#Does it count as shipping if it's an actual interaction and was a joke?

[trickstertox]

I literally shed tears and got chills during the end scene and credits, how're y'all doing?

[yunhoszn]

save a horse, ride a cowboy

PAIRING jeong yunho x f!reader

WORD COUNT 12.25k

GENRES fluff﹒angst﹒smut

WARNINGS 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, reader is a city girl but i tried not using too many gendered terms, cowboy!yunho RAHHHHH, mentions of food, reader has a boyfriend for most of the fic (an oc) but there’s no real infidelity, reader embarrasses themselves on what i’d say is a few occasions too many, yunho is down bad, masturbation (m! and brief f! receiving), lowkey voyeurism, a really bad dad joke, horse riding scene bc i feel that’s pivotal for a cowboy fic, lots and lots of kissing, marking, teasing, vaginal fingering x2, oral sex (f! receiving) x2, multiple orgasms, very slight edging, praise, pet names (baby, babe, and princess oops), unprotected sex (BE SAFE PLS I BEG), cowgirl position, pull out method, missionary position, creampie lol, ending is cute but also kinda up for interpretation? i guess <3

SUMMARY when your grandparents decided to retire and take a summer’s long vacation in celebration, they leave their house in your care. at least you don’t have to worry about feeding the farm animals. but you do have to worry about the tall, handsome cowboy who does.

MORE AND SHE’S DONE oh my god, this fic actually pulled so much out of me i think i was the one seeing stars by the end.. 😭 but i’m so proud of it and the goals i tried meeting while writing. first of all the length??? insane for me. i can hardly get myself to write anything longer thank 5k 😞 THATS ENOUGH ABOUT ME THO,,, this fic was heavily inspired by the django performance if u couldn’t tell by the banner 😝 and i’d first like to thank the academy aka @kimsohn for encouraging me to write this and fueling my delusions ilysm maya <3 i’d also like to give a huge thank u to @bro-atz TYSM FOR BETAING AND HELPING WITH SCENES BRO ur my life saver fr <3 PLS PLS PLS REBLOG IF U ENJOYED!!

Growing up, you weren’t the biggest fan of trips to your grandparents’ farm in the rural countryside. 

You were born in a big city, full of all the glitz and glam. There were bright lights that lit the skyline at night, distracting from the stars that illuminated above. The wide open space was blocked by high towers and large skyscrapers. You were accustomed to the sound of bustling pedestrians and the obnoxious honking of cars in the streets. There was seldom an evening of complete silence. 

Everything was so tightly packed together, within walking distance if you didn’t feel like hopping in a car for a fifteen minute drive. You appreciated the insanity of the train station in the mornings before school, the metro so busy with students and working class individuals. You came into contact with numerous strangers throughout your day to day life. 

However, every summer until you were a senior in high school was a different story. 

Your parents wanted to keep you humble, you supposed, shipping you off to your grandparents’ for three months. Living in the city kept people too sheltered, too primped and polished for the real world. They wanted you to have that exposure, to experience what it was like to live without the fanciness of urbanization. The nine months out of the year that you spent in the city stunted that exposure, though.

When you’d arrive at their farm, luggage stacked like you were taking a trip to London or Paris, you felt like a glorified version of Regina George. Maybe Blair Waldorf. Elle Woods? You weren’t even rich like that. Your parents were nice, middle class people. There was just something about cow manure and the fear of stepping on a freshly laid egg that made it difficult to adjust to the setting.

It was most likely your stubbornness throughout your childhood that held you back even as you got older and more educated. You thought after graduating high school, the three-months-long “retreat” would come to an end. You’d only need to visit when necessary, maybe a week max. And that was true to an extent. During your university years, you only visited the farm around once a year. You were too consumed with school to even go home sometimes. 

And then your grandparents decided to retire. 

Their farm had supplied the town over with produce and other home-grown items for as long as you could remember. But they were getting older and no one in the family was willing to inherit the farm or its responsibilities. In celebration of their retirement, they planned a grand vacation to visit multiple countries. Their itinerary spanned an entire summer, just like your trips to the farm when you were younger.

Because you were the only one familiar enough with the area, they enlisted you to housesit while they were gone. You tried to get out of it, but they didn’t trust anyone else as much as you, despite your convictions about country life. So you reluctantly agreed, packing up your things to prepare for another grueling summer at the farm one last time. 

But there was a bit of a setback.

”What do you mean someone’s living in the farmhouse behind their house?” You shriek into the receiver, holding your phone between your shoulder and ear as you zip up your final bag. Your mom sighs on the other end.

”Your grandma just only now told me, apparently it slipped her mind,” you can hear the sympathy in her tone. “He’s this boy who grew up in the town and he’s gonna take over the farm for them on the condition that they still live on the property. She said he shouldn’t get in your way and he’s expecting your presence. You’ll only see him if you ever actually go out to the farm and when he brings groceries to the house.”

”Great. Another thing I didn’t sign up for.” You mutter, giving your bedroom a once over to make sure you’re not forgetting anything. “Is there anything else I should know before I get there, like a secret pet or maybe a family living in the attic?”

”Watch the attitude, Y/N,” she warns, and you shut up immediately. “Look, I know this isn’t ideal. You’re a grown adult and you’d rather spend your summer going out with your friends, but you already told your grandparents you would do this for them. It’ll be over before you know it.”

You sigh, nodding even though she can’t see it. At least you didn’t have to worry about caring for their farm animals. It was time to think of this as a staycation rather than torture. Sure, your friends were going to be living it up in the Bahamas for a week and your boyfriend was going to be here while you were surrounded by nothing but flat landscape for acres. 

Perhaps it was good for you that there would be someone else on the property. You might’ve started to feel scared being alone in the middle of nowhere for so long. Though, your boyfriend probably won’t be the biggest fan of you staying within the vicinity of another man for three months. You’d just deal with that later. 

The drive to your grandparents’ farm is actually more peaceful than anything else. Driving for long periods of time wasn’t your favorite thing to do, but doing it by yourself with nothing but your music filling your ears was a sort of therapy. It allowed you to come to terms with your fate for the summer and what it could entail, even if it wasn’t exactly what you had in mind. 

Seeing the lush greenery for miles upon miles as you neared their home evoked a sense of tranquility within you. If you kept a positive outlook on your situation, you would make it through these next few months unscathed and your sanity still intact. Maybe you despised the wide open space for years when you were a kid, but now that you’re an adult, you think you could learn to appreciate it and its beauty. 

As long as the guy living in the farmhouse didn’t bother you like your grandmother said, everything would be—

Oh. 

You pull up in front of the house, already thrown for a loop by the tall, very handsome stranger walking his dog back from the mailbox. His dark hair obscured his eyes, a bandana tied around his neck to match with the one hanging off the Border Collie’s collar. The two turn around at the sound of your engine, stopping in their tracks once you’ve parked. 

He brings a hand up to shield the sun from his eyes, watching cautiously as you park slowly. You don’t know why you’re so anxious, it’s not like you’ll be interacting with him much during your stay anyways. There’s something about his slender figure and the fact that he was so clearly dedicated to what he does upon first glance that it makes you feel shy. You suck in a sharp breath before deciding to exit your vehicle, wiping clammy palms on your denim shorts. You’re starting to regret not dressing a little cuter, a little more presentable. 

His features soften upon recognizing you, the pretty granddaughter that your grandparents showed him prior to leaving for their trip. The hand sheltering his face falls to his side and he gives you a warm smile, somehow warmer and brighter than the sweltering summer sun. You’d always been told not to talk to strangers, to keep your distance for your own safety, but you can’t help mirroring his expression with a small wave. 

“H-Hi,” your voice wobbles and you kind of want to die just a bit. “I’m Y/N. My grandparents mentioned you lived in the farmhouse out back, but didn’t give me a name or face to expect.”

He extends his arm out and you shake his hand, albeit slightly nervously. His eyes squint when he glances between you and his dog. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Y/N. I’m Yunho, and this is Yeoreum.”

The name is fitting for the red and white colored Border Collie, her tongue sticking out as she stares up at you with big eyes that almost resemble her owner’s. You bend down to pet her, patting the soft tufts of fur on her head and appreciating her licks of excitement. Yunho laughs, whistling to catch her attention. 

“Yunho and Yeoreum,” you repeat, a tiny grin on your face. “Befitting. Does she come with the property?”

“Unfortunately, no. She’s spoken for,” he teases, a pout on his features. “But she can visit whenever you’d like. Jokes aside, did you need any help moving stuff into the house?”

”That would be great, actually!” You scratch the back of your neck, lips pursing. Yunho waits for you to unlock the trunk of your car and places Yeoreum’s leash in your possession, making quick work transporting your bags inside. What was just supposed to be some light assistance, has evidently become him doing everything on his own while you stand and look pretty with his dog.

You didn’t bring too much with you since you didn’t have plans to leave while you were housesitting and your grandparents weren’t so old fashioned that they didn’t have a washing machine. Still, you felt useless allowing this stranger you’d just met to do all this manual labor on your behalf.

”Does he always do this?” You murmur to the Border Collie, falling to a seat on the lowest front porch step. She doesn’t give you a response (not that you expected her to), but pants happily in lieu of one, craning her head so you can scratch the spot behind her ear. 

“You’re a guest, it’s just good hospitality for me to help.” Yunho says as he comes out of the house, stationing himself in front of you with his hands on his hips, thumbs in his belt loops. 

“There’s a difference between helping and doing the work yourself. You’re just being modest,” you push yourself up to hand him Yeoreum’s leash. “But thank you anyway, that was really nice. I’m so tired from driving up here, so I think I would’ve collapsed doing all that back and forth.”

”You should go rest,” he glances at the house behind you. “There’s a whole three months of farm life ahead of you, so don’t wear your pretty little self out just yet.”

Yunho salutes to you and takes his leave, walking around your grandparents’ house toward what you assume is the farmhouse. Your eyes are wide and your cheeks feel hot, and you’re well aware that it’s not because of the summer heat. Your fingers clutch at the material of your t-shirt and you shake it to fan yourself. 

It seemed like you were in for a bumpy ride these next few months. But like you reiterated prior to arriving, everything would be just fine so long as you and farm boy went your separate routes and lived your separate lives. 

Yeah. Things would be alright. You hope. 

It’s a week into your stay on your grandparents’ farm when you bump into Yunho again. 

You’re toweling your neck after getting out of the shower, heading into the kitchen to make yourself another bowl of cereal for breakfast. So far the only downside has been your inability to cook a decent meal. Takeout or your boyfriend sleeping over were usually your saving grace, but without having either of those options, you’ve stuck to microwaveable things.

The sight of Yunho unloading groceries onto the counter has you squealing and nearly jumping out of your own skin. He flinches at your volume, knocking over the bag of rice resting against the vase in the center. Thankfully it was still sealed shut, if not there would’ve been a mess of rice grains all over the island counter. His clumsiness has you slapping a palm over your mouth to silence your giggles, not wanting to embarrass him.

”Sorry, I wasn’t expecting you…” You apologize sheepishly, folding your towel over your arm and placing it on a barstool nearby. 

“N-No, you’re fine! I shouldn’t have just let myself in, it’s kinda just a habit. You deserve your privacy without having to worry about whether or not I’m gonna barge in unannounced.” He dismisses your apology with a wave of his hand. “I’ll just put these up for you and then I’ll be on my way.”

”Can I help?” You waddle over to him, fingers laced behind your back. “I’d feel bad watching you put my groceries away for me after going out and getting them.”

Yunho gestures for you to occupy the space beside him with a small smile that takes solace at the corner of his mouth. The two of you do everything in complete silence, still not entirely used to each other’s presence because of the lack of crossing paths. As you’re finishing up, you start grabbing the items you need for your cereal. He raises an eyebrow at you.

”You don’t want something a little more filling?” He suddenly questions, jutting his chin at your bowl.

”I would love that if I knew how to cook,” you laugh. “Ironic isn’t it? The granddaughter of two farmers can’t cook to save their life.”

Yunho shakes his head with a chuckle, ruffling his hair. “Well, I don’t have to feed the horses for another hour if you’d like for me to whip up something better than a bowl of cereal.” 

“Really?” Your eyebrows furrow. Despite growing up with the mindset that you were above the farm life your grandparents tried to impose on you, you hated feeling like you were coming across as entitled. You didn’t want Yunho to think you were lazy or that you were too good. “You don’t have to do that. I can survive on instant ramen and cereal, I swear.”

”Y/N,” he says your name with a certain authority to it, and you’ve never loved the sound of your name coming out of someone else’s mouth so much before. “I want to. I’m not the world’s greatest chef or anything, but I have a couple tricks up my sleeve.”

”Okay, then,” you nod, taking a seat at the island. You watch in awe as he dances around the kitchen and prepares something for you. It’s weird, not in the sense that you feel awkward around this complete stranger, but because you feel the opposite. You feel comfortable around him, like you’ve known him for a while. It’s almost like Yunho has been a casual part of your life for much longer than a week. He’s easy to get along with, easy to mold into what you’re used to.

And that’s weird because you have a boyfriend. A boyfriend who cooks dinner for you most nights, but somehow has never made you feel this taken care of. It throws you off. That should definitely not be the case. How is this man doing this in one week and your boyfriend couldn’t in two years? 

The guilt settles in the pit of your stomach quickly. Sure, your boyfriend might’ve had a habit of forgetting important dates and didn’t give you half as much attention as he should’ve, but did that warrant the emotions brewing in your chest? Could that excuse this notion that maybe it was time to finally call it quits?

You zone out as Yunho finishes cooking your breakfast, too inside of your head to even fawn over the doting and slight coddling he was doing. Maybe you need to have a long conversation with Seojun about your relationship and where you want it to go. Perhaps it was a nice idea to invite him out to visit the farm, it could do you both some good. 

“Ta-da!” Yunho holds out a plate to you, the sparkle in his eyes effectively pushing out any thoughts of your boyfriend and the shame that was picking at you. You can’t help but reciprocate his expression when you see how delicious the food looks.

He’d made you omurice, the ketchup on top in cute squiggly lines to form whiskers and a little dog face. You accept the plate gratifyingly, your fingers brushing as you do so. He smiles shyly, eyeing you carefully while you take the first bite. You don’t remember the last time you had a home cooked breakfast, accustomed to the occasional muffin at the coffee shop near your house.

”’Not the world’s greatest chef’ my ass,” you grumble, pouting at his humbleness and his inability to be bad at anything. “I might just ask you to have breakfast with me every morning if you can chef it up this well.”

That melodic laugh of his rings in your ears, his elbows resting on the island and his chin in his palms. “I’m sure Yeoreum would appreciate a companion who isn’t me.”

“How long have you had her?” You ask, shoveling more omurice into your mouth. If you weren’t so hungry and so appeased by how delicious it was, you’d feel bad for ruining his hard work. The ketchup no longer looked like a dog, but rather a splatter of red all over your plate. 

“Almost four years now. I had her for a year before I met your grandparents. She adores them, so it’s no surprise that she likes you too.” He has this fond gaze in his eyes as he talks about his beloved Border Collie and it makes your heart ache. 

The fact that he has such a good relationship with your grandparents seals the deal for you. Well, it would seal the deal if you were single. Yunho is like the ideal man that every parent would want their daughter to bring home. He knows how to cook, knows how to clean. He’s adept around the house, skilled in yard work and other random jobs like fixing leaky pipes and installing new appliances. He’s gentle, but doesn’t mind getting his hands dirty. 

Your parents would never meet him, though. After the summer was over, you’d be back in Seoul and he would still be here, a distant memory. You forcibly laugh away the thought, excusing it as your response to his words and continuing the conversation about his dog. 

Perhaps this stay would be harder to get through than you thought. 

As the weeks pass you by, you find yourself becoming more and more infatuated with Jeong Yunho.

Cooking breakfast for you in the morning has become a regular thing. Monitoring him at the stove with sleepy eyes and a mug of fresh coffee in your hands has ingrained itself into your routine. Yeoreum called the spot beneath your stool her own now, laying there as her owner made your food. You think the transition from seeing him as just this comforting presence, this kind individual, to wanting something more was almost too smooth.

Especially right now as you sit on the back porch sipping on some lemonade, admiring the cowboy as he transfers bales of hay from the bed of his pickup truck to the pigpen and the cattle pen. He pauses in between trips, stripping off his flannel and tying it around his waist. He lifts the hem of the white tank top he’s wearing and uses it to wipe sweat from his forehead, revealing the toned abdomen he had been hiding from you up until now. 

You feel like you’re going insane, trying to pretend like you’re reading your book as you not so subtly gawk at his muscles straining with each bale he lifts. It’s crazy really, the effect he has on you doing his fucking job. You’ve made it a habit to sit out here and stare at him under the guise of various other things. Aside from being borderline obsessive, it’s horrible because you’re still very much in a relationship.

Most people would feel a hell of a lot worse than you do, like their entire world was crumbling between their fingertips just for finding someone else attractive. But for some reason, as time has continued to roll on, that guilt— that self-preservation— has faded. You’re dipping into another emotion that you’re too scared to explore. 

Yunho takes a break from his labor to guzzle down a bottle of water, his chest heaving up and down from exertion. Had you been paying attention to anything other than the view of the handsome man, you would’ve noticed the glass sliding out of your grasp, the condensation becoming far too dense to keep a solid grip on the cup. In the midst of drooling over him, your lemonade falls to the ground with a loud clanging noise.

Your reflexes are only swift enough to save your book, but the drink spills everywhere else and you wince at how embarrassing the situation is. You hurry inside to grab a towel before he can see the mortification enveloping your features. He seemed like the observant type, like one scan of your face could tell him everything he needs to know without a single word exchanged. Your fingers curl around the edge of the counter, blowing a raspberry while you attempt to regulate your blood pressure.

Through the window above the kitchen sink, you make out a confused Yunho, brows furrowed as he looks in the direction of the house. He worried over you entirely too much, particularly when you take into account the fact that all you did was think about him in manners not necessarily safe for work. Maybe you were just delirious. That was the only logical explanation for why you’re spiraling.

The high temperatures of the summer coupled with your surroundings are contributing to your change in behavior. Yes. That made sense. You weren’t crazy.

With a bit more reprieve, you’re able to grab a tea towel and head back outside to clean up your mess. (Not unaccompanied by a couple glances in Yunho’s direction, but that’s fine. Perfectly healthy even. It’s normal to check up on a friend. At least, that’s what you tell yourself, but who’s holding you accountable?)

“You know you’ve been making me breakfast every morning without asking for anything in return,” you speak up one morning, chin resting on the island. “Is there anything I can do to repay you?” 

Yunho purses his lips as he hands you your plate. “Nah, I like cooking for you.”

You try to ignore the way that has your heart fluttering in your chest, try to ignore the warmth blooming beneath your skin. Your eyes glance down at your food to avoid eye contact, bringing your chopsticks up to your lips. “Okay, well I wanna do something for you.”

Despite mumbling the words, he hears you anyway and smiles to himself as he takes a sip from his mug. He rolls up the sleeves of his denim button up, reaching down to scratch behind Yeoreum’s ear, the area that you’ve learned is her favorite. She pants joyfully, jumping on his leg excitedly. He looks between the two of you.

”Missy here needs a bath,” he says, cooing at her. “I was gonna give her one later, after I cleaned out the stables, but if you don’t mind doing it.”

”I’d do just about anything for that precious girl,” you nod enthusiastically. “Consider it done.”

This is how you end up out back, dog shampoo in one hand and the water hose in the other. 

Yeoreum’s signature bandana and collar lay on one of the rocking chairs on the porch, the dog looking so different without her accessories as you prepare to bathe her. You wet her fur generously, squeezing enough shampoo into your palm to lather it on. Compared to your childhood pets, she’s pretty well behaved.

She’s probably one of the only dogs who’s ever actually enjoyed taking a bath, sitting still for you while you scrub and rinse and repeat. You take your time with cleaning her, wanting to make sure you do your best as a thank you for every plate Yunho has ever made you. Usually, this isn’t something you would jump at the opportunity to do. Somehow, being back at the farm this past month or so has done everything your parents tried to do when you were younger.

It could’ve had to do with the desensitization of being here every summer for so long that it just never stuck when you were grade school age. But now, fully grown and experiencing this all over again on your own, with new faces at your side, it’s like you’re being exposed to something different. You can see why your mom and dad didn’t want the city life to become a dependency. 

You preferred the view of cabs and cafés over cows and chickens in the past, but now you found a sense of familiarity in them. You’d always want to go home as soon as you got here. Unlike other kids, you wanted your summer to be over as quickly as possible. You couldn’t imagine going home after this, though. This unveiled attachment to the farm you detested when you were younger could only be accredited to one person, and it was a little frightening. 

He constantly brought out parts of you that you didn’t know existed. This enigma, the one that emphasized how big of a role he’s fulfilling in the short period of time you’ve been here, drills itself into your brain every day. You knew you had to acknowledge it sooner or later, but it was just less of a hassle to act like it wasn’t screaming at you. Your fear of change was a more pertinent issue to ignore, so you let it consume all else. 

While getting lost in your thoughts, Yeoreum starts shaking and startles you, causing your hold on the hose to loosen, water spraying everywhere. The diversion has you losing your footing and slipping in the mud. You shriek, though it does nothing to block the stream that drenches you, your clothes getting wet. The universe decides it’s not on your side, because you happened to wear a white shirt. Why you chose to do that when you knew you were bathing a dog, you have no clue, but it was a little too late for regrets.

Yeoreum jumps out of the basin you had her in and runs to the farmhouse just as Yunho’s walking out, fresh from the shower. You forgot that he was cleaning the stables at the same time you were giving the Border Collie her bath, but now you’re starting to wish you waited until afterward just in case you needed the assistance. And well, you definitely needed the assistance. 

Plucking the tail end of the mishap, Yunho’s initial reaction is to laugh at your misfortune, but the closer he gets to the scene, the laughter dies out in his throat. Your top is sheer enough that he can map out the outline of your black bra. It leaves very little to the imagination and he thinks he might fall to his knees right here.

Since your grandparents told him that you’d be house sitting while they were away and proudly showcased a photo of you, he’s been enthralled by you. You had the face of an angel, or maybe a really enticing demon, he hasn’t cogitated it much yet. 

He swallows thickly, hoping to keep his composure as he makes his way to you. His hand is a little shaky when it reaches to take the hose from you, squeezing his eyes closed and switching off the water. He stays there for a few seconds to mentally prep himself for an up-close-and-personal look at you, even going as far as holding his breath. 

“Uh— you— um— you should go inside and dry off before you catch a cold,” Yunho keeps his eyes cast downward. He’s grateful that you don’t note how red the tips of his ears are, or how he thinks the sky is suddenly much more interesting than your face.

Your head cocks to the side in confusion. “What do you mean ‘before I catch a cold’? It’s, like, a million degrees out.” 

“The temperature drops at night and the sun’s setting soon. I’ll handle it from here. Yeoreum ran off, so I gotta chase after her anyway and I don’t think you want her to soak you more than she already has.” He’s insistent on shooing you away and getting you inside of the house. You huff.

”Okay… If you say so…” 

Reluctantly, you spin around and traverse back. The draft of the air conditioning has you shivering, rubbing up and down your arms as you enter the bathroom to inspect the damage. Your eyes almost bulge out of their sockets when you finally see yourself. No wonder Yunho was so adamant on staving you off like you were the plague. 

In your defense, you didn’t think the hose won the battle by that much. You assumed you’d just gotten everything above your shoulders wet, but no. You were practically doused head to toe. And the clear display of your brassiere under your clothes was the last thing on your mind.

He was stronger than you. Actually, he was a more respectful person than you. You would’ve gawked at him shamelessly if the roles were reversed. But at least you’re self aware! Right? The first step in recognizing that you have a problem, is admitting that you have a problem. That’s what you think they say in those addiction commercials, but you could be wrong. 

Wow. Now you were comparing him to drugs. Though, you suppose there isn’t that huge of a difference. Both had equal success rates in terms of getting people high and then making it hard to wane off their effects. 

You really had to quit it with the metaphor usage. 

It’s around midnight that night when the lightbulb in the bathroom goes out, halting you from finishing your bedtime routine. 

You’re exhausted to say the least, face damp from washing it and one of those fuzzy hairbands with the animal ears perched on your head. You were ready to crash out, but there were still a couple things you needed to do before that. It was proving to be a little difficult in the pitch black bathroom. The window above the shower was too narrow to provide any sufficient moonlight.

With a low grumble, you shuffle into your slippers and make the short trek from your grandparents’ house to Yunho in the farmhouse. You hug yourself when a strong breeze blows past, your flimsy t-shirt and sleep shorts doing hardly anything to block the cool summer night’s air. 

A piece of you feels a little bad for bothering him so late, but you have no idea how to change a lightbulb. You don’t even know where the lightbulbs are. Besides, you think you’d electrocute yourself if you made an attempt to do it on your own. 

You huff out a sigh and bring your knuckles up to knock at his door, waiting patiently for a response. He’s not asleep, you know this because he’s mentioned that his internal clock doesn’t turn off until two in the morning. Circadian rhythms were an odd concept, so to each their own. 

“Yunho! It’s Y/N! Open up!”

When a few minutes have passed, you try the knob. Maybe it was a bit… too presumptuous of you to enter his home without explicit permission. Yes, you’d known each other for the better part of a month and a half, and yes, you’d gotten very close in that timeframe, but did that constitute your actions?

