is, claiming someone else as his in a hall full of people. It stings, even if it's just pretend. Fadel is his boyfriend, thank you very much. Style's had to work hard, fight hard to even get to this position and he's not gonna let anyone, not even Fadel himself, take that away from him, goddammit. "Her man, the fuck?? You're MY boyfriend!!" But Kant pulls Style back down, worried about Style's safety. Style lets it go.

In the meantime, the assassin brothers are working on taking the shooter down and each gets hurt in the process. Both Kant and Style run to their respective boyfriends. Fadel shoos Style away, though, ordering him to check on Bison first. Style looks up and with terror realizes that the shooter isn't being checked on and could cause more harm at any moment. Style jumps to his feet and runs to the gun, picks it up and shoves it into the shooter's face without any hesitation. And that's a 3 on our "Style + guns" counter. Three times is a pattern, no?

Now, I've seen people wondering if Style maybe has some experience with guns from the way he confidently pointed it at the man. It could be a possibility (after all he seemed to have a handle on the BB guns as well), but I think a big reason why he reacted like this is that Style simply just likes to help and tends to act like a mediator (when he's not actively picking the fights himself). His reaction here really reminds me of the way he also threw himself into the fist fight at the host club, despite being a terrible fighter and standing no chance against those men. He sees that the situation is dangerous and his main desire is that it is resolved with as little harm being caused as possible. Style isn't really thinking here in this moment (in the sense of that he's actively using his brain). He acts on instinct and his instinct is telling him to keep the gun away from the shooter and to make sure the guy doesn't cause any more harm. Style's desire to protect his loved ones is so strong he doesn't even have the capacity to think about what he's doing here and whether he is even capable of shooting the gun in the first place and what that could potentially do to his mental state if he shoots (and possibly kills) someone. There is only "MUST PROTECT" going on in his mind. Finally, staff drags the dangerous man away. Style calls an ambulance at Kant's request.

No. 6: Signs (Of Worries)

In the process of taking down the shooter and saving the two women, Fadel hurt his arm and is now getting it treated at the hospital. And of course, Style is right by his side. As soon as the nurse is gone, Style starts asking Fadel worried questions. When Fadel claims that it doesn't hurt, Style is a little bit done with Fadel's constant need to pretend: "Just admit when it hurts. You don’t have to be tough all the time." Style loves Fadel, Style wants to be there for Fadel through the good times and even more so through the bad times. And especially in the bad times he doesn't want to spend the entire time having to guess how his boyfriend is doing, how his boyfriend is feeling. He wants to be a safe space for Fadel to be open and vulnerable. And just to hit the message home he tells Fadel out loud to make sure Fadel really doesn't miss it or can't ignore it: "I’m worried about you, you know? I thought you were a goner." Actually, in Thai he's more vague about it, he doesn't say that he was afraid of Fadel dying specifically:

I was afraid something would happen to you. กลัวมึงเป็นไรไปอ่ะ [gluua - mueng - bpen rai - bpai - àh] afraid - you - have a problem - [particle]

Also, he doesn't say he was "worried", he says he was "โคตร [kôht] worried". โคตร [kôht] is an intensifier, so basically Style is saying he is "super worried", not just "worried".

Fadel shoots him down, telling him not to overdo it. But Style isn't!!! He just watched his boyfriend go through a situation that could have potentially killed him if something had gone wrong. Not to mention, said boyfriend's brother is now lying at the very same hospital with a stab wound, because something went wrong. Style has every right to make a big deal out of it, because it is. To him it is. With worried puppy eyes he continues to say: "Can you please at least give me a sign before you do something like that again? I’m always here to help."

I want to share a more literal translation again, not because the content differs but because there's something about the original phrasing that I like:

Next time you're gonna do something, give me a sign. ทีหลังมึงจะทำอะไรอ่ะก็ส่งสัญญาณดิ [tii lăng - mueng - jà - tam - àrai - àh - gôh - sòng - săn-yaan - dì] next time - you - will - do - something - [sentence link] - send - signal - [particle] I'm always ready to help you. กูพร้อมช่วยมึงเสมออยู่แล้ว [guu - próm - chûuay - mueng - sà-mĕr - yùu - láew] I - ready - help - you - always - [aux] - already

I like that the first sentence is phrased like an imperative, not a question. Of course, in this moment Style is asking Fadel to do something specific, but the question is only implied. It's not a "Can you please do this?". No, it's a "Do this!", instead. It's an order. And what I find even more interesting (which we have in the translation too) is that Style doesn't say "Please don't do this again". He isn't keeping Fadel from doing dangerous things. Fadel is allowed to do them. But Style requires a sign first. A warning. A little heads-up so that he can mentally prepare. And even more so that he can help Fadel. "I'm always ready to help", he says. He is not just here to help but he is ready to jump to his feet at a moment's notice and help Fadel no questions asked.

He waits for Fadel to say something. Fadel asks about Bison. Style informs him that Kant is with Bison and Fadel starts to get up, saying he'll stay the night with his brother and orders Style to go home. Style has been sent home by Fadel many, many times before, so he is used to this. However, back then it was before they were a couple and Fadel sending Style away always made sense, because Style was in fact annoying Fadel and Style was aware of that fact. But now it's different, because now Fadel genuinely enjoys Style's presence and Style know that fact, too. And as always, Style won't let Fadel get rid of him so easily and so he holds Fadel back and starts questioning him about his weird behavior again: "What’s with you? You were so lovey-dovey an hour ago." Then he leans closer and takes Fadel's face between his hands, asking: "Is your brain okay? Did you hit your head?" And while the words Style is saying are certainly meant to be a joke, the sentiment behind them is 10000% serious. Something is not right with Fadel, something hasn't been right with Fadel since the day before, actually and lowkey even since the love confession at the diner. Style genuinely wants to know what's going on with Fadel. That's not a joke, there is nothing funny about this, even if he is phrasing it in a light-hearted way.

But Fadel shakes him off and moves to walk away again. Now Style gets stressed. There is absolutely no way he is leaving Fadel's side right now. He holds him back and yields, offering to take Fadel to Bison. Then he runs off to grab a wheelchair and maneuvers Fadel into it. Fadel humors him and Style wheels him off.

Bison is still sleeping when they arrive at his room. Kant gives them the update on Bison's health. Fadel announces once again that he'll stay with Bison overnight. Style is against it and comes up with sensible reasons why Fadel shouldn't. Fadel's arm is hurt and Style wants him to go home and rest. Fadel's well-being is a priority for Style right now. Kant can take care of Bison for a while, it's fine. Fadel can and should take a break and recover a little bit. Finally, Fadel agrees, even if he's not very happy with the situation. But despite him yielding to Style, he does speak out a warning to Kant: "But while I’m gone, if something happens to my brother, it’s your fault." The last sentence is even more direct in Thai:

You must take responsibility. มึงต้องรับผิดชอบ [mueng - dtông - ráp-pìt-chôp] you - must - take responsibility, be responsible

Fadel isn't just telling him that he will be blaming Kant for Bison's disappearance, but he's saying "You will be taking responsibility for his disappearance, you will pay for it". It's a threat. And in Thai, Style actually acknowledges that Fadel's words are a threat when he stands up for Kant:

And why are you threatening Ai'Kant? แล้วมึงจะไปขู่ไอ้กานต์ทำไม [láew - mueng - jà - bpai - kùu - âi - Kant - tam-mai] and - you - will - go - threaten - [prefix] - Kant - why, what for Official subs: Don’t give Kant a hard time, dude. Kant didn't do anything wrong. การต์ไม่ได้ผิดอะไรเลยนะ [Kant - mâi dâai - pìt - à-rai - loiie - ná] Kant - not - be/do wrong - anything, something - [particle] - [na] Official subs: None of this is his doing.

There is no reason for Fadel to threaten Kant when Kant was in no way involved with the insane man at the bowling alley that attacked Bison. Kant promises he'll take good care of Bison. Fadel just sits there wordlessly. Then, without a warning he gets up and walks out. Style calls after him: "Do you have to be so stubborn?" which in Thai is actually:

You're hurt and you're still stubborn?! เจ็บแล้วยังดื้ออีก [jèp - láew - yang - dêu - èek] hurt - and - still - stubborn - (once) more

I wanted to share this because I wanted to draw attention to how Style mentions Fadel being hurt again even when Style is complaining about his behavior. Fadel's injury is still very much on Style's mind. He just wants to take care of Fadel and be there for him. And so he runs after Fadel.

No. 7: Heed My Warning

Style follows Fadel into the hallway and tries to convince him to get back into the wheelchair again and to let Style take him home. But again Fadel tries to get rid of him: "I can walk. Just go back to your garage." Something is seriously not right about Fadel's behavior. Style looks at him searchingly, trying to figure him out:

Then he steps closer to Fadel and continues his fight. "I know you can. But boyfriends are supposed to take care of you at a time like this." I just want you to know that when he says "in times like this" the literal translation is something like "when you're sick and hurt":

ตอนเจ็บตอนป่วย [dton - jèp - dton - bpùuay] when - hurt - when - sick

Fadel is hurt and Style is worried and he just wants to look after his boyfriend, goddammit. But instead, Style is met with a warning: "Once my brother gets better, we have some business to finish with you two."

