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favoniuscodex · 3 years

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ataraxia - ch. 3 [ diluc x reader ]

ch. 3 - questionnaire pairing: diluc x gn!reader warnings: mention of injuries, mentions of murder, mentions of familial passing. not beta read. words: ~2.7k words fic masterlist [ prev ] - [ next ]

chapter summary: your newest companion, diluc, fulfills his end of the bargain. you’re not quite sure what you’ve gotten yourself into. a/n: not sure how long this fic is going to be in its entirety. guess we’ll just see what happens! it’s starting to have a very different writing style from most of my stuff ;;; but that’s ok!

diluc rests within the spare bedroom of your cottage, across the hall from you. with the threat of infection eliminated, his wounds sutured, and his broken bones properly set into casts, his recovery is but a waiting game at this point. sure, he likely has several months to go, but your main priority is getting him walking once more. you would have to head into the city within the next few days to retrieve a pair of crutches for him, but until then, diluc would have to rest.

he’s finally, thank the archons, wearing a shirt. the redhead is also far less grumpy now than your previous encounters, albeit a bit drowsy when he speaks due to the influence of the far stronger pain medication that the healer prescribed him. while diluc mostly insists on managing himself, he is still unable to walk long distances, if at all, and likely wouldn’t be able to move around for the next few days.

which, of course, left diluc dependent on you.

the urge to ask him to cough up mora in exchange for your undying attention (aka, y’know, not letting him die in the midst of your daily activities) is awfully tempting, but the presence of your parents still lingers heavily in your house. while they’re not around to influence your actions anymore, the nostalgic décor of the spare bedroom diluc rests in serves the world’s worst purpose: it forces you to have good morals. therefore, out of the goodness of your heart and definitely not because you’re worried that you’ll unsettle the spirits of the dead, you ultimately decide not to ask diluc for repayment.

what you do ask him for, however, is to uphold his end of the verbal contract you two had made. sure, you’re not in liyue and under the jurisdiction of morax, but you still expect diluc to follow through. you have far too many questions for the redhead, but elect to let him rest for a bit. he had had the courtesy to thank you when you placed another glass of water, a book, and an apple with some cheese by his bedside, but had gone quiet for the rest of the day.

you now stand in your kitchen, making yourself dinner for two in silence. you have no idea if diluc will even have an appetite or if he’ll even like what you’re making, but you crack the eggs onto the skillet nonetheless. the dish in question is rather simple: toast, ham, poached eggs, and mayonnaise. within minutes, you’re serving up the plates of food and you decide to leave your own in the kitchen.

despite the door being cracked, you knock slightly on the door to diluc’s temporary room. you cringe internally as it swings open from the gesture, but diluc, who is surprisingly awake and in the middle of reading the book you had left him, doesn’t seem to mind the sudden intrusion. his head perks up upon seeing the food in your hands and you feel guilt swirl in your stomach. had he been hungry this entire time? oops.

“hi, i... uh... made food,” you awkwardly greet, holding out the plate to him. diluc takes it with his uninjured left hand and sets the plate in his lap.

“thank you,” diluc says and the words are strangely genuine. much to your behest, in the short encounters you’ve had with him since the healer departed this morning, he has been nothing but polite. it’s irksome. you want a reason to hold a grudge against him due to his crankiness yesterday. however, it’s proving to be hard.

“adventurer’s breakfast sandwich,” you explain, gesturing to the dish. “hopefully you don’t have any dietary restrictions.”

“i do not,” diluc confirms as he cuts into the poached egg with the side of his fork. you watch as the yellow yolk oozes out. “are you an adventurer?”

you shake your head. “nope. just grew up with some in the family.”

“ah.” diluc says and silence falls between the two of you. you shift awkwardly as he begins to eat and diluc makes no effort to engage you in conversation. great, you think. we’re both awkward.

“are you an adventurer?” you finally ask, unable to think of a better conversation starter. you know your food is getting cold, but it can wait. if you do this little chit-chat with diluc right, you’ll be able to get the answers you need.

“not quite,” diluc says after swallowing the bite of food he’s chewing. you await an elaboration. he does not provide you with one.

you quickly realize that talking to him is going to be the equivalent of prying teeth. you’ve never wanted to be a dentist. this isn’t going to be fun for either of you and he’s certainly not going to make it easy, even if the two of you did have an agreement. so, you decide. i’m not going to make it fun for him either.

“so, diluc,” you sing-song, sitting down in rocking chair in the corner of the room. you hastily shove the quilt that rests upon it to the side. “how’d you get your ass kicked?”

diluc sets the fork down on his plate, having finished his meal after scarfing it down. he narrows his eyes at you, unamused, but decides to indulge you with an answer anyways.

“i got in a fight. i did not get my ‘ass kicked’,” he explains. it’s a rather awful explanation.

“you got in a fight with your enemies.” you clarify dully, unimpressed with his answer.

“correct,” diluc says. silence falls between the two of you. it’s only interrupted by the rumbling of your stomach, which diluc can thankfully not hear. you stand from your chair, take his plate from him, and pad into the kitchen before returning with your own plate. you sit back down in the rocking chair and begin to eat as diluc stares at you warily.

“i have questions for you,” you say before he can bury his nose in the book you provided him once more.

“such as?”

“your ‘enemies’. do they know you’re here?” your safety is your first priority. while you don’t want diluc to die, you’re not about to sacrifice your own life for the man who brought trouble to your doorstep.

“no.” he responds after a brief moment of thinking. his tone is rather sullen, yet it reeks of honesty. yuck.

“how do you know that?” you ask, poking at the runny egg yolk that bleeds onto the bread underneath it.

“we would both be dead if they did.”

you have half a mind to kick him out for that response, but choose to swallow another bite of your sandwich once more. what a relaxing, polite answer from the stranger lying in your bed. for all you know, he could be a murde- holy shit. is he an enemy of the state? am i housing a fugitive?

“diluc,” you begin and he tilts his head inquisitively, surprised by the sudden desperation in your tone. “just who are you running from?”

the panic in your voice is evident and it causes diluc to actually consider your question. after all, you could have the fontaine government knocking at your door tomorrow morning and arresting you because of this weirdo. you weren’t too worried about his ability to stick a knife in your neck either. thanks to him somehow fracturing one of the strongest bones in his body, he likely wouldn’t be able to do that yet. yet.

“oh. i am not a fugitive or anything, if that’s what you’re concerned about.” diluc says. it provides you little relief.

“answer the question.” you demand and diluc parts his lips to speak, before closing them once more. his brows furrow slightly as he thinks of a response.

“i did agree to answer your questions. although i can’t necessarily say i trust you yet, i am indebted to you for your hospitality.” diluc’s answer still manages to evade the question, so you ignore his platitudes and instead stare at him pointedly. he seems to get the hint as the corner of his lips threaten to twitch upwards into a smile, but he quickly returns to his typical stoic expression.

“my enemies are the fatui.”

your fork clatters against your plate and you bite back a groan. so, diluc is an enemy of the state. just not your state. while you certainly wouldn’t get in any legal trouble for housing him, especially since fontaine’s relations with snezhnaya were tempestuous at best, it would inevitably bring trouble knocking to your door. but you knew enough of the fatui to know diluc is telling the truth. if they knew of his location here and he was a great enough enemy to have sustained such injuries from them, then the fatui would have arrived to kill him already. for now, only two other people besides diluc knew of his arrival to the farm: you and the healer.

as much as the healer loved mora, she hated the fatui more. you weren’t too concerned with her involvement in the situation. you, on the other hand, were the biggest concern. if the fatui came knocking at your door asking for diluc, you would hand him over with little to no hesitation. after all, they rewarded compliance with hefty amounts of mora and you were no fool. such an amount would truly be life changing.

“that sucks.” you finally respond before stuffing your mouth with another bite of food.

“for them.” diluc says. his tone lacks any haughtiness, leaving you perplexed. you swallow the food in your mouth before staring at him quizzically.

“they broke your femur.” you remind him and diluc seems nonplussed about the confession.

“i’ve maimed twenty of their agents. potentially killed, but i typically do not stick around to view the results.” diluc says. yup. there it is. the murder confession. of course. although, you had to hand it to him. despite how bad you wanted the fatui’s mora, if you were capable of kicking their asses, you would do the exact same thing. therefore, you bite back your judgment.

“why? i mean, apart from the fact that the fatui suck. everyone knows that,” you wave your fork lazily in the air. “but why specifically risk your own life to... aggravate them?”

diluc’s eyes break away from yours and it appears you’ve hit a sore subject. you brush it off. the man can confess he beats up fatui agents for fun but can’t easily say why? that wasn’t your fault. the redhead could sort out his problems on his own time. you were just curious, that’s all.

“they’re a nuisance where i’m from,” he explains, although his voice appears to be rather distant.

“mondstadt, right?” you ask and diluc looks up at you with wide eyes, startled by your accuracy. “i can recognize the accent. it’s not very discreet. gonna have to change that if you don’t want to stick out like a sore thumb.” his expression settles into a slightly sheepish one at your words.

“you’re new to this, aren’t you? the whole espionage thing?” you ask, moving your now empty plate off your lap and setting it on the floor next to you.

“how could you tell?” diluc asks cautiously. you can almost see the walls around his personality reinforcing themselves with each spoken word.

“you didn’t have a game plan for what you did if you got injured. if so, you wouldn’t have showed up on my doorstep. you also asked for a healer long before you knew anything about me besides my name. you didn’t hide your accent. and, no offense, but your appearance sticks out like a sore thumb. red hair and such a distinctive black jacket don’t exactly help with keeping a low profile,” you explain and diluc just stares at you blankly, folding his hands in his lap.

“you are very thorough.” he says and you flash him a smirk.

“i’ve had all day to think. but, trust me and i’ll trust your words, even though i probably shouldn’t. this is just a farm and i’m just trying to make ends meet. i don’t really care to get involved in politics or any of that, but, unfortunately, i can’t just let you die,” you lean back in the rocking chair. the tips of your toes graze the ground lightly, preventing you from swinging back and forth.

“thank you for that,” diluc says and the two of you fall into silence. his eyes glance at his book, but it appears as if he’s trying to be respectful. the redhead seemed to be fairly awful at small talk, but you were going to force it anyways.

“what are your next plans?” you ask. “you’ll be walking in a few days. are you going to go challenge the tsaritsa herself?”

much to your surprise, diluc laughs quietly at your question. “no. i... still need to figure out what i’m going to do. despite how much i want to, i cannot simply throw myself back into the thick of things.”

ah, so the fatui vanquisher did have some basic preservation skills. what a surprise.

“well, you’re more than welcome to stay as long as you need to,” you offer. you’re not quite sure why you do, but the words exit your lips before you can rescind them.

“in exchange for payment, i presume?” diluc asks as a formality, but you shake your head no.

“you’ll have to pay for your food. i’m no bed and breakfast, after all, but... hm. let’s just say i have some family that would want me to support those who made enemies of the fatui.” your words are intentionally vague, much like his earlier ones. diluc’s eyes soften in understanding found within the words not spoken between the two of you. you can relate to him on his fatui hatred, even if you would sell diluc to them for the price of a single corn chip.

“but overall,” you continue, burying your grave even deeper. “you can stay here free of charge. however, i do expect you to help out around the farm once you’re able to.”

“that is... quite generous. thank you.” diluc praises you and you shake your head, waving his words away with a flick of the wrist.

“i’m not doing it for you.” you stand up and walk to the doorframe, your back now turned to him. “the fatui killed my parents. you kill the fatui. it only feels correct.”

you turn to look at him over your shoulder and flash him a faux smile. it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. diluc stares at you expressionlessly, yet you can see the sympathy in his eyes. the same pity in his eyes is the one you see in most of the townsfolk. it’s why you keep to yourself. it makes you feel small and insignificant. but you don’t snap at the redhead because of it. instead, you just sigh, before glancing at the bedside table to make sure he had enough water.

“i’ll be in my room. don’t hesitate to let me know if you need anything.” your voice is softer than before, but you don’t await an answer from him. instead, you shut the door behind you, before letting out a sigh and running a hand over your face.

jeez, you really know how to overshare, don’t you? you chastise yourself, but before you can beat yourself up too much, your dog trots up to you and nudges you gently. the gesture pulls you out of your negative thoughts and you walk over to the back door, opening it up for him to go outside.

your dog pauses for a second, glancing up at you and wagging his tail for a brief moment, before bolting out the door. this time, the night is filled with clear skies and little to no threats.

“be quick.” you call after him. you hear a soft bark in response and, staring out into the vast expanse of green grasses before you, you feel a churning in your stomach. you’re unsure whether it’s trepidation or excitement for what’s to come.

you aren’t sure you want to know.

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#genshin impact x reader #diluc x reader #diluc #genshin impact

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moonctzeny · 4 years

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First Times

“Jae”, you whispered, gaining his attention, “We will still be best friends after this, right?”

He pulls you closer to him, making your face rest on his naked chest. He smelled like sweat and that intense body spray, like those days he came back from his basketball practice to meet you under the treehouse. He smelled like home.

pairing: childhood friend/ceo! jaehyun x fem! reader

genre: smut, angst

word count: 6.584k

warnings: loss of virginity, then not so virgin sex lol, squirting

summary: “Jaehyun had been your best friend ever since you were 7 years old, but after a certain incident he disappears, without informing you of his whereabouts. You had come to terms with the fact that you’ll never see him again until your paths cross unexpectedly, meeting as boss and employee”

a/n: I feel like ceo! jaehyun fics are overwritten so I tried to focus more on the childhood friends to lovers aspect, giving it a little twist

———————————————————————

There was no way that was him.

When you were 10 years old you couldn’t wait to have your first kiss. You were plain obsessed with the romance dramas that were playing on tv, your mom complaining about having to witness the same unrealistic tropes over and over again, but you stayed frozen in front of the screen.

Why were the characters so caught up in the thought of seeing each other? Why were they willing to risk everything they had for the other person? You were curious to find out about the love the grown ups talked about, and playing mommy and daddy with the neighbor’s son, Jaehyun, wasn’t cutting it anymore.

He was waiting for you in his treehouse, preparing his toys for your playdate. A table of pots and cutlery on one side of the room and a battlefield with ships on the other. He preferred when you two dueled for the “fate of your country”, but he knew you liked to play house so he compromised. One hour of what you like and one hour of what he liked, that’s what his mom had said.

You stomped inside, your pout not matching his excited smile.

“Finally, you’re here! Can we play my games first? My uncle got me new soldiers, look!” He ran up to you, a bunch of different green miniatures in his hands. You didn’t bother to spare him a glance, too caught up in your personal drama.

“I don’t want to play games,” you whined, “I want a boyfriend!”

Jaehyun blinked a couple times, confused. “But you have one, me. I am your friend and I am a boy”

You threw your head back in frustration, groaning so loudly that the rest of the neighborhood probably heard you. “Noo it’s not the same! We don’t kiss on the lips and stuff!”

The little boy came closer to you, scowling. He was starting to get really impatient with your whining over these dramas that you liked so much. So what if you don’t kiss and stuff? It’s no big deal anyways!

He grabbed your ears, bringing you closer to his face and he gave you a small peck. Your first kiss.

“There. Will you play with me now?”

When you turned 18 you exchanged your love for dramas with a love for art. You also exchanged your calculus workbooks for oil paints and acrylics, busy with piecing together a portfolio that would get you accepted into art school. There was one thing that stayed stable in your life, however, that followed you from childhood into adolescence.

“Hey, sorry for being late, basketball practice took longer than I expected”, Jaehyun apologized and joined you at his backyard. The treehouse had gotten too old for inhabiting but the trunk you were currently lied against served its purpose as your current hangout after school.

“Hey”, you sniffled and he finally noticed how watery your eyes were. He dropped his sportsbag immediately, and sat next to you on the slightly moist grass, your arms touching.

“I’m guessing Mark denied your offer to go to the prom with you?”

You nodded, hiding your face in his embrace before he sees you crying. Being Jaehyun’s friend wasn’t always easy. His easygoing personality and good looks on top of being president of four school clubs made him one of the most popular kids in high school. You reminded yourself that he’s still the same boy you’ve always known, that you don’t have to feel threatened by the army of girls always clinging by his sides, but it was hard. It was hard to recount your rejection from this morning when he probably has never truly felt that feeling before. Even with his college applications pending, you knew he’d be successful. Any institution would be crazy to miss up on him, and the rest of the world felt that way about him too.

“I don’t wanna talk about it”, you mumble, leaning back before you stain his t-shirt even more, “Did Mina find the dress she is gonna wear after all?”

Your genuine worry for his prom date, even after your failed promposal, broke his heart. You were always so empathetic, so selfless, so nice to him. He didn’t have it in him to let you stay in your state of misery.

“Nothing”, he blurted, rushing to explain after seeing the confused look on your face, “she bailed on me last minute”.

That was a lie, but you didn’t have to know that. Jaehyun cancelling on his date would be a dick move, he knew that, but you being happy was his priority. It always has, at least as long as he was still here. “So if you didn’t mind, I was thinking we go together? As friends of course”

“Jae! I love you!”

You tackled him with a hug, the grass tickling his neck and he just laughed at the adorable screech you let out. You both stayed there enjoying the chill evening, talking about renting cars and matching outfits.

He let you rant about the dress you’ve chosen to wear and he promised to convince his parents to leave his house empty for the after party.

The prom night was the last time you saw Jung Jaehyun. There you two were, sprawled out on his bed and tired off your asses, spending what seemed like the most fun night of your life together. Your feet were in blisters from all the dancing, head spinning from the after-party vodka. Jaehyun had turned his head towards you, tie undone and staring at a piece of glitter that had fallen on your collarbone. He looked as handsome as ever in his suit, red eyes glued on you and a satisfied smile on his face.

“Your parents are gonna be so mad when they see the mess on their carpet. I told you not to get Jungwoo drunk”

Jaehyun laughed, his deep laugh reverbrating through the room. “Not if you tell them in the morning. They can’t get mad at you. You told your mom you’re staying over, right?”

You nodded, maybe shaking your head a lot longer than needed but your tipsy self wanted to make sure you got your message across.

“You know”, you started with a snicker, “she gave me like a million condoms for tonight. Probably thought I was planning on losing my virginity like any teenager with a social life”

He kept staring at you, eyes lazily taking in the sight of your pretty smile. “Yeah, same with my dad. I think that’s the only reason why they gave me the house”

You whipped your head to face him at the speed of light, mouth gaped open and staring at him incredulously. “Jae, you’re a virgin??”

It was hard to believe. I mean sure, you hadn’t had any experience in the sex department either but you were, well, you. Shy with new people, horrible at flirting and a bit standoff-ish if you were being honest. But your best friend, as likable and good looking as he was, had never been with a girl before?

“Well, yeah, I was just kinda- I was waiting for the right person, you know? Someone to make it memorable”

You sighed, relating with his words but also...

“I just wish I could get it over with”, you confess and you saw Jaehyun gulp visibly. He was glancing at the nothingness on his ceiling, lost in his thoughts.

“Yeah”

The silence lasted for a few minutes, only the distant sound of a passing police car interrupting it. He sat on his knees, the conversation sobering him up significantly. “Remember when you wanted to have your first kiss and I just did it so you wouldn’t complain about it anymore?”

You smile fondly at the memory, waiting for him to continue. There was somewhere he was getting at.

“Well, we both want to not be virgins anymore, right? So let’s just do it”

You felt an electric tension growing between you. It was like you were holding two magnets, begging to touch each other but you still held them apart, because if you let go you just knew things would never be the same again.

Jaehyun leaned in, dunking his head at the last minute and kissing your neck instead. It was tentative, a kiss that tested the waters. He was still holding back, wanting to make sure you wanted this as much as he wanted it too. You scooted closer to him, placing your legs to frame his closed knees, putting his face gently in your hands.

His pupils were dilated, shifting to a million places but your voice managed to make him concentrate to your eyes solely. You could hear his heartbeat bumping in his chest.

“Jae, I love you. You have to trust me, ok?”

“Okay” he nodded, eyes wide open and sincere, “I love you too, so much”

You kiss him finally, and the room around you spun even more. The feeling was strangely comfortable, yet your lungs were struggling to do their job. In that moment, it felt like everything in the world was the way it was supposed to be, and you two were a part of that bigger, perfectly orchestrated picture.

He grabbed you by your waist, bringing you over his lap. His fingers danced from your thighs to the zipper of your dress, the cool midnight air spreading goosebumps on your back. You help him out by pulling your straps down, staying in your strapless bra.

“If I knew what was gonna happen tonight I would wear cuter underwear”, you mutter and Jaehyun chuckles. Why did your heart skip a beat at the sound? It’d be a lie to say you hadn’t found yourself staring at your best friend a minute too long in the past, but tonight- Tonight the effect he had on you held an intensity that you’ve never felt before.

“Underwear can only help you out so much. They can’t do wonders”

“Wow Jae, way to make me drier that the Sahara desert”

He dipped back down to your throat, sucking at the soft skin over your collarbones and earning an embarassingly high-pitched moan from you. You felt him smile against your neck as he licked over the nibbled flesh in little circles, wishing he would repeat that motion on another part of your body.

“We’ll see about that”

As if he wanted to prove his point, he grinds you over his erection, lighting your insides on fire. Your dress was short, meaning that you could feel all of him-and it seemed like a whole lot- over your panties that were damping up.

“Show me your tits and I’ll show you mine”

Jaehyun laughed at your comment; ridiculous yet successful at calming his ragged breath down. The buttons of his dress shirt opened one by one, each of them revealing another inch of his smooth chest. His skin was glowing, and his abs proved that puberty was starting to work its wonders on him.

You trace your fingers over two moles on his chest, leaving soft kisses over them. You could feel his pulse on your lips, fast and pumping blood all over his body. Despite his attempts at staying collected over the loss of his virginity, you realized that he was probably as nervous and scared as you are.

“Your turn”, he whispered, bringing you back into the moment. You reach back to unclasp your bra, freeing your boobs, and a smile cracked on your lips at Jaehyun’s reaction.

He stayed frozen and gawking at your chest, hands twitching and not knowing what to do with the sight you so generously offered him. Bringing his hands into your own, you place them over your mounds, guiding him into squeezing them. He continues on his own, pinching your nipples as he leans forward for another kiss, probably to hide his evident blush from you.

The making out continued, leaving you both with only your underpants on. He places you on your back, and starts petting your clit over your panties, the motion so soft it drove you insane. Hungry for more.

You started whining, grinding forwards against his fingers and he chuckled, pulling the fabric away to leave you uncovered. The chilly air was quickly exchanged with the feeling of his warm digits, causing a different kind of shivering.

When he inserted the first finger in you, you felt like your whole body was burning up with a high fever. You’d done this again, with your ex-boyfriend in summer camp but it definitely didn’t feel as sinful and delicious and pleasureable as this. It pulled at a knot in your stomach, begging to be untangled and Jaehyun was taking his sweet time with you. Quick circles on your swollen bud and a nibble on your neck, that’s what it took for him to enjoy you shaking through an orgasm.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful”

You looked angelic with the sweat trickling down your chest, skin glowing in the limelight and Jaehyun would just sit and stare if it wasn’t for the tent in his boxers that was screaming for attention. Pulling at the soft fabric, you sprung him free and the boldness that came when you did started to evaporate. It hit you in that moment, that he had seen all of you and now you saw all of him- yes you had been best friends for years but this intimacy was unprecedented. And you liked the feeling.

You put him in your grasp, moving your fist in a pivoting motion with his precum as your lubricant. He throws his head back with a grunt that almost made you cum a second time and urged you to pick up the pace. Unsure of what to do next, you licked your other palm and started to massage his balls hoping he liked it. He did by the sound of his moans, but stopped you abruptly, scaring you that you accidentally did something wrong in your inexperience.

“If you continue like this I’m gonna cum. Let’s do this“

You swallow on nothing and reach to your jacket on the floor for the condoms your mum gave you.

“Want a pink one? A green maybe? Blue?”, you joke and he pets your hair lovingly, looking down at you.

“Blue. Your favourite colour”

You smiled warmly at his response, satisfied with your decision to share this moment with your best friend. With someone who knew you so well.

Unwrapping the plastic, you placed the rubber over his hardness with shaking hands, following the instructions as best as you could. Jaehyun leaned down over you, planting a dozen kisses over your face as he positioned himself over your entrance.

“Ready?”

You nodded, giving him permission to dip his tip in, the first inches stretching you out nicely. The wetness caused by your orgasm helped your situation a lot, the slickness allowing him to dive a little deeper. Then, the stinging started, making you hiss and he kissed you immediately, trying to soothe you.

“I know, baby, I know. I’m sorry. We have to go through the hard part now ok?”

The nickname playing over and over again in your head gave you the patience needed to endure him bottoming out, along with the first thrusts. It was uncomfortable, but the feeling of him inside you, of the two of you coming together as one, released some chemical in your brain that made most of the pain go away. He took his fingers from your hips to gently pat away the teardrops staining your cheeks.

“That’s it baby, you’re doing so well”

His words and the feeling of his cock dragging against your walls drew a moan out of your half open mouth, the sound carrying on the air you two shared and landing on Jaehyun’s lips. There was a tension on your belly and something told you it wasn’t just physical, more like an emotional revelation, a fire already ignited but flared up by this incident. Your feelings towards your childhood friend, a love that was more than platonic.

For you, at least.

Jaehyun was young and you felt so tight around him that he didn’t take long to finish. He pulled out last minute, taking the condom out and spilling spurts of his cum all over your stomach. It earned a scowl and an eyebrow raise from you but the way he apologized, saying you “looked too beautiful to resist”, was too cute to stay mad at.

You laid back on his bed, holding hands and trying to register what just happened. The ocassional car drove by, the lights illuminating Jaehyun’s eyes that you noted were glossy. Maybe it was just as intense for him, you thought and squeezed his hands a little tighter.

“Jae”, you whispered, gaining his attention, “We will still be best friends after this, right?”

“Forever”

Forever must have a different meaning in the Jungs’s dictionary, because after that night, Jaehyun was unreachable. You tried to text him, call him, only to be ignored and faced with stupid excuses.

You thought long and hard about why your best friend suddenly decided to ghost you. Maybe he didn’t like the sex. Understandable, since it was your first time, but it’s not like you promised him a night of mind blowing love making or anything. You decided that he probably felt too awkward to talk to you after that night and you told yourself to give him some space.

Three days passed, then another, then a week and still no sign of Jaehyun. Tired of the radio silence and irritated by his attitude, you got ready to visit him at his house, confront him one-on-one.

No, you didn’t wear your favourite perfume for him. It just so happened that you chose to put on that dress he had complimented you on before. You didn’t hope for him to call you beautiful again, or have a retake of the prom night fun. The butterflies in your stomach were probably the heavy lunch you ate. Yes, it was all coincidental.

You walked down the stairs with a pep in your step, storming through your parents in the kitchen.

“And were are you going so happy, young lady?”, your dad chirps and you smile at him.

“I’m gonna go see Jaehyun real quick!”

“Real quick? To a different country? He came back already?”

You stilled at the sound of your mother’s words, confused.

“A different country? I’m going down the street to the Jungs, mom”

“Honey, the Jungs are there but not Jaehyun. He moved abroad to study Business. Didn’t he tell you?”

The ground beneath your feet seemed to melt and pull you under the third level of hell. How could he get accepted to a university and not tell you? How could he move countries and not even say goodbye? How dare he make you fall in love with him, give you the best night of your life and then leave you hanging like that?