Whether or not the answer to that question was a yes or a no, you really wish you would’ve just waited outside. As you venture further in search of the cowboy, you stumble upon something you shouldn’t have. 

Standing in the hallway on the other side of his bedroom, the door ajar at least an inch, you catch a glimpse of him on his bed. That white tank top you’re so used to seeing him in is between his teeth, eyebrows knit together in pure pleasure as he fists his cock with a purpose. His nostrils are flared and whiny moans escape from behind the fabric. 

His head falls back every now and then, eyes fluttering shut when he runs his thumb over the slit. He’s so focused that he doesn’t notice you, too entranced with chasing his high. Your lips part as you watch him fuck up into his hand, his shirt slipping from his mouth when he groans out a curse. 

Just as quickly as you become distracted by the sight of Yunho jerking off, you become aware of what you’re doing. You flee the scene before you get yourself caught, exiting the farmhouse as quietly as you can. The lightbulb can wait until morning, it wasn’t that important, honestly. You’re in a daze the entire walk back to your grandparents house, goosebumps littering your arms and the image of him in such an obscene state burned into your brain. 

You fall backwards onto your bed, staring at the ceiling in hopes of willing away the path your mind is beginning to wander towards. All you can think about is the sight of him so desperate for release, large hand wrapped around his dick, abdomen contracting with need. You know you weren’t supposed to see, weren’t supposed to bear witness to something so personal. 

It’s difficult to push out the nasty, inappropriate thoughts clouding your head. His expressions contorted into absolute bliss. His slender fingers could probably do so much more than your own, could probably reach places you’d never even dreamed of. And fuck, his dick, prettier and bigger than any other you’ve ever seen. 

Your chest blushes with heat, an embarrassment washing over you when you realize you’re turned on. You should feel terrible for intruding on Yunho’s privacy like that, especially without him knowing, but all you can do is want him more than you already do. That craving for something deeper, carnal, fans the flame engulfing you, dragging you further into the sick and twisted hell you’ve created for yourself. 

Yunho has been nothing but welcoming, kind and gentle with you, someone he didn’t even know the name of until last month. Someone who’s done everything in their power to repress this lifestyle for so long. And for some reason, it just comes so easily with him. You don’t feel forced to enjoy living on the farm. He makes you laugh and puts a smile on your face effortlessly. He has you wondering if life can actually be this simple. 

But when all is said and done, there will be somebody else waiting for you back home. Somebody who doesn’t know how to whip up omurice with freshly laid eggs. Somebody who isn’t even a dog person, who thinks pets are nuisances. Somebody who doesn’t live in the farmhouse behind your grandparents’. It’s a bitter pill to swallow.

If you touch yourself with tears streaming down your cheeks to the thought of the man who has eyes that resemble the night sky, well that’s between you and whatever higher being exists out there. 

You sit across from Yunho with bated breath, afraid that if you opened your mouth he would know your dirty secret. You avoid his eyes for the same reason, like one good look at you would reveal what you were trying to hide. 

Yunho himself was doing his best to pretend like he hadn’t masturbated to the thought of you last night. He liked to think he was good at keeping his feelings under wraps. It wasn’t like he didn’t know you were in a relationship, he’s heard you on the phone before. He stays silent as he fries rice in a pan and has some bread in the toaster. The only sounds in the kitchen are sizzling and the pants coming from Yeoreum under your stool. 

In the time that you’ve been here, never once has it been awkward between you like this. The conversation usually doesn’t stop flowing, rolling on and on and filtering into things that don’t pertain to the original subject. He rarely has his back to you for too long, turning over his shoulder to shoot you a grin every here and now. 

Both of you go to speak at the same time as a means of salvaging the morning from eternal strain. You stare at each other for a few seconds before bursting into laughter. Truly, you were two birds of a feather, or however that saying goes.

”Sorry, I don’t know why I’m being so quiet today,” Yunho says, though he knows it’s a lie. “I guess I had a long night.”

”Oh, that reminds me,” his mention of the previous night has you recalling the reason you went out to the farmhouse in the first place. “The light in my bathroom went out, do you think you can fix it for me?” 

“Yeah, for sure,” he begins preparing your plate. “Actually, I have this joke about lightbulbs. You wanna hear it?”

Your lips curl into a smile, already attempting to hold back your laughter. With a raised eyebrow, you respond, “What is it?”

”What did the lightbulb say to the light switch?” He asks nonchalantly, taking a bite from his own piece of toast. You’re failing miserably at acting like you don’t think the joke is funny, although he hasn’t even told you the punchline yet.

”I dunno, Yunho, what did the lightbulb say to the light switch?” 

“‘You turn me on.’” 

There’s a pregnant pause as the joke resonates and you can’t stop yourself from cackling at how stupid it is. He joins in, but mostly because your laughter is contagious. His chest swells with pride at his successful landing, feeling like he’s on top of the world just for bringing a smile to your face. God, he was down tremendously bad. 

Your spoon clatters onto the counter as you lean over, a hand clapped over your mouth as your boisterous laughing simmers into a giggle. Yunho leans into you slightly, matching your energy as he munches on his toast. This is what has you conflicted, so at war with yourself. The proximity should have you pulling away, but something about him always reels you in, despite the consequences that await.

And unfortunately, those consequences come to a head today.

“Are you fucking serious, Y/N?” 

You and Yunho jump back, whipping towards the source of the voice. Seojun stands there, his bags at his feet and his face crestfallen, disbelief written all over it. He shakes his head and turns to leave, you stumbling off of the barstool to follow behind him. The guilt you’ve only ever felt momentarily settles deep in your chest and deep in your stomach, though you technically haven’t done anything wrong.

Your abruptness startles Yeoreum and she’s up in a heartbeat, tailing behind you curiously. Yunho has to rush to stop her, but a part of himself wants to do the same. No matter how much he likes you, he’s never wanted to be the cause of your relationship falling apart. He wanted you organically, not like this.

”Seojun! Wait!” You call after him, holding up a hand to block out the harsh sunlight, tripping over your slippers. He scoffs. 

“What am I waiting for? You to spew some bullshit about how nothing’s going on between the two of you? I’m not fucking stupid, Y/N. I’m not blind.” He pops open his trunk and throws his bags in haphazardly.

”You’re being unreasonable,” you exclaim, rounding the car so you’re directly in front of him. “There is nothing going on. We’ve just gotten to know each other since we live in the same vicinity. Did you want me to stay here for three months and hole myself away with no other human contact?”

“He was just supposed to be the guy who lived in the farmhouse. He wasn’t supposed to bother you. That’s what you told me, remember?” Seojun is losing his patience, something that has always been the root of the problem when you’ve gotten into past arguments. “How do you expect me to react when I come to surprise you and see you being so close to another man?”

“I was laughing at a joke he told me. You’re making this a bigger deal than it is and blowing everything completely out of proportion. I’m sorry that it never came up that we became friends, but I didn’t do anything wrong. I’ve never once cheated on you in the three years we’ve been together and for you to accuse me of that is so fucking low of you.” You’re not going to cry, not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s won. He thrives off of seeing your vulnerability and you won’t let him have it. 

“I saw the way he was looking at you,” he seethes, balling his hands into fists at his sides. “I know that look because that’s how I used to look at you.”

A laugh devoid of any humor leaves you and he blinks. “That’s how you ‘used to’ look at me? When did you stop? And why am I just finding this out?”

”That’s not— that isn’t what I meant, Y/N—“

”No, Seojun. You did,” you glance away from him, nipping at the inside of your cheek. “We’re grasping for straws. We aren’t going anywhere anymore and we haven’t for a while now. That’s why we're standing here arguing over this. I just want to know why you didn’t just tell me.”

”I’m too complacent,” he sighs, breathing through his nose. “I was too comfortable with you and I didn’t know how to let you go or walk away. But you’re right, there isn’t anything for us to save, and it seems like we’re both ready to move on.”

“What does that mean?” 

“I saw how you were looking at him, too. You might not have acted on it, but you have feelings for him. I’m not gonna stay and hold you back.” Seojun unlocks his car, opening the door. “And for what it’s worth, you won’t be wasting your time.”

You don’t respond, instead humming and letting him drive off. Once his car is far enough out of your view, you go back into the house. There’s an indescribable emotion that hostages you, binding your wrists and tying you down metaphorically. You can’t seem to shake it. 

Yunho is still in the kitchen, sitting on the floor with Yeoreum to keep her calm. He gazes up at you expectantly and you feel the tears you were suppressing from Seojun bubbling up. If you weren’t going to cry in front of your (now ex) boyfriend, you definitely weren’t going to cry in front of him. 

With a trembling exhale, you force yourself to say, “I need to be alone.”

He understands empathetically, clipping on Yeoreum’s leash and leaving the house in the same breath. That in itself has you crying like a baby the moment you’re all by yourself. You hold your face in your hands, body shuddering with each sob you release. 

I saw the way he was looking at you. 

I saw how you were looking at him, too. 

You had a lot to think about, and everything always seemed to circle back to Jeong Yunho. 

A couple days escape you before you register you haven’t seen much of Yunho. After your breakup with Seojun, you really did need a bit of room to process it all, but you hadn’t realized just how much you depended on the cowboy’s presence until you were missing it. 

You hadn’t meant to push him away, if that’s how he saw it. A night of bawling your eyes out with a pint of ice cream and The Vow was enough to cure you. However, it appears that he thought you needed more, going as far as putting a pin in your daily breakfast ritual. You aren’t sure how to extend an olive branch when you weren’t even trying to cause a rift between you in the first place. 

Being with someone for three years may not seem like a lot, but that fraction of your life is stuck with you, like a thumbtack that refuses to come out of the wall. You’d had boyfriends before Seojun, but they weren’t nearly as serious. There weren't formal introductions between parents, no late night conversations that bleed into early mornings, no sleepovers and quick kisses before work. 

Of course, after a certain point, those had just become habitual. You weren’t doing them because they evoked a sense of love or care anymore, but rather because you were familiar with them. It was safer to continue the pattern of waking up and falling asleep to Seojun on the other side of the bed, the intrusion of sunlight and the cacophony of traffic outside your window, even if you didn’t really want to. 

And then you came here. 

Somehow, returning to your grandparents’ farm was exactly what you needed to break through that cycle. As much as you would love to attest it to your location and discovering the appreciation your family wanted you to feel for it, you know the real reason. It’s all thanks to a certain cowboy.

Yunho’s feelings for you run far deeper than he could’ve imagined. He doesn’t know the extent of what happened with you and Seojun, but he thinks putting distance between you is better in the long run anyway. On the off chance you’re still together, he wants to preserve his heart. He’s handed it to someone else too easily in the past and he doesn’t want to make that mistake with you if you don’t feel the same. 

But even on the off chance that you’ve broken up, he still wants to stop himself from falling further and harder than he already has. Without ill will, he doubts that you would give up the life you have in the city for this, for him. He’ll be perpetually chained to being a faint imprint on your memory of the summer. You’ll think back to the months you spent here and he’ll have played only a minor role. 

It was wishful thinking, too hopeful of him to presume this would lead to a happy ending. You were from different worlds, led different lives. It was time for him to be realistic. And that meant implementing the space that was supposed to exist between you from the get go. 

Though, you make it difficult when he bumps into you on the way back from the mailbox. Déjà vu, anyone?

Yeoreum is excited to see you, jumping onto her haunches to lick your face when you kneel to her level. You giggle, squeezing one eye shut as you balance yourself and hold her still so her weight doesn’t clamber you both onto the ground. Your fingers pet to top of her head softly as you coo, “Who’s a good girl?”

Yunho physically winces when his chest tightens at the sight of his two favorite girls. The word ‘distance’ bounces around his head like a pinball, reminding him what he’s supposed to be doing. He just can’t bring himself to walk away. Especially when you look at him with those pretty eyes of yours. 

“Hey…” You start, steeling your tone to ensure it’s even. “I’m sorry if it seemed like I was avoiding you or something. I needed some time to myself to figure things out. It wasn’t my intention to shut you out and put you on the back burner.”

”No, it’s okay. I had to figure stuff out on my own, too,” he uses his bandana to dab at the sweat perspiring on his forehead. “Did you sort through whatever you needed to?”

“I did,” you nod, standing upright. “Seojun and I broke up, so I had to sit with my feelings for a bit. We’ve been together for so long, I think I needed to remember what it was like to be without him, and then I realized that’s basically what I’ve been doing since I came here.”

”Oh.” Yunho’s lips form an ‘O’ shape, hands dragging down the sides of his pants. “I’m sorry— um— about your breakup.”

”Don’t be,” you smile, dismissing his sympathy. “It was a long time coming, honestly. We weren’t really in the relationship wholeheartedly anymore. There wasn’t a point in stringing it along, you know? But that’s enough about me, did you figure your own things out?”

”I thought I did,” he says, which is true considering he’d been mulling over what to do with his emotions subsequent to your argument with your ex. “And then I kinda steered off course. It’s alright, though, I think I like the new conclusion I’ve come to a lot better.”

You might be on the same page now, but there was an entire discussion that had to happen to solidify that. Following a very emotionally charged past couple days, you could do without that today. You’re both just glad that the air is cleared and you can resume building the bond that began forming the moment you stepped foot onto the farm, no restrictions whatsoever.

“Have you ever ridden a horse?” 

You glance up from your book, this time genuinely reading it as Yunho fed the chickens and cleaned up their coop. He towers over you while he asks the question, his shadow thwarting off any direct sunlight. Your nose scrunches. 

“When I was in, like, middle school? It’s been a minute,” you answer, making sure to bookmark the page you stopped at. “Why?

”Would you let me teach you how to do it again?” He nips at his lower lip, like he’s nervous you’ll say no. The truth of the matter is you’d say yes even if he asked you to commit arson, which is kind of a problem.

“That sounds fun,” you shrug. “What time should I be ready?”

”Uh, now?” 

Okay, so sitting on a horse did not seem this scary when you were twelve.

It probably had to do with you being fearless and whatnot, but also because you did whatever your grandparents asked just to appease them. The faster you got off the damn horse, the faster you could go back inside and situate yourself in front of the TV. They thought they were making progress with you, but really you were outsmarting the outsmarters. 

Sweat glazes on the underside of your hands, disrupting the security of your grasp on the reins. Yunho thought it would be wiser if he stayed on foot, guiding you and the horse around the perimeter of the pen. You hoped you didn’t look as afraid as you were, but you’re certain the slight quiver of your bottom lip gives it away. 

“You’re doing fine, Y/N,” he reassures, maintaining a comforting amount of eye contact with you.

”Am I? Or does it just seem that way because you’re pulling the horse?” You quip, gripping the reins tighter when it steps over a rock and you sway a little. Your tone is laced with sarcasm, something Yunho hasn’t heard much of from you since you’ve met, but he thinks it’s cute that you resort to violence when you’re scared.

You notice the quirk of his mouth and how he’s trying not to laugh at your terror. It pisses you off solely because his humor isn’t unwarranted. You are being a bit over dramatic. He unties his bandana from around his neck and tosses it to you. “So you don’t callus your hands.”

He’s too thoughtful, too considerate for his own good, but that’s what roped you in. Even when you met for the first time, he had you figured out. The longer you stare at him, the more you realize just how perfect he is. If you were still in school and you were tasked with writing an essay about the summer you spent here, you’re sure the words would flow onto the pages flawlessly, without skipping a beat. Your prose would be so beautifully written, that even the most notable authors would be envious of your experience.

The only downside of this was the fact that time was beginning to seep through your fingers. There was mutuality in your feelings for each other, that was almost unequivocal. You were both just hesitant in taking that first leap. The uncertainty lied with that goodbye at the end of August, the one that’ll hurt a lot more than it was supposed to. But you know that postponing your unceremonious declaration of feelings would just do more harm than anything else. 

One consistency you’ve singled out since coming back to the farm is this common theme of divine intervention, or fate, whatever you want to call it. Right when you’re on the brink of an epiphany, you’re always forcefully shoved into it, like a freight train crashing into its platform traveling at full speed. This moment is no different. 

Yeoreum barking at a squirrel on the other side of the pen scares the horse who’s back you were currently on. It bucks up and you release the reins in alarm. You fall quickly, but Yunho’s quicker, catching you in his arms like it’s been a childhood dream of his to be a superhero. He searches your face for any indication that you might be hurt, a hand coming up to cup your cheek. 

The eyes you’ve grown to adore examine your own with so much care that you find yourself melting in his hold. Your face instinctively leans into his palm, fingers still clutching the fabric of his shirt like he may drop you. 

It’s nearly second-nature to minimize the gap between you. 

You never understood what novelists meant when they described kissing scenes. And you think that’s because you’d never truly had a kiss like this before. It was as if they were all talking about this second, this blip in time. The sparks that shoot from where your lips meet to the tips of your fingers, the thump-thump-thump of your heartbeat in your ears, the sensation of never wanting to escape, never wanting to stop. 

Yunho’s hand snakes behind your head, tangling in your hair to deepen the connection. It’s hungry. It’s desperate. It’s too much. It’s not enough. Everything that had been stacking on top of each other was leading to this, the collision that rivaled the Big Bang. You whine into his lips, an invitation but also an inquiry. 

He parts from you just so he can catch his breath, his forehead resting on yours. “Can I take you inside?”

You nod fervently. “Yes. Please.”

He wastes no time hauling you to the farmhouse. His grip on your wrist is gentle as he pulls you into his bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed and trapping you between his legs. Your restraint wears thin, nimble fingers fumbling with the rest of the buttons on his denim shirt. You push it off of his shoulders, a bit shell shocked when you discover that he’s wearing a regular t-shirt as opposed to his usual tank top. 

“You would pull something like this today of all days,” you laugh breathily, untucking the shirt from his pants. He reciprocates the sentiment, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck while you undress him. 

“Is it evil of me to say I was sorta hoping this would happen?” He speaks into your exposed collarbone, nipping, sucking, biting the skin. Your appreciative sigh goads him, his tongue gliding across the abused surface as a form of relief. 

“Mm-mm,” you hum, shaking your head, fast to yank off his shirt and run your nails down his abdomen. “I’ve been waiting for this for too long.”

“Yeah?” Yunho flips the two of you easily so you’re the one on the bed now. He pushes up the hem of your shirt, pecking your stomach to your clavicle as he shows more and more of your skin until the fabric is removed from your body. “Can’t believe I finally get to have you.”

You involuntarily moan, completely untouched and because of his words alone. Every part of you feels like it’s lit ablaze, burning with want and need and everything in between. This ran further than just what-ifs and late night fantasies. Your relationship with Yunho tiptoed on the edge of something you’ve never known before, and that makes this so much more special. 

He glances up at you when his fingers reach for the button of your shorts, a silent ask for permission. You give him the green light and hold yourself up on your elbows, watching with your breathing trapped in your throat as he rids of your panties along with them. His hands push your knees to your chest, kissing your inner thighs and right around the place you need him most, but never there. 

“Yunho…” You warn, but it comes across as a broken whimper rather than an establishment of authority. He laughs and then his lips are pressing to your clit, a sweet kiss that has all rationality taking a vacation from your brain. Your head tips back and you fist at the sheets. 

He drags his tongue through your folds, swirling it around the sensitive bundle of nerves each time it makes its return. It’s almost criminal how good it feels to have his mouth on your cunt, eyes already heavy lidded with pleasure. He sucks on your clit at the same time he decides to insert a finger into your entrance, curling it experimentally just because he can. Like you predicted, it reaches that spongy spot at the crook of your pussy, brushing it once he’s sure he’s found it. 

While you walked in on him fucking his fist, the only thing on his mind was you. He was so absorbed in the mental image of what you would look like beneath him, wiggling, writhing, squirming with indulgence. His social awareness was at a zero. This replayed over and over until he came, his thoughts so vivid he could’ve swore it was real.

But this, the actual thing, was so much better; his forearm pinning your hips down, his middle finger curling and uncurling inside of you, his mouth working overtime to inch you towards the edge of that steep cliff. He moans when your eyebrows practically coalesce, bottom lip trapped between your teeth. You look so gorgeous like this, so disoriented all because of the bliss he was providing. The vibrations of the sound have you arching your back, uncontrollable whines running from your mouth.

“Feel good?” Yunho asks, disconnecting his mouth and replacing it with his other hand, ring and middle digits swiping across your clit with practiced pressure. 

“Mhm,” you nod frantically, eyes on the brink of rolling to the back of your head. “Feels so good, Yun… Just like that, ‘m almost there.”

That’s all he needs to hear, switching his hand and mouth once again, focusing on alternating harsh and gentle sucks of your clit, adding a second finger to pump in and out of your hole. The doubled change in stimulation knocks the wind out of you, the precipice of your orgasm so close you can taste it. You’d never been brought to the summit this early in the past, and you think Yunho deserves some sort of reward for being the first to do so.

You’d worry about that later though, because you’re blindsided by it before you can even conjure your next thought. You cum with a cry, tears springing to your eyes from the immense amount of ecstasy coursing through your veins, swimming in your bloodstream. Yunho coos at you, not stopping until you’ve relaxed in his hold. “That’s it, baby, you’re doing so well.”

The praise makes your head feel airy, like empty space unoccupied by anything. If you paid attention in chemistry, then you’d know that’s highly impossible, but you didn’t. The only chemistry you even remotely care about is the one between you and Yunho, the tension that has piled higher and higher for days on end until its crescendo now. 

You sit up to kiss him roughly, savoring the taste of yourself on his lips. He smiles into it, a hand raising to caress the underside of your jaw. He climbs onto the bed, scooting you up so you’re positioned by the pillows. It doesn’t take much effort for your bodies to swap, his back to the headboard. You clumsily seat yourself on his lap, a knee on either side of him and sighing wistfully when his mouth trails down your throat and sternum, slender fingers sneaking behind you to unclasp your bra.

He aids you in removing his pants, still simultaneously prioritizing kisses all over your bare chest. When you’re both fully naked, you take your time admiring his cock. It’s just as pretty as you remember, long and thick. Your hand wraps around it gingerly, stroking the length as you lean down to kiss him again. You don’t think you could ever get enough of his lips on your own. 

“I’m not exactly getting any action over here, so I don’t have any condoms,” he says into your kiss, voice no louder than a whisper. 

“That’s okay,” you run your fingers through his hair. “Wanna feel you anyways, all of you.”

”Fuck, Y/N, you can kill a man with those words.” He groans, nails digging into your hips. You giggle, but it’s interrupted by him sitting you fully, his dick slipping through your lower lips. A whine brushes his ear when the tip catches your clit, repeating the movement until you can’t stay still.

The closest you’ll ever get to Heaven on earth is Yunho’s cock pushing inside of you, filling you up so deliciously you think you could die like this. Your jaw slackens, hands coming up to support yourself on his shoulders. Even if this is a one time thing, something that never happens again during your stay at the farm, he wants you to remember this when you go back home. He wants you to recall this sliver in your timeline and never forget it, wants his name engraved in your memory like a branding iron.

Once he feels you’ve adjusted to him well enough, he pulls you off of him almost entirely, just to ram back in without mercy. He punches a voluminous moan from you, eyes watching where he disappears in you and reemerges. You’re tighter and so much warmer than he dreamed you’d be, but it’s perfect. You suck him in like a vacuum, as if his cock was made to be inside of you, as if you didn’t want him to part from you.

“You’re s-so deep, Yun,” you mewl, pulling him in for another headache-inducing kiss. “Don’t wanna stop.”

He exhales through his nostrils, mumbling out a curse when your walls squeeze around him. He wanted to last a while for you, wanted to hold out and prolong this moment until you were both on the crest of passing out. But you feel like a glove, your silk-adjacent cunt begging for more and more. 

“Think I might cum soon, princess,” he groans, tossing his head back and just about losing every ounce of his sanity when your lips start marking the column of his throat. 

His big hands move under your thighs, holding you in place so he can fuck up into you. The pace at which his cock drills in and out of your pussy has you seeing stars, eyes snapping shut and nothing but colorful spots decorating your vision. You were already abhorrently sensitive following your first orgasm, so it didn’t really take much to introduce the second. 

Your hips stutter and it washes over you like a tidal wave, your body shuddering and collapsing into his top half. He pulls out of you quickly, mouth stationed by your ear as he jerks himself off until he’s painting your backside. He moans, a lot like the sounds he was making the other night, and you feel the need to just kiss him again. 

Your lips lock sweetly, a stark contrast to your previous actions. Yunho curves a hand on your cheek, seperating from you the smallest distance so he can admire you. The smile that etches onto his expression makes you dizzier than anything else. However, the cutesiness can only span so long before the setting gives way. 

Yunho’s hand snakes in between you, his forefinger sliding up and down your slit teasingly. Your breath comes out shaky, your face finding purchase in the crook of his neck. He replaces the digit with his middle finger, parting your pussy lips in search of your clit. It doesn’t take him very long to find it, rubbing tight circles into the engorged skin. You moan into his shoulder, resting your forehead on it to see the way he works your cunt. 

“You’re so wet, baby. Have I not fucked you enough?” He whispers into your ear huskily. Yunho talking dirty to you is something you didn’t know you needed in your life. His finger slips downward, thrusting up into your hole with ease. He keeps massaging your clit with his palm, the stimulation making your head woozy.

“Mmmph— Yun, god. Feels too good.” You whine, gyrating your hips on his hand. 

“Is that right, babe?” He encourages, adding a second finger and increasing the speed of their thrusts, almost like you hadn’t been in this position already. “I can’t wait to feel this tight little pussy around my cock again. Gonna fuck you harder than the last.”

