#yeah I keep saying white male because they can make or break someone’s future

[november-rising]

This was supposed to be an ask for @thoughtfulchaos773 but it became something else…

I’m slowly going back through The Bear as I try to make sense of season three and my initial notes. The rawness and vulnerability and bare bones (season one) is what got me. Watching two people trust without trusting was foreign and needed in my TV watching landscape.

Season two was powerful but I didn’t understand why until season three. In hindsight it’s so obvious. As a Black female from the US, having a white male reorganize around your shared dream/goal is fantasy. To have this white male with all the accolades see and want you for your talent and who you are - for your fire…

That’s rarity.

And then you both endeavor upon a shared dream that is sidetracked by a white woman from his past - a safety blanket. A means to “heal” without trying. He’s searching and broken. And he had the privilege to hide and to be lost.

Sydney tried. She tried as all us Black women do. We shut it down. We shut it off. We cut it all away and deny ourselves in the necessity that is called preservation. Success. Some semblance of security.

Season two gave me hope. It gave Sydney hope. Even though this man with mental health and family trauma/trauma-response obligations, she had his acknowledged devotion.

And then the fridge. It was the summation of Carmy using anything (Claire) as a way to stay on the outside. Because, even though Syd and Carmy worked to grow, Carmy and Claire worked because of past hypotheticals.

They just work in the sense that Claire is easy. She is woven into a family he’s wanted but felt afraid to open up to - for valid reasons. This man has seen his older brother protect only to be sacrifice for the family. He found a way to survive and Carmy is living in his example - to survive and provide.

To me, this is the shift of season two and the dissonance I felt watching season three. It’s the progression of Syd and Carmy from togetherness to separation.

Syd was finding her footing and security in knowing that the most excellent CDC trusted her. She felt a sense of purpose in The Beef no matter the shenanigans. This Black woman was given some sense of control of the kitchen. Again, she was trusted. Season two, Carmy is out there processing his grief through Claire (a woman or feeling he attempted to avoid via fake phone number). Season Two, Sydney is out here, facing her fears and supposed failures, starting up another catering/restaurant venture with someone she thought she might be able to rely upon.

Season three ended with her trusting in this man who failed.

And he keeps failing.

Carmy is atoning through self-flagellation. Sydney is turning away to an apology that’s too late and too hollow. Too hollow because the last time someone attempted to apologize in this industry, it was performative. May it be the bank. May it be anyone at CIA. May it be clients prior to The Beef/The Bear. It was something people did for no reason but to assuage their own…whatever.

Carmy, at face value, was different to Sydney. Though an acclaimed white male, she felt heard. She was seen. But Carmy failed like all the others…and this time it hurts because she shared. She cared. Not with some idol but with a colleague and maybe more.

Season three breaks my heart. It’s two people in relation with each other, crying out but not knowing the radio station to dial into for each other.

[fanfic-lover-girl]

What I Hate Most About the Red Pill Movement - RANT

I kind of began learning about MGTOW (Men going their own way) and the red pill movement through random Youtube rabbit hole. For white noise, I must have listened to hours worth of content from guys like Better Bachelor, Strong Successful Male and others. I also enjoyed hearing the perspective of Bettina Arndt, a men's advocate. My heart has broken hearing the horrible stories that men go through in family court and how they lose everything, including their kids due to vindictive ex-wives. I felt sorry for the men who were decent husbands and fathers but got dealt a crappy hand.

However, recently I reached my breaking point with the Red Pill movement, which is a lot of times just misogynistic men who hate women. They get screwed over by some lowlife bitch or floozy in a club or Tinder and suddenly EVERY "modern woman" is trash.

But what I truly hate about a lot of red-pill men like Andrew Tate and others is the hypocrisy. Every video is about how a woman with a high body count is worth less as a partner because she's used and worn. And I agree with the sentiment behind the idea. It is possible for a woman who has slept with countless guys to be a great wife and mom but I expect it would take a lot of effort, open communication with her partner and healing from God. The problem is that these same guys use their 'hoe count' as a status symbol! You bash women for being sluts yet your own worth as a man depends on how many women you can run through? Double standards at best and perpetuating the problem at worst. If you want women to have lower body counts, maybe don't sleep with them?? It takes two to tango.

But what I hate even more than that is them using their male sex as a carte blanch excuse for disgusting behaviour. A red pill man may say that girls should be pure. Ok, I am in favour of girls saving themselves for the right guy as a Christian woman. I believe a lot of societal issues would be solved if people had more discretion with romantic/sexual partners. Then the fool says he has slept with dozens, hundreds of women. When a woman, maybe on the panel, calls him out for HIS high body count, it's "Men are built differently. It's not the same."

SCREW THAT! Yeah, it may not be the same. But it does not make you any less of a scumbag pig. Why shouldn't a virgin woman who saved herself for her husband deserve the same from her future husband?? Why do YOU deserve to be her first but she should be happy to be your LAST?? If I get married one day, I want my husband to be a virgin too, damn it! Why should only women save themselves while men get to run around like horny animals! As someone who has never had sex, it's really not that hard to abstain! The challenges of life are enough to keep us busy.

If a man is not willing to keep his dick in his pants, he has no business demanding women not to sleep around. The red pill men who boast about sleeping around are blatant hypocrites and their opinions are meaningless. And the MGTOW influencers who preach the philosophy that all modern women are worthless are part of the problem too.

Sex may be different for men and women, but regardless of male vs female, it's not meant to be shared with multiple people. These men need to stop trying to be alpha men and just focus on being decent men who can be good servants in the family and community.

[h0tchner]

Something More (Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader)

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: Written as a request for the loml, Abby! (@heliotropehotch!) "Could I have a hotch x reader request thats got a love confession- maybe a hurt comfort scene where the reader is maybe torn up about something like self deprecation or some cop makes an off-handed compliment and he cups her cheeks and wipes the tears away? Pretty please 🥺"

word count: 3.2k

includes: love confessions! hurt/comfort, protective!hotch, mutual pining!!!, kissing, a little teaser of sexytimes, work tension, BAU!reader, crying and other emotions, rude af deputies, fluff soooo much fluff

rating: 18+ (cursing, crude nicknames, suggestive sexual mentions, and brief explicit sexual content at the very end)

a/n: HELLO BESTIES! I hope you love this one! If you want a smutty part two, let me know. PLS (!!!!!) interact if you liked this fic; rb, comment, like and/or send me a request if you have ideas for future fics! i love y’all! - rivka💞

some pals tags: @arsonhotchner @laurensprentiss @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie

“It’s time to give the profile,” Hotch announces.

Six words. One sentence. Zero hesitation.

“Go and gather everybody in the bullpen,” he directs Spencer, who nods and quietly exits the conference room to collect your team and the rest of the Sherrif’s department of this small, Wisconsin town.

You stand on the opposite side of the table from your boss, looking at him expectantly. Hotch meets your gaze. His tongue darts out from between his lips as he glares at you from beneath thick lashes. You wait for your instructions, but the instructions don’t come. Rather, you both stand there in a staring contest, unmoving.

You can’t help but feel bare under his scrutiny, but this feeling is nothing new. Every time Hotch looks at you, it feels as if every fibre of your being is on fire. It’s been this way since the very first day you started with the BAU, and, over time, the flame has only burned brighter.

You and Hotch have grown close over the two years you’ve been with the team: closer than he’s been with any of his other agents, even Rossi. It all started with one long night spent together in his office, sharing cold Chinese food, scribbling away at mountains of paperwork. It was then, sitting across the desk from him, laughing at his incredulous reaction when he dropped some Lo Mein on an After-Action Report, that you knew: you were in deep. From then on, your Chinese food office “dates” became a regular occurrence. And then, those regular occurrences transformed into other regular occurrences; to name a few: rides on the jet, side by side, sharing soft glances and tired smiles after hard cases… holding hands to comfort each other when emotionally vulnerable… and even bringing you your favourite coffee on mornings that you’ve needed an extra boost. All these little moments of kindness and care are what made you fall in love with him. You would cross the line from coworkers to more in a heartbeat if you knew for certain that he felt the same way about you. But you refuse to take a risk on losing what you currently have with Hotch for the chance at something more.

The way that Hotch looks at you now, tall and commanding, feels very much like something more… it’s incredibly intimate. He’s effectively stripped away all the layers of protection you’ve built up to do your job with one pointed glance. What you don’t know is that he too feeling the same way, and is toeing a line between being your boss, being your friend, and being your “something more.”

Hotch breathes out hard through his nose. You watch as he swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he does. His jaw ticks. He shifts on his feet.

“I want you to sit this one out,” he says.

“Hotch?” You question, puzzled. Nothing about this day has prepared you for him to say that. You start racking your brain, trying to figure out why he would give you such a ridiculous order. Did you piss him off somehow? Did you play-flirt with Morgan too much in the car? Overlook an important lead? Did he not like the coffee you made him this morning?

Looking over at him, you swear he almost looks conflicted… but it doesn’t last.

“This is not up for debate. Do you understand me? You’re sitting this one out.” He repeats, steadfast.

“I don’t understand, what did I do wrong?” You ask more defensively this time, wishing he would give you more information. Something, anything besides the “SSA Aaron Hotchner” routine he was pulling on you now.

“I never said you did anything wrong.” Hotch moves forward a step, finally breaking eye contact, opting to gather files and loose papers into his arms.

“So, then what it is?” You cross your arms, stepping forwards as well, challenging him with your posture.

He doesn’t respond, nor does he look at you. Instead, he lumps more files into his arms before rounding the table, moving swiftly toward the door.

You have never, ever disobeyed one of his orders because his orders have always made sense… until now.

“Hotch,” you say sternly, your stubborn feet moving to stand between him and the exit before your logical brain can stop you.

He’s practically up against you, cornering you between his solid body and the old wooden door. His height dominates your shorter frame, and the heat coming off his body is positively criminal. Your heart flutters in your chest as he stares you down, calculating his next move.

“Out of my way, Agent Y/L/N.” He breathes out, tensing his jaw.

“Fine,” you stutter, “just tell me why and then I’ll let you go.” Your confidence wavers as you’re a little taken aback by his official use of your title and last name.

You’re hurt, confused… and he knows this. No matter how hard you’re putting on your tough-girl FBI face, Hotch can see right through it. He knows this order is unjustified, but he has his own reasons: reasons that he can’t get into. Not now.

Hotch lets his eyes dart to the side, past your head, not daring to look you in the eyes. He wills himself to be gentle.

“I can’t tell you, but I need you to trust me. Sit this one out.” He verbalizes, looking at you a little softer now. His face relaxes a little more into the Hotchner you’ve come to know: the one who calls his son every night to read a bedtime story, the one who grins every time you beat him in chess.

You two stand there a moment longer, your heart racing from the heat of the quarrel and your current proximity to your Unit Chief.

Hotch opens his mouth to say something else, but a knock on the door behind you stops him in his tracks. You step aside and he whips open the door; a very apologetic Spencer stands behind it.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Spencer says, clearing his throat awkwardly, “but everyone is ready in the bullpen.”

“Thank you,” Hotch nods, stepping forward to leave, but you grab a hold of his arm.

“Hotch,” you begin, not entirely sure what you want to say.

“Later,” he answers, finishing the unspoken thought.

With that, he’s out the door and you’re left alone with only stale coffee and a bunch of disorganized files to keep you company.

You close the door behind them with a sigh, letting yourself rest against it again, closing your eyes for a moment in defeat. Three days on this case. Three days of hard work, interviews, and research just to get benched in the end zone. You wish that you didn’t love Hotch, because maybe if you didn’t, it would be easier to disobey him. Opening your eyes again, you scan the quiet room. Then, something in front of you catches your eye and you get an idea.

On the table rests one of the precinct’s phones. It is all too easy to use the conference feature to listen in on one of the other phone lines: specifically, one in the bullpen.

You grin and rush over to the device, feeling a little bit sheepish for not listening to Hotch, but you push the buttons anyway, and bring the receiver up to your ear.

At first, all you hear is the shuffling of papers and muffled voices. You take a seat, leaning back in your chair like the cat who caught the canary. Several more moments pass of bureaucratic white noise, but then, someone speaks.

“Where’s the slutty one?” A male voice whispers.

“Oh, Agent Y/N? Probably on her knees somewhere waiting for her boss to come back.” A second male voice snickers back, matching the volume of the first.

You gasp, the phone slipping out of your hand, landing on the table with a loud thunk.

Scrambling, you grab it again, your other hand coming to rest over your open mouth.

“Don’t know why he wouldn’t let us use her as bait. This whole case could’ve been wrapped up and done by now if we just stuck her in a skimpy dress and shoved her out on the street.” One of them muses.

“Obviously because he’s sleeping with her.” The other mutters. “Agent Hotchner looked like he was going to take your head off when you asked him about it. Thought he was going to deck you for suggesting disguising her as a hooker to lure this guy out.”

“Yeah, he did. She looks like the victims, though. Bet she’s a whore like them too.”

“Deputies, we’re starting.” You hear a third voice pipe up. This time it’s one you recognize: it’s Hotch. “This is your final warning. I don’t want to hear another word out of you for the rest of the day. Not only is this wildly inappropriate, but it is insulting and vile. If I hear either of you speak about, look at, or interact with Agent Y/N, I will make sure you are both charged with harassment and fired from this department. Is that clear?”

With that, your eyes nearly pop out of your head. The deputies mumble something back, but you can’t hear over the sound of papers rustling.

Stunned, you set the phone back in its holder and force air into your lungs.

Waves of thoughts come crashing down on you. You have so many questions and so many answers and it’s all just… too much.

Suddenly, you know that you need to be anywhere but here.

You stand, shoving the chair aside and burst out of the conference room, fuming. You power-walk down the hall, and past the bullpen, focused on getting yourself outside and into the fresh air. Understandably, you don’t look up as you pass the profile briefing, so you don’t see Hotch’s brow furrow at the sight of you. You also don’t see him hand his papers to JJ, excuse himself, and race to follow you out the front door.

Once you’re outside in the parking lot, you look up at the cloudy, grey sky, and the tears start to fall. You feel guilty and angry; part of you wants to run away and cry, but the other part of you wants to walk straight up to those men and kick them straight in the dick. They not only called you vile names, but they also called the victims – those poor, dead women – the same. You sniffle, thinking about how Hotch stepped in and protected you, stood up for you.

Hotch… the thought of him makes you cry a little harder.

You start to pace around, kicking gravel as you went.

Were you that obvious? Was your crush so rampant that two low-level deputies in the middle of nowheresville picked up that easily on how you really felt about your boss?

“Fuck you two,” you curse under your breath to nobody as you choke back sobs. You kick a large piece of gravel as hard and as far as you can, but it doesn’t help.

“Are you okay?” A voice prods from behind you, gently, hesitantly, as if not to spook you. It’s a curt baritone, laced with concern. It’s Hotch.

“Hotch,” you breathe, turning to face him, furiously wiping tears away from your eyes.

“What happened?” He frowns, stepping closer to you, a comforting hand reaching forward to take yours.

Any other day you would grasp it contently, letting him console you. Today? All you can hear are the deputy’s comments. Sleeping with her. Whore. On her knees. You’re embarrassed and ashamed, so, you involuntarily step back.

“It’s nothing,” you put your hands up, looking down at your feet.

“Y/N,” Hotch says, his heart pounding in his chest.

You look back up, locking on his beautiful, angular face. You see every feature clouded in a haze of sorrow and concern.

You know you must swallow your pain and try to get it out. He wasn’t about to let you off easy.

“You… they… I…” you begin, but never finish your sentence. Instead, you start to cry again.

Wordlessly, Hotch moves to cup your face in his hands. They’re large and slightly calloused, encasing your cheeks as his thumbs gently swipe away the tears. His soft eyes search your watery ones; despite your better instinct, you bring your hands up to rest on his chest. You feel his breathing hitch. One of his hands moves from your face to cover your smaller hand against his chest. The two of you stay there, just like that, for another handful of heartbeats. You focus on his hands and how warm and safe they make you feel. Soon enough, you stop crying and gather the courage to speak.

“I heard them.” You whisper, not trusting yourself to say another word. You know that Hotch knows exactly who “them” is, and exactly what it is that you’ve heard.

His brow creases and his hand grips yours tighter. He cleans another tear off your cheek, and then lets that hand down to ball in a fist at his side.

“I’m going to kill them.” Hotch states, furious and heartbroken.

“Me first.” You sniffle.

Your boss sighs, giving you a heartfelt look. Leave it to you to make a joke at a time like this.

“I told them this morning that if I ever heard them say another thing about you, I was going to have their badges. I should’ve kicked them off this case hours ago.” He huffs, closing his eyes, letting his other hand, the one that was covering yours, drop down to his side.

You know this look all too well. You know he’s blaming himself.

“It’s not your fault,” you offer, smoothing your hands over his chest to settle on his upper arms. “Hotch, look at me.”

He doesn’t at first, but eventually, he opens his eyes. His hands open and close at his sides, as if he’s fighting them to be still.

“I’m sorry.” He breathes out. “For everything. For handling this how I did.”

“I’m not.” You chime in, feeling braver, calmer now that you’re here with him. Your comment earns a quizzical glance and a slight head tilt from Hotch, urging you to go on. “You stood up for me. You honoured me. You respected me. You protected me. You –“

With a fierce momentum, your next sentence is swallowed by Hotch’s lips pressing into yours. His hands come up to rest on your hips, and then circle around your waist to pull you closer. He’s warm and soft and intense; you whimper into the kiss, moving your hands to rest on the back of his neck and card in his hair. The kiss is over far too soon for your liking, both of you needing to pull back and inhale.

Hotch looks at you with heavy eyes, hands gripping your hips. He smells like coffee and pine, with a hint of something spicier. Everything about him is overwhelming yet grounding.

“Finally,” you whisper, hands clasped around his neck. “It’s about damn time.”

“It is,” is all he musters, still dazed by the audacity of his own actions.

“Aaron?” You lick your lips, feeling his hands squeeze you tight at your use of his first name.

“Yeah?” He can’t help but start to smile, showing off his adorable dimples and crinkled lines around his eyes.

“I love you; do you know that?” You say in earnest.

Aaron giggles, giggles at your confession, and then attacks your lips again, making you yelp at the surprise. His lips detach from yours only to pepper kisses on your tear-stained cheeks, jaw, and forehead.

“I love you too,” he breathes out, giddier than you’ve ever seen him. He looks like a kid in a candy shop, and it makes your heart leap into your throat.

Just then, a car beeps on the road, startling you two. You’re suddenly reminded where you are, and why you’re here. The thought of having to go back inside makes you groan, and you bury your head into his chest for a moment. He hums into your hair, planting a kiss on the top of your head.

Reluctantly, you pull yourself off his chest to look up at him.

“Forget about them,” you say, “go finish giving the profile so we can close this case and get the hell out of this town so you can take me home and show me how much you love me.” You smile at him, pulling him in for another, lighter kiss.

He grins against your lips, meeting you for another smooch.

“Yes ma’am,” Hotch replies, giving you a kiss on the tip of your nose.

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

Three months later, you and Aaron are coming down from your highs, sweaty and blissed-out after an amazing lovemaking session. After the team wrapped up the case and made it back to Virginia in one piece, you and Hotch went out to dinner the next night. He took you to dine in at the Chinese restaurant that you both usually ordered from on those nights you both spent pining and yearning in his office. It was… perfect. He was perfect. Just as your friendship had blossomed, so did your relationship. One date led to another, one gesture turned into more, and you and Aaron settled into life as a couple with ease. You hadn’t brought up the incident with the deputies since it had happened the afternoon that Hotch had followed you out to the parking lot to wipe away your tears.

Now, as you lay in his arms, wrapped in his strong, loving, embrace, your mind wanders back to their words. However, you don’t feel animosity toward them, rather it makes you giggle.

“What’s so funny hot stuff?” Aaron cracks open an eye and smiles down at you. One arm is tucked underneath his head, and the other is tracing patterns on the bare skin of your shoulder.

“Oh, just that case we had in Wisconsin a few months back.” You nuzzle deeper into his chest with another laugh.

Hotch frowns, recalling the memory, thinking about the way those awful men spoke about you.

“How is that funny?” He asks, hesitantly.

“They called me a whore.” You say nonchalantly, peering innocently into his amber eyes. You bring your palm up to swipe across his cheek softly, feeling the light stubble of his jaw underneath your fingertips.

Both of his eyes are open now, and his hand motions cease their patterns on your skin. He’s confused, and the face he’s giving you is downright adorable. It makes you giggle again.

You detach yourself from his grasp and sit yourself up, carefully shimmying down the bed. Aaron’s eyes never leave you.

You nestle yourself between his legs and look up at him with a smirk.

“They were partially right.” You offer, studying the small changes in his face, watching as his eyes glaze over with lust for the second time that night.

“I am a whore.” You pout suggestively and flutter your eyelashes. “A whore for you, Hotch.”

He shakes his head at you in amusement and chuckles, but it quickly turns into a deep, throaty moan as you wrap your lips around the tip of him.

As you start to bob your head on his already hardening length, you think to yourself: as much as I hate to say it... someone should really give those two deputies a raise.

[the-ghost-king]

the term malewife isn’t a very nice term to use...

A man who acts as a wife and is inferior to his #girlboss girlfriend.

Person A: I just got myself a malewife. He's gonna clean my kitchen and watch me download custom content for the sims.

Person B: Sweet! You must be such a girlboss

^^urban dictionary. It’s just confirming to the sexist stereotypes that perceive and expectation of what a wife should act like. It’s quite harmful

It's a parallel to girlboss which is conformity to the sexism within corporate America:

"it becomes inescapably clear that when women center their worldview around their own office hustle, it just re-creates the power structures built by men, but with women conveniently on top. In the void left after the end of the corporate feminist vision of the future, this reckoning opens space to imagine success that doesn’t involve acing performance reviews or getting the most out of your interns." (here)

The word girlboss comes from a book quite literally called #girlboss, in parallel to the negative aspects of this book people eventually rebranded the term "malewife" to parallel it (malewife was originally an nsfw type thing)

In the malewife/girlboss "system" it's essentially the swapping of the problematic aspects, expectations, and socialization of men and women within a relationship

"Girlboss, gaslight, gatekeep" was a meme started to pick on the idea that women should become men and enforce the sexism within corporate society, and I'm sure it was a jab at the book the word came from as well.... "Manipulate, mansplain, malewife" was created to parallel the original meme

So yeah, the whole concept is mocking sexism within corporations and and modern relationships and showing how ridiculous it is. Girlboss mocks the idea of 2014 (largely) white feminism within America.