You ran upstairs to your room, wailing in what seemed like a mixture of rage and sadness. You felt so dumb, in your sundress and shaved pussy and cute underwear you chose out for him. It was all so, so unfair and the feeling ate you alive. The feeling that you hated Jung Jaehyun.

So now, when he stands from across the room, all suited up but with the additional rank of CEO on his shoulders you couldn’t believe that it was him.

Your portfolio did get you into an art school after all, majoring in product design. Your innovative work of rebranding the latest releases, taking on the aesthetic part of the marketing, landed you a great deal in J industries. The product was good and your skills were better, so when the sales went off the roof you weren’t surprised. What you didn’t expect however, was that the boss of your boss, who was currently staring at you from across the launch party, was your childhood best friend.

Ex-best friend.

“Damn, y/n, Mr. Jung hasn’t taken his eyes off of you all night, huh?”, said Sook, the assistant marketing director who was working by your side on the project.

“Well, he should have come over and congratulate me by now. I did help save his company”

She laughed lightly, unaware for how deeply rooted your dislike for the man really was. You continue your conversation when you suddenly see her turn visibly tense, sweeping her hands on the front of her dress. Oh, you should have watched what you wished for.

“M-Mr. Jung, how are you enjoying this party? This is y/n, she did most of the designs for the campaign-”

Eyes widening in shock, you get lost in some passerbys, meddling with the other coworkers in the gathering. Sook left a little yelp when she realized you had dissolved into thin air in seconds. You could still faintly hear her apologizing merrily.

“Oh I swear she was sitting right next to me Mr. Jung”

Chatting up with friends and even strangers, you made sure you never stayed in the same place for too long. Jaehyun’s eyes were still boring holes into your face no matter where you went, a smirk plastered on his own every time he caught you checking out for him.

In a last attemp to turn invisible, you find cover on a small couch, slightly hidden by some ballon decorations and you shoved a book to your face, faking interest. But alas, a dip in the furniture next to you and the familiar woody smell soon rang a bell of danger in your head.

“You know your book is upside down, right?”

Wincing at your fatal mistake, you turn around to be faced with a pair of brown eyes you thought you’d never see again. You noticed how they’re glowing in pride and ambition and remembered how they shined that night from tears, how you tried to read through him, just like now.

“Jung. Got bored of your little staring game?”

Jaehyun had grown an inch or two since you last saw him, you notice, standing even taller in his exemplary posture. He still stuck with his long hairstyle, locks styled back sleekly and exposing his defined cheekbones. His skin was even paler than usual, glowing in the dark room. Being a CEO probably meant staying inside a lot, making tanning for his complexion almost impossible.

“Considering you applied to my company, y/n, I figured you’d come to me now as well”

Why was he using that voice around you? You‘d made fun of him numerous times in the past for that deep tone, only coming up when he was trying to woo some girl.

“I didn’t know it was your dumb company”, you start, rolling your eyes in annoyance, “I’m surprised you even remember my name”

“How could I forget the girl I went to prom with?” And took my virginity, you wanted to add but knew he censored his words on purpose. “Also, Sook mentioned your name like, five minutes ago”

“Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about”

His silence was uncomfortable, thickening the atmosphere even more. You saw regret and guilt in his features, lips struggling to find the right words and hands fumbling with his tie.

“I know you’re mad, rightfully so. But please, come over to my place for a drink. For old time’s sake”. The deep voice was persistent and that’s when you realized that Jaehyun wasn’t a teenager anymore. So many years had passed since that summer, enough to mature you both physically and emotionally, yet the wound stung still so freshly.

“You can’t just choose when to re-enter my life so easily”, you huffed and started to walk away from him, when you felt his fingers wrapping gently around your wrist.

“y/n, please. I’ve missed you. One drink, that’s it”

It was so annoying, you thought as you entered his condo, how his dimples were still so effective at convincing you. It was quite luxurious, definitely bigger than your apartment and by the looks of the fancy furniture, his hard work as CEO surely paid off.

“You like it?”

“Not as much as your treehouse but it’s okay”, you reply him and he grins at the reminiscence of your old shenanigans as children.

“I’ll bring the wine”

You snooped around a bit more, examining the decorations of his living room. It was quite minimalistic, an abstract painting or two, a weird sculpture, no family pictures in sight. You always hated places like that, so lifeless, so impersonal. Jaehyun had too rich of a personality for that.

He sat on his leather couch, placing two glasses of white wine in front of him and motioning you to sit down as well. You took a seat as far away from his as possible and he winced at the distance you kept, now also turning physical.

Jaehyun started a conversation by asking you about your work at the company, then moving on to your personal life. You politely answered him, even joked about how single you are. He started recounting the start of his company, how he got the idea to begin from scratch and the hardships that came with it. As it was expected from the bachelor’s vibes his place emitted, CEO position didn’t allow for enough free time for him to meet someone new, let alone something serious. Your little meet up seemed to be going well. Too well to be exact. One glass down and you finally had enough of feigning ‘happy old friends catching up’.

“Why did you bring me here Jaehyun? Really bring me here”

The man sighed at your tone, running his fingers through his hair and messing their gelled-up styling. Getting up from his position, he finishes up his second glass and sits closer to you, body facing yours.

“I guess... I owe you an apology. For back then. I should have told you I’m moving abroad”

“Yes, Jaehyun, you should have. Especially after what we did before you left”

He closed his eyes in shame, glossy after he reopened them. A serious expression darkened his features, looking as solemn as that last night you saw him before his disappearance and hanging from your lips. “Do you regret it? Going through with it?”

“No”, you answer immediately, because it was the truth. All the guys you’ve slept with in your time as an adult, though more experienced than high-school Jaehyun, were missing that one factor that none other than your best friend could offer you. Connection, vulnerability, care. True love.

He sighs, once again, clearly relieved by your answer but still speaking in a bittersweet tone.

“Good, I would really hate myself if you did. I was just, so scared you’d forget about me. I had to know you’d remember me. Then you said this whole thing about wanting to have our first time and-“. You knew it was the wine in his system that caused his rambling. Jaehyun wasn’t one to stumble on his words, definitely not sentimental like that. But alcohol seemed to bring you closer when in need and at the right time so you let it, once again, and you let him finish. “-and you looked so beautiful that I couldn’t help myself. If I knew you’d grow up to look like this I would have never-“

He stopped himself mid sentence, regretting sharing more. You, however, weren’t done with this conversation yet. There were so many years spent repenting your friendship, so many questions running through your head, and you weren’t leaving this room until they got answered.

“If you didn’t want me to forget you that much then why not tell me you got accepted to a university abroad? I was your best friend!”. Your words were emotionally charged, unwillingly making your voice turn up in volume. It was as if you turned back into the little girl crying in her bedroom, finally getting the chance to say all those things she was screaming in her pillow. “I would be so happy for you, I loved you”

“Yes you did! You literally said that every single day!”, Jaehyun yelled back, startling you, “And every single time it was as if you jabbed a knife in my chest! Did you know how much it killed me? To hear this from my best friend I’d been in love with for the past 10 years?”

“You- you were in love with me?”, you ask dumbly, voice light in disbelief, a stark difference from Jaehyun’s a second ago.

He settled his breathing, hands fixing his hair once again in abashment.

“I knew that if I told you I had to go abroad you would get all sad and start crying and I wouldn’t be able to see you like that. I knew that the moment you’d tell me you miss me I would drop everything to be with you. That night that we had sex.. I didn’t plan it but I thought it would be better for you if I made you hate me. And when I saw you again today- it felt like not one day had passed since high school. I didn’t know how to approach you, what to say. I’m sorry”

You sat there in shock, connecting the dots in your brain. All the feelings you were trying to repress around him, the lingering glances and butterflies in your stomach, were reqruited all along. You knew exactly what he meant earlier, about time seeming to freeze. The way he looked at you now, all teary eyed and red and shaking was utterly and overwhelmingly the warm Jaehyun that met you every night after school. And you wouldn’t let another day go to waste.

You lean forward, capturing his lips into a kiss long overdue. It was tentative and you started pulling back when he places both hands on the sides of your neck, keeping you from letting go. His fingertips grasp part of your hair and you lean your face sideways, melting into the kiss and his touch. A lick on his bottom lip and now your tongues were touching, groaning at how much better he got at this and wanting to put his skill to better use. Tugging on his soft locks, he moans and his baritone voice made the hairs on your arms stand on edge.

You moved your hands on his chest, palming the defined muscles and deciding you wanted to treat your eyes, ripping his shirt open in one move. Jaehyun grabs the meat of your thighs, hands gripping the edge of your dress and pulling it upwards until it falls over your head. He dipped into your neck immediately, sucking and nibbling passionately right in the middle, your moans sounding breathless with the pressure he puts on your throat. Trailing down, he left a path of open mouthed kisses, now focusing on the mounds of your breasts that your bra wasn’t covering. A flick of his wrist and the piece of underwear was gone, lips surrounding your nipple, releasing it with a loud pop.

You moan out his name and his growl’s animalistic, nails digging on the softness of your hips.

“Fuck I love that sound”

He probably made it a goal to hear it again as he started kissing on your inner thighs, the bruises he left behind teasing you to the point of begging. You lift you hips to discard the skimpy underwear you chose for tonight, Jaehyun’s breath fanning your clit. A few kitten licks and your back is already lifting from the leather, his hands intertwining with yours to keep you in place.

Practice makes perfect and Jaehyun must have had a lot of it, the interchanging of sucking, licking and spitting on your pussy making you lose your mind in the most delicious way. You were in the midst of murmuring a mix of praises when he finally finds that spot that has you trembling under his tongue. Riding out your high, you grind against his face, the pleasure not leaving any room for shame. Chest heaving and vision restored, you glance down at Jaehyun, looking as irresistible as ever wiping his wet lips and chin.

You were fully prepared and willing to return the favor so you motioned him to stand up, positioning the back of your neck over the hand rest of the couch. After opening your mouth wide he got the point, quickly ridding himself off his pants and boxer briefs, spitting profanities at how hot you looked for him right now.

You were upside down, but you could very well see Jaehyun’s hard and angry cock staring back at you. You always thought that maybe, since he was your first, you might have overestimated his size in your head. But your brain apparently hadn’t manipulated that memory in the slightest because that length and grith would definitely be a challenge for you. And hell, did you want to take it on.

He pushes through your lips, and your tongue is quick to engulf him. Licking up and down his shaft as best as you could, made Jaehyun grip the couch in an effort to keep his knees from buckling from pleasure. The position allowed him to push even deeper inside you, filling up your throat. He places his fingers over the bulge on your throat, watching it itently with every move of his hips.

Your eyes teared up and your throat started to burn but the sounds Jaehyun let out with every thrust made it all worth it. He finally pulls out, a string of saliva and precum landing on your lips and he is quick to to clean you up with his fingers. Collecting the wetness, he pushes his digits inside your mouth, and something changes in his glare, eyes darkening in the most lustful expression.

“I need you inside me”, you mumble with his fingers inside of you and he nods, asking if he should go get a condom. You search through the contains of your handbag, hands trembling with the way he is pushed up agaist you, erection digging in the softness of your ass as he’s nibling the skin on your shoulders.

You handed him the square foil and as soon as he takes it in his grasp, he pushed you down to the arm rest, back against the cushion and legs in the air. Moving your hand between your legs, you distracted him by playing with your pussy, speading the juices around and pushing your folds apart to direct him to your opening.

The first thrust felt divine, thick cock filling you nicely and making your head fall back in pleasure. Jaehyun threw your legs over his shoulders, eyes glued to yours as he kissed your calves, picking up his pace. The moans started rolling off your tongue, echoing inside the big lounge and accompanied by the skin slapping sound of your bodies.

“I missed your body so much”, he muttered as he gripped your waist, setting an incredible pace that had your feet flexing. You turned your head to the side, catching your reflection on the huge window leading to the balcony. Tits bouncing, Jaehyun’s flexed arms, his dick digging inside you. What a sight.

“See something you like?”, he chuckled darkly and you smiled up at him, grazing your nails over his biceps.

“Show me something to remember you by”

Jae halted his thrusts, turning you over to your stomach swiftly, ass in the air. He kneaded his hands over your ass, giving it a little spank and spread your cheeks apart. Placing his right knee on the arm rest, he dives inside you again, and the moan you let out barely sounded like you. His cock was so deep inside you that you had to close your eyes to relish the feeling of fullness, amplified by the light pain of the stretch. Jaehyun collected your hair in his fist, pulling your upper body against his chest as he wrapped an arm around your own.

“Open your eyes. See how nicely you take my cock. Think you’ll forget that?”, he growls in your ear, thumb digging in your cheek and palm slightly muting your sounds. The dirty talk, his cock grazing against the spot that drove you crazy and Jaehyun’s godly reflection pounding the shit out of you brought you over the edge again. He didn’t let you take any time off, hips continuing to bruise against you as feverly as before, and you thought you just might combust.

“Jaehyun, p-please, it’s too much”, you plead with as much power is left in your system, and he pulls out, only to start rubbing quick circles over your clit that had you thrashing in his arms.

You melt into his arms, a pressing feeling in your belly that you had never felt before and soon you climax for the third time, droplets of cum squirting out of your pussy and dripping onto the wooden flooring.

“This is so fucking hot”, Jaehyun mutters and starts thrusting inside you, trying to coax as much cum out of you as possible.

The waves keep coming, gushing out of you every time he pulls out, until he can’t take the sight anymore, coming with a shiver and a ragged breath.

You were sweaty and exhausted, smiling faintly as he showered you with kisses.

“Let’s get you cleaned up”

You try to stand up futilely, knees wobbling and unable to keep your balance. Jaehyun chuckles at the sight but helps you up like the gentleman he is, moving you to the floor’s bathroom.

You hop in and he joins you, letting the water run down your body and helping you soap up. It was very intimate but comfortable at the same time, his gentle caresses belonging to your skin. Everything felt right.

He was occupied with running his fingers over two hickeys he had planted on you earlier when you snap him out of his thoughts, voice barely audible over the running water.

“I’m sorry you felt like you had to lie to me to go study abroad. I think it’s pretty obvious after what we just did that I liked you too, but... I still would have let you move. Force you even.”

“You’re right. I’m sor-“

“I mean it Jaehyun. I’m so proud of you”

His eyes glimmered at your praise, wet eyelashes framing them and fluttering closed as he leaned down, pressing the sweetest kiss on your lips. It left you breathless, almost hurting when he pulled back. You could kiss him forever.

“I know you said I can’t just come back to your life like that but I want to try. I’ve seriously missed you”

“How about taking me to a date tomorrow night? To catch up some more”

He grinned brightly, eyes turning into crescent moons and dimples making your heart burst.

“Wherever you want”, he promised and took a step closer to you, hand snaking down your ass and pulling you against his wet body, “And speaking of making up for lost time... How about a round two?”

#jaehyun smut #jung jaehyun #jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun angst #nct scenarios #childhood #nct smut #jaehyun nct #nct angst #ceo jaehyun

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aerosiderwrites · 3 years

Text

Hopeless ... Yandere Childe

@lazywriters-blog ooo this is a fun concept! i love unhinged childe 😌 i played down the escape to just an attempt, i hope thats ok 🙏

warnings for genre typical portrayals of unhealthy relationships, manipulation, and implied previous sexual assault

Word Count: 1.1k

Coming to Liyue Harbor might have been the worst thing that could have happened to you. You found yourself loathing every passing day, despite how much you fought and worked to get here. Or, maybe, because of that. You sat at your desk, staring at your paperwork, forcing yourself to focus on your tasks at hand. All you needed to do was fight and work more to get yourself out of the scenic coastal city the same way you came.

You could dare to hope for that, anyway. You had been doing everything you could to get away from Liyue, away from him. You weren’t sure what you’d do when you reached Snezhnaya, but it would be a start.

“And there’s my sweetheart.”

Your skin crawled as his deceptively honey sweet voice pierced through your focus. You tentatively looked up at your menace, your nightmare, your Tartaglia. You glanced up at him, taking in his tall and slender form leaning casually against the doorjamb to your office, blocking the only exit available to you. His smile was tight lipped, and your stomach sunk at the sight of him. You looked down back to your work, as if not seeing the way his cold eyes stared into you would make the anxiety he brought with him go away.

“Is there—“ you stopped yourself, mentally beating yourself for how wispy your voice sounded. You cleared your throat and started again, “Is there something I can help you with?”

You knew you couldn’t actually be paying attention to your work, but you desperately wanted him to take the hint that you’re too busy to be bothered. With the way you shook like a leaf when he surprised you, there was no way you could actually sell this narrative, but you tried so earnestly every time.

“Yes, actually,” the response came, and the sound of the door closing followed. Your heart reached your throat as you sat entirely at attention, your line of sight shooting up to watch Childe approach your desk.

“Wait, please, I really don’t have time to do anything, I have a lot on my plate right now with—“ a single look silenced you in your tracks. Your eyes returned to your desk, and you held your hands in fists on your lap.

“You act like I’ve been anything less than a perfect gentleman,” he teased, leaning on your desk in front of you, carelessly shoving aside files you had stacked neatly. “I’ve always been sure to take care of your needs.” He chuckled upon seeing you shift uncomfortably in frustrated embarrassment. “Besides, I have something important I want to discuss.”

You looked up at him, searching for anything on his features that could give away what it was he wanted to talk about. His posture was lax and his smile was the same faux grin he kept on when he wanted to tease you. You hadn’t done anything that he could have known about, but you remained at your miserable edge, hanging on his every mannerism.

“Which is…?” You asked with a slow breath, bracing yourself the best you could for the worst he’d have to offer.

“I wanted to take a moment and talk about us.”

You couldn’t stand how his eyes burned into yours, and you looked away, “Alright.”

“I love you,” Your stomach churned at his words, disgusted with how fondly he spoke of you. “I know you took some… convincing to understand the depth of my feelings, but I still find myself wondering where I stand with you.”

You recalled his “courtship”, and how he wore you down into accepting him as your lover. You felt sick with every touch, horrified with how he threatened the people around you, scaring them into cold avoidance, and hopelessness with every reminder that he maintains his final say over your life.

You wanted to be honest, to tell him the lengths you would go to if it meant he’d never bother you again. But honesty would lead to a lengthy reinforcement of Childe’s power over you. “I love you, too” came your feeble response, unfortunately unconvincing even to yourself.

“I’m happy to hear that!” Childe’s voice rang hollow, a mockery of your weak lie. “Good thing, since I declined the request for your transferal on your behalf.”

Your blood ran cold, your eyes emptily staring at your hands, now lax with your palms facing upward. You couldn’t bring yourself to be angry at him, anger would imply a form of disappointment or disbelief at his acts. You knew if he found out about your request for transferal he’d do what he needed to to stop it in its tracks. You swallowed, afraid for what was to come next.

“Now, I want you to be honest with me, [Y/N].” You watched as Childe’s hands grabbed your wrists, in a sharp motion. His large hands dwarfed yours, a further cruel reminder of your weakness to him. “Tell me if this transferal was offer to you, or if you applied for it.”

You felt so small under his gaze, and under his demand for your honesty, you didn’t know what else to do. You inhaled, “I… applied for it.”

He sighed, “I thought that might be the case. Props for trying to lose me through channels that could get me into trouble if I went too far. It wasn’t a bad plan, but not one you can try again. I’m lucky your receptionist is do honest with your secrets.”

You didn’t know whether to resent the girl who ran your front desk, or pity her. Did she naively tell her superior’s lover about the request you had her mail out weeks ago? Or was she threatened by a Harbinger with an obsession? “When did-- How did you--”

“I’m a bit insulted that you thought I wouldn’t catch wind of this. Did you think you could keep it quiet and I’d let you go quietly?” Childe took your chin in his gloved hand, his grip a casual display of his strength. Your eyes met his, and you felt everything in your body scream for you to run, or shake him off, or anything. But you were frozen, eyes carrying tears that didn’t dare slip out, caught up in his abyss of thinly veiled restraint.

“I-I’m— I’m so—“ your fearful apology was cut short by Childe’s iron grip tightening and making you wince. Childe sneered at your fear, and gripped your arm with his free hand. Your heart jumped in your throat, and the tears you struggled to hold back spilled onto your cheeks.

“No you aren’t,” his voice hit your senses like a bucket of ice water, “But you will be.”

#yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #yandere childe #yandere childe x reader #aerosiderwriting #hooty hoo childe is mean

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thefanficmonster · 3 years

Text

Take That!

Corpse Husband & Reader (Female) ft. Streamer Gang

Warnings: Mentions of Depression, Suppressed Sadness, Swearing

Genre: Platonic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: What is a friend? Your smile through the tears. The umbrella over your head when it starts raining. The ointment to your wound. But if you wanna put it in a more literal manner, a friend is something that doesn’t have a concrete definition. It can be the person you sit next to in class or the person who’s hundreds of miles away from you and you’re connected to through a Discord call.

Requested by Anon. Hello dear! Thank you so much for your request, sorry it’s taken me so long to complete and post it but here it finally is and I hope you enjoy the read if you happen to come across the fic. Love, Vy ❤

There are those days when I wake up excited for a new day. There are also those days when the thought of playing Among Us with my friends is all that gets me out of bed. And then there are those days when not even that can get me to budge. Today is one of those days.

I’d still be in bed right now had I not needed to use the bathroom. On my way back to hide under my covers, I heard my cat’s meow from the kitchen, reminding me she needed to be fed. After tending to that task I just sort of lost will to return to bed either. Speaking truthfully, today is a will-less day. The type of day where I have no idea what to do with myself because I feel so odd and uncomfortable: heavy and bustling head, motivation below zero no matter whether I have zero tasks to tend to or a mountain high pile of work. It’s a laying on the floor and letting my mind eat away at me type of day and I can’t say I appreciate it.

The only thing I have to look forward to is the game of Among Us Corpse invited me to yesterday. Had I known I’d wake up feeling like absolute shit, I wouldn’t have accepted. I just know I’ll be a downer the whole time because I suck at covering up how I feel - my smiling masks and faux happiness don’t cut it but staying quiet is even worse because I’m typically and energetic and bubbly person, always having something to say or a comment to add to the conversation. Always looking to make people laugh.

Well, it’s hard to make people laugh when you feel like a deflated balloon.

I can’t describe the feeling any better than that - I feel empty, maybe a little sad somewhere in the mix, unmotivated. I keep these feelings to myself cause whenever I bring them up people just blow me off, saying I’m describing laziness but more dramatically. Either that or burnout which is sometimes the case, but I’m more than sure that it’s not the culprit for today. You can only blame burnout so many times.

Anyway, I make a mental note, promising myself I’m not gonna bail on my friends regardless of whether my mood gets better or worse. Who knows, maybe a gaming session with them is exactly what I need.

* * *

Not much has changed with my emotional state - I’ve spent a good chunk of the day surfing through TV channels and my socials with nothing else to occupy my mind but the overwhelming knowledge that I’m not feeling ok and that hyperawareness of a void that I feel but cannot describe. At one point, Corpse sent me a text to confirm I’d be participating in the gaming session and I was this close to saying no. This close to coming up with some bullshit excuse and bailing but I didn’t, thankfully.

Here’s the thing about this drop in mood of mine - I know it’s gonna be gone by morning. It bullies me, beats and batters me for only twenty four hours - never more, never less. Like clockwork and as precise as a Swiss watch. And so fucking annoying. No matter what I do, I can’t end it prematurely and I can never wake up feeling down and unmotivated the next morning - there’s always a surge of motivation coursing through me and it drives me to be super productive as if making up for what I didn’t do the previous day when I was in the dumps.

It’s a twisted way of it showing me I’m powerless and at the mercy of a force that, despite being mine and existing within me, I’m completely unfamiliar with. It’s so fucking unfair, it’s disheartening.

“Hi everyone! Sorry I’m late.“ I greet the five people who have already gathered in the Discord call and the Among Us lobby.

Yeah, sorry I’m late, I was contemplating not showing up at all last minute

“Don’t worry about it, many people are running late as you can see.“ Rae replies reassuringly, “How’s your day? Anything spectacular happen?“

I can’t help but scoff, “Yeah sure, a TON of spectacularism in my life on the daily. From the large stack of papers I couldn’t bring myself to touch, to the dusty surfaces all over my apartment I didn’t convince myself to clean - it’s all fabulous over here.”

Fuck, that was too real

“Whoa, where’d all this sarcasm come from?“ Rae asks, sounding genuinely baffled rather than teasing, “It’s never been your strong suit.“

“Neither has unproductivity.“ Corpse, my best friend, chimes in, “Everything ok?“

Well, I admit, I should’ve known better than to have an outburst like that in front of people who have known me for a while now and can probably gauge my emotions even without me admitting to them. I truly don’t know where it came from. Hell, I didn’t even see it coming.

“Nah, it’s ok. I’m just being lazy, I guess.” I’m quick to withdraw and brush off any suspicion. The last thing I want is to worry my friends or, even worse, receive the same response from them: that I’m being dramatic, that I’m attention-seeking, that I’m just lazy and unmotivated as are most people of my generation.

“You know, what people often self-diagnose as ‘laziness’ often turns out to be something more serious. I don’t mean to scare you, but it could be depression.“ Corpse says after a brief moment of silence in the call, his voice soft and cautious as if explaining a complex problem to a kid who’s bound to be hurt by what it’s told.

I can’t help but chuckle. He has no idea how much he’s relieved me by saying that. I always ‘don’t want to talk about it’ and ‘want to change the subject’ while what I truly need happens to be the complete opposite. I need someone to hear me out, I need someone who will not brush me and my concerns off like we don’t matter. I need someone who’ll understand. And if these people who have openly struggled with anxiety or depression don’t get me, who will?

“Yeah, I genuinely thought I thought of myself as a lowlife while I was in college cause I started losing motivation for everything and started fearing what was to come. I began avoiding going out and talking to people cause I felt like I was the sore thumb in the friend group I had - the only one without any specific goal or a dream.“ Leslie says out of the blue, “Turns out I suffered through a burnout so bad it turned into an anxiety/depression combo that I just blamed on being a lazy college student.“

“Same here!“ Toast pipes in, “I was bedridden for a while during the first days of my streaming career, for a very ridiculous reason - I believed I didn’t deserve the attention I was getting and I wasn’t doing as well as people gave me credit for. So that had me crippled with self-doubt for a long while.“

“I still don’t believe I’m doing as well as I get credit for, but oh well.“ Leslie laughs, “I already told you all about my dumpster-fire of a brain, so I’m instead gonna say: what you need is an appointment with a therapist. Also - you need to stop underestimating your struggles. Invalidating yourself and what you’re going through is gonna make things only worse for you. You need to love yourself.“

“And you need us!“ Rae exclaims, “You need the best support you can get and, lucky for you, we’re the best in the business. Count on us always being there for you, Y/N. Cause we always will be.“

“You’re never alone. We’re all just a call or a text away. Especially me.“ Corpse adds, “I’m basically at your service 24/7, just like you’ve always been for me. What are best friends for if not sharing mental struggles and lifting each other up afterwards?“

I don’t know when this smile made its home on my face but it seems to be rather happy with where it is and wants to stay. Something tells me that thanks to these guys, it will indeed stay there for quite some time. And every time it tries to slip away, they’ll be there to bring it back.

“Then let’s lift each other up, shall we? I mean, what better way to do it other than killing each other and getting away with it?“ I attempt a giggle, hiding my emotions behind it like my life depends on it. Chances are they heard all I’m feeling in my voice, but I can only hope they’re not gonna mention it.

“Y/N, hun, I’m sorry to burst your bubble but....you never get away with it.“ Corpse wheezes, causing me to narrow my eyes and frown.

