#never listening to advice on keeping things in scope

[melodyofthevoid]

the way y'all are handling ocean idiots is actually kind of inspiring me, because i have Ideas but i feel pressured to turn it into a whole blown Thing when all i want to do is just have fun with it, because every artist/writer/etc ive seen does it that way.

yall are the first people ive seen who are just trying to Vibe with your blorbos and it makes doing the same thing feel more achievable to me. god bless

PS larus is my favorite. love the little skrunkly bird man. also can i steal yalls powerpoint idea 🥺?

PSS i assume everyone else working on ocean idiots will see this bc yall are mutuals, but in the event that they dont, could you please forward this to them? because i want them to know that theyre indirectly inspiring a random person with their Just-For-Fun-Creation as well >< many thanks

Aw, anon this is incredibly sweet. I sent your message along to the others before I got around to this answer both because I wanted to make sure they saw it, and because I wanted to respond to this in a way that really reflects my gratitude.

It's honestly so tempting to start making ideas "a thing". I didn't really understand that until the last couple of years and let me tell you, there is a lot of pressure to do that. People like projects! They like updates! They love seeing the progression of a story and getting invested in that. I absolutely understand why people leave comments like "this should be a webtoon" or "you guys should make an animated series". In a perfect world, that'd be a dream! The temptation to do that and establish a base is also attractive because it can really form a base that gives numbers and comments, which artists of all stripes thrive on (myself very much included).

But what most people never really see is the downsides of that. From their perspective, a one episode animatic, a chapter or two of fic or few panels of a comic, isn't a lot. It's kinda disappointing, and I get that. For the creator though, there's any number of reasons that things fall apart. Personal differences with friends amplified by the stress of expectations. Creative burnout. Shutting down due to the sheer scope of the undertaking. These are all real, and it sucks to deal with.

For me personally, I know I do want to tackle trying to write more of ocean idiots, maybe even try to nanowrimo this shit (not in an actual month but you get the gist). But that's just me. If it bums me out or I put it to the side, then that's just my personal project to pick up later. If we tried to make it a series, then we'd deal with the stress of trying to keep up a schedule on top of lives (college, jobs, personal lives, etc). It'd take the joy out of these characters we love.

Some of the most fun I've had in the past few years I've been writing and creating has just been fucking around with my friends. Throwing silly au ideas back and forth and exchanging art and fics for no one but ourselves. There's a genuine satisfaction that comes from it.

Not everything has to be a big production. Artists don't make their magnum opus every time. They draw shitposts and write crackfic and make funny edits. It's healing to have something silly, something fun just for you, and to share it if you want. That can connect with people, great! But it can also just be for you. I could go on a whole tangent about social media and the commodification of attention/art but that's not really what we're here for.

I hope that whatever you create, anon, that it makes you happy. That it brings a little joy to your day. That you can have that thing you share with maybe just your closest friends to play with. Lord knows I need to remind myself of that too.

[writingwithfolklore]

5 Writing Rules I Like to Break

                Listen, I am firmly of the belief that writing doesn’t have rules. There’s no one way to do it—no one schedule or technique or tip that’s going to work for everyone and produce perfect narratives. Which is a good thing! I think if we all had to write exactly the same way, our stories would end up looking very similar.

                So while in general I tend to say throw out any and all rules (and yes, even including the advice I give on this blog if you so desire), here’s 5 common writing rules I specifically and intentionally break, and why:

1. Write what you know

I already talked all about how I tend to ignore this advice here if you’re interested. The TLDR version of it is that you can absolutely write things beyond your scope of knowledge (in fact, I’d guess that’s where the majority of fiction comes from) as long as you write it genuinely—this rule should be instead ‘write what you feel’.

2. Don’t edit as you write

Booo!! Okay maybe it works for some of you—if so, by all means continue (this applies to all the rules I’m about to mention, so just keep that in mind). Editing as I go is how I get back into the swing of things in a new writing session, and also allows me to try a scene a few different times to get the most I can out of it. I tend to believe that words are words even if they’re edited, rewritten, or even deleted.

If your goal is to finish your project as fast as possible, I imagine going back to edit before you’re finished your draft might slow you down. However, I also imagine editing as you go might save you an entire draft. Whatever works for you here is what you should do, but I personally love to edit as I write.

3. Avoid ‘said’

At least I think a lot of you guys are with me when I say that ‘said’ is sometimes just the best word to use. Using lots of descriptive words like, ‘yelled’, ‘begged’, ‘exclaimed’ can be distracting. When the dialogue speaks for itself, the ‘said’ disappears into the background of the scene, while necessary for grammar, it’s a formality for the actual storytelling. As well, I like to experiment with said by adding a descriptor afterwards. ‘Said quietly’ ‘said through a laugh’ ‘said without taking a breath’ etc.

4. Avoid adverbs

Here’s what I’ll say about word usage in general, as long as you pick your words with thought and care, you may use whatever words you want. Words have different specific connotations, and not always will avoiding the adverb have the same impact. For example, changing “he laughed lightly” to “he giggled.” We may have removed the adverb ‘lightly’, but ‘giggled’ holds a completely different connotation. It evokes a sort of immaturity, not unlike the ‘schoolgirl’ stereotype. If we don’t want that connotation, in this case, laughed lightly may be better.

                So don’t count out adverbs for the sake of it. As long as you’re choosing your words with intention and you understand the meaning behind them, you can experiment with a world of adverbs!

5. Never use passive voice

This one I didn’t realize was important to break until quite recently. We tend to be taught that passive voice automatically equals bad and I’m here to tell you that isn’t true. Passive voice should equal focus on action. Active voice equals focus on character. There may be certain sentences in which focusing on either the character or the action is more beneficial.

For example, “the alarm was pulled by Alice” (passive) kind of sounds clunky and wrong, whereas “Alice pulled the alarm” (active) is much more effective.

BUT “Alice was dragged out of the way” (passive) focuses on the action of Alice being dragged, rather than “Something dragged Alice out of the way” (active) focuses on the something that is doing the dragging, which in a moment of action, may take away from the pacing.

As long as you choose your voice with intention, both passive and active voice can be used to create strong, effective sentences.

                What are some typical writing rules you tend to ignore?

[rosewaterandivy]

psychopomp

Summary: psychopomp - a conductor of souls to the afterworld.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader, if you squint (it's really more of a study in grief/writing exercise)

WC: 972

Warnings/Themes: violence, general sad times, grief, etc.

A/N: Happy Friday! This has been rattling around my brain for a minute. Maybe it's something, maybe it's nothing. Regardless, have at it.

Please do not interact if you aren't 18+.

Nota bene: Reblogging, commenting, and liking my work is always appreciated; reposting, however, is not.

Enjoy! 💜

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He makes sure Robin gets out, and the kids too.

But not him.

Beaten black and blue, his luck could only go so far.

Months go by, and Dustin never stops listening. Turning the dial as if it’s a clock to be wound, running through the frequencies desperate for a sign.

It never comes.

Yet hope remains eternal.

Cold. Damp. 

Belly to the concrete on the roof as the mark and his wife walk the streets of Stockholm.

Crackling and then, “инициировать цель.”

Eye to the scope, trained on the man’s back. A pulse of the trigger, a bloom of blood as he falls to the ground.

Another pull to the trigger, his wife stumbles.

“цель завершена.”

The headlines the next day will read: Prime Minister of Sweden, Olof Palme, Assassinated & Wife Injured. Suspect Still At Large.

Spring bleeds into summer. Hopper’s miraculous return from beyond the grave.

The first thing Robin says to this revenant of a man is,

“Steve?”

A slow shake of his head, pity evident in his gaze. Watches as she wilts like a hot-house flower, eyes glassy with tears.

Robin swallows a sob, nods briefly and turns toe before he can attempt to comfort her.

A year passes, slower than he’d like. 

Dustin gets on well enough, Hellfire and Suzie to keep him occupied.

Occasionally, he’ll zone out for a moment or two. Dip back into the recesses of his memory and recall walks along the train tracks, well-intended advice, and pep talks in the car.

A can of Farrah Fawcett hairspray sits on the bathroom counter. 

He can’t bring himself to use it.

“Hey Henderson,” Eddie nudges him with an elbow. “We lost you there for a minute, you good?”

Dustin nods, turning his attention back to the campaign. Attempts a reassuring smile.

It doesn't reach his eyes.

Muggy. Urban.

Vaguely familiar.

He sits in the dark as directed, and waits. Time passes, as it always does.

The jangling of keys, the door creaking open. 

His hand wrapped around the grip, finger poised on the trigger. 

Tick. Thunk.

A strangled gasp as the body falls to the floor. 

He rises from the chair, steps easily over the man as he wheezes out shallow breaths. 

Aims the pistol to the back of his head, pulls the trigger once more for good measure.

Wipes a bead of blood from his boot and walks out the door to disappear in the night.

Dustin’s running out the door when the phone rings from the kitchen.

He answers it with thinly veiled annoyance, “What.”

“You’ll want to be sitting down for this,” Robin says, voice tremulous.

“Rob, I don’t have time for—-"

“Dustin,” She pleads, emotion thick in her voice. “Please.”

Reluctantly, he sits.

And then his world is turned upside down, yet again. 

Robin speaks in a stuttering staccato, because her brain is moving faster than her mouth, rewiring itself with newly gleaned information. 

In California, Jonathan swears he saw someone who looked exactly like Steve— his mirror image, truly, but vacant behind the eyes. He attempted a wave, a greeting, but a hand clamped down on Steve’s shoulder like a vice and turned him down a side street.

He tried to follow, but when he got there, it was vacant. As if no one had ever stepped foot in that alley. Jonathan is adamant that he wasn’t high at the time, and was in such a panic that he called Nancy immediately from his house.

Who then, in turn, called Robin. Who was now speaking to Dustin in a frantic tone. 

“And you know what’s spooky?” She says, voice falling to a hush, “When he called Steve’s name, he turned or was about to until that guy moved him away.”

Dustin can barely breathe.

It’s his senior year and Steve’s been gone since ‘85. He doesn’t have the time for this, there’s a gravestone in the cemetery declaring that Steven Michael Harrington was a loving son and friend, that’s he’s dearly missed.

Oh god, is he missed.

Dustin should know, the only people who visit it more than him are Robin and Max. Fresh seasonal flowers and the gray marble polished to a high sheen. Momentos and notes from the party, monthly check-ins where they tell him about what’s new in their lives.

“Robin,” Dustin says, brows tilting together. “He’s gone, you know he is.”

She sighs, “I don’t— I don’t want to know that Dustin.”

“I get it, I want to believe he’s out there too.” He shakily stands up from the kitchen table. "But if he was alive, Steve would’ve made his way back to us by now.”

“You’re right.” She eeks out, “I just wanted it to be him,” A wet laugh of disbelief. “I wanted to hope so badly, kid.”

“I know,” Dustin rasps, wicking a tear from his eye. “Me too.”

Hot. Cloying. 

Dilapidated houses and ramshackle fences. 

The grip on his shoulder remains, an echo to remind him.

Obey.

He stops in front of the house, loads the gun.

The man is paranoid, as he should be.

“You can kill my body, and you can take my life but you can never kill my soul. My soul will live forever!” He shouts into the early morning light.

Mechanically, he raises the gun and squeezes off two rounds into the man’s face.

The headlines the next day read: Huey Newton Killed; Was a Co-Founder Of Black Panthers.

Mission completed.

The metallic flavor of copper in his nose. The sweet humming from a raspy voice. The notches of a spine pressing against his skin.

Hard angles. Soft curves. A ruby red tongue brushing over a protruding bottom lip. Bloodlust sated and smiling at him like he’s finally come home.

But still, a sound haunts him. The man on the crowded street, pale in the sunlight, eyes blown wide.

“Steve!”

Who the hell is Steve?

[teenagemutantninjatrauma]

*sigh* 2003 turtles should’ve made a radio station

Did anyone see that one video of Raph and Mikey doing a podcast and answering questions? How neat would it be if they just… had a radio station??

Imagine, right, Mikey reads scary stories and he and Donnie are writing an episodic murder mystery story. Leo does mini-lessons in Japanese language and culture. Raph blasts absolutely banger music and gives updates on any new happenings New Yorkers should watch out for - ongoing gang wars, aliens on the loose, but also charity events outside of Oroku Saki’s work because. Fuck Oroku Saki lol

Whenever they get into trouble and can’t get to their radio station or are too busy fighting something, the few New Yorkers that listen to them worry, and as they worry, they talk, and so ironically anytime the station goes quiet, the awareness of it spreads. The turtles keep coming back to new listeners, and they make more stories, more little lessons, they share little censored bits of their life. Mikey does in-depth analysis of superhero comics and shows like Star Trek, and very often reminds his listeners to Be Fuckin Weird!!! Be you be fun be interesting, your interests and hobbies are so cool I promise you, your outfit is banger and your hair is stylish and you deserve to feel confident in yourselves!!

Donatello shares hacks to make putting together machines easier for yourself, especially encouraging women to not feel intimidated or ridiculed by men for never being taught stuff like car mechanics — once you know where to start and what things look like, it’s easy enough! He researches reliable resources both online and offline, and occasionally rambles about new breakthroughs and what they mean in the bigger scope of all things science.

Leo has little episodes about exploring the soul - learning to understand yourself, meditating on who you are and want to be, but also how to cope with dangerous or traumatizing situations (shoutout to the Ancient One). Lots of queer folk lightheartedly agree that they would come out to him without hesitance because he “would be so so nice about it I bet.”

Raph starts setting up interviews, at first with the humans he knows - the kind Mrs. Morrison, talking about the horribly unfair housing policies making her life harder, the Professor, to humanize the homeless, but then he gets a little braver and starts interviewing nonhumans that live in the city — Leatherhead first, and then Sydney and the other people from the Underground City. A stray Utrom that settled down here and opted to stay when their peers left for home. Professor Honeycutt, when he visits - that interview sort of cements that he’s not making these people up, because, well. Everyone had seen and heard the fugitoid during the invasion. He interviews superheroes, both those that work during the day, and those that work during the night (and yes, he does interview the Turtle Titan). He invites the Battle Nexus Daimyo for a visit. But the interview most beloved by the listeners… is one Raphael conducts with his dad.

They never mention they’re mutants, but I wonder how many people feel something click in their minds when Raph starts the interview by going “so. Just you and four kids, practically homeless, hiding in the shadows. How did you manage, those first few years when we were really little?” And they talk about being a single dad who was “barely an adult” (read: still learning himself how to be a mutant) and all the folks out there who maybe had to deal with having kids too early or at a time where they couldn’t properly take care of them as much as they wanted to, they all lean in, because this man sounds like he’s about sixty now - surely he’ll have some wise words of advice? And he does, Splinter talks about having to learn what kids are even like, never having had interacted with that many people in general before, he often had to guess at what was a serious ailment and what was simply a byproduct of childhood and later puberty, he talks about how visiting his few friends (the Ancient One, and the Daimyo) helped him remember that he’s not all alone to do this, he talks about how what worked for one of his sons didn’t work for the other three and how a parent should always remain flexible and open minded and accepting of change, as change is natural to life and inevitable especially during the early years. And they talk and talk and I bet a bunch of New Yorkers go “wait a minute.. four guys that live on the streets with a dad they occasionally call a ‘master,’ one of them constantly talks about machinery, they all speak fluent Japanese… could these possibly be the fucked up little guys that saved my ass that one time? Could this be the guy I punched that one time cuz I freaked out?’

Like. Just consider it okay. A turtle radio station.

[horce-divorce]

Update for interested parties: the last few days were frought, the situation in Wisconsin was not what we had hoped it would be at all once we got here, and it ended up not working out. Too many people with not enough space and too many clashing needs. it ended up feeling very unsafe for everyone.

We're staying with a different friend instead now, and today their mom/owner of the property not only said we could stay here for the winter if we need to, but also was scheming to try and find us a pop-up trailer this morning which we were totally blown away by, she's wonderful. We still want the kind of mobility where we could take off again at a moments notice, so I'm sorting that out, but we're with friends and thankfully not in a rush to leave again anytime soon.

i'm not sure if a camper is what we'll end up with. It isn't quite as stealthy as i'd like (if we need to urban camp at all it doesnt really work), but it would certainly add a lot of space and be more than doable, and Bel really liked the idea. If that doesn't work out, I'll look at trading our current vehicle for a used camper van in a comparable price range. I've never done that before but I have time to do research.

Thanks to the donations this week, we were able to fill the tank and get Bels meds on the way out here, which was such a huge relief. That gives us at least another month to try to find a prescriber for another refill. We also got a great haul from the food pantry out here, which was fun because the lady we're staying with actually runs it and it's inside an abandoned building.

the pantry was already in the building when it wasn't abandoned. my friend's mom took it over and was allowed to keep it in its original space, but everyone else moved out. My friend had the keys, so they took us in thru the back and this series of totally unlit, crowded corridors with random appliances, furniture, books and clothes, all of it donated. it was one of the most surreal experiences I've ever had. I asked to go back to take more pictures, which is why the 2nd pic is lit better.

Their house is also really cool. It's an old farmhouse, much bigger, with fewer people here, and we have a proper room upstairs rather than in an unfinished basement. there's a super comfy bed in here, too. I actually haven't had back pain in the morning here, for the first time since my surgery in May!

Also, absolutely wild shit in the world of drugs: nary a weed dealer to be found in this area, because delta 8 has completely taken over the market. I was deeply unimpressed when I tried it a few years ago, but my friend got us a live resin hhc/cbd/cbg/thcp cartridge and........... I am stoned. Like PROPERLY stoned. I haven't been this properly stoned since like 2013. It does kinda give me a headache, but it also helps the pain and gives me munchies and helps me sleep just like real weed. I even remembered my dreams a bit better than with d9.

Anyway I'm very grateful for my queer community today, for my friends mom who has come to my rescue more times than my own mom, and for everyone who's been invested, sending us money, advice, locations to scope out, items, and links; everyone who's been reblogging; and even everyone who's just listening to us talk and post, watching quietly from the sidelines.

We still have to go retrieve the rest of our stuff from the last place (on Monday), and things always change in an instant. We still have a lot of complex feelings, and this week was especially hard for Bellamy. He's never been through all this before this year, and the 19th was the anniversary of his worst trauma, losing the only good and loving person in his life 6 years ago. To be kicked out specifically on that anniversary was brutal. it made me wish I'd never brought him here. I really thought we'd be better off with that friend than on our own for the winter, and I made a mistake.

But we will still be okay. For now, we aren't alone, we're with good friends in a safe place, we've got food and meds and gas. We even have another place to stay if we change our minds. We check in with each other and process our feelings multiple times per day. It's still hard to get used to coming and going all the time; we stay in one place just long enough to get comfy and then we take off again, which is never long enough form a routine. So we're trying to learn how to do that for ourselves, based on our own needs, rather than around the location. But we're getting used to that, and each other's habits. When I go out to the car for supplies it smells like home in there.

It's hard feeling like we don't belong anywhere, like strangers care more about our wellbeing than our actual families. My dad did give us the car, and six months of insurance. He even renewed my license for me. But neither of my parents checks in on me, asks where we are or how we're doing. My mom seems to be getting more reactionary in her old age; not only did my transition cause a rift between us, she's now doubling down on trying to "cure" my autistic cousin when she knows that for both of us (and for Bel), our autism is a source of pride. She knows my disabilities and neurodivergence are what started this housing instability 10 years ago. She knows my health has been worsening. She doesn't text or call. All of you following this story on here know more about how and where we are than she does.

But times like this show us who our real friends and family are, and it's not the people who've left us to our own devices out here. It's everyone who's been stepping in to ask, "How are you doing? Can I send you anything? Do you need to talk? I love you. I want you to make it." The random guy we met hiking who never told us his name but who told us, "I hope you guys thrive. I really do." It's everyone who's sent us another $10 for our supplies because I haven't spent long enough in one spot to get any work done. It's the people who have never even met us before who offered to take Bel's cats indefinitely, or to let us come stay with them across the country. It's everyone who's pitching together to buy us more time when we need it. Everyone who sees us and bears witness and feels something about it.

At the end of the day, we sort of are choosing this lifestyle; if we wanted out, we would have to stay in one place longer than winter, get jobs, save money, find our own housing. But we kind of don't. Despite the hardships, despite what this journey is revealing about ourselves and the people we thought we could trust, we feel like it suits us to live out of the car. We go where we want, when we want. We don't have to answer to anyone else's schedule. If we want to go south or west when it's cold and visit our friends, all we need is the gas money and the OK to come over. We love the woods and we love living out there. It feels distant and lonely sometimes, but so right. We like getting to bounce around and meet each other's people. We want to see the old growth and the redwoods and the mountains and the seaside and the grand canyon. We want to go to Cuba and Vietnam and Iceland and Denmark. Maybe our health won't allow for us to do absolutely everything we want, but working underpaid jobs and paying rent absolutely won't allow for it. We have a better chance at our dreams now. We can lose our place to stay again and be fine and just keep going; it's not the end of the world. It's what we planned on doing, anyway. No big deal.