The word Fadel uses here for "finish" in Thai is สะสาง [sà-săang] which the dictionary translates as "to clear up" or "to solve" and my friend who I asked about this word defined as:

to finish something and leave nothing unfinished

Yeah, Fadel is out for murder and he's gonna make damn well sure the job will be done properly and to the end. The sentiment reaches Style. He's confused. Where is this threat suddenly coming from? "What are you talking about? Sounds scary as hell." Fadel agrees. He repeats what he's tried to tell Style before, except this time the warning serves as a threat, a direct attack: "You should probably be wary of me." Style looks taken aback. Fadel continues his threat: "Whatever act we’ve put on up until now won’t be necessary anymore." Then, Fadel walks off. Style watches him go, speechless and alarmed. He gulps, not once, but twice.

The time for optimism and hope is over. Style has to face it: something is worryingly wrong with the way Fadel has been acting. Once back at his garage, he sits and thinks about Fadel's words again. Fadel knows something, but Style just can't figure out what exactly that something is. He grabs his phone and calls Kant, presumably to discuss the conversation with him and to warn him and to make sure Kant is safe. Kant doesn't pick up. Style has a really bad feeling about this.

No. 8: The Naked Truth

It's the next day and Style is back at the hospital. He doesn't even make it to Bison's room before he is stopped in his tracks. The police is here. Style stops a nurse and learns that Bison has kidnapped Kant. Style hides in the restroom to call Kant. Kant still isn't picking up. This is very very bad. But before Style can take action, someone grabs him from behind. Only seconds later, Style falls unconscious. Headcanons are out on whether Style could tell it was Fadel who attacked him by the feel of his body or not.

When Style wakes up, he finds himself tied up at a pool wearing no clothes save for his underwear. As most people in this situation would probably do, Style starts calling for help. And what's interesting is that he doesn't really seem panicky about it when he initially starts shouting. It's more concern than fear. It's only towards the end once it starts to sink in for him that he really does seem to be completely alone that the fear sets in. Except then he hears a familiar voice: "Stop shouting and shut up. No one can hear you here."

When Style asks what Fadel is doing and why he tied him up half-naked, Style's voice sounds a little stressed but there is also something reproachful about it. Fadel demands to hear the whole truth (Or one could also say... the naked truth. With the way he stripped Style of all his clothing). "What truth?" Style asks, and now the fear that was there a moment ago right before Fadel revealed himself is gone. Instead, Style is truly angry. He ain't got no time for these games. His best friend has been taken god knows where by a killer who could be doing god knows what to him (after all, Style doesn't know Bison as well as he knows Fadel) and he also isn't in the mood to be sitting around tied up and naked at a pool while getting a gun waved into his face by his boyfriend. Especially when he has no idea what the fuck his boyfriend is even on about. But luckily, Fadel explains. Remember how at the end of my ep6 meta I said "Style is missing a key piece of the puzzle and even if he can tell that something is off, to Style it still looks like a happy picture. To Style it still is a happy picture"?

Style asks "What truth?" and Fadel says "That you and your friend have been fooling me and my brother. You work for the police." And there it is. The last crucial piece of the puzzle that Style had been missing since the end of last episode to see the full picture.

Oh. There are several realizations happening in Styles reaction here. Fadel knows. Fadel knows that Style knows. And now Style also knows that Fadel knows that Style knows. Style has been trying so hard to get Fadel to drop the truth and now the moment is finally here. No more dancing around this topic. And also, all of Fadel's recently odd behavior suddenly makes perfect sense. It's all falling into place. During the BB gun war Style already had his suspicions that there was something that Fadel knew about and then when Fadel threatened him at the hospital in a way it just proved his suspicions. And now Style finally knows what exactly it is that Fadel had found out about. And Style now also understands that Fadel found out a wrong truth, or rather an inaccurate truth that paints a wrong picture of Style. And so Style clears it up: "I don’t know anything about those cops. Kant asked me to take you out so you could leave him alone and he could freely investigate." The anger that was in Style's voice before the reveal subsides when he goes into his defense and instead he is annoyed and impatient. After all, he is still naked and tied up at a pool. And his best friend is still missing from having been kidnapped by an actual assassin. Style doesn't have time for this argument right now. Fadel asks him another question: "What did he get out of it?" Style replies "I don’t know. That ain’t my business" and his tone is even more annoyed and also kind of exasperated now. How the fuck should he know?? Why is Fadel bothering him with this?? His only job was to make Fadel his boyfriend. That was his only role in this. He didn't have anything more to do with this.

Fadel wants to know where Kant took Bison to. Style is even more annoyed at this point. Yeah, I was trying to find my friend, too, before you got in my way and abducted me, you fucking idiot. Fadel doesn't believe it when Style says he, too, was looking for Kant. Now Fadel is getting annoyed and impatient as well. "Stop freaking lying." Style is frustrated. "I'm not lying." He informs Fadel of what the nurse said about Bison taking Kant and running away to some unknown location. Style is fed up. He really isn't in the mood for Fadel's stupid interview. He just wants it to be over. "Don’t hurt me, Fadel," he continues. And what I love about this is that there is absolutely no fear in his voice when he says this, no plea for his life. Because he doesn't say it in reaction to something Fadel said or did. Sure, there's a gun to Style's head that could be triggered at any moment, but the thing is that Style has been having this argument with a gun pointed at him for a full minute now and nothing has happened so far and so Style doesn't feel like he is in any immediate danger. And Fadel doesn't even do anything to indicate that he's about to use the gun on Style or that he's about to hurt him in any other way after Style explains that it was Bison who took Kant instead of the other way around. Fadel just stands there immobile, not acting significantly more threatening than he has for the past minute, so there is no reason for Style to be afraid. And it shows in the tone of his voice that he isn't afraid. When Style says "Don't hurt me" his voice sounds annoyed and irritated and frankly, just kind of done. It's almost as if he's saying Just drop the tough act already. Because Style knows it's an act. And I just wanna share something that @secriden wrote here, and I know this paragraph is actually in relation to Fadel's uncharacteristically clingy behavior all episode and to Style's lines that are about to follow, but when I read @secriden's words they had me thinking that this also goes for the seemingly tough act that Fadel is putting up in front of Style, not just the played up sweetness:

In the midst of all the secrets and lies between them, ever since [Style] found out about Fadel's secret and decided he was going to keep pursing him anyway, Style has been chasing and chasing Fadel's sincerity. And each precious revelation that Fadel gave him -- his parents' murder, his inability to trust, his desire for something genuine from Style -- has been carefully stored away in Style's heart like nuggets of gold. Which is why Fadel's performance was doomed from the start; because Style was moved by the true things and not the lies, and Fadel's pretensions can have no effect when Style's heart now has the ability to recognise that which he has already grown to love.

Style has gotten to know Fadel so well that he can recognize when Fadel is being sincere or not, whether it's about Fadel's affections or Fadel's threats. He's gotten to know all these different sides of Fadel, has learned to read him and has learned to differentiate between what is true and what isn't, the way Fadel has learned to differentiate the sincerity and the insincerity in Style's words and actions, too. Which is another reason why Fadel is doomed as well, because after all this time he, too, can tell when Style is being sincere or not. And what Style is about to say to him is indisputably sincere.

Fadel demanded the whole truth from Style, but there is one truth Style hasn't told him yet, at least not in explicit words anyway. And so he continues: "I know I worked for the police, but that was before I knew who you are. Now that I know you, I really love you, Fadel."