In example the original meme (created on Twitter) is intended to make mockery of Karen-types:

On January 12th, 2021, Tumblr user missnumber1111 posted, "today’s agenda: gaslight gatekeep and most importantly girlboss," garnering over 43,500 notes in a month (shown below). On that day, Twitter user @CUPlDL0VE posted, "my agenda is gaslight gatekeep and #girlboss," the first instance of the phrase on Twitter.

And a day later on January 13, 2021 Tumblr user a-m-e-t-h-y-s-t-r-o-s-e reblogged the post along with a photoshopped image of "Live, Laugh, Love" wall art instead reading, "Gaslight every moment, Gatekeep every day, Girlboss beyond words" (shown below). On January 18th, the image was reposted to Twitter for the first time.

Malewife doesn't hold those same implications however... The term malewife which is now being used to parallel girlboss achieves it's origins from p*rn, now I'm not an nsfw blog or someone who blatantly discusses nsfw concepts on my blog so I'm not getting super into it but there's a few places it comes from: femdom, bdsm, and feminization kinks... All of which have a connection to queerness in their own right but I don't feel comfortable going into the complexities of that with so many younger people following me.

On February 15th, Tumblr user @relelvance posted, "Manipulate, mansplain, malewife" as a male-themed opposite to "gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss," garnering over 27,000 notes in four days. The post was screenshotted and reuploaded by Twitter user @nortoncampbell on the same day, garnering over 14,200 likes and 2,800 retweets in the same span of time (shown below).

Urban dictionary's explaination of "malewife" is not only harsher than what malewife was intended to mean, but also removes the context of origin from the word- making it something new, different, and erasing the history of who originally used this word.

Because of Malewifes origins vs Girlboss origins, malewife is a less problematic term than girlboss and is more "affectionate" because the term malewife and it's use (up until recently) involved the man acknowledging that he wanted to be the "wife" in his relationship. There's a variety of reasons someone might do this, but it can generally be summed up as a mixture of personality and also personal wants.

I do think it's important to also note that although these words are being "glamorized slightly" they're still intended and being used in a memeing manner, but they're also used to quickly denote arbitrary traits in an individual and categorize those traits...

Although there's lots of conversations to be had for a variety of reasons about the origin and use of the word "girlboss" in relation to sexism, up until recently the world "malewife" was something claimed by men, something men wanted to be called, and something that men who used the term wanted to reference them.

Malewife is about "stepping-up" to "take on" "female" social roles, and it's something that at least some women would be happy to see in society:

"...We have been told that we can have it all, but so far we have noticed that it is extremely hard work having it all, because you still have to do everything that your mother did but now you have to do everything your father did as well. Except that your father had your mother waiting at home with a gin and tonic and his slippers when he came home from work, and you have the washing up and the shopping and a few screaming brats as well as a bloke with his feet up on the sofa watching the football... " (via. Victoria Mary Clarke)

And I don't think that she's wrong at all. Women are still expected to do so much more than men in society without equal reward.

Malewife exists as a a sort of fantasy removed from the truth of society. It's an idea that a husband can be waiting at home to care for his wife, and in this instance it benefits the woman- unlike Clarke's situation above, the woman comes home from a long day and is able to relax without the pressures of society and her life.

Where housewife is a word that holds its origins in forced subservience, malewife is a term that is showcasing men "picking up the torch" in regards to housework- where housewife is socially forced, and girlboss is reversed social compliance, malewife is the rejection of social expectations.

Malewife is about men finding a place in their life's and relationships to make themselves more than a paycheck. To say "I can be emotionally there for my spouse, I can clean a toilet, and drive kids to school, and I don't treat my spouses wants as something expendable". In a society in which men are often demeaned, mocked, and scorned for picking up socially female roles (say hello to misogyny and gendered contamination!)

The Urban dictionary definition, is not only too harsh- but not the way in which the word is intending to be used, because that's ignoring the origins of this word, and the fact that men had a choice in becoming malewifes where women didn't have that choice. It should read more like:

Person A: Ah yeah, I have a malewife waiting for me, he's going to clean my kitchen because I've had a hard day at work and need a break, and then he's going to watch me download custom content for the Sims because I enjoy the game so much and it helps me take a break from life!

Women's wants were often ignored in favor of men's wants, so by the malewife saying he's going to watch his spouse play the Sims, he's really saying "I care about her interests" and by him picking up the kitchen cleaning after she's had a stressful day he's saying "I have a lower stress job so I can handle that for her and make her life a little easier" (because malewife doesn't mean he doesn't have a job).

In a society in which a man's worth is tied to his ability to bring home money and be emotionally distant, malewife is the rejection of this norm. Malewifes are going to be there for their spouse, they're going to step up and take on traditionally women's roles and they're doing it because they want to, because they like it, and because dividing chores into pink vs blue is wrong.

I also want to say, you can't flip a word around and say it does "this" because that's not how it works... Men and women are forcibly socialized in very different ways, the two binaries have very different treatment, and expectations within societies social constructs. If you could flip the forms of oppression that men vs women face (because yes, the patriarchy oppresses men) then you could also flip the forms of violence faced by trans masculine people vs trans feminine people- but that doesn't work either, because women will always be oppressed in the most public way to "make an example of them" while the patriarchy expects anyone who is male to "keep his mouth shut and fall in line". (I know that's worded poorly, but I've just written at least a couple hundred words and my brain is a bit fried already from various other things today- basically anyone perceived female or male will be treated in a certain way as a result of others perception of them)

Anyhow, all this isn't to say that the term "malewife" is inherently free of any form of flaw ever... Malewife is a newly mainstream word, it wasn't popularized until February 15 of 2021... So?? 5 days ago?? The origins of malewife and the social implications of malewife combined with the history of the word, don't make the word bad or impressive and it's not "upholding the ideals of a housewife" but instead a word which provides men freedom from male social expectations.

Can the word malewife come to be a word which enforces expected female social behavior? Yeah it absolutely can become a word to mean that, erase the history from the word, and give it to someone who doesn't know the history of the word, and someone who doesn't have an intimate understanding of gender theory, and you've got a recipe for hundreds more asks like the one you've sent me...

I can't find a single positive reason to use the word girlboss in an empowering way, but I can find more reasons to use the word malewife in an empowering way than not to do so.

So at the very least if all you come away from this with is that I don't personally use the word malewife to uphold female social expectations in a relationship but instead I use this word to provide space for guys to be allowed to be feminine, soft, caring, emotionally present, and worth more than their monetary value, then I guess that's okay.

[whimsicallyreading]

It’s Time

Masterlist

Bryce could only prolong this talk for so long.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to talk to Ithan. They’ve both been dying to speak to each other since she closed the gates.

Bryce wanted hug him. To thank Cthona that he’d made it into the cellar, and get to know him as the person he’s become. Conner’s little brother who is all grown up now.

Before they could do that, they had to clear the air between them. It would require picking at old wounds so they could heal properly. The death of the back was a rugged, festering scar on both of them. Solving Danika’s murder started the long journey towards healing and it couldn’t be stopped now.

Ithan was a big part of this.

“Would you like me to stay with you, Sweetheart?” Hunt mumbles into her hair.

Bryce knew he would stay if she asked. Bear the awkwardness of this conversation silently, acting as a welcomed voyeur to this mending of a relationship. Her and Ithan needed the safety of privacy to work this our, though.

She leans up and presses a kiss to the high arch of his cheek. “You don’t need to hand around. It’s just a talk.”

Hunt looks decidedly concerned, but doesn’t contradict her choice. “Let me know when you are through. We can go out for dinner tonight.”

Bryce wrinkles her nose, “Where we can get harassed by paparazzi and journalists? I don’t like having my picture taken when I’m trying to shove noodles into my mouth.”

“Oh, Sweetheart,” he brushes a piece of hair back from her face, “they won’t be bothering us tonight. I’ll make sure of it.” There’s a lightness to Hunt’s posture and a wicked gleam in his eyes now. Freedom looked good on him, and he was thriving.

Bryce felt the strange new magic inside of her twist. It was almost as attracted to Hunt as she was, and it always answered his call to playfulness and mischief. The kind of trouble Bryce herself was always drawn to.

Kindred souls, mirrors, whatever you wanted to call them, there was an unmistakable bond between them. One, that when Ember finally comes to visit with assuage her worries about her only daughter being with a Vanir male.

That was saying something.

Bryce looks through the glass windows of the bar where Ithan sits. He hasn’t seemed to notice her presence yet, the weight of what they were about to do was probably distracting him as well.

“Call me when you finish,” are Hunt’s final words before he takes off above the city streets.

Bryce looks at Ithan for a moment longer, and counts to three before walking inside.

As was typical these days, the minute she steps through the doors, heads turn. A couple of men even pull out their phone to snap picture, but Bryce flips them off and ruins their shots.

Or maybe they will sell it to CC Weekly and title it Princess Unhinged Again.

Ithan turns and glares at some of the offenders, and a few even have the common sense to turn away. Pissing off the new lead of the Aux packs wasn’t high on anyone’s to do lists.

Bryce was glad for Amelie’s decision to step down. She took it upon herself to decide that someone who didn’t have the dominance to oppose Sabine in her rash decisions should be her second. It was also becoming more apparent to the other packs that Ithan was built to be an alpha male, and Amelie was doing a piss poor job of maintaining control.

Ithan’s eyes catch Bryce’s, and instead of angry, he seems almost sorrowful. She pulls out the barstool next to his and orders a beer, looks at Ithan, then orders another for him as well.

Step one, they both would need alcohol for this.

“I’m not going to lie, Bryce.” He says looking up at the TV playing Sunball reruns on the screen and keeps his gaze fully locked there. “I’m really freaking uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, it is.” She agrees, “but it shouldn’t be, and that’s why we are doing this.”

“He was my brother.” Ithan chokes out and Bryce feels a tear in her heart. “You hurt him really bad and then he died.”

“I know,” Bryce swallows.

“He loved you.” There are tears dripping down Ithan’s cheeks and makes no move to wipe them. “You didn’t love him, but you lead him on and made him think he had a chance.”

Bryce wanted to retort, but she knew Ithan needed to express these feelings. He’d harbored them for so long they needed to be said aloud before they could be dealt with.

“He died and you wouldn’t even talk to me,” Ithan looks at her in betrayal.

She has to dab at her eyes with the sleeves of her shirt. Ithan looked so lost. So different from the vibrant puppy who played college sports and squished next to her on the couch. Bryce felt responsible for that loss of innocence even if she hadn’t been the one to kill Conner.

“I’m sorry,” she says, through the lump in her throat. “I know that doesn’t mean much but I am. You should know that I did love him.”

Ithan scoffs, and shakes his head at those words. “Sure you did.”

“I did.” Bryce hisses leaning forward, but catches herself and sits back in her chair. “You don’t get to tell me what I felt. I was young, stupid, and scared about what a relationship would mean.”

A sigh escapes her and she leans her face into her hands. “You know my baggage with Vanir males. I won’t go into that again. Conner was an intense person. I know how he felt about me but I wasn’t ready, yet.”

She looks Ithan in the eye, pleading for him to understand. “I wasn’t ready then.”

Her and Conner had just taken the first baby step in a relationship that night. They hadn’t made any commitments to each other, and while the wolves may see things differently Conner wasn’t expecting her to dive head first.

If they’d had more time, there would have been more baby steps. More progress. Bryce would have had time to mature and for Conner to be sure he was making the right choice not searching for a mate. They might have become something.

But they never got the chance.

“I couldn’t even look at myself in a mirror, there was no way I could have faced you.” Bryce confesses weakly. “If I could change the choices I made that night, I would. Without hesitation, but that’s a useless thought to entertain.”

All she could do was live with the choices she made. The past couldn’t be erased, and with Hunt, she was finally learning to embrace the future.

Connor sniffles and takes a long drink of the beer in front of him. “It wasn’t your fault, Bryce.”

Shock ran its cold fingers up her spine, and Bryce couldn’t keep the surprise from her face.

“You messed up. Don’t get me wrong, it was hard to forgive you for that,” Ithan says and Bryce cringes a little. “But I should never have let you go in believing you were to blame for them dying.”

“Ithan-“ the tremble in Bryce’s voice sends more tears to her eyes and she dabs them with a bar napkin. “Ithan I-“

“No,” he stops her short. “They were family too. You were in the right place at the right time and it spared your life. There was nothing you could have done, and I’m glad you aren’t dead. I would miss you.”

Ithan shudders and takes a gasping breath, and it breaks Bryce as well. She reaches over and wraps her arms around him, while Ithan squeezes her waisted as if he were afraid she’d disappear.

Several moments pass with them like this. Bryce knows a few people have snapped photos, but there isn’t any more room for anger. Not with the relief flooding through her veins, chilling that hot white pain she’d carried for so long.

“I forgive you Bryce,” Ithan whispers in her ear.

Bryce sobs, “I missed you too Ithan.”

They both pull away, wiping their faces and taking drinks of their beers to calm down. A cheer comes from the TV screen as a goal is scored, and a bowl of peanuts had been set in front of them at some point.

“Can we start over? Bryce asks hesitantly. “Is there a chance we could be friends again?”

Juniper was busy and Fury was gone on another mission. With Hunt and Ruhn active in her life again she was a lot less lonely, but there was still a gap where the pack had been. Where Ithan used to be.

Ithan takes a moment to think. “No,” he says, breathing out and taking a drink of beer. He rolls a peanut shell between his meat-stick finger. “I don’t think so.”

“Oh,” Bryce said. That didn’t feel like a knife in her gut at all.

“No,” Ithan continues. “Because we are family. We’ve always been family.”

Bryce beams from ear to ear, she honestly may even be glowing a bit. “I like the sounds of that.”

They drink beer, and soon talk becomes easier. Ithan fills her in on the years she missed, Bryce talks about the dance classes she’s taking again. They even talk about the night the she shut the gates, and the backlash that’s followed.

Time passes, and before she realizes it, Bryce is late to meet with Hunt.

“Shit,” Bryce starts gathering her things and lays a few bronze marks on the table. “I’ve got to go.”

“Hot date with your Angel?” Ithan asks and Bryce blushes and turns away, feeling slightly ashamed to acknowledge her new boyfriend in front of Conner’s brother.

Ithan touches her shoulder, “Conner would have liked Hunt for you.”

Bryce had texted Hunt, and she can see him land on the sidewalk outside of the bar, but her attention is still focused on Ithan.

“They didn’t know each other very well when he was alive,” Ithan acknowledges, “but if my brother saw how happy Hunt makes you, it wouldn’t have mattered. At the end of the day, he would just want you to be happy.”

Bryce grabs his hand and squeezes it. “He would be proud of you Ithan.”

“I know,” he smiles. “Now get going, I have to report for my Aux shift soon anyways. We should meet up again sometimes.”

They bid their goodbyes and Bryce feels a million times lighter as she walks out of the bar. Hunt sweeps her into his arms and they take off over the streets of Lunathion.

“How did it go?” He asks.

“Really well,” Bryce tells him l about their conversation and the bridges they mended. Hunt listens without judgement or interruption.

He lands in vacant side street close to the Old Square. A food cart serving spicy wraps, pita bread and hummus is just down the block. “I figured we could get some food and have a picnic?”

“A picnic?” Bryce smiles. “I like the sound of that.”

They’d made a bucket list of things ordinary people did in the city that Hunt has yet to try, and they attempt to knock a few off each week. Bryce took photos, and Hunt would get them developed after work. Soon a whole wall of their apartment was now decorated with photos of the two of them having fun.

A picnic was on their list, but near the bottom. It didn’t seem like the kind of thing Hunt would be super interested in.

Yet here they were.

It turns out, he’d even packed an old blanket in his backpack. When they finished eating Hunt and Bryce laid out under the stars, not speaking but just content in each other’s presence.

Her phone dings.

A text bubble from Ithan appears, quickly followed by another.

I hope you and Hunt are having fun. Conner isn’t the only one happy for you. I’m glad you’ve found someone.

It’s time

Bryce’s heart is warned further, and she sets her phone back down on the blanket beside her. She would call Ithan in the morning. Right now, Hunt’s wing was draping over her and the softness of it could put her to sleep.

Everyone was moving on, but instead of bitter and sad, there was hope. Their loved ones may be gone, but they weren’t forgotten. The pack would always be in her and Ithan’s heart, and where love endured so would their memories.

“You didn’t tell me your mother is coming next week,” Hunt whispers as Bryce’s eyes droop.

“I wasn’t about to give you time to prepare yourself,” Bryce smiles into his neck. “It’s better if you just jump in feet first with her.”

“Menace,” he hisses. “A pretty menace, but a pain in my ass at the same time.”

“We can face her together,” Bryce yawns.

“Go to sleep,” Hunt encourages. “I’ve got you, Sweetheart. Like I said earlier, no one is going to bug you when I’m around.”

So, under the night sky, wrapped in a velvet wind, her and Hunt fall asleep, looking forward to tomorrow at last.

The conversion at the end of HoEaB I feel we desperately needed 😂

Taglist- (let me know if you would like to be added or removed :D)

@cursebreaker29

@firestarsandseneschals

@royalsqueeze

@julemmaes

@tillyrubes10

@live-the-fangirl-life

@ghostlyrose2

[simpingforsoftboys]

The Odds of Us All

Special CH1: A Glance At The Past (the one where Sakusa meets Y/n)

Okay so this chapter takes place right before Y/n’s first year of high school! I wanted to write more Sakusa within the “The Odds of Us All” AU but it’s not my dudes time to shine yet :( So here we are, I’m going to write about the time Y/n met Kiyo ahahhaha. Enjoy my fellow Sakusa simps ;)

*technically this can be read as a stand alone one shot but why would you only settle for that when you can read the series?

“Y/n, I know you want to stick by Tetsuro and Kenma... but you seriously need to consider your future. Eventually you’ll have to separate from them, don’t let your history hold you back in the past.” M/n Ushijima, Y/n’s competent and straight forward mother advised, gazing at her daughter with a knowing stare. At the moment the h/c girl was looking through a long lists of high schools she had the options of attending. Her top four options were Fukurodani Academy, Shiratorizawa Academy, Itachiyama Institute, and Nekoma High. 

Fukurodani was a good option, they had a focus on subjects like Japanese and English literature, as well as history and art. While Nekoma High’s more favored subjects were the STEM courses, and they even had a bonus of being the chosen high school of her childhood friends, Kuroo and Kenma. These two were the cheapest options- neither of them being a private academy like the other two. 

Itachiyama Institute was probably the place her mother wanted her to attend, they were renowned for their excellent college prep classes, exceptional sports teams, and high rate of graduating students getting into Imperial Universities (Japan’s Ivy League basically). Shiratorizawa Academy was all the way in Miyagi- but they had a dorm that she could stay in. There was also the fact that she was guaranteed an invitation from the headmaster himself, due to the Ushijima family’s children studying there as per tradition. Her cousin Wakatoshi also attended the school, as expected of him, if she chose to follow his lead she was guaranteed friends and a good time also.

Choosing a high school was hard- especially when her mother was pushing her in one direction, only to backtrack and say that she would support her no matter what school she wanted to attend. Y/n briefly wondered what it’d be like when deciding on a university in the future- however those thoughts were far from pleasant so she shook them off. 

“I... don’t know mom.” M/n looked at her daughter long and hard, releasing a soft sigh before pulling out her phone and tapping away.

“How about you take Itachiyama’s entrance exams and see if you at least qualify? Any other school on this list will accept you as a student in a heartbeat. At least this way you’ll know if Itachiyama is even an option for you.”

You blinked, considering her words, they made sense so you agreed.

“Great, the entrance exams are this Sunday, I’ll drop you off then.”

~Time skip to Sunday, location: Itachiyama Institute~

You had finally finished the god awful tests. It had taken an excruciating three hours of your time to complete and your brain felt like literal mush. Stomach rumbling, you made your way to one of the vending machines you remembered passing by earlier. One thing you were glad for was the location of the exams- right in the administration wing of the school- naturally, the heads of the place had access to the best snacks. You walked silently, eyes gazing at the ceiling, not paying attention to anything but the fluorescent lights. Rounding the hallway corner, your eyes fell to the end of the hall- where the vending machine was located. Humming a small tune you continued your leisure stroll, fishing through your pocket for your credit card. After retrieving it you purchased a mini chocolate cake (that looked more like a brownie than anything), white chocolate matcha cookie, and a tiny cup sized bottle of milk tea. As the transaction was going through, you picked up on approaching footsteps and people’s voices. 

“Apologies *indistinguishable*-san I simply must take this phone call. There’s a vending machine around the corner, would you please wait for me there?” An adult said, heavy footsteps receding, a door opened, then shut. You turned back to the task of collecting your snacks. 

“Is this what I think it is?” A noticeably younger sounding male’s voice asked, barely audible. You vaguely wondered what was going on over there, before promptly setting your food on a nearby chair, pulling out your hand sanitizer and applying it swiftly. As you contemplated what snack to indulge yourself with first, you were deaf to the incoming footsteps and soft gasp from behind you.

“But if I ate the cake I might accidentally spill crumbs in the hallway... maybe the cookie’s a better idea?” You wondered, pocketing your sanitizer, still oblivious to the boy behind you. “Hmm...”

“Uhh... excuse me?” That voice from earlier called out, startling you. You whipped around, only to make eye contact with pretty onyx eyes, the color of warm coal and cooled lava rock. His entire being was outlined in a highlighter yellow- it was kind of fitting, having matched the schools signature colors. 

‘Woah my soulmate’s actually kinda hot,’ you thought to yourself, taking in the boys appearance. Wavy black hair, two moles above his right eye, you couldn’t see the rest of his face- since it was obscured by a white face mask. He was perhaps 5′11- but something told you he was on the cusp of a growth spurt. So caught up in your musings you hadn’t noticed that you had accidentally voiced your thoughts out loud. “Thank god he’s not an old man.”

“...Is that supposed to be a compliment?” Mr. Highlighter questioned, staring at you incredulously. 