Living in the car has already allowed us to do more and have more adventures in just 3 months than we did in 2 whole years of us both being housed. We do have a lot to process emotionally and there's a lot on our plates; it's hard, and we do need a lot of help. It's not always good. Not having access to the internet when we're running out of money and gas and food; not having anywhere to bathe; having to go long distances to collect water even when we're not feeling well; losing things because i put them in the wrong place and drove off; that doesn't even begin to scratch on converting the car for stealth camping, choosing our routes and places to scope for campsites in new areas, or trying to figure out which supplies would actually be more helpful and cost effective in the long run.

But it's still not really any worse than the rat race to stay employed and be good renters. It's just different. And after 10 years of housing instability, and waiting for something to change, it hasn't. I'm growing more and finding more peace by just leaning into it. Trauma and bullshit never ends. Life doesn't ever stop for you so you can think about what just happened; there's never gonna be a perfect, calm time for you to digest everything and then move on strengthened and changed for the next main event. You have to learn how to do all that and keep living no matter what bullshit is ongoing. That's what "rolling with the punches" means. The punches dont stop, you learn to expect them, you move with them. I cant put my life on hold just because I'm homeless. It's not stopping me from doing the things I want. It's not stopping me from being the kind of guy I aim to be, or from making the kinds of choices i want. My life before did that.

Tl;dr thank you for all your help and concern this week, we made it to a different space and are taking some time to breathe. We are feeling more than a bit bruised, this week has been awfully triggering, but we also feel very held right now and we have space to calm down. For another few days at least, it's gonna be okay.

✨️🛸✌️

[swampy-sayin-it]

Grunts

You recall, brothers, our toil and drudgery. Working night and day in order not to burden any of you, we proclaimed to you the gospel of God. -- 1st Thessalonians 2:9

What are the grunts, you may ask? Grunts is a term used to describe people that get their hands dirty when they work. Grunts are mainly the blue-collar people that do the jobs that are not the "celebrated" jobs in society. Grunts do the jobs that are essential to keep the society moving in the proper direction.

In the Christian ministry there are the "stars" who preach in opulent churches wearing custom fitted suits with perfectly coiffed hair and with an alphabet in front and behind their names and then there are the grunts. Grunts in ministry go out and do the work to lay groundwork for the Church "stars" can build upon their labors.

Grunts are missionaries, evangelists, prophets and sometimes teachers in the scope if the ministry. God called these people into doing His work with a call that is near audible. They are called because they have a skill set already that God needs in a person to do His work.

The Apostle Paul was the most celebrated grunt in all church history. Paul had a day job of making tents and preached the gospel while he worked, or on his downtime. Today the church has its modern-day grunts working outside the four walls of the church house to take God's word to people that normally are not interested in that Jesus thing.

In my own humble experience, I was not meant for the administration of the pastoral ministries. I worked with pastors and priests to open the church doors to receive those newly found sheep in the area. What I ended up doing was ministering to a lot of young adults that felt the Church was a load of crap. Corrupt legalistic preachers that led to families that started fighting while leaving the church parking lots, and even worse.

These are people that heard the gospel but never saw it in action. What all they needed to hear is the love of Jesus was not corrupt preachers, overbearing fathers that quoted the King James while beating up the family on a Sunday afternoon. Tough crowd, but the grunts are the ones that reach out to them in a way almost unheard of in today's church.

When these young people getting into a web of hurt via drugs, sex and bad advice and saw their lives collapsing they were looking just exactly what Jesus offered them. They heard, but never saw it until a grunt would sit and just talk until all that pain went away as Jesus filled their heart. No "Evangelism Explosion" hard sell nonsense. Just listening, praying and trading contact info.

St Francis of Assisi once told an acolyte before the young one went out," Go and preach the gospel, and if you have to use words."

What the grunts offer is honesty. The grunts might work with them at a job, or check some live music in the same venues, whatever. The thing is grunts mingle and "get their hands dirty". You might be surprised how many people are willing to open up to the gospel in a bar, at a biker rally, at an outdoor festival and even at work. The grunts are willing to go into these places like missionaries that went into Africa, Asia, and Oceania years ago.

Now, we never know how well we did in sharing the good news of Jesus. Grunts do not keep score because it is not about collecting names. It is about sharing all that changed our lives around to give it all away to others so they can receive the goodness of salvation.

To all you pastors and church leaders out there, how about a day for giving props to the grunts who do the building maintenance, ushering, hospice, rescue missions, and the ones taking the church to the streets. Leonard Ravenhill observed, "The world out there is not waiting for a new definition of Christianity; it's waiting for a new demonstration of Christianity.

[sugamamacustard]

Feed Me

Pairing: Alpha! Keiji Akaashi X Omega! Reader, Alpha! Wakatoshi Ushijima x Omega! Reader, Alpha! Rintaro Suna x Omega! Reader

Genre: Fluff

Request: Ooooo what about when Alphas 🐘 ( maybe akaashi, ushijima, rin and kuroo) find out that their omega has not been eating enough like (their only eating little things like granola bars or fruit) so their upset that they had to find out through someone else and they scold them for that but then their told that they have gain some weight and that gets them even more upset because they think their perfect etc.

Summary: Some times, people do things because it’s what they think is best. You don’t tell your alpha about some weight gain you’ve noticed, and try taking care of it yourself because of this.

Author’s Note: Hey, you. Yeah you. The beautiful person reading this? You are perfect. You are worth it. Your feelings are valid and you shouldn’t feel bad about having them. You are so amazing, and even if I don’t know you, I am so proud of you. You are so strong for making it so far. Keep going. Never change. :) Also your nice comments? Literally my dose of serotonin

did I mention my OC one or twice? Yes. Am I sorry? No. Also, idk if anyone is curious, but Yuka doesn't actually go to Shiritorizawa but whatever.

Requests: Closed!

Buy me a coffee?

Trigger Warning: Mentions of (Semi?) Starvation.

Keiji Akaashi

➵Now, Keiji is pretty on top of omega and significant other care.

➵ Like, weirdly so. It's honestly kind of creepy?

➵ In an endearing way.

➵ He always says 'Bokuto-Kun prepared me in a way.'

➵ Honestly, he loves doing this for you too!

➵He loves caring for you so much.

➵ Like I firmly believe Akaashi's love language is acts of service.

➵ So things like bringing you food, leaving sweet notes in your locker, helping you with your homework.

➵ He lives for doing these things.

➵ Especially feeding you snacks and things.

➵ It made his inner alpha purr because that meant he was caring for you. Providing for you.

➵ Being the very thing that made him worthy of an alpha.

➵ Prove that he could continue being the alpha you needed and wanted.

➵ Unfortunately, there were downsides.

➵ Your hips had the beginnings of small love handles, a little more chub on you tummy, thighs a little squishier.

➵ Let's not lie, Keiji absolutely adored this, by the way.

➵ I also think one of his biggest kinks is praise

➵ He makes sure you know how loved and how perfect you are.

➵ It's sometimes hard to believe him though.

___

"Y/N?"

You hummed an acknowledgment at Keiji's call, typing the final words to your essay before turning to look at your beautiful alpha- Sometimes you questioned how you hooked him. His gorgeous emerald eyes shining with love and adoration.

"I'm gonna go run and pick up some supper, what would you like beloved?" He came up to squeeze and massage your shoulders, leaning down as he pressed a small peck to your temple, your purr a sweet melody to his ears.

You swallowed behind your purr, trying to hide the small panic in your eyes. Your mind instantly flashed to your reflection this morning, how you pinched your hips with a frown. You already had been slowing down on the snacks, and fast food made you shiver.

"I-I'm okay for now, Keiji. Thank you though." You smiled, nonetheless, holding Keiji's cheek in your hand. He quirked a brow, frowning slightly before nodding lowly. Another peck was pressed to your cheek before he left, ordering your favorite from the diner he took you to for your first date.

-

"Beloved, I'm back." Keiji called, once more tearing you away from your essay; you were always thankful for the distraction though. He set down the take out bag, taking out the top box and handing it to you before shrugging off his jacket.

"Keiji? I said I was okay-"

"I didn't believe you. Now come on, you need to take a break and I'm touch starved." The raven didn't even look behind at you before pulling out his own box, dragging your rolley-chair to the bed. He pulled his sweater over his head, handing that to you as well before giving you a sweet peck.

His eyes locked with yours. Your breath hitched. So many silent words swam in his eyes, asking you, demanding you, to tell you what was wrong.

"I just- I've gained a little weight lately and-"

"And? My love, you are just as gorgeous as the day I met you. Nothing is wrong with a little weight, even if I think you're foolish to think you've gained weight. Never think otherwise. Even if you do, let me know, my job as your alpha and boyfriend is to make sure you feel as good as possible no matter what."

He slipped the sweater over your head, rehanding you your meal that he took from you momentarily, running a hand through your hair.

"Your my beautiful omega. Nothing should keep you from your happiness."

Wakatoshi Ushijima

➵Unlike Akaashi, Wakatoshi is little more...Hesitant (In a way) when it comes to omegan care.

➵ He never really learned how to? Ya know?

➵ Both his parents were alphas, and he was never around omegas consistently enough to learn.

➵and it's not like you were a volleyball that he could use the same techniques to up-keep.

➵ He also couldn't ask his team.

➵ Well, he could, but only one other person on his team had an omega. (It was Satori and his advice, though helpful, could only go so far.)

➵ He was doing good though, especially with you holding his hand through the entire thing.

➵ The first time he noticed something was up was when you didn't show up to lunch-- texting him a picture of you in the library, tongue poking out as you held up a peace sign to assure him you were okay.

➵ When he brought it up to Satori, who had his own omega (A small, but fiery brunette named Yuka) leaning on his side as she played some sort of phone game on his phone (Mama's slusheria? He thinks?) .

➵He explained he didn't know what was going on with you while Satori listened with a hum before giving him a sad smile. "Sorry I can't help you further Ushi-waka, but as you can see-" He slid his unfinished lunch towards Yuka, who popped one of the Dango skewers into her mouth without looking up. "I'm not very familiar with the problem."

➵ He offered his help as much as he could nonetheless.

➵ He slowly began to pick up on smaller things, locking them in his steel trap.

➵ Like a good boy :)

➵ He put hours of research into omegas after this (not that he hadn't previously). Keeping strenuous notes beside him.

➵ They were colorful and highlighted :)

➵ And he followed the advice that 'Mommy Luna-boo' posted on the blog he found like a goddamn Mantra. ('Sometimes Omegas need a little more love! Their bodies, especially during high school years, will change a lot! They may feel a little down! As an alpha, make sure you remind them how beautiful they are!')

➵She was mother Theresa and he was her follower.

➵ Well after he followed you.

➵and after he made sure you were feeling better

___

"Omega?"

"Toshi."

Walking into your dorm room, Wakatoshi set down a small bag filled with goodies. He set it down on your bed as he sat down as well, watching you carefully.

When you gave him a small smile with a quirked brow, he took a deep breath, remembering everything Tendou had coached him through.

"Have you been eating enough lately?"

You sucked your tongue at the question, shuffling your shoulders. Truth be told you had been missing out on a few lunches after noting a few extra pounds you hadn't noticed earlier. You never meant to worry him, that was never your intention, but it seemed the world was working against you. You had no clue where to go from here. If you told him the truth that would do nothing but worry him, but lying was never good in any form of relationship.

Your hesitance to tell him was more than enough though, as his larger lands encased your own, holding them tightly.

"Why?" His tone wasn't accusatory nor was it angry in the slightest. Genuine curious if anything. If he could get to the bottom of the root of the problem, he could prevent it from happening in the future. Right?

"I- I just...Noticed a few extra pounds and-"

"That's it?"

You looked up to him with a tilted head, like a lost puppy. "What do you mean that's it?"

Pulling you closer, Wakatoshi effortlessly pulled you onto his lap, using one hand to dig through the bag beside him while the other wrapped around your hips. He pulled out a few of your favorite snacks laying them out in front of you.

"That's, in my opinion, a silly thing to worry about. If you feel that's a big problem, I can offer my services to you in any way you wish-- whether it be support or as help, it is my job to be there for you." He nuzzled your scent gland, voice rumbling against your shoulders.

You purred in response, leaning back onto your alpha.

Rintaro Suna

➵ Suna is a lot like Akaashi in the sense that he has incredible observational skills as an alpha.

➵ His eyes are like sniper scopes.

➵ The minute something is wrong, he's on it.

➵ Like he looks aloof but he's not.

➵ He had notes.

➵ So hiding something from him is not easy at all.

➵ But you two most likely ended up together because you gave him a run for his money.

➵ You made him work at being an alpha.

➵ And he loved you for that.

➵ It did come back to bite him in the ass though.

➵ The only reason he heard about this was because the betas at Inarizaki were loud mouths.

➵ Honestly he learned so much tea from them.

➵ Like this third year was sleeping with a first year because she planned on baby trapping him and-

➵ It was wild.

➵Though most times it was nothing more than a source of entertainment for you and him to laugh about.

➵This time the gossip was actually useful.

➵ He wasn't thrilled they were talking about you, but provided some very useful information.

➵ And he was set into action.

➵ typing a few things onto his phone he set out to find you.

___

"Rin, I said I'm not hungry-"

"I know and I'm making the executive decision to ignore you."

He squinted his eyes at the carefully written instructions in front of him, sending a silent thanks to Atsumu's mate Haruka. (;)) She had written a step by step instruction sheet to making Onigiri while also dropping off all the ingredients (Pre-prepped). The only reason she didn't make it was because Suna's alpha, no matter how much he trusted her, wouldn't have let it near you.

"Rintato-"

"Look, Y/N. I love you, you know that. You know a lot of things, you're my smart little omega. So you must also know this isn't good, right?" Sliding a plate of, albeit mediocre, onigiri towards you, Rintaro focused his gaze on you.

"You know this, eh?"

You swallowed before grabbing one of the triangles, nibbling on the top in an attempt to appease your alpha. His sharp gaze still focused on you, making you shiver as he rounded around the counter. He turned you around so you were facing him, his hands holding your hips.

"You know this."

You wilted under his expectant gaze, knowing what he wanted from you. "I know this."

He smirked, leaning to take bite from your snack, licking his lips as he did. "Good omega."

"Rintaro that's mine!"

[rwprincess]

Midnight Sun'd Prologue (Brian Johnson x Fem!Reader)

Masterlist

Word Count: 10.5K (She like...20 pages long. Sorry).

Synopsis: My movie/Canon Prologue, but from Brian’s POV. That’s right, I’m Midnight Sun-ing this b*tch.

CW: Underage marijuana smoking, suicidal ideation, self-deprecating thoughts/self-doubt, low self-esteem, swearing, child abuse, parents being terrible, sexuality (since this is based on the movie, nothing is really outside the scope of the movie in terms of content).

Saturday, March 24th, 1984

Shermer High School, Shermer Illinois

Brian knew why he was here. In fact, he thanked his lucky stars that Saturday school, or detention, rather, had been his punishment. If this hadn’t been an extremely out-of-character first offense for him, he surely would have been suspended, or even expelled. His family had made their disappointment clear, especially when his mother told him to find a way to study and make amends today, even if he was asked to just sit in a room with strangers and reflect on what he did. When he arrived in the library, he was surprised to see Claire Standish already sitting there. She, of course, did not look up or make eye contact with him, but he chose to sit at the table behind her nonetheless. Before he could gather the courage to ask her what a popular, polished girl like herself could possibly be doing here, another two figures approached the doorway. Andrew Clark’s large, stocky frame loomed there for a moment before excitedly spying Claire. Again, no attempt was made to include Brian; he was practically invisible at this school, which was a big part of his underlying problems and self esteem here at Shermer High. It wasn’t so much that Brian wanted or needed popular people like Claire or Andrew to notice him. He didn’t really look up to them or desire their attention. It was just that, sometimes, it felt like everyone looked through him, as though he wasn’t even there. Adults acknowledged him, sure. He was polite and an overachiever, the perfect student. But his peers didn’t take much stock in him. He had a few loyal, true friends, but rarely did anyone outside of his particular interest groups reach out to him.

As Brian settled into a seat behind Claire, he took note of the second figure who had entered, the one who came in shortly after Andrew. It was her. Brian had to restrain himself from gawking when she entered the library, as she was one of the absolute last people he could ever picture earning a detention. Brian knew her from his English class last year; he had been stunned by her beauty the moment she entered the room that first day of high school and felt the same nervous, heart-pounding sensation he felt now, seeing her enter the library. He lamentably had zero classes with her this year, but he would see her in the hallways sometimes and that old familiar feeling would come rushing back to him, reminding him of the crush he had on her all last year. Back then, he had sat behind her, across the room and would catch himself staring at her or admiring her answers and volunteered opinions. His strong suit was in the more concrete subjects: science, math, that sort of thing. So the insightful analyses she would give always impressed him, and through them he got the sense that she was smart but also kind. This was precisely why he was shocked to see her here now, having earned the same consequence he had for bringing a weapon into school. But he couldn’t imagine her doing anything like that, anything to warrant this. He not-so-discreetly watched her as she hurried across the room and took a seat in the front row opposite to him. She, like Claire and Andrew, had not made eye contact or acknowledged him. Her seeing right through him hurt more, though.

Brian had sat down, but had not quite unpacked as he was still reeling from the revelation of Y/N being in the same detention as him, and that meant he would be in the same room as her for nine hours. He hadn’t even noticed John Bender stalk into the library, surveying the landscape that he was clearly king of. That is, until Bender stopped in front of him and snapped his fingers to get his attention and indicated for him to move out of his seat. Even if Brian weren’t the type to try to accommodate someone, a people pleaser, he would have followed John Bender’s instructions. Everyone in school knew of his reputation, and while some things were probably a lie (like throwing flaming toilet paper over Mrs. Applebaum’s house), some were definitely true, including his penchant for getting into fights. Brian had never had to fight someone before and he was pretty sure he lacked the capability to do so. Simply put: he would get his ass kicked. So he got up immediately and moved to the next seat over...right behind Y/N. He noticed that she stiffened, sat up straighter, as he slid into the seat behind her. So she had noticed his existence. But from her body language, he assumed that she didn’t particularly enjoy his presence. ‘Great. Perfect way to start this whole shitty day,’ he thought. At one point, Brian would have fancied himself an optimist, but lately that attitude was all but gone...not that his current situation helped much.

He also noticed the girl with black clothes, heavy makeup, and messy hair quickly walk along the outside of the tables and sit behind him, facing away from not only himself, but the entire group. He raised his eyebrows in disbelief, ‘Should be an interesting time,’ he thought while taking stock of her, Bender, the populars, and...Y/N. It still puzzled him that she could be here. Bender made total sense. Everyone knew that he practically lived here in detention. Based on how she looked and seemed to make herself comfortable, Brian guessed that the girl behind him also was a regular here. While he didn’t exactly expect Claire or Andy to be here, he wasn’t hugely shocked by it. Claire probably skipped school or was rude to a teacher or something and Andrew was an asshole anyway. He fit into the jock stereotype pretty well, all brawn and no brains, picking on those that he saw as weaker than him. Maybe that’s why he was here.

Vice Principal Vernon walked haughtily in, looking down on each and every one of them; a lord surveying his fiefdom. Brian’s posture stiffened as he both tried to show respect and unconsciously showed his fear of the man. The last conversation with him had also involved his parents and that was abhorrent, a total disaster. The recollection of the event made him nauseous. Right after he spoke, Claire raised her hand, “Excuse me sir, I think there’s been a mistake. I know it’s detention, but, um...I don’t think I belong in here.” Internally, Brian rolled his eyes. He didn’t really know Claire (he suspected that no one really truly did), but he had always been under the impression that she was full of herself. All of the popular clique seemed to be that way, just full of arrogance. And here she was announcing how she was better than all of them in front of them. Vernon completely ignored her statement and told them it was 7:06, on the dot. Brian quickly looked down at his watch and aligned it to Vernon’s time. He was very particular about organization and precision.