And let me just share my own translations again:

Even if it's true that I was a police informant, it was before I knew the real you. ถึงกูจะเป็นสายตำรวจก็จริงอ่ะ แต่นั่นมันก่อนที่จะรู้ตัวจริงของมึง [tĕung - guu - jà bpen - săai dtam-rùuat - gôh - jing - àh • dtàe - nân - man - gòn têe jà - rúu - dtuua jing kŏng meung] even if - I - be - police informant - [sentence link] - true - [particle] • but - that - it - before - know - real you But now that I know the real you, I love you for real, Fadel. แต่พอกูรู้ตัวจริงของมึงแล้วอ่ะ กูรักมึงจริงๆนะฟาเดล [dtàe - poh - guu - rúu - dtuua jing kŏng meung - láew - àh • guu - rák - mueng - jing jing - ná - Fadel] but - when - I - know - real you - already - [particle] • I - love - you - really - [na] - Fadel

You'll notice that I highlighted something there. I actually discussed the term ตัวจริง [dtuua jing] (= real self) with a native speaker friend and I even showed him the scene (bless his heart for putting up with my antics) and he said when he first heard those lines he was a little confused why it would be phrased like this, because usually in Thai they'd phrase it a little differently. We were hanging out in person and unfortunately I didn't write it down, so now I don't remember what the way my friend said it's supposed to be phrased as was, but yeah, apparently this is odd phrasing. Which is why it's even more interesting to me that in episode 5 Fadel says this:

The real me might be scarier than you think. ตัวจริงกูอ่ะ อาจจะน่ากลัวกว่าที่มึงคิดก็ได้ [dtuua jing goo - àh • àat-jà - nâa gluua gwàa - tîi - mueng - kít - gôh dâai] real me - [particle] • might - scarier - that - you - think - [particle]

The wording is basically the same (yes, Style adds the word ของ [kŏng] (= of, from) before the pronoun, but this word is optional and the meaning stays the exact same) and it just makes me wonder if Style's words were written as a deliberate call back to the conversation in episode 5. Back then Style asked Fadel to fully open up to him and told him "I promise that no matter who you are, I’ll still like you". Except back then the message didn't fully reach Fadel, because the cards weren't all out in the open just yet. But now they are. Style knows who Fadel is and Fadel knows that Style knows who Fadel is. And Style has actually gotten to know even more sides of Fadel since that conversation from episode 5 took place. "Now that I know the real you, I love you for real." He loves the grumpy side that always yells at him, the badass side that takes down three grown men in a fight, the happy side that loves heavy metal music and putting on band make-up, the side that has a passion for cooking, and ultimately even the dark side that is capable of killing people without remorse, even if he has yet to witness Fadel actually murdering someone. He isn't scared of him, not even when Fadel is waving a gun around his head. Style loves all of what makes Fadel Fadel.

This, however, is the one truth Fadel does not want to hear, can't hear right now. When he yells "Shut up" at Style, it's the loudest and most aggressive tone he's had in this entire conversation so far. At the same time he also advances on Style, putting his leg up on the step and shoving the gun even closer to Style's head. The yelling and the movement comes so sudden that it actually startles Style. Fadel continues to speak out a threat: "Say you love me one more time, and you’ll be lying at the bottom of this pool." He even mimics a kick. Style complains: "Hey!" Don't kick me into the pool, the fuck!? "I mean it!" Or in his actual words:

I'm telling the truth! กูพูดความจริงเว้ย [guu - pûut - kwaam jing - wóiie] I - say - truth - [particle]

Style is starting to get a little stressed now. What's Fadel threatening to kick him into the pool for when Style is literally telling Fadel the truth just like Fadel demanded? He's been telling Fadel all the information he has, all that he knows but Fadel still won't release him. Instead Fadel just keeps threatening him. Style really doesn't feel like ending up at the bottom of an empty pool, especially not when his best friend is being held captive himself god knows where. All while Style is stuck telling truths that Fadel doesn't want to believe, despite having demanded to hear them. So Style throws Fadel a little reminder:

People who are about to die speak all of the truth. คนจะตายก็พูดความจริงกันทั้งนั้นอ่ะ [kon - jà dtaai - gôh - pûut - kwaam jing - gan táng nán - àh] people - about to die - [sentence link] - say - truth - all, every - [particle] Official subs: I wouldn’t lie with a gun to my head like this.

When people are faced with death they don't typically lie. They tend to speak the whole truth. So why the fuck would Style be lying now? Having this yelling match while being tied up and naked at an abandoned pool is getting really stupid now. It also won't bring Kant and Bison back. If the truth and the power of Style's love can't bring an end to this situation then maybe Fadel's concern and love for his brother will. So Style, still in a rather irritated mood, suggests a deal: "Untie me and I’ll help you look for Bison and my friend." But Bison is another vulnerable spot for Fadel, and just like before he reacts in anger, waving his gun into Style's face: "I ain’t stupid anymore. I don’t trust a word that comes out of your mouth." And for those of you who are curious about the literal wording:

Whatever the hell you're saying, I'm not listening to you. มึงพูดเ���ี่ยอะไรกูไม่ฟังมึงหรอก [mueng - pûut - chîia à-rai - guu - mâi - fang - mueng - ròk] you - say - whatever the hell - I - not - listen - you - [particle]

No matter what Style says, Fadel won't hear him. The previously annoyed and angered expression on Style's face falls and his eyes widen a bit. Oh shit, you're for real?

His words are his best and only weapon that Style has, a weapon that is essentially rendered powerless if Fadel refuses to listen in any way. I think this is the moment Style realizes that there is a good chance that he can't talk his way out of this after all. That he might be wrong about Fadel sparing his life. After all, Style once was also overly confident that Fadel liked him enough to not do him any harm only for Fadel to punch him in the gut and abandon him on the cold, hard ground in some random storage room. There is a good chance that Fadel will pull the trigger for real. Fadel continues to rage: "You chose the wrong man to fool, asshole."

I think this is the first time that Style is honestly afraid since the very beginning of the scene when it sank in that he was alone. Where before his "don't hurt me" was mostly annoyed, this time when he shouts "Fadel, no!" he is is genuinely scared for his life. He leans away from Fadel, his eyes squinted close as he waits for the likely life-ending shot. He can't see the way Fadel's hand is shaking. The shot doesn't come. Style opens his eyes again. The screen goes black and we are left to find out later how exactly this ends.

No. 9: Hitman Teerak

Fadel did not kill Style. And Style knows for a fact that if Fadel didn't kill him back at the pool then there is no way he's killing him now. Style can afford to be cocky again. All the fear from when we left him has vanished completely and he is back to his overly confident, charmingly annoying self. And he's also wearing clothes again.

Fadel is still pointing a gun at him, but Style doesn't give a shit anymore. In fact, he is very unimpressed. When he asks "Where are you taking me?", he sounds annoyed again, if not downright bored like a child that doesn't wanna do a chore their parent gave them. By the way, the Thai version of this is even sassier:

Where are you taking me to kill me? มึงจะพากูไปฆ่าที่ไหนเนี่ย [mueng - jà - paa - guu - bpai - kâa - tîi năi - nîia] you - will - bring, take - me - go - kill - where - [particle]

Fadel informs him that the place doesn't matter, because Style will die either way. Style sighs a tired sigh and closes his eyes. Fadel really is that set on killing him, apparently, huh? It's getting old. Fadel says: "But before I kill you, I have to see my brother." Style opens his eyes again and turns around to Fadel. He really is getting tired of this. "Do you know where he is?" Fadel says no, but Style needs to help find him. Then Fadel makes a vow: "Once I find him, I’m going to kill you both." Style hesitates, then decides not to fight Fadel on this. He's tired of fighting this stupid fight. If Fadel wants to be stubborn then alright, Style will yield. And so he exasperatedly agrees with Fadel: "I know I deserve to die." Then he turns a bit away from Fadel and says in a pouty voice: "Well, at least I won’t die alone." Style is sulking. Fine. Kill me if you must. But at least I will die side by side with a friend and it won't be a lonely death, I guess. It's the little things in life. He looks at Fadel again. Fadel squints. "Shut up and drive." Suddenly there is impatience in Fadel's voice which was so firm and resolute the entire scene up until now. Then, Fadel goes back to threatening Style with death: "One wrong move, I’m blowing your brain out." Style is severely unimpressed. Or rather, he is impressed but certainly not in the way Fadel would want him to be impressed.

Style knows he's got Fadel now. Any death threat from now on will be utterly meaningless. Fadel won't kill him. Style goes for malicious compliance, but makes sure he makes a big sassy and kind of flirty show out of it to demonstrate just how much not scared of Fadel and his tough guy act he is. Because that's all it is, by now. An act. An act that Style will go along with, if it makes Fadel feel better. "Kruuuub, Mr. Hitman." Yes, yes, you'll kill me, I got it. "I’m scared enough as it is, no need to threaten me." You really don't need to repeat your death threats over and over, I'm sick of hearing them, uh, I mean, just look how terrified of you I am. "I know my life is in the palm of your hand." You've been pointing this gun at me for ages now and I'm still here, alive and kicking. Yes, I really, truly am at your mercy and so very scared for my life. "Why don’t you just take a nap instead or something?"

The last line actually makes me laugh even more in Thai:

Why don't you take the time that you spend threatening me to take a nap instead? มึงเอาเวลาที่มึงขู่กูอ่ะไปนอนมั้ย [mueng - ao - weh-laa - tîi - mueng - kùu - guu - àh - bpai nawn - mái] you - take - time - that - you - threaten - me - [particle] - go to bed - ?

Threatening me is pointless. How about you do something more productive with your time? Ain't that an idea? Style ends his "Fine, I'll fold to your wishes"-monologue in our beloved iconic line: "I’ll drive you where you want me to go, my hitman-teerak." As stated before, I'm always ready to help you, my love <3

Fadel keeps a poker face and orders Style into the car. Style doesn't move, he just defiantly tilts his head and looks at Fadel like well, watcha gonna do to me if I don't?