“Oh, you’re so gonna get it now!“ I exclaim, cracking my knuckles before getting my hands on my keyboard, “Start the game! I have a point to prove!“

And just like that, in what felt like the blink of an eye, the clouds have shuffled aside to make path for the sunshine to grace my brain with positivity I was not expecting to feel until tomorrow morning. I can’t give myself the credit for that though - it all goes to these amazing people I have the honor of calling friends.

I may have no power over it on my own, but with the gang’s help, I can take full control of it. And as a middle finger to the melancholy, I’ll do it all with a bright smile on my face.

Take that, brain!

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ptergwen · 3 years

Text

call me cupid

w/c: 3.5k

warnings: very mild angst and a few swears

summary: despite your hatred for valentine’s day, peter attempts to make you a card

a/n: happy valentine’s day my loves!! i hope y’all get to spend some time with your people today and eat lots of chocolate <3 love you & enjoy mwah

it’s no secret that peter is terrible with words. he gets so flustered he can’t talk or forgets what he wants to say altogether. school presentations are torture. ordering food out is impossible. he’s accepted it at this point, that speaking just isn’t for him.

the one place it doesn’t come across is on paper. peter is ridiculously smart, and he knows all the right words to string together, which is why writing you a valentine should be no trouble at all. should be no trouble at all.

to tell the truth, he’s been sitting at his kitchen table with a blank sheet of paper in front of him for what feels like hours. nothing is coming to him. he’s not sure why this is so hard. you’re his girlfriend, he loves you, he’s said it so many times in every way he could think to. what’s different about it now?

everyone puts way too much pressure on giving the perfect gift when they should really just be enjoying each other’s company on a holiday about love. or, in your words, a meaningless holiday that was created by capitalists as another excuse to take people’s money.

alright, you aren’t too fond of valentine’s day.

it makes anyone who’s single feel like shit and anyone who’s in a relationship lose their shit.

only mj agreed when you shared your criticisms. ned and betty gave you looks like you were insane, and flash muttered something about you being undateable. peter had laughed and swung an arm around your shoulders, but he didn’t fully agree.

although valentine’s day has its flaws, peter likes to see it as twenty four hours of extra appreciation for the people in his life. you can buy chocolate for your friends and family. it doesn’t have to be a significant other, really. him and ned would do it before he had you and ned had betty.

peter wants to remind you how loved you are even if you’re not into the festivities like he is, that bringing him to writing your card. it’s a simple and clinically underrated way of expressing his gratitude. he’d write you love letters every day if he didn’t suck at them.

may comes out of her room to see peter in the same place he’s been since he got home from school. she looks at him through her glasses, smiling as she comes into the room. he’s tapping his pencil on the table, eraser down, searching his mind for anything to write.

“still nothing?” may asks him, making her way over to the cabinets. peter puts down the pencil and sighs. his shoulders slump. “nope. i haven’t gotten past the intro.” “intro, huh?” she teases her newphew and grabs a jar of sauce. “y/n isn’t your teacher, kiddo. you’re not writing her an essay.” she looks at peter over her shoulder. a sheepish smile creeps onto his face.

“you know what i mean.” he reads over the only words on his paper at the moment. dear y/n. he’s starting to feel like spongebob the one time he wrote a paper. “what are you making?” peter asks may so he can temporarily take the focus off his unwritten valentine. “pasta,” may shakes the box in her hand. “and meatballs.”

“should i dial 911 now or wait until we’re in flames?” peter jokes about her awful cooking skills. may shoos him off and puts the box of pasta on the counter. “worry about your own kitchen nightmare.” she nods at the sheet of paper tormenting him. frowning, he glances back at her. “i’m the worst, may. i really don’t know what to write.”

may struggles to open the jar of sauce as she replies. “i thought you said- jesus.” it pops off. “y/n doesn’t like valentine’s day.” she slides over a pot from the stove and dumps the sauce in. peter stares up at the ceiling. “she doesn’t.” that’s probably why he’s having such a hard time. “why are you writing her a card, then?” may questions, turning on a burner.

“because, i dunno, it’s nice? it’ll make her happy? she might not care, but i do.” he mumbles the last part. he’s a bit of a hopeless romantic, so he hasn’t quite adjusted to the idea you had of not getting each other presents. you’re treating it like a regular day. some takeout and cuddles is all you’re doing.

peter would rather buy you things until his pockets are empty. not that there’s much in them, anyway. the point is that you deserve proper spoiling instead of corny words in his shitty handwriting.

“peter, honey. it might be better to stick with what y/n wants,” may suggests while stirring the sauce in the pot. she’s well aware that a few paragraphs from peter won’t change your mind. your opinions belong to you, and there’s nothing he can do about it, though he does have good intentions.

ignoring what may just said, peter makes a request. “what if you help me write it?” she faces the stove again. he can picture her playful smile when she quirks back, “she’s not my girlfriend.” “no, but you’re a girl... a woman,” he corrects himself, earning a scoff from may. “you’d probably know what sounds good.”

“you know y/n better than me, peter. do it on your own,” she exhales and turns back around with the wooden spoon in her hand. “it’ll be more... heartfelt.” peter hates that may is right because he’s completely stuck. his heart is being stupid today. “okay. i’ll try.” he gives her a slow nod. “why don’t you take a break? come stir the sauce. i’ll start the pasta.”

peter gets up from the table and grabs the spoon from may. she pinches his cheek on her way to the sink, getting a tight lipped smile from him.

this is not good.

the next day at school, peter asks around the lunch table for advice while you’re on line getting food. he feels guilty about it because may told him not to. he’s never going to get your valentine done if he doesn’t, though. it isn’t the worst thing in the world to bring on some co-writers.

“ok, what do you have so far?” betty asks, fully invested in the situation. she’s hoping this will switch up your views on valentine’s day. peter pulls out the same piece of paper from last night and says verbatim what’s on it. “dear y/n.” he looks up at ned and betty, the corners of his mouth twitching down. ned motions with his hand for peter to go on.

“that’s it,” peter confesses and folds the paper back up in shame. “dude, you told us it was a work in progress,” ned winces, betty taking his hand that’s resting on her shoulder. “where’s the progress?” betty patronizes him. they’re making him feel worse than he already did. what great co-writers he’s collaborating with.

peter throws a hand up, an eye roll included. “yeah, it’s terrible. can you help me or not?” mj narrows her own eyes at peter from the other end of his bench. she’s not interested in participating when the conversation is about forcing you to celebrate a holiday you don’t like.

“ooh!” betty squeals and squeezes ned’s hand. “you should make a list.” ned grins, leaning his head on hers. “genius, babe.” “a list of what?” peter furrows his eyebrows as he looks between the two of them. “what you love about y/n,” she explains, ned adding on, “stuff you do together, or you appreciate.”

“put whatever you come up with into sentences and voilà,” betty says in her best french accent. “oui oui,” ned agrees, both of them giggling. that doesn’t sound half bad. peter could manage a list about you. “thank you so much, guys. you literally just saved valentine’s day,” he confidently tucks his paper into his pocket. “it’s what we do,” ned tells him coolly.

“you never asked what i think,” mj cuts in, staring down her friends, who reluctantly meet her gaze. she pushes her bag of goldfish aside and raises an eyebrow. “mj, we know how you feel about valentine’s day.” peter presses his lips together. “y/n feels the same way,” mj reminds him dryly.

it’s true, but he doesn’t want to hear that right now. he’s having a breakthrough.

like clockwork, you appear at the table. you slip into the spot next to peter and put down your lunch tray. “what’d i miss?” you comment on the obvious tension, eyeing betty for an explanation. mj gives it to you. “valentine’s day discourse,” she tells you knowingly. peter shifts in his seat, uncomfortable, like he’s been caught doing something he isn’t supposed to.

he technically has.

“yuck,” you murmur, winding your arms around peter’s neck. “yuck, yuck, yuck.” he finds your words ironic because you then kiss his cheek, and peck his lips when he turns his head. peter puts a hand on your side and lets his eyes go up and down your face. a smile spreads across it, which he returns without thinking about. mj huffs in disapproval. she’s seen enough pda.

peter makes his list later that night. he decided he isn’t being inauthentic because he’s coming up with everything himself. he breezes right through it, jotting down what he loves most about you across the paper. it’s a mess. scribbled out misspellings and shreds of eraser, single words and whole phrases covering both sides. he’s proud of his actual progress.

he’ll write the official letter tomorrow since you’re coming over tonight. he at least has his material. the next, thankfully final, step is to reword it.

you’re ranting to peter about some drama with one of your teachers. he listens intently as always, chuckling when you crack jokes and grinning the entire time, feeling so lucky to have the most passionate, say whatever is on her mind girlfriend ever. seriously, it’s inspiring to watch.

“no, like, i never know what’s going on in that class,” you snort, peter snaking his arms around your middle from behind. “because you don’t pay attention,” he hums with his face nuzzled into the back of your neck. “because it doesn’t make any sense!” you defend yourself. his lips brush against your bare skin, drawing a giggle out of you.

“back to what i was saying,” your voice drips with sarcasm. the two of you naturally gravitate to his room, you walking in first. “she called on me, and i- what’s this?” you escape peter’s arms and head over to his desk. crap, he was working on your valentine and forgot to put it away. it caught your attention because it’s surrounded by crumpled papers and glitter.

peter was... experimenting... with designs for the front of the card. he’s learned that he isn’t too artistic either.

“wait, don’t read that,“ peter tries, but you’ve already got the list in your hands. he anxiously sucks his lower lip into his mouth and comes to stand next to you.

you first see the ‘dear y/n,’ then focus in on a few other words. my person forever, which makes you coo at the paper. insane (in the best way), which makes you gasp dramatically. i know you don’t like valentine’s day, but...

you drop the card back on the desk and let out a breath, shutting your eyes as irritation creeps in. it wouldn’t be fair for you to be mad at peter because it’s a sweet gesture, it really is. just, not for you personally. you’re on opposite sides of the valentine’s spectrum. you despise it, he sort of loves it. you’d hoped to meet somewhere in the middle.

“i thought we said no gifts,” you keep your voice level and spin around to look at peter. his face is painted with guilt. “it’s a card,” he murmurs, then meets your eyes with his brows knitted together. “i can’t even give you a card?” “i mean...” you shrug and shake your head. “look, peter. we had an agreement. i’m not doing valentine’s day.”

his disappointment comes out in the form of hanging his head. “yeah, you’re right. sorry.”

may tried to tell him this would happen, mj tried to tell him, and now you’re telling him. he should’ve expected it. he isn’t sure why he’s being so mopey about it because he was fully aware of your hatred for anything with the word valentine in it. it still hurts. peter just wishes you’d let him have the one day to love you and only you, give you some special attention.

“it’s nothing against you, babe,” you reassure him, noticing the shift in his mood. you put a hand on his shoulder. “i really just don’t like valentine’s day. it feels so... fake to me.” peter musters up a smile that doesn’t meet his eyes. it drops when you loop your arms around his torso.

“if i celebrated, you’d be the first person i’d wanna spend it with.” you punctuate your words with a kiss to his cheek. he rests his chin on your head, you nuzzling your own cheek into his sweater. he’s feeling a bit better now. it’s not about him, that’s what he needs to remind himself. “thanks, baby,” peter speaks lowly into the air. you hum as if to say no problem.

scratch literally everything he’s done.

peter rolls over in his bed, rubbing at his eyes as his alarm goes off. it’s today. happy valentine’s day to... himself. he doesn’t think you’d want to hear it.

he’s not as broken up about everything as the other day. you have your reasons for not celebrating, and peter accepts them. hey, he still gets to spend the whole day with you. you’re technically having an unspoken valentine’s date.

he gets up from his bed with a yawn and starts to dig through his drawers for an outfit. you should be over soon.

before you head over to peter’s, you decide to make a quick stop at cvs for a few things. you ended up feeling pretty terrible about snapping on him essentially for loving you. it was over a harmless valentine, something to make you feel good and be an outlet for the hundreds of romantic bones in his body. basically, you were bitter about having a thoughtful boyfriend.

you want to make it up to him by giving him gifts instead. you’ll never be down with the whole exploitive and capitalistic side of valentine’s day, but there’s a deeper meaning to it than what you give it credit for. you see that now. peter was able to show his love for you through a homemade mess of a card, and you felt it. the price tags don’t matter. the meaning does.

dressed in his nicest sweater with his hair all styled, peter answers your knocking at his door. a grin instantly paints his face as he takes you in. you’re bundled up in a coat and holding a bag by your side. “hey,” he greets you and lets you past him. you shut the door behind him, returning the smile and winding an arm around his neck for a hug. his drapes around your back.

“hey. happy valentine’s day.” “happy valentine’s-“ peter realizes what he’s about to say and what you just said, then stops himself. “what?” he breaks the hug, squinting at your odd behavior. you’re the last person he’d expected to hear that from. “it’s valentine’s day. so, happy valentine’s day,” you tell him like it’s nothing.

he stays quiet while you shrug off your coat and throw it over one of the kitchen chairs. you bring your bag along with you, peter following you in. he’s suspicious. intrigued, and suspicious. it’s been less than a day since he last say you. you had a change of heart that fast? you aren’t the biggest valentine’s day anti he knows anymore?

“where’s may?” you wonder aloud, taking both of peter’s hands in your now free ones. he eyes the shopping bag you put down while you lace your fingers together. “with happy. they’re getting brunch.” he’s never particularly psyched to talk about their relationship. it’s always been in a joking way, though. now, he sounds genuinely upset to go over may’s whereabouts.

“they’re so cute,” you comment, tugging on peter’s hands so he looks at you. “you good?” “great,” peter half lies and nods, then presses a reassuring kiss to your cheek. he’s not bad. puzzled is the word. what you say next only adds to it.

“good. i have a few things for you,” you beam at him and grab your shopping bag off the chair. that’s what that’s for? peter isn’t fully sure what you’re up to. it doesn’t stop a smile from stretching across his lips, though.

“what happened to no presents?” he tests you as you reach into the bag. “well, i feel bad about how i acted the other day.” you pull out a heart shaped box of chocolates. “the card was really sweet, and i was too caught off guard to appreciate it. i’m sorry, pete.” peter’s eyes twinkle at you, gazing as you give him a smile with a hint of shyness behind it. you’re leaving your comfort zone and entering his.

“i was wrong and cynical and just, yeah. happy valentine’s day,” you add on and shove the box into his hand. he finally grins, so wide and then lets out a breathy laugh. “thanks, y/n. i know it was probably hard to shop being surrounded by this stuff.” he holds up the box. he’s right. you’ll unfortunately be seeing pink and red for weeks. “it was, but i did it for you.” you happily open up your arms for him.

peter puts down the chocolates and pulls you into his arms, his cheek squished against the side of your head as he hugs you to his chest. “oh my god, i love you so much,” he mumbles out, you squeezing him in response. “i love you, pete.” you press a quick kiss to his neck and hold him at arm’s length so you can see him. “i have something else for you.”

“baby,” peter coos, a pout on his lips. “you don’t have to do all of this. i would’ve been fine without the chocolates, even.” “stop, you deserve it,” you shut down the part of him that’s way too nice and selfless. “you’re my real present,” he says lower and with a toothy smile. shaking your head, you reach behind you and into the bag.

he can’t believe you’ve switched stances on valentine’s day. you’re the present pusher, and he’s refusing them. peter thinks it’s some sort of miracle that you’re not only acknowledging the holiday, you’re also partaking in it. his hopeless romantic side tells him it’s actually love, and it is. that’s the cheesy, hallmark movie truth. you suffered through shopping at a heart themed cvs because you love him. simple.

you return with a pink envelope that you place into peter’s hand. his face softens as he closes his fingers around it. “y/n, you made me a card?” “kind of,” you laugh at his overstatement. it’s obviously pre-made. you’d used a pen to fill it out in the store, scribbled a few words and tucked it into the envelope.

“it really doesn’t compare to yours, though,” you simultaneously warn and compliment him. peter dismisses you with a lighthearted click of his tongue. “oh, shush. that was only a rough draft.” “which proves my point even more. open it.” you grip onto the bottom of his sweater and grin.

he keeps his eyes on you while ripping open the envelope, then looks down and chuckles at the gag of the card. it has r2d2 and r4d4 from star wars on the front. inside is already written, “r4 is red and r2 is blue. if i was the force then i’d be with you.” you giggle to yourself, watching him read what you wrote next. i love you more every day, especially on valentine’s. xo, y/n.

peter holds the card to his side and slings an arm around your waist. “they make star wars valentines?” he murmurs, another smile breaking out on his face, one that you of course return. you use his sweater to pull him closer. “apparently. perfect for you.” peter tosses the card down next to the chocolates, both arms now holding you.

“thank you so much, baby. you’re an angel,” he sighs and pecks your lips after. “call me cupid,” you answer.

you give him a longer kiss back, tilting your head up to deepen it. your hands find their place on his biceps, earning a hum from peter as he moves his lips against yours. you can feel his love in every little movement, how he hugs your waist like you’re made of glass, rests his forehead against yours. when your lips mutually detach, peter speaks first, voice slightly husky.

“happy valentine’s day, cupid.”

you breathe out, peter closing his eyes in content.

“happy valentine’s day, r2.”

#tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #tom holland smut #peter parker #peter parker imagine #peter parker fluff #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker smut

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bookofmirth · 3 years

Note

ok so this might come off as a bit rambly so please bear with me lol

i've noticed that the acotar fandom has this incessant need to be right when it comes to canon and it really sucks out the funness of fandom. shipping is supposed to be fun but when it comes to this fandom, it's almost like a competition to see who will be more right when the books come out. engaging with theories/predictions about characters and the plot is supposed to be exciting but when it comes to this fandom, some of the theories/predictions are problematic at worst and nonsensical at best. like how can you say with your full chest that you're so confident about where the series is heading in the future because of this or that theory when you're stuck in the past and refuse to see what all of the text is telling you in the present. it doesn't make sense. the selective reading is so strong that it has me looking sideways sometimes lol

i guess my question is why do you think the fandom is so divided when it comes to ships right now? i've seen people say this wasn't the case for feysand and nessian, so what's the difference here?

Oh boy Brielle, I have some thoughts on this. It's complex.

To be clear, I am not saying that this applies to literally every single person who ships a certain way. This is a commentary on the fandom as a whole, and there are always exceptions.

This got really, really long, so I'm putting it under the cut.

I think that one of the main draws of this series, and of sjm's writing in general, is her ships. I think that people get very, very attached to their ships.

I also think that sjm does NOT fully think through some of the choices that she makes when writing. See: the way that she takes from all these different cultures and mashes them together, which could be seen as disrespectful of their origin. She has retconned things, like Mor being queer and Lucien being Helion's son. I think that she thoroughly thinks about some of the aspects of her books, like Rhys's reaction to sleeping with Feyre for the first time, but then really half-asses other aspects of her books, like Mor coming out.

Then, we have your good old misogyny and homophobia - people in the fandom don't like Mor because she hurt the poor bat boy's feelings when she didn't sleep with him, and they don't have a mating bond, but she's never really told Azriel "no", and so every single moment of pain that Azriel has felt in 500 years is Morrigan's fault. And Mor's experience as a closeted queer woman who feels unsafe around the people she should trust the most is completely disregarded by the fandom.

Finally, I think that a combination of these factors has created the monster we know as e*riel, and that the fandom is perpetuating its own mythology.

What all of this comes down to, and the real reason I think that the fandom is behaving this way right now, is that e*riel is dead. It's never happened, it's not going to happen, but because we don't have the clear closure we got with moriel (where people would be accused of homophobia for continuing to ship it), people are still trying to figure out any possible way for e*riel to become canon, though every single sign points to it being a non-issue.

This weird thing where people have to be "right" all the time, and the way that "right" = "canon" is a relatively new development. It's as if everyone in this fandom forgot that they are in fact in a fandom, which inherently diverges from canon.

However, I think that the need to cling to canon is because the alternative would be to admit defeat and say "well, even if it doesn't happen I will still ship e*riel, it's fine, I will live with that." But they don't want to do that. In response, they look at canon so hard that they are reading the white space between the letters to create their theories, which as you noted as largely nonsensical and often fail to take into account who the characters are as individuals, how they are connected to other characters, and why it would or wouldn't be appropriate for them to be involved in various plots.

People could say, as eluciens having been saying since day one, "I really ship this thing but I can see that it might not become canon". But they don't say that. They literally refuse to see any other possibility than e*riel becoming canon.

You pointed out that people are stuck in the past - absolutely. The number of reimaginings I have seen of scenes where either Azriel or Elain has literally zero to do with the scene, but people try to shove one or both of them in there. And this from books ago. People are stuck on the Truthteller scene, and refuse to acknowledge that neither of them have acted on their feelings, whatever those might be, for years. And they ignore the fact that once Elain and Az do act, it goes horribly wrong.

Here are the facts as of right now:

ACOSF is the most recent book. In that book, sans extra chapter, those two had no interaction other than looking at one another.

If we include his POV, then he said it was wrong, we got confirmation that nothing has ever happened between them, she returned his necklace. Elain was aroused, but that does not mean she was ready to even have sex. "Yes" to a kiss is not "yes" to every single sexual act Az can think of. They parted on awkward, bad terms after a scene in which it seemed like they were about to start something. Yikes. Unlike Wings and Embers, they did not end that chapter still thinking of one another. After they part ways, the omniscient narrator does not mention Elain, or Az thinking about Elain, again.

His POV occurs months before the end of the book. They do not interact after that.

Elain has a mate she has not rejected, nor accepted.

So anyway, your question was why are people like this. lol. I think the fandom created a monster, and that monster is clinging to life. It can't accept the idea of morphing into a non-canon ship, though it never was canon in the first place. It had just convinced itself that it was.

There are other aspects to this, that have to do with gwynriel and elucien.

Gwynriel is a new ship, it's almost guaranteed to happen, people are super excited to ship it and give Gwyn all their love. I'm sure they would rather create content for that ship than argue about whether or not it's going to be canon, but they are in constant defense mode. Some people honestly didn't like e*riel before because they don't like Elain, or because they don't like Azriel, and those are valid reasons for not liking it. Why people ship gwynriel doesn't matter. The tone of the discussion is, unfortunately, being shaped elsewhere, which I will mention below.

Elucien is an old ship, older than e*riel. I can speak from this perspective - personally, I have been holding my tongue for 4.5 years. I have been letting people live, and just talking about the things I like. Then when acosf came out, it was like I could finally say all the things I had been thinking about Azriel, because I now had proof that the things I thought about his character (and because of that, about e*riel) now had solid canon foundation. This is 4.5 years of me holding in a lot of shit and finally being able to say it. Sometimes yes, I might take joy in having been right.

I think that a few people are clinging to canon, and that sets the tone for the discourse in the fandom. Someone says "according to page whatever, blah blah blah" and people feel the need to respond, and then it turns into and "I'm right" contest instead of... a fandom... A lot of us like debating. To me, it's fun. But when Person A starts a conversation that's about canon and it actually ignores canon, it's hard to let that conversation go by and just keep creating whatever we want to create. Instead, we respond, and so the tone of the conversation is shaped by what Person A decided to say.

I also think that there is a lack of distinction between theories (what will happen in the future) and meta (analysis of what we have now).

There is also a lack of "I" statements. Opinions are being stated as fact.

idk if there is a way to make it better, other than to just go back to ignoring one another. This whole situation makes me want to throw out every single canon ship I like and create exclusively non-canon content, just for spite. Except I really like doing meta, and so I don't want to. I guess for my point, I'll just keep doing meta, keep creating different content, and keep reminding people that they aren't here to continue perpetuating canon, but to play with it.