“Oh no did I say that out loud? I am so sorry- I swear I didn’t mean too!” You exclaimed before bowing in apology, cheeks hot with embarrassment. Sometimes you spoke whatever was on your mind- a bad habit you were currently working hard on breaking.

“...” He didn’t say anything, still looking at you judgingly. Internally he was wondering why he was destined to be with someone like you. “Sakusa.”

“Huh?” You straightened back up, wide eyed. 

“My name’s Sakusa Kiyoomi... this is the part where you’re supposed to introduce yourself.” Uh oh ‘Sakusa’ sounded a tad bit irritated with you now. His name sounded familiar somehow... but you didn’t quite know why.

“R-right! My name’s Ushijima Y/n!” You smiled nervously, awaiting his reaction. He looked pleasantly surprised at that.

“Ushijima? Like Ushijima Wakatoshi?” Your smile dwindled slightly at his choice of words. Of course he was excited- not because he met you- but because he was able to use you to meet Toshi. 

“Yeah... he’s actually my first cousin.” Attempting to keep the conversation flowing you asked “are you a volleyball fan?” 

Unbeknownst to you, Kiyoomi noticed how you reacted when he asked about Wakatoshi, so he decided to avoid that topic for now. 

“Mm... I’m actually a player. That’s what I’m here for... I was scouted for the volleyball team.” He says it so nonchalantly, as if he wasn’t sought out to join the best high school boys team in the entire country. 

You’re just as impressed as he hoped thought you’d be, all starry eyed and mouth open in awe. “Scouted? That’s amazing Sakusa!” He’s pleasantly surprised that you forgoed the honorifics, but a tad bit disappointed at your use of his surname. “You must be very skilled- I’m only here because I had to take the entrance exams.” 

“How were they?” He finds himself blurting out softly, it’s uncharacteristic of him- not that you could know that- but he finds that he doesn’t mind being a bit forward when it comes to you. Despite not usually being one for conversation, he doesn’t want this chat to end. 

“Mm they were okay I guess... but the math portion was pretty difficult.” Speaking about the hard exams remind you about how hungry they made you and your stomach gurgles in response. Behind his mask, Kiyoomi’s lips quirk at the abashed expression you make- which disappears once you wave it off with a laugh and a brief apology. “Want a cookie? Or a cake?” You question, nodding over to your waiting snacks. He shakes his head. It feels almost invasive as he watches you unwrap your cookie- noticing the care you take in making sure your fingers only touch the wrapper, not wanting to touch the cookie itself, lest you get crumbs on your hands. But you don’t look uncomfortable at his weird interest, so he continues to stare. “I can buy you a snack? What do you like to eat?”

“It’s fine, I have money.” The dark haired male pats his pocket, “I like umeboshi... anything with umeboshi.” Those enchanting e/c orbs flit over to him once more and he discovers that you’re probably the only person that could stare at him endlessly without making him uncomfortable. This thought scares him- he doesn’t even know you- he shouldn’t be thinking such things. You’re tapping away at the vending machines, cookie having been finished and trash tossed in a bin nearby. He assumes you’re just buying another snack for yourself.

“Here... is ume daifuku good?” You question, holding it out to him with one hand, while your other one reaches back into the dispenser part of the machine and retrieves a can of matcha tea. “Delivery for one!” The smile adorning your lips sends a pleasant feeling throughout his body, normal tendencies forgotten, he accepts your offer. 

“Thank you... can I pay you back? I don’t have cash on me at the moment, but maybe another time?” He pockets the canned tea and holds the daifuku in one hand, allowing you to spurt some hand sanitizer on his empty one. You shake your head, h/c hair swinging, his heart sinks in his chest- rejection overcoming him. 

“Don’t even think about paying me back Sakusa... but we can meet up again... maybe off of school grounds?” A shy look overtakes your features and he can feel his heart picking itself up off the floor and taking flight at how cute you are. 

“I... wouldn’t be opposed.” 

“Great, let’s keep in touch then! What’s your number? I’ll text you!” He tells you his number, watching as you type it into your phone quickly. 

“Say cheese!” You twirl around holding the camera up so that it focuses on Kiyoomi’s tall figure, your head poking in at the corner of the screen. He doesn’t do much- the only noticeable change in his demeanor is the *very* slightly shocked look on his face (you can tell by the wide stretch of his eyes). He licks his lips behind his mask and looks as if he wants to say something, but he doesn’t get the chance. 

“Sorry about that Sakusa let’s continue the tour- hm am I interrupting something?” The headmasters voice says from the end of the hallway, he’s pleased to see the two of you together. Both being the children of very influential people- it bode well for the school if you kids got along. 

“No, we’re good thank you... I’ll talk to you later Ushijima.” 

“Call me Y/n, Sakusa! I’ll text you okay?” 

The headmaster walks off, expecting Sakusa to follow. As he passes you he says one last thing. 

“You can call me Kiyoomi then.”

Series Masterlist

Taglist: CLOSED @kac-chowsballs​ @kotwd​ @ems1des​ @normalisthenewnorm @micheleinumaki @gomchan @empress-simps @mer-der-mi @honeyswhiskers @sakusas-number1-stan @astronomyturtle @akirahyoshi @afire24  @its-the-aerieljeane @carla-1217​ @fucktheworlddude @baes-x @shadoweepingscream @sirachano0dles @katamint @420-uwu @xstormiii​ @youtuboo​ @chibiitakoyaki

[chaoticallysapphic]

Panda Lilies

Summary: You both are terrified of admitting your feelings for one another, but an old gift finally rips the truth out of you.

A/N: this was requested by a nonnie, it’s from the prompt list N1 and is number 9 in the surprise section. I hope it lives up to your expectations Nonnie! 

Word count: 2K

You were a coward. Sure you’d taken multiple benders at once, won spars, and fought alongside others to right what was wrong. But when it came to your feelings, you clammed up and became something pitiful. It’s at your grandfather’s funeral that you reunite with your first love, snowfalls in little flurries, and the sun is already setting despite it only being midday. Winter had come and taken with it a piece of you.

She sets a hand on your shoulder and gives it a comforting squeeze “He was a remarkable man,” Lin says. You let out a sigh and look over at her, your grandparents had practically raised you, what with your mom dying while giving birth to your younger brother and your father dying a few years later in a shipwreck. 

Suki had died two years ago, that’s the last time you’d seen Lin. The ceremony was a beautiful mix of water tribe and Kyoshi traditions, warriors that hailed from your grandmother’s homeland had all come to properly bury her in their traditional garb with the white makeup painted across their faces. You knew all the women who came, having trained alongside them growing up, and despite Sokka not having any ties to Kyoshi island, they had also come today to offer support. Your closest friend among the warriors eyes Lin’s hand and gives you a look of encouragement before turning her back and leaving. 

“Thank you for coming,” you say, completely turning your body to face Lins. You shouldn’t have been surprised about her showing up, but she’d been so busy in Republic City, her letters had lessened over the years and the yearly winter solstice call you two shared stopped a few years ago. You remember idly sitting by your telephone as you twirled the cord around, waiting for it to ring. Lin always called you, the second she got home from work on the winter solstice you’d talk the night away. 

Your brother used to tease you about it, going on about how you’d give up the delights of the delicious foods and games only held on this night for some girl oceans away, but he stopped when he came home to you staring at the phone with your knees brought up to your chest. Lin was a bit older than you, what with you only being thirty but you didn’t think that would stop her from contacting you… Until it did, because that had to be the reason she cut you out. You must not be mature enough for her. 

“Of course, I…” Lin drops her hand, seeming to have forgotten it was even there. She clears her throat and sighs “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I had skipped this.” Sokka was like a father to Lin, that much you know. Lin didn’t know her real father and so he had stepped up to fill that male role in her and Suyin’s life. When he had taken in you and your brother, he had immediately introduced you to all the Beifong women, you’d been crying about feeling so alone, the weight of it crushing you, and they all helped piece you back together. You were only seventeen then and terrified of a world without your father. 

Now you’re thirty and honestly, you’re terrified of a world without your grandfather. You gulp and a shudder passes through your body as you try to keep it all down. Lin must notice this because she wraps her arms around you and presses you close. You immediately wrap your arms around her waist and bury your face into her neck as you cry. Technically you should become the new Chief, but you’d begged your younger brother to take the role, the idea of ruling a nation made your hair fall. You stay there in each other’s arms until your fingertips start to go numb and when you pull away with a groan, Lin leads you to your home. You ask her if you can go there instead of to the wake, you don’t want to listen to even more people offer their condolences. 

“Of course, whatever you want” she replies, your arm is looped through hers and she sets her hand on top of yours, she states its to keep you warm and maybe it is, but you like to think its because she likes you back. Once inside she lets go of you, and you reluctantly drop your arms, it’s unbearably silent and you immediately try to busy yourself. 

“Tea?” you say, grabbing the pot and filling it with water. Lin is used to seeing you do this to avoid any type of serious conversation, you busy yourself with something and usually, it ends up being tea. “I’d love a cup,” she says softly, it’s best to let you get it out of your system. 

She sits down onto your couch that is covered in different thick fur blankets, Lin picks a familiar one up, it’s from your first boyfriend, he’d gone on a hunt with your grandfather and skinned it into a blanket just for you, he thought it was truly romantic whilst you held it with a look of fake happiness. Once alone you’d looked at Lin and laughed, you joked about how barbaric that was and how you’d never want a significant other to give you a dead animal in the future. 

Besides, blankets were typical presents older relatives gave in the south pole. A chuckle escapes her as she fingers the blanket, you glance over and blush at the sight of Lin sitting so comfortably in your home. Even when she came to visit Suki she’d been quite distant, she still comforted you but left shortly after. It made you cry even harder than you already were, but your friends held you together and tried to convince you to get over her. But you knew you never would. 

Lin has her legs spread open with her elbows on her knees as she stares at that stupid blanket. “Can’t believe you kept this” she says, breaking the silence. The whistle of the teapot keeps you from replying at first, you pour the hot water into two cups along with the jasmine leaves. You picked them both up and walked over to her, she leaned up and took her cup, “thank you.” 

You sit down on the other side of the couch and hold the steaming cup between your hands. “I don’t throw out gifts people give me” you admit, softly blowing at your tea. Unbeknownst to the earth bender, you have a wooden box hidden away underneath your bed, and inside is every gift Lin has ever given you. Even the box itself was a gift from her. 

“Not a single one?” She asks, raising her brows. You’ve been given some weird stuff over the years especially seeing as you were originally next in line to be chief, everyone tried to butter you up with so many things you’d never use nor want. “Nope” you reply. 

You take a sip of your tea and let out a hiss at the burnt feeling it leaves on your tongue, but you like it, it distracts you from the pounding in your chest. “Even…” Lin pauses, she looks down at the teacup in her hands, its a set Iroh II sent you last year for your birthday, he said it reminded him of the south pole with the deep bluefish and the silver snowflakes smattered about. “Even my gifts?” 

You swallow down a large gulp of tea that scolds your throat on the way down and nod, “Uhm, yeah I still have them all.” 

“Can I see?” Well, you most certainly didn’t expect that spirits help you. “Sure, yeah I’ll go grab them,” You say, you hastily set your cup on your coffee table, some of the contents slosh out the side but you simply leave it be and practically race into your room. Your cheeks feel warm, you bring your hands up to your face and walk over to the mirror on top of your dresser. 

Almost your whole face is red due to embarrassment, but you could never say no to Lin and so you take a deep breath and pull the box out from under your bed. It’s a carved box, with details of fish and polar dogs on the side, on top of it is your full name in elegant handwriting. Lin had made this for you using her bending, she swore it only took a few hours but with the craftsmanship of it your so sure it had taken weeks to prepare. 

“You can do this, it’s just Lin,” you say to yourself, but that’s the problem, it’s Lin. You’d dated so many people in hopes of getting over her but at the end of the day, you’d always wish the person beside you in bed was a grouchy earth bender with a scar across her cheek. It’s honestly embarrassing, you’d never even dated, never even kissed. But alas, feelings are a horrible thing.

You finally work up the courage to leave the comfort of your darkroom and reenter the living room, Lin’s eyes widen at the box in your arms and you set it between the two of you on the couch, you don’t notice, to transfixed by the calluses on your hands to see Lin blushing at the sight. She made this for you for your first birthday as friends, she honestly forgot it even existed up until now. 

Lin hesitantly flicks up the latch and opens it up. The box lets out a loud creak that makes you cringe a bit. Inside is everything, it’s like a time capsule and Lin is truly speechless. The necklace she metal bent you, the ticket you got from the pro-bending match you both attended together, which was your first-ever as well. A dress is folded underneath along with every letter ever sent to you. What makes Lin’s whole body freeze is the sight of a pressed flower encased in glass to protect it. 

She had given you that flower when you visited republic city one summer, you had been crying over some stupid girl who decided you weren’t enough to make her happy, way before that day you had once ranted to Lin about how all you ever wanted from someone was a flower, you said it seemed so intimate and personal. She’d given it to you in hopes of cheering you up. It was worth going to the florist, your whole face lit up and your tears ceased as you marveled at it. 

“It’s just a simple panda lily” Lin had said, trying her hardest to keep her composure at that moment, knowing that she made you smile that big made her feel like she was some kind of hero, she had thought about how she never wanted you to direct that smile at anyone else but her, it was different from your usual one. 

You look up from your lap and your whole face flushes a deep red when you see what’s halted her movements. “I didn’t know you kept all this,” Lin says softly, she clears her throat and pulls away from the box, you hastily shut it, latching the lock back into place and setting it down onto the floor, out of sight. 

“I told you, I keep everything…” you look down at your hands, you may keep everything simply to be polite, but you kept everything from her because holding it made you feel like she was with you. 

“Even a stupid flower?” Lin quirks a brow and you gasp, your eyes shooting up to look into her green ones. 

“It’s not a stupid flower, it was one of the best gifts I’ve ever been given!” 

“It’s not even one of those rare ones, it’s just a panda lily” Lin replies. She doesn’t know why she’s saying this, maybe she wants you to say something, admit something that might give her even just a speck of hope. 

“It’s…” you sigh, your brows knit together in frustration, “it’s the only gift I’ve ever received that made me feel special and I’d like it if you wouldn’t talk badly of it.” 

“Why does it make you feel so special?” Again, she’s hoping you keep going, keep giving her something to go off of. You roll your eyes and stand up, picking up the box as well. 

“It’s nothing, I should… I should get some sleep” you say before disappearing into your room. You aren’t sure when she leaves but you do know when you wake up the next morning the teacups have been cleaned and she’s nowhere in sight. You’re such a coward, she already hardly keeps in contact with you, she probably won’t at all anymore. There goes your twice a year letters. 

You get ready for the day and head over to the Chief’s house where you know your brother and friends will be, maybe they can calm you down before dinner tonight where Lin will probably be. When you arrive your brother is nowhere to be seen, instead you find your Kyoshi friends who all give you tight, long hugs. When you reach your best friend she hugs you longer and murmurs “I’m sorry about your grandfather and Lin.” 

You rip yourself out of her grasp, your face pinched in confusion “what happened to Lin?” you ask, the warriors all look at each other, waiting for one of them to fess up. “She told your brother republic city needed her back sooner than she thought, said she’s gonna take the first boat back.” One of your friends says softly with a pitying look, no. 

You push past them and race down the stairs, the first trade ship docks around the afternoon and leaves the harbor only an hour after, It should still be in port if you make it in time. You race down the wide icy streets of your home as fast as you can, just two more blocks, you tell yourself. You zip around a corner and crash into something hard and wooden, you crash to the ground and let out a groan at the pain the erupts from your fall. 

“My cabbages!” a man yells out and you open your eyes to see dozens of cabbages rolling around. “You-” he turns to you with a face full of rage but you pull yourself up despite the aches in your bones and run past him. 

“I am so sorry!” you yell over your shoulder, there it is, the port. It’s in front of your eyes and there’s a trade ship still docked there, you don’t slow down as you weave past oncoming traffic and race down the steps before finally you’re on the icy dock, and ahead of you is her, she’s talking to one of the men loading the ship, probably ordering him around, you think fondly. You run over to her, her back is facing you so she doesn’t see you run-up, so you grip her arm and spin her around. 

She’s surprised and you see her shoot out a metal wire which thankfully misses you, when she sees it’s you her face pinches in annoyance “I could have hurt you! You can’t just snea-” you interrupt her in a way you’ve only ever dreamed of doing and pull her lips down to crash into your own. She lets a sound of surprise that sounds like a mixture between a squeak and a groan which if she doesn’t slap you across the face and shun you for eternity you might just tease her about it. 

At first, she remains completely still and the courage that finally pumped through your veins vanishes, you pull away from her, your hands dropping from her cheeks as you try to formulate an apology in your head. Before you can even think of one, Lin has pulled you back into a kiss and this time she readily returns it. Her hands thread through your hair and tilt your head back so she can properly slant her lips against yours and spirits, this feels better than your wildest dreams. 

Her lips are so soft and her hands are rough from a lifetime of work and fighting away bad guys but you love it, you love the feeling of them against your cheeks, of her long fingers tugging your hair. 

Finally, you pull away for air and you stare deep into Lin’s eyes, she keeps her hands in your hair as you blurt out, “I know this is a really bad time but if I don’t blurt it out now I don’t think I’ll ever be able to tell you. I think I’m in love with you!” Your voice raises a bit at the end. “It was special to me not because it was a flower, like I had ranted about years before you even gave it to me, but because you gave it to me!”

Lin looks deep into your eyes as you confess to her, all these years she’s been pulling more and more away from you in fear she might slip up about her feelings but you’ve reciprocated them all along if she had just told you sooner as she’d always dreamed of.

“I…” Lin blushes, she’s not good with words or talking about her feelings but she knows she needs to say this, even if you don’t make her, “I love you too, I think I realized that day when I gave you the panda lily.” 

Laughter bubbles up through your throat and it escapes you, she’s loved you all these years? Spirits you both are clueless. 

“If you’ll let me, I’ll like to give you a million more,” she says softly, you bite your lip to keep from grinning to wide as you slowly nod. “I’d love that.” 

[bitsandbobsandstuff]

Black lace and property damage

Summary: With your messy work hours, Bucky’s consistently inconsistent mission schedule, and those basic life tasks you’re both ignoring (when was the last time he actually bought a new toothbrush?), the simple act of just being together has been shunted to the side. Bucky’s officially starting to panic.  

Characters: Bucky x Reader Warnings: SMUT, 18+. Sweet sex, awkward sex, some dirty sex, some sex on a car. Basically sex. Swearing. Bucky wearing a white t-shirt and dog tags. My sketchy automotive knowledge.

A/N: This story is sort of an ode to anyone struggling to make time for your person. Life gets busy, so don’t be afraid to get creative. Also sometimes sex goes smooth and perfect, but often it comes with mishaps and giggles. Both ways are great, Bucky says just roll with it!

Want to find all my stories? Search #bitsmasterlist or try the link in my bio!

*****

The porch light above the front door is out.

Was he supposed to change that before he left?

--

“I’m not touching it Bucky, there are spiders up there. Big ones. The kind that give you rabies.”

“Spiders don’t have rabies.”

“No one’s ever proven that.”

--

Dammit. Yeah, he was.

Picturing you stumbling up the porch, using the pathetic flashlight on your phone to light the way, Bucky feels like a world class, Grade A jackass. He needs to make it up to you.

Good thing he has plenty of ideas for that.

“Please be home,” he mutters, “please be home, please dear god be fucking home.”

Fingers crossed, he kicks the door open and calls out a hopeful hello.

An empty echo returns.

Bucky blows out a frustrated breath.

Figures.

Slogging down the dark hallway, he slings his bag on the kitchen table with a thud. Grenade pins, bullet casings, fun size candy bar wrappers, and handfuls of beer bottle caps rattle loose in the army green canvas and he grimaces.

One of these days, maybe, just fucking maybe, he’ll convince Natasha to stop using his bags as her garbage bin.

Ignoring that disaster zone (a problem for future Bucky), he wanders over to the sink, where he spies a small tableau on the counter. Propped up beside his favorite coffee mug, the one with sparkly pink letters proclaiming “Bitch, I’m Fabulous”, is a folded piece of paper, his name scrawled across the front.

He flips it open.

“Hey Bucky Bear. Don’t let your sexy ass fall asleep before I get home, I have a surprise!”

Drawn under your bubbly letters, he finds two stick figures entangled in an outrageously lewd sex act. Tracing tender fingers over the very obviously male stick figure (you never were very subtle), he grins so hard his cheeks ache. Leaning on the counter, he sniffs the letter because he’s a sentimental sap and it smells like your Cherry-Almond lotion, and drops his head in his arms.

“So tired,” he whines softly, voice muffled against sleek granite.

Three weeks. That was the last mission. Three weeks, even though Steve guaranteed Bucky three days max. Of course, two days into the mission Bucky remembered that Steve Rogers is an accomplished liar, so instead he spent three exhausting weeks dodging bullets, rewashing all his underwear, and hysterically rationing his bag of fun size candy bars.

Finally home, he wants to forget everything and sink into the post-mission domesticity he dreams about when he’s stuck in some dank motel on the corner of Fuck This and No One Cares. The routine is simple. A scalding hot shower, burrito wrapping himself in the feather duvet, making out with you for a few hours, taking a break to eat some pizza, and then fucking you so hard he breaks the brand new headboard he made for you last month (actually the third headboard he’s made...a fact he smugly reports to anyone and everyone).

And after all that fun, he wants to sleep. Maybe two full days. Or five. Tops.

Is that asking too much?

“No,” he sighs out loud. “It’s not.”

Carefully folding the cartoon and your sweet message, he kisses the paper and tucks it in his back pocket.

No way he’s falling asleep before he sees you. Nope. Nada. Negative. Totally not happening.

Pepping himself up, he goes to work, whizzing through his homecoming task list.

Blood-stained tac clothes go in the washer with three cups of bleach. Guns and knives are wiped down and polished. The contents of the dirty green canvas bag are unceremoniously trashed. The spider infested porch light is changed (with only three furry sightings). The shower is set to a blistering temp and he hangs out in there for an hour, soaping his hair into a foamy mohawk, belting out a few showtunes with his shampoo bottle microphone.