Your whimpers raise in volume, focusing on the way he curls his digits in you, applying pressure with the heel of his palm to the circles he’s rubbing into your clit. You can sense your third orgasm approaching, warmth flooding your cheeks at how embarrassingly fast he worked you back up. Your walls clench around his fingers, alerting him of how close you are. He pauses, worming his body down so his face is eye level with your cunt again.

Yunho does the whole teasing thing a second time, kissing and suckling the hot skin of your belly, knowingly denying you of your release. You grab a handful of his hair, tugging at the ends to spur him on. He groans, giving into you and licking a straight line up your slit. He inserts both fingers again, this time using his tongue to manipulate your swollen clit.

The heat of Yunho’s mouth makes your insides ache, the necessity to cum intensifying. You keen loudly, desperately, needily, the sight of the brunette between your legs so incredibly arousing. He sucks on your throbbing clit, his long fingers as deep as they can go, and you crumble. 

“Oh my god— oh my god— I’m cumming! I’m—” You cut yourself off, convulsing under him. He laps up as much of your juices as he can, coating his chin with your release. You moan as you pull him towards you to unify your lips, a mixture of your saliva and cum connect your mouths in strings. At this point, the sex is messier than anything you could’ve plucked from your wildest dreams. 

One hand trails down your body, using your nimble fingers to play with your sensitive clit when he starts fisting his cock in preparation to enter your pussy again. You use your free hand to scratch at his contracting abs. He hisses, propping himself up with one arm next to your head and his eyes trained on the way you finger yourself at the same time. You can feel his breath on your cheeks and being in this proximity to him fuels your yearning.

“Please, Yun… Need you back inside of me,” you whimper. Rubbing your clit with your own fingers isn’t satisfying enough, not with him here in front of you, not when you know how good he can make you feel.

“Fuck, baby, when you beg like that I don’t know if I can hold back.” He chuckles lowly. It rumbles from his chest, shooting to your core. 

“So don’t,” you rouse. “This is more than just a one time thing for me, Yunho.”

His eyes widen just a bit, your confession catching him off guard. That’s all he needs to line himself up with your hole, hooking his forearm under your knee as he slides in, stretching your cunt so perfectly with his perfect cock. “Shit— you’re so tight, princess… It’s almost like I didn’t just fuck you within an inch of your life.” He moans and spreads your legs wider. He bottoms out with a grunt, throwing his head back from the feeling of your velvety walls. A near deafening cry is ripped from your vocal cords. He nips at your neck, starting to piston his hips. 

His thrusts don’t slow but become calculated, speeding up and diving deep simultaneously. It only took a short amount of time to figure out what you liked and he used it to his advantage. Yunho hikes your knee to your chest, groping your tits with his free hand. He twists and tugs at your nipples just hard enough that it contributes to your pleasure rather than hurts you.

It’s as if he doesn’t feel buried inside of you sufficiently, because he decreases his pace to press and fold your other leg up, his hips ramming into your ass with each thrust now. The tip of his cock kisses at what feels like your cervix. That familiar coil begins to fasten again, keening with every drive into your cunt. The squelching noises would’ve made you cower in shame with anyone else, but with Yunho it turns you on further.

You moan, and he flattens his hand on the lower part of your stomach. Yunho groans, biting the skin where your shoulder meets your neck. Your fingers find your clit again, circling insatiably to get yourself off. 

“You gonna cum for me again?” He rasps, his hold on your legs almost painful. The backs of your thighs burn, but you endure it for the sake of the moment. You reach up and behind yourself, grabbing at the headboard in an attempt to match his force. 

“Oh my god, yes— yes yes yes yes,” you babble, the syllables blurring together like your mind. “Gonna cum so hard for you, Yunho. Keep going, please.”

His lips attach to yours, tongues tangling sloppily. The position you’re in is on the opposite end of the spectrum from how you were expecting this summer reunion to go. Had you not been made aware of Yunho living here at the last minute, you probably would’ve backed out of your commitment to staying. Deep down you’re a little too thankful that your grandmother mentioned him when it was too late to reconsider. 

“I think I’m in love with you, Y/N,” Yunho whispers into your mouth. 

You let go of the headboard, cupping his jaw and kissing him lovingly. “Me too.”

Your fingers speed up and so do his thrusts, perfectly timed with each other to shove you both towards your highs. You’re on the cusp of falling apart, arching into him to close the gap between your bodies. 

“Wanna cum inside you. Can I?” Yunho grunts. 

“Yes yes, please. Fill me up, Yun, want all of you.” 

He continues to abuse your cunt, pounding into you like his life depended on it. You sob, clamping your walls around him. He freezes, suddenly spilling into you. “Come on, baby, cum on my cock.” The warmth of his release and his words coax your orgasm, the fluttering of your cunt milking every single drop from him that it can. Even with his dick plugging you up, you can feel it dripping out of you and onto the sheets below. 

He rocks into you languidly until you’ve calmed down enough for him to pull out. His forehead is flush on your chest, rising and falling with it, both of you so spent from the intense physical activity you engaged in. You stare up at the ceiling with heavy eyelids, carding your fingers through his hair to soothe him. 

“You meant what you said right? About this not being a one time thing.” Yunho says hesitantly, like he’s afraid of permeating the atmosphere you created. 

“I don’t think I can go home at the end of the summer and forget the way I feel for you, Yunho.” You admit out loud. There had been a constant struggle in your head over whether or not to follow your heart, but as he looks at you with those sparkly eyes of his, you know your answer. And you feel a little stupid for ever considering the counter. 

“And what exactly are those feelings?” He pushes, folding his hands on your sternum and laying his cheek on top. You giggle, brushing his hair out of his view. As tempting as it was to divulge your theatrical journey in assessing your emotions, you’re too exhausted to stay awake. It would have to wait for another day. 

“You have the rest of the summer to find out, cowboy.”

© yunhoszn. do not steal, claim, or repost. 

[head-empty-just-ace]

MDNI: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

First time writing a character other than Ace. Hope I did Sanji justice here, tho...

Sanji x AFAB!Reader

CW: Sexual content (collar and leash involved, praise kink, body worship, and teasing) and established relationship

Word Count: 600+

The ship was docked on an island for a while. Just meant for a quick supply run since it was running low and the next island was much further ahead. You're now tasked to go around the town to procure the items needed with them. However, you stumble across a certain shop. One thing led to another and now— your company has drunken a certain potion that made dog ears and a fluffy tail appear on them!

Of course, the shop owner clarifies that it's only temporary and that it'll fade off in a month or so. He also mentioned something about dog-like tendencies??

SFW

Surprisingly starts to smoke less. His nose becomes so sensitive he starts to get bothered by the smell. But he's too addicted to fully stop.

Food becomes impossibly better?? Maybe also because of his heightened senses that his cooking becomes more precise and just insanely good.

Starts glaring at anyone who tries to get close to you. Proceeds to hug you from behind and pull you against him. Definitely got into a fight with Zoro more than once because of it.

Always drawn to your scent without realizing it. He could just be minding his on business but then he snaps out of it when he realizes that you're right in front of him with your head tilted cutely.

The gang teases him that he might start chasing after things that moved even by a bit but he surprisingly doesn't. You'll see him visibly restrain himself while huffing that he wouldn't actually stoop so low.

Already affectionate before but now even more so. He'll have you sit by the counter while he's cooking just to spend time with you and showers you with kisses and compliments. Will also steal you away somewhere private just to give you affection.

When in private, he loves it when you guys cuddle. A shiver runs down his spine when you scratch his ear and ruffle his hair just right. He'll hold you close and kiss you wherever he can reach.

NSFW

Things usually tend to get even more heated during intimate moments in private. Heat? He's always in heat for you. Even more so when you smell so nice and praise him for being a good boy for you.

You joked about it once. Now, he's kneeling on the floor with a collar on his neck, and you're tugging at the leash. Gotta own up for what you ask for.

He'd practically drown you in kisses. Licking, nipping, and sucking on your skin from head to toe in the most feral yet reverent manner.

You begged him to stop teasing you? He whined and coaxed you to let him keep going. Of course, you let him. Why stop him when he's worshipping your body like a devout believer to a goddess?

He wouldn't stop being a tease. It's unintentional— he swears. But when his ears twitch each time you moan his name? He just wants to keep hearing it as long as he can.

If you take charge and ride him, he's losing his mind. Fingers digging into your hips and thighs. Tug on the leash and call him a pretty slut— his cock will twitch needily inside you while his eyes roll to the back of his head.

He's not gonna cum until you tell him to because he wants nothing more than to please you. To hear you praise him with that filthy mouth of yours.

He's whining so loudly when you leave your mark on his skin. Hips bucking up into your cunt instinctively but he'll immediately apologize if you tug on his leash and warn him sternly.

The tail is insanely sensitive. Twirl your fingers around it and he'll snap. Sitting up to hold you close and pressing a sloppy kiss against your lips. His mind going numb as he fucks into you— was it mentioned he whines and moans so needily? He always does for you.