#ask #gimme-mor #acotar #antielriel #gwynriel #elucien #acotar fandom #fandom things #fandom history

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waynedunlaptheorgandonor · 3 years

Text

watched s11ep1

i will provide you with a quick review before i disappear back into the ether of twd avoidance

lots of spoilers under the cut. also i wrote way too much and i worked all night and haven’t slept so i didn’t bother to reread literally any of it, so it might be completely nonsensical, tho if you don’t expect that from me by this point idk whose blog you’ve been reading

enjoy:

hokay, first off, i’ll start by saying that i enjoyed it more than i expected to. i’ve been avoiding any sort of discussion about stuff, but my google algorithm is so fucked at this point that i still get recommended articles and stuff every now and then, so i was already pretty aware of what i was walking into, and was expecting it to be eh, but actually i prob enjoyed it more than i enjoyed the finale

(don’t get too excited tho, the finale was rly boring lmfao)

anyway

episode starts off with a tense scouting mission

it takes .005 seconds into the episode for caryl to exchange a look of longing, establishing that they are still having weird conflict and are both too fucking stubborn to do anything about it even tho they hate it desperately

i imagine that will continue for a while

rosita, kelly, carol, maggie, what’s her face with the bad hair, and lydia (i think that’s everyone?) lower down to some army bunker or something, where a bunch of walkers are taking a snooze, and the girls are very respectful of walker naptime, and do their best not to wake them up

obviously they eventually wake up, but i’ll get to that in a sec

as they’re tiptoeing through the walker tulips, there’s this split second where carol spots a machine gun, and looks at maggie with a face like, “can i plzzzz, i am mad horny for that machine gun,” but maggie tells her no. (i 110% expected her to defy orders and accidentally wake up all the walkers, but she actually behaved herself for once. well. mostly)

never fear, tho, after the girl gang collects a bunch of MREs they go back to wait for the dudes waiting up top to pull them up, and bc men ruin everything, one of the ropes break, and daryl catches it before it falls, but then a slow motion drop of blood falls on a walker’s face, and just like that, walker naptime is over, and carol uses her bow and arrow for two seconds before she is like “fuck this” and whips out the machine gun

yes, she is super hot using it

yes, daryl watches her do it

anyway, all the other girls get rescued, and carol is about to be pulled up, but bc she is a #girlboss, she first makes a beeline for one more crate full of MREs. daryl covers her while she gets the loot, and when she gets back up top they have another charged moment as carol hands him back his knife

just fuck already, jfc

titles!

cut to alexandria where everything is still not smilestimes

BUT, we do get to see uncle daryl run and hug rj and judith (and dog), and FUCKING HERSHEL JR, LIGHT OF MY LIFE is also there

istg, they could not have casted a better child, i a d o r e him

oh, and some friends of maggie’s show up too, idk

cut to a staff meeting where everyone is like, whomp whomp, we’re all gonna starve to death unless we figure out something quick

cue maggie going, “oh, i know where food is, but it requires me to tell you my tragic backstory, in case anyone didn’t watch my bottle episode”

she tells her dramatic backstory about all her friends getting slaughtered by the reapers for no apparent reason, and then she’s like “anyway, let’s go back there!”

no one thinks it’s a great idea, but a group of people decide to go anyway, including daryl and gabriel. rosita is super pissed that gabriel is going, and carol doesn’t go, probably partly bc it’s a shitty fucking idea, and also bc they have to keep caryl apart bc otherwise they’ll fix their problems ahead of schedule and they won’t be able to drag out the needless angst

daryl looks kind of annoyed that carol doesn’t volunteer to go

bitch, i thought you wanted her to stop putting herself in the line of fire! make up your damn mind!

moving on

cut to a thunderstorm, where, if you look closely, you’ll notice daryl is wearing the STUPIDEST hat i’ve ever seen. just get an umbrella, jfc

for some reason negan is with them, bc ig he knows his way around washington dc, and no one in six years has bothered to figure out how to get around the city and/or get a map, and he is like “hey guys, maybe we shouldn’t try to walk in this fucking hurricane,” and everyone is like “FUCK YOU NEGAN, YOU’RE NOT THE BOSS OF US!!!”

this will be a common occurrence

but eventually daryl is even like “actually, it’s rly unpleasant out here, and my hat is mad stupid, can we go inside plz?”

so they go inside an old metro station, which is actually a rly cool cinematic choice. i rly like the idea, and they executed it rly well

speaking of executions

there are some fucking RULL CREEPY walkers. idk why they bothered me so badly, but they were what they at first assumed were corpses wrapped up in tarps, but turns out none of them had been properly put down, so they go through killing these rotted bodies that had supposedly been there since The Fall, and it’s very gross and cool

this entire time, btw, negan is like “hey, i know i’m a shitty person, but i have some rational arguments about why we shouldn’t be doing this right now,” and everyone is like, “FUCK YOU NEGAN, YOU’RE NOT THE BOSS OF US!!!” and he’s just like “god fucking damnit”

(i forgot to mention that at one point, when they’re headed into the metro station, negan is trying to warn ppl of the potential danger, and everyone is ignoring him, and he tries to talk to daryl, and daryl is like “fuck you, you think we’re BUDDIES?” and negan is like “oh, ok, so you’re gonna be like that too? fanfreakingtastic” and it’s very funny)

anyway. a fat monster zombie escapes its tarp at one point, and tries to eat some npc, and negan saves him, again is like “hey, anyone else realize that this is a FUCKING BAD PLAN?”, and everyone is like “we don’t care, you’re still shitty and we’re not listening to you, and you don’t actually care about random npc i would literally not be able to pick out in a lineup bc his face is so generic, you’re not the boss of us!!!”

it’s at this point that negan finally is like, “why am i even here? bc i know how to get around washington dc? do none of you have a map?” and i was like, “right?! that’s what i said!”

it’s then revealed that maggie only brought negan along to murder him under the guise of “oops, he got hurt in the line of duty, it wasn’t my fault,” and daryl has this look on his face that says, “i seriously need to stop hanging out with lethal women bent on revenge bc it’s gonna give me high blood pressure,” and maggie has a badass moment where she points a gun she has for some reason at negan and is like “i have like, one shred of human compassion left inside of me, and if you keep pushing me i will fucking kill you without a second thought, so shut the hell up”

(in her defense, negan had just dropped glenn’s name to purposely antagonize her, which was rude as hell)

(for the record, i’m completely on maggie’s side here, but negan still is right that trapping themselves in a metro station is a bad call)

anyway, moving away from that briefly

i think this jump cut happens sooner, i don’t actually remember, but whatever who cares, point is, we get to the part of the show that actually matters, and that’s anything involving my love, juanita “princess” sanchez

and also eugene, yumiko, and ezekiel

they are being asked increasingly invasive questions by commonwealth ppl, some of which i wish they actually would of answered (what do they use to wipe their asses with?? surely toilet paper has long since become extinct)

zeke, who is so much more tolerable as a character now that he’s not larping as a king, has this incredibly weird and sort of sexually charged moment with a dude in an orange stormtrooper costume, where he’s like, “i bet you were an asshole cop back before The Fall, you stupid fascist, #fuckthepolice, mb literally? idk, this moment has a lot of pent up aggression that could easily translate to hate sex, it might just be the intense eye contact, but w/e, let’s just move along,” and then he has a coughing fit to remind the audience that he’s currently dying of cancer, and orange stormtrooper is like “lolz, loser, drink some water you dumb piece of shit”

cut to the wholesome foursome sitting at a picnic table in a guarded courtyard eating gruel, and yumkio, who finally has a personality, and princess are like “hey, this place fucking sucks, can we leave?” and zeke is like, “yeah, i met this orange stormtrooper who i think might be dtf and/or murder, so we should probably bounce”

but eugene is like, “but i want some hot stephanie ass, and also some bullshit excuse about how mb commonewealth will save alexandria” which, they left before things went super downhill, right? idr. it was after hilltop fell, but they don’t know alexandria got fucked either, if i recall? w/e, not important

two seconds after he says this, they talk to some people who are like “we’ve been here for four months, or maybe it’s been nine, i don’t actually remember, i’ve stopped processing the passage of time,” and the wholesome foursome takes this as a bad sign, tho that’s just the life i’ve lived as a night worker during a pandemic, so i was like #mood

but then they watch some guy get dragged away screaming to get “reprocessed” and eugene is like “ok, nvm, let’s bounce”

(my theory on what “reprocessing” is, is that they’re stuck in a room and have to watch hours and hours of customer service training videos on vhs from the 90s)

i definitely got my jump cut scenes mixed up bc i think the negan accusing maggie of a murder plot thing happened in between this scene and then the next commonwealth scene, but w/e, i’ll just finish what happens in the commonwealth arch

the wholesome foursome are trying to hatch a plan to escape, except princess, my love, is distracted watching some stormtroopers flirt, and the other three are like “wtf, dude, how can you even tell any of them apart?” and princess then tells them every stormtroopers backstory bc she is brilliant and pays rly close attention to shit, and the other three are like, “this is useful information, thank you for being an insane person”

their plan involves yumiko and eugene dressing up as stormtroopers and leading princess and zeke out of the place, which works fine actually, except on their way out they come across the Depressing Wall of Probably Mostly Dead Missing Loved Ones

they’re about to leave, when princess is like, “wait, yumiko, you’re on here, that’s weird huh?”

sure enough, yumiko is on the wall, with a note from ig her sister

the scene ends with yumiko going, “guys...i can’t leave...i have tragic backstory to unveil”

tragic backstory to be continued ig

back in murder metro town, npc and some other npc have stolen all the supplies, there’s a train blocking the track, and a horde of walkers are coming towards them, so things are not going fantastic

they horde is too big to take down, so they start to climb on top of the train car to get away

but dog runs away!

and daryl, being every pet owner ever, is like “gotta go get my dog, guys, try not to get killed while i’m gone, c u soon!” and he ducks under the train and disappears

#priorities

the episode ends with maggie climbing up the train car but getting grabbed by a walker and dangling off the edge, and negan is there and they have a lion king moment where maggie is like, “scar! help me!” and negan is like “long live the king, bitch” and walks away into the shadows, leaving maggie to a potential death

which, while i know isn’t actually going to happen, would be a really fucking funny move on the writers’ part

like, “look, lauren’s back! and now she’s dead, bet you didn’t expect that!”

anyway

my assumption is negan will actually end up helping her up or something, continuing his ambiguous morality bullshit that actually isn’t ambiguous bc he BEAT GLENN TO DEATH WITH A FUCKING BAT WRAPPED IN BARBED WIRE IN FRONT OF HIS PREGNANT WIFE

the maggie/negan arch is kind of dumb, but whatevs, i’ll tolerate it, as long as my boy glenn gets justice in the end

anyway, cue credits!

final assessment: good episode. i’m much more interested in commonwealth than the reapers, tho i am hoping that daryl’s personality-less ex turns out to be a monster killing machine with no conscience, that’ll be fun. princess is a gift from god. hershel jr needs his own tv show. needs more carol (and caryl)

the end! going back into my walking dead free chamber! see you next episode!

-diz

#i didn't mean to recap the entire fucking episode lol #sorry #it's to make up for my lack of content lately #or something #anyway #caryl #twd s11ep1 #twd s11 spoilers #dunlap tp

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softyoongiionly · 4 years

Text

BlackHeart Bakery

Who says Halloween can’t be romantic?

Pairing: Emo! Jungkook x Reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Genre: fluff

A/N: HI OMG IM SO SORRY THIS IS LATE. I love you, I hope you like it. I’m sorry it isn’t longer but, I still can’t wait for you to read it.

-you never imagined that the quirky lil bakery down the street from your university would change your life

-But it did

-“Omg shut up, you’re so dumb.”

-“Rawr xD”

-“Did you just say rawr xD out loud??? That totally defeats the purpose of its existence...”

-“Don’t cite the deep magic to me witch, I was there when it was written.”

-“And now you’re quoting the chronicles of narnia- alright just go back to sleep you big dummy...”

-“Mmm but you married a big dummy so what does that say about you”

-“Jungkook don't spoil it oh my god!”

-“Like they don’t know what’s coming already- spoiler alert losers! I get the girl.”

-“I hate you...”

-“Mm yeah- I love it when you talk dirty to me baby. The last time you said that- we ended up fuc-“

-“Ok! That’s enough! Our story begins...”

-Jungkook’s bakery was quite famous around your city

-If people didn’t come for the gaudy Halloween decorations

-They came for the music

-Exclusively pop punk, if you’re wondering

-It was like 2009 everyday

-Which was comforting, considering the world has gotten a little

-Tricky

-Since then

-But anyways

-If they didn’t come for the music or the decorations

-They came for the AMAZING espresso

-And the spooky themed treats

-But if you’re being honest

-You think the main thing that keeps them coming back

-Is Jungkook

-If his sweeping black hair didn’t get you

-Or the adorable cheeky twinkle in his eyes

-It was the tattoos and the piercings

-He looked like he walked right off of a black veil brides music video set

-He was hot

-This was obvious

-But he didn’t seem to think so

-You had come to the conclusion that he was oblivious

-he shoved his feet into his big black doc martens every morning

-Slipped on his beaded bracelets and studded chokers

-Pulled his fall out boy t-shirt over his

-Massive

-Tattooed

-Biceps

-And just thought hm

-I’m pretty average I guess (lol)

-That’s a direct quote from him btw

-Men truly are hopeless

-Jungkook opened the bakery two years ago

-He had mentioned to you that he had saved up money from his 3 part time jobs to put a down payment on the building

-Which was wedged between a sex shop

-And a thrift store

-And honestly his bakery

-Blackheart Bakery, if you’re being specific

-Fits right in

-Jungkook refuses to hire new staff

-“They won’t do it right.” He whined to you one day

-“One time I tried to hire this guy and he put the sugared googly eyes on the cookie skeletons ALL WRONG”

-“How do you put googly eyes on wrong?” You had giggled

-“you just do- i- See? This is exactly why I can’t hire anyone...”

-You had started chewing on the end of your pencil in the midst of your laughter

-It was an unconscious habit

-And it makes Jungkook shift uncomfortably, his hands moving off of the top of your table

-“Don’t do that...” he had muttered, smirking to himself as he walked back behind the counter

-he did that a lot

-He’d mutter something

-Mildly flirtatious under his breath and then

-Just walk away

-It was quite confusing

-But honestly you had a feeling he was just a filrty person

-You certainly weren’t the only girl he smirked at

-Not that you pay attention

-Ok

-Maybe you do

-Kinda

-Pay attention

-but it’s not your fault!!!!

-You just

-Can’t help but feel a little jealous

-You kiiiiiinda have a little thing for him

-Ok

-Maybe it’s a big thing

-Maybe it’s a massive

-Gigantic

-Towering

-Crush

-But look at him!!!

-You simply couldn’t be blamed

-It was his fault

-Yep

-That’s what you’re going with

-It was Jungkook

-And his tight t shirts

-His ripped jeans

-His dangly earrings

-His tattoos

-His big

-Stupid boots

-Ugh ok

-Focus

-You have work to do

-The whole reason you began coming to Jungkook's cafe was so you -could find a consistent place to study for your exams

-You were in school to become a teacher :)

-And teachers have to study very very hard

-Educating the youth is no easy feat

-Jungkook had asked what you were studying during the first week you arrived at his spooky house of baked goods

-“Oh I’m an education major”

-“Ahh so you’re getting an education about...education.” He concludes

-“I love it.”

-“So meta.”

-“Are they educating you on the disparities between impoverished children and wealthier children?”

-His wide eyes were brimming with genuine curiosity

-You kind of got a kick out of how candid he was about such heavy conversation topics

-“Not as much as they should be but, I’m actually writing a paper on a similar topic right now...”

-This caused a brilliant grin to come over his face

-It was almost blinding really

-And it made your heartbeat all wonky

-“Of course you are. You look smart like that...”

-He had backed away from your table then, seemingly satisfied

-Had you passed the vibe check?

-“I’ll leave you to your paper.” He nodded to your laptop but as he walked away, he pivoted back towards you on and the heel of his combat boot, “welcome to Blackheart Bakery by the way, let me know if I can get you anything.”

-Another brilliant smile is sent your way

-“Thank you.” You had smiled back, sending a tiny wave his way

-Which in turn, made HIS heartbeat all wonky

-You’re cute

-Like really cute

-And despite how often it may seem like his eyes are elsewhere

-They are ALWAYS on you

-Every chance he gets he is glancing your way

-Smirking to himself at how endearing you are

-Brow furrowed

-Lips pouted in concentration

-Completely oblivious to his gaze

-He has to remind himself to look away

-He doesn’t want to be a creep

-“Creepy men deserved to get kicked in the teeth...”

-He’s said this to you before when another patron had made you uncomfortable

-Jungkook kicked him out immediately

-“If you don’t leave, I’ll have no choice but to kick you in the teeth. One, because I can’t compromise my personal philosophy and two because you’re making my favorite customer uncomfortable.”

-Oh look there goes your heartbeat again

-WONKY

-The guy leaves in an angry rush, flipping Jungkook off in the process

-Saying something about leaving a bad Yelp review

-He doesn’t care tho

-He definitely doesn’t want to be a creep

-You’re just so

-Pretty

-Ugh

-He rolls his eyes at himself behind the espresso bar

-The latte in front of him neglected

-In need of a bit of foam

-“Focus Jeon, she’s just a chick...”

No wait

-“She’s just a woman. A woman who I respect, like I respect all women...”

-He’s been watching a lot of feminist theory on YouTube

-He likes staying educated

-And also fuck the patriarchy

-The man waiting for his drink has arched a brow at this point, wondering if his barista has lost his mind

-“Uhhh medium...” he checks the cup for his awful hand writing, “ghostly toasted marshmallow latte!”

-“Thanks.” The guy mutters, throwing a judging look Jungkook's way

-He gives him a lazy salute as the guy struts away with a briefcase in tow

-“Thaaanks.” Jungkook mocks him, his face scrunching up in annoyance

-Stupid man

-With his stupid briefcase

-As Jungkook is pulling out a batch of cream cheese frosting stuffed pumpkin muffins

-Or as Jungkook calls them

-PUNK-in Muffins

-Movement at the counter catches his eye

-is that

-”oh shit...” He grunts, hastily wiping his hands on his apron and rushing over to the counter

-normally he would meander

-stroll

-or even slump to greet any new guests at this hour

-and by this hour

-he means 45 minutes before closing

-Jungkook’s bakery is open til midnight on weeknights

-9pm on Sundays

-and 3am on Saturdays (for the culture of course, gotta keep it spooky)

-tonight happens to be a Friday night and the person awaiting his assistance is

-you

-”You’re still here?” He gawks, the black polish on his nails glimmering as he punches in a few keys on the register

-You offer him a tired and slightly amused smile, “No. Y/N died around 4:30, you’re speaking to her ghost. Please leave your message after the tone.”

-Jungkook cracks a smile, his palms resting on flat on the counter, “Do ghosts check their voicemails?”

-“Oh of course not but, I will be checking yours because you have access to caffeine.”

-Jungkook laughs

-no...he giggles

-and it’s fucking cute

-but you digress

-“I feel like I should cut you off...this is your 4th latte; I’m pretty sure you’re 80% caffeine at this point...”

-“Noooo, don’t do that.” You whine slumping against the counter, “I just need to finish this one page...”

-He quirks a brow as he scribbles something on your cup, unimpressed with your statement, “You said that three hours ago. I’ll make you another one but I’m not putting an extra shot in.”

-Your face turns up in protest but he click his tongue against his teeth , shaking a manicured finger at you

-“Ah ah- nope. I don’t want to hear it. You either take that or I’m making you a hot chocolate and shutting the buildings power off.”

-With a dramatic sigh, you concede

-“Ugh fine. Here-” You go to hand him your debit card but he shakes his head

-“Put that away.”

-You want to protest but given the fact that he’s made the rules thus far during this interaction, you doubt you’d be able to stop him.

-A smile appears on your face then, appreciative of his generosity

-“Thank you.”

-He merely grins, waving you off before rolling up the sleeves of his black Blink 182 shirt

-as soon as his tattoos are out

-all the moisture leaves your mouth

-you try your hardest not to stare at him

-expertly, he eases the espresso shots into the milk, tongue poking between his lips in concentration

-and you

-being sleep-deprived

-and a little loopy

-decide to

-flirt????????

-if you could even call it that

-which you could but you shouldn’t

-“For the record, when I finally dig my way out of this of mountain of death I’m stuck in, I will definitely take you up on that hot chocolate...”

-Jungkook’s brow quirks at the tone of your voice, his hands suddenly itching with nerves

-was that

-was that flirty?

-should he flirt back?

-“My hot chocolate is legendary. You won’t be disappointed.” His lips display a small grin as he places the lid atop your finished latte, “Also mountain of death is a great name and I WILL be stealing it.”

-You giggle

-again

-“and I WILL be suing you for copyright.”

-He laughs now, wiping up the bit of milk he spilled

-the sinewy muscles in his forearm tensing and untensing

“Good luck getting me to show up to court.”

-and that’s kinda how it was between you and Jungkook

-for like six months

-it was a little bit flirty but never anything to push either over you over the edge.

-and speaking of being on edge

-recently, you had gone from vacationing in your timeshare on the edge

-to signing a 35 year mortgage contract

-4 bedrooms

-2.5 bathrooms

-of pure

-unrelenting

-stress

-you could feel it in the middle of your back

-shoving itself up between your shoulder blades

-your body seemed to ache with it

-the worst part being

-it was Halloween

-You should be out with your friends, having fun

-wearing itchy costumes and drinking sugary drinks

-but instead, your headed towards the bakery to work

-Jungkook was behind the counter, smiling happily at a family dressed like the cast of scooby doo

-from what you could see he was wearing a skeleton onesie

-his jet black hair tousled perfectly above his head

-he looked adorable

-(and hot)

-He notices you instantly, his face turning up in surprise

-you offer up a small wave and head over to your table

-you know he’s going to say something about you being there but

-you don’t really have much of a choice

-this work has to be done

-it takes him a second to spot you but when he does

-he seems to perk up

-his smile brightening as he looks back towards his customer

-as you’re setting everything up, you feel a presence (not the spooky kind) at the end of your table

-it’s Jungkook and he has your regular order in one hand, along with something wrapped in skeleton-patterned parchment paper

-“I know, I know.” You acknowledge before he’s even able to chide you for being here

-He smirks “What are you doing studying on the holiest day of the year??”

-You giggle

-“The holiest day of the year huh?”

-“Of course. Halloween is the one night a year that the homies can dress like total -sluts and no one can say anything about it.”

-This makes you giggle again

-“And you went with slutty skeleton huh? I love it- it’s like as naked as you can possibly get.”

-He chuckles, gesturing to his costume

-His floppy black hair getting in his face

-“Damn right baby.”

-The way he grins tells you the pet name is a joke

-But the deepening of his voice gets to you anyway

-“Thank you for this. I promise I’ll get out of your hair early tonight.”

-“The only thing I’m worried about getting out of my hair is this white spray paint. You’re welcome to stay as long as you want.”

-He’s put a streak of white spray paint in his raven locks

-Why? You’re not certain

-Does it look good on him, like everything else does?

-Absolutely

-Its been a few hours since your night of studying began

-Jungkook’s dropped off two free lattes since you’ve arrived

-As well as a slice of his ‘I write cinnamon not tragedies’ bread

-Which was equally hilarious and delicious

-You caught him glancing over at your table a few times but you didn’t think anything of it

-He’s probably just checking to make sure that no one needs your table

-His bakery is packed most nights but Halloween is a special night at Blackheart Bakery

-He has a trick or treat counter set up with free (homemade) candy

-A photo op complete with a fake haunted house backdrop

-A Halloween playlist

-And a bunch of discounts on his signature lattes and food

-you watch him amongst the chaos

-He is completely unfazed

-He seems elated at the amount of customers he has

-he grins and laughs at something a man dressed like Thor says at his counter

-he seems entirely in his element

-you realize that the denial tactics you’ve been trying out haven’t been working

-because this floppy haired, tattooed, slutty skeleton/baker kind of has a hold on your heart

-you’ve been friends for a long time now

-he always makes sure you’re taken care of

-he always asks if you’re ok

-he always gives you this little grin

-it feels like a secret sometimes

-but maybe it’s been his way of letting you know where he stands

-he’s been bringing you lattes and pastries for months now

-he never charges you full-price

-he always reminds you not to work too hard

-he

-fuck

-he likes you doesn’t he?

-you look back over at the counter to see him bending over and handing a skeleton cookie to a little girl dressed like Captain Marvel

-he laughs at something she says

-his eyes focused entirely on her and whatever she seems to be proclaiming to him

-your heart goes wonky again

-alright

-enough is enough

-you’re doing this

-Jungkook’s done so much of the work thus far

-it’s time for you to seal the deal

-and if he rejects you, well…

-you can just crawl into a hole and never come out again

-easy peasy

-You can feel his eyes on you as you get up to take your place in line

-luckily there isn’t anyone else behind you

-rejection with an audience would certainly be worse

-Jungkook has his witty comment ready for you as you approach the register

-“I know for a fact you haven’t finished your third latte and I’m not making you another one until-“

-“I’m not here for another latte.” You laugh, trying to ignore the thrashing of your heartbeat

-“No? Well, are you finally going to try my Welcome to the Blackened Chicken Parade Burger then? I’ve been asking you for like three weeks…”

-god he’s fucking cute

-“I’m here to ask you out.”

-Jungkook swears he feels his heart stop

-“You’re here to…”

-He repeats the first part of your response as his he didn’t hear you

-his black fingernails anxiously tapping against the countertop

-“I’m here to ask you out- on a date.”

-Jungkooks face seems to go through various stages of confusion before a shy smirk presents itself on his pretty mouth

-“Me? You’re asking me-“ He places a hand on his chest, “-out on a date?”

-“Yes!” You laugh, slapping the counter a bit too hard, your nerves getting the best of you, “Are you down?”

-He shakes his head but his answer contradicts his movements

-“So down, beyond down. There is no one on Earth who is more DOWN than I am. Yes. My answer is yes. 50000% yes.”

-you can’t help the smile on your lips

-“great. So are you free next Friday then?”

-He grins with his teeth this time, nodding emphatically

-“Consider the shop closed.”

-and so it was

-you returned to your table moments later

-feeling on top of the world

-you did it

-you asked Jungkook out

-and he said yes

-and now you

-NOW YOU HAVE A DATE WITH JUNGKOOK

-LOOK AT YOU GO

-TAKING CHARGE

-you try your best to engage with your studies but with Jungkook on your mind

-its really hard

-roughly two hours later, things at the bakery have finally started to slow down

-“Hey uh- Y/N?”

-Jungkook's voice that pulls you out of your studying trance

-he’s standing at the entrance of his back room, waving you over with his hand

-and who are you to deny him?

-you make your way over there, annoyed at the instant increase in your heartrate

-he stands awkwardly to the side and gestures to the boxes on the metal rack

-“I just remembered that I’ve never given you a tour of the place. I give all my regulars a tour of the stockroom and my office and uh-”

-he cuts himself off and clumsily cups your cheek

-he pulls you into a kiss

-a really good kiss

-his lips are so warm

-he smells like cinnamon

-you could literally die happy

-The ridiculous nature of his first attempt to kiss you, makes you giggle into his mouth

-you feel him smile, his hands smushing your cheeks together as he pulls away

-“Ok I lied. There is no tour. I’ve just been watching you focus on your computer for the last two hours and you’re just really fucking cute and-”

-this time, it’s you who cuts him off

-“You better give me an actual tour next time. How else am I going to steal your secret recipes?”

-he scoffs in mock offense

-“Ah ha! So that’s the only reason you asked me out huh? Should I be calling you Plankton instead of Y/N? Ew no wait- that would make me Mr. Krabs and he’s a dirty capitalist...”

-You laugh, “Oooh good point. Guess you’ll just have to be Karen, my computer wife.”

-This makes him laugh now and the sound warms your soul

-“I could live with that- I like your last name better anyways.”

-with another kiss, your adventure with the emo baker of your dreams begins

-It may have been Halloween but it sure felt like Christmas to you

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loversandantiheroes · 4 years

Text

Hotel Hobbies - Part 2

Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x f!Reader Author’s Note: This was not going to be a multi-chapter thing, but then people liked it and Whiskey wouldn’t shut the hell up so here we are, folks. I no longer know where this is going so strap the fuck in I guess. This is so long and I am so sorry. Edited for a cleanup 10/5/2020 Summary: A co-worker gives the Reader a little nudge, which backfires just a bit when Whiskey runs unexpectedly late. Warnings: Public sex, exhibitionism, angry sex, mild choking/breath play, oral sex (f! receiving), fingering, dirty talk, rough sex, spitting, spanking, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex (do as I say not as I fictionalize), creampies, come eating, vague allusions to Whiskey’s job and all the dangers contained therein, Whiskey is a service top and I do not take criticism, very brief mention of Whiskey’s past, exactly one (1) use of Spanish that I hope I didn’t fuck up too badly. Rating: Explicit / NSFW / 18+ / How much clearer can I make this? Word Count: 12k+ (oh GOD do not look at me I have no idea what happened) Previous: Prelude / Part 1 / Interlude Taglist: @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @oloreaa @the-feckless-wonder @sarcasmisakindofmagic

The conference drags on into its fourth day in a parade of excessively bored people in suits and pencil skirts toting stale danishes and overpriced coffee; the only comforts provided to distract you from the mobius circle-jerk of tedious corporate bullshit. Most of the assembly hall does little more than nod blandly as yet another guest speaker goes through their presentation, the topic of which you forget at least six times throughout the course of it. Half of the attendees aren't even bothering to take notes anymore. The company could've filled the room with potted plants in cheap suits and gotten a better result. At least the plants would provide a little oxygen to the atmosphere.

It certainly doesn't help your case that half of your brain is circling endlessly around Whiskey. You scribble down a set of shorthand bullet points in your notes and try to blink away the image of his arms straining against taut ropes. You sip your coffee and remember the heat of his tongue chasing the taste of his namesake in your mouth. When you cross your legs and feel the deep, pleasant twinge between them, for a split second all you can think about is the way he felt sinking down into you with his teeth against your neck.

The time absolutely crawls by. There's moments when you half expect to look up at the old analog clock on the wall and see the hands start running backward. Of course this would be the day the presentations run long, wouldn't it? Restless and fidgety, you eventually give up on your notes completely and just resign your attention to the clock and whatever obscenity your brain wants to conjure up from the night before.

Claudia, one of your only work friends that actually opted to attend this fiasco, gives you increasingly amused looks throughout the morning, glancing up at you over her phone (on which, you can't help but notice, she has been playing Bejeweled for the past hour with the brightness turned down). After you check the clock for the fifth time in twenty minutes, unable to really keep yourself from sighing angrily through your nose, she shakes her head at you, laughing quietly.

"So what's his name?" she whispers, leaning over conspiratorially.

You give her a glare, but she only raises her eyebrows expectantly. Goddamn it, why does the entire universe find it so funny when you're irritated?

"Whiskey," you mutter back, glowering.

She has to clamp a hand over her mouth to stop a snorting giggle from being loud enough to cause a disruption. "Oh my god," she sputters. "Are you fucking a biker?"

And okay, maybe that is a little funny. You shake your head, mutter back, "Cowboy."