As Vernon started his speech about rules, Brian tried to shift slightly over, get comfortable. But Vernon looked right into him and Brian could swear he saw into the depths of his soul as he said, “You will not move from these seats,” and pointed right at him. He froze like a deer in the headlights and quickly moved back. Brian had almost always blindly followed authority and now was definitely not the time to change that. Vernon continued and Brian only half-listened, looking around to gauge how the rest of the group was reacting, until he heard him say, “Good. So, maybe you’ll decide whether or not you care to return-” He saw this as the perfect time to redeem himself and started to stand up, raising his hand.

“Um, you know, I can answer that right now, sir. And that would be a no for me-”

“Sit down, Johnson.”

“Thank you, sir.” Brian sat back down, gulping. His embarrassment was only made worse noticing that Y/N had turned around to look at him when he started speaking. He wasn’t so invisible now, just his luck.

*~~~~*

There was little to no surprise that Bender antagonized the group. His main targets seemed to be Claire and Andrew, but he was making snide or crude remarks to everyone, and this made Brian very uneasy. He hated conflict and confrontation, which was probably why he had brought a flare gun to school rather than talk to his Shop teacher about replacing his failing grade or talk to his parents about how much he was truly struggling. He tried to take his mom’s advice about just doing work. He tried to convince the others to just write their assigned essays and not end up in a fight, but it didn’t work. He reasoned that he could at least do the right thing, but he couldn’t help but keep getting drawn into their conversations. It was almost like watching a trashy soap opera...or a staged wrestling match. “Go to hell!” Claire screamed at Bender, and Brian looked nervously to the door. Vernon surely heard that and would come storming back in, right?

But he didn’t, so Andy continued their conversation and got in a new dig at Bender, “You know, Bender, you don’t even count. If you disappeared forever it wouldn’t make any difference. You may as well not even exist anymore.” Brian gulped, thinking about his recent and frequent thoughts about how he himself ‘may as well not even exist anymore.’ He was doing...okay since the day he had had a semi-plan to take his own life, but the feelings didn’t just stop. He was still failing Shop, of all classes. He was still a disappointment and burden to his parents. He was still invisible at school, to Y/N. None of that went away when Mr. Ryan found the gun in his locker. Bender turned Andrew’s comment around and said he’d go out and join some clubs.

Now, Brian saw his opportunity to be less invisible, maybe. “I’m in a math club!” He blurted out. No dice. Bender and Claire just continued bickering, ignoring him completely. But he couldn’t help it when he stated “I’m in the Physics Club, too,” in their direction just hoping, praying that someone would acknowledge him. He hadn’t counted on that person being Y/N, though. She’d turned slightly towards him and his blue eyes flickered to hers and he froze. Having been lost in the argument between the others, he had almost forgotten that she was there. She gave him a gentle smile and a nod that made him gulp. He’d suddenly failed to remember how to breathe, how to function and his mind was only filled with a channel of ‘Oh shit. She’s looking at me.’

But then she added, “I’m in the Drama Club.” Of course, he knew that, but it was still nice for her, of all people, to be making conversation with him. He was immediately forced to snap out of it, though, when Bender addressed him.

“Excuse me a sec. What are you babbling about?” While Brian hated the look John gave him (it was much too similar to his parents’ frustrated looks when he was clearly ‘bothering’ them with something), Brian felt compelled to answer. He had wanted to be noticed, to be involved in the conversation, right?

“Well, what I’d said was, I’m in the Math Club, the Latin Club, uh, and the Physics Clu-Physics Club,” he stumbled through his words nervously. He felt regret instantly as Bender turned it around as a slight on Claire, and also managed to insult him by calling him a dork in the process. Still, he yearned for his attention and approval, so he eagerly answered John’s follow up questions. He just wanted to get along with everyone and have them accept him, and even though John was just using his input as ammunition against Claire, he liked that he was at least being included.

*~~~~*

It was a long, dragging morning. It was only around 10AM and topics of conversation seemed to already run out. Everyone was now more or less keeping to themselves. At first, Brian thought about writing his essay, as he said he planned to, but why bother? There were still many hours to fill, and how was he possibly supposed to answer the prompt of Who Am I? He truly did not know. He’d actually been pondering that a lot lately. All of his life he was praised for his smarts, but the ‘real world’ was showing him that that didn’t mean jack shit. Sure, he could understand difficult concepts and dissect complex equations, but that meant nothing if he couldn’t apply it. He thought he was taking the easy way out with Shop. It was meant to be a class he didn’t have to worry about; a stress-free A to keep his GPA up while juggling various clubs and volunteer opportunities to put on his college applications next year. But it ended up being a total nightmare. He was absolutely terrible at it, and he had never failed at anything before. Now the burn-outs and underachievers had the upper hand and were able to make their projects work and look good and he had...nothing. He failed so miserably that it tanked his self-esteem and now he was stuck in an identity crisis. It was much too early on a Saturday to confront those demons, so instead he chose to sit and daydream. And subconsciously, as with many teenage boys, his attention fell to girls. As much as he thought Claire was self-centered and spoiled, he had to admit that she was attractive. She carefully curated herself to be so. She had perfect, beautiful red hair that was never out of place, flawless makeup, perfectly fitting chic clothes...and she was staring into space licking and biting her lip, which had him completely flustered. Y/N only added to it by adjusting and stretching in her seat. Her beauty was more effortless than Claire’s, or at least seemed less...intentional. She did not have the designer clothes and her hair was more natural than trendy but alluring in her own right, and the way she was pushing her chest out was not helping. He could feel the shift and tightness in his khakis and tried to nonchalantly clear his throat, but now Y/N was turned three-quarters around and could clearly see him, so he tried to sneak his hat into his lap and acted like nothing was going on by setting his head on the desk. ‘Oh shit. Oh fuck.’ were the chorus of his thoughts as he could see her quickly turn back around and face forward. ‘I’m sure she thinks I’m a creep now. Great going, Johnson,’ he chastised himself.

Vernon was almost a welcome sight when he strode into the library at 10:20 to allow them to use the “lavatory.” Brian almost let out a sigh of relief. Almost. When they returned to the library and it was clear that Vernon wouldn’t return for a while, Bender started ripping up a book and when he threw it at Brian, the latter took that as his cue to walk away. He spotted Y/N looking through the catalogue of books and approached her. “Hey.” He nodded in her direction, trying to play it cool and seem neutral. ‘Smooth. Great opening,’ he thought. But to his surprise, she actually said ‘Hi’ back and smiled. He had no idea what to talk about and didn’t really think this through, but the black-clad girl let out a startling, “HA!” that made them both jump.

Brain looked back to the others and heard Andrew sarcastically say, “Oh, you’re breaking my heart,” to Claire.

“Sporto?” Bender asked, “Do you get along with your parents?” Brian started to look between the two of them nervously.

“Well, if I say yes I’m an idiot right?” Andrew responded. Bender leapt over the ramp’s banister and started at the other boy.

“You’re an idiot anyway. But if you say you get along with your parents, then you’re a liar too.” Not only did Brian not like being involved in confrontation, he also hated being witness to it. As Andrew followed Bender, he felt compelled to go break it up, put a stop to this.

“You want me to turn it up?” Bender asked, flipping off Andrew as Brian stepped between them, placing a hand on one of each of their shoulders. They smacked his hands away, almost in sync and he withdrew, but he knew words could be just as powerful as actions.

“I, I don’t like my parents either. I don’t know. Their idea of parental compassion is just...whacko.” Brian confessed.

“Dork? You are a parent’s wet dream, okay?” Bender replied, clapping him on his shoulder. It was a friendly enough gesture, but it actually dealt a devastating blow. Brian knew he was a disappointment to his parents. He was being open and honest with the group and was shut down immediately anyway. “...face it, you're a neo-maxi-zoom-dweebie. What would you be out doing if you weren’t making yourself a better citizen?” Another hit. This one made Brian sink against one of the tables. He hung his head and didn’t even notice Y/N approach him until she softly placed her hand on his shoulder.

“You okay?” She offered, gazing into his eyes. He was terrified that she would be able to read him and to see the truth, to see the sad and scared kid he truly was inside. Instead, he stiffened up and sat rigidly, clearing his throat of emotion.

“Yeah, thanks.” He also tried his best to ignore that she was touching him. If he weren’t in detention being told he was the epitome of geek by John Bender, he’d have sworn this were a dream. Bender now moved his disdain to Claire, asking if she were a virgin. Y/N shifted uncomfortably away from Brian and crossed her arms over her chest, but still stood next to him, watching the same drama unfold. Bender and Andrew soon stood in front of them, fully in a heated argument and Bender took a swing. Brian didn’t think twice and reflexively shot his arm up to shield Y/N. Sure, his crush on her might be stupid or silly, but he was not about to let her get caught in this crossfire and get hurt. He watched as Andrew wrestled Bender to the floor and Bender said, “I don’t want to get into this with you, man...cuz I’d kill you.” Andrew let him up and they seemed to separate and cool down, so Brian finally moved his arm back down, assuming the danger towards Y/N was gone but he was on-guard still, ready to move again if he needed to. “It’s real simple. I’d kill you and then your fucking parents would sue me and it would be a big mess, and I don’t care about you enough to bother.” For some reason, this hit Brian hard and he had to look away, look down to escape. But then he heard a click and his head shot up. Bender had pulled out a switchblade. His eyes went wide and he looked cautiously at Y/N who looked just as shocked. They all relaxed a little when he stabbed it into a chair instead of Andrew’s flesh, but immediately panicked again when the door audibly unlatched and opened. They scrambled to get to their seats, Bender quickly striding to the front and sitting far away from Andy so as not to implicate himself. But that meant that he had stolen Y/N’s seat. On her original route to it, she diverted and sat quickly and silently next to Brian. He swallowed hard in response.

Instead of Vernon, Carl the janitor walked in. They collectively sighed with relief and he addressed Brian. “Brian, how ya doin’?” Brian quickly averted his eyes, both embarrassed to be seen here by Carl (he stayed late in many clubs and had built up a good rapport with the man and didn’t need him thinking less of him for being in detention) and by being seen as associated with him by his peers. Carl was a great guy, really funny and nice; accommodated every need each one of his clubs had...but Brian was still a teenager and image was everything and being thought of as ‘dweeb who is friends with the janitor’ was not how he wanted to be seen.

“Your dad work here?” Bender inquired, smirking deviously. Brian just shook his head in response and didn’t answer Carl, either. “Carl, can I ask you a question? How does one become a janitor?” Bender continued.

“You want to become a janitor?” Carl asked, knowing that Bender didn’t really want to know.

“No, I just want to know how one becomes one. Andrew here is very interested in pursuing a career in the custodial arts.” Bender glanced over at Andrew and smirked again, pleased with his implied put-down.

“Oh really? You guys think I’m some untouchable peasant, serf, peon? Maybe so. But following a broom around after shitheads like you for the last eight years, I’ve learned a couple of things.” Carl looked towards Brian and Y/N, “I look through your letters.” Brian thought he saw her stiffen and freeze, just a little bit, as if Carl were addressing her. She suddenly shifted away from Brian and he wasn’t sure what to make of that. “...I am the eyes and the ears of this institution, my friend.” Carl stopped and smiled, “By the way. That clock is twenty minutes fast.” Brian looked at it and then his watch, noting that he was right. He wasn’t sure if he should adjust his wrist piece or not; to go with the time on the wall or the time Vernon was keeping. But he couldn’t be bothered with the choice when Bender stood up and faced his table. He was afraid of what he might do or say to them, but he simply nodded towards Y/N’s seat, indicating that she could have it back.

“I’m good for now,” she said, surprising Brian. He assumed she would have moved back, a moment ago she moved away from him, but now she was looking at him out of the corner of her eye before glancing back up at John, who was raising an inquisitive eyebrow. “Thanks for not dicking with my stuff though,” she said.

“Oh, shit.” Bender said “Do you think I should steal something or has the moment passed?” The tension seemed to drop and they all smiled as he went back to his seat, but he turned his attention back their way. “So, you’ve been pretty quiet, what’s your name?” Brian had a bad habit of blurting out. He liked answering questions as it was, showing his knowledge. A lot of the time, it didn’t matter if he was being asked or not. So, without thinking, he responded to Bender’s question and told him Y/N’s name. It was a reflex, but one he instantly regretted, feeling like he just shot himself in the foot. Bender gave him a look and he steeled himself for his worst, for the mockery sure to come, but instead he just looked at her and followed up with “Is that true? Is that your name?”

She didn’t acknowledge his weirdness either. She simply nodded and told John, “Yeah, (Y/N). Or, I guess you could call me (Y/N/N) if you want,” and Brian let out a quiet shaky exhale in relief. That could have been...disastrous. After a moment, while Bender was otherwise occupied, she turned to him and said, “Thank you, for earlier. I mean, blocking me when those two were getting into it.” He felt his heart race; he wasn’t sure she had even noticed that earlier, even though he wasn’t exactly subtle.

“N-no problem.” He responded, trying to restrain the smile creeping up onto his face. He wanted to play it cool, like it was no big deal, like that’s just what manly men such as himself do: put themselves in harm’s way for others.

Vernon came in to dismiss them for lunch much too early for his liking. He didn’t really have much of a chance to talk to Y/N while she was sitting next to him, and as soon as they were allowed to mill about like the caged animals they currently were, the remaining members of their detention gravitated towards Bender near the center of the library. Brian was slightly disappointed when she wandered off into the stacks as Bender looked through books and Claire continued her daydreaming. Not really sure what to do with himself, Brian folded his long legs over one of the ramp railings and sat atop it, hunched over. He looked up when Bender called out, “Hey, Peachy!” There were a few moments of silence before Y/N looked back over in their direction and Brian froze, immediately disliking Bender addressing her as such and worrying what uncouth thing he might say to her. But he just asked her what she could be in detention for, because she didn’t seem the type, which Brian wholeheartedly agreed with. He waited intently for the answer, as every interaction he had with her (or every observation, rather), she seemed so...sweet.

“Oh. Well, you know how in Biology they dissect like, frogs and shit every year?” She looked a little defeated and a blush crept up her cheeks as she continued, “I---sort of stole and freed the frogs.” Brian couldn’t help but laugh. That seemed like something you shouldn’t get detention for, anyway, but it was definitely on-par with the personality he knew her for. He felt relieved that the reason aligned with how he thought of her. She was in here for something nice, and debatably, the right thing. His heart melted a little when she told Bender that she had researched enough to let the frogs go responsibly; that she would have adopted them if they wouldn’t have made it on their own and he couldn’t help but smile in her direction. Bender, of course, moved on quickly, scanning one of the books in his stack to find new material to talk about, to bother the girls with, but Brian’s gaze was still fixated on Y/N. She was running her fingers along spines of books, seemingly in her own world. He felt like maybe it was fated that they were both here, like he was getting a second chance. He still hadn’t really conjured up the courage to talk to her yet, but they were only half-way through their day; there was still time.

“Claire? Y/N? You wanna see a picture of a guy with elephantitis of the nuts?” Bender asked, “Pretty tasty. How do you think he rides a bike? Oh Claire, would you ever consider dating a guy like this?”

“Wait,” Y/N’s eyes lit up and she looked their way again. “Elephantiasis? Like the movie The Elephant Man? Great movie! Really sad though.” Brian grinned at the way she scrunched her eyebrows together in remembering the emotion from the movie. He had seen it, too. It was really good...and touching. Maybe that could be his ice-breaker. Movies were normal things that normal teenagers talked about, right? He didn’t really notice that Bender and Claire were still conversing until it implicated him, though.

“Oh! Watch what you say. Brian here is a cherry.” Brian looked at him, startled.

“A cherry?” He asked, indignantly, cheeks flaring up with a red hue. “I am not a cherry.” He didn’t need Bender calling him out like this, embarrassing him. He didn’t need the obvious association that the nerd was a virgin. Especially in front of beautiful girls, particularly Y/N. She didn’t need to know that he was an inexperienced loser.

“When have you ever gotten laid?” Bender asked, doubtfully

“I’ve laid lots of times.”

“Name ONE.” Bender said, sarcastically, hoping to catch him in a trap.

“She lives in Canada. Met her at Niagara Falls; You wouldn’t know her.” Brian said, prepared with this answer from previous conversations about this topic. It wasn’t the first time he’d been involved in a conversation about virginity that he couldn’t be entirely honest about, nor was it the first time he had been mocked for being a virgin or doubted about the non-existent relations that he didn’t have. Even though part of his brain felt like it was glaringly obvious to the outside world and must have been stamped on his forehead that girls did not typically talk to him, nor had he even kissed a girl before, but he still lied about it anyway. He knew he didn’t precisely have an ‘image’ to protect, but he didn’t want to seem like a total lost cause or dweeby stereotype.

Bender, however, wasn’t having it. “You ever lay anyone around here?” He scoffed and Brian panicked. He had noticed that Y/N had turned back to the aisle of books and was praying she wasn’t listening, and Claire didn’t seem to be paying attention, so he tried to gesture to Bender to keep it down, to let him off the hook before either girl noticed him or this conversation. Bender immediately twisted it around and attacked him with it, though. Brian felt his heart being squeezed and felt overwhelmed, instantly, as Bender said, “Oh. You and Claire did it.”

“Oh, uh I-Let’s just drop it, okay? We’ll talk about it later,” Brian attempted to get out of it again, praying that John would have one ounce of mercy on him. However, Brian was never really very lucky.

“Well, Brian is trying to tell me that in addition to the number of girls in the Niagara Falls area, that presently you and he are riding the hobby horse.” Brian’s eyes slammed shut in embarrassment.

“You little pig,” Claire growled at him and his eyes shot back open wide. He scrambled to defend himself.

“No! I’m not! John said I was a cherry and I said I wasn’t. That’s it. That’s all I said.”

“Well then what were you motioning to Claire for?” Bender followed up, not giving Brian any wiggle room.

“You know, I don’t appreciate this very much, Brian.” Claire sounded more disappointed and hurt than anything, which made Brian feel like a slug, instantly. He didn’t mean to implicate her or to bring her down. He was just trying to hide his embarrassment from John and the girls.

“He is lying!” Brian tried one last attempt to deflect.

“Oh, you weren’t motioning to Claire?”

“You know he’s lying, right?”

“Were you, or were you not motioning to Claire?” Brian hated this. He’d been stuffed in lockers before and yearned for that over the torture Bender was inflicting now. He couldn’t save face; either he was a disgusting creep saying he had had sex with Claire when he didn’t, or he’d have to tell them the truth and feel humiliated at telling everyone he was a virgin. He grit his teeth and chose to go with the latter.

“Yeah, but it was only- it was only because I didn’t want her to know I was a virgin, okay?” They looked almost...shocked by his response, which he wasn’t expecting. He thought it would be a ‘Well, duh, you’re a virgin, Johnson! Who would want to touch you?’ But Claire and Y/N looked surprised. “Excuse me for being a virgin, I’m sorry.”

“Why didn’t you want me to know you were a virgin?” Claire asked honestly, like it was no big deal. If she only knew...

“Because it’s personal business. It’s my personal, private business.”

“Well, Brian, it doesn’t sound like you’re doing any business,” Bender snuck in another jab and Brian was brought down to what he knew all along, that they were just going to laugh at him.

“I think it’s okay for a guy to be a virgin.” Claire’s unexpected response gave him instant relief. She was taking his side and Bender had no more ammo. Brian perked up even more when Y/N agreed with her. It wasn’t an embarrassing secret for him now because they didn’t mind. They almost seemed to admire him for it. The thought caused his lips to twitch and he hid his smile by leaning his head against his knee.

*~~~~*

During lunch, Bender didn’t have any food, so his appetite turned to targeting the rest of the detainees again. He started in on Claire for a bit, but then came over to taunt Brian. It seemed like it could be friendly, at first, as John just examined his lunch. But as he drew out each item, his tone became more and more sarcastic. “Here’s my impression of life at Big Bri’s house.” Bender went on to mock him, painting his life like it was some episode of Leave It To Beaver where the family would all hug it out at the end. Brian’s throat became dry and he could feel eyes on both Bender and himself, trying to judge his reactions to John’s farce. He hated being such an easy target. He hadn’t done anything towards John personally, but he was still constantly in the hot seat because John could get away with it and the others would laugh and enjoy it. At least Andy fought back...even Claire did. And Bender didn’t even really bother to mess with Allison. She had an aura of ‘don’t fuck with me,’ and he didn’t even touch her as a subject, even though she was just as odd and out of place as Brian. Not to mention, he was wrong. It wasn’t all peachy-keen happy endings at Brian’s house. If it were, Brian wouldn’t be here today.

Still, it was hard not to be drawn in by John, and he watched his next dramatic retelling of his own home life in stunned horror. John’s dad called him terrible names in this act and hit him. “Is that for real?” Brian asked, brows furrowed. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe John, it was just that...well, the situation sucked and he needed to be told it wasn’t true. Like a kid hearing that a ghost story was made up and there was nothing to fear. But he knew by John’s pained expression that it was, even before he spoke.