Fadel loses his temper a little and yells at Style to get going. Style finally moves, but right before he turns he smiles as he looks at Fadel and his eyes are full of warmth and affection. He loves this man.

Halfway on the way to the car door, Style turns around again and throws Fadel another warm, amused, and very pleased smile.

He knows he's already won. Life couldn't be going better for him right now. Style gets into the car and Fadel follows. And off they go, driving into the sunset off on their little road trip to find Kant and Bison.

Once in the car, Fadel lifts his gun back up at Style's head. Style throws him a look. And we all know Style would have jumped Fadel and ripped all his clothes off right then and there if he hadn't been busy driving a car. Fadel lowers the gun again. Style keeps looking over at Fadel, which has me nervously scream look at the fucking road oh my god you're gonna die via a car crash if not by Fadel's gun. Fadel finally takes that nap that Style suggested. Style keeps driving. He is happy and content and very satisfied. Fadel may have put his walls back up, may be pushing him away and threatening him again like he did before they started dating, but that's okay. Style has annoyed his way into Fadel's life once before, he can easily do it again. Especially now that he actually knows Fadel, knows how to handle him, knows how to get through to him. And this time around the flirting is real from the start. And what's even better, what's the biggest relief of it all is that the big secret is now fully out in the open. It had been weighing Style down a lot, but now he can finally talk about it. They can finally talk about it. And now Style can finally hammer it into Fadel's head for good that he isn't scared of him in any way, that he really has embraced him with his hitman identity and all. Style won't have to allude to it anymore in the future, no, he can explicitly say it. And he can show Fadel that it's worth for Fadel to open up 100% to Style, that Style will stick by his side no matter what and that Fadel can absolutely trust him. Style will make him believe that he absolutely, undeniably, irrevocably loves him. Life is going great.

(Overview | Ep1+2 | Ep3 | Ep4 | Ep5 | Ep6 | Ep8 | Ep9)

[eclipse-has-come]

— John Price Imagine

Thinking about John Price being a victorian era gentleman that died young and owning an antique shop in a building that used to belong to him (he's haunting it).

Warnings: Kinda stalking? "He's a ghost living with you and you don't believe that he exists so he watches you go about your day" kind of stalking so if you're uncomfortable with that, you're welcome to sit this one out.

A/N: Hello everyone! It's my first post on here and i still don't really get tumblr so some things might look a bit weird. I have not written in so long I might as well have forgotton how to do so but I had this dream the other day and i had to write it down because omg it made me feral. Disclaimer, I am not a native english speaker and i have no beta reader so if there are any mistakes, I do apologize!

Anyway, enough about stuff you don't care about, enjoy this short imagine based on my dream!

You finished up your degree not too long ago and your neverending search for a job keeps going nowhere. Everyday you would submit your cv to at least 5 different employers and most of the time, you only received an answer from one. Every interview you managed to snag was a miracle in and of itself. Too bad those didn't go anywhere either.

Everyday while going to your bus stop, you'd see an old victorian building. While once upon a time It would have been a beautiful structure, now it's only a shadow of it's former self. When you first passed the vintage store-front while walking back from yet another failed interview, you payed little to no attention to the dilapitated bricks. That was until you got back to your flat one day and realized it reminded you of an old antique shop you used to visit back home.

Back then it was run by a kind elderly lady, who would always give you old toys that didn't sell well, you recall fondly. Back then younger you was fully convinced that your future was to one day run an antique store just like that.

It should've been just an ordinary morning but the day after you reminisced about the antique shop, something strange happened. While walking your usual route, you noticed with the corner of your eye a man standing on the stairs leading up to the entrance of the victorian building. You ignored him at first (no use in getting involved), until you saw him walk inside- no, phase inside the building.

You honestly didn't even register what had happened until you were walking back home, passing the cursed building yet again. You stopped in front of the entrance, resignation filling you, whatever demon wanted you to check out this poor lump of bricks and giving you weird visions in the process, it had won. Walking up the stairs, you spotted a lone flyer posted on the door:

"FOR SALE"

Underneath the large words was a poorly scratched on number that you could barely make out. That evening you sat on your couch, debating whether to call or not. If you were being honest with yourself, you were running out of options fast and growing more and more desperate by the hour. You sighed heavily and entered the number into your phone.

The cheap price should have been the first red flag, the previous owner claimed it was haunted and "wanted to be rid of the headache as soon as possible" or so they said. When you first entered the inside, you were in absolute awe, It was beautifully adorned with carved patterns, seemingly transporting you back in time.

An apartment was located on the second floor of the building, adding to the convenience of this inexpensive investment. The large display windows were eye catching and even though the building could use a lot bit of work, you could already see just how incredible it would look. Well, you always were a fan of fixer-uppers.

During your diy renovations however, some strange occurrences started to catch your attention. At first it was nothing out of the ordinary, a floorboard creaking (it is a very old building after all) or maybe a box falling over (shouldn’t have packed so much!) but then it starts getting harder and harder to ignore.

Paint splashes on the wall with the bucket it belonged to on the other side of the room, cracks in the window appearing overnight etc. You truly didn’t believe in the paranormal and when the previous owner warned you, you ignored it, waving it off as some guy's crazy talk but this was becoming a little too hard to scientifically explain.

Even still, you powered through, pointedly ignoring any and all warning signs. However annoying these inconveniences were, they weren't truly malicious. No harm ever came to you nor the antiques you got and by the time the store was ready to open, you could only sigh in relief. All of the blood, sweat and tears you poured into this project finally paid off, your younger self would have gone ballistic if they saw you now.

Walking through the aisles filled with old trinkets, admiring their unique charm and the way they looked on the hand-built shelves. You sincerely hoped the next owners would appreciate them just as much as you.

Opening day was incredibly exciting, you were certainly not expecting the amount of people coming to see the new store. Turns out the previous owner was well known in the community, ("The building was passed down through generations!" One lady told you while admiring the ornamental chandelier you installed.) which made many residents eager to meet the next unlucky owner.

What pleased you most of all, is that all unusual situations ceased or at the very least, you stopped noticing them. Which would be understandable, a week into opening and the store was full of hustle and bustle. It truly warmed your heart to see that others treated these unusual objects with as much reverence as you held for them. If there really was a ghost here, then they must agree that what you'd done for the place was for the better, you giggled to yourself.

You turned the ‘closed’ sign around just as the clock struck six on Saturday evening. Even though you're beyond happy the whole store thing worked out, you can't deny that you're incredibly tired. Who knew constant social interaction and standing all day would cause you to want to curl up in your bed all sunday. Walking towards the stairs leading to your apartment, you observed the half-empty shelves, a satisfied huff leaving your lungs. Walking up the creaking stairs, you noted down in your brain to put some paintings on the plain staircase.

Entering the old flat you tiredly trudged through the still unorganised rooms (almost all of your time was spent on the downstairs of the building, your living space was just an afterthought during the renovations), you entered the bathroom to take a long scalding shower. Due to your tiredness however, you failed to notice the near silent footsteps following you.

After several minutes of nearly boiling yourself to relax, you step out of the shower. Careful not to slip, you reach for your softest towel. ‘You worked really hard and now you could finally pamper yourself’ you decided. With your mind set, you turn over to the mirror ready to start your skincare routine when you suddenly freeze in your tracks.

On the steamed up mirror, a short sentence managed to make you reconsider your opinion on the paranormal up until this point. Written in neat letters and gorgeous handwriting, there it was:

"Hello Darling"

[maeedrg]

Satoru, Oh Satoru

Y/n’s goodbye letter

ᯓ★

Synopsis : In which you write and send a letter to your ex fiance, Gojo Satoru, before his deathly battle with Sukuna. Broken promise, he wishes to see you again, the love of his life, one last time before it’s too late. [The letter is the Mary’s goodbye letter to Arthur Morgan from RDR2]

Words count : 2k

Warnings : heavy angst, slight comfort, major character death, spoilers of the end of the manga, reader is called « wife » once.

જ⁀➴ ⠀ׂ Autor’s note : I love Red Dead Redemption 2, and the letter of Mary is haunting me. It’s been weeks since I wanted to write about it, so here we go, with Gojo instead of Arthur Morgan ! English is not my first language, sorry for the mistakes.

“My dear Satoru,

You never showed up, and now, after looking at the newspapers I understand why. I don't imagine you will receive this letter but I nonetheless must send it.

Satoru, oh, Satoru. I was just starting to dream the silliest and softest of dreams. I miss you, and I will always miss you but I cannot live like that, and it seems you cannot live any other way.

When I am with you, the world makes sense but when we are apart, I see clearly that your world is not a world from which one can escape. I am so sorry, for everything, for everything long ago and for leaving you. There's a vulnerable man within you, Satoru, but he is wrestling with a giant. And the giant, wins, time and again. You've broken my heart, again, and I fear I have broken yours.