Scrubbed fresh and clean, he flops on the bed with his Starkpad and opens up Netflix, searching for something to keep him awake. Several scrolls later, he finds Brooklyn 99 and settles in for a laugh.

Confident in his ability to resist the appealing pull of sleep scratching at his brain, he takes a slurp of the Super Double Big Gulp sized coffee on his nightstand and stretches his eyes wide open.

Staying awake. Piece of cake.

Ten minutes later, Bucky’s fast asleep.

*****

When his eyes pop open, the room is dark. He feels tipsy, sleep drunk on his first uninterrupted hours of rest in weeks.

Beside him, he feels the cozy pressure of another body. Glancing down, he finds you curled under the sheets at his side, your face smushed against his arm, steady breaths fogging the gleaming metal.

Asleep.

Bucky grits his teeth. Squeezes his eyes shut. One thing. You asked him to do one thing.

God. Dammit.

Furious with his lame old man ass, he almost wakes you up. Almost. But then he swallows that desire and thinks.

Before he got married, Bucky read every relationship advice book under the sun. He gets the importance of keeping the romance alive. He knows you need to cherish your person, make them a priority, shower them with love. He knows. He gets it. He watches Oprah, for fuck’s sake. Relationships take work.

But lately? This is life.

With your messy work hours, Bucky’s consistently inconsistent mission schedule, and those basic life tasks you’re both ignoring (when was the last time he actually bought a new toothbrush?), the simple act of just being together has been shunted to the side.

Bucky’s officially starting to panic.

Although, he muses, eyes lingering on the innocent curve of your mouth, the chaos has forced both of you to get more…creative.

He grins.

It was you who instigated it the first time. He was lying in a dingy motel bed when you nervously offered.

--

“Hey, um…do think maybe you’d…like…would you…uh…”

“Spit it out babe.”

“Doyouwannatryphonesex?”

--

An anxious slur so fast, he nearly misses the question. He remembers that beat of hesitation, before you dove in headfirst, telling him in obscenely explicit detail exactly what you wanted to do to him. He was so shocked he dropped the phone and had to naked crawl under the grimy mattress to fish it out.

He must’ve jerked off five times that night. Replaying your filthy words. Remembering the quiet whimpers as you came on your fingers, gasping out his name. What a treat.

Sexting soon followed, accompanied by a plethora of nudes. None from you of course, because as you always remind him, you’re a lady, but Bucky? He gets irrational joy from sending them. They come in a variety of close-ups and poses, several which Sam accidentally discovered when he walked in on Bucky prancing around naked, searching for his best angle.

Sam always knocks now.

But sometimes words and pictures aren’t enough. Sometimes you need the soothing weight of someone in your arms. The scent of sweaty skin beneath your nose. Hot breaths of pleasure in your ear and the touch of a cool tongue licking across a heated body.

Sometimes he just needs you.

Could he wake you up? Sure. He knows you wouldn’t mind, you’ve told him a thousand times. But he also knows how tired you’ve been, and he can’t bring himself to shake you awake, selfishly stealing those bits of recovery you need.

So instead, he searches for something to keep him occupied.

He tries reading Game of Thrones again and gets nowhere. Thinks yet again someone needs to get George R.R. Martin an editor.

He flicks on his phone and covertly watches PornHub on mute. Seriously debates whether he can get away with jerking off while you’re sleeping because hey, Bucky Barnes is nothing if not stealthy.

He stares up at the ceiling and tries to see how long he can hold his breath. He gets 2 minutes and 8 seconds (a new record) before giving up.

In the end, he rolls onto his side stares intently at you. Wills you to wake up on your own. Come on baby, please.

But nothing works, and when sleep still doesn’t come, he decides to be productive. Crawling carefully from the bed, he smothers a laugh when you curl instantly into the warm mattress dip of his body, burrowing further under the blankets and unconsciously stealing his pillow. Most mornings Bucky wakes up hanging off the bed, no blankets or pillows to his name, while you’re swathed in comfort, cold toes shoved beneath his belly.

Maybe he should be annoyed. Except every time he looks at you, he forgets how to scowl.

Love is weird.

Rummaging silently through the closet, he unearths a threadbare pair of jeans and an oil stained t-shirt, slips into his worn leather boots. He drops a light kiss on your forehead, brushing a finger down the curve of your neck. Smiles to himself when you snuffle a quiet snore.

And he heads out the backdoor, down the weatherworn brick to the garage out back.

It was an added bonus when he bought the house. An unanticipated domestic perk. Hell, he never thought he’d find someone would actually date him, let alone someone who wanted to marry him and buy a house with him and accept his penchant for hoarding things in a rickety old garage (come on, I grew up in the Depression and I need this, he whines every time you take him to Target).  

Thank god you said yes. He’s the luckiest jerk in the world.

Flicking on the garage light, Bucky still gets a little thrill. The entire place is an homage to eclectic, random artifacts, from the box of ugly 1970s vases he found at a flea market, to the fishing equipment he insisted on buying and has yet to use, to the sack of broken seashells you drunkenly collected on your honeymoon in Costa Rica.

In the midst of the swirl sits his pride and joy. Cherry red paint, black leather seats, a tad dusty, full of potential.

The 1969 Camaro looks like a teenage wet dream.

He remembers the day he brought it home, that surge of macho pride when your eyes lit up. After you slapped his ass and told him how sexy the car was, he reveled in your admiration for maybe 10 seconds, before hauling you back to the house and under the sheets. Took several hours before you both came up for air.

That was a good time, he thinks dreamily.

The car attracted his friends as well. Sam and Steve brought over a celebratory case of beer and stood by while Bucky explained the changes he had planned. Steve gave a few sage nods, while Sam helpfully threw out words like fuel injector now and then. Neither had a fucking clue what was happening, but Bucky graciously let them fake it.

Tony also saw the car once. Got a fervent gleam in his eye and started to say the phrase jet fuel, before Bucky ushered him out the door. Tony doesn’t get to see the car anymore.

There are still plenty of fixes to make, but for tonight he takes it easy. Flips on the ancient radio perched above the workbench and flops down on a rolling seat, sliding under the Camaro to tinker around. He goes to work, lets the crackle of the radio and the mechanical puzzle lull him into focus mode.  

So intent on the task at hand, he barely hears the garage door opening.

The click of a shoe alerts him too late and he freezes, gripping his wrench tight. Muscles tense, garage floor plans and fight scenarios flooding his brain.

“Bucky? Do you have a sec?”

His breath whooshes in relief at your voice. A silly grin bubbles up because you’re finally awake, until he tilts his head sideways, peering out from under the car to see your feet.

Black high heels.

Stomach sinking, Bucky closes his eyes. Back to work then. Motherfucker. He missed his chance again.

Swallowing down the bitter disappointment, he croaks out a plea.

“Hey babe, do you gotta go back to the office so soon? Can you just - “

Click click and you step between his legs. Firm hands clutch the oil stained fabric at his knees and you pull. The seat rolls easily and he slides free, squinting up at you in the dim light.

The words die on his lips.

Black high heels, yes.

And.

Lacy black underwear, the sides held together with thick satin ribbons. A lacy black bra, your breasts threatening to spill out.

Gorgeous, devilish smile.

Fingering the wide satin bow between your breasts, you tease a light tug and Bucky starts sweating like a virgin on prom night. His wrench slips from numb fingers, thunking him in the nuts and clattering away.

“Shit,” he grunts. There’s a moment of confusion on whether the fresh ache in his balls is from the punch of the wrench, or tantalizing swathes of skin before him, but then you say his name and he figures it out pretty fucking fast.

“Hey Bucky Bear,” you purr, in that raspy voice he loves. “Still want that surprise I promised?”

Palming himself roughly, Bucky adjusts the suddenly tight front of his jeans, eyeing you with a lusty smile. Fuck yes, he wants his surprise. He wants everything about you.

“You bet your sweet ass I do. What’d you have in mind?”

“I have some ideas,” you say playfully. Stepping closer, slipping your fingers into his silky hair, he leans into the touch. “And I promise we’ll get to them. But first, how about you stay down there and maybe show me how much you missed me?”

Torn, Bucky looks down at his oil stained fingers. They spasm, clutching the edge of the seat so tight the metal bends. His voice drops several octaves.

“Babe, I - shit, I’m gonna kill the mood here, but my hands are all dirty, I should wash ‘em first,” he apologizes. Rolling your eyes, you shift closer until the edge of his nose is a mere inch from the delicate lace panties.

“I’m not asking for your hands, soldier. You have a mouth. Get creative.”

Bucky’s jaw drops. Sassy and domineering? And nearly naked?

Hell yes, his dick shouts. Here we fucking go.

Warm and cool, tentative fingertips press into the smooth skin behind your knees, stroking higher until he’s plucking the satin ribbons and pulling. It feels like Christmas morning when the knot slowly breaks apart, whispers of satin and lace floating to the ground.

Nosing against your core, he inhales, long and deep. A low growl rumbles, rough hands gripping your hips tight and heat explodes across your skin when his tongue presses into your folds, licking over your clit.

“God,” your moan is dark, desperately breathless, “keep - that feels so good, Bucky, keep going, please, been way too long.”

Bucky gives a fervent nod of agreement, strands of his dark hair tickling your thighs. When was the last time he did this? Nah, you know what? If he has to ask, it’s been too long.

From now on, the only correct answer should be every damn day.

He feels you moving his head, guiding him exactly where you need him most, and he hums hungrily. Shoves his tongue deeper. He adores when you take charge, using him, his mouth or his fingers or his dick, to get yourself off. He loves it, dreams about it, wishes you would let him film it just one time (because sometimes missions last three weeks not three days Steve).

But until then, he devotes himself to making it perfect because you deserve perfect.

Fast, firm flicks of the tongue. Long, leisurely strokes, licking you slow and sweet. Rough pressure, his plush pink lips sucking tight around your clit. So good.

Your eyes fall closed as his tongue moves faster, quicker, pushing you closer closer closer -  

No, that won’t do. Cold metal lightly pinches your ass, a bid for attention. Chest heaving, you open your eyes.

Bright eyed and eager, Bucky gazes up from between your legs, looking thoroughly debauched. White t-shirt stretched tight across broad shoulders, dark hair mussed in your fingers, an obvious erection straining his jeans.

So close, you’re so close, right on the edge, just another second -

He knows, of course. Could always play you like a fiddle. He cocks a challenging eyebrow, sucks your clit between his teeth -

“Oh god, Bucky, fuck,” you moan. Weak knees buckle and his hands clutch your ass, keeping you upright and open. He never stops licking, swirling that talented tongue to draw out the bursts and shocks of pleasure until you’re gasping. When he’s wrung every drop from you, he kisses the sensitive bud and tips his head back with an arrogant smirk.

Legs like jelly, you promptly collapse into his lap.

The momentum of the fall sends the rolling seat flying. Busy being chivalrous and keeping you from tumbling headfirst onto dirty concrete, Bucky lets the wheels send him whizzing backward. His head smacks the door handle with a sharp thwack.

“Ow,” he grunts.

“Sorry,” you pant. Struggling for breath, wrapped in the haze of post orgasm bliss, you cuddle against him, soaking up his warmth. “Want me to rub it?”

Massaging his head, he wrinkles his nose. “Maybe. Depends on what you’re offering to rub.”

“Dealer’s choice,” you sass, and Bucky barks out a laugh. Wandering hands skim lightly over your shoulders, fingering the straps of the lacy bra, feather light trails along your collarbone, to the satin bow between your breaks. Tugging impatiently, he smiles when it unwinds, your breasts spilling free.

“Well, how about I take my pants off, we get in the backseat of this car, and you rub whatever you find.”

“Intriguing. What happens after I finish rubbing whatever…pokes my fancy?”

Bucky dips his head, takes your nipple between his lips, sucking gently. The feel of his wet mouth has you squirming closer until he pauses to offer an option.

“Maybe we fuck like a couple horny teenagers?”

“You’re killing me with the romance here, Barnes,” you say drily and he chuckles. “But I was maybe thinking something different.”

“Yeah? And what’s that?”

Licking a lazy strip between your breasts, he kisses up, up, up, until his tongue finds the hammering pulse of your heartbeat. Bemused, he hears your voice falter, before bravely offering your idea.

“I was thinking maybe I sit on the hood of your pretty red car, and – and you spread my legs and fuck me so good, I can’t walk for a week.”

Startled, Bucky pulls back. Excitement explodes in his chest.

“You - really? Seriously? That’s what you want?”

“Yep,” you confirm, palpable relief at successfully executing the dirty request. “That’s exactly what I want.”

Bucky plants a sloppy kiss on the tip of your nose. Wiggles his eyebrows and winks.

“Well god damn. You got it sweet cheeks.”

Wasting no time, he pushes off the ground and you kick your heels off, wrapping your legs around his waist. He huffs out a blissful moan when you suck a string of hickeys down his neck, grinding against you as he stumbles to the front of the car. Without thinking, he drops you on the shiny red hood and -

“Cold!”

Icy metal meets your bare ass. There’s a panicked scramble back into his arms and he manages to catch you, until your flailing upper cut cracks his jaw. It sends him off balance, tripping forward to smack his kneecaps on the Camaro’s fancy new grill. A grating screech tears the air and the grill rattles to the floor, the metallic clang bouncing off the walls.

Flinching, you peer up at him as it fades away.

Bucky’s nose twitches.

In all his fantasies (and there are many, because you are one sexy piece of ass), this shit never happens. Every sexcapade is effortlessly smooth, sensual and steamy, where you both look great, not a hair out of place, no oil-stained hands or unintended destruction of expensive vintage cars.

In reality, it seems like something always goes sideways. One of his nipples gets gouged by your fingernail or the silk from your negligee gets caught in the plates of his arm, or one of his perfectly aimed thrusts sends you both toppling off the bed. Sometimes he wonders if this is just the two of you? Do other people have perfectly orchestrated sex lives? Is porn not a true mirror of real life?

Is porn a lie?

Maybe he should watch more porn and form a more educated opinion.

For now, he takes in your crestfallen expression, vehemently shaking his head when you try to apologize.

“Buck, I’m sorry, I -“

Holding up a stern hand, he stops you cold. Sets you on your feet, gallantly whipping off his shirt, and spreading it on the shiny red paint. This time when he sets you on the hood, you lay back until the familiar scent of his cologne hugs you close. Bucky lifts your feet, propping each on the hood, spreading your legs open. He leans in close, a pink flush spreading over his chest, crawling up his throat, blue eyes turning dark.  

“Listen to me. Don’t ever apologize, okay? You’re worth more than this old junker.” A crooked smile tilts his mouth, his voice as soft as the lips now brushing yours. “You’re priceless. You understand?”

“Okay,” you murmur. Fingers dance lightly up the hard planes of his stomach, wrapping around the chain of his old dog tags. “I understand.”  

Bucky nods, watching your eyes drift down, drinking him up. He lives for that look. Sets him on fire, to watch you ogle him. When your eyes skate down his right side, he flexes his forearm a bit, because he knows it turns you on.   

A swift tug of the chain and he dips easily, mouth slanting over yours. There’s a faint sound of teeth clacking together, and he stifles a laugh at your excitement. Deep kisses, stoking that simmering fire sitting right below the surface. Your lips part and he slides inside, curling his tongue around yours, pulling away to lick along the corner of your mouth, to suck your bottom lip between his teeth.

The thought appears, same as when he had his mouth between your legs. How long has it been since the two of you just made out like this? Same answer? Too fucking long?

This is definitely happening more often.  

He feels your eager fingers reach for the button of his jeans, popping it open, slipping your hand inside. Cool fingers wrap tight around his cock, the other hand wandering down to squeeze a handful of his ass. Bucky hurriedly shimmies his pants to his knees, sets both hands on the car and leans forward, tipping his face down, touching his forehead to yours. Blue eyes flutter closed, breath hitching while he concentrates on the feel of your capable hands, slow strokes along his length, slicker with each tug.

“Fuck, that feels good,” he grits out. “Can you - damn that’s good - can you, there, bit lower -“

Ragged pants melt into a low groan when you slip your hand from the death grip on his ass to cup his balls, rolling them against your palm.

“Like that?”

“Yeah, yeah, yes, fuck yes, just like that,” he hisses, thrusting into your hands. “Can you - can you pull just a little-“

He stammers the question, ignoring your amused hum. It was a quirk, one he discovered early in the relationship. It came out of the blue, a bashful request during a romp in the sheets, but for some reason, Bucky has a thing for having his balls tugged. Not hard (which was also discovered after an unconsciously rough yank had him squealing in pain), but more of a soft squeeze, followed by a slow pull.

Like how you squeeze an overripe banana, he had explained later, gingerly massaging his balls. Not so hard it squishes.

Many entertaining attempts later, and he swears you have the move patented. Stroking his dick faster, your thumb presses over his balls, before a careful pull. Tipping his head back, Bucky stares glass eyed at the ceiling, lost in pleasure, pushing himself into your firm grip.  

“Feel good?” you murmur.

“Yeah. Yes, so good, so god damn good ,” he chokes out. Faster, harder, faster - and then a strangled gasp and panicked blue eyes catch yours. “Wait, too good, it’s too good! Don’t wanna come yet, hang on! Need to be inside you first.”

He grabs your wrists, the thwarted sting of a denied orgasm obvious in the grind of his teeth. Both of you look down to where your hands are wrapped around him, one still kneading his balls, the other curled around the velvety hot skin of his cock.

“Okay,” you say, looking him up and down. “Fine, but - you’re so sexy, Bucky. And I love your balls.”

Bucky nods furiously, gulping a deep lungful of air. His ass cheeks are twitching.

“I love that you love them, I really do. But babe, I need you to let go of my balls or I’ll come all over your hand,” he rasps, wiggling away. Releasing him, your hands run up his chest, twining around his neck, dragging his sweat damp chest flush against you.

“If I must,” you agree, smiling into his lips. Bucky relaxes into you, the slow melt of tongues follows, the kind where a kiss bounces around, until it finds the perfect rhythm. His hands trace up the line of your arms, unlocking your fingers and pulling them free. Brushing his thumbs over your wrists, he bends close, kisses your knuckles.

And then he folds your arms above your head, pinning them down.  

“Keep them there, alright? Don’t move until I say you can.”

“Kinky. Yes sir,” you breathe. He smirks.

“You’d better watch it, you little deviant. I might get used to that.”

“Sorry…sir.”

Pulling you further down the hood, he rubs his cock between your legs, sliding himself between your folds until a slick sheen coats his skin. It startles a grunt from you when he abruptly shoves inside, sinking deep until his hips press flush to yours.  

He waits. Has to wait actually, because its been a long damn time and if he’s not careful he’s going to embarrass himself before he even gets started and holy shit, is this even real life? Is he dreaming?

Splayed out on the hood of his car, legs wide open, breasts wet from his tongue, black lace and crumpled satin ribbons. Arms pinned above the luscious skin bared just for him. Bucky stares between your legs, dry mouthed and dizzy.

“Come on, Bucky, please? Fuck me, please fuck me, I missed you so much.”

How could he ever resist this? You naked, writhing against the vivid red of his Camaro, moaning for him to fuck you, with his cock buried in your -

“Aw fucking hell,” he mutters. After so many weeks apart, he knows full well this won’t last long. It’s a damn good thing he has more than a few rounds in him.

Cracking his neck, rolling his shoulders back, he digs thick fingers into your thighs, pulls back nice and slow. He waits. Waits. Waits a bit longer because he likes to be an asshole and hear you beg.

“Bucky, come on -”

And he plunges into you, burying himself in the tight, silky heat of your cunt. Warm up over, no slow start. The pace he sets is rough, so deep he feels the pleasure licking down his spine and into his toes. Over and over, he slams into you until one particularly sharp thrust presses the tip of his cock against that perfect spot inside and you arch up with a broken cry. Hands scrabble above your heard, searching for anything to hold onto, finding something flexible.

With a plastic snap, the windshield wiper blade breaks off in your hand.

Bucky stutters to a halt, blinking sweat from his eyes when he sees the look of horror on your face. The apology is still forming when he snatches the plastic from your fingers, throwing it aside.

“Don’t care,” he grunts. Giving you no time to argue, he wraps his hands behind your knees and raises your hips, fucking into you faster. The filthy echo of sweat slick skin accompanies his breathless order. “Touch yourself. Let me watch.”

A frantic agreement and one hand slips between your legs, the other cupping your breast. Frantic circles over the swollen bud, trembling fingers plucking at a pebbled nipple. Bucky watches greedily, eyes flickering back and forth, memorizing those things that bring you pleasure, fantastically dirty memories to replay on a rainy day.

“Bucky,” desperate fingers rub your clit faster. “Keep going, please keep - keep doing that, I’m close, I’m so close, I’m -“

Sharp and sweet and unexpected, the orgasm crashes into you. Arching up, the low moan tears free, and Bucky slows, hypnotized by the sight of you shuddering beneath him.

“There you go, that’s it,” he urges hoarsely, before surging forward and capturing your lips in a wild kiss. Two more pumps of his hips and he stops, grinding against you until he comes with a heavy groan.

Silence fills the room, broken only with the sounds of harsh breaths and the wet rush of his heartbeat thumping in his ears. He rests his forehead between your breasts, listening to the staccato beat of your quick breaths, until you struggle up onto your elbows, pushing his sweaty hair away from his face.

“So I broke your car.”

He says nothing, but a moment later his shoulders begin to shake and suddenly he’s laughing, great rushing wheezes as he struggles for breath. Raising his head, he finds you nervously squinting down at him. He stretches up, presses a kiss to your forehead.

“I got insurance. Just need to check my coverage for mildly destructive ‘I missed you’ sex.”

“You might consider expanding that policy. I’m just saying,” you suggest with a giggle and he snorts.

Quiet contentment blankets the stuffy garage, both of you basking in that tingly afterglow. Folding your hands behind his neck, you draw him close and Bucky nuzzles into the crook of your neck.

“Been tough lately,” he whispers, mouthing gently along your throat. “Trying to find time together.”

Nodding slowly, your smile turns wistful.

“Yeah…guess it makes any time we get even better. Right? It doesn’t matter to me what we do, as long as we’re doing it together.”

Bucky feels a lump in his throat (the kind that could easily dissolve into manly super soldier tears), and he gathers you in his arms, tucking you against his chest. When he answers, his voice cracks just a bit.

“Someone’s a sentimental sap.”