“Wanna come over some time?” Bender asked him and he flinched away. Andrew didn’t believe him though, and questioned it so John revealed to them all his very real cigar burn scar on his arm, claiming he got it from spilling paint in the garage. The group collectively flinched and no one moved for a few moments while Bender said, “I don’t need to sit with you fuckin’ dildos anymore,” and raged through the library.

“You shouldn’t have said that,” Claire admonished Andrew.

“How would I know? I mean he lies about everything anyway.”

“That doesn’t make it okay.” Y/N snapped at him and looked back towards Bender as though she wanted to follow him. Brian tried to will her silently not to; he didn’t really trust that Bender would control his emotions and she might get hurt. He felt relieved when she turned around, but then his heart began pounding once more as she gathered her lunch into the sack and stood up. ‘No, don’t do it, Y/N.’ He stared at her, but she didn’t seem to notice as she cautiously walked past and crept up the library stairs to where Bender was and sat next to him. Brian felt a little calmed when Bender didn’t lash out; he just rolled his eyes but stayed rooted to the spot. Meanwhile, the rest of the group at their lunch in silence.

*~~~~*

Brian felt guilty for leaving Bender behind, for allowing him to sacrifice himself for the group. Hell, they all did. Especially when Vernon started shoving him around and saying he was going to be in jail. Brian couldn’t help but wonder if he could become like John. It’s not like he was born into that life. But he had it tough at home, struggled at school, and had problems with authority (particularly when they lied). Brian could see some parallels. He, too, was unhappy at home. While his parents didn’t beat him like John’s did him, or berate him to the same degree, he couldn’t help but feel like a disappointment. And he felt like he was just slipping. Now he had broken school rules, brought a gun to school, watched as others destroyed school property, and was gaining a healthy distrust of authority by seeing how Vernon acted today. He’d even corrected him once, when counting Bender’s detentions, not that the truth seemed to matter to Vernon anyway. What if he continued down this path? What if things just kept getting worse at home? Would it really be that bad to be like Bender? Despite being a total jerkwad, he had the charisma to draw people in. He’d even had Y/N eat lunch with him! It just didn’t seem like the deal was all bad when he looked at it that way. ‘What’s next? Are you going to take up smoking?’ His brain scolded him, even though he had completely forgotten that he had drugs stashed in his pants right now...until Bender fell through the ceiling and asked for them back. He dug them uncomfortably out of his underwear and handed the bag over. Bender took off to smoke in the library and Brian realized he had a choice to make. Boy, was he tempted. ‘What’s one more rule broken today?’ He felt more emboldened when Claire stood up and followed John. Andrew tried to talk him out of it, shaking his head. Brian drummed his hands on the desk. He wasn’t sure he’d have another opportunity. Most of his friends and acquaintances didn’t do drugs...to his knowledge, anyway. He thought momentarily about his cousin Kendall, and how he started smoking pot and didn’t feel like he belonged anywhere. ‘You already don’t feel like you belong anywhere,’ His mind reminded him, and with that, the decision was made; what did he have to lose? So he slunk off to join Bender and Claire.

It was...definitely a different experience. Brian didn’t care for the way his thoughts seemed so disjointed, that he couldn’t keep one train of thought going. For someone who was known for his intelligence and felt like his brain was his one good quality, it was a little scary to have that slip away. But, there was a sort of numbness that came with the drug that made him worry less about that. He felt less worried and anxious in general, actually. His focus was being pulled in too many directions to wonder what his parents would think or if he was saying the right thing, or if this could even be a mistake. He felt relaxed and oddly open. He was even making Bender and Claire laugh, which he hadn’t expected. It was like there was a new persona underneath that was unlocked. He didn’t know what he was doing, but it wasn’t the worst thing ever. He was, however, surprised by how long the effects lasted. It was a little more than an hour later and the whole group was sitting in a circle (Y/N and Allison never seemed to have joined them in the marijuana. Not that he had noticed, anyway) and Allison was telling the group that she was a nymphomaniac, which was exciting. Particularly to someone with zero experience, to hear someone claim she’d done ‘almost everything’ was utterly fascinating. However, his head was still swimming and he seemed to have a lack of filter between his brain and his mouth. He couldn’t catch his words fast enough, which was often a problem for him sober, but now it wasn’t just supplying corrections or information, the more cruel thoughts slipped through, too.

“Obviously she’s crazy if she’s screwing her shrink,” he added to the group without even thinking. Y/N was sitting to his right and promptly hit him on the arm with the back of her hand.

“Brian!” She hissed and gave him a glare. ‘Oh shit. Did I say that out loud?’ He thought, looking at her with wide-eyed fear. The realization sobered him up pretty quickly and he was much more in control of his thoughts and words after that. Despite the weed taking away most of his worries, he still cared how she perceived him. From then on, he was more focused on the conversations in front of him and how he added to them, but it was harder to control his emotions when Andrew began telling them about why he was here today.

“You guys know what I did to get in here today? I taped Larry Lester’s buns together.” Andy said, with a hint of a smile. ‘How can he just smirk like that? He has to know it was a shitty thing to do and that he hurt Larry.’ Brian thought. He knew Larry had been attacked this week by one of the sports, but he didn’t know who. Larry didn’t even know the kid’s name, had never talked to him, but still got jumped anyway. An experience that Brian was all too familiar with.

“That was you?” Brian asked, somewhat surprised, but started to get angry.

“You know him?”

“Yeah, I know him.” He said quietly, trying not to let the anger bubble past the surface.

He had to bite his tongue when Andy made Larry into a joke, “Then you know how hairy he is right?” Bender and Claire chuckled at his joke, at him bullying one of Brian’s friends. ‘I guess I shouldn’t have expected anything different,’ Brian thought dejectedly. But he was hoping that they were all better people than...this. The realization that they weren’t better than that, coupled with Andrew expressing his feelings about his father got Brian thinking. “I...hate him. He’s like this mindless machine that I can’t even relate to anymore.” Brian felt so disconnected from his parents, too, even though the rest of the group thought they lived in a fairytale. He was their pride and joy once, but it felt like ever since he started high school, he just wasn’t good enough. He wasn’t a good enough student, he didn’t do his chores right, he wasn’t setting himself up for college correctly, he wasn’t a good role model or brother to his sister...it all just added up and weighed on him immensely. He covered his face with one of his hands to hide his emotion and expression from the group. He didn’t even react when Andrew started screaming what his father had told him, but when everything settled down, he took the chance to speak.

“That’s like me, you know, with my grades. Like, when I step outside myself. A-and I look in on myself...and-and I see me, I don’t like what I see,” it was a difficult thing to admit but after what Allison and Andrew shared, he felt like maybe this could be the space to do so, too.

“What’s wrong with you? Why don’t you like yourself?” Claire asked. He knew it was meant to be nice, encouraging even, but it just made him feel worse. This beautiful, popular, and rich girl asking someone why they weren’t happy with themselves? Like she could have any sort of clue. No wonder it baffled her; she had everything. But he could also see Y/N nodding vigorously, agreeing with Claire. He didn’t want to put her on the same plane as Claire, he felt like she would be above that. But she clearly didn’t understand the way he felt, either. That just made him feel more alone.

“It’s stupid, but,” Brian said, “because I’m failing shop. We had this assignment to make this, uh, ceramic elephant. Anyways we were supposed to-it was, it was a lamp. When you pulled the trunk, the light was supposed to go on. But my light didn’t go on. I got an F on it. I’ve never got an F in my life. When I signed up, y’know, for the course, I thought I was playing it smart. I was, uh, ‘I’ll take Shop, it’s an easy way to maintain my grade point average.’”

“Why’d you think it would be easy?” Bender chimed in, not making eye contact. Brian had been lost in his own thoughts and his story and not looking at the group either, really. He had wanted to be honest, but he was also embarrassed. Honesty would have been hard to maintain if he was looking at them and seeing their judgments in real time.

“Have you seen some of the dopes that take Shop?” Brian asked, not realizing it would strike a nerve.

“I take Shop.” Bender responded, now turning his eyes to him, “You must be a fucking idiot.”

“I’m a fucking idiot because I can’t make a lamp?” Brian snapped defensively. He should have known it would be a mistake to put himself on the line like this, to open himself up to their judgement. He knew Bender was lashing out because he was insulted, but that didn’t make his jibes hurt any less.

“No, you’re a genius because you can’t make a lamp.” Bender shot back, sarcastically.

“What do you know about Trigonometry?” Brian fought back.

“I could care less about Trigonometry.”

“Bender, there’s no engineering without trigonometry.”

“Without lamps, there’d be no light.” Bender replied grumpily, grasping at straws for a fair comparison.

“Okay, so neither one of you is any better than the other one,” Claire jumped in. Before either of them responded, Allison added her own odd addition.

“I can write with my toes!” Both Bender and Brian looked at her incredulously, but she did calm the two of them down and add levity to the moment.

“I can make spaghetti!” Brian said cheerfully after a moment. Y/N smiled at him and his heart fluttered. He returned the smile and for a moment, forgot all about his blunder. Maybe that smile had given him the courage to participate again, to be open and vulnerable. Claire and Bender began fighting again, which wasn’t a surprise, but it opened a door for Brian to ask what had been weighing on his mind since their circle began. He felt like they had all bonded. They had told each other some of their deepest secrets and biggest pains, but did that really make them friends? “I know it’s kind of a weird time, but you know, I was just wondering...what’s going to happen to us on Monday? I mean, I consider you guys my friends,” he continued, looking around the circle, “I’m not wrong, am I?”

“No,” Andy reassured him. So, he wasn’t imagining it, they felt like friends, too.

“So on Monday, what happens?”

“Are we still friends, you mean? If we’re friends now?” Claire asked.

“Yeah.”

“You want the truth?” Claire couldn’t meet his eye, and Brian knew from the question she posed, he really didn’t want the truth. He knew what was coming, but he continued anyway.

“Yeah, I want the truth.”

“I don’t think so.” Claire responded and he somehow still wasn’t prepared for the blow. It still hit him hard, causing a squeezing pain in his chest and he looked away, clenching his jaw to hold the tears back that were welling in his eyes.

“With all of us,” Allison asked, “or just John?”

“With all of you,” Claire confirmed, looking away from the group.

“That’s a real nice attitude, Claire,” Andrew said gruffly.

“Oh, be honest, Andy,” Claire groaned, “If Brian came up to you in the hall on Monday, what would you do? Picture it, you’re with all the sports.” Brian glanced up at his name and looked at Andy hopefully. In his heart, he knew Claire was probably right, but he wanted to believe that Andrew was really his friend, that they all were. “You know exactly what you’d do. You’d say hi to him and then you’d laugh and cut him all up so your friends wouldn’t think you actually like him.”

“No way.” Andy denied, and that gave Brian a glimmer of hope, one he so desperately wanted to believe.

“What if I came up to you?” Allison asked.

“Same exact thing.”

“You are a bitch!” Bender yelled at Claire.

“Why?! Because I’m telling the truth? That makes me a bitch?”

“No. Cuz you know how shitty that is to do to someone and you don’t have the balls to stand up to your friends and tell them you’re gonna like who you wanna like…” Bender continued berating Claire, but Brian now started to fail to hold back the tears that had been threatening so long to fall. He didn’t make eye contact with anyone in the group and tried to quickly wipe the tear away, hoping no one was paying attention to him; that they couldn’t see how they had impacted him. But he still felt eyes on him, particularly when he wiped the next tear away. He let Claire and Bender’s argument surround him. They called each other out, that neither would associate with him or Allison, that their image was too important to protect to reach out. It was a story that Brian had lived all of his life. ‘How could I think that one day would change everything?’ He thought, pitifully.

“So I assume Allison, Y/N, and I are better people than you? Us weirdos?” Brian interjected when Claire and Bender were silently fuming from their spat. “You, would you do that to me?” He asked Allison.

“I don’t have any friends,” she replied, which made Brian smile a little, even though he rolled his eyes some.

“Okay, but if you did?” He let out a light chuckle, urging her to answer.

“No. I don’t think the kind of friends that I’d have would mind,” Allison replied and Brian nodded, then steeled himself to turn to Y/N and ask the same question. He saw her quickly swipe at her face with her sleeves and realized, suddenly, that she had been crying too. He wasn’t sure why; she had been very quiet through this whole exchange, but maybe that was because it hit home hard for her, too. He felt a painful pang in his chest, both from seeing her tears and from fearing the possibility of her answer. He had spent the day hoping that this was a second chance, that he could get to know her. This was a bold move and would tell him if there was even a chance or not; and he feared the ‘not.' She locked eyes with him and he gulped, petrified to dive in but knowing he had to.

“What about you, Y/N?” He asked, quietly. It felt like the question hung in the air for an agonizing eternity, even though she answered right away. Time worked differently when you were waiting to hear if your world was going to be shattered.

“I would be honored to be your friend,” she replied with a shaking voice. Even though it was strained, it filled him with instant relief. He believed her as he had believed Allison and nodded, biting his lip.

“I just want to tell, each of you, that I wouldn’t do that,” he turned to the group,” I wouldn’t and I will not. Because I think it’s real shitty.”

“Your friends wouldn’t mind because they look up to us.” Claire told him and he couldn’t help but laugh derisively in response. Next to him, he heard Y/N give a sort of squeak but figured that it carried the same disbelief towards Claire as his gesture did.

“You’re so conceited, Claire. You’re so conceited. You’re like, so full of yourself. Why are you like that?” Brian noticed the tears falling again and swiped them away. He didn’t want Claire to think she wounded him, that she had the upper hand. While it stung to have all of his beliefs about how the popular kids perceived him and his friends confirmed, that wasn’t what really was bothering him. It was more that it reminded him that he was invisible, he didn’t matter, which was exactly why he was here today.

“I’m not saying that to be conceited. I hate it. I hate having to go along with everything my friends say.”

“Then why do you do it?”

“I don’t- I don’t know,” Claire sighed, and Brian noticed that she was drying her own tears. He didn’t necessarily like having caused them, but it was nice to know she was still human, that she was feeling the way he was, too. “You don’t understand, You’re not friends with the same kind of people Andy and I are friends with, you know? You just don’t understand the kind of pressure that they can put on you.” That, however, lit a fire within Brian. ‘Pressure from other assholes is so important? Try your own parents, Claire.’

“I don’t understand what?” Brian began, gesturing towards himself and planting his fingers into his chest. It relieved some of the dull ache there. “You think I don’t understand pressure, Claire? Well, fuck you! Fuck you!” ‘Also, fuck ‘bravery’ or saving face,’ Brian broke down into sobs in his elbow before calling out from his hiding spot, “do you know why I’m here today? Do you?!” He sat up to look at the group, the people he considered friends, to share his pain with them. “I’m here...because Mr. Ryan found a gun in my locker.” The words turned thick as they left his mouth and took on a life of their own. His eyes darted quickly around the circle, noting Claire’s dropped jaw, Allison’s tearful eyes that couldn’t meet his own, the way Andrew looked away and Bender seemed to know how he had felt, but also how he was surprised that Brian had the balls to do such a thing, and finally...tears silently and consistently slipping down Y/N’s face.

“What’s the gun for?” Andrew asked, interrupting Brian’s thoughts.

“I tried. You pull the fuckin’--trunk and the light’s supposed to go on and it didn’t go on, you know?” ‘You’ve said too much. They all thought you were a weirdo, now they think you’re a psychotic weirdo.’ “Forget it. Just--forget it,” he said in an attempt to brush it off, as if everything could go back to normal with the bombshell he just dropped on them.

“You brought it up, man,” Andrew insisted.

“I can’t have an F. I can’t have it and I know my parents can’t. Even if I aced the rest of the semester, it would only be a B. I’m ruined.”

“Brian…” Claire started, but there was nothing she could say to make this alright. ‘You’re a failure, Brian, and now you’ve become a freakshow. Look at her pity,’ his brain taunted him and he lashed out to hit the stool on his right, not even thinking about it until Y/N jumped up in her seated position, startled. The last thing he would want to do is hurt or scare her. ‘Shit, great. Another fuck up.’

“Sorry,” he mumbled in her direction before setting his head on his knee and continuing with his story from before, “Just considering my options, you know?”

“No, killing yourself is never an option!” Claire yelled at him, which made him scoff.

“Well I didn’t do it, did I? No, I didn’t think so.” ‘She really just doesn’t get it, does she? She still can’t picture why I’d want to--’

“It was a handgun?” Allison asked

“A flare gun. It blew up in my locker.” Brian sighed, but then he heard Andrew start to laugh. “It’s not funny.” Brian asserted. Andrew tried to clear his throat to stop laughing, but he couldn’t and Brian bit his lip and smiled in realization, “Yeah, it is.” The laughter was contagious...and better than crying. “Fucking elephant was destroyed.”

“You know what I did to get in here?” Allison asked the group, and Brian almost feared her answer. “Nothing. I didn’t have anything better to do.” That completely brightened the mood and Brian fell over laughing. It seemed like he was forgiven and that no one here was judging him for the failed lamp or the gun nor would they tell anybody about it. They...they had accepted him in the end after all.

*~~~~*

“...we trust you.” Claire was trying to talk him into writing one essay to cover all of them, and she was using flattery. Lucky for her, it worked. He looked down the row to seek approval from the others and they all nodded. But he liked knowing that they thought he was the smartest and the most capable, that they trusted his words would win over Vernon in a way that they wouldn’t be punished for not doing their own essays. It was a big task and a lot to entrust to him, so he took pride in fulfilling it. Claire took the other girls with her somewhere and it was just Andrew and him sitting silently in the library, so he decided to get to work. Andrew was just lurking about, playing with his jewelry, but he wasn’t a distraction. However, Allison passing by looking completely different was. Brian looked up, shocked that this was the same person he had spent all day with. Her hair was away from her face and he could actually see her brown eyes and she was wearing...white, the opposite of all of the layers of black before. He caught her glare at him staring at her so he tried to give her a reassuring smile, that it was a good look for her. She said, “thank you,” and moved on toward Andrew. Brian turned back to his essay and finished the last couple of lines, not noticing Y/N approaching behind him. If he had, he probably wouldn’t have kissed the essay or given himself a ‘good job’ punch in the arm.

He sat up in startled revelation when she spoke, “That good, huh?” He realized she had just seen everything. He had never felt more like a dork in his life and a blush crept up into his cheeks.

“Uh...yeah, I-I guess. I mean, do you want to read it?” He asked as she started to pull back the chair next to him to sit down.

“If you want me to, but I trust you.” She took her seat and placed her arm gently on his forearm. ‘Holy shit. She is touching me! She’s looking at me. What do I even say? Do I acknowledge the touch or do I just--’ “I’m impressed that you came up with something so quickly though.” Brian felt pride bubble up within him, knowing that she noticed...no, she was impressed by him. He cocked his head and looked at her sideways, trying to figure her out. She quickly looked away and pulled her hand back, now fiddling with her sleeves. ‘Is she...nervous?’ He thought, trying to decode her reaction. “So, um…you said earlier that you were in the Math Club? Um, I mean, if you have the time, do you think you could tutor me? I’m like totally lost in Clarkson’s class.”

He blinked. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t exactly that. Not that he would say no to spending more time with her. He had wanted that second chance, after all. “Yeah, no, I could do that,” he told her and watched as she twisted away and looked behind her, grabbing paper off of Allison’s desk. She leaned back forward and reached for his pen in front of him. She was actually close enough now that he could smell her shampoo and his body threatened to turn into jello on the spot.

“Here...is...my...phone number.” She said as she wrote it out on the paper and handed it to him. “Call me so we can set something up?” She looked up at him and knocked the breath right out of his lungs.

“You--You want me to call you?” He asked with raised eyebrows, wholly surprised by the request. He’d not only not kissed a girl, but one had never given him her phone number before.

“Yeah.” She smiled at him and his heartbeat picked up even faster, if that was possible. She cleared her throat and nodded towards Andrew and Allison. “So, those two, huh? Unexpected, right?”

“Oh. Yeah.” He was suddenly hurtled back to Earth, to reality. “Definitely. Wait, where’s Claire?”

“She...she said she was going to go ‘check on’ Bender.”

“Wow. So them, too.” ‘Everyone is coupling up maybe we should--’ he interrupted his own thought and shot it down. All he could say was, “That’s really...weird.”

*~~~~*

After they were finally released and Brian left his essay on the desk for Vernon to collect, and hopefully reflect upon, they all walked out together. It made sense as they all had to go to the main entrance, but there was a feeling of solidarity within it that made Brian think that the members of what he dubbed The Breakfast Club would continue their friendship come Monday.