Claudia grins so wide her shoulders pull up with it. "Save a horse," she whispers, trying to dodge out of the way when you elbow her to cut off the rest of the joke. Three people behind you simultaneously shush the two of you, and you toss a dirty look over your shoulder, settling back into your seat.

A few seconds go by before Claudia's leaning back over to quietly add, "The dick must be good to get you this distracted."

"Shut up," you shoot back, but you're already smiling.

When the presentation ends, the entire auditorium raising up on creaking knees to shuffle out to break for lunch, Claudia's hand clamps down on your arm.

"I'm buying lunch and you're going to tell me everything."

So you do. Parked in her conservative little hybrid over styrofoam boxes of take out, you tell her. Damn near everything, too. She listens with rapt attention, this not being the first time she's poked you for details of your love life, such as it is, but judging by the look on her face it's possibly taken the top spot as the most memorable.

"So you're gonna see him again," she says finally as you tell her about Whiskey's invitation before slipping out the door this morning.

You settle back, trying to make yourself look suitably apathetic before answering in the hopes of not being completely transparent. "I dunno. Maybe."

She rolls her eyes. "Oh please. You're gonna see him again. You've been spaced out with dickbrain all day, there's no way you're turning down that invitation."

You wave the end of your plastic fork threateningly. "I will stab you, I swear."

"Not with this many witnesses," she says with a wave at the horde of pedestrians outside on the sidewalk, blatantly ignoring the shanking motions you make in warning.

When she doesn't drop that annoying, knowing look, you start jabbing at your food, rolling a piece of cucumber around the styrofoam. "I mean...ok yeah I thought about it."

"All morning," Claudia provides.

"Fuck you," you counter lightly, and resist the urge to fling the chunk of cucumber at her. "I just...I don't know. I don't think it's a good idea."

"Oh my god, why not?" she cries, head thrown back in exasperation.

"Well it's not exactly fucking sensible, is it?"

"Honey if you were worried about being sensible you wouldn't have fucked a cowboy you picked up at a hotel bar," she says with a shake of her head.

"Did you miss the part where he tried to convince me he was James fucking Bond? I mean c'mon Claudia. That's gotta be...I dunno, some kinda red flag."

She scoffs, flapping a dismissive hand. "Oh please, when the bullshit's that obvious I don't even think it counts. It’s not like you bought it anyway. Besides, honesty is the backbone of a solid relationship, if you're just poking fun it's more like a bonus. As long as he's not married and not a serial killer, who gives a shit? You’re overthinking the shit outta this, hon.”

That’s...well that’s not wrong. It’s honestly irritating how not wrong that is.

When you don’t give a response save for the idle sounds of plastic scratching on your takeout box, Claudia groans. “God are you really gonna make me talk you into getting yourself laid? Okay, if you wanna be rational about it, fine, here's some rational thought for you." She pops out her thumb, ticking off digits as she lists. "He's hot. He likes to eat pussy. He's a fuckin' sub, which - holy shit, girl. Holy actual fucking shit. Plus he's packing and he actually knows what to do with it. Oh, and he bought you fuckin' breakfast!" She wiggles her fingers as she thrusts her hands out towards you. "Seven outta ten, babe! My god, if you don't fuck him I'll do it for you just so I don't have to eat another shitty continental breakfast."

You laugh, but there's a hot flush creeping up your face, and you have to stare out the window for a minute until it starts to wind back. It's almost successful, until you think of Whiskey again. This time, though, all you think of is him outlined in the door, looking back at you with his face too shaded to see. And then your cheeks flare hot again, not with that lingering sense of want, but with a flighty kind of panic.

And just like that you pin it down, your stomach twisting on itself as you finally put words to that moment of apprehension. Whiskey doesn't scare you. His lines don't scare you. The way he fucks you doesn't even scare you. But that moment that he lingered does. It scares you because you think maybe what was going through his head is the same thing that's been going through yours, a fine little thread looped around every remembered pleasure: the worry that you're about to develop a taste for something that you'll never have the chance to get again.

Maybe it's better to leave it. To chalk it up as a fluke and not risk finding out that he'd feel just as good the second time as he did the first. Cut it off now before that lingering taste turns into a full-blown craving.

Claudia sighs, closing her takeaway box. "Look, hon. I'm not trying to tell you what to do. It just sounds to me like you're overthinking this. You don't need to be fucking sensible all the goddamn time. So what if you're thinking with your pussy right now? You had fun. He was fun. You have the option to have more fun. You are entitled to have some fun. So, hey: fuck sensibility and have some fucking fun."

You nod. It's reflex at first, but slowly becomes more deliberate. More sure. "Okay. Yeah. You're probably right."

"I am always right, thank-you-very-much," she corrects, and then promptly shrieks as you launch a slice of cucumber into her hair.

⁂

The trick of it all, you remind yourself that evening as you cross the hotel lobby for the elevator, is not to think about it. Because if you think about it, really think about it, you will find a way to talk yourself out it. Sensibility is as much of a hindrance as a help at times. But you've decided now: the absolute last thing you want to be tonight is sensible. You've been bored out of your mind all week, and as much as you're loathe to admit it, Whiskey has been the only bright spot in the whole affair. At least he's given you something to look forward to, even if it is just the prospect of getting railed until you forget your own name.

You take the time to change when you make it to your room. Grab yourself a short, but blisteringly hot shower, and conveniently forget your panties when you redress. Eventually you make your way down to the bar with your heart almost strangling you with the way it's seemingly lodged itself in your throat. Whiskey's nowhere to be seen, which isn't a complete surprise. He always seemed to turn up a little late in the evening before. Not wanting to deviate too far from your own habits, if only to make yourself a little easier to spot, you take your familiar place at the far end where you've been set up for so many nights in a row. You order your drink, make friends with the closest basket of pretzels, and you wait.

And wait...and wait.

Your eyes are half on the clock and half on the door, flicking back to that last at every sign of movement. Despite the fact that you're practically nursing your drink, the bartender refills your glass twice over the course of the night. When he offers a third, you shake your head. Your face feels like it's burning. The bartender nods and wanders away, either oblivious to the growing anger on your face or determined not to end up the recipient of it.

It's nearly midnight when you finally push yourself off the bar stool, throwing down enough bills to cover your tab and storming off. He stood you up. You cannot fucking believe it. What's worse is you feel like you should believe it. Should've expected it. As if a man that strutted around like a preening rooster and fed you a bullshit James Bond story would have a streak of honesty.

You punch the elevator button hard enough to make your hand tingle, pushing your way through the doors as they open and hitting the button for your floor. The walls of the elevator are mirrored, and you duck your head, not wanting to know what your face looks like just now, twisted up in anger and more than a little shame. The doors hang for a moment before sliding closed. At the last possible second a hand darts in, stopping them. Broad. Tanned. Tattooed. The man of the hour leans through the doors as they retreat, and gives you a grin.

"Room for one more?"

Your stomach does a back flip, blood rushing in so many directions you're not sure if you've got enough left to power a response. If this little scenario had played out even half an hour earlier, you might've laughed. Might've fallen back into that easy bitchy banter the two of you seemed so good at. Might've even kissed him. But not now. Now you've built up too much steam, and every little ounce of anger – earned or not – that you'd had percolating for this man since you first laid eyes on him bursts out of your mouth in two words, laced with as much venom as you can muster.

"Fuck you."

You can practically hear the record scratch in his head. The smile falls, eyebrows ratchet up so high you can't see them for the brim of his hat. It's satisfying in an awful sort of way. Like scratching an itch hard enough to draw blood. Too late to take it back now, though. You lash out at the elevator panel, punching the button marked CLOSE DOORS, and Whiskey side-steps neatly inside.

"All right," he says slowly. "That is not exactly the reaction I was hoping for."

"Yeah, well tough shit, cowboy," you all but spit, raking a hand through your hair. You keep your eyes down. Forward. Anywhere but on him. It's hard, too many reflections. Even the distorted shape of his silhouette in the door makes your blood boil.

"I know I'm late," he starts, hands raised, and the low and placating tone of his voice hits you like lighter fluid on a match.

"You don't fucking say?"

His hands drop. "Can I at least explain myself?"

Laughing too loud and too sharp, you shrug, shoulders pulling up hard. "Yeah, sure, why not? Let me guess, rough day at Spy HQ? Assassination appointment run over? Or were you just hiding behind the fucking dieffenbachia to see how long I'd stick around before I came to my fucking senses?"

The shrill sound of your own voice almost makes you wince. You're overreacting. It's not like you're unaware of it. But you're pissed off, and worse now, you've committed to being pissed off. Backing down now is damn near impossible, never mind actually apologizing.

Whiskey takes a step forward, his eyes gone all puppy dog again; wide and imploring under twisted brows. "Look, I don't blame you for thinkin' the worst. I know I left you waitin', and I apologize for that -"

You roll your eyes, mouth twisting into a smile that shows too much teeth to be kind. "Christ, y'know what, don't flatter yourself. I like that bar. The pretzels are nice and they don't water down the liquor. I didn't show up for you."

"Oh horseshit," he snaps. He doesn't raise his voice, but there is a whip crack of impatience in it. "If you didn't want to see me tonight you wouldn't have turned up at all. You and I both know that."

Fuming, you jam your hand into your purse, fishing out his flask and tossing it at him hard enough that it hits him square in the chest. He catches it on the rebound.

"Here. You forgot this."

Whiskey turns it over in his hands, thumping the metal against his palm. "Right. I see," he says slowly, slipping the flask into his pocket. Under that thick drawl, there's a twinge of something that might be disappointment. "Just came to do the decent thing and return a man's property."

"Yes." Part of you sinks, screaming in frustration. But it's like you're a spectator now, just watching yourself sabotage the only thing that'd brought you a shred of joy all week just because your pride and temper won't allow any other option.

One hand falls to his hip, the other rubs idly across his mouth. He's scowling now, quite spectacularly at that, and for a second you think you've finally dealt enough of a blow to his pride to piss him off. Then he steps in close, jaw set. The way his eyes travel up and down you sends a flush through your body, and you're not sure if you want to slap him hard enough to knock the mustache off his face or kiss him until his lips bleed. His gaze lingers at your hip, your curves quite plainly displayed under the tight skirt. He reaches out. The back of his fingernails barely brush the fabric.

"Do you always make returns without any panties on?"

You try to swallow, but find your mouth has gone suddenly bone dry, your throat sticking with a sharp and painful click. "Fuck off," you try to tell him, but it comes out a croak.

"You know what I think?" Whiskey continues, and the tone would nearly be conversational if it weren't for the way he's looking at you, eyes perfectly black and hungry under the shade of his hat. "I don't think you're just mad because I'm late. I think you're mad because I can get a rise outta you. Part of you kinda likes it. Enough to wanna come back for a little more of it. And you don't know what to do about that. Bet you can't even decide if you wanna throttle me or ride me 'til you can't come anymore. Bit of both, maybe, huh?"

Oh fuck you very much, Mister Perceptive. "Christ, you and your fucking ego-"

"Oh to hell with my fucking ego, and yours too." He leans in close enough that you can smell aftershave and a fainter, acrid smell that, if you weren't so fucking preoccupied, you might recognize as spent gunpowder. "If you want me to go, just fuckin' say it. But don't bullshit a bullshitter. If you wanted rid of me that bad you would've tossed me out on my ass last night before I'd even finished coming."

Your jaw works, and you push yourself a little harder against the handrail just to keep from slapping him. How dare he-

How dare he what, exactly? Be right? Again?

You clench your jaw, gripping the handrail on the wall tight enough that the corners dig into your fingers. Glare at him like you're trying to light him on fire. He doesn't flinch.

"What you did last night...that made for a hell of a first impression," he says slowly, and the low rasp of his voice almost curls your toes. "One I don't expect I'm liable to forget this side of fuckin' doomsday. Shit, I don't even know your fucking name and I ain't been able to shake the thought of you all damn day. Now you can believe that or not, and I wouldn't blame you if you didn't. But the only thing I'm asking from you right now is to be fucking straight with me. If you want me to go, you fucking tell me, and I'm gone. But if you want me to stay, honeybee I swear I will make up for every second you had to wait."

"Fuck you, Whiskey," you breathe. It's all you've got left, all you can even think to say, but it's too soft. It's too hard not to believe him when he's looking at you like that. Even if he's still got your teeth on edge, ready to bite, the fire in your belly is sinking lower every second. And there's no way to mistake the low rasp of your voice for anger.

He leans in, hovering barely an inch away from you, and tips your chin up with his knuckle. "That ain't an answer, honeybee."

His lip curls into a smirk and for a second all you can think about is running your tongue out to follow the curve of it.

"You can punish me if you like," he offers in a low, darkly sweet voice. The fingers on your chin trace a path along your jaw, up to your ear, and down the side of your neck as he talks; a three-point constellation drawn in goosebumps. "Lord knows I deserve it. Tie me up again. Ride my tongue until you've had your fill and never lay a finger on me. I don't mind a bit. I'll probably come in my fucking jeans like a goddamn high school virgin while you do it, too."

Oh god. It's too hot. It's too hot and he's too close and it feels like there's no air left. Those words took the last of it and left you with nothing. And then your lungs finally unlock, hitching in air so pitifully loud that for a second his eyes drop first to your mouth and then lower to watch the buttons strain on your blouse.

His tongue brushes up against the back of his bottom lip, a strange gesture, but one you can't drag your eyes away from. And the bastard just keeps talking.

"Then again, maybe the way you've been acting up you'd be more inclined for a little punishment yourself. I could take you upstairs. Turn you over my knee and put my hand to that pretty little ass until it blushes like a ripe summer peach. I'd bet you'd drip just as much and twice as sweet, too. I'd kill for a taste of you right now. Fuck, if you really want I could just hike that skirt up and fuck you right here and now. I am a flexible man and I am willing to take you any way you'd see fit to let me. But only if you let me. I ain't here to play bullshit games, and I will not take anything you don't want to give. So I need you to tell me, honeybee. Do you want this? Yes or no?"

Everything inside you burns and twists. Fuck, you want that. All of that. And all you have to do to get it is unstick your stubborn, too-sharp tongue and admit that you want it. That even without the excuse of three shots of tequila on top of a few too many cocktails, you still want it.

You're burning up. There's sweat on your palms. It squeaks as you twist your hands over the railing. He hasn't just turned the tables on you, he's flipped the whole fucking room and cornered you with it. And God help you, it's infuriating how much you like it.

"Hate you. So much."

"Hm." His hand falls away, and you miss the touch instantly. "So you keep sayin'. Decision time, honeybee. You pick or I'm picking for you and we're both gonna be disappointed in that result."

There is a long long beat where that threat hangs between you. Any hope that he might just push forward and take you anyway – push you into the wall and fuck you ragged right here and now without another word – bleeds away as you stare him down, your wordless challenge going unanswered. His gaze is iron; hard and unyielding, and you know if you wait even one more second, this...whatever the hell this is, will be over. Permanently.

Swallowing the last of your pride like so much cheap liquor, you seize the front of his shirt, dragging him forward even as he starts to back away.

"Yes. Fucking goddamn it. Yes, I want this."

"Yeah?" He leans in, nose brushing your cheek. Somehow it's that little gesture that sets off a bomb's worth of butterflies in your stomach.

"Yes."

The heat of his hand is almost shocking as it glides up your thigh and underneath your skirt, his thumb stroking up and finding only bare skin. Whiskey grins. "Knew it."

You choke back a sigh. "Smug bastard."

"Yes ma'am." His thumb brushes up and down your slit idly, slow and considering. He glances around, quirks an eyebrow, and offers: "Here?"

Following his glance, you spot the hunk of plastic mounted in the top corner of the elevator. "Camera. Fuck."

"Sure enough," he drawls, still grinning. "You want to give the boys 'n' girls in the security booth a show, or d'you want to go someplace a little more sensible?"

Sensible. God, If he'd chosen any other word, you might've agreed. Private. Safe. Anything but fucking sensible.

"Fuck sensibility. Fuck security, too. Just shut up and fuck me."

He laughs through your kiss, the touch of his lips too gentle by miles. The last thing you want right now is gentle. You don't fucking deserve gentleness after all that. And so you rake your teeth across his bottom lip, roll your tongue against his. When you nip at his tongue, Whiskey breaks off, cupping your sex with a warm, calloused hand.

"You're gonna eat me alive, honeybee," he growls. He parts you with a thick finger, drawing the pad of it from your entrance to your clit and back again. "Mm, I have been thinkin' about this all day," he murmurs before his finger sinks into you.

Sighing, you curl your arms around his neck, knocking his hat off to run your fingers through his hair and muss up that razor-clean side part. His hand works unhurried between your legs. You rock against it, listening to the obscene smacking sound as he works you open.

"All that fuss and you're wet for me already, darlin'," Whiskey says wonderingly.

All you can do is groan, chasing the sensation of the heel of his hand pressing against your clit. "Shut up and kiss me."

You tug at his hair, try to urge him forward, but he doesn't budge. He sinks down to his knees instead, right hand never leaving the wet heat of your cunt.

"I'll kiss you, baby," he says, pushing up your skirt and lifting your right leg over his shoulder. "Don't you worry."

And he kisses you: a warm, wet slide of lips and tongue where he's got you spread. Gasping, you grab the back of his head. He looks up at you, only the crinkles at the corner of his eyes proof of his smile, and his eyes slip closed like a man savoring his favorite meal.

"Jesus." The word comes out in a squeak as his mouth works on you, your throat tightening in an effort to keep quiet. A second finger joins the first and you whimper, tightening reflexively against the stretch. Christ those fingers are thick. Shuddering, you work your fingers in his hair and pull him closer, your eyes wandering up to the reflection in the far wall. The view is mesmerizing: your back arched, skirt hiked up to your waist, with Whiskey's head buried in between your legs like a man trying to slake an ungodly thirst. The view on the left is even better. From there you can watch his mouth work against you, catching a glimpse of his tongue, wet and shining as it slips between your folds. He sways forward on his knees like a charmed snake, a growing bulge straining against the dark blue denim of his jeans.

There's a gentle ding, and for a moment you're so scrambled you think maybe your phone's going off. And then the elevator doors slide open. An older looking gent with a battered briefcase stands frozen on the other side, eyes wide as dinner plates as he takes in the same view you've been admiring in the mirrored walls of the elevator.

For a single spaced-out second the only thing you can think is, Going down?, which makes you erupt into a fit of breathless, senseless giggles.

The newcomer's mouth hangs, flapping uselessly over words he can't quite formulate. He might be trying to apologize for the intrusion or insist you repent and turn to Jesus. You don't know and you don't care.

Whiskey looks up at him over the line of your thigh, lips glistening. "Get the next one," he snarls, and punches the CLOSE DOORS button.

He plants a rough, sucking kiss at the top of your cleft as the doors close again, utterly unperturbed. "Penthouse, darlin', if you please."

Oh he would be in the fucking penthouse, wouldn't he? Panting, you fumble a hand out trying to find the button just as Whiskey slides in a third finger and you cry out, almost swiping every button in the center row by accident.

The elevator hums to life and begins to move. The red light on the security camera flashes benignly and you stare at it for a long beat while Whiskey gets right back to work, moaning hungrily between your legs. Someone's watching this. The thought excites you more than it should, adding fuel to the already roaring fire Whiskey is so eagerly stoking with his tongue. You roll your hips, swearing roundly. It's not enough. It's fucking glorious, but it's not enough. You know what you need.

"Fuck me," you gasp. "Goddamn it, Whiskey, gimme your cock."

He glances up at you through thick lashes, eyebrows raised. "Is that what you want, honeybee?" he asks.

You bear down on his fingers hard as if to answer and he clenches right back, thumb and pinky giving him leverage against your pubic bone as he grips you tight, fingers stroking along your walls. It's only by virtue of the handrail and the support of his shoulder that you don't sink straight to the floor. Christ that backfired.

You nod fervently, head spinning.

A roll of his shoulder unseats your leg, and he stands. His left hand wraps around your throat, thumb against your jawline, and that's so fucking perfect you can't stop yourself from whimpering. In a flare of desperation you grasp his wrist, urging him to grip your neck just a little tighter. Chuckling, he brushes his lips against yours – soft and strangely tender – while he fucks you steadily with his fingers.

"Shoulda known you'd like that. Well? Cat got your tongue? Come on, darlin', lemme hear it."

"Yes."

"Louder. Tell me you want me to fuck you."

"Oh god-d-d-damn it!"

He chuckles darkly, fingers coaxing inside you. "You can do it, honeybee. I know you want it. I just need hear you say it."

You bare your teeth. "I want you to fuck me."

"Good girl." He grins down at you, wide and wolfish. "Now: ask me nicely."

Oh he would, wouldn't he?

"B-bastard," you snarl, then begin to laugh.

"Oh come on now," he croons, eyes darting between your lips and your own heavy-lidded stare. "I'm sure you can get along without your pride for an hour or two. It ain't so bad. And I promise I'll make it worth your while. C'mon."

You groan, grit your teeth, and hiss out: "Please."

He crooks his fingers and you gasp like you've been burned. "'Please' what?"

"Please fuck me. Please fuck me."

He slots your trembling thigh between his legs, pressing the clothed, solid length of his cock against you. "With this? Hm?"

"Fuck, yes." You writhe, feel it twitch, and he rolls against you in response.

"Come for me first, honeybee. Then I'll fill you up good and proper. Cross my heart."

His fingers press into you harder, spreading gently as he draws them back. Your legs begin to shake so badly that he has to pin you to the wall to hold you up. The rail digs into your back. You'll bruise tomorrow, but you're not sure you've ever cared less in your life.

"You gonna come, for me?" he asks, rutting a little more enthusiastically against you when he feels you begin to tense and flutter around his fingers.

Squeezing your eyes shut tight, you nod, feeling the drag of his lips on your cheek.

"Uh-uh. Talk to me, darlin', I wanna hear it. I want you to tell me every single time you're gonna come, you understand me? Count them out. Let's see just how many you got in you tonight."

"Oh you ass!" You moan and laugh all in the same breath.

"You like it," he says simply.

He kisses you, warm and deep, and you bite his lip for the audacity. "Don't stop. Fuck, I'm close."

He turns your head, slides his hand around to cup the back of your neck. "Open your eyes, honeybee. Watch yourself."

You try. Everything's a blur; inside and out. Fuzzy and disconnected and hot. Blinking to clear the fog, you can see your reflection caught between the wall and Whiskey's body. Your eyes are dazed, unfocused. His cheek is against yours, a look of utterly indecent hunger on his face, lips red and swollen where you've bitten him. He's pressed up against you too tightly to get a good view, but you can see his arm pinned between your bodies, and the flex of muscles working underneath his jacket.

There is, you note with a fuzzy sort of disconnect, a small, ragged hole in the arm of his jacket.

But before you can put any more thought to this discovery he presses his thumb down against your clit – no friction, only a firm, rolling pressure – and that's all you need. If it wasn't for the his body against yours, you'd buckle. As it is, trapped between him and the wall, all you can do is quake and cry out, arms tightening around his shoulders as you come.

He hums indulgently, kissing your cheek. "Count it out."

Panting, you pull hard on his hair until he groans. "One."

"Good girl," he murmurs. Slowly his hand withdraws, giving one last slow swirl over your folds before he sucks you greedily off his fingers.

There's the muffled sound of a zipper and you could almost laugh – finally! But then the elevator slows and stops, doors sliding open with a soft ding. Whiskey glances sidelong at the open door, corner of his mouth pulling up in a half-cocked grin. The disappointed whine you give as you hear him zip himself right back up is wholly involuntary.

"Well wouldn't you know it," he says, pulling away from you and stooping for his hat. It's all you can do not to whack him on the back of the head – or on the ass – as he turns away, wiggling your skirt back down over your hips instead.

He gives a ridiculous wink towards the security camera with his hat held to his chest. Your stomach gives a neat little flip as you look up at that blinking red light – god, you'd forgotten it was even there.

"Sorry to blue-ball ya and run, fellas." He gets an arm around your waist, tugging you into the hall at an easy, languid pace, as if nothing had happened. As if your legs weren't still quivering, with the evidence of your orgasm running in sticky trails down the inside of your thighs.

"Betcha money, marbles, or chalk they'll be jerkin' off over that for weeks," he says jovially, pulling you to his hip when he feels you start to wobble. "C'mon. Let me get you in a bed before I say to hell with it all and fuck you out here on the goddamn floor."

Your knees tremble again; at least one part of you has full support of that particular idea. As the door opens you pull him back to your mouth, kissing him hard even as he steers you by the hips through the suite. You barely see any of it. Recessed halogen lights. The sparkle of painstakingly cleaned glass and marble. Little else. A grunt escapes you as you fetch up hard against the wall and Whiskey crashes into you. The sudden pressure against his groin leaves him winded, rocking forward against you with a shuddering groan.

"Tell me how you want it," he says, words mangled against your mouth. The salt-musk taste of you still clings to his tongue, sharp against some faint remnant of sweet mint.

One hand slips down, squeezing your breast through the material of your blouse. The room spins giddily like a tilt-a-whirl, still riding the coattails of your last orgasm. "Hard," you breathe. The skirt you chose is too fucking tight, and you have to reach down to drag it back up your thigh just to hook a leg around him. "Don't you dare be gentle."

He chuckles as you press into him. "How hard is hard? I can be a little rough if you let me off the leash."

Frustrated, you slip your hands under his sports coat, nails biting into his shoulders through his dress shirt. "Fuck, do I have to spell it out for you?"

"Yeah," he says, and his voice has reached that breathy, sonorous pitch that sends a hot-cold shiver rocketing down your spine. "Yeah you do. A little honesty would be appreciated tonight."

One good shove and his jacket slips to the floor. "That's funny coming from Double-O-Cowpoke."

"Not my fault you don't believe me." It's pitched like a joke, light and breezy, but there's something in his eyes. Sharp and peculiar and gone almost before you can be sure it was really there, but makes your stomach clench with a sudden surety that the next words out of his mouth are completely genuine. "I ain't lied to you yet, honeybee."

And that almost brings you to a halt. Your hands splay out on his shoulders, pushing back to look at him more clearly. If that's true. If that's true...oh god, why would he have told you?

The question is halfway to your lips before he surges his way forward again, his mouth crashing into yours and kissing you hard and urgent and bruising. A faint sound of protest rises in your throat and you push back a little, not wanting him to stop but wanting him to wait because...because....

And the rest of that thought flutters away. He doesn't stop kissing you. He just doesn't stop. And he's moaning as his tongue licks into your mouth and his teeth scrape over your lips like it's the most decadent thing in the world. You grasp at his face, wrists caging in his neck, feeling his pulse race along next to your at such a frantic speed it's almost alarming. Your last little shred of rational thought all but begs you to push him back a little harder, to make him look at you and ask him what's wrong...and then it just flutters away because God this is what you want. This. This, this, this.

"You want it hard?" he rasps into your mouth, rutting up against you hard enough to drive you back into the wall.

Breathless, you nod. Work your fingers through the mess you've made of his hair. "Ruined you last night, didn't I?" You tighten your grip, use your knuckles for leverage and pull.

Whiskey groans, slipping his hands under the bunched hem of your skirt to grip your ass and grind you down against him. "Goddamn right you did, honeybee."

"So ruin me back." The thick denim that covers his fly is rough, but you rub against it all the same, shuddering at the coarseness against your tender skin. "Fair is fair. Right?"

His eyes slip closed and he buries his face against your neck for a moment, breathing unsteady. "Jesus, girl, you're gonna soak straight through my jeans," he mutters. "All right, honeybee. All right. I only got one rule. If I do anything you don't want, you tell me. 'Cause I ain't stopping unless you do. Not tonight. Got it?"