For that, I will never forgive myself but you must let me go now. I enclose a ring you gave me many years ago, when we were both young, not because I don't like it, but because I care for it far too much and it reminds me too much of you. I hope, one day you will find some people in love who can use this, for it kept me thinking of you all these years, and I hope by returning it to you I can finally be free. So please, win, and come out alive.

Goodbye.

y/n”

Are those water drops ?

Satoru blinks once, twice, before realizing that tears roll down his rosy cheeks and wet down the paper. He slowly opens his mouth in a shuddering breath, knuckles tightening against the letter he was holding in his hands. He is crying, Gojo Satoru is crying. Heavens know that this man almost never cried since the day he was born. But the way his heart was hurting so much, each breath being a stabbing inhale, as if a dag was slicing open his lungs and cutting into pieces his poor sweet damaged heart, confirm it. Yes, he cries. He cries this forgotten moment, he cries you, he cries your love, lost in the nostalgia he feels.

The Strongest, no, Satoru, never thought he would lose the love of his life twice. The first time was when you left him years ago, three more exactly, and God it was his own damn fault. He knows it more than anyone else, more than you.

The second was today, when he opened this letter you sent him and read it 5, 6, 12, 23 times. Hell, at first he thought he was hallucinating when he received it this morning. Why ? Why today ? The day he was supposed to have no single regrets, because he knew it would be the last time he would be on earth. He prayed that you forgot about him, hated him, cursed him in your soul forever, so he could die without your and any regrets.

23rd of December. Tomorrow, it will be the 24th. Please, please, please. He doesn’t want to die now. Will he really win ? That was just a sentence said to reassure himself, to convince his students and his own heart that everything will be alright. But the “what if” came along, and he ended up writing letters to his students in case he would indeed lose tomorrow. Including you. His long lost love. His ex fiance.

But for fuck’s sake, he didn’t expect you to send him one before he could even finish writing yours.

That hurts, so damn much. Was he even breathing anymore ? He didn’t know. But he had to breathe, everyone wanted him to breathe and to stand up. They needed him. Everyone needed him. But all he wanted, in the end, was for you to need him. Even if he told you the contrary years ago. That was all a lie, to you and himself. Satoru made you leave him, but that was for your sake.

Marrying The Strongest meant having a deadly bounty on your head, the end of your peaceful love, and maybe the end of your own life. He never really regretted what he did, he preferred for you to be safe and sound, away from him. Even if he missed your pretty eyes, your oh so sweet lips, the warmth of your soul and the comfort of your arms.

But now, some hours before his last day on earth, he regretted it more than anything. In the end, he would have wanted to spend his last years in your company if it meant having this kind of death. God, he could have called you his wife. He wasn’t dumb, Satoru was far too smart for his own good. Tomorrow will be his last. There was no need to be delusional about it, but it hurts. It hurts so much. More than he wanted it to be. The Strongest never gets hurt, after all. Because he doesn’t allow it to happen.

He kisses the ring, the engagement ring, he gave you years ago before you returned it to him in this letter. He slowly closes his watery eyes, biting the inside of his mouth, lost in thoughts. He wanted to feel your lips against his one last time. He wanted to be in your arms one last time. He wanted to hear your name coming out of your mouth one last time. He just wanted to see you, before his battle against Sukuna. Was he egoistical to want that, after everything that happened in between the two of you, after the letter you sent ?

“I just… don’t care anymore,” he muttered, standing back up and softly sliding your letter against his still beating heart.

Seeing you was his last wish. May it be granted.

Some minutes after, barely 20, he was in front of your door. It was an unholy hour to grant you a visit, the clock ticking 11.58 PM. In two minutes it would be his official last hours on earth, Christmas Day. If Santa Claus was real, then you were the biggest gift he could ask for.

The moment you open your door, sleepy eyes, greasy pajamas, and then face distorting in utter disbelief when staring at your ex fiance standing right in front of you, time stops. Satoru couldn’t believe his own eyes. His Six eyes were useless, his soul was already screaming to him that the person in front of him was the love of his life.

“Satoru… ?” you whisper, unable to know if you were dreaming, or not. He died a little when he finally heard his name slipping out of your lips after so many years.

You can’t even utter another word, that his large frame is on you. His strong arms wrap around your body, cradling you in the depth of his chest and undying love for you. He inhales, you smell the same as he remembers. Oh, sweet Lord, how he missed this. He felt his heart beating again, his lungs working finally normally, he was breathing. Yes, he was breathing. Thanks to you. He never felt more alive in this moment. What a duality. A cruel duality.

“I did read your letter. Let me say my goodbyes to you too, y/n. One last time, I beg you,” he murmurs in the crook of your neck. Gojo Satoru never begs. Yet, here he was, ready to go on his knees like he did when he proposed to you, to implore one last blessing moment in your presence.

Your feelings were conflicted, you were in the arms of the man that broke your heart, and from whom you just made your goodbyes. Maybe that was mean of you, to send this letter the day before his battle against Sukuna. When you saw it on the news, you understood that it would be maybe your last time being able to reach to him. You told him what you needed to say. For you, that was final. But one thing that you didn’t take accountability for, was his soul wrenching love for you. And, in this small moment of peace before war, you decided to indulge in his vulnerability, no, yours. Wait, both of you were more vulnerable than you could ever be again.

“Satoru.”

“I missed you,” he whispers as he slowly lift his head, blue glossy eyes meeting yours intimately. Tears, rolling down. You couldn't fathom it.

“I’m so, so, oh so sorry. Do you forgive me for breaking your heart ?” His voice is like a whimper, and you feel a part of your soul breaking at his pleading. Your lips quiver.

“Yes, Satoru. And do you forgive me too for breaking yours ?”

“I never resented you,” he closes his eyes saying that, leaning his forehead against yours. That was unspoken, but you understood the depth of his words. After all, you knew him better than anyone else. He made you leave him, on purpose, and you were aware why he did that. You indeed left, he watched you doing it, unable to stop this tragedy from happening, because you both knew that marrying each other would have been probably the biggest dream and nightmare of your life. You both broke each other's hearts that day.

“I never did too,” you answer, closing your eyes.

“I love you, you know that, right ? Always did."

“I love you, Satoru. I know that you do. And…” you both open back your eyes at the same time, “I realize that loving you was my greatest curse, but your eyes grant me mercy. In them I see the salvation of my soul, but I know that your heart has already cursed me,” you finish in a breath coming from the depth of your being.

Two tears roll down at your answer. One from your eye, one from his. He sniffs, unable to suppress his emotions, and then slowly take out of his pocket two objects. First, a letter, bigger than the one you wrote him. It was unfinished, he didn’t have the time to. He softly puts it in the crook of your hand.

“Read it if I’m gone, if I’m not, then give it back to me in person," he asks you, his pearly white lashes getting wet from the tears in his eyes. You both knew deep in your hearts that you would never be able to give it back to him. Yet, you force a smile on your face.

“I promise.”

The second object, was your engagement ring. Satoru knew it was oh so egoistical of him to give it back, when you send it attached to the letter this morning. He refused to keep it. He still had his on his finger, he wanted you to keep it too.

You said in your letter that you refused to keep it anymore because you cared for it far too much and it reminded you too much of him. Satoru wanted you to remember him. He was sure that when he will die, people would forget about him, and move on. He came to accept that fact. People only cared about the farthest and the greatest grand Gojo Satoru, The Strongest. Once death would take this title from him, he would have nothing left, aside from you.

“Only you can carry my love. Never forget that. You said that you hope by returning it to me you can finally be free. For my christmas gift, let me take your freedom,” he pleads, no, begs. His hand was shaking as he gently slid back the ring on your finger, it was his ultimate wish.

A sob escapes your lips. You cursed him for doing that to you. But how could you be mad, when granting the death wish of your long lost fiance ? You look back at the shiny ring, and remember how you blessed Heavens the day he proposed to you. It hurts to know that you never had the chance to call him your husband. Your love was doomed from the beginning. The world was cruel, so cruel.

“I’ll feel alive as long as I’m in your heart, may you never forget me,” he finishes, tangling his fingers in yours.

His left hand cradles your cheek, and you slowly lean towards him. His lips melt against yours, in this final goodbye, last kiss, last shared moment, heart to heart beating in sync. Your souls intertwined, and Satoru wished he could just die right now in your arms, in the sweetness of your lips and warmth of your love.

“In another life, Satoru. In another life we’ll marry and love each other how we wanted to, just not in this one,” you whisper like a secret to the world against his lips. He smiles through the tears.

“I’ll gladly die with a smile, now.” At least he could die the same day as Geto Suguru, one year after him, joining him in death. At least he could die knowing you loved him no matter what. At least he could die knowing that in his next life he could be by your side, again.

You never forgot him. You kept the ring on your finger, until your last breath and till death do you part. It did.