Allison and Andrew branched off together, as did Claire and John. Brian looked quickly at Y/N as she walked down the steps with him. His dad was there to pick him up, which he was thankful for. His mom would definitely notice him walking with a girl and have a million questions and a lengthy lecture lined up, but his dad would barely notice, much less think anything of it. He reached for the door handle as Y/N was about to depart, but then she called his name, “Hey Brian,” he looked up, not sure what else she could possibly have to say, especially since they had been silent while the couples had veered off. “See you Monday.” She reminded him and gave him a small smile. He gave a grin in return.

“Yeah. I’ll talk to you on Monday.” He replied, beginning to get into the car, her phone number burning a hole in his pocket. For the first time in a long time, he was actually looking forward to another week school.

Tags:

@criminalwipes

[simmerandwrite]

strangers - steve rogers x reader

Warnings: mentions of sexual harassment and non-consensual touching, swearing.

Word count: 4870

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: When your subway ride home takes a turn for the worst, you hope a stranger in a coffee shop will help you out.

Notes: If you saw a snippet of this the other day, here’s the full thing! I wanted to tackle some ‘in need of saving’ tropes and this just sort of happened. I’ve never posted straight up on Tumblr before but I’m a bit lacking in my experience with reader fics, so I figured this was a good place to share it. no beta, any mistakes are my own! If you like it, let me know - thanks for reading!

—

Steve Rogers liked his days off. Not that he had a set schedule week to week anyway but when things aligned correctly, he could do whatever he wanted. No world saving, no training, no report writing, no meetings.

He had scoped out a small little coffee shop in Brooklyn where he liked to spend these quiet afternoons. Usually with a book in hand (he had so many books to catch up on) or some music loaded to his phone (Nat was currently educating him on 90s punk rock) or a notebook and pencil. People watching served as wonderful inspiration to sketch.

He sipped his cappuccino, eyes tipped downward at the book ahead of him on the table. He was interrupted just moments later as someone dropped into the chair across from him.

Now, Steve wasn’t intentionally hiding out at this hole-in-the-wall cafe. But he did put on his laughable disguise still - a beaten up Yankees cap and his prescription-less thick framed glasses. He liked the anonymity. That didn’t always stop people from recognizing him.

As he opened his mouth to question the person who was suddenly joining him for coffee, she slid her phone across the table to him. Her hand shook. His eyebrows flexed into a curious frown as he looked at the screen displaying a plainly typed note:

‘Do you mind if I sit someone is following me home sorry to disturb you’

—

As if your day hadn’t been absolutely terrible enough, you spotted the gremlin of a man on the subway watching you again. You knew he worked somewhere in the same office building as you because he always trailed a few paces behind you when pushing through the revolving doors in the lobby. It wasn’t uncommon to see the same people on the same subway line at the same time every day, but this man’s presence had become an unwanted downside.

He was always there. Worse than that, he seemed to be always watching you. Today, it was even more obvious that he was following you.

When that thought first occurred to you, it had been really easy to shrug off. He was just a guy taking the subway. But when he happened to be on the later train with you one day, an uncomfortable feeling settled in your stomach.

And now, as the car was filling up even more after the second stop in DUMBO, he had moved to stand and put himself even closer to you.

You had been going through so many Next Steps. God, that phrase was the bane of your existence. Next steps, next steps..

Maybe you could tell him to fuck off. You could make an appointment with Leanna in HR and see if there is a way to figure out the name of this guy - though he didn’t work for your company so that was likely going to be a dead end. You could start taking the bus to the village before grabbing the train. Maybe you could Uber home some days instead of taking the subway. Not that you could afford that but this guy was..

You stiffened immediately.

This guy was touching you. In the midst of the crowded subway car, he was pressed against you entirely. And was he.. His hips were moving against your leg and.. Wait, that was two hands on your hips now.. Hot breath whispered against your neck and -

Fuck.

You threw yourself through the mob as the train came to a stop. With hurried feet you ran onto the platform and up the stairs, doing your best to weave through the flow of people, like a fish trying to make it upstream. You tried not to be obvious but as you snapped your head over your shoulders to look back, you saw him there again.

He was smirking. No, snarling.

Next steps, next steps.

You joined a sea of people crossing the street, taking your first left to try and steer yourself into a particular direction. You were still a far walk from your apartment but with this man on your heels, you didn’t want to lead him anywhere near there.

You grabbed your phone from your jacket pocket, unlocking it quickly and scrolling through the contacts. Surely there had to be someone you could call but even then, what could they do? Offer advice?

It didn’t occur to you until then but would it be valuable to call the cops?

Despite the late day sunlight, you suddenly felt very aware of the emptiness of the sidewalk on that side street. You needed to be around people. It definitely wasn’t logical to be anywhere near alone with this guy and -

It sounded like his footsteps were getting closer. With a panicked gulp, you yanked on the door of a little hole-in-the-wall cafe. Your eyes scanned the space quickly once you were inside. You probably shouldn’t sit alone, you couldn’t run to the bathroom if you aren’t sure where it is or if you needed a key. There were too many variables.

You needed something. Next steps..

You spotted someone sitting at a small table near the window and without thinking, you sent out a silent prayer to whoever might be listening and you rushed over. The man was clearly alone, a half consumed ceramic mug of coffee sitting to the right of his book.

Swallowing hard, you quickly typed on your phone and slid it across the table to him after you sat. You tried your best to stay very calm and hoped that he would play along. God, what if he didn’t play along and -

Behind you, the door chimed once more and you desperately wanted to see if it was that man - if the gremlin had followed you inside. You clasped your hands together in your lap and forced a smile on as you looked at the stranger sitting across from you.

Despite not knowing him, there was a familiarity about his appearance. Behind his thick glasses, soft blue eyes searched you carefully. His eyes flicked to the screen once more, stiffening in his chair as he looked past you towards the rest of the cafe.

With his right hand, he reached into the inside pocket of his coat and took out a small notebook and a pen. He scribbled something quickly and turned the page towards you.

Are you hurt?

You shook your head quickly. He offered you a tight smile and wrote once more.

Buzzcut, grey jacket?

Your eyes blew open wide and you tilted your head into a nod.

I’m Steve

He flipped the notebook closed and extended his hand across the table, palm facing up. He leaned forward just slightly, meeting your eyes with a reassuring smile. “Play along.”

Your eyes flicked to his hand and you slowly unclamped your own, grabbing his on the table instead. He was doing an impressive job splitting his attention between you and his surroundings, eyes scanning the room. He squeezed your hand very gently, brushing his thumb against your knuckles.

“Tell me about your day.”

You sucked in a hard breath. You weren’t entirely sure what his strategy was but something told you this guy was in your corner. Though despite that, you could feel another set of eyes on you.

“Uh,” you started quietly, letting the air escape your lungs. “Surprisingly, I didn’t think it could get worse before I got on the subway after work. I had a review meeting that was not great and we had a free catered lunch that was not vegetarian friendly. Missed an important email and deadline and… well, here I am whining about it and interrupting your day. Listen, I’m going to-

You moved to stand up but Steve shook his head, grasping your hand. “Give it a few more minutes, I think he’ll give up and leave.”

His words were casual but had an authoritative tone. Once more his eyes left you, looking towards the front of the cafe. He raised his free hand and motioned to one of the baristas. You weren’t certain if this was the type of place who served people at their seats but clearly he had a comfortable rapport as the young girl approached with a warm smile on her face.

“Hey Tia, could I get another?”

“Anything for you?” The barista turned her head as she asked, pony tail moving from side to side.

“Uhm.” You paused and thought. You certainly had no desire to even consider a coffee order when you felt someone’s linger gaze boring into you. “A decaf con panna, if that’s possible.” The girl confirmed it was with a nod then left the table side.

“Con panna?” Steve’s lips pulled into a curious smirk. Something about his smile calmed you.

“Espresso with whipped cream on top,” you answered. “Short and sweet.”

“I’ll have to try that next time.”

Steve sure had a soothing smile. When his thumb stopped tracing against your palm - when did that even start? - you felt an empty sadness about the loss. Wow, what did that even say about your standards when a stranger was brushing his thumb against your hand that you were so grateful for? Well, it was a thousand times better than someone rubbing his -

You winced at the memory, biting down as you clutched your bottom lip between your teeth. Though that shameful feeling hadn’t disappeared, you managed to keep it at bay. But now, it seemed to have left an image you were unable to blink away.

The sweet smell of whipped cream and the shuffling of paper cups broke you from your trance. You reached for your bag to fish out a few dollars but when you looked up, Steve was waving a hand to stop you.

It’s not that you didn’t appreciate his kindness. You did. You really, really did. But given the last half hour, you still had a hard time settling your nervous mind.

“Thanks, Tia.” Steve’s eyes were jumping around the place as the barista grabbed the cash he offered. A loud stomp of footsteps drew their attention as the Subway Gremlin saddled up beside the table.

“Sorry to be a bother, darlin’ - any chance I can borrow your phone?”

You couldn’t help but look at him. Though his words were directed at the barista, he made a point to glance over at you.

You felt Steve’s hands grip yours. When you looked towards him, his eyes were very carefully watching the man. How did he manage to -

“Sorry, we don’t have a dedicated line available to customers.” Tia politely shook her head, pointing towards the door. “There’s a CityBank up the street that can help you, I’m sure.” She shrugged and headed back to the coffee counter.

The man stood still, opening his mouth to argue.

Steve sat back, shoulders broad and steady. “Did you need directions there? I think it’s just two blocks. Maybe 500 paces.” His tone was flat. “Just out the door and you’ll be on your way.”

You kept your eyes on Steve. He kept his stare directed at the man. Finally, after what felt like hours of waiting, the man moved his feet. He turned on his heel, though not before stopping to look at you again.

“I will see you tomorrow, dar-

Steve released your hand and pushed his chair back, standing quickly and grasping the man’s shoulder.

Steve towered over him. “You have five seconds.” The man pulled away from Steve’s grip then finally stomped away. You kept your eyes tightly shut until you heard the chime of the bell indicating the movement of the door. Then, you collapsed onto your arms on the edge of the table.

Steve, meanwhile, headed to the door and kept watch for a few more moments to ensure the man actually departed from the area. Then, he stopped at the counter and exchanged a few words with Tia before returning you.

You were still doing your best to encourage the floor to open up and swallow you whole. How had this even escalated? The worst part was your mind seemed clouded with doubt. This man, you hadn’t even interacted with him before. Why was he suddenly so invested in you? To a point where he might follow you home? Were you just another target or had this been intentional?

You considered yourself a fairly observant person and yet..

You twisted your hands together in your lap and tried to consider what was going to happen now. Next steps, next steps..

“Hey.” Steve returned to his chair. Your eyes flicked up towards him, noticing he was sliding a bottle of water towards you. Your sad little espresso and whipped cream treat was deflated next to it. “Are you okay?”

You reached for the water bottle, twisting the cap open and taking a long drink. “I don’t know.” Chewing on your bottom lip, you shook your head. “No, actually. I’m not. It somehow feels like my skin is on fire and my lungs are failing me and I’m sweaty but I’m not and - and -

“Hey, hey. Look at me.” Steve spoke so calmly and evenly. “Just take a slow breath with me, okay?” You closed your eyes once more and followed his instructions as he walked you through a few breathing exercises. “That’s great, you’re doing great-

When he stopped speaking so quickly, you opened one eye to look over at him. His cheeks were a warm shade of pink and his mouth was twisted into a frown. “What?”

“It just occurred to me I didn’t get your name.” He paused, as if to consider his next thought. “Although, given what just happened with that man, you are under no obligation to tell me anything about yourself. I just.. I’d like to help.”

His genuine concern for you was surprising. You allowed a small smile to stretch across your face. “You’re very nice, Steve.”

You gave him your name and he smiled back, repeating it to himself. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Your smile turned downwards when you looked towards your phone. “I should probably get going. Again, I’m really sorry for dragging you into this mess but I appreciate the… solace.” You took a deep breath and pushed your chair back, pausing to tip the lukewarm espresso into your mouth. “I owe you one.”

You winced when you heard yourself and sighed. Why did you say that? This stranger, this friendly, broad shouldered, tall, handsome stranger who’s day you interrupted, did not need your weird backhanded flirting. In fact, even though every signal in your brain seemed on edge after, well, everything, the only thing that seemed to ground you now was the kindness of Steve. So you tried to will yourself not to ruin it with any additional commentary.

You weren’t entirely sure what had driven you down this particular street into this particular cafe and towards this particular man. But, you were certainly grateful. “Actually, do they have gift cards here? I’d love to buy you one to say thank you and -

“Are you going to walk? Wherever you’re going right now?” When you looked over, you saw that Steve had stood, too. You saw his eyes move towards the door and the far windows up the street where the man from the subway had gone. “I don’t want to overstep but I hope you’ll let me walk you home. Or far enough away to have cleared his radar.”

“I feel like I’ve already wasted enough of your time, Steve.” You truly felt worse and worse for interrupting his afternoon.

“Please, I insist.” Steve tilted his head, half a smirk on his lips. “You just said you owe me one, so. I’m cashing in the favour.”

“The favour repayment you’re cashing in is.. you doing me another favour? Do you know how favours are supposed to work?” Admittedly, you knew you would feel a lot safer having someone walk home with you. And something about Steve made you feel very secure, his presence like a comforting shield.

“C’mon,” Steve replied with a laugh, nudging his head towards the door.

When you stepped onto the sidewalk, you stopped to think. “Let’s go this way.” You turned to the right and Steve followed, staying on your shoulder closest to the street. You walked in a comfortable silence - which made you nervous at first. Then, as your steps fell into a pattern, the quiet soothed you.

You pushed your hands into the pockets of your jacket as you turned down the next block. You looked over at Steve, who turned his head towards you as you shifted. “You didn’t ask anything else about the man.. Who followed me.”

A quiet hum came from Steve. “I didn’t think I should. You seemed shaken up enough.” He shrugged, peering down at you through his glasses. “If you want to talk about it..”

“I work in this big office building in Midtown. The Clifton building?”

Steve motioned his hand diagonally. “Little bagel place downstairs? That’s right down from The Avengers tower, isn’t it?”

You nodded along. Right. Stark Tower was The Avengers Tower, now. It was the most iconic landmark on that block. “Yes. Actually, I work on the 40th floor, which makes for a great angle to see Iron Man coming in.” Your smile was fleeting when you continued on. “It’s a huge building. I work in human resources for this pharmaceutical company.. But there’s a law firm in there, too. Insurance companies, start ups.. Hundreds of people in and out all day long. Yet, that man on the subway has managed to..” You stopped yourself before your chest got too tight. “Let’s just say I’ve seen him around before.”

“Do you know his name?”

“That’s the thing!” You couldn’t help but laugh now, shaking your head in dumbfounded confusion. “No. I have no idea who he is. But he often gets on the same subway line as me, watches me from across the crowd then today..” You stopped and dragged a hand down your face. “It’s a sad truth but I would say most of my friends have been.. Touched inappropriately on the subway before. I guess it’s a weird right of passage or something..”

“Wait - what?” Steve stopped in his tracks and reached his hand out to grab yours. You stopped and looked up at his eyes, somehow both soft and dark with concern. “He touched you? What do you mean?”

You raised an eyebrow, wondering if his ask was authentic. When you saw the disappointment in his face, eyes flooded with something you couldn’t quite pinpoint, you realized his reaction was genuine. You opened your mouth to explain but suddenly it seemed impossible to find the words.

Steve let go of your hand as he absorbed your lack of response and reached for his phone. “You can file a police report, right?”

“No, no.” You stopped him, placing your hand on his as he held his phone. “Trust me, that’s just paperwork that goes nowhere. Without the guy's name, absolutely nothing would come from it anyway.” You shook your head. “It’s fine, really. I might just adjust my work hours and change my route home for a few weeks. Maybe he’ll give up.”

Steve muttered something to himself, shaking his head. His face shifted from concern to something else, like his brain was working on a different trail of thoughts. He spoke your name quietly, drawing your attention to him again. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

Steve’s kindness was a strange contrast to the entire experience on the subway. How one man could have such questionable intentions while another apologizes with sincerity for it was nearly jarring. Although, it did suddenly occur to you that Steve was just as much of a stranger.

“The worst part is.. men like that sever any opportunity for trust in other people. Especially blind trust. Like me telling you, a stranger, where I work and walking you to where I live. Funny enough though - every wire in my brain should be telling me not to and how it was a bad idea but.. I guess there is something about you.”

Steve sucked in a breath, eyes wide as he considered his response. “When you walked into the coffee shop, you could have asked the barista for help or tried to hide out in the bathroom. But you sat next to me instead. How come?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. Like I said, there's just something about you, Steve.”

You walked in silence again, feet falling into a pattern once more. The sky was growing darker, the air cooler. After crossing the street again, you looked at him. “How do you feel about Prezio being traded to the Orioles?” You reached out and tipped up the brim of his Yankees hat. “A tragedy, right?”

A quiet laugh escaped him as he tipped his head. “I think it was a huge mistake. Don’t you think we’ve had a hard enough year as it is?” Your silence was filled with baseball talk instead and it seemed to put both of you at ease.

“This is me.” You stopped outside of a short apartment complex, pointing a thumb to the door.

Steve smiled, one hand in the pocket of his jacket as he studied you. Was this it? After the wild rollercoaster of emotions you had spilled onto him in the last hour, parting with nothing else seemed empty. Lacking. He opened his mouth and closed it, once then twice.

Finally, you cut in. “Thanks again, Steve. Really. If you hadn’t played along and scared him away.. well, I’m not sure where I would be right now. It means a lot that you cared enough about a stranger to make sure I was safe.”

Steve sighed out your name. “I’m sorry your barometer for kindness is so low.”

You sighed. “Yeah, me too.” Part of you wanted to do something. Say something else. Linger a tiny bit longer. But your feet shuffled and your hand reached for the door. “Have a good night, Steve.”

—

“I need a favour.”

“Well, good morning to you, sunshine. Did you lock yourself out of your computer again? FRIDAY can help with that.”

“Tony, this is serious.”

“Okay, okay. I recognize that scowl. How can I help you?”

“If I provided you some video footage from a security camera, can we track someone down? Figure out who they are? For full transparency, it’s just a civilian.”

“Sounds like we’re operating outside of the law, Rogers. Can you provide me with more context? I don’t mind the grey area - I just like the drama, too.”

Steve sighed, then reluctantly explained himself. The cafe. Your panicked message. The stalker of a man. The way you dismissed it all as a normal, unfortunate side effect of existing as a woman. His barista friend provided him with camera footage but he wasn’t sure it was enough.

Tony pinched between his eyes. “Men are scum. And I say that as someone in the practice of trying to be better. Recovering scum, if you will. I’ll see what I can do. FRIDAY, how quietly can we get into the security database at the Clifton building?”

—

Although you hadn’t lied to Steve, it occurred to you on your journey home that your guard should remain up. Which is why you had actually allowed him to walk you to your aunt’s apartment, instead of your own. She was happy to see you burst through the door and insisted you stay for dinner. That was a tiny silver lining to the whole mess.

The next day though, the thought of going into work was suffocating. So you opted to spend the day working from home instead, which your boss had been agreeable to, at least. One day rolled into two and you successfully avoided the office building until the following Monday. But then, you needed a plan. Next steps, next steps.

You took an Uber to the office early and left late at the end of the day, leaving out the back stairway and crossing a few blocks to take a different subway line home. It was unfortunate you had to cater your life to the chance you would run into this goon again, but your sense of security was slowly returning. That had to count for something.

Things shifted later that week. There was a sudden new policy sent out to all the staff in your office outlining new building ownership and training about sexual harassment policies.

“It’s a long time coming,” you heard someone mutter out in the elevator as you headed down towards the lobby.

“Guess Tony Stark just wants to own the whole block,” their coworker chirped back, pulling to loosen his tie.

There was even more commotion when you exited the elevator and walked towards the large glass doors. A team of NYPD officers were standing outside, shoving someone in the back of their cruiser. Your eyes narrowed. You couldn’t be certain but from that angle, you certainly recognized the bad buzzcut. Your eyes darted around the lobby anxiously and across the room, a small crowd of suits and officers had formed near..

Tony Stark, himself.

Before you could even try to understand what was going on, you heard someone calling your name. You turned your head and saw someone who looked a lot like -

“Steve?” You took a few steps towards him, pausing to glance from him back at Tony Stark and.. “Oh my god. You’re Steve Rogers. Why didn’t you say something?”