Once all is said and done, he'll curl up against you (he secretly loves it when you're the big spoon). Will nuzzle impossibly closer to you when you whipser sweet nothings to him before going to sleep.

~~~~

If you liked this and wanna read more, here's my masterlist!

[plantsjustwannahavefun]

"Izzy Canyon dwellers just want to turn him into an innocent victim who did nothing wrong!"

Actually my problem is that, in hindsight, Izzy didn't do enough wrong to justify the common interpretation of his relationship with Ed. In my book, the first time in the series he legitimately crossed over to villainous antagonist territory - someone you actually loved to hate for it even if you understood his reasons - was when he set the British Navy on the Revenge. That way he not only betrayed his integrity as a pirate by consorting with the common enemy of all pirates, but risked Ed's life too - cause, like, come on, that "plan" to send CJ to convince Ed to leave Stede was so far-fetched it barely counts as a plan. I don't buy Izzy ever looking at CJ and going "yep that seems like a smart, responsible, trustworthy man I could rely on for a delicate mind games operation like this". It was an act of sheer desperation on Izzy's part, but he still chose to do it. IMO this was actually worse than what he said to Ed in S1 finale. Although of course that was very nasty, too.

But the thing is, we don't actually have any info on what their relationship used to be like before S1. We were only ever shown, not told - and both times from Izzy's perspective: the first time in S01E04 during his resignation rant, which was very heartfelt and I'm sure a lot of it was true, but it's still one-sided, and the second time during his deathbed speech, which was, again, one-sided and this time biased in another direction - instead of airing his pent-up grievanced Izzy was putting most of the blame on himself.

Other than this, the entirety of Ed and Izzy's pre-S1 relationship gets extrapolated from one single episode, S01E04. The narrative itself seems to want us to see it as a microcosm of their usual long-standing dynamic, at least on the surface. We see Ed being depressed and suicidal, trying to open up to Izzy about it, and Izzy shutting him down and making him act like Blackbeard again. Since it's already clear that Ed and Stede are the main characters, we're primed to see Ed as the victim here and Izzy being an annoying, insensitive nag.

Except the context of those interactions changes everything. The context being that they are literally about to be attacked by the Spanish - something Ed knowingly brought on them with his decisive power as captain - and Ed is deliberately withholding crucial information from his own first mate and the rest of the crew, making them all think they're going to die and he isn't doing anything about it. Izzy wasn't just being a boring buzzkill not being excited for Ed when he showed him that ship model. He was actively panicking and trying to do his job asking Ed for orders so they don't all get slaughtered.

So, yeah, those are some very exceptional circumstances that don't say anything about their typical day to day interactions go when they're not in immediate mortal peril due to lack of communication. Was this the first time Ed ever told him about not wanting to be Blackbeard anymore? Izzy didn't seem very surprised, so probably not, but we don't know, and if Ed had confided in him before, we don't know how Izzy reacted - but I'd like to point out that this time he didn't ridicule Ed in any way, he simply pointed out that they were about to die if Ed didn't do anything. Does Izzy usually indulge Ed in the stuff he finds fun when they're not about to be killed? Again, we don't know, but Izzy's playfulness during that first confrontation with Stede in S01E02, and his whittling and jokes in S2 showed that he wasn't always as grouchy and joyless as he's made out to be. We actually saw him smile when Ed got excited about Buttons, too. Pretty sure if Izzy always shut him down about things like that, Ed would have stopped trying to share it with him long ago.

And, finally, there's one piece of this puzzle that doesn't seem to fit in with the rest at all. The show both told us and implied that Izzy couldn't let Blackbeard go because his own identity was too tied up in it, and because he idolised the glory of violent pirate lifestyle. But if that's the case, then why did he have no problem with Ed wanting to retire? Izzy literally gave him an enthusiastic thumbs up on the whole "kill Stede and steal his identity so he could live the rest of his life as a rich aristocrat" plan. If Izzy only admired Ed as a pirate, and was so hell-bent on keeping the Blackbeard persona alive, why was he ok with Ed retiring? How does this square up with the idea that Izzy had been keeping Ed chained to piracy?

I'd honestly hoped we would get some flashbacks of the two of them in S2, and then S3 before that hope died too, because there's still so much we're missing.

[autumnteawithfriends]

I despise CherriSnake and here’s why

Before we begin, something I want to clarify is that I don’t care if you ship or don’t ship CherriSnake. You do you, I’m not here to stop you and neither is this post. I just personally wanted to make a post on why I absolutely hate this ship.

Also, props to @cagneyblooms for helping me come up with some of the points.

REASON#1 - They don’t really work as partners for me

This is more of a personal reason to me, but CherriSnake is one of those ships to me where it feels like they absolutely can’t work out as a couple. Since the pilot is somewhat treated as canon in the show, they make no sense considering the fact that Pentious and Cherri absolutely despised eachother in the pilot. Both of them were locked in a turf war against one another and that hatred was mutual. Yet the show does a complete 180 from that and makes Pentious have this crush on Cherri out of nowhere, likely because Vivziepop wanted a straight HH ship and instead of deciding to just make a different character to pair Pentious/Cherri with or just make a entirely new ship. She just looked at the fandom, saw that CherriSnake was somewhat popular, and decided to make it canon last minute. CherriSnake during 2019-2023 just felt like a joke ship to me or something shippers who ship every character together would make. I mean, CherriSnake practically falls into a TON of popular tropes (Enemies/Rivals to Lovers, Angel x Demon, Girlboss x Goofball, probably way more) I’m not dissing this tropes, I even do these tropes myself with OC x Canon pairings I make. It’s just that CherriSnake felt rushed and last minute.

REASON#2 - They lack chemistry and actual interaction

To be fair, I partially put the blame on both Amazon Prime and Vivziepop for this. Amazon Prime because they only gave HH 8 episodes to really show its story, but I also blame Vivziepop for this. Because not only did she waste whatever time she had with those 8 episodes by showing us useless filler with the Vees and The Overlords instead of actually delving into the main sinners and why they’re in Hell. But she also crammed WAY too much content into 8 episodes instead of giving HH proper pacing.

But onto CherriSnake chemistry, Cherri and Pentious’s regular interactions pretty much prove to me that Vivziepop understands nothing about how actual relationships work and just make their dynamic one sided on Pentious’s part. Let’s be honest, Cherri does not reciprocate Pentious in the slightest considering the stuff she does to him. The shitty two dicks joke aside, not only was the kiss between her and Pentious forced because it was only a “heat of the moment” deal, but she also did this.

(Source: TV Tropes under Sir Pentious’s page)

I get that Cherri isn’t exactly a nicest sinner demon in Hazbin, but this combined with the two dicks joke and the kiss she and Pentious share makes her seem incredibly shallow (which she is considering how rushed this ship is in general) If Hazbin Hotel was like Bojack Horseman like some people claim it is, either these would happen.

A. Cherri realizes she was shallow for only wanting Pentious for his two dicks and never really considered how he felt, either leading Cherri and Pentious staying friends or Cherri breaking it off with him.

B. Pentious calls out Cherri for being shallow, thus giving both him and Cherri some development.

C. Cherri realizes that she only liked the kiss because it was less of them being in love and more of a heat of the moment adrenaline rush.

Or literally anything else. Cherri and Pentious never have a genuine interaction that either doesn’t make Cherri seem incredibly shallow or isn’t comedic.

As for the final reason, it may be a bit of a stretch, but I still think it counts.

REASON#3 - It’s borderline pedophillia

Again, props to @cagneyblooms for making me realize this point. Also, because pedophillia is very much a serious topic + I don’t want to throw the term around. I’ll be providing more evidence than the other two.

I’m not kidding, CherriSnake (atleast to me) becomes borderline pedophillic once you think about the lore Vivziepop spoon feeds us through her livestreams instead of diving deep into it. According to Vivziepop, Sir Pentious was in his mid 40s (best speculated to be 45) when he died while Cherri died in her early 20s, already raising a few eyebrows.

Yeah, this is already gross enough, but something that makes the age gap worse is the difference timeframe in which these two died in. Sir Pentious was confirmed to have died in 1888 London and Cherri Bomb died somewhere in the 80s. So not only was Pentious A GROWN ASS MAN WHO ALREADY HAD LIVED AND DIED BEFORE CHERRI WAS BORN, CHERRI WAS LIKELY BARELY A ADULT SINCE SHE WAS EITHER IN HER EARLY 20s AT BEST OR BARELY IN HER 20s AT WORST! This is also mentioning that Sir Pentious is also technically older than Cherri in Hell because depending on what exact year Cherri died in, Sir Pentious had either already spent nearly 100 years in Hell or he actually spent 100 years exactly in Hell when Cherri died. The only thing that really softens blow is that Pentious got a crush on her when they were both in Hell, meaning Cherri was technically still in her 20s in a way.

To conclude this, I hate CherriSnake. It’s one of the few Canon ships I actually despise since I either don’t care for Canon ships or I actually ship Canon couples as well. Even if Vivziepop wasn’t a terrible person, she’s still a really fucking awful writer who can’t stick to anything at all and is more concerned about her shitty Stoltliz soap opera rather than writing a good story. Writers like Vivziepop are the reason why research makes a good story.

[inchidentally]

x. com/ln4norris/status/1785872795974652036 thoughts on this?

this is one of those instances where so many ppl have this wildly different take on smth and honestly myself and the moots I talk to didn't even… realize it could be taken any other way ??

I think part of this is also bc some ppl are pretty new to landoscar so I'll put more effort into replying to this than I normally would bc I genuinely didn't and still don't see this as being some dramatic thing that Lando said!

but for better reference, I've actually compiled the full clips from the person who posted them in their stories originally with two clips of Lando and Carlos separately saying how their F1 buddies are NOT the same as their actual private life friendships bc I think it helps contextualize what Lando is talking about here.

I think the funniest misinterpretation about this is ppl taking these Shared Activities as indicating deep and meaningful friendships and that therefore Lando doesn't have anything deep or meaningful with Oscar… just bc no padel or golf ?? lasjfgsjla

"we don't do as many things away from the circuit [as Lando does with other drivers like Carlos and Max]"

like. in what world is that him saying anything but … that ?? it's not deep ??

esp when it corroborates what Lando said in that clip about how his relationships with the drivers he’s friends with depend on shared activities and that they’re not his actual close friends the way Max F and all his buddies in London are (he even says in the video above that his friends are mostly in London not Monaco!) and Carlos corroborated the same thing!

so for one thing, the reason he's fine with saying this is because he doesn't see it as some huge thing that he doesn't happen to have with Oscar ?? bc it's not some deep meaningful thing that he hangs with other drivers sometimes outside of F1! they're buddies sure but they're not his private life friends. that's normal and healthy !!

but the other thing that's honestly funny is ppl deciding to misinterpret this as either Lando being a callous asshole to Oscar or again, taking rpf too seriously and thinking "yaayyy I can pretend Lando is secretly in love with/has a deep bond with/is fucking [insert driver here] and hates Oscar"

and like Carlos, Daniel and Lando literally have identical bromance formats with each other and other drivers which makes the whole rpf competition thing so hilariously dumb?? they all do the common hobbies thing, the playing gay for laughs thing, the posting every interaction to social media for fan engagement thing, the roughhousing physicality thing - all with at least 3-5 other drivers. and when you count up the like rpf ship points that these people use to say which one is "better" then m@xiel shits all the way on dand0 for bonding and being mutually invested and charl0s absolutely dunks on carland0 for gay physicality and mutual affection and norrib0n comes along and reminds ppl that Alex remains a hero to Lando and Lando still gets starry eyes over him in a way he never will for Carlos or Daniel etc etc etcccc

all of which still end up paling in comparison to the actual, deep relationships these guys have with their girlfriends and with their private life friends! the idea that Lando will ever love a male friend the way he does Max F is like going to a rakes lying down park and stamping around to get hit in the face repeatedly like why would you bother to be that stupid bffr

[sidenote that I am SO glad for Lando to say smth like this video if it drives those fans away from landoscar. no joke. we do NOT want them here and we do NOT want them treating Lily the way they treat Heidi and Rebecca and treated Luisa and Isa. please stay in carland0 and dand0 and whatever else with that l@rry stylins0n misogynistic, closeted gay men as a fetish shit]

the reality is that if Lando was just meh about Oscar and disinterested in spending any more time with him than he needed to then why would he even point this out ? why would he bother to point out - with even kind of an exasperated pout in his voice - that Oscar isn't interested in anything they can spend time together doing if he… doesn't want to spend time with Oscar anyway ??

exactly asfgsajgflagf

and for ppl who are new, literally the reason a lot of us are so Compelled is precisely bc Lando and Oscar don't follow the cookie cutter bromance format and their respect and interest in each other doesn't rely on common activities or playing into fan PR. they're literally the anti-PR partnership not bc they hate each other or have drama but bc every member of their team says how much they've bonded as drivers and that every time we get content of them together they're beaming at each other and seem to have all these cute little in-jokes and softness. but none of it is for show! none of it jumps off the screen or has them knowingly trying to bait fans!

their entire dynamic is for their own benefit alone and both of them have said how happy they are to have their future together settled for so many years. and the whole vibe of landoscar fandom is that we were all fine with the idea of them just being work friends! then Silverstone happened and the Austin filming happened etc etc. and now we're all watching it and writing fic and making gifs and edits bc landoscar is gentle and gradual and sweet and boyish and genuine.

it's been this gradual little dance between two guys who each have a unique preoccupation with each other but they don't do any of the usual blokey things to force a friendship. Lando's fixations on Oscar's name and his hair and how he's taller and bigger than him and the weirdly horny verbal burps that come out aren't something he does with any of his other driver friends. Oscar is so chilled about other drivers and doesn't even do the whole hero worship thing, yet his internet history about Lando is it's own extremely unique thing that has carried over as his teammate in a way he's never been about another driver.

they don't roughhouse or make fun of each other or push each other's buttons for fun and they don't even raise their voices around each other ?? everything is so gentle and not macho at all ! Lando strangely feels awkward and looks right at Oscar to explain why he diverted to visit Daniel with Martin as a spontaneous unplanned thing even though Oscar wasn't even in Australia anymore when that happened and Oscar didn't even feel like it needed to be explained! Oscar learns and adapts to what Lando feels sensitive about and needs some help with and sometimes even keeps an eye out for his physical well being.

and I think something that has kind of been missed entirely is that the context for the latest video was Lando saying how he's always been the youngest or least experienced in a driver friendship dynamic and - as he's said many times before! - he finds the idea of having to be the older experienced leader not at all comfortable!

which leads to smth a lot of us have always found the sweetest part of the 814 dynamic, the fact that Lando realized early on that he doesn't have to Try with Oscar and he can just exist in his feelings with Oscar and Oscar does not push and he does not get annoyed or weird or offended! and that means that Lando is yes, free to be the full range of bratty to sweetheart and everything in between bc Oscar will just smile at him and be patient. but !! it also means that unless Lando uses his words or takes charge, Oscar will remain in that quiet patient position in their dynamic and won't presume to take charge.

so Lando wishes Oscar would be the older one and take the initiative and now he's in a pickle where he's saying they only don't hang out bc Oscar won't share an interest with him and you can see for a second he knows what he's saying isn't true bc they all talked on a fan stage about a padel competition between Williams and McLaren and he remembers inviting Oscar out to golf at the last minute one time and that Oscar only declined bc he doesn't know how to play and didn't want to hold everyone up but ugh !!! like that is SUCH a Lando situation to get himself into and to somehow be mad at Oscar about <3<3

but ever since Oscar arrived with very little fanfare and decided not to draw too much attention to himself until literally recently, when the Alpine drama was finally firmly behind him, he's been so intent on showing his deference to Lando and even as lately as the place swap in Melbourne that he fully understands the driver dynamics within the team and respects it. and the thing is that Oscar genuinely is so happy to wait and see what Lando wants or needs that it would never remotely occur to him to push or insert himself into Lando's social life unless invited!

so yes, being a fan of landoscar is just like this! it'll never be the PR friendly bromance or the l@rry stylins0n conspiracy theory.

and yep weirdly enough for how so many ppl are taking it, this video for us is so sweet bc Lando's publicly muddling around about why won't Oscar do a mutual interest with him but also already having admitted that he's not good at taking the role that he needs to and pulling Oscar along into his social life the way Carlos, Daniel, Max etc have always done with him - all while Oscar is oblivious and doesn't think anything is even wrong ! and oh boy, Oscar being too literal and not being the type to be pushy ends up assuming he's doing the right thing by not trying to invite himself along to anything with Lando!

like, this is how it goes! if you want the whole bromance catering precisely to your ship needs OR you're hunting for huge drama and simmering resentments that turn into huge drama then this is NOT the place for you lasfgalfg

don't get me wrong I eat up the bromances and the doomed drama partnerships too but I just don't find them worth writing all these stupid posts about like I do w landoscar bc those partnerships are what you see is what you get. apparently what gets me going is The Yearning and The Miscommunication.

[uyuartik]

bad idea, right? (obi wan kenobi x f!reader) part iii

tags: angst, fluff, arguments, period typical misogyny (of course not from obi wan), just overall wealthy pricks being little shits, the trope of THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED, but not really, do you believe in second chances (i don't) (💀), little smut compared to the rest because originally there was no smut in this (but i HAD TO use that idea), REPOST because i fucked up in the first place

a/n: welcome back for the finale!

well, i can't think of anything to say except this has been a blast for me, and i'm so happy that there are those who enjoys this madness as much as i do. hope you like the ending too. thank you all!

likes and reblogs are very much appreciated, and i can’t wait to hear your opinions! i am also crossposting on ao3, feel free to interact there as well.

part one | part two | part three | ao3

enjoy!!!

word count: 8.3K

chapter three: fuck it it's fine!

You don’t board that ship. A slight sickness you excuse, then spend your days sulking at home, still covered by the expanse of your lies. It is not totally untrue, though. You did really wake up with a swollen throat, and that put the integrity of your health during the journey at risk, thus with great grief, canceled the plans. Nobody knew that you’d not even mention the symptom on any other day, just requesting some honey tea and hardly noticing it disappear in the morrow. And it exactly worked out as predicted, more so, without leaving its discomfort for remorse. But after that, the hours stretched out each day, like you were living in a different plane where you were not welcomed. Perhaps you actually weren’t, for if you followed your fate, you’d be eating different foods, and walking foreign corridors. In an attempt to run away from that feeling, you try to socialize just a little, attending even the most dull tea parties. Also, your preference of company has to be specialized now, and that proves difficult sometimes.

So, that’s exactly why you indeed sulk at home, even though all your efforts.

But not tonight. 

Then again, perhaps you should've.

His presence has nothing to do with it, to be perfectly clear. On the contrary, he makes it a little endurable. The forced small talk and empty eyes you once feared dearly are not the case, even after your last encounter. Of course, there's a little awkwardness, an uncertainty about where the line of intimacy now stands, shadows of anger and disappointment still darkening the atmosphere, but the overall sensation comes down to longing. You both lost a great friendship, cast it aside in a blink, but your souls don't accept this new arrangement that quickly, trying to fall into the familiar rhythm once more each time you feel your walls break. You don't allow it, neither does he. Yet, it is about the only thing that turns this night into a not complete waste of time. Even a pleasant one, you'd dare say. 

If it weren't for literally everything else except this.

The hushed little uninformed jokes start during the dinner. It is the lord of the house that says them, to his close circle, barely hanging onto etiquette he had glimpses of. As minutes tick and glasses of wine roll, that glimpse is gone, and even in your seat at the end of the table, you hear him clearly. The pressed lips and masked mimics pretending not to be aware of it soon become apparent on every face, excluding you and Lord Kenobi. You glower the first time another of the guests feels confident enough to make his dirty contribution to the subject. Typical, you try to stay calm, tapping your fingers on the table. The world is filled with the likes of him, and the last thing they deserve is your attention. The reflex doesn’t go unnoticed by him, and he sends a sympathetic smile, showing that you’re not alone and accepting this invitation was a most regretful choice. He uses a few retorts to close the deal, let the dinner continue in different matters- or in silence, that would be fantastic indeed, but his smart wit and slight intimidation work only for a couple of minutes. Now it’s your turn to reflect that sad smile, and you do.

The sadness doesn’t come from the circumstances around you all, though. Your heart feels heavy, for not trying better ways to handle that morning. That guilt will haunt you, drag you into the gloomy pit you’ve been in, and maybe, you should stay there for some time, a penance for your mistakes.  

After dinner, when the ladies and gentlemen huddle around different interests, you get a chance to cool off. The soft peals of laughter and giggles fill the room, a much more pleasant sound than the roar of men. You get to entertain others with your stories of other cities you’ve been to, and they tell their interesting incidents, and make fun of their husbands, people who deserve, as their commotion spills out of the walls. The topic of their conversation, marriage, diffuses out into your circle in such a way, that once again, you’re restraining yourself, trying to listen to the problems one of the ladies is complaining of, and not to hear the crude comments going on on the other side. You’re stopped from rushing out of your armchair simply out of respect you have for the woman speaking when you pick up your name passing in their remarks. Plus, Kenobi’s words, you don’t flatter me by offending the lady, reach every ear in the room, sharper than a knife. Your cheeks burn with anger, then with gratitude, and at last, out of embarrassment, because how are you going to explain he’s just doing an honorable thing, that it’s his character to defy ill minds when he sees one, and this has little to do with his “pursuit” of you? Your breaths are shallow and quick as you focus on the discourse, and dodge every attempt to pull the subject towards your relations.

Though, the snake doesn’t give up on eating, even his own tail, it seems.

In less than half an hour, a joke about abduction is whispered, and you surge from your armchair, the screeching sound echoing. You murmur what resembles to be an excuse (you’re still deciding whether they are worthy of one), and send one glaring gaze at the group, enough to make one flinch, and walk out.

Out of the entire house.

Lucky for you, this is a night in which you carpooled with another guest, meaning you only have your own feet to carry you away in this pouring rain.

But of course, that’s not enough to deter you.

You take big steps, enforced by your fury. Thus, the house leaves your sight in no time, but not their audacity, still ringing in your ears. Implications about your freedom. Complaints of wive-hood. Humor about how perfectly reasonable is to get rich, by kidnapping a young woman… (Honestly, after all that, you don’t have mercy for them of the panic they might experience when they realize their guest is not refreshing in another room, and have left the estate altogether. Alas, that guest is you.) You string curses at them, the only form of thinking you have in regard, and feel the bulk of emotions resonate with every stomp, even spilling out of your tear ducts. Your dampening body, and the length of the road don’t make it any easier, feeding your frustration. Your only anchor is your self worth, the reason you began this path in the first place, and you desperately hope it will turn the tide in a while.

Though now, the picture you paint with those foul words and wet clothes isn’t exactly the brightest.

It is still among these moods, that Obi Wan catches up to you. You’re not exactly surprised to see him, his carriage closing the twenty minute distance you put between yourself and that damned house with a speed that you think can’t be that good for the horses in the long run. They stop abruptly at your side, and you have all those insults readied if it turns out to be that fucked up man or polite declines if it is indeed Obi Wan. 

But, you can’t speak them. The world feels like it freezes, the raindrops slowing down, and carrying away your burdens as they fall to the soil. The small door opens, and Obi Wan rushes out of it, with an expression that is so honest and raw. His fright vanishes at the sight of you, that scared gaze dissolving, eyebrows relaxing… You can actually see his lips move, Thank God. He is totally undisturbed by the downpour, already making his strands stick to his forehead. His hands find yours, and pull you close, almost like an embrace. You look into his eyes, how focused they are on you, as if they could burn you from the inside with their intensity. You have an undeniable urge to kiss him right now, and that has nothing to do with lust, but your wish to undo the last couple of weeks, uphold that strong connection once the two you had. Of course, you don’t, you can’t, thus, you let him lead you inside, and continue towards whatever destination.

Funny, how you feel much calmer doing the thing you thought you wouldn’t. Moreso, you have no woes about it either.

The silence is deafening, but nobody dares to open their mouth, the greatness of the storm of emotions you both are having too heavy on your tongues. He puts his less soggy jacket around your shoulders, you welcome it with a nod. That’s the moment you realize the redness on his knuckles. It’s not hard to guess the scene, and that has your head turned to the floor, processing the entire night. It is also at this moment that you become aware of your fresh tears, still sliding over your cheeks. Even if he notices them, he doesn’t do a thing about it, an indifference you’re grateful for. He just looks out of the window, and contemplates, same as you.

===

The tub filled with hot water doesn’t make you any wetter, but it helps with the temperature. You’re sorry that you exhausted the owners of the inn you had to stay in, (for it was getting impossible to travel in that rain) with this request, but a voice tells you that Obi Wan wouldn’t have it any other way. You’re unbelievably silent as he sorts it all out, staying in your bubble, unintentionally playing the part of the damsel in distress. You listen to his list of requests, for the horses, for three rooms (the best reserved for the lady, he insists), a tub to be prepared for you, and some tea-

“No need.” Your voice is weak, but it is clear. He would’ve protested this answer, but it is the first time you’ve talked after leaving the house, how ironic, and the realization sets deep in both of you. After that, you feel the words pile up on your tongue, but in a blink, you find yourself in a room. Alone.

“So sorry, I thought they gave me this room.” He stands at the door, holding it half open, face turned in the opposite direction.

“Obi Wan.” His gaze hesitantly finds your way again. God, he’s about to kill you with that blues… “Can we talk for a second?”

You name yourself a hypocrite for asking that, in this state, but you can’t breathe with all that untold things if you spend another second without explaining yourself to him, and apologize for all the trouble you’ve caused. And, isn’t this already proof of the trust you have for him, how vulnerable you can be in his presence?

And, there’s nothing he’s not seen before, after all.

He gingerly closes the door, locking it in a swift motion, and makes his way to you. You pull yourself together, and reach for his hand for him to help you out.

“No, stay. Your fingers are still cold.”

You can’t hide the small smile forming on your face as you settle back, careful to keep most of your body underwater. He, ever noble, keeps his eyes straight on your face, which somehow doesn’t help. There’s something about his rolled-up sleeves, the matching three-piece suit down to two for the damp jacket sits behind the chair in your back against the fireplace. His hair is drying up in all defiant shapes, and you have to stop imagining that morning he woke up next to you.

“I just wanted to say thank you. For everything. I- I never intended to cause this big of a mess, and make someone clean up after me. Certainly, not you, of all people. You shouldn’t have tired yourself this much, and I’m sorry for it.”

“You can’t expect me to do nothing.” The sentence begs for a dear to be added in the end, and he has to fight his throat to silence himself. Instead, there’s a kind tug at the corners of his lips.

“You’re right.” You nod. “But the truth is, I wasn’t thinking clearly. I needed to get out, I just couldn’t sit there pretend I didn’t hear all those nasty comments.”

His fist clenches at the reminder, and you once again spot the bruises settling in on his knuckles, filling with the desire to mention them, but you inevitably decide not to. “That asshole-“

”He was obnoxious since the first hour, and loud, but that doesn't scare me, for thus he has proven himself to be just a foul mouthed man. But, that title started not to cover the extent of it- it was too much and I couldn’t take it anymore. You may say it was obvious from the start, but I tried my best to not evolve this into a thing I would regret afterward. And I succeeded.”

“So you don't even regret ever setting foot in that house?”

A tinge of disgust seizes your face, but only for a moment. Even with all those words echoing in your ear, you don't have hatred in your heart, or any remorse. You're not so quite sure about its reason, nor do you wish to be, avoiding all analysis. Like you don't know the basics already. But the sudden change in your expression tells everything. “I don’t think I can ever regret it. At least, not in its entirety.” You say, hugging your knees and lowering your head. Hot steam no longer hits your skin, you realize in your attempts of distraction.

There's a second of silence in the room, despite the thunderstorm raging outside. You are as cold as in the beginning because of it, and you almost contemplate how good of an idea this conversation was, especially under these circumstances.

“I’d say the same.” Obi Wan speaks, and that's when goosebumps rise on your skin. Your eyes meet his, then flutter away quickly, overwhelmed. Does he mean-

Why is him meaning that any different than yours, huh? Why is it any worse when he says it?

“You should get out of there.” He reaches for a towel, and you shyly stand up, turning your back and pressing your arms around yourself. Nothing he hasn't seen before, right? As the coarse fabric is draped around your shoulders, you can’t help but feel afire, the imprint of his hand around your shoulders for a second lingering way more than it should, creating a tingling sensation.