"Whiskey-"

He gets a grip on your chin, levels your eyes on his. "You tell me 'no' or you tell me 'stop.' Got it?"

"Yes." Patience exhausted, you wrench his belt open. "Now come on."

Buttons patter to the floor as he tears open your blouse. And that's good. That's fair. And what's even better is the rough way he puts his hands on you, yanking your bra down to knead and squeeze your bare breasts. When you finally free his cock there's only a brief moment to savor the warm, solid length in your grip before his fingers clamp down on your nipples. The sensation is so sharp and bright and sudden that you yelp, arching up on your tip-toes.

"Hands off, honeybee," he warns.

Whimpering, you flatten your hands against the wall.

"Too much?" he asks softly, that funny little furrow deepening between his eyebrows.

A groaning laugh slips out of you, and you arch your back, pushing your breasts against his hands. "Not enough."

"Fuck, ain't you just the sweetest, dirtiest thing." He twists and you cry out, hips bucking forward. His cock drags against your hip and you chase it, trying to pin it between you.

"Oh, c'mon. You promised," you whine.

"Oh I'm gonna keep my promise, baby, don't you fret. I want you just as fucked-out as you had me. Wanna see you so goddamn cock dumb your eyes roll back. Bet you've been thinking about this all day, too, haven't you?"

The wall warms under your hands as you fight not to push back more. And maybe that's what does it. A little mental-short circuit. Because God knows you haven't been able to think of a single fucking thing other than this. But the denial is on your lips so fast it must be involuntary, a reflexive need to find his buttons and push: "You wish."

Whiskey raises an eyebrow, lip curling. For a second he's amused, seeing the game you want to play. And then it's like a switch flips. Suddenly this isn't the man who'd begged for the privilege of fucking you last night. This isn't even the man who'd put his grateful mouth to your cunt in the elevator. This is the man he'd pretended to be right up until you got his hands tied. The cowboy get up wasn't the costume – this is. This smile. This infuriating swagger.

"Oh, really?" he says, and for the first time you realize just how much that drawl had begun to soften around you, because now that dial's ramped right back up to 11. "You turn up tonight without any goddamn panties on, ride my fingers like a coin-op pony, beggin' to get fucked all the while, and then you try and tell me you ain't been thinkin' about me? I felt how hard you came. How fucking wet you were." His hand darts between your legs as quick a snake-strike, fingers carding through your folds. "Are. Ain't no face left to save, darlin'."

He's in your space, radiating heat, his fingers stroking against your swollen sex, stoking your own fire all over again. But the fire those words kindle burns a little quicker and a little hotter. Without a second thought you strike out, palm tingling as it finds its target against his cheek.

For a moment Whiskey doesn't even seem to breathe. He just stands there leaning heavy against you with his eyes closed and his nostrils flaring. Redness blooms against his cheek. When his eyes open again, the way they bore into you, glittering and eager takes your own breath away.

He hums, that low, pleased sound. But now it slips lower and lower into a breathy rumble that lances straight through you. "Do it again."

Swallowing hard, you slap him again. Harder this time. For a moment the only reaction he gives is the way his cock bobs sharply, slapping against your thigh.

Then he growls, seizing the back of your neck and crushing you to him. You crane up, half expecting a kiss, but his thumb snags the corner of your mouth. He drags it open until your jaw hangs, tilting your head back. A choked sound that's a little too plaintive to be a protest slips from your open mouth a second before Whiskey spits into it.

"Swallow."

You do, sucking hard on his thumb for good measure.

"You nasty little thing," Whiskey says, his voice slow and dark as molasses. His eyes glaze over a little as he works the ball of his thumb against your tongue, watching the way your lips purse around it. "Maybe you are the one that needs the punishin'."

He leans against you, breathing hard as he considers this thought. You frown a little, catching his thumb with your teeth, hoping he'll get the hint and give you something better to put in your mouth. But then his grip loosens, one hand disappearing behind you. Hints, it appears, are completely off the table tonight.

"In," he growls, throwing open the bedroom door. "Now."

Whiskey leads you inside, hitting the lights with his elbow. The room is furnished in that same drab but sparkling minimal style, an impressively large bed swallowing up the majority of the space. One wall is nothing but windows behind drawn shades, a sliding door leading out to a small, isolated balcony.

He steers you directly to the bed, sitting on the edge and pulling you across his lap to straddle his knee. You let out an indignant little yelp at the treatment, but then he shifts his leg under you and the indignance crumbles. It presses against your mound just right, urging you open, and you grind down with a gasp, trying to find a little relief.

Whiskey tuts. "Oh now look at that. Try to tell me you ain't been thinkin' about takin' my dick and then rub on me like a goddamn cat in heat."

There's the sound of a zipper – not his this time, but your own – and then a little tickle at your hip as he undoes the skirt and wrestles it down your legs. He pushes your blouse up, bunching the material up around your shoulder blades. For a second you think he means to pull it off, but then he twists the fabric around his hand. The garment draws up tight, leaving your arms, still in the sleeves, pinned to your sides.

You moan a little when you feel his hand slide across your ass. He bends over you, and you feel the wet heat of his mouth against your ass cheek. A sweet, languid swirl of his tongue before he bites down. You jerk hard enough that your clit drags against the rough weave of his jeans and you cry out, the sound muted by the bedspread.

The pressure of his knee aches beautifully against your cunt, your breathing so shallow and quick it makes you lightheaded. You know what's coming, and you know what you asked for. The last thing you wanted was to be sensible. And this – well this might be the least sensible thing you've ever done.

You buck your hips up sharply. Searching for his hand. "Do it."

The first strikes are quick and brisk. They tingle, warming your skin, but don't hurt. Not yet. This is just a tease of the real thing. A warm up. The tips of his fingers trace the first reddening outline of his hand against your skin, a match for the not-yet faded print against his cheek. Crooning, he kneads your buttocks, spreading them apart, making the slick folds of your pussy slide against each other.

"Sweet Jesus will you look at that. Open that up, baby. Lemme see just how fuckin' wet that gorgeous little pussy is."

You gasp, grinding down again, and then first real slap lands across your ass, unexpected and jarring. The sting is enough to make your eyes water, but the impact drives you forward, almost encouraging your hips to grind into him. A second strike lands on the other cheek, then back to the first, alternating each time. You rock with it, caught between the hot stinging slap of skin on skin and the building heat between your legs.

"This what you wanted?" Crack.

"Fuck!"

"Is it?" he demands. His hand descends again. Crack.

"Yes!" You kick out, struggling not because you want to, but because you have to. And it only makes it worse. Or better, or – God, you don't even know now. It's more. It's just more. His knee digs in harder and your poor neglected cunt throbs with a misplaced ache and you swear you have never needed to feel yourself filled up more than you do right now.

"You gonna behave?" Crack. "You gonna stop lyin' to me now?" CRACK.

"Yes!" The word leaves you in a shuddering sob, thighs clamping down around Whiskey's leg. One more, God help you, one more and you'll tip over, you'll come all over his knee, you're so close.

And then he stops, rubbing and kneading the hot flushed skin, and you whine in desperate frustration as your orgasm begins to retreat.

"Goddamn. Prettier than a Georgia peach," Whiskey says thickly. His hand strays, slips down between your cheeks and presses against the splayed lips of your pussy. You writhe under the sudden attention, feeling the tips of his fingers slide around your clit. "And damned if you don't drip twice as sweet."

"Please." Warmth trickles from the corner of your eyes, blooming against the bedspread.

The swirl of his hand is lazy, almost soothing but for the way it keeps you so frighteningly close to the edge. "Truth first, honeybee. C'mon. You know what I wanna hear."

"Ye-yes," you mutter. "Goddamn it yes. I've been thinking about fucking you all day. All goddamned day...God, Jesus, fuck, and then you didn't show. Thought you'd ditched me. Made me want - want it and then ditch me."

You bury your face in the quilt. It's a fucking cop out and you know it. You don't just want it. You want him. Fuck, what is happening?

Again you feel his mouth against your ass cheek, open and wet, but this time his tongue is almost cool by comparison. "There now. I didn't ditch you, baby. Wouldn't fuckin' dream of it." His voice is low now, placating, nearly apologetic. And then his fingers are slipping inside you again, stroking and curling. "I'm right here here, baby. Right here. Just a little late, is all."

You whine, trying to wriggle back to drive him in deeper. Those thick fingers are like fucking magic but you need more than they can provide. Desperate now, you clutch your fingers back towards him, find his shirttail and tug at it. "Jack. Please."

It doesn't even register to you that you've called him by his name – God, you didn't even think you remembered his name – until the fingers inside you still. If it wasn't for the hammering of your heart in your ears you might've heard his breath catch.

Slowly he twists his fingers inside you, pressing down until you shudder. "What is it, honeybee?" he mutters. The hoarseness in his voice is familiar. You wish you could see his face. "Tell me what you want."

"Please fuck me. Please. I waited all fucking night."

He rolls you off his lap, leaving you dangling half off the bed and folds over you, cock nestled against the heat of your reddened ass. There's a sticky slide to it; you're not the only one that's wet.

"Hand to God, baby, I'll make it worth every minute. On my fuckin' life." The pained edge in his voice sets the room spinning, and for one mad moment you find yourself trying to grab onto the bedspread to keep from rolling away. Whiskey leaves a kiss against the back of your neck before he draws back, the hand fisted in your shirt tugging you along just a bit.

There's a long, wavering moment when his touch leaves you entirely and you almost protest before you hear him frantically shedding his clothes behind you. Then his hands return, his left winding back into your shirt, his right warm and strong against your back. The blunt, weeping head of his cock nudges between the swollen lips of your pussy. He stays there for an infuriatingly long moment, enough that you cry out your frustration into the bedclothes.

And then he finally makes good on his promise.

You go up on your toes, legs straining as he breaches you. After all the hours you spent thinking about it, all the hours you waited, it's bliss. But the pure, unadulterated stretch of it laces that bliss with a white-hot line of fire that only serves to make it all the more urgent. Maybe it's the angle, bent in half with your ass up and your legs closed. Maybe it's just how overwrought you are already. Maybe...fuck, you don't know, maybe somehow he's even harder than the night before. All you do know is that he feels so big you can't hardly stand it. It's so much, bridging the gap between pleasure and pain until it's just an overwhelming sense of pressure and fullness that has you clenching and fluttering around him. As if your body can't make up its mind if it wants to expel the intrusion or welcome it deeper.

He has no right to feel this good. None. But goddamn it you're so glad he does.

"Fuck," he mutters shakily, fingers biting into your hip. "This what you wanted, honeybee? Huh? This what you been waiting for?"

You can't find the air to give him an answer. Whiskey's still moving forward, you're not even sure how. Christ how much more of him is there? He leans forward, pushing you into the mattress, pushing down into you until you start to shake, until he hits that buried junction inside you that sends a flare of heat rocketing clear down to your toes and your stalled orgasm rears up again so sudden and so close that it's startling.

Every muscle in your body tenses, straining. The whine that breaks out of your gaping mouth is pitiful. "Shit, oh shit, Jesus fuck, Jesus fuck-fuck-fuck-"

He feels it. He must. There's no way he can't. "Oh fuck, that's it honeybee," he croons, working his free hand under you to circle your clit as he sinks that last broad inch into you. "Come on. Come all fuckin' over me."

For a second everything shorts out, all senses lost in a white-out. The only tenuous connection you have to your body lies in the grounding pressure of his cock inside you and the faint but rapid fluttering of his pulse in it. And then you're slamming back to yourself with a ragged cry, blood roaring in your ears and coming so hard that you nearly buck off of him entirely. Your arms flex, bend, bunched cloth digging deeply into your skin until you feel rather than hear the seams rip. And then the tightness is gone, Whiskey's hand unwinding immediately from your shirt to stroke up and down your back.

There's a lump in your throat when you finally find enough air to speak: "T-t-two."

Whiskey groans. "Beautiful. Fuck, you shake so pretty when you come for me. I could watch you do that all night. Might just, at that." He drags the torn wreck of your blouse off you, popping the clasp on your bra and bending to place an open, humid kiss in the valley along your spine.

He rocks forward and back, one hand clamped into soft flesh at your hip, humming tunelessly. "Been wantin' to bury myself back in this sweet pussy from the minute I woke up. Ain't been able to think of nothin' else. Just this," he says, drawing back slowly before burying himself to the hilt and rolling his hips against you.

You clamp your teeth down on your lip, fighting the haze. It's hard to swallow. Hard to breathe. But he's rolling into you slow, far too fucking slow. And that isn't what you need. You try to push yourself up on your elbows, but he thrusts forward, a little more force in it this time, and your arms give out.

"Ha-harder," you pant, voice thick and muffled by the quilt. You turn your head, claw the hair out of your face. "F-fuck me harder, god-d-d-damn it. Make me fuckin' feel it tomorrow. Big-dicked b-bastard, oh my God, don't you stop."

He breathes out a laugh, folding over your back. The pressure against your tender ass stings like hell, and you hitch in a hissing gasp as Whiskey's mouth finds your cheek. He kisses you, or does his best to. The angle is strange and your face is half-smashed against the bed, but his mouth slants over the side of yours, tongue dragging against your lips until you open for him, letting him lick against the sharp points of your teeth.

"Careful what you wish for, honeybee," he whispers, grinding forward in a maddening circle. "Words like that will get you in a whole mess of trouble."

The air leaves you in a whooping rush as he stands, dragging you up against his chest, your back bowing to try and keep the searing length of him pressed where you need it. And then – ah god – his hand is around your throat and his teeth are sinking into your shoulder, and you're suddenly glad he can't see the way your eyes flutter and roll back.

Not that he even needs to see it, because just then Whiskey groans into your skin as a rush of wetness courses down his cock.

"Fuck, is it that good, baby? Hm?" His voice quavers as his body impacts yours like a sledgehammer. "My dick finding all the sweet spots in that pretty little pussy for you?"

You grapple at him, find where he clings to you and grip his hands, inadvertently encouraging him to press his hand just a little harder against your throat. And there goes the room again, looping and floating as he starts to move, really move, driving forward harder and harder. You stumble, going up on your toes, some choked and desperate noise caught in your throat somewhere under his hand. Sparks pop behind your eyes, faint and wavering like fireworks reflected on choppy waters. And then the pressure eases, air rushing into your lungs once again. The fire in your belly flares up at it like a backdraft.

"M-more," you grate out. "Oh f-fucking God please more. D-don't...d-d-don't-"

"Don't you worry, baby. Ain't gonna stop," he mutters harshly against your ear. "I'll give you all you want. Ain't stopping 'til you tell me to stop."

You shake your head, or at least try to, the movement restricted by his hand. "N-no. Never. Fuck, never-never stop. Right there f-fuck-"

Whiskey growls out something low and broken and unintelligible as you clamp down on him, your body chasing that bright, blazing heat whether you want it to or not.

"Oh fuck, are you comin' again for me already, angel? Shit, you are, aren't you? Got yourself all riled up today and now you just can't stop. C'mon then, baby. Come on my dick. You feel like fuckin' heaven when you come. Pussy's so good it oughtta be fuckin' blasphemy. C'mon, honeybee, do it for me, come like you fuckin' mean it-"

Before you can breathe a word it hits you and it hits you hard, muscles seizing up so tight it's like they're trying to wring the pleasure out of you. You ride through maybe three or four near-blinding shocks of it and then your knees, traitorous things, finally give out underneath you. The only thing that keeps you up is Whiskey's arms wrapped tight around you, clutching you to him, suspending you on his dick as it grinds up brutally against your g-spot.

"Got you, honeybee," he grunts, rhythm never faltering. "I got you. Keep comin' for me, baby, keep comin'."

And god help you, you are. You're still quivering, still coming, and then his hand falls away from your neck to cup against your sex, palm flat against the rigid little knot of your clit. He doesn't even rub, it's just a heat and a pressure and it's like your whole body stutters upward, launching towards a second, higher peak. Whiskey lets out a broken groan against your neck as you bear down on him so hard it nearly hurts and you wail at the unexpected, overwhelming force of it.

Everything spins off and away in the aftermath, senses blown out like a bad circuit. Sounds are swallowed up in a high, persistent ringing. You haven't got the strength to force your eyes back open. There's a shift and a feeling of soft cloth beneath you and when the haze starts to lift you find you're on your knees on the bed, shoulders down and ass up with Whiskey draped over your back. He murmurs things against your cheek, your ear, your neck. You can't hear a word of it over the ringing in your ears.

You turn your head, knocking your forehead against his by accident. "Thr- I- f-four?" Your voice jumps in your throat, but you can't quite make it steadier. "I...I don't-"

"Honeybee," he drawls, his cock giving a hard, desperate twitch inside you. He grins at you indulgently, gathering your hair up in one broad hand and pulling. "Good girl."

A shudder goes through you as you realize he's still fucking you. Deep, swift strokes that send tingles sparking through you. He drags his cock out of you and drives it back in, pulling it over your blazingly sensitive nerve endings like a bow over violin strings. Like it's a privilege to do it. Like it'd be a fucking crime to stop.

He drags two more orgasms out of you like this. Shuddering, slow-building things that overtake you like flood waters, rising up with an aching, consuming crawl unmindful of the pounding pace Whiskey holds to like a clockwork battering ram. It's only when you gasp out a broken cry of "S-sih-s-six!" that Whiskey's hips finally begin to falter, stuttering and slowing at the feeling of your overworked pussy milking his cock again. His grip on you tightens as he tries to steady himself, tries to hold on, groaning his own restrained pleasure through gritted teeth.

"Tight - fuck! Goddamn it girl you get so fucking tight when you come. So fuckin' wet. Sweet Jesus. I don't know how m-much more of that I can fuckin' take."

"God, fuck, do it, just do it," you whine, reaching back for him with hands that can't stop shaking. "C'mon Jack."

He laughs at that, but it's a little frayed and frantic at the edges. He brushes the hair out of your face, working his fingers into it and giving it a tug. "I – ungh! Oh s-shit – I got... your p-permission this time, honeybee?"

You hum, nodding, and hitch in a breath as he grinds in particularly deep. "Please."

His rhythm falters again, hips canting suddenly at a hard angle. "W-where? Fuck, fuck, where do you want me, baby? Hurry."

"In-inside. Inside me. 'S what you wanted last night? Right?"

Whiskey makes a broken sound, lurching against you. "Y-yeah. Oh shit, yes. Jesus fucking Christ, honeybee."

Growling, he flips you over and slides in deep, pushing your knees up almost to your shoulders and staring raptly down at your face even as his own contorts. The length of him inside you stiffens even more, pushing in so deep his hipbones grind painfully against your own.

And then he breaks with a cry, his whole body locking up with the force of his climax. His head drops between your breasts and his back arches high, fists punching deep divots into the mattress on either side of you. He rocks through it, jerking at every pulse and spasm, and you can't help but shiver at the warmth that pools inside you as he comes.

"Fuck, fuck. Nngh, ho-holy shit." He almost says more, but another tremor wracks his body and it chokes off into a broken mess of Spanish - "¿Que chingas me estás haciendo a mi mujer?"

Winded and boneless, you scratch your nails weakly across his scalp, working your fingers down his neck to his shoulders. "Better be a compliment."

"You have no idea," he pants open-mouthed against your skin. Instead of elaborating he just eases himself out of you and crawls his way down, trailing his mouth over your skin until he's settled between your legs, staring at whatever disaster he's made of you and groaning softly in appreciation.

Take a picture, you almost say, it'll last longer. But before you can work up the air and energy to put breath to the quip he's drawing his tongue against you, cleaning up the mess he's made with a desperate, greedy reverence that sets your knees trembling on either side of his head.

Whimpering, you clamp your lower lip in your teeth, shuddering up against the warm heat of Whiskey's mouth. "Careful," you warn. "Oh, G-God, careful."

The only answer you get is a low moan and the feeling of his fingers sinking diligently back into your cunt, coaxing out the trickling remnants of his orgasm.

A high, lazy heat begins to build again, over-sensitivity easing back into something warm and sweet and giddily aching. Your hands cradle the back of Whiskey's head, carding through his sweat-soaked hair as he licks his own come out of you. It's not a thing you've ever really given much thought before – bodily fluids were always more an incidental part of sex for you than anything else – and you're not sure if he's enjoying the act itself or just the strange submissive edge of it. Curiosity gets the better of you and you glance down at him, expecting to see him staring intently up at you over the rise of your mons, gloating over the state he's put you in. Fuck, he's made you come so many times you're sure he'll never let you forget it.

Only he isn't. His eyes are closed, face lax with a blissful intoxication as he tastes himself inside you, holding your thighs up and apart to let him work his tongue and fingers in deeper. The sight of him so clearly lost in the moment, not goading or gloating, just rapturously gone is maybe the single most erotic thing you've seen in your whole life. And that sweet, lazy heat suddenly licks up to a blaze.

The sudden clench you give is impossible to miss from Whiskey's vantage point, and he groans against you. "One more, honeybee," he almost pleads, breaking away from you with a sucking pop just long enough to gasp air. "You can gimme one more, can't you? I know you can. C'mon baby. Lucky seven."

He lowers his head once more with a decadent hum and you throw yours back as he sets to more deliberate work, hooking his arms around your thighs to keep you right where he wants you.

"God, you greedy b-bastard," you rasp out. The stimulation to your worn nerves leaves you quaking, wriggling underneath him. You're not sure you can stand another one, but a deep, hungry part of you is desperate to find out.

He growls at that, more in agreement than in offense, and when your hands scrabble at his he parries them without even glancing up, seizing your wrists and yanking you down even tighter against his mouth.

You nearly kick him in the ribs when you come. It's not your fault. Honestly it's his for working you up to this point. To this high, nervous overload that's barely left you any control over your body. It doesn't seem to faze him, though. Your heel glances off his side as your shaking legs lock around his back and he just keeps going, like he hasn't even noticed, like he isn't even here. Like the world has spun down smaller and smaller and the only thing left is his mouth and your cunt and leaving that would mean the end of everything.

But it's too much. Goddamn it, it's too much.

You sob, wrench your hands out of his grip and push at his head. "S-s-seven. Sev-seven. F-f-fuck, Jack. No more, n-no more, please, stop, I can't, I can't– "

He's pulling away before you even finish, pressing one last biting kiss against your thigh before crawling shakily over you to put his mouth to yours with a surprising gentleness. The taste on his lips is heady, musky and sharp. His arms tremble at the strain of keeping himself from slumping over on top of you, gasping raggedly between each kiss like they’re just as necessary as air.

For the longest time you can’t even move, you’re far too wrung out and exhausted to even try. All you can do is lie underneath him and do your best to remember how to breathe between slow, lazy kisses. Eventually you work up enough breath to speak. "'M sorry," you whisper hoarsely.

Whiskey shakes his head, trying to focus his eyes. "What for?"

"'Two minutes and a cigarette.'" You bring up a hand, patting his cheek with an awkward bonk. "I stand corrected"

A look of comical confusion takes over his face, brows knitting together, until he finally remembers the jab you'd made after you'd tied him up the night before. "Shit," is all he says before he dissolves into giddy laughter. His arms finally give out on him and he rolls to keep from toppling onto you.

You roll with him, tucking your head into his shoulder and giggling. It aches. The muscles in your abdomen so overworked that even laughing hurts, but somehow that just makes it funnier.

You’ve nearly composed yourselves when Whiskey tries to prop himself up on an elbow that immediately slides out from under him and almost smacks you in the head, and that just sets you both off all over again. Giving up entirely, you just lay there, shoulder-to-shoulder, laughing like a couple of punch-drunk loons.

"You hungry, honeybee?” Whiskey asks breathlessly when he’s got himself back under some semblance of control. “I could eat a goddamn horse."

Now that he mentions it you realize just how long ago lunch was, and your appetite, which had so far taken a backseat to both your temper and libido, roars back to life. "God yeah, actually. 'M fuckin' starving."

So for the second time today, you get room service on Whiskey's dime. Or his employer’s dime, he insists. You're not sure if that's better or worse. It's a little ridiculous. Even more so when you think to look for a clock and realize just how late it is, but you're absolutely famished and the second he's on the phone asking in a pleasantly fuck-drunk voice for a couple hamburgers and french fries you're stomach's growling so insistently you're almost certain the staff on the other end of the line heard it.

He's chuckling as he hangs up the phone, draping over you to nuzzle into your neck. For the first time you notice just how much his mustache tickles, and you squirm under him, giggling all over again.

"Love me a woman with an appetite," he mumbles, nipping playfully at you.

"God, what the fuck are we doing?" you stutter out through your giggles. It's not meant to be a real question. You’re practically a space cadet right now, and you can’t remember the last time you were this giddy after sex. But Whiskey shifts a little, pulling back to look down at you, and you can't quite parse the look on his face. "Never had a one-night-stand like this before.”

"Hm." He drops his head a bit, tapping an idle finger against your collarbone. "Think the repeat offense kinda cancels out the one-night-stand idea, honeybee."

"You didn't strike me as the repeating kind."

"Mm. Didn't strike you as the kind who could hold his dick up for longer'n a minute, either. So I'll try not to take offense at your continued misjudgment of my character." His eyes wander away from yours, pulling up his well-worn crooked smile with some degree of effort. "But if you're looking for a polite way to tell this old man you've had your fill, there ain't no need to beat around the bush about it."

You might've appreciated the easy out once. After tonight, though, you're almost offended at it. You're not in the habit of begging for things you only have a mind to dispose of. A little of that flighty panic starts to take hold, and you tamp it down. Fun. This is just for fun. Even if you do want a little more. Fuck, don’t start overthinking it now.

"Is that what you want?" you ask, and it's only the curiosity in your voice that keeps it from sharpening into an accusation.

Whiskey shakes his head, a bit of incredulity in his eyes. "What I want...shit, what I want is to get me somethin' nice an' artery-clogging to eat and then get some fuckin' sleep. Preferably next to the woman who has fucked me ragged two nights running, if she happens to be amenable to that kind of thing. That's as far as my wants go right this second."

The deflection is so clumsy it’s almost funny. “Chickenshit,” you mutter.

Whiskey blinks down at you, shocked for a moment before you give him a teasing smile. “Fuckin’ comedian,” Whiskey says, snorting laughter. “Ain’t no softening that tongue of yours, is there?”

“You never know.” You shift a little, heart hammering as you consider your next words. "How much longer are you going to be here?"

The crooked smile slips, becoming softer. "Well. That sorta depends on you, honeybee. My work's all wrapped up. But if you're gonna be around a bit longer and are lookin' for a bit of company I might be convinced to stay a bit longer."

You feel the smile creep up on your face before you can stop it. "I wouldn’t mind a little continued reprieve from corporate hell. Under one condition," you insist, waving a finger at him.

Schooling his face into a parody of gravitas, he nods expectantly. Proceed.

"I need to know something first. Some things. Plural."

He cocks an eyebrow. "How many is plural?"

You consider for a second, squinting. "Three."

"All right," he says, resting his chin against your shoulder. "Fire away."

You pop out your thumb. "Are you a serial killer?"

He stares at you for a long, silent beat before his eyes slip closed and he shakes his head, his chest hitching with stifled laughter. "No, honeybee, I am not now nor have I ever been a serial killer."

You nod, grinning. "Okay, one down.” You pop out your pointer finger. “Are you married?"

The levity bleeds out of his face with a swiftness that makes you regret the question instantly, sure he's about to drop a bombshell directly on your head that's going to leave you hating him and yourself. But he shakes his head, holds up his ringless left hand as if in proof, as though nobody having an affair would've ever thought to slip a ring off beforehand. But then, very quietly, he adds: "Was. But not for a long time."