Captain America had walked you home. Hidden behind glasses and a hat. And you always considered yourself observant.

Steve just smirked, shrugging a shoulder. “I didn’t think it was important.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “Should I be thanking you for all of this chaos?”

Steve furrowed his brow in mock confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, maybe I’m extrapolating here but the same day my subway stalker gets taken away in cuffs, Stark Industries buys out this building and mandates a new policy and code of conduct.”

Steve pursed his lips, swallowing back a mischievous smirk. “Here’s the thing. It occurred to me that your best choice of action after that day was changing your entire life to avoid that man. And I couldn’t help but think about how broken that system was.”

You sighed. It had occurred to you, too. While you were relieved to shake the man from your trail, your mind considered he would probably turn his attention to someone else. And that wouldn’t be fair.

“Well, Cap. Job well done. That scum of a man had priors in Jersey, too.” Tony Stark himself had walked to where you and Steve stood. His hand clapped on Steve’s shoulder. “You’re at least going to ask her out, right? I mean, I bought an entire building for you - make a move, pal.”

Steve flushed pink and you couldn’t help but do the same.

“I’m getting a bagel. You want a bagel?” Tony raised an eyebrow from you to Steve again, smiling proudly.

“I’m good. I recommend the poppy seed though!” You called as Tony flitted away, narrowly avoiding a proper looking blonde woman who seemed very tired.

You turned your attention back to Steve. “He seems like a lot.”

“He is.” Steve nodded, motioning his hand. “I know it’s only one thing, maybe a ripple in making a difference but.. I’m hoping one less inappropriate person on the subway can give you peace of mind.”

You smiled again. Though you had seen many appearances by Captain America on the news, seeing the man in person was different. It seemed Steve Rogers walked the walk. After parting ways with him before, though he had crossed your mind, you didn’t anticipate your menial issues leading to this.

“Thanks. Really. Even one person makes a difference.” You reached out and touched his arm. “Thank you, Steve.”

“I’m sorry about Tony, though. His comments about asking you out and.. that certainly wasn’t my goal here.”

“I don’t know. You just did me a huge favour getting rid of that gremlin. I think I owe you.”

Steve caught your cheeky smile and stood up a bit straighter. “Well, in that case, the Yankees are playing the Sox tomorrow night. Tony never uses his tickets and the seats aren’t half bad. What do you say?”

“You’re cashing in this favour to take me on a date? Usually people ask for help moving or a ride to the airport or something.” You let out a dramatic sigh. “Sure. I guess you can take me to the game, Steve. If you ask politely, I’ll probably even hold your hand.”

After work the next day, Steve met you outside and you took the subway together to the stadium. You knew this wasn’t the end of it for you or anyone else worried about their personal boundaries being crossed. But, as you gripped the subway pole and your fingers grazed against Steve’s, you could finally breathe again. For the first time in a while, you weren’t anticipating next steps.

It was just you and the kind stranger from the coffee shop.

[meltingpotimagines]

Boyfriend!Deku

this boy is such a loving, considerate cutie you cannot convince me he wouldn’t be the greatest boyfriend esp to ochaco

but i digress

stumbled over his words and rambled when he asked you out

“i- i know i’m not as c-cool as k-kacchan or as handsome as t-todorki but i th-think you’re reallycoolandi’dlovetotakeyououtonadate.”

poor boy was a nervous wreck

midoriya izuku i swear if you don’t finally realize how amazing you are-

his face nearly split in half with how big his grin was when you agreed to go out with him

pls he’s so cUTE i lov him

researched the best places to take someone on a date

it’s his first date he doesn’t know where to go or what to do

tried to get advice from all might but that proved to be... less than helpful

ended up going to momo bc she’s a girl she knows what girls like right?

thankfully the answer to that was yes

took you on a cute little picnic in a park

made all of the food himself

he may or may not have spent an entire day looking up recipes, trying to find the best ones

this date had to be perfect okay? he was not about to blow his possibly one and only shot bc of f o o d

luckily for him and you he may not be the world’s greatest cook but boy knows his way around the kitchen well enough

*cough*with some help from sato*cough*

scoped out the park beforehand to find the best spot

picked a magnolia tree by the pond

not too tall, provided plenty of shade, ground wasn’t too lumpy, you could even feed the ducks if you wanted

i mean who wouldn’t? their cuteness is only topped by puppies and kittens and deku

made sure to pack extra rice and grapes for the ducks bc he remembered koda ranting once about how bad bread is for them

tried to keep the conversation light and interesting by sticking to topics he’d read were good ice breakers and interesting to girls

was visibly relieved when you told him to relax and just talk about whatever he wanted

awkwardly reached for your hand walking you home

was a little stiff at the physical contact but the feeling of your hand in his brought a bright, little smile onto his face

his brain fried when you gave him a little goodnight kiss on the cheek

boy’s never blushed so hard in his l i f e

nearly imploded from all the teasing his dormmates gave him over his bright red face when he got home

he’s the type to make this elaborate plan for every special occasion

your birthday, anniversaries, valentine’s day

they’re called s p e c i a l occasions for a reason ofc he’s going to make sure they’re as special as he can possibly make them

somehow manages to top himself every year even tho the past year was so extravagant like izuku w h e r e are you getting the inspiration for all of this-

wants to know everything about you, down to the smallest detail

your favorite color? your favorite song? your favorite snack? 

your childhood memories are his favorite bc he gets to see your smile and hear your laugh as you remembering all the good times and funny moments

subconsciously takes note of the expressions you make and the way speak for different emotions

bc of that he can always tell when you’re sad, even when you’re trying your best to hide it

always there when you need to talk

he’s a deep thinker and a great listener so he’s typically the best person to go to

the touchiest lil thing

was shy at first but now openly craves it 24/7

hugs, cuddles, kisses, he wants it all

blushes when anyone makes fun of him for the pda but that won’t stop him

he has really strong emotions okay? boy needs to express them

was terrified the first time he said i love you

what if he said it too early? what if you didn’t feel the same way? what if him saying it scares you off he couldn’t bear to lose you-

‘i love you too’

stood still for a moment as his brain processed those words before grinning like the love-struck dope he is and tackling you with a hug

and i mean literally tackled

made sure to roll as you fell so he took the brunt of the fall and you ended up on top of him

not that he noticed the compromising position in his joyful bliss

he was just so happy that you love him

the most amazing person he’s ever met loves him

wow

how’d he get so lucky?

makes sure to say it all the time from then on out

‘good morning Izuku’ “good morning i love you”

‘how do i look?’ “you look beautiful i love you”

‘what do you want for lunch?’ “i don’t care i love you”

he’s a dork but he’s your dork so how can you not love it?

lowkey overprotective of you

it’s not that he doesn’t think you can take care of yourself, he just worries a little too much and never wants you to get hurt from anything

manages to keep it under control, but if anyone ever threatened you oh boy they better run bc this precious boy w i l l show them why he’s destined to be the number one hero

he may be a lil cinnamon roll but he is d e a d l y and will not hesitate to take someone down if you’re in danger

they’ll get locked up faster than bakugo can say die

he cares so much about everyone and he feels that tenfold when it comes to you

he’ll never fail to make you feel like the most special and loved person on the planet

[duckprintspress]

What is an Alpha Reader?

Stories don’t exist without writers - that much is a given. But the best stories are never a solo effort, even if they have only a single author. Other people will contribute, in big ways and small, and potentially fill many roles to help the author see the work through to completion. Three of the most prominent of these roles are:

Alpha readers

Editors

Beta readers

Each does something different, but often in fandom-based writing spaces they’re used interchangeably in ways that can lead to confusion and a mismatch of expectation and performance between the author and the person helping them. As such, Duck Prints Press will be doing a series of three posts over the next few weeks that discusses each of these roles in detail. The purpose of these posts is

to provide a definition of each role (alpha, editor, and beta)

list examples of services a person in each role might provide for an author, 

provide insight into some appropriate ways for an author to interact with their helper, and

to suggest some points that an author and their selected feedback provider should discuss before the alpha/editor/beta begins work, to ensure that both individuals have a positive experience and that the helper is providing the kind of information that the author is seeking.

Two things of note before we proceed:

There is no single definition of these terms. We’re not claiming to be an authority or to say, “these are the correct definitions and all others are invalid.” Instead, our goal with these posts is to provide a common framework to help authors and individuals interested in helping them communicate about the nature of the roles to be undertaken, and to give information to help both writers and people who want to help writers understand what help is desired and how they can support each other.

If an author hasn’t said “I’m looking for an alpha/editor/beta,” then it doesn’t matter what form of feedback you provide - unsolicited alphaing, editing or betaing is generally unwelcome and often unhelpful. Yes, some authors DO like and appreciate it. However, most don’t. Never use these posts as, “now that I know what alphaing is, I’ve read your story and now I’m alphaing for you!” That’s not how this works. Alphaing, betaing, and editing are always collaborative, undertaken between an author and feedback provider that they’ve entrusted to help them. If you’d like to give feedback to an author about something of theirs you’ve read...ask them if they want it! And respect their response! It’s really, truly that simple.

What is an Alpha Reader?

Alpha readers are generally one of the first “outsiders” brought in to support an author, and, depending on how the author approaches their process, may be sought before the story has been written. The primary roles of an alpha reader are to brainstorm with an author, flesh out the plot, fill plot holes, solve conundrums and issues that arise, and help the author get their vision of the story put down in concrete words. Alpha readers may be recruited short term, to help an author work through a specific issue, or they may accompany the author from conceptual inception through the entire first draft or beyond - some may even end up credited as co-authors, depending on how many ideas they end up contributing! In fandom spaces especially, alphas are often described as cheerleaders, and in many cases, they are explicitly asked not to provide extensive criticism and editing - alphas work with the understanding that they have been brought in to help an author complete a first draft, and so the issues they help with are those more relevant to a work at an early stage of development.

Many people short-hand alphas by jokingly refer to them as “rubber duck debuggers,” inspired by the habit many computer programmers have of talking out a problem to an inanimate object until they figure out the solution. The idea is that alpha readers often don’t have to do anything - they just have to listen to the author until the author figures out the solution themselves! Sometimes, that’s truly all that an alpha will need to do, but don’t assume that’s all an alpha will do, and don’t play down the critical role that many alphas have played in the development of stories by giving timely, insightful feedback. An alpha can be invaluable in solving issues, seeing through thorny challenges, resolving points of uncertainty and confusion, and providing the author with the motivation, support and encouragement they need to see a first draft through to the end. Alphas are great, and are definitely not interchangeable with a rubber duck (however much we at Duck Prints Press love our rubber ducks).

Services/Responsibilities/Activities Associated with Alpha Reading:

Meet with the author to establish the scope of help the author would like. This post includes a thorough list of tasks often undertaken by an alpha reader, but it’s unlikely that an alpha reader will do all of these tasks. 

Listen to and incorporate world building and character information provided by the author, and work to provide feedback that fits with what they’ve established.

Read an author’s notes or outlines to get a general idea of what the author is trying to accomplish

Discuss story elements with the author to whatever degree of detail and specificity the author requests.

Offer insight and ideas to help solve problems that the author approaches you about, within the scope of what the author has said they’re willing to change or modify about their story.

Cheerlead, praise, and support the author as they write their first draft.

Indicate sentences, passages, and/or chapters that work especially well, and those that lacked adequate explication for the alpha to understand what took place.

Point out issues with representation, areas where the author might need to do more research, use of racist or sexist tropes, and other aspects of the story that may be problematic. (Please remember to be careful of the difference between “this story contains problematic elements” and “this author is problematic.” Many authors intentionally playing with these elements. Also remember that alphas are not the same as sensitivity readers!)

Make sure to offer feedback on what is good and what you like!!

If given a full first draft manuscript to review, post-reading you may be given a list of questions the author would like you to answer, indicating specific areas that the author would like more information about and/or help with.

Very rarely, an author may ask for an alpha to edit for grammar, structure, word choice, and other technical elements. However, in “standard” definitions of alpha reading, these roles would be excluded.

Be honest and objective! Don’t say something is good if you don’t think it is, and don’t say something is bad just because you didn’t like it.

Understand that an author is never obligated to take an alpha’s advice!

Services/Responsibilities/Activities Associated with being an Author Working with an Alpha Reader:

Have a clear idea of what an alpha reader will be asked to do before recruiting one - ideally, any request for an alpha should include this information! Don’t just say, “I’m looking for an alpha reader” and assume that anyone who responds will understand that to mean the same thing as you do. Instead, say, “I’m looking for an alpha reader to help me with…” and indicate the specific area(s) that you’re requesting support for.

Don’t ask for feedback if you’re not prepared to be given feedback. Understand that requesting an alpha may mean opening yourself up to criticism; never forget that you invited them, so respect them and appreciate them. Don’t ask someone to alpha for you if you don’t respect their opinions and assessments.

Communicate your expectations and needs clearly.

Listen to the alpha reader and take their advice under consideration.

Indicate when you’ve reached a decision, so the alpha reader doesn’t continue to focus on a point that has been resolved.

Be kind and polite, even if ultimately you reject the alpha’s recommendations.

Ask clear questions directly related to what you’re trying to find out about what works and doesn’t work in your manuscript. Don’t try to be vague or passive to try to “get at” if something worked; it’s better to be honest and straightforward.

Employ multiple alphas to get different viewpoints.

Do not take criticism of the work as criticism of you as an author and person.

Respect the alpha reader’s boundaries.

Understand that the alpha is never required to agree with you, and may ultimately dislike your work.

Communication is critical! If both parties aren’t clear about their expectations and responsibilities, how can they effectively work together? It’s also critical to set and maintain boundaries. An alpha doesn’t agree to be “on call” 24/7. An author doesn’t agree to hear endless criticism of their ideas. An alpha should never be subjected to material that they’ve indicated may trigger them. An author should never be subjected to an alpha harping on a pet idea that the author has already indicated they don’t wish to use. If the relationship isn’t working for both individuals, it should be terminated. Furthermore, just because the relationship doesn’t work, that doesn’t mean either individual is “bad” at fulfilling their role; often, it’s simply a mismatch in communication and work styles. And that’s okay! Don’t bad mouth someone you failed to work effectively with...but also, don’t feel you need to keep working with them!

Suggested Questions an Alpha Reader and Author Should Discuss Before Working Together:

Not all of these will be relevant to every author/alpha relationship, but they’re worth being aware of!

Will the alpha reader be paid for their help? This is generally not relevant in fan spaces, but may be if the alpha is working on an original work destined for publication.

Will the alpha reader be credited when the final product is made public?

Will the alpha reader be expected to keep silent about what they’ve read, or perhaps even sign a Non-Disclosure agreement or other form of contract?

When is the alpha usually available? When is the author usually available? Will meetings be held regularly on a schedule, as-needed, or elsewise?

What software and/or accounts will the alpha be expected to use? For example: a specific word program, a gmail account, Discord, etc.

How will the author and alpha communicate primarily? For example, by chat program, by e-mail, by telephone, etc.

Is the alpha required to be familiar with other works in the author’s oeuvre?

Is there any potentially triggering material in the work that the alpha should be made aware of?

Does the alpha have any unusual triggers or squicks that the author should be aware of?

At what stage of the project is the alpha reader being invited in - conceptualization? Writing? Completed first draft?

What specific aspect(s) of the book is the author looking for feedback on? The plot? The characters? The pacing? If a specific line landed as intended? Is the dialog catchy? Is the world-building thorough? 

Will the alpha reader be providing long-term help (eg, for the entire time an author is writing the first draft of a novel) or short-term help (eg, an author has gotten stuck at a specific point and wants to discuss only  that with someone else)?

Is the author looking for someone to primarily listen to them and let them work it out on their own?

What are the main themes/tropes/elements/etc. the author hopes to communicate? It’s often best to discuss this after the alpha has read the work, so the author can see if they’ve succeeded, but it depends on when in the process the alpha has been brought on. If the alpha is helping develop plot and concept, it will be important for the alpha to understand upfront what the author is trying to accomplish.

Is the alpha familiar with areas relevant to what the author is writing? For example, if the story is fanfiction, is the alpha familiar with the franchise? If the story is in a specific genre, is the alpha acquainted with the tropes of that genre? If the story is in a specific setting - especially if it’s a setting with a high degree of technical specificity - is the alpha able to offer insight and knowledge to support accurately portraying that setting?

Does the author want criticism at this stage? (Usually, inviting an alpha implies the answer to this is yes, but don’t assume!)

Does the author want editing done? (Usually, inviting an alpha implies the answer to this is no, but don’t assume!)

Are there aspects of the story the author feels are “set in stone?” Are there aspects the author doesn’t mind changing, or would even prefer to change?

Is the alpha welcome to provide suggestions for developments outside the framework of storyline and world building provided by the author? For example, would the author be open to having the alpha say, “maybe you should create a new character to fill this role,” or, “maybe you should change the entire ending,” or would they prefer that the alpha work with the plot, characters, pacing, etc., elements that the author has already created?

Check in throughout the process - Is the way I’m doing this working for you? Is this feedback helpful? Are my responses as the author enabling you to do your work as an alpha? Do we need to change anything to ensure that this is providing the kinds of support that the author has requested? Talk to each other! You’re in this together. It’s okay if things need to be changed (in the story, in the relationship, in the communication style, you name it) - change them until you find a way to collaborate that works best for both parties.

You’ll see the common theme in all this advice is that the key to a successful alpha/author relationship is communication. Authors: be clear and honest about your project and your needs. Alphas: be clear and honest about your assessments and suggestions. Work together, not in opposition. Now, go forth and write things, and read things, and make amazing stories!

We’ll be doing two more entries in this series - What is an Editor? and What is a Beta? in the coming weeks, so stay tuned!

[sketchguk]

a world alone; myg

➳ pairing: vampire!yoongi, street racer!yoongi x reader

➳ genre: modern vampire AU, street racer AU, bad boy AU, fwb AU, smut, fluff, angst

➳ wc: 11.3k

➳ synopsis: the rest of the world will pay no mind to yoongi’s gentle soul. they’ll take one look at his etched skin, bruised knuckles, and gnarly scar and write him off as the bad guy regardless of the faded heart he wears on his sleeve. they think they know everything about your best friend, yet they’ll never know about his bloodlust and his need for speed.

➳ warnings: explicit language, mentions of drug and alcohol consumption, heavy petting, blood sucking, menstrual blood, oral (f receiving), handjobs, fingering, unprotected sex.

➳ a/n: this is dedicated to my delightful destinee, @yourdelights​ 🥺💖 i was heavily inspired by Lorde’s music, and I’m dying for her comeback!! yoongi’s character was also based on jess’ character from gilmore girls (shout-out to vic for reigniting my love for that show @minsprings​ !!)

Your parents always warn you about hanging out with the wrong crowd. They’re under the false impression that anyone who surfs the internet for “fun” and recreationally smokes weed in their parents’ basement — two crimes worthy of capital punishment — is inherently the offspring of Satan.

It’s quite melodramatic to say the least, but they don’t even know the half of it.

Sure, you understand the consequences of drinking fireballs until your throat is raw and getting plastered beyond recognition. You can also see why it’d be a bad idea to stick and poke needles into one another’s arms or to have unprotected sex. It’s inevitably a part of suburban culture when there’s nothing else to do in this deadbeat town besides pray to a God who doesn’t even care to listen.

But if they think their advice is going to stop you from being a quote unquote deadbeat, they’re gravely mistaken.  

There’s no harm in a little bit of indulgence, right? Because if there’s one thing you can’t wrap your head around, it’s reasons to stay away from Min Yoongi.

They claim that the infamous bad boy is “nothing but trouble,” but to you, there’s absolutely nothing dangerous about his warm eyes and gentle hands. He may be a little wild and fluorescent in the dark, but under the moonlight, the way he wraps you around in his ink spattered arms makes you feel safer than no other. Although Yoongi is anything but perfect, you can easily acknowledge that.

Yoongi has his flaws. A million and one bad habits to kick. He has tired eyes, no doubt from his unhealthy lack of sleep. His caffeine addiction keeps him up at night, yet you can’t help but spur it every time you secretly drop by his place with an americano in hand. Not only is his hot breath laced with coffee beans, but on occasion, it’s unmistakably mingled with some potent nicotine. To be quite honest, the taste isn’t as bad as your parents describe it to be. You’ve been trying to wean him off of it though, and it’s been working for the most part.

Rather, in place of smoking a pack a week, Yoongi subconsciously bites his nails. Even though chewing off his cuticles isn’t a healthy substitute either, it’s certainly better than killing his lungs and filling it with smoke. You can also admit to biting your own nails out of fear or anxiety sometimes, but ever since you started to hang around the older boy, the habit has diminished significantly. Nowadays, your mouth is fixated on other things your mother wouldn’t be proud to hear about.