“Thank you.”

“Well, I must return to my room now.” He folds his hands together, like trying to preserve where they’ve touched, and his eyes still stay respectfully up, causing your heart to lose its rhythm. There has never been a scenario that involved nakedness without… sexual intentions, and clearly, it’s not even crossing your minds right now. Your awareness of it takes up all the space in your mind, tosses every other idea out, and leaves you at the mercy of your soul.

“Obi Wan.” Fuck, the way you call his name, it is bound to weaken him every time. “Can you-” Oh, haven't you demanded enough from him? “I- I would like it if you stayed.”

His mouth hangs open for a second, with a subtle sharp inhale. His fingers tighten around each other, then relax all together, hanging free by his side. “Of course.” For all the words that come to his lips, it’s a most simple answer.

Not that you have any complaints.

You’re filled with another kind of thrill, being this open with your wishes, but having no clue whether they’ll take the night, having no clue where you want the night to go, or how to act in this very moment, half covered.  You just know that you prefer him, being in the same chamber as you. You’d prefer to listen to his idle talk or slow breaths, than the silence of the room. You’d prefer him to snore in your bed than to picture him in his own, lying awake. (Because let’s face it, it’d take a while for him to surrender to sleep, if left to his own devices.)

He takes a step towards the armchair, unbuttoning his vest and you come back to your senses, stepping out of the tub in the opposite direction, towards the nightgown the innkeeper gracefully lent to you. It’s slightly large for your body, definitely not tailored for someone close to your size, but if Obi Wan ever heard you commenting on the fact, he’d wholeheartedly claim you still looked like an angel. Since you don’t, he doesn’t too, but it’s obvious in the way he takes in your form, a battle of excess fabric against your movements. He has to bury a groan when your sleeve falls down your shoulder, a simple accident. He knows that shouldn’t have been seen by him, or you didn’t do it on purpose, that tonight is not meant for those activities, and it shouldn’t get him so bothered up, but it fucking does. Does it also make him want to slap himself? Yes.

Walking near the fireplace, you wring the excess water from your hair and run your fingers through the strands before rubbing that towel aggressively, for the fact that it is already soggy enough, and is not gonna do much. You despise sleeping with wet hair, it is an invitation for you to get sick, not to mention that you’ll be sharing the bed, leaving frustrating streaks of wetness on the sheets for them.

“Hey, hey, let me help you.” Is he a little bit scared? The answer is another yes. But he’s not gonna stand there and watch you fight with your hair. He takes the fabric, locating the most usable spots, and slowly massages your strands with them. Objectively, it’s not a lot different in terms of overall results, but it does more than that anyway. Despite the forbidden intimacy, despite the question of “How is he so good at it?”, you’re lulled by the constant movements, the tension in your muscles easing off. He keeps you by the fire longer than you would’ve stayed, and that achievement belongs solely to him. Frankly, he too is not sure how long the two of you could stand like that, or put an end to it. All that matters is that your hair is pleasantly damp, less bothersome, and he did that.

To be honest, with each minute he is in your presence; the task of holding onto his manners, respecting his broken heart, and following your lead is getting harder to manage.

“Thank you.” You murmur, eyelids barely held open, and he feels like a juggler, suddenly losing his sense of balance, and dropping one of his props.

“You’re welcome.” Perhaps he was the one to thank, for the pleasure. That’s the second prop, falling down.

Still, it’s obvious how that sentence misses a darling thrown out after it.

You climb the bed, and he follows suit. You both favor the edges of the mattress, and there’s a ridiculous distance between both of your bodies, but you’re both too timid to use it, even at the risk of tumbling down.

Only after the urge to find a better position kicks in that you move, and end up just a little closer, face turned to his side.

He’s already turned to you, eyes closed but definitely not trying to sleep, or relax if nothing. He opens them of course, after you rustled the sheets that hard.

“What if I get sick tomorrow?” Admittedly, that’s a silly question, but the scenario occupies your mind. All the elemental factors are present, and you only have a formal dress on your back. Also, the fact that it would be all your fault, yet you are the one to complain? You hate yourself for saying it out loud.

“Then we would stay ‘til you got better.” His point-of-fact words, softened with his bedtime voice, must be annoying. Must be. It is not. It is the raw truth, straight from his core. You won’t disrespect it, (again). “I would take care of you.”

(Doesn’t he, always?)

 A shiver runs down your spine.

(He’d name this place heaven, if it allowed you two to stay together a little longer.)

“Obi Wan.” Whispering, trying your best to break that ugly silence, not to crush under the weight of his words, but more importantly to let him know your truths, the alignment of your soul. “I- I never told you how much I appreciated you. Now just today, but especially today.”

He’s trying so hard not to sound rude, or leave you unanswered, but none of them are good enough. Thankfully, you are not expecting one. Your fingers ghost over his knuckles, afraid to hurt him. he’s not even sure you’re doing that, ‘til you hunch over, and press a small kiss over them.

That’s all the acknowledgment he needs, ever. It wasn’t becoming of a gentleman, obviously, but the situation didn’t require gentleman-cy, too. He has no recollection of how his fist ended up in that man’s eye, except for the exact second it happened, feeling his shirt slide from his other hand as the impact sizzled through his bones, and sent the man to the floor. He found himself in the middle of saying God knows what- he still doesn’t have a single clue, and thinks about the possibility of how they’ll resonate, ‘til it reaches his ears once again.

Though, he has no fear regarding that, or the altercation before it. Nor regret.

“I am honored that our names are spoken together, a testament of our likeness.”

The third prop.

It falls, most obviously, but he doesn’t show it. Not under these circumstances. No matter how you try to avoid the subject of love, or a future, he’s burning for it, burning for you. In that moment, it is settled that it’ll always be that way, forever. You’re absolutely crushing his heart, and maybe even crush yours in the process (for which reasons, he’s never sure), regardless of your intentions pointing otherwise, because he knows you’re pushing through your struggles to speak up, select the appropriate expressions, to honor your past. He’s touched by your effort, as well as your words, oh, your words… This is the only compliment he’ll ever accept, and it’s not even meant to be a compliment. Your voice is already etched into his brain, and there will not go a single day he’s not reminiscing about it.

Thus, with such strong emotions, his every muscle twitched with the desire to pull you closer, wrap his arm around your waist, card his fingers through your cool hair as your lips meet. He wants to kiss you slowly, savor your taste and caress your tongue with his, for the sole purpose of being close to you. You, throwing one leg over him… You, falling asleep in his arms as he gets to bathe in your enchanting scent… The feeling of your warm breath against his neck as you take refuge in there… He’s surprised he doesn’t have to chain himself not to act on any of these images.

(Oh, it very much feels like he has done that anyway)

Yet, it is probably the worst night to do so. It has all been too much, and all this on top of that is a recipe for disaster. A disaster he’s been struck with nonetheless, though, perhaps he can spare you from.

When it comes to you, he has always put his heart before his mind, (but never disregarding the latter part. It is the essential element to keep both of you safe, to never compromise your social statuses, to create the optimum atmosphere for your relationship to flourish (by your own unusual standards)). For the first time, he’s not following that code. Even he can’t imagine the consequences if he doesn’t.

You’re glad that nothing has changed. No response from him, no action. His relaxed expression tells you enough; the calmness of his eyes, his slow breaths and the slight curve of his lips… To be honest, you’re relieved to see your words reach their destination but also set with the urge to prove them. To press down your mouth on his, from which you hope for an answer; to hold his hand without causing any discomfort, or simply hug him for a second, eliminating all space between your bodies like your souls.

Alas, the role of the hypocrite is a part you no longer wish to play, and you’re perfectly willing to hurt yourself by not succumbing to your wishes, and refrain him from further confusion.

“Good night, Obi Wan.” You say, fingers grazing over his for the last time, and curl yourself into a ball.

“Good night, my dearest.”

 ===

The morning is unlike the previous example.

You wake up to him getting up, so there’s no way for you to know if your bodies drifted closer during the night, but considering the position of your arm, extended way beyond the middle, it is quite possible to assume some physical contact was present.

Considering you two are not facing each other, thus acknowledgment of the situation is not a matter, your embarrassment is half of what it should be.

Though, your cheeks burn brighter each second you can’t peel your eyes off of him, filling up the rest of that cup. Watching him walk around, the movement of each chiseled muscle on his back as he puts his shirt and trousers on quickly highlights another impropriety. He is perfection, even in that drowsy state of the human condition, there’s harmony to his every motion, the slow steps he takes, the way the fabric glides against his skin, the subtle fine arrangements of his fingers to make sure it looks decent, even how he breathes causes him to blend into the room, but also bedazzle it in his grace, make him stand out like a crown jewel, a masterpiece of arts that name the place.

You can only stop your ogling once he leans in and stirs the flames, which were already going strong since they were last fed before you went to sleep- wait, that doesn’t seem possible, did he actually sever his sleep to tend to it?

Is there any other explanation you need?

Your heart may flutter out of your chest after this realization, so you skirt out of the blankets. Of course, the sound draws his attention, and you’re caught, forced to react.

Yet, the unstoppable smile forming on his lips inspires a similar response on yours so easily, so naturally that you don’t feel obligated at all. On the quite contrary, that simple mimic banishes any pretense, showering you with reassurance and bravery, the motivation to act on your own true terms, not society’s or the ones you pressured onto yourself.

“Good morning.” The simultaneous greeting pulls a giggle from both of you, and it is all so small, yet so much. You sway away from his direction, casually reaching for your clothes, hoping he doesn’t notice the tremor of your legs when you shed the nightwear and put the chemise on. Because you know, he’s watching you. Divine justice, perhaps.

“Be careful, Obi Wan, I might start to think you enjoy watching me get dressed too much.” The snarky comment, fighting its way out of your mouth further softens the atmosphere, and it is like the first days of spring after a harsh winter, soothing your souls with relief.

“Guilty as charged.”

You shake your head, consumed by his usual forward banter. A scene taken straight out of your past. You shimmy into your dress instead of coming up with a cleverer response.

“You don’t sound sick.” He says, indicating that he’s been paying attention. 

Biting your lip, you turn away. “Actually…”

“Is there something wrong?” He ends up right beside you in a blink, as if the world changed by your unfinished sentence. 

Your heart picks up a different rhythm, hands raised in position to tie your ribbon but frozen. “It’s nothing, my throat just feels-”

“Do you want me to call a doctor?”

That was the exact reason why you started with it’s nothing. Alas… “No, it’s probably just my overthinking and coming up with strange sensations.” And if not, it depends on how well you spend tonight, so there’s not much room for intervention. Definitely not in medical terms.

“Pity.” His comment makes you scoff. After that, you can’t reward him with your concerns, can you? It is funny, ugh.

“Let me help.” 

Your heart can’t get any rest as the tension simply changes garbs, his fingers trailing over yours and leading a 180° turn, leaving a blazing line along your skin, to tie the ends of your ribbon together. Your arms tentatively fall to your sides, not sure what to do with their freedom. His breaths lick your neck while he attentively, slowly smooths his creation, and you’d probably freak out if you weren’t so focused on the sheer range of his skills.

(Also the mystery of how he comes to acquire it, but it’s only the deep, dark parts of your mind speaking. Moreover, you do not pride yourself in a position to be jealous. You absolutely are, on that tiny level, and no, you’ll never admit it.)

Though, you’re not gonna comment on that, not when your heart threatens to fly out of its cage. The sacredness of the action brings back the echoes of your concerns, not a single one strong enough to overtake you, but the cacophony of them loud enough to occupy the entirety of your capacity.

All that talk of past times… Coupled with a little hesitancy, and how the tables turn…

“T- thank you.”

“My pleasure.” Like he just didn’t flip the dynamic, he carries on with his outfit, tying his cravat. His beautiful hands work expertly, effortlessly, and the result is perfect, even without a mirror, eyes on you the entire time.

“Is it looking fine?”

“Yes.” You meekly answer. It is decent, like he always is. Somehow witnessing that feels as sensual as the previous scene, pulling you further down the whirlpool.

Embarrassed enough already, you busy yourself with your hair, accepting the mess that it is, and decide on a simple bun, as much as possible. The practiced moves bring you some sense of calmness and control, even if the result isn’t perfect. The silence helps too, along with his occupancy of tidying up the room.

“Do you want to have some breakfast?” He asks. God, how does he still sound that cheery?

“No, thank you.” You don’t want to keep your father worrying any longer, and it’s not like you’re going to faint. The memory of your last food in the most unpleasant company is still strong enough to expel any thought of hunger.

That answer may be the clearest thought you’ve ever had this morning, yet it is the one that whispers doubt into his heart. You are silent, turned away from him, and far too engrossed in whatever unnecessary thing you’re doing. Because now, he fears that if the two of you leave this room, this building, all your lives in it will be a part of the history, never to be repeated or worse, mentioned again, lost in the torn pages. The joke about residing here for however long- seems awfully bitter, perfectly demonstrating he’d rather hold on to the possibility than put an end to this.

How could that be love?

Perhaps you were right, accusing him of madness.

That’s the only reason he walks out of the room to prepare the carriages, instead of cocooning the both of you in.

===

“Father!” You wrap your arms around him, who’s standing by the main entrance to your estate, waiting anxiously. He does the same, unaffected by the eyes that watch, the staff, and a mere acquaintance, Lord Kenobi.

Now Obi Wan knows who you got your bravery from.

He stands quietly, hands folded in front of him, not sure what to do but damn sure not to leave. He had plenty of time to think about his madness on the road, and decided it was not anything pathological- it was pure love and desperation for you. Isn’t that the nature of most of your meet-ups? Consoling each other in the positively dreadful situations, and utilizing everything to spend a second more together?

He hears you reassuring him of your well-being, and summarize the thing in pretty understated phrases. Even that makes him stutter over his words in a fit of rage. Obi Wan agrees. You distract him by speaking of the help you’ve gotten from a valiant friend, and that’s how he enters the conversation.

“Good morning, Sir.”

How he keeps it all cool, sharing and shaping his anger, silencing any doubt that may arise in him is a surprise, though he’s called a great negotiator for a reason, right? His work in various cases in court has earned him the title. He’s not overtly a fan of flaunting it. Though, it helps him a great deal in this instance.

At least, enough to have a pleasant exchange in these unpleasant circumstances, and secure permission to talk to you again.

Alone.

It is weird enough as it is already, you and him spending the night at some inn, him casually chatting with your father like his clothes haven’t benefitted from the merits of ironing, not to mention his hair being on the wild side after a slight treatment of rain, and now he is requesting your attention? Not only yours, but your father’s too in extent?

His plans have never been so crystal clear.

“No.” You declare your objection so clearly, in one word as the door closes behind him, giving you the privacy of the room. “No, no, no, no.”

“I haven’t even opened my mouth!” He objects, though it is more of a principal thing, than an actual defense. He knows you’ve worked it all out already. God, could he expect anything less from you? Your watery eyes and trembling hands break his heart into a million pieces, reactions so strong even before he has a chance to utter their cause. He caresses his beard, reevaluating if he should continue-

He can’t live with the consequences if he dares not. He can’t live with what-ifs, or not knowing the reason why you are so repulsed by the idea or would you still feel the same, if he told you about his love for you. Of course, that would require some magic, considering the magnitude and intricacy of it. How is he supposed to put the purest feelings he’s ever had to mere words, the origin of the butterflies caged up in his chest, the wires of his brain getting tangled up whenever you’re not around, and the constant intoxication from the strongest liquor he’s ever consumed? He’d rather die than sober up, and a part of him already recognizes that it’s not a possibility. It is his poison and antidote. There’s not a moment that passes without either of them.

And surely, he has no complaints about it. Never will. It is a brave choice, but what’s braver is this moment.

“No.” You repeat, hands clasped together to stop them from shaking. Your voice is low albeit steady, as much as it can be.

Because you do not lift your eyes to meet him. “You can’t propose to me, because I can’t refuse it. But I will. Then the whole country will wonder what is so wrong with you, and me, and they will talk about it all the time, for years to come. The whispers will be the first thing that you hear in every room you enter, and you’ll see the mischievous glint in the eyes of every person you meet, them scrutinizing whether those rumors are true. Our reputations will be tarnished forever, and we will hate each other for it.” And you can’t stand that.

You don’t sound like this is the first time you’re putting these words together. In all your distressed state, you sound awfully logical in your own way, so focused on one improbable, insane possibility (damn those reputations, he can never hate you), but devising every little detail.

“Why?” He basically hollers, running a hand through his hair. Why does that potential is the one you envision? “Why can’t you marry me?”

One can only dream that someone outside isn’t listening.

“Because- I don’t know!” You take a desperate step closer, showing him your honesty. You truly can’t quite name your aversions, and isn’t that already enough of a reason to stay away, spare the person you’re facing?  “I don’t know how to be a wife! And I am scared. All my life I alienated myself from the idea of a marriage, I methodically dismissed every chance claiming it wasn’t the time, all the way ‘til I would say it was too late. I was content with that idea. Because I love- loved my life the way it is; I get more than I need from my father, and that is to remain unchanged when my brother takes over, and I am free as a bird, unbound by society’s expectations, traveling wherever, wherever and trying new things. I was, I am so happy about it that anything that may alter it I shun from immediately. And now I find myself in a place I never imagined, and I am scared. I don’t know what happens now. I don’t know what to expect. I don’t know what that future looks like for us.”

He moves towards you, his head tilted sideways in understanding, arms reaching for yours. Finally, finally hearing your justifications, the basis of your attitude, fills him with pride and compassion, and most importantly, gives him an opportunity to help you solve those problems, together. But, you hush him, squeezing his wrists in gentle guidance, with tears streaking across your cheeks. “I just know that I love you. I love you so much that my heart will always feel like a weight in my chest when I’m not with you, like a ship sinking, but never reaching the bottom. And I will continue to love you even if you stop loving me back, but I would rather lose you on my terms than by the burdens a marriage brings.”  

“Why do you so believe that a mere contract would change my feelings? Do you think my affections for you are that fragile?”

You frantically shake your head, causing the drops to fall faster. “No, I’m not saying that-“

“Then what?” He snaps, though not because he’s angry. He wants to learn every single reason that’s keeping you away.

“You don’t know what that will do to us.”

“No, I don’t! And I don’t care! It will never change my feelings.” This, he can shout freely. This is the simplest truth for all his remaining days on this earth.

You don’t know that, you want to object. “Obi Wan…” Is the response that comes out of your mouth. “I am not a good bride.”

“No.”There’s acceptance in his tone, a punch to your guts. “You’re the love of life, my companion, my everything.” When he pulls you even closer, and cups your cheeks, you let him. “Haven’t we been through all the struggles a couple could share already? Haven’t I seen all of you, and let you see all of me? Haven’t you claimed my entire soul, and occupied my every single thought? You made me break my rules, and painted a picture I never thought was suited for me- and I came to like that picture very much. In fact, it’s all I ever want my future to look like, with you in it. You, exactly in the way you already are, with all your unsusceptibility to the norms and striking habits. I know that can be scary. I am afraid too. But, anything worth doing starts like this, I know it. And we’ll be the biggest idiots in the world if we let our fear rule us.”

You can’t help but laugh a little, the joyful sound making his breath hitch. It is reflected on his face too, and it is something you’ll hold on to, alongside the tears that begin to form on his eyes. Fortunately, they sit there, despite him kneeling in front of you, his fingers never leaving the bend of your arm, only to follow the route they create, and hold onto both of your hands. “Please, marry me.”

You’re convinced, but your tongue is still tied, so you nod. Your entire upper body shakes with the gesture in seconds, making you look like an overexcited child, on the verge of losing their balance with the restlessness of their legs. You barely feel him kissing your knuckles before he stands up and embraces you, stabilizing both of you in both physical and emotional terms. Let’s be real, if he kissed you instead as he desperately wished to, you’d fall on the floor (and continue there- ‘til somebody discovered the two of you in very indecent terms). His chuckles quickly become your favorite song, you feel blessed as they delight your ears, and make your chest vibrate like his. He revels in the newfound proximity, despite the fact that you’ve been much, much closer in the past. This is new. This is raw love, uncombined with other emotions, strengthened by the absolute truth that you two are meant for each other, and with the promise of you’ll do something about it. He holds you ‘til your sense of balance is restored, for he now has urgent matters he has to attend to. He’ll get to hold you forever soon, and that revelation doesn’t change the herculean feat of letting you go now. He can’t help but wipe the streaks of wetness on your face, though it forms again. He solely doesn’t repeat himself because of the widest grin on your lips. You press yourself to his palm, eyelids closing for a moment, then place a small peck on it.

 “I- I’m now gonna go and talk to your father, get the papers right- and find a-” oh, that’s not “a”, he is going to require many others even if he keeps everything minimal, “I’ll be back in three, fuck, four hours, okay?”

“What? No!” You exclaim, almost giving him a heart attack.

“What’s wrong?” His fingers tighten, a slight tremble taking over them. You have to smile to get him to relax once again, and raise your eyebrows wittily, as if he is a fool for not imagining it already, reminding him of your nature.

“I’m only doing this once. I want everything to be right.”

He squints his eyes, grasping your chin. There’s a few seconds of silence, the time it takes for his nerves to settle. When it does, you’re struck by the intensity of his blue irises, the condensed calm before the storm. “So you want to stay as my fiance ‘til the next season starts, in eight months, succumbing to waiting as we get no freedom to ourselves, always in the center stage, enjoying the last of our bachelor states, the lonely nights and beds bigger than you can ever occupy.”

His other hand, wandering across your waist tells you exactly what he implies. While you actually weren’t planning on such a thing, it causes a surge of rush to overtake you, burning you from the inside. Pursing your lips as you free your face from his grip, with a contradicting shaky breath, you say. “I was always fond of winter weddings…”

To this, he laughs, echoing in the room, and you join him.

One can only hope whoever outside listens to this too, this moment of pure joy preserved in one more mind.

 === 

 “I couldn’t be happier to be married to you.” Obi Wan whispers, but the sentence is loud and clear to you, etched into where he takes nest in the crook of your neck, hot breaths burning your skin.

“We’re still not- ngh“ Yes, this is supposed to be the rehearsal, the night before the main event. You two should be at the reception downstairs, among your many relatives and friends and other members of the society, all gathered for tomorrow morning, when these words of yours will be invalid.

Of course, you are further making a hypocrite of yourself by the way you hold onto him, legs wrapped around his waist, arms locked around his shoulders as he burrows his cock into you. It was impossible to wait any further, as you were separated by the whole ordeal of preparations and the watchful eyes. The moment you found a clearing, you two slipped away, cue to now, where your back on the wall as he supports you against it. You didn’t even get one meter away from the door, you could basically reach the knob with a simple extension of your elbow, but in the end, who cares? Who cares when he fills you so deliciously, scratching the itch that has been building for some time, peppering you with all the love in his heart?

Still, your sentence is cut abruptly as he drives his hips faster, rougher- very much an act of pedantry, advising not to get lost in the details. It works, the correction dies on your tongue, though a quite loud moan takes its place. His hand flies to cover your mouth, and your eyes pop open, meeting his. The pressure of his palm against your face almost forces another sound out of you. Fuck, you adore those blue storms, even when they are focused elsewhere, turned to the door as if it can see past behind it, scanning for intruders. You do actually whimper when the danger dissolves, the vibrations running among his bones, and he keeps up his pace, hitting that sweet spot over and over again.

However, it is getting harder in terms of balance as he now has one hand to stabilize you, and despite your best efforts, it is quite hard not to slide off of the smooth fabric of his clothes. Remorsefully, you push on his shoulders, and he understands, pulling his cock out of you and burying his mouth on your skin. He stifles a sob in there, the frustration getting the best of him.

“Oh, you definitely had too much wine.” Look at who’s talking, you with those wobbly legs and bitten lips…

“No, I just had too little of you.”

Your heart flaps its wings out of your chest, as it does after his every cheesy compliment. You still cannot figure out how he makes you blush harder with those words, even as he ravages you in the meantime.

You reach for a kiss, it is always a good idea. He hums contently at the touch, grateful at the most basic form of contact. Obi Wan rocks against you unintentionally, and that’s how the unsatiated desire wages war, with desperate groans and roaming hands.

Then, his fingers tighten around your waist, and you find yourself supported against the vanity with your open palms, depositing most of your weight there (thank God, because you couldn’t trust your feet much longer). He pulls your hips back to his. Your back arches in a way that is most complementary to his chest, and fuck, it is a vision.

It literally is.

Fluttering your eyes open for only a second (that was your intention at least), you’re struck down with the image of the two of you in the mirror, faces contorted in the prettiest way that is possible in this dirty position, heavy lids and open mouths, fingertips whitened by the strong grasp you have on each other, the matching colors of your outfits…

Yes, even with that detail, you’re still on his side, agreeing you’d be idiots if you weren’t doing this.

Deciding to take the sight from its direct source, you turn your head to the side a little, looking at the adonis of a man you’ll soon call your husband, with his neatly trimmed beard and prominent cheekbones and long eyelashes you are slightly jealous of and so much more…

He meets your gaze, breathless with similar thoughts, that little tug on the corner of his mouth telling you all you need to know, but then he nudges your face to its previous state by a small clasp of your chin, and you’re watching him through the reflection, leaning forward when he starts to fumble with your skirt once again.

The moan that leaves you is totally incapable of being unobscured as he enters you anew. The change in the angle along with the visual stimulation has you teetering on the edge quite easily, like him, but he denies it, maintaining slow movements and choking out any noise that dares to leave him.

Of course, all is impeded when the door is knocked-

“Occupied!”

“Occupied!”

Your voices are synchronized, high and tight. The clock stops for a moment for your bodies, as if the stationary status makes it any less scandalous, and both of you fixated on the doorknob.

It never turns. Never.

Still, the dilated pupils remain a little longer, joined over the mirror, with big puffs of breath and shaking hands.

“Do you think they-“ There’s not an exact word that you can find to explain what has just occurred, but the sentiment is clear.

“Probably.” And the answer too is just as clear.

Well, the only thing lost is the trivial achievement of never being discovered before the wedding.

A wedding which is hours away.

So, you push back, wiggling your hips. His unrestricted sound is all you need to regain your spirits back, and you do it once more. Just like that, the wheels are turning. 

“You realize there’s a bed behind us, right?” He asks as he slowly thrusts into you.

“Yes, but I like the view better here.” 

[seenoversundown]

For Death Or Glory : Chapter Thirteen

Jake Kiszka x Charlotte (Fem OC)

Warnings: 18+ Smut (a small amount of masturbation) Alcohol / Drinking, Suggestive conversations, dicking around on the job, Mentions of Sexual preferences, Flirting, Fluff, terrible dad jokes, and unfortunate amounts of pirate comments.

Word Count: 4k

Summary: Jake is still reeling from the events of the night before, when Charlotte rolls up with a wonderful proposition that he could NEVER refuse. Leading them into a fun game that helps him get through the rest of the night.

Author's Note: THE GAMES HAVE BEGUN. They really are so precious and watching them learn how to interact with each other has me giggling and kicking my feet. (even though I'm quite literally in charge of them 💀) Can't wait to hear how you guys feel after this one!! 💕😍

Bathroom Light - Mt Joy "So, come on, baby, let's do this right, I think I like falling in love in the bar bathroom light."

“I feel like we should talk.” 

Not my favorite thing she’s said to me, if we’re being honest. Charlotte’s leant against the doorframe to my office, her hands are busy playing with the dainty rings she has on. 

“Okay,” I say, “you can come all the way into the room though.” She scurried in, shutting the door quietly behind her. 

“I don’t know how to say this,” she starts, sounding timid, which is unusual for her. 

I can’t stop myself from speaking up, “Did I overstep?” 

“Oh my god, no. No, not at all,” she spits out. “I actually.. um.” She looks back down at her hands, a small grin grows on her face. 

My eyebrow pops up, waiting for her, “What?” Comes out with a slight laugh. 

“Maybe we could be friends who, like..” her face turning red as she whispers, “maybe hook up sometimes..” 

We’re friends? She wants to - with me? I- oh my god. 

“Oh,” I can hardly form words with the speed my brain is moving at, “Oh, uh, we can. Yes. I would be okay with that.” My eyes finally met hers, knowing full well that I probably look far too excited. 

“Really?” 

I watch her chew the inside of her lip and see her hands shake slightly, which honestly makes me feel a bit better. At least I'm not the only one who gets nervous. I reach out, grabbing one of her hands with both of mine, which gets her to look back at me. 