THE END

[iamasimperyk]

Too Hot Too Handle

Summary: You are part of the cast of Too Hot To Handle but so is Rafe. Let's say you didn't get along till a certain workshop.

Warnings: Talking about insecurities, self-doubts, cussing, mention of men using women for other pleasure, Too Hot To Handle season 6 inspired, not proof read, English is not my first language

Pairing: Thth!Rafe x Thth!reader

You have already seen Rafe Cameron in many dating shows. He was hot, there was no doubt, but he was also an asshole. He was known for making out and sleeping with girls, having them wrapped around his finger, just to ignore them as soon he got what he wanted.

"Are you alright?" The girl next to you asked.

You quickly nodded, "Yeah, just zoned out for a bit."

It was true you zoned out a little bit but it was all Rafe's fault, but let's start at the beginning.

----

It was a sunny Friday afternoon when you got an email with everything you need to know about your time on 'Too Hot To Handle'. The problem was, that you never wanted to be a part of that show, so why was Netflix reaching out to you?

You immediately called your best friend about the email, but she wasn't as shocked as you. She was the one who sent your application to Netflix since she wanted you to loosen up a little and have a fun summer.

It wasn't like you couldn't have fun, you just wanted something genuine and not some meaningless flirts and one-night stands here and there. Best conditions for Too Hot To Handle.

----

It was a weird feeling being recorded all day, but you tried your best to calm yourself and remind yourself about the fact that everything would be fine. You were a little introverted, but you were also confident and ready for this new experience.

You walked in by yourself in a tiny black bikini, waving at the people who were already standing by a table, drinking champagne.

"Oh my god, girl, you look stunning." A beautiful blond girl smiled at you, hugging you instantly.

Everyone complimented at least one thing about you, which you could just return, the people here were definitely hot.

Chad, one of the guys, handed you a glass of the pearly liquor, "So, you are from the US?"

You nodded, "I am from California, yeah."

"Well, in case you haven't noticed till now, I am British." He chuckled a little.

"The accent gave it away." You took a sip of your glass.

As he was about to say something once again, someone else came down the stairs.

No.Fucking.Way. Why was Rafe Cameron here? Not a single person here was popular, except for him.

"Well, hello," He said with his typical smirk, greeting everyone.

"God he's so hot," Lucy sighed, nearly drooling.

The other girls were quick to agree while you just rolled your eyes.

It was true he was hot but there was nothing else behind that pretty face and toned body.

----

After everybody introduced themself, you all started to explore the villa. Guliana and you sat down on one of the beds and started gossiping, "Tell me, who's your type?"

She seemed to think about it for a few seconds before she slightly shook her head, "Chad looks good, Rafe too, but there is no one who really catches me. You know what I mean?"

"Yeah, everyone here is handsome, but I can't imagine myself with someone of them." You answered honestly.

"I bet everyone else already started to make out with each other," She giggled and you couldn't help but do the same.

However, you two were interrupted by a certain blue-eyed guy, "Seems like you two have a good time."

"How many rules did you break by now?" Guliana asked him, laughing.

"I haven't seen Lana till now, so everything is fine." He smirked, sitting down next to you.

You moved away from him a little, feeling slightly intimidated by his presence. "No offence, but I have seen some of your shows, and Too Hot To Handle would have been the last show I would have thought to see you in."

Rafe shrugged, "I am here to have some fun and win some money, nothing's wrong with that."

"And I bet almost every girl here would love to have some fun with you." The blond girl chuckled, playing with her skirt.

"Well, I am not picky. Every girl in here is hot as hell." Rafe answered cockily.

Rafe Cameron was even more arrogant in person, who would have thought that was possible?

"You aren't much of a talker, huh?" He suddenly said, looking at you intensely.

"I love to analyse, that's all." You smiled back sweetly.

"Oh, so what do you think of me? Tell me what you could analyse about me till now" He questioned with way too much confidence.

You couldn't believe this guy. He was impossible.

"That's for me to know. I will get a drink now" You mumbled, standing up and leaving the room.

----

That was the first and last time you talked to Rafe since Lana made her arrival last night, telling Rafe and Bri that they had to leave the retreat because they were too horny to be true.

You felt at ease now that Rafe was gone. You didn't know why but there was something about him you didn't like, however, it didn't matter anymore since Rafe was no longer part of the show, or so you thought.

When Bri and he came to the retreat once again, they told you about their 24-hour punishment.

"Guys, we have to be more responsible when it comes to our money, " Guliana sighed.

"Yeah, she's right, you all keep it in your pants." You mumbled, as loud for everyone to hear.

Rafe let out a chuckle, "Come on, just because you are too prude to make out with someone, you don't have to be so rude."

"First of all, it's not rude if I want you to behave and second I know how to have fun, I simply don't want everyone's tongue down my throat.", You rolled your eyes at him, clearly pissed.

----

The next days were all the same - people spent money on all kinds of sexual acts. That way the reason why Lana decided it was time for a workshop.

You all got paired up with someone you had no connection and surprise your partner was Rafe.

"Today's workshop is all about being honest and peeling back the layers. I am here to help you make a deeper connection with yourself, so you can make a deeper connection with your partner. All right, it's time to pick up those mirrors in front of you. Take it and look at yourself in it. What do you see?" The workshop leader asked.

"I see a Latina mamacita over here, of course!" Flavia giggled.

"Hot, toned, good-looking," Rafe was the next to answer.

You also looked in the mirror, your eyes glancing at every aspect of your body. You were confident, yes, but everyone had some insecurities deep down.

The others, however, seemed to love their looks as much as they could.

"Little booties matter! I can see it!"

"A little tiny waist."

"A nice little rack."

"I like my lips. I like my eyes."

"I like my hair."

The workshop leader let out a chuckle, "Alright, y'all. One second. I want you to start thinking about who you are behind what you are looking at in the mirror. Does anybody here feel like you have to put up a front? To put up a facade?"

Everybody slowly started to raise their hand, and you as well.

"If we can't be honest and real with ourselves, who can we keep it real with? Nobody," He went on, while everybody looked a little closer at themselves, "Look at yourself again. Is it the actual real you? Or is it a facade?"

Slowly, people began opening up about their feelings. It was amazing to see their masks gradually coming off.

"Y/n, what do you feel you have to portray to the world?" Now it was your time, to be honest.

" I feel like I have to keep my walls up so people don't hurt me. In my past, I tended to get attached to guys way too easily and they used that against me," You let out a quiet sob as you thought about your past, "I just want to be loved like everyone else. I know I look good but deep down I have these doubts. Is my waist too thin or too thick? Do I really like my nose? Am I too short? Why do I not have curves like the others? I think I started to doubt myself because I was constantly used by men."

That was the truth, and you felt embarrassed to admit it.

"Rafe, give her a hug for me, mate," Demari told him. The two of you have become quite good friends in the last few days.

Rafe looked down at you for a moment before he carefully wrapped his arms around you, hugging you tightly. It was strange but somehow it felt good.

"Rafe, what about you? What do you feel you have to put on for the world?" The workshop leader asked him.

He let go of you slowly and looked at himself in the mirror, "I know I look good and in the past, I have often used that privilege to get what I wanted. I have always gotten what I wanted and I made sure to keep it that way, but the truth is I am scared. I am scared to let a woman hurt me, so I leave them before they can do the same to me. Sometimes I also doubt the fact that I can be a good boyfriend or husband one day. I don't want to have children just to fuck them up as well."

You felt sorry when you heard those words. As soon as he was done speaking, you hugged him as tightly as he had hugged you before.

After a few seconds, you felt him wrapping his arms around you as well. You weren't sure how long you stayed like this but as the workshop was done he let go of you.