In the hazy, quiet of the night, when the rest of the world is fast asleep, you situate yourself on top of Yoongi’s lap, straddling him on either side of his thigh just like clockwork. The novel you were once reading is long forgotten from your dainty hands, too busy carding it through his dark locks and pulling at his roots. Your mouths are preoccupied with one another as he’s the one to bite your lip, and you’re the one to bite your tongue, holding back secrets he’s not ready to hear.

With parted lips and clashing teeth, Yoongi rolls his tongue around yours. In a fight for dominance, you’d gladly submit to him any day. A gasp falls between your teeth and a shiver runs down your spine as he trails his cold hands down your sides, rubbing circles into your exposed hip bones with his calloused thumbs, never daring to dip further south without your permission.

He peppers kisses down the column of your throat with his swollen lips, sucking bruises into the tender skin. Yoongi focuses his attention at the base of your neck, lapping at the pretty love bites adorning your clavicle. You brace yourself for what’s to come by squeezing at his broad shoulders. Growing restless, you begin to bounce on his lap, begging for him to use you at his disposal.

The faint glow of the overhead lamp illuminates his profile, his honey skin glistening in the low light. Your heavy lidded eyes wills itself to open up, meeting your sight with the man beneath you. While your eyes darken with lust, a clouded vision of Yoongi overcomes you ー his pupils shining with an otherworldly brilliance, a golden glare so intense that you fall prey to him every night.

Your sultry eyes are pleading for him to sink his teeth into your flesh, and who is Yoongi to deny you of all the finer things in life? He caresses your waist with a soft touch, gently squeezing at your sides as if he’s too afraid to let go, but Yoongi is vastly acute of all your reactions. So with the nod of your head and a whisper of affirmation, you confess that you want this ー him ー more than anything in the world.

Yoongi runs his tongue over the most sensitive parts of your neck, sucking on the prominent vein at the juncture of your shoulder. He slows down to massage his teeth into your skin, biting gently before piercing your jugular with his canine fangs. All the blood in your body rushes through your vessels, satiating Yoongi’s bloodlust thirst. You’re at a loss of breath, panting heavily as you overheat under the scope of his fiery glare and the electrifying graze of his extremities.

In any other lifetime, you would revolt at the sight of blood and its metallic taste, yet in this time and space, you would allow your best friend to do anything he pleases ー even if his greatest wish is to suck the life out of you. To Yoongi, your viscous blood is sickly sweet and beyond addicting. He doesn’t have a clue as to why he’d ever pick up another cigarette when you’re the only addiction he needs.

As the life drains out of you, one drop of blood at a time, you can feel yourself grow weaker in Yoongi’s arms. You fall limp, becoming a victim to his voracious fervor. But Yoongi understands your limits, being so in tune to your body, and he’s sure to stop before you descend into a comatose.

Your lungs are starting to cave inside of you as heavy sighs escape from your parted lips. Weakly tugging on the strands of Yoongi’s hair, you warn him of the dangerous territory he’s about to enter.

Yoongi suckles at your punctured skin, running his tongue over the point of contact before retracting his fangs and sealing the wound he had gouged with a kiss. He wipes his mouth clean of any residue with the back of his hand, whispering a thank you into the shell of your ear.

You nod your head and wrap your arms around Yoongi’s neck to catch your breath, barely even conscious of his soft coos and gentle caresses. Your head is spinning on an axis, but you allow yourself to fall deeper into Yoongi’s arms, fully knowing that he’s always going to be the one to catch you no matter what.

His sweet nothings reverberate around your skull ー a deep voice echoing like a polyphony, lulling you into your rapture. He brushes your hair back behind your head, and before you know it, your cheek is nuzzling into the cotton of the pillows as he lowers your body onto the firm mattress.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been asleep for, but Yoongi’s delicate voice and quiet hushes bring you back to earth. You can feel his slightly chapped lips planting a kiss at the top of your temple and the soft tickle of his fingers tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. Yoongi calls you by your name, fanning his breath over your plush cheeks until you stir back into reality. In your groggy state, your eyes unwillingly blink open, and although your vision is blurry, the sight of Yoongi and his precious smile is clear as day.

He helps you to sit up before passing you a glass of your favorite concoction. While you’re still stuck in a daze, your face instantly lights up at the sight of the tiny cocktail umbrella sitting at the rim of your cup.

“Small umbrellas bring big smiles,” he offers, “Drink up.”

It’s cheesy as hell, but you throw your head back to take a sip, making it all the more difficult for yourself when you can’t erase the larger than life smile from your lips. You’re instantly hit with the earthy taste of greens as there’s a mixture of kale, cucumber, and celery, but most importantly, Yoongi is sure to throw in a generous amount of spinach to replenish the iron that you’ve lost from his feasting. Even though most people would rather die than drink a blend of vegetables, you’re no stranger to Yoongi's Midas touch in the kitchen. He’s an expert when it comes to food, always going above and beyond without even trying. You can’t even fathom how a carnivore like him has gone as far as creating the perfect vegetarian steak as per your request – mentioned jokingly in passing, of course.

“You hungry?” He inquires.

You shake your head no, but he’s all ready to step back into the kitchen to prepare you a meal from the sparse ingredients in his low-humming fridge.

“Just want you beside me,” you pout, reaching for his hand, encouraging him to climb underneath the covers with you.

Yoongi gives into your wishes, interlacing his fingers with yours like it’s second nature. You lower your drink onto the stack of books designed to be a makeshift nightstand as he reaches for your paperback copy of Metamorphoses, lying precariously at the edge of the mattress. He settles beside you as you comfortably situate yourself across the bed, laying your head onto his lap and scrunching up into a fetal position.

Too wrapped up in your own world, you don’t seem to notice the presence of Yoongi’s ginger moggie until he’s curled up beside you, nudging at your bare arm, begging to be pet. You give into the scraggy feline, keeping busy, while Yoongi turns to your marked, dog ear page, finishing up Book IV with the story of Perseus and Andromeda.

Ideally, this is exactly how you want to spend the entirety of your Sundays. Although this is how your night always ends, it doesn’t always start off this way. Typically, you’re hanging around his apartment alone, pacing the age-old floorboards, biting your nails and waiting for Yoongi to arrive home safely from his lucrative hustle. You’d even chat it out with Yoongi’s kitten to keep your sanity intact, only to receive a hollow meow in return. Meanwhile, Yoongi spends his Sunday evenings doing all the things your parents warn you not to do. All in good faith, Yoongi earns some quick and dirty cash by participating in the underground street race scene. For you, it’s never been about the money, but more about his safety and wellbeing. And every week, with a few scratches in sight and give or take a couple of bruised knuckles, Yoongi returns home with a pocket full of cash like a double edged scheme. Regardless, you know for a fact that he does whatever he wants purely for his own happiness. It’s all for the cheap thrills, and if this is what he wants to do, who are you to stop him from doing so?

Yoongi rests his hand on top of yours to keep you safe when in reality, shouldn’t you be the one to do that to him? He’s reading the story out loud to you, and you’d probably never acknowledge this fact in the open, but in the repressed part of your subconscious, you’re more drawn to the deep lull of Yoongi’s voice than the enchanting story itself. The words go in through one ear, and out the other, but it’s not important because you’ve read this story at least a dozen times before. Instead, your attention is directed towards Yoongi and the subtle purse of his lips. Your eyes are fixated on the gentle slope of his rounded nose and the faint beauty mark that’s slightly off center.

It’s also hard to ignore the scar that cuts through the middle of his right eye. You don’t mean to stare, but it’s hard to believe that everyone perceives Yoongi as the tough guy because to you, he’s just… Yoongi.

Your Yoongi.

He’s the same guy who would save a stray kitten from the side of the road, befriending it and accepting it into his run down home despite the nasty claw mark that’s embedded into his face. And although Yoongi doesn’t have much to offer financially, he’d still give it his all to take care of the scruffy kitten. Per your informally formal one-woman petition, you’ve requested that Yoongi deem the domestic long-haired cat as San, and ever since then, he’s been inseparable with the little critter. It’s quite endearing to watch this man and his little bundle of sunshine cuddle like it’s nobody’s business or slow dance around the apartment with a cat in his arms in spite of his two left feet.

However, it’s upsetting how the rest of the world will never see the delicate side of your best friend in the same way you see him. Even now, as you lie in bed with him, fiddling with his pretty hands, you can never not think about how they fit perfectly between the spaces of your fingers, comforting you like no other man in your life could. You can’t even look at them without imagining how elegant they are when they’re dancing across the rusty and slightly out of tune grand piano in the corner of the room.

Even if his arms are inked in tattoos, the rest of the world will pay no mind to his gentle soul. They’ll take one look at Yoongi’s etched skin and write him off as the bad guy regardless of the faded heart that he wears on his sleeve.

“Remind me again why you like this stuff?” Yoongi wonders, placing the paperback face down on the bed. Your lack of attention causes him to call your name repeatedly until he finally resorts to poking at your sides.

“HUH?” You yelp, breaking out of your reverie, not fully comprehending anything he’s said in the last five minutes or so.

“Ovid.”

You lift yourself in an upright position, rolling your eyes at his blissful ignorance and lack of taste for Greco-Roman literature. “This is a relic of antiquity, and Ovid pretty much lays the groundwork for Shakespeare, bro. Pay some respect to his name.”

Yoongi breaks out in a smile at your term of endearment but shakes his head in utter disagreement. “You know I’m not a fan of Shakespeare,” he almost gags at the sound of his name. “I’ll admit that the dude has a way with words, and I applaud him for keeping up with the meter, but it’s just not my style.” Yoongi’s nose scrunches up in distaste, his eyes squinting shut.

“We literally wouldn’t have some of the greatest works known to humankind if Ovid didn’t exist.” Your arms run wild, waving in the air as if your points will come across stronger because of how manic you are. Perhaps you’re being a little too dramatic, but in your defense, Ovid is an absolute legend. “I mean think about it, we have The Tempest, Pygmalionー”

“Rousseau’s Pygmalion or Shaw’s Pygmalion?”

“To each one’s own, but you have to know that I’d pick Rousseau any day,” you shrug.

“Yeah, Shaw didn’t have that philosophical flavor, you know,” he chuckles. “I guess you have a point. Let’s not forget A Midsummer Night’s Dream though, a classic.”

An ear to ear grin spreads across your lips at the mention of one of your favorite works. You know that Yoongi is bringing it up for your sake more than his because of his strong hatred towards the brilliance that is Shakespeare. And you know for a fact that he likes A Midsummer Night’s Dream, but he’d never outrightly dare to admit how much he enjoys your book recommendations ー especially if they involve Shakespeare.

“I’m glad you see the error of your ways,” you smile smugly. “Besides, back to the point, Dickens was inspired by Ovid, and Oliver Twist is still your favorite novel.”

Yoongi clicks his tongue, completely defeated by your argument. “Hey! That’s not fair now. It’s basically a social commentary about my life. C’mon, you’re gonna pull that card on me now?”

“Exactly, so you’re not giving him enough credit,” you plead with a pout. “We read this when we were in high school, but I think you’d really enjoy it if you gave it another shot.”

Yoongi bites his lips and picks up the book once again in hesitation, observing it from cover to cover. He plays with the myriad of pink post-it notes that protrude from the worn edges, flipping through the pages and thumbing through all of your annotations.

“Fine,” he grumbles, placing the book back onto his bed. “I’ll give it another try, and I’ll have a full, in-depth review ready for you by this weekend but... you have to come to my race on Sunday.”

“Are you serious?” You ponder over his proposition.

“Yep, that’s the deal.”

Although you’re still skeptical about Yoongi’s side hustle, you’d still support him no matter what (even if it’s in stubborn petulance). Shrugging your shoulders and saying “what the hell,” you give in to his proposal.

Yoongi flashes you his infamous gummy smile, and a warm, fuzzy feeling blooms in the center of your chest. Call it what you want ー elation, glee, fondness, tenderness, something entirely nuanced, or perhaps something above and beyond all of that. Regardless, it’s easy to shrug it off when the feeling comes and goes every so often.

And shrugging it off is what you do best.

Nevertheless, Yoongi’s willingness to appease you causes you to squeal and ramble on about how excited you are for his commentary. Your mouth is too busy running while Yoongi stumbles across his tiny studio, slipping on his shoes and shrugging on his army green utility jacket. He reaches for your outerwear and your white high tops while listening intently to your excitement about the activities you have planned for this Saturday. He hums in affirmation as he slides his hoodie over your raised arms and tugs the black material over your torso, getting you ready to sneak back into your parents’ home.

“Mmm,” he murmurs with a smile plastered on his lips, “Can’t wait, babe.” He tries to conceal his joy as he ducks his head down, sliding your Converse past your ankles and tying the shoelaces up for you.

With your grasp in his one hand and his car keys in the other, he ushers you out of his apartment and into his run-down 1986 Grandeur Azera. The neon green digital clock on his car radio taunts him, blinking every few seconds to count down the limited time he has left with you before kissing your cheek goodnight, or rather good morning, and sending you off to the sheltered life kept under wraps by your overprotective parents.

Yoongi tries not to think too much about the impermanence of the greatest things in his life as the slow burn of sunrise peeks over the horizon. Rather, he’s focused on how the car ride is filled with some of his favorite sounds ー the low hum of old school hip hop playing through his vintage radio and the ring of your laughter resounding over his stupid jokes.

The weekend rolls around quicker than you expect it to.

Days in the cul-de-sac are abnormally slow, especially when you’re in the midst of June. With each passing day, sunlight drags on a little longer because of the impending summer solstice. From the confinements of your window, it seems like all you ever do lately is watch the golden sun rise and set over the lake.

On occasions, your eyes are drawn to the far distance where there are freight trains that chug across the railroad at the crack of dawn. You can’t help but think about the places they’ll go and the things they’ll see in cities outside of your own.

In all honesty, you should probably do something more productive with your days. While everyone you know is complaining about work or studying for a degree they won’t ever use, you’re too busy studying the floor. And although daydreaming about the bright lights and city sounds is a way to kill the time, you’d much rather do it with Yoongi at your side.

Each second that you spend with him is more precious than the last. It’s hard to contain your excitement over the little things like movie nights at the drive in with him because it’s pretty much the highlight of your entire week, hence why you drop by his workplace extra early today – a whole hour before his shift ends.

Your presence is made known to the entire auto shop when the shout of your name is amplified throughout the garage. Of course, you catch Jimin and Taehyung dallying around before they even take notice of you standing in the doorway. They race over to engulf you in a hug, nearly knocking the wind out of you.

“Working hard or hardly working?” You giggle at the two boys.

Jimin lies through his teeth, as expected of him. “Working hard, of course.”

He grabs the mysterious, white paper box from your hands, curious as to what’s inside.

“Cupcakes? For me?” Taehyung asks with innocence in his eyes. He doesn’t even have to wait for your response because the two boys are already ravaging away at the sweet delectables.

Surely you had the boys in mind having stepped foot into the antique bakery shop earlier that day, hence the extras. But earnestly, out of the kindness of your heart, your primary goal is to surprise Yoongi with his favorite red velvet cupcakes. At the same time, you wouldn’t deny its leverage as a way to sway him and his opinions on the awe-inspiring Ovid.

“Don’t eat them all at once, okay?” You warn the boys before wandering off to find Yoongi.

You first expect him to be in his office, doing paperwork of some sort, so you make a beeline towards the backroom. However, there’s nothing in sight of his office beside his cold coffee perched at the edge of his desk. There are also scraps of yellow notepad paper with lyrics sprawled across the pages and a framed photo of the two of you. It’s nothing out of the ordinary, but it’s still not what you’re quite looking for.

You make your way out of Yoongi’s office and down the hall, continuing your search for him. You come to a halt when your ears perk up at the sound of a kick drum and a bass guitar laying down the beats to an iconic Nas song. The faint sound of music slowly crescendos as you lead yourself to the source.

It should be no surprise to you that Yoongi is hot rodding his car and making last minute improvements for tomorrow’s race. Yet again, you find him with his head between the hood, either replacing the worn out brake pads or the loose fan belt (in which he’s shown you how to do a dozen times before).

Yoongi’s reactions might be a little slow for being a vampire considering he hasn’t acknowledged your presence just yet. Sometimes he’s a little short of hearing, especially when his radio is a tad too loud.

The only reason he turns around from the car is because his right hand man has gone unusually silent. Yoongi doesn’t even know how long it's been since you dismissed Namjoon, telling him that you’ve got it covered. Nevertheless, he’s grateful because he can indulge in endless discourse about Metamorphoses, his new favorite anthology, rather than botany which Namjoon never shuts up about.

Being so lost in conversation about literature, and with the cupcakes long forgotten, the two of you hardly even notice the time that’s gone by.

“Boss, we’re gonna clock out,” Namjoon interrupts the two of you.

“Clock out? Oh shit, what time is it?” A quarter to six.

“We’re gonna be late,” you worry.

Yoongi digs his hand into the pocket of his navy coveralls, dishing out a set of keys. He hands them over to Namjoon before coming to his senses, thereby chucking it to Jimin who is arguably more responsible.

“Don’t fuck up,” Yoongi warns them, albeit without any menace in his tone.

Yoongi tugs off his coveralls before grabbing your hand and heading towards his car, listening to the boys wolf whistle from behind him. He shrugs it off, but the smug grin he bites back says otherwise.

He opens the passenger door for you, allowing you to settle in first. Then he does a half run, half walk around the hood. Putting the car in reverse, Yoongi rests his hand behind your seat and throws his head over his shoulder. He drapes his wrist over the steering wheel and zips off into the quiet roads where you can both talk nonsensically as if there’s something to say.

Saturday evenings always start this way.

With two souls as hollow as the bottles you drain and a brown, paper bag full of snacks from the dingy 7-Eleven down the block, you and Yoongi would recline your seats far enough to comfortably watch the movie on the big projection screen.

This must be your week because not only does Yoongi confess his new found love for Greco-Roman literature, but he’s also willing to brave through a romantic melodrama with you ー A Walk to Remember, no less.

Yoongi takes a lot of pride in never having to cry, but this time around, he doesn’t hide the stray tear that rolls down his face. The crying quickly subsides, but still, he gladly accepts the tissue you offer him with no denial in his eyes.

While the end credits roll and everyone has a chance to exit out of the car park, Yoongi would feed you the remaining gummy worms until the bag empties out. Meanwhile, you’d feed him the rest of the chocolate you’d rather not eat. The two of you would also take the time to digest the movie ー tonight’s topic of discussion revolving around the fact that Jamie and Landon deserved better.

But once the coast is clear, your mouth always finds its way to his. And somehow, the two of you always end up undressed ー or at least with your pants pulled down to your ankles. Usually, it’s the both of you, but sometimes it’s one or the other. This time around, it’s just you.

Yoongi always knows how to take care of you, but there’s something telling you that tonight isn’t necessarily your night ー the need for an orgasm being his first priority but a second one for you.

“I wanna make you happy,” he pleads. A double entendre you fail to notice.

But no matter how blissful his lips feel against your cunt, you’re still hyper aware of how bloodthirsty he is at this moment.

He doesn’t even try to hide his enthusiasm as he laps his tongue around your entrance, licking up the residue you’ve pooled from your time of the month. His hunger is insatiable, and it’s evident from the way he puckers his lips around your clit, sucking on the tiny bundle of nerves.

His tongue delves between your folds, playing with your juices, and it’s absolutely intoxicating. Yoongi’s overgrown bangs are parted when your hands find their way to his hair. His line of sight no longer obstructed by his dark, gelled locks. Your breath hitches in your throat when Yoongi looks up at you ー his irises gleaming with gold.

A glob of spit forces its way down your dry throat as you try to overcome this heady feeling. Typically, you’re a woman of many words, but Yoongi obliterates every thought in your head with just a single swipe of his tongue against your heat. A string of curses warble from your throat as he’s relentless in his endeavor, pushing his tongue in and out of your walls, massaging the tender flesh until it's raw.

Your jaw falls slack as your mouth parts open to release a sigh. “Ngh, pl- please, Yoongi,” you stutter out.

“Mmm?” He hums against your folds, sending shivers up your spine.

Your thighs quiver as you fight the need to clamp your legs around Yoongi’s head, but he’s quick to spread them, wedging his tongue further into your tight hole. It’s slick with your arousal, and the squelch of your juices is amplified further with the intensity of Yoongi’s ravage.