He hears your muffled laugh against his chest, feels you bite at his collarbone and he chuckles.

“I love you Bucky. And I’m really sorry I murdered your car.”

“I love you too, babe. I’m glad you came down here. Especially in that outfit.”

“Yeah? You liked it?”

“Fuck yes I did. What spurred that idea, hmm?”

“I just don’t want to lose our spark,” you admit, snuggling closer. “When things get so busy, it’s easy to let things like this slide, and I don’t want you to - get bored, I guess. With us.”

Bucky thinks about all his relationship advice articles and the fact that he sometimes even prints them out and goes through with a yellow highlighter to capture the key points. Hearing your soft concern makes him fall even more in love with you.

Because this is important. This relationship, this love, this spark he was lucky enough to find with you, it’s the most important thing in his world. You are the most important thing in his world.

Brushing a knuckle down your cheek, he coaxes your chin up.

“I know it’s tough, always being on different schedules, but I want you to know, I’m always gonna love you and I’m always gonna want you. Nothing changes that. And if you ever doubt just how much I genuinely want to bang you all night long, then you say something. Deal?”

He boops your nose and you grin.

“Deal.”

“And honey, not that I’m complaining, trust me, but you don’t need to dress sexy to get me all reved up,” he shrugs. “You do that just by looking at me.”

“You do know how to charm the pants off a lady, Barnes.”

He throws his head back and laughs. Swings you up in his arms and calms your startled yelp with a kiss.

“Damn straight. Now how about we give that backseat a try. I think you mentioned wanting to rub something back there?”

*****

[thebluelemontree]

Hiya blue lemon it's me again. Do you have any criticism in the way GRRM wrote Sansa in book1/2? EX:.Sansa and Jeyne are BFF but we amolst never see the girls talking to eachother, and when JP is sex traffikced sansa just forget about her(we could have a scene where sansa try to find what happened to JP or at least grieve for her). Every time sansa appears as a non-POV in AGOT she's been mean and whe we have her POV she's mean for no good reason(SANSA III AGOT). >PART 1<

And the worst is why GRRM wrote sansa goin to Cercei to tell her the "Ned Plans", it's just bad writing, Cercei kill lady so Sansa going to her was OOC GRRM just wrote that to we hate Sansa And in the book it's not explained what "the Ned plans" was(And it was nothing imortant at all, and would make no difference at Ned's fate) so ordinary readers blame Sansa for Ned's death and GRRM does that too in book 2 Cercei put all the blame for Ned death in sansa nd "the Ned Plans" Your thoughts?PART 2

There’s a lot to unpack here. 

I get a sense that in the early books, George was not as comfortable writing female relationships as he was writing male relationships or even male-female ones. I mean, Catelyn has no female friends, no companions like Margaery Tyrell’s cousins, no fostering wards of her own, no correspondences with other ladies except that one letter from Lysa for plot reasons. This is just weird for the lady of two major houses. It is neglectful on George’s part to give most of the important social connections to men. This doesn’t mean he was totally inept at writing female relationships, though, and it does seem like he’s tried to improve upon highlighting the positive in later books.

By comparison, the positive side of the brotherly relationships are presented so strongly that it tends to smooth over the conflicts with many readers. Jon can feel envious and resentful of Robb, but the love and loyalty is always in the foreground. The conflict between Arya, Jeyne, and Sansa does have legitimate character arc and plot purposes, so this isn’t bad writing. It’s unfortunate that GRRM presses down so hard on the constant bickering and occasional nastiness, but he did write some positives (albeit they tended to be revealed in later books) and there are understandable reasons for the dynamics. It was not done in a totally unrealistic way. What’s depicted is a typical and relatable rocky period for that age group, and there was negative adult influence at play. It’s not a permanent feature of the sisterhood. It’s all there if you pay attention and you’re inclined to be charitable toward the mistakes of young girls.       

If a reader is already predisposed to see the bonds between male characters as more pure and more able to overcome the negative aspects, then they probably also view the bonds between female characters as inherently weaker and more fraught with conflict. Fandom misogyny is not GRRM’s fault. That sector of the fandom will always have contempt for girls for being girls, especially preteen girls. They will always hone in on their faults and belittle their virtues. 

I don’t think that is true that we hardly ever see Jeyne and Sansa talking. They are nearly always in each other’s company. There was real friendship between Sansa and Jeyne, because what George does do well with them, is realistically write the way girls cement their bonds. Young girls strengthen their relationship by communicating and confiding in each other. Sharing secrets, crushes, hopes, fears, and pieces of gossip builds trust and intimacy. Jeyne and Sansa do this all the time, even though they can have different opinions and disagree about a lot.  Yes, there is some one-sidedness in that Sansa socially outranks Jeyne and believes that makes her more mature and wiser than her friend. Jeyne is dependent on her closeness to Sansa as a highborn lady and future queen to rise successfully, so she’s not going to push back on Sansa’s dominance. This is also a reason Jeyne sometimes bullies Arya to supplant her as Sansa’s “sister.” When Sansa has something to share, she goes to Jeyne to talk about it. I think it’s hilarious that the girls have a debate over which castle Gregor Clegane’s head will get spiked. Sansa wants Jeyne at her side for these new and exciting events like the tourney. When things get serious and dangerous, they comfort each other. Again, this is not all George’s fault if some readers don’t recognize or value the way girls do friendships.  

It’s stated quite clearly why Sansa tries to not think about Jeyne or her deceased family members very often. It’s fucking traumatic and her survival while among her captors depends on mentally holding herself together. 

If only she had someone to tell her what to do. She missed Septa Mordane, and even more Jeyne Poole, her truest friend. The septa had lost her head with the rest, for the crime of serving House Stark. Sansa did not know what had happened to Jeyne, who had disappeared from her rooms afterward, never to be mentioned again. She tried not to think of them too often, yet sometimes the memories came unbidden, and then it was hard to hold back the tears. Once in a while, Sansa even missed her sister. By now Arya was safe back in Winterfell, dancing and sewing, playing with Bran and baby Rickon, even riding through the winter town if she liked. Sansa was allowed to go riding too, but only in the bailey, and it got boring going round in a circle all day. -- Sansa II, ACOK.

Following her father’s beheading, Sansa was in a suicidal depression for days. She wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t bathe, welcomed drug-induced sleep, and contemplated killing herself. If she thinks too much on those she lost, she falls to pieces. She can’t openly weep and mourn for “traitors” if her life depends on appearing to be loyal to Joffrey. Most of her grief is suppressed inside. This also includes asking too many questions she doesn’t feel psychologically prepared to hear the answer to. She was there when the decision was made to shuttle Jeyne off to Littlefinger; however, she has no idea this is going to result in Jeyne being sent to a brothel and worse. I would also keep in mind that even if she did ask, it’s not like Cersei or Littlefinger would ever tell her the truth. Why would they? Does she really want to hear lies and have to think about what the horrible truth might be when she can’t do anything about it?  When it comes to Arya, Sansa believes her sister escaped on the ship bound for home. She comforts herself with imagining that Arya is safe and free, and that’s enough to keep her going.  

And she prays and sings for Jeyne, wherever she is.

She sang for mercy, for the living and the dead alike, for Bran and Rickon and Robb, for her sister Arya and her bastard brother Jon Snow, away off on the Wall. She sang for her mother and her father, for her grandfather Lord Hoster and her uncle Edmure Tully, for her friend Jeyne Poole, for old drunken King Robert, for Septa Mordane and Ser Dontos and Jory Cassel and Maester Luwin... -- Sansa V, ACOK.

It’s only until later in the books that Sansa feels emotionally at peace enough to start remembering the good times with Arya and Jeyne without breaking down into tears. We can also see the conflicts weren’t always a thing, and the love was strong with all three.

Sansa began to make snowballs, shaping and smoothing them until they were round and white and perfect. She remembered a summer's snow in Winterfell when Arya and Bran had ambushed her as she emerged from the keep one morning. They'd each had a dozen snowballs to hand, and she'd had none. Bran had been perched on the roof of the covered bridge, out of reach, but Sansa had chased Arya through the stables and around the kitchen until both of them were breathless. She might even have caught her, but she'd slipped on some ice. Her sister came back to see if she was hurt. When she said she wasn't, Arya hit her in the face with another snowball, but Sansa grabbed her leg and pulled her down and was rubbing snow in her hair when Jory came along and pulled them apart, laughing. -- Sansa VII, ASOS.

It was most unladylike, but Alayne sound found herself laughing. For just a little while, as she ran, she forget who she was, and where, and found herself remembering bright cold days at Winterfell, when she would race through Winterfell with her friend Jeyne Poole, with Arya running after them trying to keep up. -- Alayne I, TWOW.

So it’s not even that the girls only bond through confiding. They run, play, and roughhouse with each other. It’s interesting that AGOT!Sansa tried to be so mature and proper, but now that she’s older, she’s remembering how good and freeing it was just to be a kid. But let’s not act like this part of the story is over. Jeyne is still very much alive and seems likely to run into Arya in Braavos. We can almost be 100% certain that Sansa will find out the truth about what happened to Jeyne and what Littlefinger did to her (and her parents), then watch out. Sansa will turn all that buried pain into a righteous fury at Littlefinger.  

Now as for Sansa being mean for “no reason.” Um... yeah, LOL. Sometimes she’s just a total unwarranted bitch to her sister, and it’s not meant to be a good look. Sometimes she’s superficial, insufferably immature and annoying, judgmental and prejudiced AND THAT’S OKAY. I mean, she sounds no better or worse than your average middle-schooler if they were of the privileged nobility. Guess what? Sometimes preteens are really like that. Sometimes siblings have ugly, knockdown drag out fights where they say horrible things to each other. Most will grow past those phases and still wind up just as loving and close. It’s realistic and believable. Sansa has flaws, but they aren’t deep moral flaws. She does an amazing job at growing, learning, and overcoming those flaws over the course of the books. In TWOW, she’s warm and affectionate with people, easy-going, nonjudgmental, and genuinely more mature than ever. She took the stick out of her ass and became a happier person for it. What’s the problem? What did you want her to be? Perfect? Unfailingly kind and loved by everyone all the time? She’d be a saint, not a multifaceted human being. Even with her occasional ugly side, Sansa is still a strong, smart, compassionate badass. I don’t care if some people don’t like her as she is written or if they vilify her with their misinterpretations or ignore her strengths. What bearing does that have on GRRM’s vision for her character? He never set out to write any character that the whole fandom would either unanimously love or hate.    

This is not bad writing. This NOT bad writing. This is GOOD writing.

*Sigh* Listen... this whole nonsense about Sansa being to blame for Ned’s demise has been going on since ASOIAF was written on clay tablets. You don’t have to listen to every stupid thing the fandom says about anything. It’s just factually wrong. End of story. This misinterpretation and reader inattentiveness is not GRRM’s fault, because he lays out all the details of everything that went down between Arya, Ned, and Sansa’s POV as it was happening. It’s totally understandable why an upset and frustrated Sansa would go to Cersei, the mother figure she implicitly trusts and admires. She didn’t go to Cersei to betray her father’s plans. She went to the queen to intercede in what she thought had to be some big misunderstanding, having no idea what was really going on or at stake. 

This is not OOC for her to go to Cersei after Lady’s death. The hand that killed Lady was her own father’s, a undeniable breach of trust that wounded their relationship. Ned just doesn’t really do a lot to deal with the emotional aftermath either. Ned and Sansa are very similar in turning a blind eye when confronted with unpleasantness from someone they love. Ned is also at that moment disillusioned with Robert’s failure to do the right thing after the Trident incident. He begs Robert in the name of their brotherly love and the love he bore Lyanna, and Robert turns his back on Ned anyway. Yet Ned immediately goes right back to believing in the best of Robert’s nature, despite all evidence to the contrary. Every sign points to this being a one-sided friendship with Robert being lazy, irresponsible, and completely selfish. Like father, like daughter. Sansa has a very hard time accepting that Joffrey and Cersei are not the people she thought they were, even when she’s seen some cracks. And since she can’t understand her father’s actions and the communication has been shot to hell between them, of course she runs to Cersei with her problems. Cersei can flip a switch and pretend to be kind, loving, and understanding. 

This is so typical of a teenage thought process:  “Dad just doesn’t understand and he’s making a big mistake. I don’t understand why he’s doing this. He doesn’t get how important this is to me. This will all work out if a sympathetic adult steps in and fixes it. Everything will turn out great and we’ll all be happy.” While Sansa is pouring her heart out about how it isn’t fair she can’t say goodbye to Joffrey, Cersei pretends to be that sympathetic mother figure that really understands her. How hard would it be then to pump Sansa for information? Like “Oh my sweet little dove. I know how much you love my son. Don’t worry. I’ll help you straighten this out. You said your father wants to send you away? How? When? What’s the name of that ship again?”  

And that line from Cersei’s POV is horseshit. Cersei is a liar and regularly lies in her POV to absolve herself of responsibility and force the blame entirely on others. In this case, Cersei is acting like she didn’t totally manipulate a trusting child to betray her.  We also know this is a lie because Ned was the one that told her himself of his plans to reveal the invest and remove her as queen. Sansa had nothing to do with that. All Sansa did was give Cersei information that allowed Cersei the opportunity to take her hostage before the girls could leave by ship. Cersei’s plans against Ned were already well underway. Sansa never came to her with the intent of knowingly betraying anyone, but she did have selfish reasons for going to the queen to complain in the first place. GRRM said himself that Sansa wasn’t to blame for Ned’s capture or death, but she did play a role in the events that transpired. That’s fair. All that makes her is a kid who made a not entirely innocent mistake, but a mistake nonetheless, which she immediately learned from. Does she trust Cersei or Joffrey again? Hell no.  

Relax, anon. It’s fine for her to not be nice all the time. It’s fine for her to have some realistic, garden variety flaws. It’s one of the most universal human mistakes to fall too hard and fast for the wrong person, act the fool over them despite all the red flags, only to realize you only saw what you wanted to see in them. And Sansa learned this lesson at eleven when some adults haven’t learned it at all. Relax. She’s a great, well-written, relatable character who has overcome most of these issues successfully.  

[tweedfrog]

Hi! Just wanted to pop in and say how much I adore your fics. The Elia, Rhaenys, and Aegon tags are nearly impossible to get through. 95% of the fics don’t even feature them prominently and of the remaining 5%, either they’re horrible people bullying faultless Lyanna and Jon 😒 or wonderful angels (unlike that awful witch Catelyn Stark 🙄) who exist to be Jon and Lyanna’s cheerleaders and absolve them of any guilt.

Also I wanted to commend you on your Rhaenys and Elia characterization. Especially Rhaenys! I think a trend I sometimes see is that female characters are only allowed to be happy after they’ve rejected any femininity and taken up weapons and become brash and daring and loudly opinionated. And those girls deserve happiness for sure! But it’s so nice to see a Rhaenys who does lean towards soft power. Who isn’t only a horse and weapons and wild sex enthusiast because she happens to be Dornish. Because that kind of characterization doesn’t really ring true to me for someone like Rhaenys who is in the spotlight a lot. Who’s actions and personality are going to reflect on her abandoned mother who lost out on the throne. I’m so glad characters like her and Elia and Rhaella get to be the heroes of a story while still performing femininity (and frankly using that as their weapons).

And I think you handle the Lyanna situation very well. Personally I’m ambivalent towards Jon and am not fond of Lyanna. But I also don’t like overblown animosity that feels cartoonish. There might be negative feelings directed at them by certain characters, but they aren’t acted upon in any uncharacteristic way. Those two feel more like afterthoughts to Elia and Rhaenys. And while I very much lean into the drama of it all (because it’s so rare for Elia to win this much) I can very much appreciate the reality that Elia and Rhaenys aren’t spending every waking moment thinking about Jon and Lyanna. They have lives to lead and it’s pointless keeping a scoreboard of who got what win over the other. There’s no need to compete, but there’s also no need to be friendly and accommodating is the vibe I’m getting from your story and I really love that. (But I also like that negative feelings exist because let them be human and relatable!!!!!)

Sorry for the word vomit 😅 but I really love your writing and it’s one of the only things I look forward to in this fandom anymore tbh. Thank you so much!

this is so sweet oh my goodness and I’m in a crappy mood today because of uni stress so this really made my day thank you for sending me this

I’m glad you find Rhaenys and Rhaella exercising soft power interesting. I think you’ve got the right take on Rhaenys! She is someone who would love to be able to be loud and brash and is quite opinionated (see: her outright telling her father she would marry anyone to get away from him) but in the red keep where her every move is scrutinized she doesn’t have the option to do that. She has a complicated relationship with the way she presents herself which is also heavily tied up in the fact that she is the only visibly non-white member of her family and she faces scorn for obviously being half-Dornish.

I think the whole “I’m not like other girls” vibe of only letting girl characters be cool and better when they dislike girls who behave in “traditionally feminine” ways is just as shitty as painting girls who don’t behave in traditionally feminine ways as “masculine” (and trying to say they have male privilege – like what?). The truth is that even though some traits are ascribed by society to one gender or the other – there aren’t any traits that are more inherent to one gender than the other. And quite frankly in a society like Westeros women are going to have a complicated relationship with their performance of gender regardless of how they perform it.   

I also really enjoy women in old stories using the small tools available to them as women to undermine a system that disregards them because it’s fun!

Thank you for saying that my handling of the Jon/Lyanna situation is realistic! I once got accused of bashing - which I don’t want to do so that was a bit of a blow. But I don’t think I’m bashing them to have my characters think negatively of them or disliking them. I did some investigation (mainly by reading r/relationships lmao) into how people feel when their parents break up due to affairs and the common thread I saw was a LOT of pain and resentment and yeah some jealousy and dislike of half siblings who resulted from those new relationships. And that’s in our society where we have stuff like divorce and no one’s starting wars over kidnapped fiancées. Imagine how much more resentment there would be in a situation where not only did your father leave you but that also 1. Put your life in jeopardy 2. Put your inheritance rights in jeopardy 3. You can’t just leave and tell him to fuck himself because in this society the family you have grants you saftey and power. Honestly Rhaegar’s lucky someone hasn’t snapped and stabbed him yet.

You're right to say they aren't accommodating or friendly, saying that Lyanna and Jon are an afterthought is probably right. Rhaenys Rhaella and Elia have approached something like tolerance with Lyanna – they’ll leave her alone if she leaves them alone and that’s the way everyone likes it. In an everyone lived situation I simply don’t think it would be realistic to approach it in any other way. And because Elia and Rhaenys are more on the “winning” side of this I dont think they would spend every waking moment dwelling and brooding on Lyanna.

I think this tendency to have Elia and Rhaenys approve whole-heartedly of Lyanna and Jon is caused by 4 factors

1.     The misguided need to have them be good or to “give them agency”. Making a character a flat nobody who doesn’t have any emotions towards a situation that would be dangerous and deeply personally humiliating to them isn’t making them good or giving them agency its making them boring and unrealistic.

2. Not wanting to “pit girls against one another”. Look i hate this trope of 2 girls catfighting over a guy as much as anyone else but I have noticed that sometimes people say “don’t pit women against each other” when....2 girl characters don’t like each other for totally legitimate reasons. Elia doesn’t dislike Lyanna because she loves Rhaegar and Lyanna was a homewrecker who stole him. Elia is understandably angry because the whole realm is destabilized, her children’s lives and futures are in danger, and she’s been nationally humiliated. Let female characters be as complex as the male ones. No one bats an eye that Ned and Jaime despise one another because they’re men and we don’t expect male characters to be beautiful angels who never have a bad thought about anyone.

3.     To have them be good to contrast “bitchy” Catelyn. Cat isn’t a bitch and I will die on this hill. If you want to look at who was primarily responsible for the whole Jon situation Rhaegar and Ned are right there.

4.     Being unable to conceptualize non-white characters as having motivations (and negative emotions) that are either directed towards or separate from a (usually white) fandom fav character like Lyanna or Jon.

[deputy-videogamer]

Demon in Disguised | Part 1 |

Paring: Geralt x Reader

Warning: Minor Blood

Notes: Don't worry there will be a part two and it will have smut in it. But for now enjoy the small cliffhanger.

Part 2

Ahh humans~

So frail, so paranoid, so deliriously fearful. Especially if the humans are just vulnerable to things they can't explain, take your for example. You have an appearance of a human, but in reality you are nothing more than a demon. More specifically one of the Seven Demons of Hell, your brothers and sisters just love taking pleasure of bringing their sins into the lives of humans.

A man having an affair with his wife? You can blame Asmodeus for that. A person who kills another person out of jealousy? Blame Beelzebub for that. A bloodly fight that was out of anger or revenge? Blame yourself for that. You once enjoy these misfortunes that you laid upon the humans, but now it has been.....well boring for you.

You wanted something more than just making people suffer. You wanted to have an adventure, the thrill, the excitement of your adrenaline pumping in your veins. Sitting on your throne watching people suffer is not what you no longer call fun but instead an endless suffering. No pun intended. That's when it had hit you, why stay here watching people suffer, when you can have fun up there up there. The place where plenty of people live instead of just waiting for the next victim to die and judge what have sins they have done to bring down here.

Which brings you here. Drinking at a pub in a village where the men slammed their drinks on the tables as waitresses went by table to table. For the past couple of years you have made quite the living of being a traveler who tells a person's 'future' for a couple of coins to buy some items. Not like it matter to you materialistic things never interested you in the first place.

All of sudden the pub had gotten quite, you broke your gaze from the book you were reading from to see what had stop the ruckus. At the doorway of the pub was a man with long white hair that was tied into a ponytail with intriguing golden cat like eyes.

"What's a freak doing here."

If you recall correctly this 'freak' was called a 'Witcher' from the books you have read. People with supernatural abilities that was similar to the Mages here, but of course with a few differences. Apparently these Witchers slay monsters for money and they aren't really welcome to most people because of their actions. Such hubris these humans possess judging one's abilities and actions instead of taking the time for knowing them.

You eyed the man as he walked to a table that had a man drinking away his problems because of an incident. From what you heard lost some supplies and men to something in the woods nearby. Not that you care about someone's misfortune, you went back reading your book when something caught your interest in the man's and Witcher's conversation.

"The monster you are describing sounds like a demon, but not any demon that I may know of."