“Really,” I say quietly, “Whatever you're comfortable with.” Finally standing up from my desk, she just looks at me, and I can’t quite tell what's going on inside that pretty little head of hers. 

Suddenly her arms are wrapped around my neck in a hug, catching me off guard. I let my arms sit around her waist as she lets out the sweetest little laugh next to my ear. 

“You’re sure about this?” she asks, leaning back to look at me. I get to spend more time with her and possibly get laid once in a while? YEAH, I THINK I’M SURE. 

“You can be the Captain of this ship,” I tell her, choking back a laugh as hard as I can. 

She does not; she drops her head, leaning against me as she barks out a laugh. Her small frame just shook against me, but at least this time, it was happy. 

Still laughing, she looks back up at me, “You’re so dumb,” she manages to get out before leaning forward to press a sweet kiss on my lips. I could get used to that.  ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

I didn’t anticipate the torture that I would endure after that conversation, having to be around her in the bar and stay normal about it. She already made me feel on edge, in a good way, before the last twenty-four hours, but now it’s ungodly how tense my body feels. 

I try to spend as much time cleaning and talking to the regulars that have come in, but I continuously find myself looking at her. I just want to talk to her. 

I pull out my phone, quickly type out a message, and slide it under the bar in front of me. 

Me: so.. does this mean I can just.. kiss you if we’re not around people?

My hands sweat at the thought, but god, what I’d give to kiss her again right now. I glance over as she picks her phone up, seeing the smirk creep onto her face. Looking around the bar to see if anybody might need something until my phone lights up. 

Charlotte: I'd like that. 🤭

Charlotte: You have a pretty mouth, so I think we should. 

Feeling warm at the compliment. A pretty mouth? I had been told on a multitude of occasions that I’m a bit more feminine, but given that my counterpart is Josh, who keeps his hair short and has facial hair, I don’t think I had much of a fighting chance. But I’ve never been complimented like that before, and I think I liked it.  

Me: play along 

I walk over to where she’s sitting, and her eyebrows pull in for a second looking at me. Sliding carefully behind Mel and Josh, I lean against the bar facing her. 

“Can you come with me? I need your opinion on if something is up to code,” I tell her, my voice at a normal volume but giving her a slow wink. 

“Oh, absolutely,” she replies, “Mel, I’ll be right back.” 

I meet her at the end of the bar, gesturing toward the hallway and leading her to our cooler. Once we’re out of sight, sticking my hand out behind me for her which she immediately grabs. We round the corner into the back room, and I turn to face her, pulling her into me. Tilting her chin up with my free hand, seeing her smile as I do. 

“Hi,” she mumbles, pressing a kiss against my lips. 

Letting out a small ‘mmm’ as my arms rest around her waist, “Let me just—“ Leaning in, noticing the way she doesn’t actually close her eyes. She just watches my mouth. Feeling her hands find their place on my stomach as I take her bottom lip between mine, making my heart shake. I wonder what makes her feel like this. Pulling my arms back slightly, letting my hands hold her waist, lightly squeezing her when I feel her hands grab my shirt. That must be something. 

“So, about that opinion,” I whisper into her, making her giggle. She reaches up, wiping the smudge of lipstick she left on me, and my stomach turns at how gentle she is.

Her eyes slowly look up, meeting my stare as she lets out a quiet, “I think that exceeds the standard, for sure.” 

We both hear footsteps in the hall; backing away from her quickly and folding my arms across my chest as she nods when Mel rounds the corner into the cooler.

“Jake, the POS is living up to its name.. Can you help?” she rolls her eyes, clearly frustrated. 

“Shit, yeah, I’ll be right there.” 

We both watch as Mel quickly turns, leaving the room looking fairly defeated. Standing there in silence for a matter of a few seconds before we both let out a quiet laugh. 

“I guess I need to do my job,” I whisper to her, making her smile. She turns to face me, fixing my shirt for me and moving a rogue hair back into place. Her hands linger on my chest as she looks at me, which only makes the butterflies in my stomach go wild. 

The smirk on her face is killing me when she says, “Go save them, boss man.” 

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The bar continued to get busier, making it harder and harder for me to not actually do my job. Almost as if flirting with pretty girls isn’t in my job description or something. Stealing little glances at her any chance I could while we quietly texted each other random things. 

Charlotte: You have to stop looking at me like that 

I grab the empty glasses from a table, walking back towards the bar but sneaking up behind her. 

“Like what?” I whisper next to her ear, setting the glasses on the bar top in front of her. Giggling as she jumps slightly, scowling at me, but that doesn’t stop my stare. It would be easier if she wasn’t gorgeous. My eyes fell between her lips and holding eye contact.  

“That,” she whispers back, “whatever that is.”  She leans into her hand while the other falls into her lap. 

“You don’t like it?” I ask, forcing myself to stay focused on her eyes. Leaning onto the bar next to her, letting my hand hang over the edge. 

She smiled softly, “No, it’s terrible,” oozing with sarcasm fell from her lips, feeling her hand graze mine. 

My head tilts slightly as my eyebrows raise, “and why is that, honey?” I whisper, pulling my bottom lip in with my teeth, watching as her face flushes. 

Forcing myself to back up, grabbing the glasses as I go, what I wouldn't give to just spend the night with her instead? 

Me: do you like being called honey? 

I set my phone under the bar, pouring a few drinks for the regulars sitting there, trying not to look over at her, but it’s impossible. Glancing out of the corner of my eye, I see her pulling up her phone. What if she hates it? 

Charlotte: Mmmm I might 🤭

I'll never be sure what possessed me to call her that the first time. I've always just used ‘sweetheart’ or ‘dear’ because they feel safe and really can’t be taken too out of context. Also, to be entirely honest, I typically don’t get far enough with a girl to give her a cuter pet name than those.  It just sort of came out when I saw her start to melt down, and it’s stuck. 

Charlotte: Do you like that I use your full name? 

Her sweet voice calling me ‘Jacob’ plays in my head on a loop, so it’s safe to say I don’t mind it. Although, the way she called me ‘baby’ made me want to crawl out of my skin. She had me wrapped around her finger in that moment.  

Me: you can call me whatever your heart desires 

I looked over at her, saw her smile at the response, and quickly started to type. This game of twenty questions is definitely making tonight go by a little faster. 

Charlotte: That doesn’t really roll off the tongue nicely- I think I’ll stick with calling you by name or baby 😉

I audibly laugh at her text, unprepared for her to get me with a classic dad joke. It was almost enough to distract me from the last part, but no such luck as my heart fluttered at the pet name. I could go for hearing that a little more often. Wandering over towards her, I lean down as I grab the glass from in front of her and whisper, “You’re more than welcome to slip a ‘Captain’ in the mix as well, yknow?” 

She leans into her hand, propped up on the bar, “So, you do like that, huh?” 

“Felt a little different coming out of you,” I tell her, shrugging as I back up a little and biting the inside of my lip as she watches me. 

Her eyes rake down me before letting out a quiet, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

I help Josh for a few minutes, pouring a handful of drinks for some regulars and running to grab orders from a few of the new tables that just came in. Rounding back behind the bar, I slide my phone out of my pocket quickly. 

Me: since we’re doing this- do you have questions or shall I continue 

Tossing my phone under the bar, turning to wash a handful of glasses for them. I try to just focus on what I’m doing. But I just want to pay attention to her. I turn around as I’m drying and putting away the glasses, doing my best to scan the room for anybody who may need anything. My eyes fixate on her as she sets her phone down and looks over at me. I pick up my pace drying, sliding the glasses onto their shelf quickly so I can grab my phone, needing to know what she said. 

Charlotte: I’m assuming you’re a physical touch person? 

Me: you would be correct but I’d like to say I can cover all the bases if you like something else more. 

I’ve always been a touch person, especially given that I’ve spent my whole life with Josh. He can’t go two seconds without grabbing your arm if he’s telling you something. So, it’s definitely something I’d developed over time and also suffered from; the lack of physical touch I’ve had in the last couple of years is contributing to the urge to ask her every two minutes to meet me somewhere hidden. Even though I would do whatever she prefers, I just hope she enjoys physical touch because I don’t know how I’m supposed to avoid it. 

Charlotte: Oh, touch is near the top with words of affirmation for me, so I think you’re doing just fine 

Knowing she likes words of affirmation makes my stomach knot up, the amount of things I’ve held back because I don’t want to overwhelm her. But I’ll tell her that she’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen every day if she’ll let me. Despite the fact she was just being open, I decided to test the waters on this situation we’ve put ourselves in. 

Me: soo.. does that mean you like to be..reassured or no?

Hitting send, I immediately feel like I’m sweating. I pour a few beers waiting for her reply, hoping that she knows what I meant and that she doesn’t take back everything she said in my office today. 

Charlotte: A little praise never hurt anybody.

I whip my head over to her, and my hand wipes over my mouth as she smiles at me. The fact I’m blushing over the answer to the question I asked feels ridiculous. Why did I think this was a good idea? Making eye contact with someone at the bar who wants to order, I walk over to them. Taking their order and turning to grab all the bottles needed for it, I slide my phone from my pocket, setting it on the counter as she texts me again.  

Charlotte: Do you always like to be the Captain? Or do you like to let others assist? 

My eyes shut while I take a deeper breath; why is she doing this to me? Forcing myself to focus on mixing their drink, but my brain feels like it’s short-circuiting. She did have a little dominant streak in her yesterday. I grab a napkin and bring the drink back over to them, nodding as they thank me. 

‘All for me, baby?’ plays in my head, and I guess I had never thought about preferences like that before. Most girls I had been with at this point wanted nothing to do with being in control. I also was typically not the most sober in these instances, so it’s debatable how dominant I even was. They just wanted me to do the work, which in the grand scheme, was fine. 

The way that she wants to have control makes my body tingle. Something about the idea of her telling me what she wants me to do is kind of hot. She basically had me begging for her yesterday, so maybe I’m a bit more submissive than I thought. I get head one time, and I’m reflecting on my entire sex life. Jesus Christ, chill out. 

Me: I’ll gladly let you steer anyday, don’t have to ask twice 

I wipe down the back counter, reorganizing a bit, anything to keep my brain from spiraling out of control over her. I wash some glasses in painfully hot water in hopes that it’ll prevent anything uncomfortable from happening to me while I’m just trying to get through this shift with her. 

After a few minutes of torture, I pick up my phone again. 

Charlotte: In that case, meet me in the bathroom? 

I’ve never replied faster.

Me: 🫡  ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

“Couldn’t wait any longer?” Winking at her as I lock the door behind me. 

Her smile is devious as she runs her hands up my chest, “When you look like this? Not at all.” Tugging me closer by my shirt, tilting her head back as I lean in to kiss her. 

All I can think is how lucky I am that I’m in this weird little situation with her. The fact that she’s communicating things to me, even if we’re doing it in a kind of vague way, makes me feel a little more confident with anything that’s potentially going to happen. 

Pulling away from the kiss for a second, I gently move some hair away from her face, just taking her in. My other hand is holding her lower back, keeping her close. The way she’s looking at me makes my heart pound. 

“Can I ask you something while we're here?” I mumble, watching her eyebrows pull together. 

“Obviously.” 

“I just want to hear your response to this one,” I start. “Can you promise me that if I say or do something that you don’t like, you’ll tell me?” 

Her eyes softened at the question. Her hands grabbed the sides of my face as she pressed a soft peck against my lips.

“Of course, I will. Promise.” 

“I never want to make you uncomfortable,” I mumble against her, “okay?” 

Her soft laugh against my lips before pressing a few sweet kisses into me, I swear this girl could get me to fold so easily. 

“You really are something, Jacob.” 

My stomach flips as the sentence leaves her lips. My heartbeat felt stronger than before, and my mouth basically ran dry; what is she doing to me? The look in her eyes as we stared at each other in the subtle glow of the light, even after the past few days, I’d be lying if I said she didn’t still make me nervous. Every kiss makes it feel like there are fireworks in my chest and a ton of excited butterflies in my stomach; my entire body gets warm, and I have to fight the slight tremor in my hands, so she doesn’t know. But god, this girl has me stumbling over myself every day.

“What if we just stay in here for the rest of the night?” I whisper into her.

Her hands slid down onto my stomach, “I think they might notice we’ve disappeared.” 

“Unfortunate, innit?” the English accent sneaking out of me, making her laugh. If that’s all it takes, I’ll use it more. “Why don’t you go back out there first? I’ll go to the backroom first, so it’s more convincing.” 

“Sounds like a plan, Captain,” she winks as she pats my stomach and then quickly sneaks out the door. Leaving me there, speechless, staring at the door for a moment. I think I just tripped.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

I hid in the backroom for a few minutes, bringing out a handful of things to restock with. I try to wipe the smile off my face when I can feel her eyes on me. I have Mel run to the tables and get some drink orders taken care of; she’s been trapped behind the bar all night, at least get her a few minutes of a new scenery. 

It feels nice to make drinks mindlessly for customers sometimes. The muscle memory starts to kick in, and I can just go for a while. It’s just a bonus having Charlotte sitting at the end of the bar, intently watching every move I make.

“Aren’t you supposed to be watching Melody?” I tease, sliding a drink to her. 

Her hands rake through her curls, softly laughing as she says, “Well, she isn’t making drinks right now, is she?” 

“So you’re making sure I know what I’m doing then?”

“Something like that,” she says, biting her lip subtly. The goosebumps erupt on my arms instantly when she does that. 

Folding my arms across my chest, I look at her to ask, “Anything notable?” 

She slides her paper out for a second, quickly tucking it away so I can’t see what she’s written down. Sneaky little thing.

“You seem good.. with your hands,” she tilts her head slightly, slowly blinking at me. I can’t stop myself from smirking at the comment. I had noticed before that she watched my hands, but nothing was more validating than that comment. 

I step closer to the bar, leaning towards her a little so I can whisper, “Guess you’ll have to find out.” I watch her jaw slack at my comment, chuckling to myself. Seeing her flustered makes me feel less insane for being so antsy all night. The way she shifts in her seat as I look at her, I don’t think someone has ever reacted to my stare like this before. 

We spend the rest of Mel’s shift making unbearably tense eye contact, which makes me want to get her alone even more. She stayed for a little longer after Melody left, but I practically begged her to get home before it was too late. Something about the thought of her trying to drive in the Old Port when all the late-night bargoers are out just makes me nervous. 

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After what has seemingly become our nightly routine of walking her to her car, with the new bonus of getting to kiss her before she leaves, I’m met with an empty apartment. 

She won’t be home for a little bit. I pull open the fridge staring mindlessly, realizing that I’m not even really hungry. Taking the opportunity since Josh isn’t home, I wander into the bathroom, starting the shower. 

I stood under the hot water, letting it beat against me for a moment. My brain runs rampant with thoughts of her, still unable to process that she’s giving me any time, let alone wanting to spend more time with me. 

My eyes close as I think of the way she touches me; her hands are so delicate, and she’s so careful. Her hands always find a spot on my chest or stomach when she kisses me. Grabbing fistfuls of my shirt when we make out. Her lips though— those are something to write home about. God, I really was touch starved. 

My heart flutters at the thought of her kiss and how good it felt with her. Even when she was just leaving tiny pecks down my neck, I swear I could get goosebumps just from the memory. It had been so long since I even had the option I forgot how exciting it was. 

The thought of her sitting on my lap, her hands tangled into my hair, god. I feel the twitch, trying to ignore it. No, don’t be weird, Jake. Just think about something else. Rinsing the shampoo out of my hair and trying to refocus, but all I can hear in my head is, “all for me, baby?” A small groan comes from me, and I can’t stop myself from sliding my cock through my fist to relieve some of the tension. 

Her lips wrapped around me, the way she seemed like she was enjoying it, and her little moans as she slid me as deep into her mouth as she could. 

“Fuck,” I mutter, stroking myself a little faster. The visual of her on her knees for me has me reaching out to hold myself up. How is she real?

My hips jerked forward as I heard her voice in my head saying, “Come on, Captain.” 

Another moan sneaks out, my eyes fixed shut at this point, wishing she were here. God, she was so good. The way she swirled her tongue around me, her hair wrapped around my fist. Her green eyes look up at me as she takes just about all of me into her mouth, holy shit, I’m–.

“Fuck me, Charlotte,” I quietly groan as my orgasm washes over me. The water is hardly even warm at this point, while I frantically clean myself off to avoid a cold shower— that’s five minutes too late. 

Tapping my phone as I’m drying myself off. One Missed Call. Unlocking it instantly, seeing her name sitting there, I call her back with no hesitation. Is she okay? She hasn’t called me until she’s home before. 

“Hiii,” her soft voice dances around in my ear. 

“Hey, are you okay?” I spit out, knowing I probably sound insane. 

“Oh! Yes, everything’s fine! I'm just still driving,” she replies; a sigh of relief escapes me, grateful that she’s okay. Until all my nerves come flooding back when she says, “I just wanted to hear your voice.” 

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Fourteen

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[mcytblr-archive]

Early MCYTblr Interviews: georgesoot

today's interviewee is georgesoot/dreamwasfound, who, in his words, "emerged from the senior living center to tell all". under the readmore is a transcript if the questions and answers.

Q: What was, in broad terms, your experience in MCYTblr? Are there any experiences/events that stand out to you?

A: Well it was primarily an outlet to channel all my obnoxious thoughts about Minecraft at the time. I had started watching Minecraft videos during the Pandemic, and came across [they who shall not be mentioned] and noticed there wasn't really a community on Tumblr yet. I just knew that someone had to show up and make it gay. It was easy to slot myself in, start making posts that I will never understand how I thought they would be funny, and slowly built up some sort of a following due to my sense of humor but also due to my ability to soberly ~critique~ the Minecraft Men as content creators, micro-celebrities, and as people. I never really fell into niches or was much aware of what other people were doing, until I was kind of folded into this idea of Dream Lying. I don't mean to sound self obsessed but I didn't really care about anything beyond my immediate sphere of friends?

For instance, you mention with other interviewees the Elections. I did not pay attention to those for a single second. I do remember we were saying "stop the count!" because we thought Georgeeehd should have won. And I dubbed Wormweeb the Prime Minister of Mcytblr, but I don't even remember who was running? Or why this even happened?

But as for other events, if they were funny or I could wring something out of them, I do remember them. For example, the mass migration of Kpoppies to Tumblr after it was suddenly "legal" to ship content creators. That compltely shifted the "culture" if it can be called that. I remember all the fake stan accounts, but I never attempted to interact with them. Obviously I remember the Tapeworm post, all the Discourse, the Controversies, how I was able to get hundreds of notes by summarizing events of the DreamSMP, my great shame in life.

But yes, most of the time, I was not there to take things too seriously.

Q: More specifically, what was your experience being in Dream Lying/early critblr? Do you think your experience differed from “main” MCYTblr?

A: As for my experience in what has been dubbed Critblr, well I've been credited with helping to start that whole movement. I think it's funny, because truly the kind of reaction to [censored]'s warcry scandal just wouldn't play out today the way it did back then. But I think it's a function of being an adult, that I could look at [censored] not as an idol, like at all whatsoever. It's easy to swept up in the emotions of things. But as a veteran of Discourseblr, and multiple fandoms, I could see through [censored]'s lack of media training and awareness of the average center left teenage perspective on these issues like it was wet tissue paper. People were mad at for that, but I didn't care what people thought of me.

Maybe by coincidence the other members of Dream Lying also had similar worldviews to mine. Everyone could look past the stanning of it all and recognize when something "canceallable" occurred and discuss it frankly and succinctly. Well I couldn't discuss it succinctly but others could. So to answer your question, yes it was a different experience from the rest of the "community." And it got to the point that it wasn't just "holding creators to account" it became fun. It was fun being the buzzkill in an ironic sense, and also fun in an unhinged way to just create these ludicrous scenarios of [censored] the Young Republican cornering you in the hallway and asking you so how does gay sex work actually though? And again, shipping was a component of this too.

And we turned out to be right. At the risk of sounding arrogant, this will become a theme.

Q: In previous interviews with DLying members, we’ve discussed that misinformation/in-jokes were a big part of the culture, one of them being that Dream sued you for libel. Do you remember any others? Did you expect so many people to believe you?

A: As I mentioned, I didn't take things too seriously. I enjoyed doing a little light trolling, such as when I infiltrated a [censored] stan tumblr server and showed everyone his dogs, and then reveled in the drama of them acting like I killed their families. People also turned on me because I abandoned The Ship for a ship that comprises of two… perpetrators of sexual misconduct as of March 2024, though that would also be true of the Popular Ship as well.

Anyway my personal computer died sometime in early 2021, so I, as is per the usual for my personality, made it into a joke because it really was quite stressful. I mentioned to Reese Georgeeehd and Ozzie ohge0rge (sp?) that [censored] must've sent a virus to kill my harddrive. This evolved into [censored]'s legal team sending me a cease and desist letter, as I'm sure I was being extra ~critical~ on Tumblr at the time.

They asked if they could make that The Official Narrative. I cautioned against it, it leaked anyway, because their "Private Twitters" had hundreds of followers, and this enabled this joke to become a full fledged rumor. And then my "ops" as the kids call them, got wind of this too. Most didn't believe it, but some had this "If it did happen GOOD!" attitude.

But some other examples… let me think. We did try to heavily imply that Ranboo was a former member of our organization. We rarely outright lied about the creators, but we did usually distort or exaggerate things when it came to us, for comedic effect. Frequently someone will say to me "Oh so and so mentioned you again," and my go-to answer is always "Tell them I got hit by a bus," or "Tell them I'm withering away from my dementia in the nursing home."

I did not expect people to believe me, because I did not spread the rumor because I had completely disappeared from the "public" by that point. I purposefully devised a very unrealistic joke in the first place, so I really don't know who would believe that. Especially since I was known to be friends and enemies with doxxers, who could find that information out if it existed.

Like the thought of [censored] being so hurt by a single anonymous loser calling him a Trump supporter and a bad voice actor and someone who was going to hold his British friend captive in his basement and force him to go on a keto diet to the point that he starves to death, or that he had offshore bank accounts to evade Taxes, or that he paid his brother to be his body double (this turned out to be true), that he was pretending to be bisexual for clout, that he had 100% cheated on his speedrun (also turned out to be true), that he had enslaved his mother as his maid, that he and his other friend from Texas would engage in a little frottage as bros do… well the list is endless. But the thought of him being so offended that he gets his lawyer, whom he pays, to send me a cease and desist letter… well it's one of the few things I came up with that was actually funny.

Uh but no, anyone with a healthy attachment to reality would never believe that.

Q: I understand that you were also in EBblr and its surrounding communities. What was that like? 

A: I was never in ebblr… all I did was watch a few Tubbo streams, realize that he was probably gay, and I was right. Because what do you expect at this point?

I pointed out publicly that Tubbo and Ranboo were engaging in some light queerbait, except that they were obviously both queer. The point was I thought they (or at least Tubbo) were trying to engineer a New [censored], because that gets you attention which gets you money… like Kaceytron was right about everything? In these spaces, being Queer is a commodity. But I'm letting the point get away from me.

In private, I mostly reacted with bemusement, and we did have some genuine enderbabies, as I called them (mostly derisively), in our server, who took it all so literally and that it was so kawaii desu. I thought it was cringe. Like, Tubbo pretending to be coy and saying Ranboo's foot was bigger than his forearm. That took me RIGHT back to my days as a cringy 19yo baby gay trying to flirt. Oh I'm getting embarrassed thinking about it. But there were a few moments that Tubbo and Ranboo manufactured together that I thought were pretty cute and wholesome.

On the whole, I'm still confused as to why I'm included in this sub-community. I approached Enderbees as a marketing thing, or something of the sort. I never read fics, I never looked at art, I never really cared. I especially didn't care about their "characters" on the SMP, which also set me apart from the genuine unironic shippers. Some thought this was worse than shipping because I was committing that dreaded cardinal sin: speculating on CC's sexualities.

And yes, I popularized the word Truthing in this context. I explicitly modeled it after 9/11 Truthers, because the JOKE (hi remember none of this was meant to be too serious) was that we were deranged conspiracists who were probably best kept away from normal society.

Q: Is it odd to be regarded as infamous within the MCYTblr niche? 

A: No it's not odd, I at least partially strove for infamy. Any attention gratifies the ego after all, not just postitive attention. Then there was the absurdity of it all. Here I was, in the Pandemic, having multiple degrees, looking for jobs, getting a job, going to work, paying taxes, and theater kids in high school were probably drawing devil horns on my pfp and throwing knives at it. All because I said everything I said about [censored], or "speculated" that Technoblade was gay because he had drama kid energy, or called Tommy annoying that one time in 2020, or babied [censored] too much. There's really no end to the list of nonsense I was spewing.

And I'd argue that I'm not infamous. Gayminecraftmen had to tell me about your blog and your interviews. I'm doing this because my friends think it would be funny. And the Drama of Georgesoot emerging from the senior living center to tell all is the kind of stupid humor I like. But aside from this, I haven't thought about Minecraft in a while. I have to be spoonfed lore about these annoying content creators who don't even make content anymore. Anything I learn about the "community" now is against my will.

At the time, maybe I was infamous, but now? I don't care. To even dignify my "infamy" would be to admit that Minecraft Youtube is even relevant anymore. How pathetic! I just filed my taxes and got an oil change last week. Me and the homies are having Dune watch parties and writing elaborate screenplays for Timothee Chalamet to star in in our heads (shout out to Ciara). To reminisce on my Tumblr infamy for a community of mostly teenagers about Content Creators who made content for said teenagers and later preyed on those teenagers… is so opposite from the adult problems and adult interest I have. Not to be condescending but that's just how it is!

Q: What are some common creator criticisms that you remember from 2020-2021? Do you still stand by them?

A: The common criticisms have held up in my opinion. [censored] and [censored] were queerbaiting. [censored] was cultivating an audience of loyal vulnerable teenagers and he took advantage. So did [censored]. And [censored] who literally bites people? Oh… okay then.

Dream Lying was right about [censored]'s friend whom he invited into his home and whom he tried to gift a career, only to be outed as an abuser. We were right about [censored] coming from not just a conservative background, but a bigoted one, one that he refused to actually grapple with. We were right about MCC being rigged. We were right about the cheating scandal. We were right about so many things.

The only thing I was definitely wrong about was the [censored] really did hop off the plane at LAX with a dream and a cardigan. I thought he for sure would just put off the [censored] team hype house meetup forever. My psychic powers don't always work I guess. That wasn't a criticism though, just my coping. Oh and I was wrong that Ranboo was an industry plant, but I was right that he's annoying and has no talent. And Dream Lying said from day one that Tubbo and Ranboo's little relationship would not last the summer and we were right! In fact during that whole thing I also speculated that Tommy would start queerbaiting and then he did! I felt like Cassandra at times.

Anyway back to the point. I mean the criticisms of [censored] were just all encompassing, and basically stemmed from the fact that he was like all these video game boys- a white man from a republican household who was not properly media trained because Streaming is not a real industry career and none of them were prepared for fame. And that has borne out over and over again. They all have shady pasts, they all abuse their fame and take advantage of fans. So I do stand by these criticisms.

Q: Is there anything else you’d like to speak on or have archived?

A: Not really, I've already said far too much, so apologies to whoever edits these, I hope you enjoy the novel I wrote for you. I don't know, I have dementia, none of this is real. Karlarmy forever. Also who even knows if I'm the real Georgesoot.

[sublimecatgalaxy]

Read It and Weep- Part 2

Pairing: NFL!Player!Rafe Cameron x Journalist!Reader

Summary: After a week of chaos, the Reader goes to interview their team during practice, chatting with them all about their win and their hopes for the next few Playoff games. But when the team sees how Rafe and Y/n interact, they decide to mess around a bit.

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: Violence, swearing, flirting, sexual tension.

Song: 'Bubbly' by Colbie Caillat

A/n: I'm so excited for this part. I love their interaction and I love writing their flirty moments. It's gonna get steamier from here on in so hold on! @tee-swizzle, here's your babydaddy.

I got so many messages following Sunday’s game.

Instagram, snapchat, twitter, my email was even blowing up along with text messages rumbling in from nearly every single person that I know along with people that I had never met before. 

There was this sudden interest in my life. People who really never wanted anything to do with me in high school now want everything to do with me, tickets to games, behind the scenes info, all the things that I would give them if we were actually friends but we’re not. Old family members that I didn’t talk to anymore except for birthdays and holidays were suddenly so interested in my job, wanting to read everything I’ve ever published. 