You nod dumbly, mutter, "Okay.”

For a second you wonder if you should apologize – you’ve clearly tripped on something raw by accident – but then he's poking you in the ribs and drawing in a sharp breath. "And number three?"

A little grateful, you pop out your middle finger ask your last question: "What do you do? What do you really do?"

The corner of his mouth gives a twitch. "Shit, is that all? Well. Officially, I'm a businessman. I own a sizable amount of shares in the Statesman distillery company. Which, incidentally, is where that fine stock of bourbon whiskey came from," he adds.

You lean back, eyeing him carefully. You don't think he's lying. And yet....

Your fingers find the catch of a scar against his ribs. "You're scarred to shit for a liquor tycoon, cowboy."

The twitch turns into a grin. "I have been known to get a little rough-and-tumble once in a while."

"I don't know if I believe that story any more than I did the James Bond bullshit."

Whiskey huffs a laugh. His jeans are in a puddle at the end of the bed and he drags them up, pulling out a thick leather wallet out of the back pocket. From one of the compartments he pulls a business card embossed in gold and black and hands it to you.

Jack "Whiskey" Daniels, Statesman Distillery, Kentucky.

You blink at it, giggling a little. "Jesus Christ that is actually your name?"

"More or less. Been Anglicized for flavor, among other things."

"What was it before?"

There's an odd sharpness in his eyes when he looks at you, a shrewdness you'd never have expected from the costume cowboy you'd met down in the bar. For a moment you're sure that not only is he not going to answer, but that you've overstepped a line you weren't even aware existed.

"That's four questions," he says, "not three."

"I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours," you add with a tilt of your head.

The corner of his mouth curls slightly, and the sharpness fades. "Well now, how can I resist that a bargain like that?" He pauses a moment, as if reconsidering, then adds: "It was Joaquin."

"Joaquin?"

"Mm." He nods. There's only a moment of quiet before he tilts his hips to the side, jostling you. "C'mon, darlin. A deal's a deal."

You roll your eyes, staring up at the ceiling. And you tell him your name. He repeats it back, and you don't need to see his face to know he's smiling.

"Pleasure to meet you," he says. "Literally."

"Jackass."

#agent whiskey #jack whiskey daniels #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fic #citrus variations #spicy spicy content babes #I really didn't mean for this to end up this long but here we are I guess #ao3 version and fic masterlist will be updated shortishly

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deaththesyd · 3 years

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To The Brink Of Confession: Chapter 1, "He's not ugly"

I'd like to blame @mytanuki-kun for one of their works inspiring this side project that is now in the way of my Kisame week progress. As frustrating as this is, I'm having fun with this one and I'm excited to write my first true multi-chapter fic, even if it doesn't fit with the rest of my works and their timeline.

Summary: At first, she had shrugged it off as him simply being worn out from all the social interaction, but if that was the case, why was he only avoiding her?

At first, she had let it slide. Being super friendly and interacting with people was draining after all, and being forced to live in close quarters with such a loud group was sure to take its toll on even the most extroverted people. His avoidance lasted the entire rest of his time spent in her world, but she didn’t worry. As usual, a month passed by before she herself was teleported away into the foreign world of Jutsu, violence, and ninja. She even shook off her doubts when instead of her usual escorts, she was picked up by Kakuzu and Hidan, being told that the others were all preoccupied with important missions, ones that she would only be a distraction from. Entertaining as she found the duo and their antics, she couldn’t exactly hide her disappointment from the silver-haired loudmouth she had grown to consider a friend.

“What’s with all the moping, huh?” He said loudly, stood in front of her, face lowered to look her directly in the eyes as she had been watching the ground as she walked. Blocking her path forward, she stopped to look up at him, forcing herself to push down her thoughts and play them off as nothing. Surprising as it may be, Hidan wasn’t entirely self-absorbed and happened to be pretty talented at sensing other's emotions, a skill that he very rarely made use of. Not that it was really all that hard to see that something was up with her. Always easy to read, an open book, she was the worst liar and easily the most sincere person he had met. He seriously couldn’t stand her mood lately, it was worried and upsetting. Mixed with Kakuzu’s ongoing anger at everything and everyone, the irritating emotions were mixing and giving Hidan a headache. There were only two ways he could think of to fix this, either piss off Kakuzu to relieve his built-up stress and risk an explosive and painful response, or play concerned friend and get the woman lagging behind them to return to her normal upbeat self. Contemplating both options, the least painful option seemed the best bet.

“It’s not nothing, I can tell, so don’t bother lying, you’re shit at it anyway,” he cut her off as she tried to reply.

She tried anyway. “Really though,” she said, smiling almost convincingly, “I’m just lost in thought, we’ve been walking all day, can you blame me for tuning out?” Waving him off, she sidestepped him to follow after Kakuzu, who had not stopped for them and was quickly leaving them behind.

Knowing that the likelihood of being separated from Kakuzu was high if they didn’t keep up with the old man, he didn’t hold her back but stayed by her side to press for a proper response. “I said not to fucking lie,” he spoke casually knowing that anything truly harsh would only shut her up further, “you’ve been like this ever since you got here, it’s not just you being tired of walking.”

Sighing, she replied, “Ok, you’re right that I’m not just tired, but it’s nothing, really. I just need to manage it by myself.” No longer lying was a step forward, but she kept her lips tight on whatever it was. She was stubborn, but Hidan was persistent.

“What’s with you being all shy all of a sudden? You’re always so fucking talkative no one but Fishface can get you to be quiet,” he complained, almost missing how she reacted at the mention of the tall swordsmen. He grinned, seemed like he had a hook. “Awe, is this about your little crush on the big guy? Did you ask him out and he chickened out?” He laughed cruelly.

It wasn’t much of a secret that she had feelings for Kisame, she wasn’t very good at hiding how he caught her eye, often spacing out while watching him train, and making any excuse to get his attention. Everyone at some point had noticed the flush to her face around him, or the fond look in her eyes as she looked up at him. To most, it wasn’t anything to focus on. Kakuzu and Sasori couldn’t care less about it, as long as she wasn’t being obnoxious, Itachi seemed to keep a careful watch over her and her interactions with his partner, his reasons were unknown to Hidan who couldn’t care less about the Uchiha. Deidara and Hidan made sure to poke fun and tease her at any opportunity, making sure to keep their taunts from the man of her affections, trying to draw out their entertainment as long as they could. After months of this, she had become accustomed to the mostly friendly jeering from the two and had begun to poke fun at herself as well. It seemed she had resigned herself to watching from afar and keeping her flirting to a level that was easily mistaken for friendly conversation by the oblivious man.

Years of being acquainted with Kisame had only given Hidan a surface-level knowledge of the man, but recently he had noticed just how unconfident truly was of his looks, something he of course zeroed in on immediately. 6 foot whatever and hulking over even Kakuzu, it was hilarious to him that the member of the legendary Swordsmen of the Mist was both self-conscious over his fishy appearance, and his years of training as a ninja had not taught him to notice the obvious signs that a woman was into him. How anyone could be so unaware, yet so skilled was beyond him.

Her face saddened at his words, her brow furrowing, and her eyes cast themselves to the ground again. “I haven’t said anything, but I think he might have caught on,” she said quietly.

Despite her clearly upset confession, he grinned. “Way to go! Fishface finally figured out how to see above water, wondered if his brain was just waterlogged,” he snickered, excited that he could finally openly pick on him over the subject, but she didn’t smile and remind him to be nice like she normally did when he made digs at the sharkman. Clearly not a good sign then.

“I think he’s avoiding me,” she said, looking defeatedly at her shuffling feet. Now that made no sense.

Not long after it was clear to everyone but Kisame that she had an attraction to the tall man, it became more and more obvious that it was reciprocated. As much as she stared at him, he stared at her. Less openly, probably why it had taken everyone a while longer to see it, but it was well known that the two were complete idiots that had no clue the other was just as interested as they were. Part of Hidan had wanted to tell them immediately, embarrass them and make a scene out of it all, but another part of him had held onto their frustrations and fed off of it as a much more drawn-out entertainment source. Deidara was in on it too, saying that as much as he wanted to set off an explosive show by forcing their feelings out into the open, he also wanted there to be a build-up. In the meantime, they got to tease their fishy accomplice as much as they could get away with without pissing him off and alerting the other half of the pining duo. The fact that Kisame was avoiding her after finding out she felt the same was not what anyone had expected. For once in his life, Hidan was pissed at the drama of it. He would not admit that he was actually looking forward to the two becoming a couple.

“Bet he’s just scared that someone thinks his ugly mug is hot and is worried for your sanity,” he laughed. Her hand smacked him halfheartedly.

“He’s not ugly.” She said sternly, “Although with how forward I’ve been, he may have been creeped out,” she smiled, but there was a twinge of pain on her face that Hidan couldn’t help but notice. It pissed him off, his whole religion was about inflicting pain and death for his God, but seeing her genuinely upset gave him a feeling of frustration on her behalf.

“There’s no way he’s creeped out by your creepy staring,” he found himself attempting to reassure her, feeling as though he was betraying his and Deidara’s whole scheme. “He’s clearly just as much a creepy stalker as you are.”

Unsure that she had heard him correctly, she looked up to see Hidan avoiding eye contact, looking off the side of the road, ignoring her reaction purposely. “I don’t see how he’s the stalker,” she laughed humorlessly, “When he’s the one avoiding me.”

“Of course you don’t, you’re just as fucking blind as he is,” he muttered. Her sudden giggle made him look at her in suspicion. “The hell’s so funny?”

She brought a hand to try and stifle her laughter before she spoke, “What’s got you all grumpy now? Upset someones not crushing back on you?” She teased, eyes darting to look at the silent man trudging forward ahead of them, then back at Hidan.

The glare he shot her only made her giggles slightly louder. “What the fuck are you gettin’ at?” He spat, daring her to continue.

Humming whimsically, she spoke, “I just think that maybe you’re projecting some of your own frustrations onto someone else.”

He should have chosen to piss off Kakuzu. She may have been the lesser of two evils at a first glance, but the ability she had to force him into subjects he would rather avoid was something he had forgotten to account for in his earlier decision. Unlike the completely requited yet oblivious relationship between her and Kisame, Hidan’s own feelings were something he tried to ignore whenever possible. It was just a shitty joke she had made, something about how Hidan should leave her alone since he was really just trying to make the old man jealous. Something he should have shaken off with a normal insult towards the old miser, yet he had frozen, caught off guard by the accuracy. That was the one and only time he had ever allowed himself to come out to someone and let them live. It was shameful in the church to have feelings of devotion for anyone but Jashin, yet wanting someone that couldn’t produce more followers was even more so. Adamantly, he refused his feelings towards the man, but since that day she had treated his explicit flirting as nothing more than a show.

Embarrassed as he was, his comeback held no bite, and her teasing and further avoidance of the earlier topic increased. Eventually, it turned into a loud argument that reached Kakuzu’s ears, who ended their annoying discussion by threatening them both. She was easier to scare, but whatever they had been squabbling about had made Hidan more feisty than normal.

“Fuck off you old dick! There’s plenty of politer ways to ask to be included in a conversation,” came the danger prodding taunt from the young man. It was hard to guess why, but the older man’s fuse was shorter than usual, and the woman yelped as a dark arm split off from the man's torso to grab the face of the loudmouthed man right beside her. Flailing wildly and ineffectively he was dragged along the ground, yanked by the harsh grip of the intolerant man. Green eyes surrounded by red sclera flashed at her, warning her she would be next if she didn’t follow quietly. Swallowing a lump in her throat, she did just that.

#hidan #kakuzu #kisame #kisame x reader #mild swearing #upset that im writing this instead of kisame prompts #I wrote this just to clear my head and now im writing a multichapter fic wtf #Changed the title cause I hated it

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luminescentauthor · 3 years

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random fun RatLD hcs

you came here for RatLD shitposts and that’s what you’re gonna get!

SPOILERS AND LOTS OF THEM BELOW THE CUT, IF U HAVEN’T SEEN IT YET PROCEED AT UR OWN RISK.

I refuse to post about this movie without acknowledging the cultural significance of the first SEA disney princess and I will continue to do so until people on this website start remembering that this movie is about amazing cultures and trust and overall a WHOLE lot more than just the sapphics (as great as they are.)

anyway, so, headcanon time, my dudes!

The Next Adventure

Talon is a total mess after everyone gets un-stoned. (Ok so just for posterity, my marvel fan brain just went “un-snapped” on instinct and I hate it here.) The two chiefs are fighting for control, and Noi, being a baby, is not really in a position to help (unlike Raya, Naamari, and Tong.)

As such, the crew has to go undercover in Talon to try and, you know, stop the chiefs from destroying their people with their infighting. Tong insists on coming. Naamari happened to be in Heart and gets dragged along by Sisu and Raya, complaining the whole time, but everyone knows she doesn’t mean it. Boun also shows up and exactly no one is surprised.

During this misadventure, Noi’s mother names Tong as Noi’s godfather/honorary uncle/whatever, undercover Naamari and Raya go “noooooo, we’re not the princesses of Fang and Heart, what on earth are you talking about???” on at least five separate occasions, and the crew discovers that Noi inherited her sticky fingers from her very clever mother. She’s basically a grade-A spy and thief but she’s also just like, genuinely a very nice woman.

Rayaari!

Raya and Naamari take a long time literally just figuring things out and reconstructing their friendship, because really, as much as I love sapphics, there’s also a whole lot of messy there, and because these are my headcanons, they work out their problems and have a healthy friendship for a couple years before any romance happens, because that’s how Real Life works and I don’t believe in ignoring those Pretty Important Things in fiction.

They do eventually start a relationship, but they take their time. A bit into it, Benja accidentally mentions that Raya told him she liked Naamari when they met. Naamari’s like “ha you did?” and Raya goes “BA NO.” Then Virana immediately says “oh yes, Naamari also liked her, she didn’t stop crying because she thought Raya turned to stone for like three days” and Raya goes “you did, hmm???” while Naamari turns bright red.

Before they start dating, as their feelings grow, they start calling each other “dep la” more and more and everyone is just kinda of like “oh my GOD just date already???”

Eventually Raya and Naamari get married and become the leaders of Kumandra. No I Won’t Change My Mind.

Unification of Kumandra

The unification of Kumandra felt a bit shoehorned, and I suspect the nations aren't united under one leader(s): it's more that they're now becoming close-knit again. Perhaps they have a meeting council of all their leaders that makes decisions that affect the whole land, otherwise that probably becomes a thing at some point.

When Kumandra eventually becomes totally unified, the capital of Heart (which I believe is on the island we see on the map of Kumandra) eventually becomes the capital. It still has five provinces/states, though.

Fang and Heart

Heart and Fang help each other out a lot with recovering from the “most of our people got turned into the statues” stuff. Heart has more resources, but most of its people have been stone for 6 years. So the two states/countries are both capable of different things.

Of all the kingdoms, Heart and Fang have the most to rebuild: Fang’s only standing city was destroyed in the finale of the movie, while Heart has been growing over for six years. Sure, Spine’s been stone for a while, and some of Talon’s docks and water ships and whatnot collapsed when the water vanished, but it’s still significantly easier to repair than “six years of overgrowth and rot and rust” or “literally the ground collapsed underneath us and wow um I don’t think that’s reparable.” So they really team up to fix it, and the others help them a lot.

The actual leaders stay in their capitals to lead until things have calmed down a WHOLE lot, so Raya and Naamari travel around Kumandra on their parents’ behalf a lot, and wind up going between Fang and Heart a lot to establish diplomatic relations and also to help with rebuilding.

Over this period, and while doing diplomatic meetings later on, Virana and Benja come to realize that the other person is actual quite decent. There’s some mess and distrust because of Virana’s thing with the Dragon Gem, but it eventually gets worked out. (Virana’s reaction is “yes that’s fair. In my defense, I was trying to do what I thought was right for my people, who were starving, but Yes, That’s Fair.” Benja’s reaction is “honestly if your people were starving from famine and you thought the Gem would help, that makes more sense.”) After a while, they become pretty good friends.

And suddenly Raya and Naamari regret everything. See, Naamari mentioned that both parents make terrible jokes. The girls are Suffering. Help them.

Sisu loves the bad jokes. Sisu also makes bad jokes. Raya and Naamari are silently dying.

It’s silly, but I like the idea that 3-4 years down the line, Virana and Benja consider getting married just for political reasons (alliance and all that) (they’re not actually interested in each other, it’s just practicality) and Naamari and Raya, who are not dating but are definitely in deep for each other at this point, are immediately like “NO. NO. DO NOT MAKE MY CRUSH MY STEPSISTER. DO NOT.”

Virana and Benja (mostly Benja) tease them by “considering” it for a bit longer, but they don’t, since they talked about it and both kids are uncomfortable with it. (”They like each other, don’t they?” Virana asks dryly. “Ohhh yeah,” Benja replies.)

Music? Music!

I was listening to a youtube mix this morning and “Too Far Gone” by Hidden Citizens popped up and it just reminded me of Raya’s attitude towards Kumandra at the start of the movie. Also it’s just a beautiful song.

“Knife in my Back” by Alec Benjamin is Raya @ Naamari before they figured things out, change my mind.

Other Stuff!

We can guess based off how long it took the crew to get from Tail to Fang even with side adventures (I think it was 3-4 days max, I wasn't totally paying attention) that one can navigate from one end of the river to the other within a couple days even in a boat like Boun's, and the royal families probably have even faster modes of transportation. (I.e. Naamari got from Tail to Fang in a couple days, then to Spine, then beat the crew back to Fang. On land.) Therefore, unlike I was originally thinking, it's actually totally realistic for the crew to be visiting each other once or twice a month.

It's even more realistic for Naamari to crash Raya's place on a weekly basis, since that's probably like six hours on cat at max.

I don't know what the cats are, so I will be calling them saber-cats until someone corrects me.

TUMBLR JUST MYSTERIOUSLY STOPPED ACCPTING MY "E" KY HLP I HAV TO US COPY PAST

Wait I think I fixed it. Crisis averted! Sorry about that.

Because Naamari is in Heart half the time, Virana visits quite frequently too. It’s not a long trip, anyway.

Virana is not straight (haircut) but I can’t decide if she’s a lesbian or what. She doesn’t have a spouse and never did. Only those Virana closely trusts know who Naamari’s dad is. Naamari does know and she’s met him, because Virana figured she had a right to. He and Virana never had a relationship, Virana just sort of needed an heir and a trusted personal friend offered to father the kid.

Tong’s wife is a total badass and instantly fits in with the crew. She and Noi’s mother quickly become very close friends.

Noi and Tong’s kid also immediately get along. As in, they constantly throw things at each other while giggling madly and both love the Ongis, and -- are they whispering to each other in that corner?? They might be conspiring to take over the world. Who knows.

Noi learns how to talk and becomes about 5 times more chaotic. Everyone is Regret (except Tong.)

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chalkrevelations · 3 years

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So, Episode 7 of Word of Honor, and where to start? No, I’m kidding, I know exactly where I’m starting, which is with some recognition of what a great job this show does of developing 98 percent of its multitude of characters, because the first two things I’m going talk about this week aren’t even Zhou Zishu, Wen Kexing OR Wen Kexing’s thirst (AKA, the three main characters of the show).

Well, I guess I’m really starting with the usual warning – this is a re-watch and so there are SPOILERS here, not only for this episode, but for most of the show. Scroll away and come back later if you’re trying to watch all 36.5 eps unspoiled.

SO, I mean, come on. Of course I’m starting with the Smartest Man in the World, who has finally shown up in this episode, and I’m reminded once again what an actual cinnamon roll, too good for this world, Cao Weining is. He’s maybe the single completely good character we meet – even Chengling wants to burn down somebody’s house at one point because he’s mad. But Cao Weining is almost too good to be true – and yet, there he is! Living his best life, being good, eating good, falling in love, and refusing to let his beautiful, clever, fierce girl’s neuroses come between them. I love him, y’all. And not just because he instantly falls in love with A-Xiang when he happens to see her beat up a bunch of drunk bro assholes in the inn where he’s having a quiet little lunch by himself before she storms into his life like a purple whirlwind. But let’s do think about this from his perspective, yeah? And let’s remember it as we watch the progression of their relationship, as we wait for the revelation we know is coming, and as – many eps down the line – he learns the truth of her. Cao Weining’s first experience of A-Xiang is someone who’s brave and capable, who defies outsized odds to come to the rescue of those in need, who doesn’t allow women and girls to be abused, who expects proper behavior from the representatives of the jianghu, and who is absolutely fearless in demanding just treatment and never even thinks to be intimidated when she faces unfair censure from an authority figure. This is the girl WKX raised, y’all. This is a girl who embodies everything Cao Weining has been taught to believe in as a cultivator. And this is the girl Cao Weining sees every time he looks at A-Xiang. Maybe, just maybe, this is the truth of her, and Cao-dage sees and understands it from the very first time he spots her, and anything else he’ll learn about her is really extraneous. (Hmm. I wonder what other relationship we’ll eventually end up seeing that kind of dynamic in, where someone truly knows you and believes in you, so everything else is unimportant?) Also, Cao Weining tells A-Xiang she’s very beautiful, and how many people do you think have ever told her that before in her life? He asks why he would want to fight and hurt her, and how many people – particularly men, given where she grew up – have ever told her that before? He buys her lunch – twice, because the first round gets cold. Remember a few episodes back, when WKX asked her who the second cutest person in the world was, and she responded that it was someone who would buy her a meal? Well, here he is. For bonus points, it is hilarious how badly WKX responds to Cao Weining’s very existence after ZZS points out the pair of them having a toast at the same inn that WKX and ZZS have stopped in WKX has dogged ZZS’s footsteps into. Poor Cao Weining doesn’t even get the shovel talk – although to be fair, he doesn’t get the full-court Ghost Valley Master press, either, so WKX must have been holding back somewhat – he just gets told to get out, before WKX grabs A-Xiang by the ear and delivers some scathing commentary on her taste in men, like he didn’t immediately fall for some rando who was tits out, drinking himself to death in the gutter.

ANYWAY, from the Smartest Man in the World, we’re going to move to Han Ying, My Beloved, who we see interacting with the Five Lakes Alliance again, this time in the person of Gao Chong, leader of Yueyang Sect and host of the upcoming Heroes Conference, da-ge of the 5LA. I had honestly forgotten we got to see so much of Han Ying this early on. What strikes me here is that this is a guy who I actually could believe is the second-in-command of Tian Chuang at what is it? 21 years old? When he’s doing his job, and ZZS is nowhere around for him to make pining puppy-dog eyes at, he’s focused and determined and a bit forceful and somewhat threatening and, frankly, appropriately arrogant for the job he’s been sent to do. He’s also wearing a cloak with a mini-Collar of Evil. He comes off as, dare I say, a capable leader of an assassin organization and a guy who’s able to do a proxy flex for his boss without looking completely ridiculous - which puts him one up on Duang Pengju, omg that asshole, and also makes me feel a little better about how I want ZZS to wreck him (or I guess, technically, him to wreck ZZS, because I’ve never seen a character (except Marcus Flavius Aquila, THANK YOU for your service, Channing Tatum) who put off such subby service-top vibes. WHY is there not more Han Ying/ZZS on AO3, fandom? I thought better … worse? … better? … of you.) When Gao Chong claims the Glazed Armor is a myth, Han Ying basically calls this older, respected zongzhu a liar and gets up in his face before refusing a dinner invitation and sweeping out in his mini-Collar of Evil with a credible “PAH.” My boy has layers, y’all.

What else? We start out the ep at Luo Mansion, a wedding scene, and I’m struck by how the Ghost Valley colors match traditional wedding colors, here. I’m thinking about how A-Xiang’s wedding dress won’t be red (and I think green was more common during the Tang dynasty?) although all the decorations will be, and I’m thinking about how we have this wedding as a book-end to that wedding, and I’m thinking about how it’s interesting that a girl who was raised in the Ghost Valley and protected by the Department of the Unfaithful meets a man who’s going to be so faithful to her in the same episode as this wedding with/of the dead. Ghoul, who’s one of the attendees from the Ghost Valley, also remarks that the red makes him hungry, so there’s a meat reference to throw into the thematic basket, I guess. (Also, hey. Ghoul is played by the same guy who’s Sun Yongren in Killer & Healer.) Lovelace (ugh) briefly menaces one of the Department handmaidens before Luo Fumeng shows up, and I think she’s Yun Zai or Hong Lu, one of the two maids that A-Xiang rescued from him, although I’m not positive, because her hairstyle is so different and hides a lot of her face, here. So, we’re all attending the “wedding” of Mu Yunge, the apparent fuckboy who got got a couple of episodes ago as bait for Ao Laizi when Changing Ghost got his hands (briefly) on the Danyang Glazed Armor. We did see a brief scene with Yunge in the last ep, when he woke up tied up in bed, being menaced by someone who appeared to be his dead lover – who hanged herself while pregnant with their child – but turned out to be Beauty Ghost using a face-masking technique similar to ZZS’s disguises. In the interim, Ghost Valley has kidnapped 10 cultivators as his wedding party, and – this is the important plot point – that includes Deng Kuan, head disciple of Yueyang Sect. We get to see some of Beauty Ghost’s ruthlessness here, as she carries in the dead woman’s memorial tablet draped in a red cloth – how’s that for some foreshadowing (my f’kn HEART) – to set it down in the “bride’s” place before Yunge is forced to bow three times. (Dead girlfriend was a Mo from Broken Arrow Manor, and I … am not sure if that is significant or not. Is she possibly related to Mo Huaiyang? Does anyone know which sect is associated with Broken Arrow Manor?) Beauty Ghost also kills two of the 10 “guest” cultivators for talking without permission as she explains the next event to them – cage match. Only one of them gets to get out alive. Deng Kuan, the best of them, apparently, pleads with everyone to not let themselves be divided, but we can all guess how this is going to go. I guess maybe he’s the other completely good character we meet, but he sure is a punching bag. He ends up the last man, sort of, standing, as he kills the final other person in self-defense, but not before getting stabbed, and he goes down and is out for the count.

Meanwhile, cut to Zhao Jing and Shen Shen drinking and gossiping at an inn on the way to Yueyang. Shenshen – Shenshen – continues to bemoan Chengling’s uselessness, and also talks about the torture the other Zhang family members underwent just in time for Chengling to overhear in the hallway, so thanks a lot for even more trauma, Shenshen. Zhao Jing is so sad about it all, y’all. He’s just so very very sad, can we just stop talking about it, Shenshen, because you’re making him sad, and he’s just going to let Da-ge figure it all out, OK? Uh-huh.