A smirk slowly appeared on your face when you heard this. If a Witcher who is suppose to identify all types of monster can't even identify this demon then it must be from Hell. Perhaps this day won't be just you sitting around reading afterall.

Closing your book, you went up their table with your cane. The cane is just part of your disguise to make you look cripple and helpless. There are occasional times where some robbers and bandits tried to steal from you but that only led you to use some 'magic' on them.

"May I ask you what did this Demon looked like?" Both men looked at you when you appeared. You took a quick glance at the Witcher's medallion hoping it wont react to you. You leaned on your cane as the client explained what he saw.

"It's skin completely green and there something on it's head like some kind of octopus. On it's back was spider like legs and it appeared to have some green light around it." You automatically knew what it was.

"Ah! The demon you are describing to me is a Timor Daemonium or a Fear Demon. It's a good thing you ran for your life, crafty bastards can summon lesser demons to help them fight."

"You seems like you know this demon." You turned your head towards the Witcher and gave him a small smile.

"Yes, I happen to came across these demons a few times." That was a lie. These types Demons where created from Lucifer; where there is fear there is pride.

It seems like siblings want to return to Hell if they are sending their creations to find you.

"Mr. Witcher, may I tag along on your hunt. You can keep the reward I'm not interested in that. What I'm interested is the demon." The Witcher looked at you suspiciously, but soon agreed.

With the agreement settled, the two of you were out your way to find the Fear Demon. You were perhaps a good distance from the village for you to drop the act. You swung your cane onto your shoulders and started to walk naturally. This caught the Witcher's attention.

"The cripple act is something you always do?"

You looked up to the white hair male and gave him a sly smile. "Something like that. In this age men or women wouldn't want to have sex with someone who is cant walk properly know can they?"

"Not if you have your chest out like that." He mumble but you heard it just fine afterall advance hearing is part of the Demon charm.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

The road to the location was silent for quite away, but you decide to break the ice once more.

"The name's (Y/N) and you are Mr. Witcher?"

"Geralt of rivia. Rather be called by my name than Mr. Witcher. You seem to know your demonology quite well."

"It's my pride and joy the only thing I can actually do than just reading one's 'future'." You air quote the word 'future's.

Geralt raised an eyebrow when you said this. He was about to ask you what you just meant when you stopped him with your cane. You raised a finger to your lips to silence him as he listen to whatever you were trying find.

It was then he realized why you stopped them, a green like fog floated in a small part of the forest that most likely was hiding the Demon.

Using your cane to grabbed his necklace you brought Geralt closer to whisper in his ear.

"They are vulnerable to lightening. Can you cast anything like that?"

"I can cast Aard will that work?" You gently removed your cane from his necklace and took a step forward.

"That will have to do. I'll distract for a bit once you have a clear shot cast your spell and I'll do the rest." You raised your cane in front of you then announcing a name.

"Talon, I might need some help." A black smoke started to come out of your cane then a panther came out of the fog. Turning back to Geralt you told him hide while you faced the Demon.

Unaware to you is that when you summon your 'familiar' Geralt's medallion started to vibrate. If he question you now then they will lose the Demon, but if he question you later then you might not even answer his question at all. But with no other option he did what you ordered.

Talon had pounced on the Fear Demon giving you time to remove your blade out it's sheathed and started to attack it. If you remember correctly from what Lucifer said they are vulnerable to any type of lightning attacks, even though Aard is not a lightning base attack it should do the trick.

You caught off one of it's spider like appendages that were trying to attack you. It's blood seeped out of it limb, but one it's limb managed to hit your side. You grunted as the rising pain to your side, but manage to pull through.

You dodged an incoming slice from the Demon before it ripped off Talon off it's back. You scanned the area to see where did Geralt hid, your search ended quickly when Geralt had appeared behind the Demon then attacking with Aard. With a stroke of your arm a black smoke appeared around you changing your (h/c) hair to a silver color with the tattoos that was scatter on your arm suddenly glowed.

"Alliges Duplicia (Bind)." The tattoos on your arms were removed and sent flying towards the demon, binding him.

You were amused as it tried to struggled it's way out of the bonds.

"Cur auxilium eius? (Why are you helping him?)." The Demon sneered at you. Luckily Geralt can't understand what it's trying to say, but that doesn't mean he already knows something's up with you.

"Cause why not?"

"Plurimum autem periculosissima et daemonem. Et auxiliatus sum tibi haec ... homine isto? (You are the most powerful and most dangerous demon. And yet you help this...this human!)."

"First of all, this human is name Geralt. Second of all you mean former. I step down remember?"

"Inferos non inveni novum irae. Tu tantum potior esse irae. (Hell has not found a new Wrath. You are only one best suited to be Wrath.)"

"Well, you better find a replacement soon or..." You took a quick glance at Geralt who gave you a raised eyebrow. Seems like he is slowly starting to put the pieces in it's place. "Or else Hell will release it's demons and the Dammned soon."

"Talon, return him to Lucifer." You called out to your familiar . The panther compiled with it's order grabbing the Demon by it's hair it disappeared into a cloud of black smoke.

You sighed. It seems like your siblings won't be stopping their attacks anytime soon as long as you stay here on Tameria.

"You have a lot of explaining to do." Oh yeah that's right. Geralt can't understand what the Demon just said.

"Depends how much they are paying you." You swiped your hair back as the once silver color return back to it's natural hair color.

"25 crowns."

"Shit. Fine 10 questions you can ask me, but first camp." Geralt notice how it was already dark so he'll give you the benefit of the doubt for now.

Once the fire was going, the two of you sit on opposite directions for safety reasons. Which was fine by you, you still needed to to patch up the nasty wound on your side. When you finished you rummaged through your satchel to pull out the same book you were reading earlier.

"First question go." You said. Geralt would've thought you were getting impatient, but considering how you were kicking back and reading a book said otherwise.

What a strange person you were. If you are consider you a person.

"Don't know what that demon was saying, but base on how it called you a daemonem or a demon just like how you translated back at the tavern. You are just like it aren't? A demon?"

You finger stopped at the tip of your page that you were about to turn. The gesture meant that Geralt was right you aren't human.

"You aren't wrong." You turn the page and set your book down to the side to get up and slowly walked towards. "But it's my turn Witcher do you want to know really want to know what my Demon name is?"

When you went to his side if the fire you were already up to his face. With a a smirk on your face waiting for his answer.

"Ire. What does it mean?"

"I'll give you a hint. When a person sees you; a Witcher. What is there reaction?" Geralt was slowly starting to see what you might be, but had to be sure to confirm it.

"They look at me with disgust, hatred, and..." For some reason couldn't finish the last part of his sentence as he gazed into your eyes. He wonders if you were actually a succubus or incubus or even a demon who can hypnotize people.

"Go on." You encourage him to finish it. "Unless you want me to say it for you, Geralt of Rivia."

God. Just hearing his name from your tongue makes him want to take you here an now.

"They look at me with..."

"Anger." The two of you finished at the same time.

"Oh fuck it." Geralt pulled your head closer to his giving you a heated lip session. If he was going to die at least he was going to die from a sexy sin demon.

Taglist

@jessevans @mystrie @midnattsorg

[what-big-teeth]

Reveal (Cambion Boyfriend, pt. 1)

Gender Neutral Reader x Male Monster [Part 2] [Part 3] tw: mentions of alcohol ; kidnapping White rum, mint leaves, soda water, lime juice, and sugar… “Your mojito on the rocks. Enjoy!”

The middle-aged diner gives you a hearty thanks and slaps a fresh 20 dollar bill on the counter with a brown hand. He yells for you to keep the change over the noisy weekend crowd, and you’re more than happy to take the offer. 

It’s another step closer to paying your way through graduate school. 

At first, the idea of becoming a bartender after college didn’t sit well with your parents. Not because of the job choice, however. Your aunt’s popular mixology book collection is something they’re rather proud of. No, according to your folks, taking a long break from school could lead to you never going back. 

They suggested taking out a few student loans to make ends meet. Live on campus to deal with a much lower residency fee. You agreed to staying in a dorm, but you couldn’t stomach being in near-perpetual debt for years to come. Very few people have gone through a higher educational career without incurring any debt. The odds of such a thing happening to you are astronomical. But damnit if you were at least going to try and curb whatever debt you could with your paychecks. 

It helped that your place of employment was one of the more popular restaurants in town. Owned by a local, African-American family, Papa Ruben’s gained acclaim with time and great customer service. Hell, you were one of the diner’s loyal customers before Ben helped you land your job. Since starting, you’ve seen many familiar faces at the bar, but also just as many newcomers. Mostly family members joined by an undergrad or graduate student. And with the quick, accurate service you provide, many customers tip handsomely. 

As you make a mental note to thank your aunt (who also served as your teacher), another rush of customers approach the barstools. All of them look at you expectantly, with the first customer who arrived dipping a pale hand into her purse. 

You grin and flex your fingers.

Two gin and tonics; a round of tequila shots, four daiquiris, six red eyes, a sex on the beach. Change, bills, and even a few slips with scrawled phone numbers pile into your tip jar. The former is more important than the latter. More so as your heart is set on someone already. Too bad he wasn’t able to come tonight…

“I’ll take a Black Velvet in a Pilsner if you’ve got one.”

You pause from wiping down a cleaned, glass tumbler, perking up. There’s only one person you know who heavily favors such a drink.

A Black woman with deep brown skin leans onto the counter with her jacketed forearms. She shoves her thick natural hair—pulled back into a long braid— over her shoulder. Then grins.

“How’s my favorite barkeep?”

Her smile is infectious. “Holy shit, Jacqui? Is that you?!”

“The one and only,” she says. “Well, the one Jacqui that really matters.”

You chuckle, setting aside the tumbler. “I can’t believe you’re here in the flesh. I haven’t seen you in, what, four months?”

Her painted, red lips tremble and her smile falters.

“Five, actually.” 

She goes quiet soon after and glances your way. For a moment, you think the odd light in her dark brown eyes is something akin to guilt. But it’s gone the next second, replaced by her usual confidence.

“But I’m back in town for a few days. You haven’t gone on break, have you?” 

You shake your head, already knowing what she plans to ask.

“Got a minute to catch up?”

“For you? More than. Cass will be here soon to start her shift. When she comes, I’ll go on break.”

Jacqui plasters another grin on her face while you get to work on her drink. Once it’s ready, you set it in front of her on a coaster. Her hand quickly replaces yours as she takes a long sip. 

“Thanks, babe. When it’s time, you know where to go.”

And with that, she slips off her barstool and past the bustling crowd gathering for more rounds. 

This isn’t the first time Jacqui’s made herself at home at the restaurant. Mainly because she and Ben go back to their teenage years and he’s always had a soft spot for her. He treats her like the older sister he never had, mainly as all his elder siblings are boys. In turn, she treats him like a little brother. 

It’s understandable; not having anyone around to claim you while growing up can get lonely. Ben will be just as pleased to see her, if he hasn’t already.

Cass arrives on time at a quarter ‘til nine, punctual as always. As she finishes tying her apron, she nods at you and effortlessly takes over once you finish making an appletini. 

You squeeze past the busy wait staff and their large trays, waving at a few regulars who greet you by name. By the time you reach the break room, your stiff legs are crying out for relief. And you swiftly provide it by plopping down onto the old couch opposite the door. 

The cushions are sunken and the fabric’s fading, but it’s part of Papa Ruben’s earlier days. The Moore family is wonderfully sentimental and this room is chock-full of older times. Photos of Papa Ruben himself, a younger snaggletoothed Ben and his two older brothers, their parents. There’s even a photo of a teenaged Jacqui surrounded by the Moore family. 

Speaking of, the door opens, revealing Jacqui carrying a large sleeve of fries. She hops onto the couch next to you, offering some of her food. You snag four piping hot fries, juggling them between your hands.

“Courtesy of Ben?” you ask.

“Of course! My little bro always looks out for me.”

You lick your fingertips free of salt and ‘secret seasoning’ to cool the surface burns. 

“Yeah,” you say. “Just like how the Moores would welcome you with open arms.”

She goes quiet, her expression turning neutral. She stares down at her food instead of replying. 

“Whenever you visit, you always say you haven’t found a place to put down your roots,” you say. “What if that place is here with the Moores? With me and Cam?”

“It can’t be.” She places the still warm sleeve between the two of you. “I’ve done some stupid shit in the past, and it always find me when I let my guard down. I don’t want Ben, the Moores, Cam or you to get dragged into my mess. It’s something I have to deal with myself.”

You’ve had inklings about Jacqui’s rough past, but never any of the details. This is the closest she’s ever come to emphasizing just how bad things are. You try to think of a way to reason with her, but the break room’s door opens again. 

Ben pokes his head inside, prompting Jacqui to slide a convincing smile onto her face. 

“Here to offer me more free food?” she says with humor. “How sweet!”

“And have you eat my family out of house and home? No thanks,” he says. 

You stifle a laugh, already used to their bickering. Ben rolls his eyes as Jacqui calls him a brat, opening the door fully while rubbing a golden brown hand over his bald head. 

“To answer your question, someone’s here to see you. He rushed right over after I told him you were back in town.”

“You’re making it sound like I committed vehicular terror on the way over.” 

A pleasant tingle runs down your spine at the familiar voice, in spite of the slight snark. 

“With the way you drive,” Ben says, stepping out of the doorway, “Can it be anything else?”

“What’s that? You don’t want to bum another ride in the future?”

At that, Ben’s mouth snaps shut. You all know he’d rather enjoy some peace and space in a car not shared with his brothers. Cam steps through the doorway, chuckling.

“That’s what I thought.”

It doesn’t matter how many times you see him. Every time is new and comparable to that quiet moment during a movie night in college when you realized your feelings for him. A charming smile stretches the rich, golden brown skin of Can’s face and his thick lips as he steps past Ben.

Before you’re able to calm your pulse, Jacqui hops off the couch. You’re able to save her lukewarm fries before they fall over as she pulls Cam into a tight hug. 

“Good luck dealing with her,” Ben says.

After reminding you of the end of your break, he heads out. Leaving you to watch Jacqui smack Cam on the back a few times while laughing.

“Look at you!” Jacqui pulls away from him, giving him a quick look over. “I see you decided to upgrade your fashion sense to show off your good looks. Finally. The red bomber jacket and Timbs look good, but the bottle coke glasses? Not so much.”

“Tell that to my eye doctor,” he says. 

You watch as they fall into a seamless conversation, filled with snark and laughter. Jacqui even reaches up to playfully tug at one of the short dreadlocks on top of his head. As she comments on how well they pair with his fade haircut, a heavy weight forms in your stomach at the sight. They’re just friends and you know this without a doubt. But that doesn’t stop the bitter jealousy from welling up inside. 

As if hearing your thoughts, Cam’s gaze finds yours and he smiles. His dark brown eyes make your stomach flutter in the best of ways.  

“I-I thought you had a test to study for,” you manage to say. 

“Still do,” Cam says. “But it’s kinda hard to think on an empty stomach. My brain needs some fuel and a break. Plus, I wanted to check on you since you mentioned tonight would be busy.”

Heat fills your cheeks as a small smile stretches your lips. 

“Thanks,” you say. The light in Cam’s eyes grows soft. 

Of course. We’re friends, after all.

”The moment between the two of you swiftly ends. Because that’s all you are. Just friends. You nod in reply, helping yourself to a few of Jacqui’s fries as she teases him about gunning for an anthropology degree. Cam just rolls his eyes at her before fishing his smartphone from his jacket. 

“Order’s ready. I should get back to studying.” He glances up at you with a caring smile. “Let me know if you want to cancel tomorrow’s trip to the bakery. I’ll understand if you’re too tired—”

“I’ll be fine,” you quickly say, “promise.”

“Cool. Have a good night, and be safe on your way home.”

As Cam heads out with one last wave, a gentle tug pulls the now crumpled sleeve of cold fries from your hands. Jacqui lifts a brow at the food then you, giving you a knowing look.

“Oh honey.”

You stiffen. Your brain attempts to think of any excuse or denial, but falls short. You lean back against the couch, sighing in defeat.

“Am I really that obvious?”

“Sure, to Ben and me. But to Cam? Not so much, which is ridiculous. You haven’t tried kissing the living daylights out of him yet?”

“Jacqui.”

“What? It’s a legitimate question. You guys grew up together, lost contact, then reconnected in college. What’s the hold up?”

You purse your lips, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“I don’t want to mess up things between us. Yeah, I may like him more as a friend, but I don’t want to ruin our friendship.”

A gentle touch grips your shoulder.

“Sweetheart, you wouldn’t ruin anything by letting him know. Seriously.”

You just shake your head, attempting to give Jacqui a reassuring smile. The concerned light in her eyes tells you it falls horribly short. 

“You should join us tomorrow morning after visiting the Moores,” you say, getting up. “Let me know if you want another Black Velvet, alright?”

You leave before Jacqui is able to get another word in. 

The rest of your shift is busy, but uneventful. You accrue a huge amount of tips from pleased customers and more slips bearing phone numbers. You and Cass split the money based on the number of hours you both work. When she offers to take some of the number off your hands, you let her. The rest, you crumple and toss into the trash. 

The doors to Papa Ruben’s closes at 11 PM sharp, with you, Cass, Ben, and the other staff members congratulating each other on a job immensely well done. After grabbing your belongings, you bid your co-workers a good night.

With the way your stiff legs are throbbing, you’re wishing you hadn’t parked down the way to avoid the early rush. You sigh with relief as your vehicle comes into view. Just a little bit more, and you’ll be on your way home. 

You aren’t able to take another step. 

The grip on your upper arm surprises you. It tightens to a painful vice and brings you to your knees. 

Quick as lightning, another hand swiftly grabs the back of your neck, forcing your nose to the concrete. 

“If you try and scream,” a feminine voice says, “that breath will be your last.”

There’s no hesitation in your assailant’s voice. Just a menacing promise laced with danger. You fight against your mounting fear and swallow audibly. Then go lax.

“Good.”

You barely hear the sound of shoes scraping against the sidewalk over your frantic pulse.

“Well?” an unfamiliar, male voice asks.

“You were right. This one’s got the pheromonal stink of a cambion on them. Strong, too.”

“Bear with it a bit longer.” You can hear a smile in the male’s voice. “It’ll be a scent relegated to your memories soon enough.”

One moment you hear shuffling. The next, your wrists are tightly bound together. A piece of cloth is forced past your teeth and tied tightly behind your neck.

Then, a sharp prick to your wrist. Your body seizes.

“Pleasant dreams,” the female voice mocks.

Black spots begin to overtake your vision as you’re lifted from the ground. 

“Let’s go. We’ve got a trap to set.”

It’s the last thing you hear before everything goes dark. 

[sammysdewysensitiveeyes]

Pyro and writing (more headcanons that no one asked for, because Pyro the writer is one of my favorite character traits of his that Marvel constantly neglects)

-Overall, his writing is good, but not much more than that.  If he puts in a lot of effort, it can be great, if he’s rushing, it drops down to terrible.  All his books have a few moments of really good writing, showing the potential that he has, and also moments of really dreadful writing.  As long as he gets paid and people are entertained, he’s satisfied, although he does get frustrated when he knows a scene isn’t flowing well, and he doesn’t have the time or skill to fix it.  It’s difficult to make a living as a writer (and frankly, he wants money), so he tends to bang things out quickly and publish as much as possible.  His Marvel bio says that his books were widely read around the English-speaking world, so I’m guessing that he was at least somewhat popular.  Like, he wasn’t at a Stephen King or Danielle Steel level, but people at least knew his name.

-It’s never been clear to me whether his identity as Pyro was publicly known, but I’m thinking it must have been.  If it wasn’t revealed after the Brotherhood went to jail for the first time, surely it would have been revealed after he died saving Kelly, completely out of costume.  I’d imagine it was a mind-fuck for fans who read his books.  Apparently he was still writing and publishing during the Freedom Force era, so either the general public didn’t know, or being a mutant terrorist didn’t lose him any readers.

-He willed the rights for any future royalties to Avalanche when he died.  That didn’t amount to much at the time, but his work became popular again after he died, and publishers re-printed several titles to make a quick buck.  Avalanche wound up with a tidy sum that he used to buy his bar.          

- Pyro has a generally realistic and easy-going attitude about his own writing.  He thinks it’s at least decent writing, but he knows it’s not anything fantastic or ground-breaking.  He’s read the reviews tearing him apart, he knows he’s generally thought of as popcorn, fluff reading (and he’s okay with that), he’ll cheerfully refer to himself as a hack.  But he does get annoyed if someone keeps harping on him as a bad writer, especially if that same person is claiming that writing is easy, like “Any idiot can bang out a romance novel.”  At that point, he turns to, “Oh really?  How many books have you published?  How many books have you even written?  Oh, zero?  You’ve written no books at all?  Then kindly shut the fuck up.”

-He gets similarly annoyed when people disparage the romance genre as being trashy or shallow, especially since there are plenty of popular thriller/mystery/horror/spy novels that Pyro thinks are equally terrible, but those genres don’t have the same bad reputation that romance does.  He argues that romance is just like any other genre - a lot of it is terrible, some of it is complex and beautifully written.  And even if it is terrible, who cares?  Even the terrible stuff serves its purpose.  He usually doesn’t try to defend the genre with his own work (he knows he’s not winning any battles there), but he’s got a few favorite authors that he’ll bring up.  He does read romance on his down time, he genuinely enjoys it.

-There are a few authors he absolutely fan-boys over, but I don’t know enough about romance as a genre to name specific names.  Once, long ago, one of his favorite authors wrote a moderately favorable review of one of his books, and he literally jumped around his living room from sheer joy.  He cut the review out and framed it.

-He always writes straight romance, because that’s the largest market and biggest potential seller.  His heroines are always women, and he writes entirely from their perspective.  He’ll claim that it’s because most of his readers are women, but it also leaves an element of separation between him and the character, which makes it a lot easier to project all his issues into the story.  Which he does do, quite frequently.  Sometimes he tries to write gay male romance, just private stories for himself, but it always feels too personal.  He does start sticking same-sex relationships into his books, though, just in the background.  He couldn’t be too overt without losing some of his readers (at the time that he was writing), but he’d slip in little hints.