There were even tweets left by other football players on my most recent tweet that I posted, addressing the loads of questions about my state and about whether I’m okay or not. I just simply stated that I’m okay and don’t need any medical interventions and that Rafe was a gentleman for helping me up. I only made the post in the first place because half of the people that commented or reached out were concerned that Rafe had actually hurt me when he took me down when indeed, it was just my pride. Had I known that by posting that, I’d be getting interaction from every football player out there, I wouldn’t have posted it to begin with, especially with the incessant jokes they’ve left on my page- jokes that have attracted news stations in our area along with NFL commentators.

Rafe Cameron’s new woman?

Was the run in between sports journalist Y/n Y/L/N and Rafe Cameron planned to act as  a sort of ‘hard launch’?

Does Y/L/N have it out for Rafe Cameron’s wide receiver paycheck? 

The jokes started with Rafe’s own team, the team who’s known me as their faithful journalist, all turning against me to make jokes at my expense about how I ‘fell for Cameron’ and even made jokes about making our ‘ship name’ on shirts and hats for the whole team to wear. 

Given their track record, I assumed that they’d do it. 

But it did bother me, to see people all of a sudden equate my worth to one incident with a person that I barely know, chalking up our ten minutes of conversation into this huge love story where I’m the desperate damsel and he’s this loverboy giving me the chance of a lifetime, a chance to ‘be with him’, even though neither him nor I have talked to each other since the whole incident.

I got people asking me for interviews left and right, newscasters begging me to come on their shows and podcasts to speak about my opinion of the Rafe Cameron. I even got a call from my own manager asking if I would write a piece on Rafe and I almost agreed but then I wondered how weird it would be for him to read an article written by the girl that he flirted with during a whole entire conference and also toppled over when winning one of the most important games of the season. 

I came up with the alternative that I would go and interview all of the players as a whole during their at home practice before we all hop on a plane and go to Boston for a playoff game. My boss was on board and claimed it would bring in enough publicity, especially since half the country is looking forward to hearing Rafe and I interact, pining after us like we’re some fictional romance or as if I’m a contestant on a TLC dating show. 

My heels click against the concrete of the tunnel and my stomach only hurts more and more the closer I get to the literal light at the end of the tunnel. I can hear the men yelling and running around and I can already picture the bright smiles on all of their faces, knowing how excited they get for interviews. They’ll do anything for a break. 

I’m going to be honest, the amount of effort that went into my outfit, make up and hair was probably a little bit excessive but there’s a part of me that wants to do what everyone’s been talking about all over social media; knock Rafe off his feet. It was such a confidence boost to see Rafe completely and utterly enthralled in my very presence at the conference and I’d be stupid to ignore the follow request in my instagram right now, from him. 

When I stepped out into the sun, I’m immediately caught off guard by a bunch of whistles sung into the air, my neck craning to look at the bench with a teasing look, watching the huge men lining the bench wave sweetly at me with feigned affection. I give them an awkward wave in return as they all begin to shout individually; 

“Hey Cameron! Your girlfriends here!”

“Rafe, your girl’s here to see you.”

“Your baby mama's here, Rafe!”

“Baby mama- what?” I giggle breathlessly and under my breath, watching Rafe slip his helmet off and he jogs towards me. Before he can reach me, I take a step back, holding a teasing hand up to his chest, feeling his heart pound beneath my fingers. “Don’t want you taking me down again.” He looks shocked for a moment before he laughs sheepishly, eyes rolling at my obvious taunting and he takes a step back with his arms raised in surrender. 

“Jesus, it was one time.” He scoffs, reaching up to rub at the back of his neck, a gentle blush sweeping across his cheeks cutely. “I’m never gonna get past that am I?” My head shakes rapidly at him with a huge, proud grin, reaching out to pat his shoulder, feeling sparks beneath my fingers. 

“Never, nope. Not when the whole internet is talking about it.” A look of realization passes across his face and I can see the images of the tweets and articles pass through his eyes and I imagine the same, picturing all of the snapshots that the cameramen managed to take of us and, to be honest, it took everything in me to not save them to my phone and send them to my dad who still refuses to believe that Rafe and I actually talked, even after hearing the post-conference conversation and the actual tackle in the first place. 

“Correction, talking about us.” He grins, swaying gently on his feet while pointing a finger between the two of us and I tilt my head at him with a dumb smile.

“What us?”

“Ouch Cameron, she’s got you wrapped around her little, talented finger.” Greg approaches us quickly and without warning, swooping an arm around Rafe’s shoulder as he gives me a handsome smile and a wink. Rafe’s soft expression drops almost immediately and it doesn’t go without noticing the way his shoulders tense the minute Greg appears, his hungry eyes staring at me like a predator would look at its prey.

“Hi Greg.” I smile politely, ignoring the way that Rafe takes a step closer to me, glazing over at me as I pull my notepad out, prepared to give Greg my typical interview questions but he speaks before I can ask any questions.

“Hey, sweetcheeks. Are you here to interview us? Coach said something about it.” Greg asks, turning to look at Rafe with a shit eating grin and Rafe sighs, shoving his friend away from him and taking another protective step towards me, arm brushing against mine and it sends goosebumps down my spine.

“Yeah, I wanted to chat with some of you during practice, get some lines about the playoffs and winning last week's game.”

“Oh you mean the game where you won a buddy-boy's heart?” Greg winks at Rafe and Rafe clears his throat awkwardly, looking down at his feet with a tired smile. I pick up on the tension that’s between them, as if something’s happened in the last week that I’ve seen them. They’ve been fine all season, all buddy-buddy, a cute bromance, but today I can see the discomfort practically oozing out of Rafe as he stands so closely beside me. 

“Get the fuck out of here, Greg. You’re the fucking quarterback, you need practice more than any of us.” Rafe shoves him away and turns to me, ignoring the questioning look that his friend gives him and I make a mental note to write down the ‘tension’ that appears to be wracking through the team as the playoffs come and go.

“Ouch, baby needs a nap.” Greg sends me a wink and a pervish smile, shoving Rafe towards me as he stumbles and I reach out to steady him, hands gripping his strong shoulders. 

“Sorry about him. He’s a pain.” Rafe mutters, returning to his normal position across from me, still standing closer than before but keeping an honest distance between us, something my mom would call ‘leaving room for Jesus’ and, I’ll be honest, the closeness, the protectiveness, is extremely attractive and refreshing to see, especially from Rafe who’s already so strong and protective as is. And incredibly hot if I might add, not much room for Jesus here.

“Oh really? Couldn’t tell.” I laugh, reaching out to pat his shoulder in an attempt to console him and his shoulders roll in an attempt to loosen up a bit, jaw slacking. He laughs sheepishly at me with a soft smile, hooded eyes sweeping to look down at the ground and I can just make out the blush on his cheeks as he turns to look back at the team that’s still practicing.

“You’re funny. And stunning. You look different than your typical get-up.” His eyes shift to look over me once more, this time ten times more obvious than he did when he first approached me but not nearly as obvious as Greg’s eyes on my boobs.

“You know what my typical getup is?” I ask with an honest tilt of my head, teasing him but at the same time, it makes me wonder if he’s truly been paying attention to me longer than last week. The thought makes me think back to every single outfit I’ve ever worn in front of him, remembering the one time I wore a pretty embarrassing spongebob shirt to practice one day after I had woken up, completely and utterly hungover.

“I pay attention.” He shrugs with a coy smile.

“To a random journalist?”

“To a random beautiful woman? Yes.” His flirting is incessant but I have to give him credit because he is possibly one of the most sweet talking, charming people I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. He seems to know just what I want to hear and just what will have my heart racing. “Most distracting thing on the field.” He bumps me with his shoulder and I grin vividly, hands reaching up to rest on my cheeks to conceal the heat coming from them. “Did you get my follow request?”

“We should talk about the game.” I laugh awkwardly, suddenly feeling so comfortably claustrophobic in his shadow and I’m so close to him that I could just lean into him and fit my body into his. I bet his body would fit against mine like Cinderella's slipper. 

Isn’t that what they’re calling us? A match made in heaven?

“Fine, fine. I’ll reel it in a bit.” 

We fall into a comfortable silence, both of us turning to watch the players on the field, tossing the ball back and forth and running drills- but what gets my attention is the noises coming from the bench and I turn my head to see four of the players making faces at Rafe and I and clutching their chests in cute affection.

“Don’t look now but they’re making kissy faces at us.” I whisper to Rafe and he scoffs, giving them a simple look out of the corner of his eyes before he leans down to me, whispering against the shell of my ear and it has me gulping in breaths of air.

“Ignore them. They’re pussy-sober which makes them sad and stupid.” I giggle, shoving him away from me with wide, playful eyes.

“Oh and you’re not?” His lips part in a look of shock but a pleasant shock as his dropped jaw slowly turns into a bright smile, his head once more lulling forward as he avoids looking at me out of pure embarrassment. 

“Ouch, Y/l/n.” He whispers, reaching up to pat his chest with a pout. “You wound me.”

“And you literally wounded me.” Folding my arms across my chest he pouts with furrowed brows, hands reaching out to rest on my shoulders as he gives me another once over, almost as if he’s looking for injuries though I think the real reason is to just have another reason to look at me.

“Fuck, I asked if you were hurt, you said you were fine. Are you okay? Do you need to get checked out, I’ll pay-” He starts but I reach up to place a hand on his chest, cutting his words off and instead he’s now tuned in on the fact that I’m touching him, his heart rate speeding up beneath my touch.

“Rafe, it’s a big bruise on my hip. I’ll live.”  

The coach calls Rafe over almost immediately before Rafe can ask to see the wound on my hip and I’m glad that he did because the last thing I wanted was for him to see how big the bruise is and how big of a baby I actually am. How he was already so ready to take care of me, help me pay for medical care- I’m beginning to wonder if he’s just like this or if he’s just like this with me.

It’s fun to watch him play, watch him sprint across the field and catch the ball effortlessly, nine times out of ten falling dramatically to the ground after catching it and looking back at me with wide, excited eyes, almost asking ‘did you see that?’ It makes me appreciate his roots, the fact that at one time, he was just a little boy playing flag football and winning high school games and now he’s with the big boys, making all of his dreams come true. It’s quite the tearjerker. 

“Hey, Y/n!” Rafe calls out suddenly, startling me from my note taking and I spot him running towards me with a ball. “Wanna learn how to throw?” He asks, tossing me the ball and I grin down at it, feeling the worn leather beneath my hands as Rafe’s pupils dilate a bit watching me, his hands moving to grip at the neckline of his jersey.

“Is this a part of the interview?” I ask teasingly, tossing the ball back in his direction and he rolls his eyes dramatically. “You don’t throw the ball, Rafe-”

 “You can just say ‘I was shown exactly how Rafe and Greg do what they do and look great while doing it.” He winks and I scoff at him, turning my head just to hide the shit eating grin on my lips that seems to be a permanent thing around him. “C’mon.” He reaches out to take my hand gently in his as he begins to walk backwards, taking me further onto the field with every step I take. “Please?” He pleads, thumb brushing against my hand as I ponder for a moment, weighing the pros and cons but when I come up with nothing, I give him a simple shrug, taking the ball from him with a grin. 

“Why not?”

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Series Tags: @onedayatatime6 @hysteriahall @littlefirefly08 @hanniebee33 @imsorare @acatwriteshere

[leonardalphachurch]

saw the question of “how long does it take rvb to pass the bechdel test” and i got curious and also wanted to make myself mad so.

my answer is Reconstruction: Chapter 5 (s6e5). there’s a recorded conversation between sheila and tex about the ship crashing.

my answer with no caveats is Evacuation Plan (s9e4). carolina, 479er, filss and south all participate in a conversation that takes up a good chunk of the episode.

i talk a LOT more about the state of female character interactions under the cut.

the first time two women talk at all is s2e11/bgc30:

sheila bisexual moments. while iconic, this isn’t much of a conversation (tex doesn’t ever speak to her) and it’s certainly about a man so. doesn’t count. next!

next is s3e1/bgc39:

while here it’s implied that they are actually having a conversation at least we still don’t actually see any exchanges between them and they’re still talking about men and quote “Boring stuff like oppression, and a hostile work environment.” which is great but. a) we don’t see it. and b) again, still about men

next is tex and kai’s exchange in season 5. which is misogynistic as fuck and even if it did pass the bechdel test i would refuse to count it. but guess what! not only are they talking about men, but we literally do not see them talk to each other. kai speaks to tex “who’s o’malley?” but tex doesn’t respond to her, instead asking the guys “who’s the girl?” (s5e10/bgc92). then they talk in the background of the next episode while church and tucker are misogynistic. then it’s two more episodes until we get this gem

y’know, girl stuff! how fucking charming. these writers really have a great grasp on how woman act. god, it’s even worse when compared to tex and sheila’s conversation earlier. in what world would tex be fucking intimidated by kai.

and you know what the joke of this all is. even if they did have a conversation here that passed the bechdel test it still wouldn’t count under some rule sets because kai still doesn’t have a name at this point. great work team.

s5e15/bgc92 has a deleted scene where kai calls up a girl friend and they talk… i’m not counting it because 1) kai is as of yet unnamed and the girl friend is never named, 2) the conversation is ostensibly about junior, though they do talk about other stuff enough that you could argue it’s not about a man, but 3) it’s deleted. you don’t get credit for shit you deleted.

next time two women talk to each other is recovery one episode 4. this is the first time we see two women have an actual, back and forth conversation. the conversation is between south and commamd about wash, delta, and the fact that south isn’t rejoining freelancer. i do think this conversation fits the spirit of the bechdel test (two women talking to each other with deeper characterizations unmoored from being about men) but that’s only really by technicality. command isn’t a character here and doesn’t become one for another 4 seasons; the conversation is only retroactively a deeper one. it’s up to you whether or not you pass it. i think it’s important to remember that the bechdel test isn’t really a hard test to determine what’s feminist (and was made in the first place to be about queer women being able to see themselves in media) but rather a marker to help sort out if the female characters in a work are allowed any depth outside of men. this exercise is less about finding a scene fitting exact criteria and more about. me going oh god it really is fucking bad out there huh.

my actual pick, as i said in the beginning, is s6e5. though tex mentions gamma and the aliens, the conversation is still about the fact that the ship is crashing. and in terms of the spirit of the test, two women yelling at each other as they die definitely fits definitely fits “deeper character motivations outside of men” imo. it’s. kind of really sad though. the first time we ever see tex and sheila have an actual conversation is the last time we really see either of them, chronologically. we only got to see them have a relationship as they were dying. why couldn’t they have been friends in life.

if a recorded conversation isn’t good enough for you, you’ll have to wait until s8e15. season 7 does not have a single woman in it. tεx and filss talk about pfl’s files. it’s not exactly an in depth back and forth and the conversation is shared with simmons and church but. it’s something. i think sheila and tex’s convo fits the spirit of the test a bit more but. let’s chalk it up to two conversations in the 8 seasons. fantastic.

all right, season 9 time. come on, a third of the main cast is women! that’s gotta bring our numbers up, right?

episode 1? no. 2? no. 3?

incredible! we have a conversation between female operative and pilot! just kidding. the wiki doesn’t name them bc they haven’t been named yet, but this is a conversation between carolina and niner! no funny business! just an actual conversation between woman! wow. only took us nine seasons to get to a point where i can confidently say something passes the bechdel test with no caveats. unless we look at the 60 second rule. then. oops.

but… wow! episode 4 has… THREE women? talking to each other? and then a fourth joins in? i thought it was a myth! being able to handle so many women on screen at once… they really did something special here. anyway, this episode is the first to pass with flying colors. i can’t time shut bc i don’t have the videos on hand but i’m certain this passes the 60 second mark. great work! if only it didn’t take you nine years to get to this point.

ugh. i had more written past this point but tumblr erased it and i don’t feel like fucking redoing it. i got to the point i wanted to so. maybe i’ll continue this later. would like to explore the rest of pfl and chorus. it’s impressive how well pfl manages to avoid having women actually speak to each other. they’ll literally be in the same conversation but never actually address each other. this happens multiple times.

[ad0rechuu]

★ MILKY WAY. ━━ (050) I’m alright, I promise

WORD COUNT. 1346

WARNINGS. none just fluff, a lot skinship tho!

credits to @ari-shipping-stuff for being my beta reader / writer <33

THE MOMENT YOU WALK INTO THE DANCE STUDIO, THERE ARE EIGHT GUYS CROWDING YOU, BOMBARDING YOU WITH QUESTIONS AND GREETINGS.

And in San and Mingi’s cases, apparently, affection too. They immediately throw their arms around you the moment they see you, showering you in praises and compliments while the leader tries to get them off you in a protective fashion.

“Please let her breath!” Hongjoong yells, holding both of the men by their collars. Chuckles echo trough the large space. San looks embarrassed while Mingi looks mildly displeased, at most. It never fails to surprise you that someone of Hongjoong's stature could control the seven individuals just like that. It’s honestly impressive.

He walks up to you and places a hand on your shoulder.

“It’s nice to see you again Yn.” He nods with a polite smile.

Rolling your eyes, you push his hand off your shoulder, only to engulf him in a tight hug. He groans like it’s a chore but he returns it almost right away.

“Why do you sound so formal, Joong? Are we strangers?”

“So much attitude. I feel Seulgi’s pain.” Hongjoong moves away from you and flicks your forehead.

You stick your tongue out at the older boy, rubbing your forehead as you turn to the others.

Jongho is the first to come into sight, and you greet him.

“Took you long enough!” He replies, not meeting your eyes.

You completely ignore the youngest's words, only focusing on their underlying meaning.

“I was right you are pretty cute!” You laugh, ruffling his hair. He begrudgingly accepts, much to the others shock (and maybe a little bit of envy).

“Our Maknae is adorable, isn’t he?”

You hadn’t even noticed Wooyoung creeping up next to you. His voice gets louder as his head moves to rest on your shoulder, startling you.

“He never lets us do that though.”

Yunho joins your other side. “This feels like favoritism.”

You look up to him. While he’s about the same height as Mingi, he has a more innocent face. Which definitely doesn’t translate to his body.

The two of you share a quick side hug before you go over to meet the reserved boy who hasn't said much, thus far.

He’s a lot more timid in person compared to over text. You offer your hand to him which he gladly shakes as you two exchange pleasantries.

“Did you find any blackmail content yet?”

A unique giggle erupts from Yeosang's lips as he shakes his head.

“Nah, you deleted all the good stuff.”

His deep voice compared to that angelic face surprises you, but at the same time, it also makes a lot of sense.

Not even a minute later, you walk with determination to the eldest. He kept his distance the most, mainly just watching you interact with his younger brothers. The first thing that you note is that his hair grew quite a bit. You had your suspicions during the call a month ago, but it was more noticeable now.

“Your hair never fails to take my breath away.” You said, still eyeing the hair. Pink truly suits him.

His brown eyes met your own, a glimmer in them as you connected your hands in excitement.

“Only my hair?” He jokes shyly, making you laugh.

“I lied! All of you does actually!”

He wants to laugh at your comment but his breath gets stuck in his throat the moment he realized the close proximity you two were in. If only you knew what you did to him. While you were busy giving him the prettiest smile he’s ever seen, he worried his heart was going to beat out of his chest.

Sadly, he didn’t have enough time to respond in a cool way like he wanted to as Mingi interrupted.

Mingi is someone with a lot of natural confidence. Not in a cocky way, but rather in a way that he radiates it to those around him.

That same confidence seems to disappear the moment you turn to him.

“Hi.” Is all he could muster, the wide smile on his face growing even wider as you cup his cheeks with adoration.

“Did you forget about me?” The voice behind you that you recognize as San asks. You turn to him to meet his pouting face.

“Of course, I didn’t, Sannie!” He nearly tackles you with the hug when he hears his nickname leave your lips.

His cheeks turn a warm color when you whisper some encouragement about his crush in his ear before he can even respond. The guilt of lying to you hits him but he also knows that now isn’t the time to come clean. Instead of saying anything, San opts to hide his face in the crook of your neck, leaving you to stroke his hair as you laugh.

You aren’t laughing at him, the opposite actually. The fact that you feel so carefree with these guys makes you laugh. Suddenly, happiness doesn’t feel that far away anymore.

As you part, you shoot a smile at everyone. “So, you guys wanted to show me something?”

And they did. You reminisce about the intricate dance moves and impressive facial expressions they just showed you as you’re sandwiched in between Mingi and Seonghwa in the booth everyone has settled down in.

You expected them to be good but not to this extent, you bet that they would make it big if they chose the idol career instead of the dance crew route.

You let the phone fall on the table after watching the dance video for the nth time with a loud sigh in admiration causing you to get some weird stares from the patrons of HanuelSan on accident.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you guys are this good!” You whine, looking at Hongjoong specifically.

Yunho, Yeosang, and Jongho, who sit in front of you chuckle at your enthusiasm. Seonghwa and Mingi exchange a look that you can’t really decipher.

“Did you ever ask?” Hongjoong says simply as he reaches over the table to retrieve his phone.

An offend look replaces the previous emotions on your facial features.

“I did! Many times! You just refused to show me anything!” You quip back.

You let your head fall on Mingi’s shoulder dramatically as you slump back in your seat. You feel his shoulder tense up at your action. Just as you’re about to lift your head back up his hand pushes you gently back to your previous place.

Your pouting doesn’t last long when San returns from behind the counter with your drinks. 'Thank you's are thrown to the dark-haired man in response.

A silence falls over the group as everyone enjoys their drinks without a word, clearly tired from the dancing. It’s not awkward though, not at all! It’s strangely comforting. Just as you push your mask down and lean forward to sip at your own drink, a familiar voice reaches your ears.

Only it’s not actually speaking to you, instead Taegyu’s warm voice fills the cafe. The group exchange worried glances as you search for the speaker that the song is coming from.

“I’m so sorry, my sister must’ve added this song to the automated playlist.” San stands up quickly, apologies spilling from his mouth. “I’ll change the song, don’t worry, Yn!”

You reach for his hand, making him stop in his tracks.

“No, let it play please! It’s alright.” You insist, your other hand also wrapping around his as reassurance.

San still looks unsure, regardless of your words. Judging by the looks he shares with the others, they seem to share the sentiment.

Seonghwa places a consoling hand on your shoulder lightly. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

You nod. For the first time since you’ve met Taegyu, your heartbeat doesn’t speed up when you hear his voice. The idea of him doesn’t make you want to throw up with sadness. And when you picture him, you feel positive feelings but none of them heartbreaking or romantic in any way.

You’re finally over Park Taegyu.

“I’m alright, I promise.” You smile.

‹ PREVIOUS ᜊ NEXT ›

NOTES. i’m a terrible writer and writing this was really fucking draining but im glad i did! 10 more chapters hehe

TAGLIST. @bunnystrm @seongwin @aestheticsluut @meginthebuilding27 @gaebestie @stopeatread @pr1ncessm1ng1 @persphonesorchid @se0nghwaswife @seonghwasslytherin @leeknowsnothing @alixnsuperstxr @bluehwale-main @miriamxsworld @tocupid @rieuvie @sunoo-bby @jcngh0-hq @dudufodd @nikisbf @mrowwww @end0rchans @qtdenks @mintgki @dear-dreamie @leo-seonghwa @legohwas @evilsailorsenshi @seonghwaddict @choichaeyiul @sunshine1438 @iw4milf @yunstarz @cvberidiot @tubatu-wari-wari @not2daym8 @jaehunnyy @brrrkdslek @whippedforbeomgyu @amara-mars @crvzy-fujoshi @hyuk4ngel @atinyinateezverse @nickiminajleftasscheek

[getvalentined]

R, S, and T for the ask game :-)

prompt for S is for Tseng if you'd like!

R - Which friendship/platonic relationship is your favorite in fandom?

This is actually hard to say! Firstly, I see all ships as being friendships—if they're not friends, I don't think that's a good relationship. My favorite ship is still VinVeld, I think, but it's basically a pool noodle so it's hard to call it my favorite in fandom. I am the source of like 75% of the fanart ever drawn for those two, so like. The fandom is me. 😭

I think my favorite relationship altogether (romantic or platonic) within fandom right now, as in the ones where I interact with other people, is Strifentine. There are a lot of really fun people into their interactions all across the world, and I've honestly never had a bad experience on that side of the fandom. Pretty much everyone over there is very much "I'm in my lane and that's all there is to it," and that's basically how I feel about fandom in general so it's pretty great. Also I just love the character dynamic between the two of them in-canon (particularly the OG and AC), so it's always really nice to play with regardless of context!

S - Show us an example of your personal headcanon (prompts optional but encouraged)

I have a lot of random Tseng headcanons, but I think I've shared most of the fun ones at some point in the past. I can talk about one of my stupid Tseeve headcanons that works in conjunction with a Tseng headcanon?

My Tseng has had an on-again-off-again relationship with Reeve since he was about 20, often with long "off" stretches between the "on" periods—he's had plenty of flings and even the occasional repeat hookup, but his only actual dedicated relationship has been with Reeve. Given that he knows Tseng has slept with other people, Reeve does not know this until they're planning their wedding around 2012; he makes a joke about a jilted ex-boyfriend showing up to cause trouble, and Tseng says that won't be an issue since he doesn't have any ex-boyfriends. He didn't think this was a big deal, considering that he was more dedicated to his job than to anything else up until Meteorfall—which is one of the reasons he and Reeve broke things off so often—but upon discovering this, Reeve proceeds to have a minor internal crisis over whether or not that means all his boyfriends during their long "off" periods count as cheating. (They don't. Oh my god. They don't. Reeve. Please.)

T - Do you have any hard and fast headcanons that you will die defending? 

Vincent is half-Wutaian! To be clear, all characters in Japanese media are generally meant to be viewed as partially Japanese unless broadcast very specifically as something else (IE: the Shinra family are explicitly intended to be white), but Vincent is so obviously part-Asian just visually that I'm sure it's intended in-universe. Grimoire has a different hair texture and base skin tone than Vincent, though, and his build and facial features are quite different, leading me to the conclusion that Vincent gets those visibly-Asian features from his mother. (Also seeing people go out of their way to portray Vincent as white gives me hives.)

[ for the A to Z ask game ]

[mylittleredgirl]

finally, m*a*s*h update!

season four disc two! ("quo vadis, captain chandler" to "dear ma")

there is a LOT going on in the frank and margaret department

i kind of tipped my hand here when i posted about my new obsession, but even if you are not circling the drain on this doomed ship... the Unresolved Breakup Tension is fuckin WILD in this disc

she literally punches him in the face!!! how was that not a breakup!

but then he buys her something or does something to charm or impress her, and it works! then he blows it again!! rinse and repeat!!!! i am 👀🍿

sam and diane from cheers are still theeee platonic ideal of slap-slap-kiss but these clowns definitely walked so they could run

i literally jumped off the couch when his wife found out, aaaaa it's so juicy

I'M SORRY i realize this doesn't speak well of me as a person, but those long close-ups on her face as she voluntarily eavesdrops on him dismissing their relationship (twice!!) and her heart gets fully crushed??? i could eat popcorn to this all day.

this is the kind of dysfunctional relationship that my artist friends would choose in our youth so that we could Suffer and Make Art, so i really hope margaret is writing terrible poetry about it

anyway, we're peroxide-roots deep into GIRL WHY??!??

and then bj very gently explains to radar that well, see, frank and margaret both kinda suck and we're in the middle of nowhere, so they're all they've got

and i had to spend three or four days staring at the ceiling about it, because YEAH. it's not just that they're each other's only rank-appropriate source of star-spangled orgasms

(and they both care far more about military hierarchy than they do about marital fidelity)

but they are so consistently unkind to everyone around them that they have no other choice for any human connection full stop.

i'm not even talking about their ongoing bullying war with hawkeye and trapper or bj, because that's dirty pool on both sides, but i could count on one hand the number of times either of them have interacted with a subordinate nurse or enlisted man without threatening them. like they literally would not have anyone else to talk to.

but the reveal that she still wants to MARRY HIM? oh god. ohhhh honey. noooo.

that fake proposal prank was so genuinely mean. mostly because they ruined her hot date! 👏 let 👏 margaret 👏 fuck 👏 random 👏 dudes 👏

"isn't general barker the one who wanted you to spank him?" lmaoooo

OKAY i swear i can talk about other things:

hawkeye continues to just NOT pull without trapper here. the nurses are fully dismissing or ignoring his efforts, and honestly is he even trying that hard?? have we seen him get even one date?

i've been trying to come up with an "intricate rituals" joke about hawkeye and trapper but where the rituals are... girls. you get me.

i re-watched the pilot and the desk ep (for frank/margaret reasons DON'T JUDGE ME), and hawkeye and trapper LITERALLY end the pilot handcuffed together, and in the next episode talk about sharing a nurse. how am i supposed to take this???

speaking of nurses, you know that little 🙄 you have to ignore in 2024 whenever the women on m*a*s*h get called honey and sweetheart and baby on the job (though tbh i worked on a construction site and an ad sales office in the 2010's and got the same treatment -- but in the modern day it's done ironically babe)

BUT when potter calls margaret "good girl" after he gets shot??? total opposite feeling. i literally had to pause and take a moment. he's her dad now.

also when he tucks radar in???? everyone's dad actually

in loving memory of radar's other dad though, two important points:

how proud would henry have been of drunk & disorderly radar??

and henry's "i've always wondered if i might be radar's dad" bit is genuinely 900% funnier now that we know radar's mom looks EXACTLY like him.

i don't think i have ever circled back to talk about klinger, who became so so so awesome

it's so funny that in klinger's very first appearance and 30 times since then, he has been told straight up that wearing women's clothes will never work to get him out of the army. there's no explanation for his commitment to this particular form of passive resistance except that he genuinely loves it