You didn't know how to feel but something in you told you that for the first time in his life, Rafe also didn't know what to do.

~~~~~~~~~~

Please tell me your thoughts on this on because I am kinda proud of it🥹

[gremlinmodetweeker]

König aka The Human Weighted Blanket pt 1

Let it be known by anyone and everyone that, based on my stupid quick google searches, only less 4% of US men are taller than König. Less than 1% of women in the US are taller than König. So, if I'm guessing that the majority of english speaking fans are in North America or Europe (and this is a very uneducated rough guess), which are two places with very tall people, then I am going to make the uneducated guess that König has probably met only at most 5 people in his entire life that are taller than him. The likelihoods of you being in that 5 are slim, so bear with me when I choose to write a YN shorter than König. Again, forgive me for being a bit discriminatory when writing here, but if you'd like a post for taller YNs, please tell me.

Okay, so, König is big, we just covered this in the above paragraph. But the thing is, height is one thing. Weight is another. To keep a man like König fit, he eats a lot of food, and I think he builds to be a broad man as well as a tall man. This is someone who makes a door frame look small when he ducks through it (which btw, average standard door height is 6'8). So with such a big body, such immense strength, he has learned to be a very gentle man.

König is the type of person who really makes an effort to control himself. He has extraordinary self discipline that he makes an effort to exert every day. He's not the kind of guy to be caught slacking in this department. He's not gentle to an effeminate state, he's still a big gruff man, but if he wanted to he could crush a watermelon with his hands. He is quite careful when opening bags of chips. As a teenager, his mother would have him vacuum up his messes, which is probably what drilled this principle into his head.

So this is where you come in.

König is always gentle and careful with the amount of force he puts on other people. When you tell him to lay on you, he's a bit confused.

It doesn't matter if you're 4'8 or 6'9, he's going to be worried about you. Obviously more if you're a pipsqueak (like me, hehe), but even if you're tall and strong like him he'll still be nervous. He really isn't used to this sort of request. Who the heck asks for this? Who tells him to do this?

If you're asking just because you want him to, he's much more hesitant. Why would you want to be crushed? He's never really heard of such a thing. He can't understand why. Sure, he'll do it, but you probably won't get his full weight (not until he realizes that you're serious about this, at least). He doesn't lay on you for long, and he doesn't push you in any way, and instead is constantly asking if you're alright because he's worried he'll break you. He is so confused.

If you're neurodivergent or something, then he'll understand a bit more, but he'll still be nervous. It'll take less convincing to get him to relax, but still he'll worry. After all, you're a human being and he doesn't want to hurt you. He especially doesn't want to hurt you because you asked for him to do something nice for you. That would devastate him.

Now, the thing that will crush him. If you're having an anxiety attack, you needn't tell him twice. He'll do anything to help. Genuinely. He knows what anxiety attacks are like himself. He'd never wish that pain on anyone else. So if you manage to string the words together to ask for help (and I am so proud of you for being so strong), he'll do it for you without a second of hesitation. Well, somewhat. He'll lay on you, yes, but he'll hold back a bit. It might take you telling him you'll be alright for him to fully relax himself. So yes, you will need to remind him you're okay, but only once. Then he'll do it for you. And the next time you have a panic attack, he'll do it again without you having to ask again. He'll do it for you whenever he can.

[agathaandbrienneslesbian]

Hearts of Justice

Miranda Hilmarson x Secretary!Reader

Hello everyone and happy new year to you all <3 I am back with a new mini-fic.

Decided to make a lil illustration for the fic :3

Reminder that I have a Taglist now so make sure to use it <3

Also big thanks to @weemssapphicfor beta reading this piece <3

Disclaimer: English is not my first language!

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Kissies, Love confessions

A/N: Y/N is a secretary at the police station where Miranda works. But what happens when y/n has to console Miranda after a rather rough breakup?

Words: 2'100+

AO3 Link

Taglist

-----

You have been working at the station for about two years now. 

When you first started, Miranda Hilmarson had been the only friendly face there. The two of you immediately became best friends, spending your breaks and sometimes even free time together. 

Technically, you weren’t a Constable, like Miranda. No, you worked as the station's secretary. You supposed this might have been the reason why they didn’t necessarily welcome you. 

Of course, you have been the topic of many bets and pranks, especially from your male coworkers. You never understood the allure of such childish things but… when you were with Miranda, childish things seemed to just make sense. Listening to her gush about her favourite show or how passionate she was about her work, despite being picked on herself, was the highlight of your day. You supposed that’s why the two of you got along so well. Miranda and you shared the same struggles. Even though the both of you didn’t necessarily have a good connection to your coworkers, you still made it through the day with the help of each other. 

A few months ago, you noticed how your affection towards the blonde Constable has changed. It has… intensified. And, of course, it had to happen right when that stupid Adrian dumped her. You never understood what she saw in him… he was a liar, a cheat, didn’t treat her right. It made your blood boil. Seeing her be so hopeful when you knew all he would do was make her cry, break her… it made you so unbelievably angry. And when the inevitable happened, and he dropped her, you were there. You caught her in your arms, cradled her gently and whispered apologies and soft affirmations as she sobbed in your arms on the couch of your flat. 

“He didn’t deserve you”, “I am so sorry he did this to you”, “You deserve better, Mir”, “I will not leave your side. I promise”, “Never again will I let anyone hurt you like this”

It took you a good hour to have her relax in your arms. Still, you didn’t move. This is when it hit you. This exact, stupid moment was when it hit you. How much you actually admired her. How much you cared for her… how much you loved her. It hit you like a brick, square in the face, and your heart sank. You were in love with her. You couldn’t tell her… never… you were her best friend after all, and you certainly didn’t want her to think you used her in her most vulnerable state, so… you stayed quiet. 

For days

For weeks 

For months

Half a year has passed since that fateful night, and it simply got more and more difficult to hold back your emotions, your feelings, your affections. So, you started distancing yourself. Small things at first like your lunch break, the hours you worked. 

In the end, you only saw her at the station, walking in and out. You have completely detached yourself from her and it… hurt. But you couldn’t tell her… could you? She wouldn’t understand… 

It took all your strength to deny her once more when she asked you, with a hopeful glimmer in her eyes, if you wanted to join her for a beer after work. You hated the defeated look on her face as you declined, coming up with yet another excuse. But this time… something was... different. 

You could swear you saw tears. Miranda was… truly upset. This wasn’t your intention, this wasn’t what you wanted… before you could stop her or say something else, tell her you changed your mind, she walked off. Strong and long legs taking her down the halls and out the door. With a defeated sigh and tears burning in your eyes, you leaned back. That’s it… you’ve done it… Miranda probably hated you now.

“I would go after her if I were you…”

A strong voice spoke from behind, and you jumped, not expecting to be ambushed like that. You quickly turned in your chair to see the small detective standing behind you. A frown laid itself on your face as you looked at her questioningly.

“I- what?”

“Oh, you heard me.”

You looked at the brunette, then turned your face to the exit. Maybe… with a quick move, you stood, making your way out. Robin was right. You couldn’t let this be. You wouldn’t be the reason why Miranda cried. Never. You promised her. 

Panting heavily, you finally caught up with the blonde who sat on a bench outside, frantically smoking a cigarette and wiping tears away. The sight broke your heart.

“Mir…”

You said softly, watching as she jumped and her eyes widened. She turned her head away and quickly wiped away her tears.

“Yeah… yeah?”

You took a deep breath and sat down next to her, just looking at her, unsure about what to do. You took a deep breath and pulled her into a hug. She quickly wrapped her arms around you, hiding her face in your neck. You could physically feel her relax in your arms, and it made your heart constrict.

“I’m sorry… I would love to go have a beer with you tonight.”

You spoke softly, running your fingers through her hair. Gods, you missed being this close to her. 

“Really…?”

The blonde asked quietly. With a deep breath and a nod, you pulled her even closer.

“Yes, really.”

You whispered and let go of her. Miranda let go reluctantly and smiled at you, but the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Wanna… meet at my place?” she asked softly and you nodded. Taking her hands and squeezing them gently. Miranda’s cigarette now on the floor, forgotten by the two of you. Her smile brightened a bit and she nodded.

“Then I’ll have some beers cold and ready when you arrive.”

“That sounds wonderful!”

—

The rest of the day had been strangely uneventful, besides the growing worry and fear of what tonight might bring for you. You almost lost your cool this afternoon, wanting to press sweet kisses to her head and face. But you held yourself back. Miranda wasn’t interested in you like that… 

After work, you quickly rushed home, took a shower and changed into something a bit less formal and more comfortable. You styled your hair and added just a smidge of makeup. Not too much. With one final look in the mirror, you quickly made your way over to Miranda’s place. Standing in front of the door, your nerves started getting the better of you. You can’t do this… this is gonna be too much for you. Before you could decide if you wanted to leave or not, the door in front of you opened. 

“Ah, I thought I had heard something!”

Miranda smiled down at you and stepped aside for you to enter. With a shy smile, you stepped into her flat. It had been weeks since you’d last been here. It smelled like her and you felt slightly dizzy. After taking off your shoes and sitting down on her couch, Miranda quickly followed with two beers, handing you one. 

“I’m glad you’re here. I started to miss your presence.” she said softly and blushed, quickly taking a swig from her beer. You did the same, trying to suppress your blush. She missed you… 