-He writes a lot about characters having to hide aspects of their identity, which is his way of dealing with both the mutant thing and the gay thing.  One of his heroines is a white-passing WOC, and her experiences listening to white characters say horribly racist things is very much based on Pyro listening to friends and co-workers say terrible things about mutants.  Of course, it’s rather problematic for him to use race in this way, but he’s definitely got some problematic tropes in his writing.  He doesn’t mean to use it as a metaphor, just an.....emotional outlet.        

-Speaking of problematic, given the time period that Pyro was writing, I think some of his travel articles definitely lean a bit Orientalist.  There’s nothing overtly or consciously racist, he has a great deal of respect and appreciation for the countries and the cultures that he’s visiting.  But he plays up the image of “exotic” and “mysterious” Asia, especially in his earliest articles, because he’s desperate to catch readers’ attention and keep them interested.  If someone brought it up to him now, he’d probably angrily deny it....but he’d also wince re-reading some of his early stuff.  “Yeah, okay, that’s a bit over the top there.”  He gets much better about it later.

-He puts a lot of self-deprecating humor into his travel articles.  He tends to naturally be something of a braggart and exaggerate when he tells stories, but if he writes about himself as a sophisticated world traveler having wild adventures, he’d sound like Gilderoy Lockheart a complete prat.  And Australia’s tendency towards Tall Poppy Syndrome would probably make his work unpopular.  So he puts in a lot of his own stupid mistakes, and presents himself as an adventurer who’s also a bit of a silly ass, bumbling his way through a culture that he doesn’t fully understand.  The events he depicts are mostly true, if exaggerated, but he tends to omit any mysterious occurrences involving fire. Can’t have that, can we?

- He loves the idea of fan fiction.  He was writing fan fiction as a child without knowing the term for it.  And fan fiction of his own work?  He is flattered and delighted.  Of course, he does get rather frustrated when fan fiction depicts his horrible Sebastian-insert as a sympathetic character, but he’ll grit his teeth and put up with it.  Because he’s just so happy that someone liked his work enough to want to write their own version.                   

[vinaity]

😈 just thought of a good request🙃 Okay i would like to request a scenario with Chronostasis where the Yakuza breaks out of jail and ends up coming across Aizawa’s wife at a store and they end up talking he asks her out to dinner not thinking anything of it because Aizawa never has time for her and boom one think leads to another 😏 and they sleep together.

A/N: Finally had some inspiration to write this after this has been sitting in my ask box for a while because i didn’t know how to write it until a discord server helped me out with ideas- thank god. I’m so fucking sorry this took so long hnghh i hate writers block. I didn’t really want to write a full out smut where the fic was 6 pages already so I adjusted it a little in the end.

Also I lowkey want a part 2.. Oh god this is my first time writing for Hari, I hope i done him justice.

Song Inspiration: Talk Dirty by Doja Cat and Boyfriend by Ariana Grande

Details / Warnings: Fem! Reader, oOp suggestive themes at the end, cursing.

“Wait? You’re the guy who tried to kill my husband.” You raised an eyebrow as you looked over to the male next to you. 

You were at a small grocery store near your apartment when you were stuck on what brand of ice cream to get when you saw a figure next to you. Curious, you had turned around to see grey arrow hairs poking out of the white hoodie the male was wearing. 

Your husband had told you about the time he had gotten stabbed by a guy with arrow hair before he had gotten arrested- grey arrow hair- like the hair of the person next to you. So out of curiosity, you had asked him that question.

The male turned his head to you, cocking his eyebrow. He looks at you weirdly, as if he’s trying to recognise you.

“Who is your husband?” He asks, “And if I were to kill him, why would I?”

“I-I uh.” You tried to gather words because of his snappy attitude towards you and his handsome face, “My husband is a pro hero, he didn’t tell me why you wanted to kill him though.”

“What did he tell you?”

“That a guy with arrow hair blindfolded him and stabbed him before getting arrested.”

The male turns back around for a second as if he were pondering, then turned back to you.

“Did he tell you where he got stabbed?”

“At a base or something across those lines.”

 His eyes widen, before looking around and leaning into your ear.

“I know who your husband is. Don’t tell anyone I’m here or I’ll do terrible things to you.” He leans back and starts to walk away from you.

“Wait!” You turn, catching up to him and grabbing his arm, “Let’s talk.”

-

Both you and the male sat on the bench at the bus stop outside of the store, looking out to the busy street ahead. People were walking down the footpaths on each side of the road, on their way to work. At first glance, people would think the two of you were a couple waiting for the bus, but that wasn’t the case.

“What’s your name?” You asked, looking over to the male next to you.“Kurono, Hari Kurono. Yours?” He responds, looking down at you.

“Y/N Aizawa, nice to meet you.” You smile at him before looking at the street.

“So.. Your husband is a pro hero huh?” Hari breaks the silence between you two, “Must be hard for him to be away all the time.”

“Yeah, it gets really lonely at times.” You remark sadly, “Sometimes he won’t come home for days because he’s just too busy.”

“Why did you marry him then?”

“I ask myself the same question, but yet I had hope for the relationship- also I was young and in love.”

“I get what you mean, being young can make you do some reckless decisions. Some of which you’ll regret in the future.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s a long story- a very long one.” 

“Ah. But I get what you mean, stupid decisions can destroy your future. I mean look at me- I’m stuck in a relationship where I feel like I’m not loved or even needed in some places.” You sigh, looking down at the ground.

“Why don’t you rebel?” Hari suggests making you look up at him in confusion, “Make your life fun for once in a while.”

“What do you mean?” 

Before he could answer, Hari’s phone rang which he picked up and answered. After talking into it for a while, he put the phone back away in his pocket.

“I’ve got to go, but we can exchange numbers and have dinner sometime if you’d like.” He suggests.

“Sure, it would be nice to get out of my house more often for once.” You hand your phone (which you unlocked) to him, which he wrote his phone number in your contacts before handing it back to you.

“I’ll see you some time then.” He says as the both of you stand up.

“Yeah, it was nice talking to you.” You respond, smiling at him.

“See ya.” He says before turning and walking away from you.

You sat back down on the bench for a second, trying to calm your racing heart as you watch him walk further in the distance.

Something about Hari made you feel a feeling you hadn’t felt with Shota in a long time. 

His presence made you feel warm, it made your heart race and it made you feel giddy. But now, you were starting to miss him.

Even if this was the first time you ever met him, you were somehow open to the idea of seeing him more and more and distancing yourself from Shota as he’s been doing that to you for the whole marriage.

Wait. Were you considering cheating on your husband? Why was your heart beginning to betray you?

You had only just met Hari, yet your heart was trying to tell you something.

Maybe Shota wasn’t the right guy for you?

-

About a couple of months after meeting Hari, your phone pinged one morning which you picked up to see a message on the home screen.

Hari:

Hey, it’s that guy you met in the store. 

Wanna go out for dinner tonight? I’m free.

As you unlocked your phone, you thought about your plans for tonight- which was basically nothing because yet again, Shota was busy.

He was always working, he was never really around to spend time with you… maybe you did need to rebel a bit in your boring life.

You grinned to yourself as you texted back.

Y/N: 

Sure, is 6 okay?

-

“Y/N? Y/N?” A voice called out to you as it snapped you out of your thoughts.

Damn it, thinking about Shota again. No, relax Y/N- he’s working again.

You looked at Hari, who had his hand on your shoulder and was looking at you concerned. He sat across from you, as the two of you were at a two-seater table in the middle of a diner.

“Are you alright? You look concerned.” He asked as he quickly looked where you were looking earlier.

“O-Oh no,” Damn Shota getting in my mind again, “It’s just that it’s getting darker outside. I’m just worried for other villains you know- like the ones who are creeps.” 

“I get you, how far is your place from here?” 

“It’s about a two-hour train ride from here, but I’ll probably just try and find a motel for the night.” You replied, grabbing your phone from your handbag.

“Don’t worry about it, you could stay the night at my place, it’s fine.” Hari reassured as he left some yen on the table and stood, “You coming?”

-

Something about Hari had changed once you had entered his apartment, he had gotten more quiet. You couldn’t put your finger on what it was, as he seemed like a man of few words so you just assumed that he must’ve been thinking about what to say to you after a while.

“This is going to be awkward to say.” Hari said as he walked into the living room from taking a shower, “But this apartment only has one bedroom. You can sleep in the bed while I sleep on the couch if you wanna.”

“I’ll feel bad if you did sleep on the couch.” You replied hurriedly, “I-I mean it’s fine if we sleep in the same bed. I’m used to it.” 

“Are you sure? You have a husband don’t you?”

“Yeah, but it’s fine anyways. He is always working at night so he never came to bed with me.”

-

After you had showered (which Hari had let you borrow a sweatshirt to wear for the night, bless his soul) and had watched a movie or two with Hari, you both decided it would be time to go to bed.

That’s when that feeling you felt came back into your mind again. That lovesick thought that plagued your mind for months, the thought that you tried to suppress. 

You were supposed to love Shota, you were supposed to be loyal to him, not get feelings for Hari. But yet here you are, sharing a bed with the man who you had secretly gushed over.

As you sat on one side of the bed as Hari slept on the other side, everything came down upon you. Your walls came crashing down as you looked straight ahead, staring outside the small window to see the city which was dark and lit by retail and takeaway stores. 

You hadn’t noticed you were crying until you felt Hari shift towards you and place a hand lazily on your thigh. Turning around, you saw Hari leaning on his other arm facing his body towards you. 

His grey, arrow hair was disheveled around his face as his grey eyes were squinting slightly due to waking up. His look of concern didn’t go unnoticed as well, as it made you think that did this man really care for you this much?

“You okay?” He asked, adjusting his eyes so they could get used to his surroundings, “I heard you cry…”

“I-I just had some… thoughts.” You sniffled. 

“Come here, you wanna talk about them?” Hari pulled his hand away from your thigh and instead to pat the space near him, “Talking to someone can help sometimes, ya know that?”

You giggled before moving toward him. Your head was resting in the crook between Hari’s neck and shoulder while your body was against his chest as you felt one of his arms wrap around your waist while the other one rested on his side, leaning on the mattress. 

You froze for a second, which made you think of how Shota used to cuddle with you like this.

“So, what were these thoughts keeping you up?” Hari whispered, looking down at you.

“My husband and you.” You replied back, “How mine and his relationship is different now compared to you. I feel he doesn’t really care for me, or make some time to spend time with me.. Then there’s you, who I literally met a couple of months ago, and it looks like you care for me more than Shota has for the 5 years of marriage. I guess, I feel less lonely around you.”

“Keep on going…” Hari was curious, he wanted to know more about what you thought about him.

“But I’ve been having this feeling around you. I can see a future with you in it, and I mean more than friends. I mean.. Way different.”

“Romantically?” Hari was catching on now, you had feelings for him the whole time? And you could see a future with him in it? That made him even more happy.

“Yeah..”

“What if I told you…” Hari leaned against the headrest, using his arm on your waist to roll you over onto him. “That I felt the same way?”

Your legs straddled around his waist and you leaned against him so your and his lips were only millimeters apart.

“I would love that.” You whispered as your lips met his as his arms slipped under the hoddie you were wearing.

Little did you know what you did that night was going to be both the worst and best mistake of your life.

[btssmutficslovingfan01]

King of Love (Oneshot)

Summary: Ironically enough, the well known “king of love,” (Kim Seokjin) a popular matchmaker during the 1970’s, has a non existent love life but then he gets sent into the future, where he meets the love of his life.

Promised I’d release this! Wait no longer, sry if it’s bad/cringe I’m still new to writing bxb.

Pairing: Jin x (Male) Reader

Genre: Time Travel, Non-idol au, Fluff, Smut, Slight Angst

Warnings: Sir kink, creampie, fingering, blowjob, anal, Dom! Seokjin, Sub! Reader

Words: 4k+

______________________________________________

“You’re a star, Seokjin. A real star.” The happy couple walks out, hand in hand.

“You’ve done it again, you made them happy,” His assistant walks into the office, his short blond hair neatly trimmed. “And me.” The young man beams at his boss, as he takes a seat in his swivel chair in the corner and spins around.

“I take it the ring is a good sign?” Jin smirks at the blushing blond.

“Yeah. Yoongi’s treating me real well.” He replies under his breath.

“Promise rings this early? Wow, you must really like each other.” Jin stamps his paper, and he pushes his glasses further up the bridge of his nose.

“We do. I know we can’t have this kind of relationship in public but it’s thanks to you that I was even able to tell him how I felt in the first place. You’re so cool, Jin.” His assistant’s praise makes his cheeks turn pink and his eyes form small half-moons as he looks in the direction of the blond.

“You’re even cooler for finding clients and promoting me through your dad’s company.” Jin’s compliment has the man in tears, crying from joy. His dimples are fully visible under the dim-lit room as he smiles wide enough for the United States to see his shiny white teeth.

“Seriously, thanks a lot, Jin hyung.” The man locks eyes with him, just as his boyfriend walks in through the door.

“Yoongi,” He smiles at the older man, as he walks in through the door. 

“Seokjin. I see that you’ve certainly taken your work to another level,” Yoongi kicks aside a file from a previous client aside. “Perhaps this is too much, why don’t you take a break and try finding someone for yourself?” Jin freezes at the comment. He’d definitely thought of dating way back before he even became a matchmaker, but nothing worked out for him. All of the men he approached just ran away claiming he was too “narcissistic” and “self absorbed.” He loves himself, but every single guy he meets says he’s too selfish. So what? He has a stable career, money, a house, and a snazzy new car. He doesn’t need to date to be happy. But he has to admit, seeing his friends in love and holding hands and stealing kisses is kinda cute. Just a little bit. But nothing Jin wanted for himself-he just wanted to see people in love with his efforts, of course. Whether it’s a man or woman, a man and another man, or two women, Jin tries to keep everything fair and equal within his office. That’s why he has such high ratings. He has even been scouted by tv show producers to film a reality show about him, but he wanted to keep his business low on the radar, since some of what he was doing was illegal. He helped people run away before, and start lives anew. He’s even helped a couple prisoners escape, but that was only because he knew they were innocent. Seokjin is a good man. And his friends wanted someone else to see that too. A special person to change his life for the better

“I appreciate your concern, Yoongi. But I simply don’t have any interest in dating right now. Look at this, all of this research! Not only am I matchmaker, but I am also documenting human behavior. This is a study, Yoongi. I’d like nothing more than to dedicate the rest of my life to research.” Yoongi gawks at his friend as he sits down and begins scanning the papers, taking up every single detail with his eyes and ignoring him in the process.

“Let’s go have dinner. It’s getting late.” The younger man looks down at his worried boyfriend as he grabs his arms.

“This isn’t good for him. The King of Love not having a partner? It’s a bad image, Joon, a bad one I’m telling you!” Namjoon interrupts him with an abrupt kiss. Yoongi blushes before being dragged away from the office, to a nearby restaurant. 

“He’s right, you know?” A deep voice resounds through the room.

“Taehyung? What are you doing here?” Jin looks at his younger brother as the man with wondrous grey eyes strolls into the office.

“I’m trying to convince you to get some pussy. Leave before it gets too dark. You know how there’s a curfew now.” His eyes darken as he takes a breath and grabs a folder from the desk.

“That can’t be the reason why you’re here.”

“You’re right. Give me some money,” Seokjin raises an eyebrow at his brother in disbelief. “Just kidding, I just wanted to see you again.” He smiles warmly and Jin sighs in relief. He almost panicked for a moment; almost.

“Aw, you’re so cute for coming to see my handsome face today, but I have to really work on this report, alright?” When Taehyung refuses to move, Jin stands up and starts pushing him, trying to get the younger male to leave the room. “I’ll...talk...to...you...when...I...get...home.” Jin gasps for air after he practically pushed his brother out, surprised by the brute force of the man. He was not aware of Taehyung’s raw power. He must’ve bulked up a lot more from the last time they saw each other.

He sits back down at his desk and begins writing.

“Love is not over until the two parties decide it is officially over. Even when broken up, a boyfriend may still possess some sort of control over his former girlfriend and they go through this phase of denial where neither of them want to admit that they are still in love while they are trying to move on.” He sighs before writing again. “The proper way to break off a relationship is by healing. People may use this time to talk to new people, explore their life as a single person, etc. However, it is never good to distance oneself fully. People are usually attracted to someone they see a lot, perhaps a coworker or classmate. But then they are less likely to be attracted to someone they don’t see very much. Distancing oneself from their ex-lover requires discipline, and harmony between the body and mind. They must be able to stand in the same room without feeling anything. Most issues arise in a breakup when two partners physically separate themselves for a period of time right after the breakup, but then when they see each other after that, the feelings come back. All of the moments and precious feelings arise and they both are back at square one. But then they must consider the reason for why they broke up. Was it worth it? Was it unhealthy? They need to know what’s best for them, individually, and grow from there.” Seokjin yawns as he finishes writing his 45 minute piece, setting his pen down and resting his head on the surface of his hard wooden desk. He closes his eyes briefly, seeing a flicker of light from the corner of his eye.

He sees it again, except this time it’s brighter, bluer, clearer. He stands up, inching towards the door that leads to the hallway. He opens it, finding a man standing directly outside of his room, one hand up, his palm facing Seokjin. Blue dust surrounds him, glittering magically and making Jin’s eyes widen in awe. He looks up and recognizes the face.

“Again, I’ll say it--you need a boyfriend.” Yoongi pushes his palm towards Jin, and Seokjin is thrusted against the wall, his head thudding against the wall as he sank deeper and deeper into the floor.

Seokjin awakens to find himself right outside of his office, except it’s a lot more different now. The hallway is cleaner, and there are more people. The first thing he notices is that the door no longer says “Kim Seokjin.” It says “Men’s Restroom.” What could Jin be doing in front of a bathroom? He remembers the weird flash of light outside of his office and then he woke up here. He shrugs and begins to walk towards the waiting room, where his next clients would be waiting. He doesn’t bother with changing or brushing his teeth; he is a very busy man.

“Mr. Ford, your appointment is scheduled for Saturday, the 14th.” He overhears a receptionist speaking. That’s strange, he didn’t recall hiring a woman on staff.

“Thank you, I will see you then, Linda.” Linda? He doesn’t know anyone with that name.

“Y/N?” He sees you look up at the sound of your own name, as you quickly pick up your book before running to the desk.

“You said they do therapy here, right? Like not massages, but with a chaise, and a person to talk to?” Jin listens in on the conversation, hiding behind a plant.

“Yes, uhhhh, let’s see, Dr. Harry is busy, and so is Patricia, let me see if-”

“I’ll take him!” Jin finds himself moving before even thinking. “Dr. Seokjin, I’m a local therapist working in...Kim Enterprises.” 

“Never heard of a Dr. Seokjin.” The receptionist simply blinks twice before nodding. “Okay, you can go.” She slightly winks at him before letting him walk you towards the direction of his old office.

“Um, do you work here?” You ask.

“Yes. I’m actually a matchmaker, but I also study human behavior.” He truthfully explains it to you.

“Thanks for agreeing to help me. I’ve just been stressed about life, you know?” Jin nods, as he guides you to a seemingly empty room, with a bed, a chair, and a setup of a typical Doctor’s office.

“Lie down here. You can tell me about your troubles. Everything is confidential and safe with me.” Jin reassures you. You simply give him a smile and follow his instructions.

“Let me see...so my day started out great but then my mom called me and told me about how she’s disappointed that she had a son like me and she wishes she had a daughter instead, and then my father stole some money from me last month, that was bad. And just a couple hours ago, I found out that my best friend died in a car accident.” Jin’s eyes widen as you pour out your feelings. He’s mostly surprised with the trust you have in him, as if you already know what kind of person he is and enough about him to tell him all of these private things.

“I’m sorry. On a scale of one to ten, one being the best and ten being the worst, how do you feel right now, emotionally?” Your eyes glistening with tears as you try not to cry.

“Ten thousand,” Jin wipes a couple of your tears before reaching into his pocket and handing you a handkerchief. “You have a custom handkerchief?” You ask him after realizing his initials were stitched into the fabric.

“Yep. I always carry it, it’s like my good luck charm.” He winks at you as you laugh, the direness of the moment wearing off as you speak to Jin. 

“I wish I had something like that. So, didn’t you say you were a matchmaker?” You try changing the subject, now focusing more on the incredibly handsome man in front of you.

“Yes, I am. I normally help clients get the person of their desires, confess, or sometimes, even mend struggling relationships.”

“That sounds like a bunch of jobs smushed together.” You tap your chin as you fall deep in thought.

“It’s the 70’s, so they have one person do all the doctor’s work.” Seokjin gives you another charming smile.

“Haha, you might be right about the doctor’s wor—wait did you say 70’s?” You ask, making sure you weren’t tripping on acid.

“Yes. Is there something wrong, Sir?” He asks, his tongue running along his plump lips.

“It’s 2019. Why are you referencing the 70’s out of nowhere?” Jin’s face turns as white as a sheet. He looks like a ghost. You watch as the poor man excuses himself to the restroom, and how he fails at trying to conceal his panic around you. It’s actually kind of adorable, in a way.

Meanwhile, Jin splashes water onto his face, trying to make sense of the situation. 2019. He said 2019. There’s no way that could be true unless--last night was not a dream. Yoongi actually did magic and cast a spell on him that made him come to the future. Jin was still unsure but the room he is standing in is proof enough, that he traveled in time. He now has to break it to you, tell you the reason he is actually here. You might run away like the others, but it’s his job to be honest with his clients. It may be one of the hardest things about being a matchmaker. His job is very much like a doctor’s, as he can’t promise good results 100% of the time, but he can make assumptions on the “diagnosis” and process reasons for failure. 

“You aren’t from around here, are you?” Your words astonish Jin, as he walks back into the room and closes the door behind him.

“What do you know?” You fold your arms and lean back into the wall, your feet a couple inches off the ground.

“I know you aren’t a doctor, and you used the term “matchmaker” which means broker in this day and age, but back in the 70’s it was basically a glorified therapist.” You smirk as Jin’s mouth opens wide and he gawks at you, eyes twitching.

“H-h-how…?” The only thing he could think of was: witchcraft. Except you whip out your phone and prove him wrong.

“I’m not stupid, you know. We have something called the internet, which allows us to search anything up.” Jin grabs your cell phone and presses the buttons, surprised that your screen was responding to his touch, and that he could do so much with just hovering his fingers above the keys.  

“A typewriter.” He gasps.