the swamp rats built a still and klinger got a sewing machine and learned a craft. he's so good at it!! his looks are 🔥

i feel uncomfortable when i see him in fatigues tbh. it happened a few times in this disc and i would like it to Stop actually

also precious baby father mulcahey... Protect Him.

i LOVE that everyone showed up for his church service when the grand poobah chaplain was in town. they love each other!!! (also the life magazine jeep shoot!!!)

"quo vadis, captain chandler" was really good. i'm still over colonel flagg's whole deal but i now understand why everyone loves sidney freedman, and the guest actor they had playing not-jesus was incredible

bj continues to be the best little brother hawkeye could have asked for

also he maybe invented cpr?

i didn't say much about him here but I LOVE HIM and also his off-screen wife

forward and onward!!!

[blainesebastian]

mutually assured satisfaction (pt8)

words: 5,303 ship: austin butler x reader summary: reader’s agent approaches her with a PR stunt to date austin butler and promote both their careers. a mapped out plan, an electric relationship–what could possibly go wrong?   notes: masterlist is on my sidebar, thanks for reading!  warnings: none :)  tag list: @killerqueenfan, @karamelcoveredolicity, @elizabethrosecresswell, @gigisworldsstuff, @kittenlittle24, @slowsweetlove, @namoreno, @strokesofstokes, @callthedarknessdown, @kibumslatina, @al-co-hol-youlater, @frogoerson, @dancer4j 

The breakup between you is silent, nothing public or overly dramatic, leaked to press and plastered on the internet and letting that virus run its course until it’s out of everyone’s systems. Social media has a field day with it, posting smear pieces and fans taking sides, unironically drumming up even more publicity for both of your movies. That was the whole plan right? The point? Even the breakup would end up serving you both in satisfactory ways.

And yet it’s not something you can even begin to revel in.

There are a few emotions that have been constantly ping-ponging you back and forth; anger, frustration, sadness, before you finally just land on acceptance. At the end of the day, this was a deal, this was an agreement, and both of you met that. You throw yourself into your next project, meet new people, continue the work that you love doing.

And pretend that there’s not this small feeling deep in your chest that tells you how much you really miss Austin. It wasn’t just a relationship to you, he was quickly becoming someone you counted on, a friend, someone you enjoyed laughing with and having pointless conversations into the early hours of the morning. There was kissing, yes, and how it felt to have his lips and hands on your body but it was also so much more than that.

You think you fell just a little bit in love with him.

But things change and a lot of time passes—you don’t pay attention to the gossip and tabloids but you’re pretty sure Austin is dating some model with a name you can’t remember. Might start with a K? Regardless, you’ve reached the point where you can accept that, maybe even feel some sort of happiness for him? Or at least not hate him for moving on.

That’s what you’re doing too.

When you run into Nate again at a fashion show in New York, you start entertaining the idea of seeing him again. What it might be like to actually repair your relationship, to try again. There are even a few dates where you both have a good time. But when you kiss him, he gently cups your cheek and pulls away,

“It’s not me you’re kissing.” He says but he’s not upset by it, it’s just a fact.

You’re just not sure what you’re supposed to do with that.

When you meet with Christina to talk about events, promotions, photoshoots, interviews—she does not mention Austin even though you can tell there’s always that lingering comment, question, in the back of her throat. She kinda gives you this look that makes your skin crawl, as if opportunities are somehow slipping right through your fingers.

Sometimes, late at night, you tap open your text conversation with Austin and look at the last messages you sent one another. It was something silly about horror movies, a promise to watch Alien together because he’s never seen it. You can’t quite bring yourself to delete the interaction, even though you come closer each time.

A handful of months disappear and on the anniversary of your grandmother’s death you watch The Borne Identity to remember her by, a soft smile on your lips the entire time because she really did love Matt Damon. Joked about what she’d do if she ever met the man.

A few people reach out to you with condolences and kind words, knowing that it’s a rough day, and you somehow think you’ll hear from Austin even though you know you shouldn’t expect it.

Before you crawl into bed, a message dings on your phone and when you open up the thread, you’re kinda blinking at the small screen a few times in disbelief. It’s a picture from Austin of his TV and you can tell he’s watching The Borne Supremacy.

There’s no other message attached but you swear your heart swells twice its size—the image meaning more to you than you can possibly put into words.

The door that’s closed between you two begins to open up just a smidge.

--

You don’t really talk, not like you used to, there’s a few texts here and there but nothing of incredible substance. You can feel the hesitance on the other side, the tension thick enough to cut with a butterknife. So much unsaid and yet nothing to say at all. Elvis is still blowing up, regardless that it’s out of theaters, and you send little confetti emojis to him because it’s definitely something to be proud of. He sends back a heart. A week later he sends a P.I. emoji with a question mark and a soft smile tugs at the corners of your lips because there’s been rumors you’re going to star in a spy movie—very James Bond, but not quite. You reply back with a magnifying glass and an exclamation point.

And for some reason, this bare minimum way of communicating is enough. A bridge that was completely burned down being rebuilt.

Your Instagram keeps showing you not-so-helpful images of Austin and some beautiful model walking around together, getting lunch, her wearing his coat on cold days, coffee cups in hands and sharing smiles.

He looks happy—you want to ask him so many questions and yet all you can do is flip through image after image before finally closing your phone.

You should know better than anyone that pictures are never what they seem.

--

You go on a blind date that’s downright terrible and honestly, at this point you should know better than to let Christina suggest anyone to you. But you give it a shot because you’re lonely and you have to take steps to move on because being miserable just isn’t an option for you. It’s one thing to fail after trying, it’s another to not try at all.

Stepping out of the bar, you take a deep breath and draw your coat tighter around yourself. You got an Uber here and despite Randy wanting to take you home with him, you’re getting a ride back to your apartment. You just needed some fresh air, zipping up your coat and rocking back on your heels as you wait for the thing to arrive.

Five minutes.

You flip through a few apps absently, just wasting time, and your thumb hovers over Austin’s name as you debate texting him about this terrible date. But…you don’t. It’s not…you can’t do stuff like that. You two are barely friends and the last thing you want to do is somehow create problems in his relationship by texting him late at night when he’s probably with his model girlfriend.

You were already labeled a homewrecker thanks to your fake relationship; you don’t actually need to become one.

“I thought that was you.”

And then you damn near swallow your tongue because you turn slowly and there, smack in the middle of your universe, is Austin. He looks…good because of course he does. Handsome in a way that is somehow never captured in images or video, striking in person. It almost knocks you to your knees. He’s wearing a pair of brown boots and triple denim, which shouldn’t look good on anyone and yet it works so well for him, highlighting his long legs and trim waist.

You let out a soft breath that puffs in the night air, “Hi.”

He gives you soft smile, walking towards you, out of the bar you were just in. Was he there the whole time? Is his date waiting for him inside? “How are you?”

You purse your lips, shrugging your one shoulder, “I’m good, busy…uh,” You motion to the bar, “Clearly goin’ on terrible dates—I should never let Christina talk me into meeting anyone she knows. Randy talked about sweater vests for, I’m not joking, an hour.”

A soft laugh leaves his lips, “Yikes,” He winces as he sticks his hands into his pockets. There’s a small pause before, “I thought you might be…with Nate.”

You raise your eyebrows because interesting; you suppose you could see why he’d think that. There were a lot of rumors that you had gotten back together even after both of you decided not to try out your relationship again because you couldn’t stop thinking about—

“No,” You shake your head at Austin, “It didn’t end up working out.”

Your phone pings that your Uber driver is a minute away and you take in a deep breath, shifting your weight from one foot to another. Perfect timing because you’re not quite sure you can do this anymore, the small talk, it’s bad enough seeing him and thinking about the girl waiting for him back inside the bar.

“Don’t let me keep you from your date, my ride’s almost here.” You give him a small smile, “It was really nice seeing you.”

His eyebrows draw together for a moment and you’re moving into the street to look for your driver when—

“I’m not seein’ anyone.”

You turn quickly to look at him, his shoulders pulling together in a shrug as a slightly amused expression settles on his face. Okay now you’re definitely confused, your mouth opening and closing, trying to get the question out—

“She’s just a good friend,” Austin replies, anticipating the words that never leave your lips, “People have been speculatin’, but you know they get that wrong sometimes.”

A small smile tugs the corners of your mouth before you nod—that’s definitely true. You try not to let yourself get too overwhelmed with the heat building up inside your chest, that familiar feeling of butterflies at hearing that Austin isn’t with anyone, that he’s single, that maybe he’s told you for a reason.

“Yeah,” You agree with an amused grin, putting your phone away when your car pulls up, “Really hate when that happens.”

There’s a soft laugh from Austin, giving you a wave as you get into the car. He doesn’t go back into the bar right away, watching you drive off, and that fluttering sensation stays with you long after he’s disappeared from the rearview mirror.

--

The last place you thought you’d be tonight is some sort of fashion event but…Christina is insisting you put yourself out there, have your face seen, drum up discussions on what you’re wearing, interviews about your new project and mingle with celebrities and designers that you haven’t spoken to before. You’d much rather be at home on your couch, eating queso and tacos from an Uber eats order in your pajamas but…

You guess there’s always time for that later.

You’ve definitely been to worse events; this one at least has decent drinks and the people there aren’t altogether insufferable. No one asks you about what happened between you and Austin, which is a blessing…after the breakup, it seemed to be what everyone wanted to talk about. You actually get questions about your films, upcoming projects, and some personal preferences about where you like to vacation, or, other events you’ve been to lately that have peaked your interests.

One of the things you’ve been enjoying about tonight is, for one, the weather is clear and crisp—one of your favorite temperatures outside (yes, of course you’ve got favorites...anyone who says they don’t is a liar). You’re wearing a long-sleeved navy-blue dress tonight, mesh inserts in the sides, paired with black heels. It’s perfect for you to slip outside onto the roof of the building; another thing that’s ticking all your boxes with this fashion show is that it’s on the top floor of this beautiful place downtown. It overlooks the city, bright lights sparkling against a blanket of darkness, and you draw a deep breath into your lungs as you sneak out.

Not many people are interested, given the weather, but you can’t get enough of it. Evading the buzz of conversations and questions, you feel yourself level out as you take a sip of wine and wander across the balcony-roof, head tipped slightly back to look at the sky.

Not to mention, an escape is exactly what you need right now—you’re pretty sure you saw Randy milling around in there, definitely would like to avoid him if you can help it. One blind date was enough, no need for a repeat. Leaning against the banister, you let your arms hang over as you look down at the city—part of you wonders what the people below are doing, small cars drifting across streets, little dots of city dwellers moving in and out of spaces that your eye can barely see or make out. Wild Friday nights or attempting to make it home to loved ones? Searching for that late night junk-food itch or maybe catching the subway to a twenty-four-hour gym. So many possibilities.

You wonder if anyone below is looking up, thinking who might be on the top of this building. A lonely actress, drinking wine.

You don’t hear the footsteps approach you from behind, but you do turn at the familiar voice, “What is it with you and rooftops?”

Smiling a little, your eyes drink in Austin because of course he’s here. You probably should have assumed, he’s got his fingers on the pulse of the celebrity scene lately, Elvis has exploded his career in a bunch of different ways. Not to mention the relationship with you—he’s kind of wanted everywhere and you have to admit that it’s working in your favor tonight.

It’s really nice to see him.

“Maybe I just know this is a guaranteed spot to find me.”

He hums, putting his hands in the pockets of his slacks. He’s got a simple outfit on, yet he’s stunning. Black slacks, cherry red shoes, a black mesh shirt with one red pocket square. Unfair, really, to look so beautiful without any effort put into it.

“You makin’ it easy for me?” Austin asks, coming to lean on the railing next you.

You shrug your one shoulder, taking a sip of your wine. “Maybe,” You repeat, “Here you are.” You don’t automatically mean for it to sound like…you’re thinking about how easy it’d be for him to associate rooftops with you, for Austin to find you here if he was looking. And yet it’d definitely be a plus.

Austin smiles a little, chewing on his lower lip as he glances behind both of you to the event going on. You wonder if he’s got someone waiting for him inside as he stepped out for fresh air. Pursing your lips, you drag your thumb along the railing—so many things you want to say and yet no idea how to get them out of your mouth.

“You flyin’ solo tonight?” He asks.

You glance back up at him, nodding, “Yeah, I’ve decided it’s the best way to approach these things—totally no strings attached.” Not trying to throw shade or anything, towards Nate, him, Randy…you’re just kinda done with the whole dating thing for right now. Got other things you could be focusing on that’s not going to drive you completely crazy.

Austin hums, “Thought you might be avoidin’ what’s his name, uh—Randy?”

You laugh outright, the sound blanketed in a bit of surprise. God, absolutely not. He smirks at your reaction, leaning right into teasing you,

“Oh what, you’re not with him tonight?” He’s grinning, baiting.

“God no, how did you—” You start but then you remember that Austin was outside the bar that night when you’d had that terrible blind date.

And then he says something else that surprises you, “What? I’m all caught up on celebrity gossip—I skim the tabloids.”

You raise your eyebrows, your stomach flip-flopping in a way you wish it wouldn’t, “Checkin’ up on me?”

While there’s this whisper of a thrill inside of you about him keeping tabs on you, you know better than to run away with that idea. Despite spending all this additional time with Austin, pretending to be with him, it doesn’t mean you actually know him any better.

You thought you did, or could.

“Maybe,” He replies, pulling you from your thoughts by bumping your shoulders together. “You tryin’ to tell me you’re not reading up on me? Lookin’ at Instagram stories? Bookmarking articles?”

You let out a slow breath, the air fluttering your hair a little bit. You feel like you don’t even have to respond to that because he’ll see right through your façade—clearly you’ve been just as curious as he is. While Austin’s joking, teasing, flirting with you, it doesn’t make what he’s asking any less pointed.

Despite answers you both know are true, you find yourself shaking your head. “You wish.” A soft laugh follows, breaking apart any tension that might linger.

There’s a soft comfortable silence that follows, to which Austin gives a soft nod, a smile still on his handsome face. He looks out at the city, the breeze coasting across the roof playing with the tufts of blonde curls on his head. There’s this deep ache to touch him, to be close with him again, to feel the same way you felt when you were categorizing everything as ‘fake’—just so ironic.

“Yeah,” He says after a moment, “I do wish…actually.”

You swallow, really unsure what to do with that. There’s this distinct sensation of butterflies turning into bats in your stomach and moving into your chest, wings grazing against bone. You don’t understand, why is he doing this? Saying things like this? You thought he was pretty clear before the breakup that he regretted this whole thing happening in the first place. He didn’t say those exact words, but he might as well have. The hurt you felt was the same.

There are questions that you want to ask building on your tongue, heartbeat pounding in your ears because you don’t think Austin is like that—treating this as one big joke, flirting with you because he’s bored, because he enjoys causing waves, getting underneath people’s skin.

Glancing down at your abandoned glass of wine, you attempt to shift the conversation, clearing your throat, “You uh—didn’t come with anyone either?”

Austin shakes his head, standing to his full height to look at you, “Nah, the person I really wanted to go with, I wasn’t sure she’d be comin’ tonight.”

That response is enough to send you right over the edge, your feelings for him still so strong and prominent and it’s really unfair of him to yank your chain like this. What, is this just a game to him? Are your emotions just things he can play with? The last thing you want to do is assume you know exactly how he’s feeling but…how are you supposed to think about anything other than that night on the balcony?

At the end of the day this was just what we said it was, right? Fake relationship? PR stunt?

And yeah, maybe you had begun to repair what was left of a friendship that had bloomed in-between all that but—

You let out an overwhelmed breath, shaking your head as you turn to go back inside. You can’t do this. “Excuse me.”

Austin reaches for your elbow, gently keeping you in place, “Wait, Y/N—please.”

“Please what?” You snap, pulling back from him.

You don’t understand what he could possibly say to you right now and you’re not sure you want to hear him anyways. Things between you were good, they were decent, on the way to repairing what was broken and possibly becoming friends after this—something that was actually real. And then he goes and stirs up all these old emotions, ripping scabs off of healing wounds, capable of drawing you completely back in.

“Can I just—” And for the first time in a while, Austin seems flustered, like this might not actually work out in his favor. But his tone is calm and patient, trying—and for some reason that sounds a whole lot like your grandmother’s voice in your head telling you to give him a chance, even if he might not deserve one. You don’t move. You slowly cross your arms across your chest, almost like a shield.

Closing your eyes a moment, suddenly tired about all of this, “Austin—there’s nothing left to say. I think we covered everything that night on the balcony.”

“No,” He shakes his head, “That’s what I’m talkin’ about, I was—ashamed about what I’d said to you, all that other stuff afterwards just came out.”

You frown, your eyebrows drawing together as he talks because…you remember those words like a knife; sharp, unyielding. You remember the sting on your palm after slapping him across the face—he’d created so much distance between you in such a short amount of time after that. And you understand, in a way, wanting to run from words sitting in the air, from the regret of even putting them out there in the first place.

But…

“It doesn’t matter,” You murmur, curling your hair around your ear.

“It does matter,” Austin insists, taking a step towards you. “It matters to me—you matter to me.”

You can feel yourself trembling and it has nothing to do with the cold breeze passing over the rooftop. You draw your arms tighter around yourself, attempting to swallow down the bout of emotions that intend on completely drowning you. Everything in your body is telling you to reply the same way, that he matters to you too, that he always has despite everything getting so fucked up and lost. That you knew that was exactly how you felt the moment he asked about your grandmother, when he showed up at your family home when there was no obligation for him to do so, when he pulled you close and kissed you in that bathroom of his friend’s place. How you can still hear his heartbeat against the shell of your ear from resting your head on his chest, feel his hands on your skin, the heat of his kiss between your thighs.

How you feel about him is intoxicating and it hasn’t faded, even though you’ve tried to tell yourself it has.

You realize that you’re standing on the edge of a precipice—and you either need to forgive him or completely close the door that was reopening between you two.

You draw in a soft breath, “So you…you regret it then?” A pause, “Breaking up?”

Austin holds your gaze for a long moment before shaking his head, “I don’t regret breakin’ up our fake relationship,” And that’s…that’s not what you expected him to say. You can feel your own face fall—

“Because I’d really want to date you—for real.”

It takes a moment for it to register what Austin is actually saying to you, but once it does, a laugh spills from your lips—something genuine and warm. And well, there’s nothing else to do but go with your gut, right?

“I’m sure that can be arranged,” You tease.

Austin grins, taking a chance step forward to wrap his arms around you in a hug. You allow him to pull you close, your eyes fluttering closed as you fit perfectly underneath his chin. It feels like a part of you is coming home, the shell of your ear resting against his chest, the scent of his sandalwood cologne achingly familiar. You can’t help but turn your face a bit into him, nose and lips brushing along the soft material of his shirt. His arms automatically squeeze you tighter, his head dipping to press a kiss into your hair.

Deciding to do this could be an incredibly terrible idea but at least you’ll be figuring out how to wade through it together.

That’s all you can really ask for and honestly? all that you really want. To be on the same page, finally, with no strings attached.

--

Once that fashion show passes, your relationship is once again pushed in the center of public attention. Photos of you two leaving the event wrapped up in one another circulate quickly, articles are written, BuzzFeed titles are made, Tumblr posts are drafted, Instagram stories are posted. Your careers begin to spin, that very same night Christina sends screenshots of emails for interviews and updates and asks the serious question of: is it real? Nothing brings more pleasure to you than telling her yes. She sends back pleased emojis and lets you know that press and obligations can wait—to just enjoy Austin and reconnecting what you felt had been lost.

There’s late night sharing of food on your apartment balcony, too many laughs and kisses to count.

And falling back into bed with him is one of the easiest things you’ve ever done.

--

Austin’s been pretty straightforward about PDA—he clearly doesn’t mind it or feels like you have to tone anything down, no matter where you are. It’s kinda refreshing because you know a lot of other men that you’ve been with (no offense to Nate) weren’t like that. Austin’s not shy about it—he’d wrap his arms around you from behind while in a line at a café, move to sit next to you at a restaurant to put an arm around your shoulders or share a kiss, his hands would travel while walking around doing something as mundane as errands—on your lower back, your waist, your hips, your ass. And then at events? Always a hand on you somehow, touching your waist, arm, shoulders, sometimes your face to draw you into a kiss.

When the relationship wasn’t real, you thought he was going through all these obvious, purposeful gestures because he knew people were watching.

Apparently this is just who Austin is because as soon as you begin seeing one another again? it starts back up like clockwork.

You suppose it shouldn’t feel so ironic that, essentially, things between you feel the same—that you fall back into similar patterns and states of being with one another. There was more truth than fiction in your relationship before than either of you wanted to admit.

Attending an event for one of your films, the carpet is busy with rows of a mixture of photographers, interviewers and fans. Austin helps out a lot with the dress you’re wearing—definitely your stylist’s idea even though you kinda love it. It’s long and sheer, iridescent in a way but covering you in the spots that matter. Your hair is softly curled, sitting on your shoulders and makeup matching the soft hues in your dress. It’s a banger, you’re obsessed, but also at the same time? Slightly nervous you’re gonna get tripped up and fall on your ass in front of everyone.

“I won’t let that happen,” Austin assures before you even get out of the car, “I got you.” He grins, leaning over and pressing a kiss to your lips. While the support is appreciated, this is also the same man that keeps teasing you that you look like a ‘mermaid stranded on land’. So.

His suit is completely black, which works well with the soft glow your dress has in certain lighting—a striking pair. You almost wish you could have worn more sensible shoes, but the look wouldn’t have been complete, not even to mention that the length wouldn’t have allowed it. Once you’re on the carpet, slowly making your way towards where pictures will be taken, Austin keeps an eye on the small train of your dress. He keeps it from getting tied up and so you’re not stepping on it either.

You smile up at him when you get to the line of photographs right before you enter the event, which sometimes can feel so long. He stands next to you, a soft laugh leaving your lips as he moves just to flutter out your dress. You can tell the photographers are eating that up, shutters snapping and bulbs flashing. He wraps an arm around your waist and poses for photos and sometimes you allow yourself a glance up—he’s so unbelievably handsome, it’s like a hand reaching directly into your gut and squeezing.

“Y/N! Y/N over here! Over here.” And sometimes the photographers are vocal like that, wanting their shot.

But you can’t take your eyes off Austin.

He eventually looks down at you, a soft smile tugging the corners of his mouth—more genuine, intimate, something just for you. He leans down and presses a kiss to your lips, and regardless of how public it is, you can feel the world around you fizzle into the distance. You’re constantly losing yourself in the pressure of his touch, the blueness of his eyes, the warmth of his kiss.

There are a few interviewers that you make sure to stop to along the way, people that you recognize before in the interview circuit, that have proven to ask great questions, a bit personal when they need to be, and never overly rude or pushy. Austin trails a bit behind as he speaks to some as well, seeking some fans out who keep grabbing his attention to sign things or pose for selfies.

“You look so beautiful tonight,” Kathy from Entertainment Weekly says. You smile back at the familiar face, a shy laugh that you sometimes automatically feel in front of the camera, despite practice, sneaking out of your chest.

“Thank you, it’s nice to see you again.”

Kathy smiles, genuinely touched to be remembered, “You too. I see you’re here with your boyfriend, Austin Butler—who’s looking dashingly handsome tonight.”

You smile a little, glancing over your shoulder towards Austin as he pauses for some photos. The lights from the camera flashes bounce attractively against the all-black suit, somehow making the gold in his curls a shade darker, his eyes an ocean blue.

You can’t help but take in a soft breath, “He is,” You agree, giving your attention back to Kathy.

“I have to ask—” And you can almost feel this question coming, “It was rumored that you and Austin actually started dating because of a big PR move between your agents—is there any truth to that?”

To your credit, you’re pretty sure your face gives nothing away. You’re trying to figure out the best way to even approach this question, your mouth opening and a short breath being drawn into your lungs. The moment you begin to talk, Austin comes up beside you, his arm absentmindedly slipping around your waist,

“How you doin’ Kathy?” He asks, recognizing her as well. And she grins while shaking his hand. “What question are we askin’?”

You tip your chin to look up at him, a smile tugging the corners of your mouth, “Oh you know—the usual, whether we were in a fake relationship a few months ago.”

Austin raises his eyebrows, a laugh rumbling in his chest that you can feel with your proximity rather than hear, “Now who on earth would believe somethin’ like that?”

Your cheeks flush pink as you smile at him, a giddiness traveling up into your ribcage from your belly. The rest of the interview continues seamlessly, even if you’re not sure if Kathy believed what either of you have said. You suppose it doesn’t matter—nothing does outside of the narrative that you two have for your relationship.

Once inside and there’s a small window of privacy, Austin turns and leans down, drawing you into another kiss. You wrap your arms around his waist, keeping him close, smiling against his lips.

In the beginning of this, you were overwhelmed that this was going to be a huge mistake, a waste, a distraction from finding something that was ‘real’.

Turns out that 'something real' was in front of you this whole time.

--

Thank you for reading :) I appreciate love and support for this series, meant a lot!

[doughguts-art]

Okay okay back with more Bandit questions and observations now!!! Hi!!! First off, what's the model of his gun? Literally just curious, really doesn't mean anything unless I feel like drawing it lmao. Secondly, what's his thoughts on the people in power/the guardians + the queen (I'm lumping the Judge into the guardians)? You said he won't work when he can survive well on his own, but does his dislike stretch out to even wishing harm on the guardians? Actually, does he know if a guardian dies, their Zone dies, too? How knowledgeable is he on the world of OFF's lore and how it functions?? Thirdly, does he have any friends I should know about? You drew him interacting with Project Goldfinch/Just Finch to break up the text in my first ask, what's their relationship? Does Bandit scam him to hell and back, or do they just casually chat every now and then? Fourthly, I VERY BRIEFLY checked out Ask Bandit and here are some observations I made: Uno, how come you ship him with Red from Animal Crossing? Is it cuz they both steal and resell?? If so, that's hilarious and I love your sense of humor. Dos, when drawing him with Elsen 7 I did not know Bandit currently resides in Zone Three, because 7 lives in Zone One. This whole time I was under the impression he travels through Zones for some reason lol? I guess that's my curse of having a handful of ECU Elsen that do that themselves lmao. Last but not least, not something Ask Bandit related, just generally speaking, would you like to see any future doodles I make of Bandit, whether he's interacting with my own OCs or otherwise? If not, I totally get it lol. Sorry if this is too many questions btw!! You're free to infiltrate my inbox with silly questions too if you want, just to make it more fair. Thank you! :]

Apologies in advance, I didn't make any new Bandit art for this post so I'm just linking something I drew in April that I don't think I shared to tumblr XD Answer time!

I modeled Bandit's gun after a Glock?? Kinda?? I didn't really reference a specific model, more like loosely inspired. I probably should create a prop-reference for it, but I haven't yet.

Bandit's dislike for authority does not stretch to wanting to take out the guardians. It would be counter-intuitive to his role as a merchant to kill off his customers by killing off the guardians. Bandit cares too much about profit, and although the guardians are annoying, without them he wouldn't have profit.

Bandit is fully aware on how the world of OFF works, it's inner workings, and other meta things.

Bandit will say anyone is his friend, even if they clearly hate him. Louis would be the only one that would truly think of Bandit as a friend (except maybe my elsen-sona, but they're a mary-sue type oc and should probably not be counted if we're talking in-universe/story lol)

As Finch is the protagonist in my game concept, Bandit will be the merchant selling them items. Finch is distrusting of Bandit, but sees him as a necessity in their mission. I do have an idea where Bandit does steal something from Finch to propel the plot, but who knows if that'll stay in the final lol

Bandit x Redd is a joke ship created by @brandy-elsen (tagging the account it was posted on and not your current account because I do not wanna waste a tag on this I am sorry Brandy AHHSGFG). All the credits to her for the comedic genius. I think you guessed right as to why that ship exists tho. I just drew it for that post because it met the "two pieces of fanart" criteria I set.

Bandit travels the zones, your initial assumption was right. He is only in Zone 3 on the askbandit blog because of the story being told on there. He's gotta refill his stock of sugar manually since sugar happens to be one of the things he cannot magically pull from his pack.

I would love to see future doodles you make of Bandit! I like collecting all the fanart I get and posting it (with credits/links) to his gallery on toyhouse.

I'm terrible with asking questions, but I'll keep your offer in mind if I have any in the future! :D

a dapper Bandit in a suit