“You’ve been very busy lately… what had you so occupied? Maybe a special someone?”  She asked softly, wiggling with her eyebrows but the way she asked the question… something seemed off.

“Wha- no! Well… not really… not like you think… I’m not…”

A bright blush crept onto your face, and you quickly took another big sip of your beer. Gods, you wouldn’t survive this. Miranda watched you closely, a sad frown on her face.

“Then… why were you avoiding me..?”

The pain you felt in your heart almost made you double over. This is never what you wanted. You never wanted to hurt her. With a sigh, you set the beer down and started fiddling with your fingers.

“It’s not… easy..”

“Tell me! Please! Have… have I done something wrong?”

“No…”

“Have… have I hurt you? Have I been a bad friend? Y/n please! I must know. What have I done to you? Have I said something that upset you or-“

“NO! No… Miranda… no, you could never…”

You sighed. You couldn’t tell her… 

Looking up you saw her face, pain, fear, worry, sadness. You- you just had yelled at her…

“Oh gods, Miranda, I am so sorry I… I didn’t-“

“No it’s.. It’s okay…”

She spoke softly and set her beer down. She was about to get off the couch, but you grabbed her wrist, holding her in place. You had to tell her. You couldn’t see her so upset any more, it was too painful. The blonde’s icy blues looked at you, confusion written on her face as she waited for you to proceed.

“Miranda I- the reason why I was so distant… I don’t know how to tell you.”

You took a deep breath. Miranda had moved your grip, holding your hand now. Her thumb softly rubbing over your knuckles, trying to help you feel calm. It just made you even more nervous. She cared so much. 

“The reason why I was so distant was… I am in love with you.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, waiting for an answer but when none came you pulled your hand from her grip and covered your face.

“I- I have realised that I felt this way the day that asshole broke up with you… it hit me like a brick and… I didn’t want to tell you. You were so broken… you needed a friend not… that. I-I couldn’t be around you any more because it was just eating me up from the inside every time we spent time together. I had to distance myself because I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable… I didn’t want to- to take advantage of you I- I care too much… Miranda, I love you…”

Silence. Tears threatened to spill from your eyes but if you had looked up you would have seen Miranda's face. A bright blush had covered her face, ears and chest, eyes wide, staring at you with hope, with longing, with unspoken emotions. You loved her. She could be loved, someone, you really loved her. 

“I-I’m sorry… I’ll see myself out, please just forget-“

“No…”

You turned to look at her, taking in her features. She was… smiling. Not in a ‘making fun of you’ type of way, no, a genuine smile. Miranda moved closer, wrapping her arms around you and pulling you close, running her fingers through your hair as she pulled you against her body. Instinctively, your arms wrapped around the strong blonde, falling into her embrace, her scent, her soft breaths against your shoulder, falling into her. 

“Y-you’re not mad? Uncomfortable? Disgusted?”

Miranda pulled away to cup your face, wiping a tear from your cheek as she looked into your eyes.

“I could never. I love you too much.”

She whispered, smiling softly down at you. Your eyes widened. She… loved you?

“Miranda I-“

“Can I kiss you?”

You looked into her eyes, her icy blue orbs reflecting nothing but love, care and hope. You nodded, cupping her cheeks and gently tucking some hair behind her ear.

“Please!”

She leaned in, you felt her warm breath on your skin and then her soft, warm lips against yours. It was a perfect fit. Like the last piece in a puzzle. She completed you and in that moment all of your worries flew out the window. Miranda was gentle and careful. Her lips moved against yours with soft movements, and she made sure to hold you as if you were about to fall apart. She held you, she protected you. 

After a minute or two, she pulled away and smiled softly at you, pressing a gentle peck to your forehead. You smiled and closed your eyes, enjoying the feeling of her soft, warm lips against your forehead. You belonged here. In her arms, in her embrace. 

“After that night… I started realising how much you actually mean to me. Of course, it took a while for me to realise that what I felt for you was more than friendship. When you started distancing yourself, I was afraid… I thought you noticed. That I- somehow had shown too much, said too much… scared you off…” Miranda admitted and stroked your cheek gently. Keeping eye contact with you. You pressed a quick peck to her lips and the palm of her hand.

“You could never. I love you, Miranda.”

The blonde Constable smiled and pulled you into another embrace, leaning back against the couch and having you snuggle into her arms. Where you belonged.

“I wouldn’t want to be loved by anyone but you.”

-----

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[rainylana]

“Kiss me.”

Eddie Munson x female reader

summary: eddie is having a bad day, so he looks to you for comfort.

warnings: bully!eddie, mean!eddie, slight perv!eddie mentions of smut and masturbation, mentions of eddie’s home life.

Eddie was tired, mentally and physically. Tired of his life, his friends and his fucked up family, apart from Wayne of course. He was tired of school, his band. Just tired. He was tired of living everyday pretending to be happy when he was only miserable. The trauma from his childhood was haunting him, the scars from his dad a big, nasty reminder of growing up.

The only thing that was keeping him going was you. Ironic, when it reality, you hated him. He treated you terribly. He knew it, he loved it. It was the only way he knew how to express himself. He fantasized about you, thought about how your cunt would feel with his cock penetrating inside of you, how it would feel to kiss your lips and pull your hair.

He got off treating you the way he did, being mean. He stole your things, pulled at your hair and tripped you in the halls, made fun of you in class in front of everyone. He loved to make you cry. He never once thought about having a civil conversation, asking you out on a date or just being openly friendly. He didn’t want that with you. Growing up was difficult. He learned how to express himself in different ways unlike everyone else. Wayne tried his best to raise him honorably, to respect people, especially women, and treat them right, but Eddie was complicated.

Deep, deep down, he was a good person with a good heart, he just didn’t know how to share it with anyone.

He wasn’t having a good day whatsoever. Everything was pissing him off. You were pissing him off. Your smile, your laughter. The fact you were obviously having an enjoyable day. He wanted you to be miserable like him, so he needed the chance to get you alone.

He sat in a seat in the auditorium, not participating in choir practice for the third time that week. His feet were propped up on the seat in front of him, arms crossed with tatted flesh and bracelets, clad in dark clothing. He watched you sing with your peers, chin high and that ugly pink bow that sat on the back of your head. He wanted to ruin you, and he hated that he was growing hard while watching you.

He loved your little stockings, your knee high socks and white shoes. The little bows you wore and the gold, cross necklace around your neck. You portrayed innocence, but Eddie knew better. He could practically smell the way you dripped for him.

When the bell rang and class was dismissed, Eddie stood, stalking over to you slowly and predatorily, like a hunter and it’s prey. You were left behind by your friends while you gathered your things, turning on your heel to wave goodbye to the teacher. He internally scoffed. Always such a goody-two shoes.

You gasped when you came face to face with him, left alone in the empty auditorium. Your face melted into fear, the look that he loved.

“What is it, Eddie?” You tried not to let your voice tremble. “I already gave you the homework for english.”

He shamelessly looked you over. “You seem like you’re having a good day.”

You gulped, knowing he was about to ruin it. “I am.”

He smirked. “Couldn’t help but notice you were watching me over there.”

“I was not.” You defended, adjusting the hold on your books. “I was singing.”

“Sure,” He stared at the open exposure of your chest.

“My eyes are up here.” You tapped your head, spinning on your heal to walk away.

He let you get a few feet away before stopping you again. “Don’t you have something for me?”

You stopped, shoulders dropping as your hand went to your hair. You turned to glare at him, pulling out your pink ribbon and tossing it to him. “You are so weird. What the hell do you do with those anyway?”

He watched the way your hair cascaded down your shoulders, and he looked down to the new silk ribbon he could add to his collection. He always made you give them to him.

“I like annoying you.” He smelled it before putting it in his pocket, making your face flush.

He smirked. “If it bothers you so much than stop wearing them? Ever think of that?”

You could, but that would mean you wouldn’t be getting as much attention.

“Whatever.” You brushed off. “Can I go?”

“I don’t know, can you?”

You groaned, which turned into a gasp when he grabbed your arm, yanking you toward him. “Eddie!”

He stared at you long and hard, holding you against his body firmly. Your breath was heavy, eyes fluttering rapidly as your eyes were locked.

“If I told you I wrap your sweet little ribbons around my cock, what would you say?” He whispered.

Your eyes widened, lips parting in shock.

“If I told you,” His other arm wrapped around your back, trapping you in his grip. “That I think of you scuffing your knees for me? That I get off to making you hate me? What would you say?”

Your eyes filled with tears, your heart racing and face flushing. You hated that heat rushed to your thighs.

He searched your face, looking for something, you didn’t know what. Answers, maybe? An explanation to why he felt the way he did? Why he had to grow up the way he did, experience such a horrific home life and father. Why was he falling in love with you? And why, damnit, couldn’t he tell you.

“Kiss me.” He said softer, not letting go of you.

It wasn’t an order or a demand, for once, Eddie was soft with you. It made you throb. Your eyes fluttered closed and you stood on your tip toes. You shakily placed your lips on his, giving him a delicate kiss. He imagined kissing you many times, but it was never like this. It was soft, gentle. You moved your lips with his like soft ocean currents.

When you pulled apart, he let you go slowly, releasing your arms from his tight grip. He was at a loss for words, looking down and avoiding your eyes. He felt so much. For once, he just wished he could tell you how he felt, why he did the things he did. Maybe kissing you was his way.

“Eddie-” You began to say before he cut you off.

“Don’t.” He shut his eyes, overwhelming.

But Eddie was Eddie. He was complicated, an over thinker. He made things much more difficult than they needed to be.

He looked at you, a mixture of sadness and anger taking over his features as he turned to walk away. “Just don’t.”