“A digital typewriter.” You gently take the phone out of his hands, laughing at his adorable demeanor as he recites the word “digital” like an incantation.

“Since you know what’s going on, I need to ask: when can I go back?” You look at him with confusion.

“What do you mean? I just figured you were cosplaying.” Your words astonish him, since he had never heard of the term.

“No! I am from 1972, and I work here, the King of Love? Ever heard of him? It’s me. I’m Kim Seokjin.” He tries to explain it but you simply wave him off.

“I don’t believe you’re from the 70’s.” You simply state, shutting him down completely.

“What can I do to make you believe me?” He asks.

“Vocab.” You snicker, knowing the man is sure to fail now.

“I have no idea what you’re trying to say. If anything, it looks like I’m the one who is in need of assistance.” His quality of speaking is very different from any other man’s voice you’ve heard, and it makes him sound sincere and more trustworthy.

“Look, bro, I needed a therapy sesh. Not some weird time travel shit. Now can we please--”

“That is not very appropriate, correct yourself.” His sudden command silences you, as you stare him down, a blush settling on your cheeks.

“Y-yes sir. I apologize for my use of profane language.” You feel strangely aroused, as Seokjin circles around you, making you feel slightly inferior to him.

“Good boy.” He smirks as your gaze falls down to his shoes, and you admire how neat it looks. Wow, it almost looks like an original pair. But you can’t get too distracted. “Maybe if you’re good for me, I’ll give you a reward?” You nod slightly as he scans your body, mentally undressing you with his eyes. He steps forward, and before you know it, his lips are on yours, pink, plush, velvety lips pressing against your skin. You’re burning up, and he’s doing this to you.

“Seokjin, please.” You whine as his fingers make their way down your jeans, unbuttoning them and sliding them down your bulge through your boxers.

“Please what?” He teases, repeating the gesture a couple times until you’re grinding against his hand, waiting for something to happen as you rutted against him lewdly.

“Please sir. Please make me cum with your fingers.” You mewl as he kisses you roughly, and his hands squeeze your ass lightly. “F-fuck.” You gasp as he spanks you with aggression.

“Take it off your clothes. I want your entire outfit on the ground. Right now.” You find yourself mesmerized by his authority, as you quickly obey his command, and you strip for him as he scans you. He was truly the most beautiful man alive, at least in this time period. You wonder if there are other attractive men in his time period. But then again, the really attractive ones usually don’t come around very often. He may be one of the exceptions.

“Sir...your fingers!” You look up to see that his eyes are filled with lust, all the compassion and softness gone. All that’s left is a lustful version of him, with hunger. Hunger for sex.

“On the bed, on all fours, right now.” Your eyes widen as your body moves on its own and you lie sprawled out for Seokjin, as your therapist stretches out your asshole with his long fingers. You shudder from his warm touch, unusually comfortable as he takes care of you.

“You’re such a good little boy, with an ass like this, you’re surely bound for great things.” What’s that supposed to mean?

“Um, thanks…?” Your entire body clenches as Seokjin adds a finger, and you let out a painful whimper as Seokjin proceeds to thrust his fingers in at an irregular pace.

“No problem.” He licks the rim, puckered and red for him, and he tests it once again, pumping his fingers in once more.

“Ah, fuck!” You cry out in pain.

“Shhh, it’ll be over soon,” He reassures you, kissing your ass before turning you over for a long kiss. “Are you ready?” He hovers over you, and you gulp as his dick aligns with your hole. You press another kiss to his lips before nodding, and allowing Jin to slide into you by lifting your legs up high and making your hole visible to him.

“Nice and tight. You’re so warm, wow Y/N, I don’t think I can go back. After feeling this ass, there’s no one I’d rather be with.” You were confused at this point, as well as aroused, very aroused. You thought this was a one-time thing, but Jin sounds like he wants more. You don’t care, though, it was probably in the heat of the moment.

“AHHHHH!!!” You let out the most sinful moans as he thrusts into you, his skin slapping against yours, making you scream from pain and pleasure. Jin moans predominantly from the tightness of your ass, and how despite prepping you, your body was still reacting to him in ways that were unexpected. You love this, it’s too good.

“I’m gonna cum, and fill up your ass.” Jin says, the filthy language making your dick erect once more. You never were soft with him.

“Do it, cum in my ass and make me your bitch, sir.” You smirk, challenging Jin as he flips you over, and changes positions. You close your eyes as he begins pounding into you, your ass in pain but it’s so worth it when he cums.

“Y/N…” He groans, pulling out and releasing the rest of his load onto your back. Shortly after, you have your own climax, cumming uncontrollably after seeing Jin reach his high. He kisses you passionately, wiping a tear from your eye. One more time, he slips into you as you climb on top of him. He watches you with a smile as you bounce on his cock, his balls slapping your ass you went up and down. Your ass is basically numb at this point, from being spanked so much. And your dick is pointing straight up, as Jin rubs it between his hands, up and down like how you were moving. You start moving quickly, now the two of you moaning each other’s names like madmen. You slow down when he cums again, making sure the cum filled you up for good this time. This time he continues moving, making you scream out in pleasure, loud enough for all the people in the building to hear. No other man has ever been able to make you orgasm like he could, you know in your heart that Seokjin must be the one.

“Did that hurt?” He asks, all of the lust disappearing from his voice and being replaced with compassion.

“Just a little at first, but it was fun.” You moan as he kisses your back, his plump pink lips leaving a thin layer of saliva as he does.

“You’re very tight, you know? I could warm my dick in there for hours and it still wouldn’t be enough.” You blush at his romantic words. No man has ever been so soft with you, sure you liked it rough since you were a guy, but you also had a strong attraction to the more feminine side of men. That’s how you found out you were gay. You dated girls that looked more like men, and then eventually had your first experience with a guy. Sure, you weren’t focused on finding a relationship at the moment, but tender-hearted Seokjin is the perfect man in your eyes.

“Mmmm, I have to go back now. I see the light.” Jin moves away from you unexpectedly, making your skin go cold as you wrap your arms around yourself.

“N-now?”

“Yes, but just know that I think you’re pretty cool. Any guy would be lucky to have you. Take care of yourself, Y/N.”

“Okay Jin. When will you be back?” You ask, hoping for the perfect answer.

“Never.”

***

It had been about two weeks since Seokjin left the future, and work was as dull as ever. After his experience with you, he couldn’t stop thinking about the future. How you could’ve possibly been pregnant after he released his seed in you twice (Yes Male pregnancy is a huge problem in this world) Yoongi and Namjoon hated seeing him like this, Taehyung even tried cheering him up with pink cupcakes but the only thing he could think of was his princess.

“He’s miserable.” Namjoon sighs.

“I wish we could help him.” Taehyung frowns.

“Maybe we can…” Yoongi wiggles his fingers and lets out a giggle.

Ten minutes later, Seokjin hears a knock on the door.

“Come in.” Even the enthusiasm is gone from his voice.

“Did anyone call for a therapist?” The shock on Jin’s face when he sees you is laughable.

“Y/N!” He runs to you, pressing endless kisses to your face. “I missed you so much, my prince.”

“I missed you too, Jinnie.” Your nickname for him makes him smile. 

“It’s been too long.” He slowly moves down, kissing every inch of your body. He looks up at you for permission before removing your pants. He looks at your lace panties and pulls at the band. 

“Dirty boy.” He strips off your underwear and leaves you to stare at your own rising erection, making your cheeks flush and your pores open up to sweat.

“Ahhhh, Seokjin.” You close your eyes as the slurping noise resounds, bouncing off the walls and letting everyone in the building know how well Seokjin fucks you. He continues rubbing your cock between his hands as he takes you into his mouth.

“Cum in my throat, baby.” He demands. Your body shudders and you let out another moan as you have an orgasm. Jin licks you clean and then you lean in to kiss him.

“This time, I’ll be the one who stays.” You say, yanking his tie off.

[sondepoch]

I: Neutral Route (Y/N)

Where Futures Begin

Life used to be simple for you. Peaceful. But the Savior had other plans for you, and in moments, she ruined what you thought was your one shot at happiness. Blinded by anger, you escaped the Mint Eye, but that triggered a series of events that would bring you further into the world of brothers Saeran and Saeyoung. And further into the twisted world of your love for them.

Neutral Route: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | ✔

Saeyoung’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | ✔

Saeran’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | ✔

MASTERLIST 

Home is a funny concept.

It's one of those words with a definition that changes every time something happens in life. Sixteen years ago, you were nothing more than an innocent baby drinking milk from your mother's breast. It didn't matter that she and your father wound up being abusive fucks, that they screwed your life over and permanently scarred both your mind and body.

That tiny apartment was home sweet home.

Six years later, way afterwards when your parents had died and left you alone in the world, you found yourself calling your orphanage home, even if you never made any friends. Because at that time, what else did you have?

A few years ago, the orphanage kicked you out. They said that since you were sixteen, they no longer had any legal obligation to feed and shelter you. You spent a week hungry on the streets before you learned to steal and fight. Over time, you had found a new home among the homeless peoples of downtown Seoul.

You thought that would be your final home. That you would either die of pneumonia on the streets or that someone would stab you in your sleep under the open night sky, and that you'd live a short life. But when he waltzed into your life, he brought you to what he said would be your true final home.

He changed everything.

"Saeran," You whispered out softly, saying the name of the man who had the spotlight on the stage your thoughts.

As if he had been waiting for that precise moment, you heard him knock at your door. It was more of a courtesy than an actual request for entry; at the Mint Eye, he was still ranked above you, but the boy always treated you with respect, as he had even when he first discovered you on the streets.

"You can come in, Saeran," You called out, and he poked his head through the doorway.

"How did you know it was me?"

"Only you knock, silly," You responded with a smile, patting the empty space next to you on your bed, "Come sit down. I was just thinking about you, actually."

Saeran closed the door behind him and sat down on your bed, his expression blank, "Thinking about me?"

You nodded your head. "Yeah, about the day we met."

For the first time today, you see his face break out in a soft smile as he recalls the memory with you.

You weren't used to the cold.

Miserable as your life was in the orphanage, they had provided blankets for everyone, and the heating was broken in certain rooms, but it was mostly functional. In mid-February on an open street, though...

You burrowed your arms further in your pockets and curled up into a ball with your back pressed against a wall, desperately trying to retain some of your natural body heat.

"Hey."

You didn't glance up. Being homeless was more uneventful than you had initially thought, and even though it had only been a week, you'd long lost interest in what you thought were the conversations of other people.

"Hey, I'm talking to you. (H/ c) hair, yeah, you."

You shot a wary glance up at the figure that was now standing directly in front of you. It was a man with white hair, staring down at you with an unreadable expression. He looked about your age.

"Y-yes? How can I help you?" You cringed internally at your stutter. Whatever this guy wanted, it couldn't be good, right? Should you run away? Should you scream for help? But who would help a hobo? Maybe it was best if-

"You've been through a lot of pain in your life, haven't you?"

That question broke you from your thoughts. For once, you had no idea what to say.

The answer was yes, it was so obviously yes. You had been beaten and cursed at and hurt, deep scars left on you that would never fully fade away. Pain was no stranger to you. Hell, you knew pain better than you knew yourself.

But you didn't want to admit that to a stranger.

"You don't have to say anything. I can see it in your eyes."

Instinctively, you pulled your gaze away from the man's calculating eyes, too proud to let him see further into your soul. He chuckled in response and bent down to your level, where you tried to break the laws of physics and further wrap your jacket around yourself.

"How about this," He said after thinking for a moment, "I'll give you my jacket if you talk to me, just for a little bit."

The offer was too tempting to resist. Within minutes, you were wrapped in his fur coat and had told him your life story, about your abusive parents, their deaths, the orphanage, you had even told him about your wistful dream for a normal life.

"(Y/N), was it? I can't help you become normal...because you're not. You're special, like me. You're...chosen." You glanced up at the man, whose name you had learned to be 'Ray.'

Ray looked at your confused gaze and continued, "You've been chosen for paradise, (Y/N). If you come with me...I can bring you to Mint Eye. To our Magenta...where everyone is happy."

"Joining the Mint Eye was the best decision I've ever made," you cooed, shifting your position so that you were lying down on the bed on Saeran's lap. The position was familiar for the two of you, and probably the most comfortable.

"It still took a lot of convincing to get you to join," Saeran pouted, running a hand through your hair, "I had to go back twice to get you to come here."

You rolled your eyes, another soft giggle escaping your lips, "Oh shush. You were difficult to deal with, too, back then. Remember? You told me your name was Ray."

"My name is Ray," Saeran said with a stubborn pout, giving your cheek a flick.

"Yeah, yeah, everyone at the Mint Eye calls you Ray, but you're really Saeran, aren't you?" You pulled yourself into an upright position and kissed Saeran on the cheek, "You're my Saeran."

The white-haired male didn't respond, a pink blush painting his features as soon as your lips contacted his skin. "Where are you going?" He whined as you began to get out of bed. "Come on, princess, don't go~" He murmured, using your hesitation at his favorite nickname to wrap his arms around your waist.

"I have to, Saeran. The Savior asked that I meet with her. I need to be ready for when she calls me down." You opened your drawer and rummaged through it for a clean disciples' robe, "You should get ready too. There's a Recruitment Ceremony tonight. Now turn around."

Saeran turned around with a pout, facing the wall as you continued to talk about the ceremony today, and how Savior had promised a surprise for you. A couple times, the boy tried to turn around and peek at your changing form, but you always flicked his head back in the other direction before he could see anything.

You laughed to yourself as he was forced to face the wall once more, complaining about how you were taking too long to change.

Honestly, your relationship with Saeran was one that no one in the Mint Eye really understood. You loved him, you knew that the day he brought you to the Mint Eye, when he stayed with you and held your hand as you took the Elixir of Salvation for the first time after your recruitment ceremony.

And if asked, he wouldn't waste a beat in saying that he loved you back. Every day, he'd cuddle with you and spin you around and hug you and shower you with kisses, but it had never gone further than that. A kiss on the cheek, a kiss on the forehead, but you two had never once kissed each other on the lips.

Sometimes you wished he would, just to prove that your relationship was anything more than platonic, but you kept yourself in check. He was your world, and the affection he already showered you with was more than enough to keep you happy.

That was the purpose of the Mint Eye, right? To share magenta and spread happiness?

"Alright, I'm done. You can turn around now." You smoothed out your robe, making sure it wasn't bunching up anywhere as Saeran picked up a comb and began working with your mess of a hair. Well, you called it a mess. He called it art.

"Saeran, did you just smell my hair?"

"..."

You rolled your eyes and turned to face yourself in the mirror as he brushed through the knots and began a fancy half-up-half-down braid in your hair. You watched his deft fingers, mesmerized. Hair was something he had always refused to teach you because he insisted that he would always be there for you to do it himself, so you tried to learn by watching him - but you could never fully replicate anything Saeran did.

"Hey, princess," Saeran smirked, using his favorite petname for you once more, "When do you think you'll let me dye your hair?"

"Saeran, for the last time, I highly doubt that the Savior would approve of me walking into a Recruitment Ceremony with rainbow highlights."

"No, not that," Saeran laughed lightly, a lovely sound that made your heart beat faster, "Just the bottom. Neutral tones only. I think you'd look nice with an ombre."

You hesitated, not sure whether to accept or deny his request.

"Just think about it, okay?"

Saeran secured your hair with a bobby pin and took a step back, admiring his work. "Almost done, princess. Wait here," he said with childlike excitement, darting out of the room before you could process his words.

You didn't mind, though, because it wasn't long before Saeran had returned with an armful of tiny flowers. You gasped in delight at the sight of them, each one tiny yet vibrantly rich, all a dark purple that paired beautifully with the violet disciples' robe you were wearing.

"Hold still, princess," Saeran murmured as he secured a tiny flower at each crossing of your braided hair, dotting your hair violet, like paint to a canvas.

"And now, I'm finished." Saeran smiled as he admired his work, and you did a little twirl for him, smiling bashfully when you noticed your reflection in the mirror. With the violet robe you had adorned and the purple flowers that surrounded your head like a crown, you looked like a perfect personification of magenta.

"Why so fancy today?" You inquired.

Saeran only gave you a sly smirk. "You'll find out. The Savior did call you down, didn't she? She'll tell you then."

"Hey! No fair! You can't keep secrets from me!" You pouted and crossed your arms, but Saeran only shrugged his shoulders, refusing to give you a straight answer. Figuring this conversation would lead nowhere, you were quick to move on, "What are they called? These flowers?" You asked innocently, twirling a particularly long strand of hair between your fingers.

"Aubrieta deltoidea. Flowers from a lilac bush. They're small, but they grow in large quantities, so instead of putting one big flower at the back or side of your head, I was able to put nearly a dozen small ones. You look quite b-beautiful, actually..." Saeran's voice trailed off at the end, a familiar pink creeping onto his cheeks as he glanced away from your figure.

"The Savior will love it." You said with a smile, taking a step toward Saeran and embracing him.

He was quick to hug you back, running a hand through the bottom half of your hair where he had let your soft locks hang loose. As you two pulled apart, you made eye contact, and for a brief moment, you were acutely aware of how his arms were gripping your waist and how close his lips were.

The moment was perfect.

You were dressed in a form-fitting robe that clung to your body like a dress, your hair done up in a way that made you look like a true princess; Saeran, in turn, was dressed in his suit, his hair still sticking up in certain parts from when you had messed with it earlier, but only contributing to his ruggedly handsome looks.

Your eyes dropped from his hair to his eyes to his lips, his perfect lips, and they were getting closer and closer until...

"Disciple (L/N), please report to the Savior's quarters. This is the first notice for Disciple (L/N). Please report to the Savior's quarters."

The monotonous voice broke you and Saeran from your trance, and you both stepped backwards, the moment ruined before any contact could be made.

"I-I have to...uh..." You stammered out, your mind still fried from the electricity in the air not five seconds ago.

"Y-yeah, of course, m-me too," Saeran responded, his face completely red as he practically sprinted out of the room, leaving you to answer the Savior's summon for your presence.

When your door had slammed shut, you took a final glance at yourself in the mirror. Your cheeks were still a little rosy, but it was nothing that wouldn't die down by the time you made your way up to the third floor of the Mint Eye.

You were ready to see the Savior.

***

"Tea?" You stared at the Savior with a puzzled expression.

You were nothing more than a disciple. Higher ranked than a mere believer, yes, but not ranked high enough to be worthy of a personal audience with the Savior, much less tea made by her own hand.

"A-ah, your offer is too kind, my Savior. I have done nothing to deserve such a blessing."

"Perhaps you would like another taste of the Elixir, then?" The sharpness in the Savior's voice made you flinch. "Tea, or the Elixir of Salvation, my dear disciple (Y/N)?

That was no question at all - the Elixir of Salvation was accompanied by excruciating pain, a blessing from the Savior but far less preferable than tea. "Between the two, I should prefer the tea, my Savior."

The Savior gave you a sweet smile that melted away your fear at being summoned. It was such an amiable grin, it was the smile of someone who contributed to the spread of happiness in the world. Your happiness, specifically.

"Thank you," You said, bowing your head as the Savior placed a cup of tea in front of you. She then sat across from you on a matching leather sofa.

For the longest time, she only sat there, her teacup resting on the table as she studied you. Her gaze was penetrating, you felt utterly naked beneath her green irises as if they were stripping each layer of your soul away to observe the trembling core that held you together.

"Disciple (Y/N), do you like dresses?"

The question caught you off guard.

You were expecting her to ask about your past, about your family, about your reasons for joining the Mint Eye. But this?

"I haven't worn a dress in a very long time, my Savior. From what I recall, though, I do think I liked them on the occasions where I was permitted to wear one."

The Savior didn't waste a moment in responding. "Brilliant. You will no longer need to wear those Disciples' robes. Your wardrobe is to be replaced with dresses...I expect you to be wearing one at today's Recruitment Ceremony."

You felt your eyebrows furrow in confusion. You were no longer to wear Disciples' robes? Were you being demoted to a believer rank? But believers had their own uniform...

"(Y/N), look at me," The Savior commanded, her voice holding authority despite it being gentle, "I'm inducting you into my Council. You're to report to me directly, now, so we'll be meeting at this same time every day for half an hour unless otherwise specified. If you have any questions, I trust you will ask Ray. He's to supervise your work...Is this truly news to you? Were you not already aware of this decision?"

You stared at your cup of tea, your reflection shaky as you settled the cup down on the coffee table, "No, my Savior. This is the first I'm hearing of this information."

The Savior smiled and laughed to herself, "I'm impressed. I had instructed Ray not to tell you, but I wasn't sure he'd be able to keep a secret for so long. Regardless," she pushed a brown package toward you, and you were able to see a bright violet cloth peek out from inside, "Change into this for the ceremony. You will be at my right side the entire time."

You nodded your head, taking the package into your hands while the Savior continued, "Work will begin in one month for you. By that point, your wardrobe will be exchanged to suit your higher rank, and you'll have a room in the renovated quarters. Ray has asked for his room to be across from yours, do you second that request?"

You nodded your head, smiling lightly at how thoughtful Saeran managed to be without even trying.

"Well, if you both think that your relationship will last after this..." The Savior murmured, more to herself rather than you, but the words piqued your interest.

"Is there anything that should ruin our relationship, my Savior?" You asked, the bold words coming across as ruder than they had sounded in your head.

If she noticed, the Savior didn't acknowledge the impudent tone in your words, twirling a blond curl as she took her time to respond. "Perhaps. We shall see. Report for secondary commitment tomorrow, and..."

You pulled your gaze up from the package to the Savior's own eyes as she smiled. She placed a delicate hand on top of yours, "Welcome, (Y/N). I look forward to walking this new future with you in our paradise. Where everyone is happy."

You smiled, not wasting a moment to complete the phrase, "In the magenta of dreams and hope.

MASTERLIST

Neutral Route: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | ✔

Saeyoung’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | ✔

Saeran’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | ✔

Word count: 3.1k

Notes: And that's the first chapter of my new series! I have a good amount of chapters prewritten so I promise that chapters will be updated regularly ;) My hard goal is to have 1 chapter out every Monday, but I'm going to push myself to try to update on Thursdays too so that you guys don't have to wait as long! :)

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Next Update: 1/02/20

I do not own the rights to Mystic Messenger or any of the characters within it.|