Fourth plot thread of the episode is ZZS skulking around, following Chengling, trying to convince himself that this kid is safe now that he’s turned himself in to gone to live with the 5LA, even as ZZS spots Tian Chuang spies in the ranks of the Yueyang disciples and among the dumpling vendors on the streets outside. ZZS follows the dumpling vendor, gives him a code phrase and almost gets his head taken off by a Scorpion blade for his trouble, before stabbing Dumpling Man in response. WKX picks this exact moment to wander back into ZZS’s orbit, taking the chance to flirt as Dumpling Man spits up blood and dies in the alleyway, because of course he does. WKX tsks, accuses ZZS of being cruel, and quotes some poetry about fair faces and poisonous hearts, which - like all of his poetry - has a double meaning, because which of them is he really talking about, ZZS or himself? ZZS notes that WKX is openly wearing the (Danyang) Glazed Armor because of course he’s looking for trouble, but WKX loosens his stays and clutches his pearls and replies that he couldn’t possibly be looking for trouble – him? Philanthropist Wen? He’s not a merciless killer like ZZS. Whereupon ZZS finally says out loud what he’s been clearly thinking since he started going on about what an awful person he is in the LAST EPISODE, which is why the hell don’t you stop following me around, then? There’s some more flirting, and WKX continues to follow ZZS around, and ZZS takes note that WKX is obviously flaunting the Glazed Armor out in the open, and then there’s a little sleight of hand when Famous Pickpocket Fan Bu Zhi, oh noes! Steals WKX’s Glazed Armor right off his belt when he isn’t even looking! before WKX continues to follow ZZS around, conveniently into the same inn where Cao Weining and A-Xiang are having lunch. After WKX attempts to chase him away, we discover Cao Weining has had his wallet stolen. WKX deploys his Sadness Eyebrows to convince ZZS to turn over his wallet to pay for Cao Weining’s and A-Xiang’s lunch. ZZS – who does an admirable job of refusing for a bit – finally caves, and WKX orders lunch for everyone, on ZZS. Now all we need is Chengling, because the fam is not complete without Goldbean.

#cao wening #gu xiang #han ying #liu qianqiao #beauty ghost #zhou zishu #wen kexing #word of honor #word of honor episode reax

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noladyme · 3 years

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La Cuervo - Chapter 22

She is used to the biker-life, having grown into a woman in the familiar embrace of SAMCRO. A bad decision and a gun-shot later, she gets whisked off to Santo Padre, and put under the protection of another club. What is supposed to be a short stint in the Mayan headquarters just north of the border to Mexico, turns into something more; when la quervo begins to develop feelings for el angel - and he seems to return them in kind...

TW: violence, blood, drug use, alcohol, smut, fluff, angst

In the spirit of "The Crown Princess of Charming", this is a story about O.C. Nina and Angel Reyes. It is obviously non-canon, as characters who have passed on, on Mayans M.C., are present in it, and others have been excluded completely. Nina is written as a cis-female, but I have tried to keep her race and looks as ambiguous as possible. Should you find any of this story offensive, please let me know.

22.

They didn’t speak much in the morning. For once, Angel had decided to set an alarm, and more or less jumped out of bed, the moment his phone began buzzing. His mind seemed as focused as professional soldier’s; and he made even the actual veteran – Coco – seem relaxed in comparison. It had rained during the night, and the air smelled fresh; but didn’t lighten Nina’s mood, as she sat smoking a cigarette on the porch, while the two men packed up Coco’s extra guns. EZ showed up in the van, with Letty and Gaby in the passenger seats. Angel helped Nina in to the seat Letty had previously occupied. The teenager got on her dad’s bike with him, before they all began driving down the street.

Gaby looked worriedly at Nina, as she sat between EZ and her. “Are you alright?”, she asked quietly. “Ezekiel told me what happened…”. “I’m… I don’t know”, Nina muttered. She cleared her throat, wanting to think about anything else than the pain currently surging in her leg. “Are youok? Have you gone on lockdown before?”. “No”, Gabriella said. “This is all very new to me”. “How do they do it up north?”, EZ asked Nina. “I don’t think it’s different than here”, Nina said. EZ frowned, making her question his experience with situations like this as well. “You’ve never done this before either, have you…?”. “No…”, EZ admitted. “It’s never been necessary”. “It’ll be fine”, Nina said, trying to convince herself as well as the two lockdown debutants. “We just have to keep our heads low, and the gates locked… Is your pap’ coming?”. “He says he can protect himself…”, EZ muttered. “But he’ll be by later with the meat he was bringing for the party anyway”. “I’ll try to get him to stay”, Nina said. EZ gave her a thankful smile.

When they arrived at Angel’s place – her place, as Nina reminded herself – the others waited by the vehicles, while she and Angel went inside to gather what they needed. Nina hobbled through the living room, as Angel began closing the windows, after the exterminator visit. Once in the bedroom, Nina began packing some clothes and essentials. She went to get her gun, but remembered that Camille had used it; and that the police probably had taken it for evidence. “Fuck!”, she exclaimed. “What?”, Angel asked, coming running into the bedroom. “My gun… It was the one Camille… It has my prints all over it!”. “EZ told the cops you fought her for it, so the prints shouldn’t be an issue”, Angel said, his voice relieved that he hadn’t found her in trouble. “Is it registered?”. “No, and the serial is filed off… I did grow up with SAMCRO”, Nina grunted. She sighed heavily, and sat down on the bed, to get some weight off her leg. “Is there enough first-aid stuff at the clubhouse?”. “Why?”, Angel asked. Nina shot him a hard look. “You know why”, she replied. “We’re also gonna need a couple of pre-paids in case of emergencies… We’ve got food and drinks, because we were getting ready for the party… I wish there was a proper kitchen, though… And extra guns. Anyone who can shoot should be carrying…”.

Angel crouched in front of her, and took her hands in his own. “Breathe, mami… We got this, ok? You don’t have to worry”. “Well, I am fucking worried!”, Nina growled. “If Bishop had an old lady, it would be her responsibility to keep the people in the clubhouse comfortable. Now I have to…”. “You know what you’re doing… I hear you had a good teacher”, Angel smiled. “Teller’s mom, right? She was good queen…”. “Yeah… most of the time”, Nina muttered. She still felt ambivalent about how Gemma had fulfilled her duties; mainly due to how she’d ended her reign by breaking Jax’s heart, and killing his wife. She’d also been a good friend and surrogate aunt, though; at least in the beginning. “Just do what you always do. We’ll take care of the rest”. “Yeah… You’re gonna go get fucking murdered, while I serve potato-salad to scared hangarounds…”. Angel leaned forward, and caught her lips in a warm kiss. “I’m coming back to you”, he said. “Promise me…”, Nina said. He placed her hand on his chest, just above his heart. “I swear, cuervo…”. He kissed her again, and got to his feet. “I’m gonna go get my extra hardware. Do you remember where I put the Beretta?”. “You can’t remember where you put your guns?”. “Some of them are kinda small… They get lost”, he muttered. Nina rolled her eyes. “Behind the toilet-rolls in the cabinet under the bathroom sink”, she sighed.

Angel left the room, and Nina got to her feet again; leaning against her crutches. “What the fuck?”, Angel yelled. Nina hobbled after him as quickly as she could. “What’s wrong?”, she asked, and tried to look out from behind him, as he stood in the doorway. “What the hell is that?”, Angel said, and pointed at something skinny and furry; cowering in the corner of the shower. Nina gasped, and pushed past him. “Don’t…! It’s just a poor kitty”, she said. Limping slowly forwards, she got to her knees in front of the shaking tabby. “Hey bug…”, she cooed, and stretched out her hand. The cat hissed, before leaning its head forwards to sniff her. “Get the fuck out!”, Angel growled, and took a threatening step forward. “Stop it! You’re scaring it…”, Nina said.

The cat hissed again, but Nina kept her hand out; and after a few moments, it stepped forward, and blinked slowly at her, before pushing its forehead against her hand. It was missing part of its left ear, and from the looks of its pronounced hipbones, it was clear it hadn’t had a proper meal in quite a while. The skin was sagging off it, and bellow its belly. “It’s a stray… Probably has all sorts of diseases”, Angel grunted. “It probably jumped through the window to get out of the rain”, Nina said, ignoring Angel’s displeased tone. “Do we have anything for it to eat?”. “No”, Angel said coldly, and walked over to grab the cat. “I’ll throw it outside. Close the window, so it doesn’t come back in”. Nina looked hard at him. “No!”, she said. “It needs food and care…”. “Nina…”. “You said we could get a cat!”. “Not this one!”, Angel declared. “We can go to a shelter or something. Get a kitten. I’m not taking in some old, ratched…”. His words drowned in Nina’s exclamations of aww, as the tabby once again pressed its head against her hand, and let her scratch it behind its ears. “Angel… Look at him…!”. “How do you know it’s a he?”, Angel grunted. “I’d think you’d recognize a pair of balls when you saw them”, Nina chuckled. The cat stroked its entire body against her thigh. “Such a good bug… That’s your name, isn’t it…? Bug…”.

Angel groaned loudly, and shook his head. “We gotta go”. Nina was lost in cuddling her new friend. “Mami… Nina! We gotta hit the road… Look, we’ll keep the window open. If it’s still here when we come back, we’ll talk about it”. “Please, just put out some food for him…”, Nina pleaded. “But then he’ll stay for sure!”. “Yeah…”. She shot out her lower lip in a pout, and looked pleadingly at Angel. The biker groaned again, and left the bathroom for a few moments, before returning with an open tin of tuna. He dropped it on the floor. “Here… eat, cat”, he grunted. “His name is Bug”, Nina said with a chiding tone. Angel put his arms under hers, and raised her to her feet. “Fine. Bug. Let’s go”, he muttered, and led her out of the bathroom.

At the last second, Nina grabbed Jax’s helmet. She wasn’t planning on riding on the back of any bikes any time soon, due to her leg; but she felt naked without it near her.

EZ met them by the front door, as they were on their way out. “Bro, what took so long?”. “We were adopting a cat”, Angel said. “A cat?”, EZ asked. “His name is Bug…”, Angel replied. “Don’t ask”. Nina smirked, and tugged at his cut, to get him to lean down for a kiss; before they went back to the van.

---

The yard was crowded with bikes when they finally arrived. Bishop and Hank met them on the porch; and Nina was reminded of Taza’s decision to tell the club his secret, the day before. Not seeing him next to the president, made a knot form in her stomach. “What the fuck took you so long?”, Bishop growled. “Cats… bugs…”, Angel muttered. “Don’t ask”, EZ chuckled.

Angel helped Nina up the stairs to the clubhouse. Once inside, they were greeted by the rest of the Mayans, and a few bikers from the Oakland charter. Nina recognized them from SAMCRO parties, but didn’t know any of their names, save Alvarez’s. El Padrino himself gave her a polite nod from his seat by the bar. She scanned the room for Taza, and frowned when she realized he wasn’t inside either. Angel put a hand on her hip. “Go sit down”, he muttered, and went over to talk to Gilly. Chucky pulled out a chair for her, and Nina sat down; soon joined by Letty and Gaby – the latter looking quite uncomfortable with the situation. EZ squeezed her shoulder comfortingly, before going to stand by the wall, behind Bishop. Chucky went outside, to keep an eye on the gate.

Most of the hangarounds Nina knew from around the clubhouse was spread throughout the room. There was a group of women Nina had not met before, stood around a striking middle-aged woman, who looked like Riz. Nina decided she was probably Vicky, and that the women were employees at the brothel. Vicky gave her a curious look, as if challenging her to have a bad opinion of them. Nina simply smiled friendlily; and Vicky’s expression softened, before she nodded in greeting.

Gilly came over to Nina, and handed her a small plastic bag, with white pills. “Oxys”, he muttered. “For your leg”. “Thanks…”, Nina said. Gilly winked at her, and slipped away.

“You know why we’re here”, Bishop said; lifting his voice to catch the attention of the people in the room. “We have a rival club moving in on our territory. Vatos Malditos have been coming for our business, by trying to convince a long-time partner to end our relationship with them; in return for what they claim is a better deal. They even put a rat in our midst; a rat that ended up seriously hurting a member of our family, while trying to kill her”. There was a murmur of curses. Bishop raised his hand to quiet everyone down. “We have to answer this disrespect with force… You’re all here because you’re a part of the family, and because we don’t want anyone else to get hurt. We don’t know that VM won’t send a few guys this way; but as long as you stay within the fences, you’ll be safe”. Hank stepped forward, apparently the de facto VP. “We have the Sons of Anarchy coming down from San Bernadino and Charming. Creeper will stay behind here with a few Sons, for your protection”, he said. Creeper didn’t seem happy about the fact that he wasn’t going with his brothers. He’d probably lost a draw for the post. “If you have any security questions, take it up with him”. “Anything to do with provisions or comfort, you go to our den-mother”, Bishop said, and gestured towards Nina. “Nina isn’t very mobile at the moment, but she can point you in the direction of what you need. She knows this place like her back hand”. Angel shot her a warm smile, and she felt her cheeks burn in embarrassment.

Chucky came running in to the clubhouse. “They’re here”, he grinned. A roar of bikes came from the yard, and soon after, Filip stepped inside, followed by Les Packer. Happy, Rat and Tig came in behind them, and Nina saw a group of SAMDINO Sons waiting outside by the bikes. The room was getting crowded. Foregoing custom, Filip strode over to Nina, and pulled her up into his arms. “We didn’t send you back to get shot, luv’”, he said. “I’m ok”, Nina muttered; then winced, when she accidentally put weight on her bad leg. “Fuck’s sake…”, Filip growled. Angel sprang over to support Nina as she got back to her seat. Happy and Tig stepped over to kiss her forehead and squeeze her shoulder, and Rat gave her a shy smile, before they all went to greet Bishop and Alvarez.

After the obligatory back and forth between the patches, Filip, Alvarez and Bishop went into templo, to speak in private for a few moments. Angel headed over to the bar to grab a drink for himself and Nina. While he was gone, Packer came over to greet Nina. He bent down, and gave her a gentle hug. “How are you doing, Neens?”, he asked, and sat down next to her. “I’m alive”, she shrugged with a half-smile. “This is a new setup for you, sweetcheeks”, Packer said. “You comfortable here?”. “Yeah… why?”. “I dunno… You could have been happy in Berdoo as well”, Packer teased. Angel came back with a mug of coffee for Nina, and a beer for himself. “I like the accommodations here”, she smiled, and looked at Angel. “Yeah, I heard…”, Packer said, and raised a brow at the Mayan. “You’d probably have to deal with less gun-shots though. We’re more careful with who we let in our midst”. “It was a mistake that won’t happen again”, Angel grunted, and gave Packer a hard look. “It better not. This isn’t some random croweater you’ve borrowed from Charming”, Packer said. “No. She’s not”, Angel said. “She’s a Mayan old lady”.

Nina rolled her eyes, and pulled out a cigarette. Both men whipped out a lighter, and raced to light them; before holding them in front of her face. “If you two could stop measuring dicks for a moment, you might notice you’re burning off my eyebrows”, Nina sneered. “Sorry, cuervo”, Angel muttered. Nina gave him a slight smile, and a soft kiss, before letting Packer light her smoke. “You still a crow then?”, the SAMDINO president asked, having noticed Angel’s nickname for her. “I’m still me…”, Nina said. “I’ve just got a bigger family now”. “Good for you”, Packer said, and took her hand; giving it a gentle squeeze. “Jax would be happy for you… after he kicked this guy’s ass for diddling his baby-sis”. Angel chuckled at this. “Like he threatened to do you, if you tried anything?”, Nina said. “I didn’t know you were only seventeen at the time!”, Packer laughed. “Bullshit. You arrived the day before my eighteenth birthday-party; and sat at the clubhouse the whole night, looking at your watch to wait for midnight, so I’d be legal”, Nina smirked. “Guilty”, Packer shrugged. “Didn’t do me much good, though; did it…? Teller was a hardass when it came to you. I didn’t stand a chance with him watching over you like a hawk”. They shared a knowing laugh, before Packer looked at Angel. “You don’t have anything to worry about, Reyes. I know when to back off”, he said. “And she’d probably cut my balls off, before you got a chance to, if I tried anything… You’ve got a special lady here”. Angel smiled, relaxing a bit in his seat. “I know…”, he said, and kissed Nina’s temple.

Bishop came out of templo, and nodded to the other bikers. Mayans and Sons alike got to their feet, and began moving towards the ornate door. Angel put a hand on the back of Nina’s head, and caught her lips in a warm kiss; before joining the others. Packer gave her a sly wink, and followed Angel. “Prospect. You too”, Bishop called after EZ. Gabriella gave him a worried look, and he slipped over to give her a quick peck on the cheek, before walking in to templo, and closing the door, once everyone was inside.

Nina got on her feet, and hobbled over to sit down next to the girl. Gaby was visibly shaking, and Nina took her hand. “I know this is all really scary; but we’ll be ok”, she said. Having SAMCRO, SAMDINO and the Mayans all in the same house made her believe her own words more than she had thought she would. “But, what if he gets hurt?”, Gaby asked. “I didn’t even tell him…”. “Tell him what?”, Nina said. Gabriella met her eyes, and they gave away the words she’d had trouble saying. “Oh… Well, I think he knows already; but it wouldn’t hurt his courage and desire to come back whole, if you said it…”. Gaby smiled softly. “I suppose you’re right”, she said.

Letty came over to join them, carrying a couple of cokes for her and Gaby. “Are you talking about your boyfriends?”, she smirked. “You guys could become sisters-in-law!”. “Whoa! Angel and I just got a cat. We’re not talking diamond rings yet”, Nina said. “Good. I don’t think he can afford one”, Leticia teased.

---

After about an hour, the bikers emerged from templo with somber expressions. Angel strode over to Nina, and took her hand. “We’re meeting Palo by the east tunnel”, he muttered. “What’s gonna happen?”, Nina asked nervously. Angel sighed. “We’re not giving him what he wants, so we’re prepared for a fight”. Nina shuddered. Knowing it was a lost cause, she hadn’t been able to keep from at least hoping that Filip and the others would be able to talk the Mayans out of full-on war. Their own experience with rival groups, made them well aware of the devastation something like that could bring a club. Stories of Abel’s kidnapping and Half-Sack’s death – both by the hands of a disgruntled IRA-member – and Gemma’s rape and beating by right-wing psychos, should have been enough fodder for the Mayans to decide to back down, and try to find another way out of the situation. “Shit…”, she hissed. “But what about what Taza told you? Can’t you just use that…?”. “The prez’ didn’t even mention it”, Angel muttered. “I don’t know… its like he’s pretending the conversation never took place”. “Where is Taza?”, Nina asked. “I don’t know… He went home last night. At least he said he was going home…”. Nina frowned. “It’ll be ok", Angel tried. “I gotta go clear some details with Bish…”. He squeezed her hand, and slipped away to go speak with his president.

Filip, Tig and Happy came over to take turns hugging her tightly. “We’ve been here before, muffin”, Tig said. “Walk in the park”, Happy muttered. “Rat’s staying behind with one of the SAMDINO-guys. You’ll be safe”. Filip made her sit down, and crouched in front of her. “You know the drill”, he said meaningfully. “We’re coming back. But if we don’t…”. “I know who to call, and in what order…”, Nina muttered. “Be careful“. “You just keep this clubhouse in shape, and have the beers ready for our return", Filip smiled. He pulled out a black handgun, with a dark wooden handle. The distinct SOA A was carved in to the wood, just over the initials, JT. “That .38 only seems to bring you trouble…”, Filip said, and put it in her hand. “I thought you were saving this for Abel…”, Nina croaked. “Jackie didn’t want guns in his boys’ hands… He didn’t want them in yours either, but seeing as things have turned out…”. Nina stuck the gun down the back of her waistband. “Thank you…”. Filip pressed a kiss to her forehead, and the three SAMCRO bikers headed towards the door with Packer.

Angel came back over to say goodbye. “I hate this, Angel”, Nina croaked. “I know, querida… But this is the way it’s gotta be”, Angel said. He gathered her into his arms, making her lean against him. Their lips instantly met in a frenzied kiss; hungrily devouring each other. Nina breathed Angel in, as if it was the last kiss, they’d ever share; and in all honestly, she was afraid that it might be. Brushing her tongue against Angel’s lower lip, he let it meet his own; tasting her, and letting her taste him. “I love you”, Nina whispered. “Te amo”, Angel replied. “I’m coming back”. He pressed a last kiss against her lips.

Nina saw Gaby whisper something in EZ's ear, and he smiled happily at her. After EZ had kissed his love, Angel gave the girl a warm hug. “I’ll make sure he comes back too”, he said, trying for a smile. Gaby nodded, and Nina took her hand, holding it tightly. Coco kissed Letty’s forehead, and muttered something in her ear, before handing her over to Nina; who wrapped her free arm around the teenager. The Mayan gave Nina a half hug, and followed Angel out the door. “They’ll be ok”, Nina said. “But we need to get ready”.

Once the door was closed behind the men heading out, she gave Creeper a look, and the Mayan raised his voice. “Listen up, people. Nina’s got work for you!”. Gaby handed Nina her crutches, and she hobbled into the middle of the room. “We need people to take care of food. The back room is full of provisions; do what you can with it. Felipe will be here later with meat for the grills. I wanna see him when he does…”. Creeper nodded, and a few of the women moved towards the back room. Gabriella joined them, much to Nina’s joy. “You’re free to the bar, but remember why we’re here. Getting wasted isn’t a good idea… Does anyone have medical experience?”. One of the women from Vicky’s place raised her hand. “I’m in nursing school”, she said. “Great”, Nina smiled. “I’m not saying we’ll need it, but I’d like you to set up a first-aid station, in case we do; and the guys are unable to cross the border for the doc”. “Ok… yeah!”, the woman smiled; seemingly proud that she could contribute with something important. Vicky gave Nina a warm smile. “The rest of you, chip in wherever you can. We all have a responsibility to make our stay here as comfortable and safe as possible… That means, don’t flirt with the guys on watch”. Creeper chuckled at this, and patted Rat’s shoulder. They had the first shift, and headed for the door.

Nina blew out a deep breath, and sat back down. Vicky came over with a refill for her mug. “Welcome to the family”, she smiled, and winked at her.

---

The hours dragged by. They had no word from the men in the field, and every time the door opened, Nina’s heart jumped; hoping that her loved ones would walk in.

While Nina sat on her chair, her leg throbbing in pain, making her unable to walk around, Letty paced the floor for the both of them. “If he dies, I’m gonna fucking kill him!”, she growled. “Then I’ll bury him next to Celia, in her dick-shaped hole in the desert!”. “Letty, sit down”, Nina said. “Why?”. “Because your pacing is giving me a headache”. Leticia sat down, and Nina noticed tears forming in her eyes. “We just started being a family… And now he might…”. She couldn’t finish the sentence. Nina took her hands. “Coco is a survivor, and he’s gonna do whatever he can to get back to you”, she said. “You think so?”, Letty muttered. “I know so”, Nina smiled. “Your dad loves you, Letty. He’s not gonna leave you”.

Letty wiped her eyes, just in time for Gaby to come over with two plates filled with deliciousness. “I did what I could with what’s here”, she said. “It looks amazing”, Nina said. “But I’m not really hungry”. “You have to eat, if you’re taking pain-medication”, Gaby enthused. “I’m not… I’m trying to keep a level head”. “Just take a fucking pill, Nina”, Letty sighed. “You’re in so much pain, your face is contorted”. “I’m…”, Nina began, before catching the expression on both girls’ faces. “Fine…”, she said, and dug out a pill from the plastic bag in her pocket; downing it with a sip of coffee.

Gaby gave her as bright a smile as she could manage, and pushed the plate of food towards her. Nina took a few bites, when suddenly the door opened, and Felipe stepped inside. He looked around, making it clear it was the first time he’d actually been inside the clubhouse. He frowned slightly, and walked over to Nina. “That guy you call Freak said you wanted to talk to me”, he said. “Creeper”, Nina smiled. “Sure", Felipe said. “Letty, will you help me get the meat?”, Gaby said, and the two girls went out the door. “Please sit. I can’t really stand right now", Nina said. Felipe took the chair just around the corner of the table from her. “I need to get back to the shop…”, he muttered. “You can’t take the day off?”, Nina asked. “The weekend is coming up”, Felipe grunted. “People have family coming for dinner…”. “You’re family”, Nina said. “To these people?”, Felipe asked, and looked at the people in the room. His tone wasn’t disapproving, but he did seem uncomfortable at the view of the scantily clad hangarounds setting up drinks and food; and the nursing student, who was currently preparing bandages, while wearing a barely-there tube top, and a short denim skirt. “To me…”, Nina said, and took Felipe’s hand. “To Gaby…”. They both looked towards Gabriella, who sent them a warm smile, as she came through the door with a container of what looked like steaks.

Felipe sighed deeply. “I told EZ and Angel, I can protect myself”, he said. “Then… stay here and protect us as well”, Nina said. “We don’t know what’s happening out there. It’s dangerous for all of us to be out in the open. Angel and EZ might…”. She chewed her lips and swallowed thickly, trying to suppress tears. “Please stay here with us, suegro”. A smile ghosted Felipe’s lips. “That’s where we’re at, then?”, he said. “You and Angel, I mean”. “I’m… I love him. I really do”. Felipe chuckled. “He’s lucky to have you”, he said. He shot a look at the food prepping station, and rolled his eyes. “Gabriella, lo estás tallando de la manera incorrecta! I told you; follow the bone… Never mind, I’ll show you”. The old butcher got to his feet, and went to take over the carving of the meat. Nina let out a relieved sigh. Felipe was staying.

Needing to get some air, she got to her feet, and used her crutches to move towards the door. A smiling hangaround sprang over to open it for her, and Nina thanked her quietly; before stepping outside. The sky was grey. Apparently, the rain the night before was coming back; she could smell it on the air. She sat down on one of the chairs on the porch, and dug out her cigarettes. Opening the packet, she saw that Coco must have done a reverse pickpocketing when he hugged her; as he’d left her a perfectly rolled joint. She smiled to herself, and considered lighting up; before deciding against it. The oxy was already doing its work, and her leg felt better by the minute. Lighting a cigarette instead, she took a deep huff. The yard was too quiet. The windchimes hung next to the door of the clubhouse, which were usually deafened by the usual sounds of metal screeching and bikes roaring, was all she could hear.

Pulling out Jackson’s gun, she took a deep breath, and closed her eyes. She ran her thumb over the letters he’d carved in to the handle. “I remember when you did this”, she said quietly. “Back when you were still stupid enough to think you were immortal…”.

… “What if you lose it? The police will track you down, dumbass!”, Nina said. “I’ll be fine, darlin’”, Jax said, grinning brightly. “Besides, I gotta leave my mark on this world somehow!”. Nina rolled her eyes at him, and picked her book up. “You’re gonna shoot someone, and they’ll track the gun to you”, she growled. Jax chuckled, and stuck the gun down the front of his waistband. “If you don’t shoot your dick off, first”, she muttered. He frowned, and put the gun in the back of his jeans instead. “What are you reading? Teenage-vampire shit?”, he asked. “Screw you… It’s Hamlet. For school”. “O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I!”, Jax exclaimed. Nina couldn’t help but smile. “Careful with that gun, or you’ll have me saying: Goodnight, sweet prince, and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest…”. Jax got to his feet, and headed towards the ladder going down from the roof. “We’re meeting up with some Mexican guys… They need our help with something”, he said. “Finish your homework, little sister. We gotta keep your ass out of CaraCara”. He stopped dead in his tracks, and walked back to her, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. “Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love”. “I love you too… But you’re still a dumbass”, Nina smiled…

“I wish you were here…”, she whispered. “But where ever you are – if there’s anything you can do to keep him safe… all of them… Please”.

She jolted in her seat, when Creeper appeared next to her, a phone in hand. “It’s for you”, he muttered. Nina took the phone, and put it to her ear. Creeper gave her frowning and confused look, before walking into the clubhouse, leaving her alone. “Hello?”. “Nina?”. “Taza?”. “Yeah, it’s me; sweetheart… Do you wanna help me end this war before it starts?”.

---

If you’ve followed this story this far, thank you! Also; It’s my birthday! Make it an even better one, by leaving a comment.

- no lady

tags: @cole-winchester @doloreschanal

#angel reyes #angel reyes fic #angel reyes x oc #mayans mc #mayans mc fic #clayton cardenas #ez reyes

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