You can feel yourself getting closer to your impending high as your walls clench tighter, but you take it like the good girl everyone knows you are. You’re overcome with desperation as your hips cant upwards, rutting yourself against his mouth. Yoongi flicks his tongue over your clit to coax you to your climax, stimulating the nub until whimpers escape from your pretty lips.

It feels as if you’ve lost all of your senses as you reach the edge of your release, pleasure rippling throughout your body. You can’t help but squeeze your eyes shut, and you swear that you can see all of the stars in the night sky. Your chest heaves in an attempt to catch your breath, and your heart races as you descend from your high.

But as always, Yoongi is right there to catch you.

He licks his lips clean to collect every last drop of your sweet nectar. He presses a chaste kiss against your overly-sensitive clit before repositioning your underwear back into place. Then, he peppers kisses up your body and burrows his head into your neck, whispering sweet nothings against the column of your throat, revelling in the afterglow. Once your heavy breathing slows down and your heartbeat plateaus, Yoongi looks up at you with the pretty brown eyes you know and love. And although you’ve recovered from your high, your pussy no longer pulsating, the warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest never dissipates.

Yoongi brushes his lips against yours before kissing you with fervor, saying all that needs to be said. Your mouths are having the unspoken conversation you’re too afraid to have when you’re both tongue-tied and trapped outside of your own mind. Whenever his lips meet yours, it feels as if the rest of the world is falling away at your feet. It’s comforting in a way that his words will never be.

But that’s okay because it’s precisely how you and Yoongi work.

He’ll hold you tight and kiss you goodnight, but you’ll just have to settle for that because the innermost part of your brain would rather wonder forever than know the disappointing truth about where you two stand.

You’re not quite sure why you haven’t been kicked out of the car park yet, but to be frank, you don’t really care and certainly neither does the security.

Yoongi is the first to break the comfortable silence. “You still coming to my race tomorrow?” His nose nudges against your cheek, and he lays a chaste kiss on your supple skin.

Your mouth presses together in a straight line as you contemplate your options. You’ve always been a little skeptical of his illegal pastimes granted that you’ve been raised to reprimand such activities all your life. But knowing Yoongi, you’d trust him with your heart and soul in his hands, and thus, you nod your head in agreement.

“Yeah, I’ll still come,” you shrug, humming in a low voice.

The two of you remain quiet in the backseat of his car, wrapped in the safety of one another’s arms, listening to the soothing melody that plays on the radio. Mindlessly, you trace the pretty ink on Yoongi’s forearms, running your finger over the ornamental designs.

“Is this new?” Your movements come to a halt upon spotting a piece of ink you’ve never noticed before.

Jamais seule written in a simple, fine line ink.

“Huh?” He asks, looking down at his wrist. “Oh yeah, Jeongguk did a custom for me earlier this week.”

In an attempt to hide your smile, you nestle your head into the crevice of his neck.

“What’re you smiling for?” A grin creeps onto his lips, but Yoongi doesn’t even need to ask because he knows better than anyone.

It’s just another reason to add to the list as to why there’s nobody in this world you’d rather be with than your best friend. At the thought of the tattoo, memories begin to flood your mind:

“Conjugate the verb parler in the imperfect tense.”

Yoongi refuses to answer the question. “Are you as hungry as I am?”

“Uhm, no? Yoongi, can you justー”

“My coffee’s getting cold. Do you want another cup?” Yet another excuse.

Your mouth opens up to refute, but he’s already on his feet, heading towards the coffee station at the corner of the cafe. Your hands cup around the mug that he’s left on the table, and you’re not surprised that the ceramic is relatively warm against your palms.

After spending the last hour studying for tomorrow’s French exam, you would have thought you’d make a breakthrough with Yoongi. But time and time again, he refuses to cooperate with you.

You don’t even know why he bothers returning to his seat when he doesn’t even care to study.

You let out a huff in another attempt to get him to learn. “Okay, let’s try this one more time. Can you conjugate the verb parler in the imperfect tense?”

“The coffee here is good, no?” Yoongi takes a sip from his mug once again, observing the hot liquid slosh around. The only thing he’s committed to is tiptoeing around his responsibilities (as well as his feelings, but that’s a whole other conversation).

“Look, I’m trying to help you study. If you don’t want me here, I’ll go. But if you want me to stay, then can you please focus and pay attention?” To no avail, Yoongi doesn’t respond.

“… Do you understand me?”

He doesn’t understand you. In fact, he’s on his phone, texting away and paying no mind to what you have to say.

“Bro, are you even listening to me?” You enunciate again with a scowl on your lips. Your jaw tightens as you pull out your own phone, angrily typing away at the keyboard.

You (1m ago): Yoongi, I want to help you study, so if you don’t want me here, I’ll go. But if you want me to stay, then can you focus and pay attention?? Please?? Do you understand me??

Yoongi (now): 🥺

Yoongi pouts and looks up from his device with sadness in his eyes. “I understand,” he mumbles under his breath. He finally puts his phone into the pocket of his hoodie and opens up his textbook, taking one step in the right direction.

You can’t say you didn’t try unlike all of your high school teachers. They’ve practically given up on the boy, seeing that he hasn’t shown up to class as he should. And when he does, he’s keeping it lowkey in the back of the classroom, sticking his nose in a new novel each week or scribbling away in his black, leatherbound journal. You’re not even sure how you got Yoongi to sit down with you knowing that he’s hard to get a hold of. But really, you’re just unaware that he’s afraid, always running away in the face of uncertainty.

Not even ten minutes go by before Yoongi is finding another excuse to fool around. It’s a whole new record, and you’re pretty proud of his accomplishment nevertheless.

“I’m sick of studying,” he groans with slumped shoulders.

“How can you be sick of studying? In the last hour, I’ve watched you make coffee and spin your textbook on your finger as if it’s a basketball.”

Yoongi’s lips press together in a straight line, but there’s no denying your observations.

“You’ve also tried to convince me that Tupac is the Mozart of our time. It’s not that I’m disagreeing with you, don’t get me wrong, but which part of this consummates studying?” You query with furrowed brows.

“Tell you what, let’s make a deal, okay?”

You shake your head at the thought of his proposal. “Oh, so you’re gonna bargain with me now?” Your voice is filled with exasperation.

“What do you think about ice cream?”

“What’s not to like about it?” Your arms cross over your chest as you lean back in your chair.

A wide, gummy smile spreads across Yoongi’s lips. “If we take an ice cream break, I swear that we’ll come back and study.”

A sigh falls from your lips because you’re not totally convinced, yet you ponder over the proposition. “I really doubt that you can keep your worー”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.” He mimics the motion by tracing his finger over his chest. “I’ll even drive,” he adds.

Your eyes squint, still uncertain.

“I’ll treat you,” he offers.

“Min Yoongi, you are one convincing dude,” you chuckle.

Closing your textbook and gathering all of your belongings, you chuck them in the backseat of Yoongi’s car and head off to the ice cream parlor.

You make it just in time before closing, being the last two customers in store that they have to kick out. While you pick a flavor as peculiar as butter pecan, Yoongi decides on a fruity flavor ー orange to be precise. The two of you enjoy your dessert, licking away at the sugary mess before it has the chance to melt onto the black, leather interior of his car.

“Can I ask you a serious question?” You pry, looking over at Yoongi.

“Shoot.”

“Why is it that you’re flunking when you’re smarter than 90% of the people at our school?”

“Ah,” he shakes his head in disbelief, “It takes more than intelligence to act intelligently.”

You scoff in rebuttal. “Seriously? You can quote Dostoevsky word for word, and I’m sure you can recite the entirety of Crime and Punishment in your sleep.”

You can see him shrug his shoulders out of the corners of your eyes. “I really don’t see the point when I’m not going to go to college.”

“Okay, so what’s your big dream, then?” You ask with worry laced in your tone.

“I don’t think you necessarily need to have a big dream.”

A drop of your ice cream melts onto your hand, and you’re quick to wipe it away. You’re shocked to hear what he has to say because everyone in this deadbeat town has a dream. It usually involves getting away from said deadbeat town. “Okay, enlighten me then?”

“You just need to be happy.” He’s stoic in his response.

“Are you happy?” You ask. It’s a loaded question.

He shrugs.

It’s quiet.

Moments go by.

Yoongi’s the first one to break the comfortable silence. “They’re flunking me because I’m truant. I work in the auto shop outside of town, so when I’m not in school, I’m picking up extra shifts there. It doesn’t pay a lot, but it’s enough to keep me alive, you know? It’s enough to cover the car too.”

Another drop of ice cream melts onto your wrist. You don’t fail to notice the fact that he hasn’t addressed your question. “But are you happy? Is this what you want?” You try again.

He runs his tongue over his bottom lip, pondering. “I’ve always thought about doing this, but... I want to drive out to L.A. and take my chance at music production or something.” He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “Sorry, it sounds stupid, I know.”

A fond smile makes its way onto your face. “I think that’s so cool,” you reassure him.

He cocks his head to the side as he tries to hide the smile that mirrors yours, but you can see his hard exterior break down before your very eyes. Nobody has ever believed in him the way that you do.

His eyes sparkle in the moonlight as if the galaxy lays dormant in his lonely irises. “... But the thing is, I don’t know if I want to be out and about in this world alone.”

You’ve never seen Yoongi so vulnerable before, and you never thought you’d have the chance to see it. So you comfort him in the way that you know best.

“Jamais seule,” you offer in consolation.

Yoongi’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “What?”

“Jamais seule,” you repeat once again, placing your hand on his shoulder. “It’s French for ‘never alone.’”

He chuckles at your explanation. “Are you trying to make this a teaching moment?”

You nod your head in response, a proud smile making its way onto your lips.

“Okay, then what about you, huh?” He inquires. “What’s your big goal then?”

“Me?”

He nods his head. Of course he’s talking to you, but you’re taken aback because nobody’s ever really taken interest in what it is that you want to do.

“Realistically, I guess I’d be a teacher? When I was younger, I was thinking about doing dance, but I think I should specialize in French or maybe even English? I want to learn other languages too, but I’m not totally sure if I can make a career out of it.” Your nose scrunches up at the uncertainty.

Yoongi orients his body towards yours, taking in your profile. “Fuck that. Learn all of the languages you want to learn, okay? But tell me what it is that you really want to do now, unrealistically speaking.”

You look over at him, and your heart swells up inside your chest. A warm, fuzzy feeling overtakes you as you brace yourself to share this part of your life because honestly, you’ve never admitted it out loud to anyone before in part because nobody has ever bothered to ask or even care in the way that Yoongi does.

“I want to be a flight attendant.” It almost feels as if a weight has been lifted off of your chest as you heave out a sigh. “I want to see other countries, experience different cultures, and meet new people. I just want to see what the world is like outside of this town, you know?”

“I know,” he mouths. His gummy smile resurfaces on his lips as he nods his head, listening to you speak so passionately about your dreams. “I think you’d make the best flight attendant in the whole world.”

In the entire cosmos, there’s a short list of things that you genuinely love. One being the delicacy of antique books, worn and torn with age, brimming with the faded passages of time, two being chips and guac, the magic elixir to instant happiness, and three being Min Yoongi.

It should be no surprise to you that you’d do anything in the world for your best friend, but hanging around the dirt drag to watch tonight’s race is the last thing you would ever expect.

As you approach the spectator crowd, the smell of burnt rubber and seared tarmac infiltrates your senses. There’s a cloud of smoke rings floating around you while the people huff and puff on their Newports and Marlboros. Some of them even offer you a lighter, but you politely decline.

It’s pretty obvious that you don’t fit into this scene. You’ve never even shown your face in this part of town before, but everyone else seems to know one another relatively well, hanging out on the hood of their cars and getting drunk off bottles of Smirnoff.

“Hey, princess, take a shot with us why don’t ya?” Someone whistles.

You turn your head to the side, only to find a group of girls eyeing you from head to toe. “No thanks, I’m good,” you offer with a timid voice, shrinking away at their electrifying gaze.

Yoongi pulls you closer to his side, wrapping his arm around your waist and squeezing his fingers into your hip bones. His eyes glimmer with gold as he shoots daggers at the group of girls.

“Don’t talk to anyone you don’t know, okay? Stick with Hobi,” he whispers to you through gritted teeth.

It’s not long before you come across Hoseok, socializing with a group of people who appear to be crossfaded. Yoongi pats him on the back, drawing his attention away from the dead end conversation.

“Hey!” Hoseok shouts with enthusiasm. He wedges himself between you and Yoongi, resting his arms around both of your shoulders. He turns your attention away from the group of people he was once conversing with, walking in the opposite direction. But once you step far away enough, out of reach from the crowd, Hoseok sighs in relief.

“Thank God for saving me, I literally don’t know how much longer I can talk to them for,” he shakes his head and rolls his eyes in spite of the happy-go-lucky personality you’re so familiar with.  

The blare of an air horn cuts through the bustling night, indicating that the race is soon to start. Yoongi cups his hand around Hoseok’s ear to tell him something in secret, and in response, he nods his head in affirmation.

Yoongi turns to you and flashes his sweet smile. “When I win, I’ll treat you to whatever you want, okay? Ice cream? Pizza? Tom kha gai from that Thai place you like? Name it and it’s yours.” Yoongi walks backward to take one last glance at you before tugging his headset over his ears and running off to the direction of his car.

You smile to yourself as the warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest begins to bloom once again.

You shout “good luck” to him as he steps away, but you know for a fact that he can’t hear you. He doesn’t need the luck anyways.

Hoseok taps on your shoulder, gathering your attention to lead you to the frontlines where you have a good view of the action. He fiddles with the device in front of him, tuning his CB radio, twisting the dial back and forth to find the right frequency.

“Agust D, this is J-Hope, OVER.” Hoseok shouts into his intercom with a little too much enthusiasm.

“Dude, we’re not gonna do this,” Yoongi complains through the static of the speakers. You can’t help but giggle at his response. It’s very characteristic of Yoongi, and you can already imagine the creases forming at the corner of his eyes as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

Your eyes look over towards the two approaching cars, one of them being the black and yellow Grandeur Azera you know so well. Yoongi and his opponent toe their tires to the starting line, making sure it’s a fair game.

The host speaks through his megaphone, but it’s hard to hear over the screaming crowd. His words are muffled, and it’s nearly indecipherable, but he’s most likely explaining the rules and safety to everyone, or at least you hope he is.

Yoongi, being the cocky bitch he is, revs his engine over the voice of the announcer. Through his rolled down windows, you can see him tap his fingers over his mouth to let out a dramatic yawn. He even checks the time on his watch just to show off.

You shake your head at his overwhelming pride, and just in time, he looks over at you to send a wink. Despite the roll of your eyes, you can’t hide the heat that rushes to the apples of your cheeks.

The countdown begins as the announcer yells through his megaphone. The crowd amplifies his voice as they count alongside him. The two cars rev their engines, and it’s deafening to your sensitive ears.

An overwhelming sense of nervousness rushes through your veins, but you squeeze onto Hobi’s arm to anchor yourself. The thought of Yoongi getting into a fatal accident crosses your conscience, but you quickly wipe the image away from your mind. You trust Yoongi, and there’s nobody in the world who does it better than him.

In the blink of an eye, you nearly miss the cars zipping off into the dead of the night, too lost in your thoughts.

Looking over Hoseok’s shoulder, you can see the red and green dots floating across the monitor, the green symbol representing Yoongi’s GPS signal as he zips around the circumference of town. All the red symbols show the police hotspots within a 10 mile radius.

“Yoongi, right turn in 3 blocks,” Hoseok says into the intercom. According to the police scanner, the cops are too close for comfort.

“Yep, gotcha.” Yoongi’s voice sounds faded through the speakers.

In hopes of clearing the static, Hoseok fiddles with the dials. “What the fuck? I’m losing you.”

Panic rises to your chest as you watch the green dot speed across town, driving in close proximity to the law enforcement. Even worse, you’re losing communication with him. It’s nothing but static.

Hoseok slaps the radio in rage, but of course, nothing happens. “What the hell’s going on?” He even rips out the batteries and puts it back into the device to no avail. He looks over at you as if you have the answers, but you’re rendered useless when your mind draws a blank.

Hoseok pulls your hand away from your mouth, not even realizing that you’ve been chewing on your nails all this time.

“Well shit, now what?”

“Hope and pray?” He shrugs.  

At the sound of his words, your heart drops to your stomach.

Your hands begin to tremble as you monitor the screen. He’s cutting close to the finish line, but you have no eyes on his opponent. Meanwhile, the cops are spreading across the map, probably searching for the source of the disturbance.

Yoongi has yet to be caught, but he’s smart enough to maneuver through the backroads he knows better than anyone ー the ones he’s practically grown up on.

The green dot races across the screen, coming closer and closer to your marked location. The boisterous rev of an engine can be heard within earshot, so your attention shifts to the far end of the dirt path. Your heart pounds against your ribs as you cross your fingers, praying and hoping that Yoongi is the one who’s returning to you.

The lack of street lights makes it difficult to see down the cloudy road, but you never seem to give up, leaning over the makeshift barrier and tiptoeing above the crowd.

The sound of the engine elevates as the frontliner approaches. Your attention focuses on the two tiny, bright lights emerging from the distance. However, your vision is blurred as the two lights diverge into four. Another car follows behind it, charging full speed towards the finish line. Your hands squeeze around Hoseok’s wrist as the two of you anxiously wait to see the winner. The headlights illuminate at a greater lux as it speeds down the path. You begin to squint, trying to adjust your eyes to the light to make out the license plate number or at least something that’s telling of who the lead driver is.

But fear not, because a sigh of relief escapes from your lungs as the yellow detailings on the infamous Grandeur Azera is within sight. Yoongi crosses the finish line with full speed, and the crowd erupts in a roar.

He decelerates before coming to a full stop. There’s a haze of dust that trails behind his car, and a silhouette of a figure emerges from the smoke. It’s none other than Yoongi who trudges out of the car, and it’s unmistakable from his golden glare which shines through the exhaust.

You let go of Hoseok’s wrist in favor of racing towards Yoongi to wrap him up in the safety of your arms. He immediately reciprocates and melts into your embrace. He squeezes you tightly around your torso, and you fall further into his arms. Your nose presses against his shoulder, burrowing your head against the crook of his neck.

You chuckle through the stray tear that rolls down your cheek and onto the green denim of his jacket. “You idiot, you love scaring the life out of me, huh?”

Yoongi pulls away from you to cup your cheeks, angling your face so that he can gaze into your eyes. His irises slowly revert back to the shade of brown you’ve come to love. He wipes away the tears streaming down your cheeks and tucks a tendril of hair behind your ear.

“Iー” He opens his mouth as if he’s about to say something, but he decides against it. Instead, his lips come crashing down onto yours, kissing you as if it’s his last breath.

“Care to explain what that was all about?” You slam the door shut behind you.

Yoongi refuses to answer.

The air doesn’t feel clear between the two of you, and it hasn’t ever since the kiss. It feels off. Tense, even. As a matter of fact, it’s been unusually quiet since the car ride home.

Your head has been spinning round and round because Yoongi never acts like this. Whatever it is that goes on between the two of you doesn’t go beyond the confinements of these four, egg white walls (with the exception of his car, of course).

But bottom line: It’s an unspoken rule that whatever happens between you stays between you.

Yoongi is sullen in his contemplation. He kicks off his boots, trudging into his apartment with heavy feet as if he’s a teenager ridden with angst. You would think that he’s retired from the days when he keeps to himself and feeds the world with the “I’m misunderstood” bullshit as some lame excuse. But yet again, he’s crawling back into the shell of the man he once was.

He chooses to ignore the obvious problem as he shrugs off his jacket and switches out one t-shirt for another. You hate the idea of him going to bed upset, but no matter how much you try to get him to talk, you’re left with utter silence.

Being tired and frustrated of his lack of communication, you decide to stand up from the edge of the mattress, plodding through the creaky floorboards to stand before Yoongi. You tilt your head up to meet his gaze, but his glassy eyes avert yours, looking anywhere but at you. All you can see is the faint beauty mark on the side of his nose, but never in your life did you think that you’d frown at the sight of it.

You opt for getting his attention by wrapping your arms around his waist, resting your head against his bare chest, listening to the violent storm that pulses beneath the shell of your ear.  

His arms hang by his side. You squeeze him a little tighter, and he huffs out a sigh, falling prey to your touch. Your cheek is pressed tighter against his chest as he envelops you in a hug. His fingers trail up and down your spine in an effort to comfort you, but really, it’s more appeasing to him than to you knowing that you’re within arms reach.

“They tapped into my radio.” His voice cuts through the quiet air.

You swallow down the knot in your throat as you listen to his every word.

“God, they said some fucked up shit to me.” His hands clench tighter against the cotton of your t-shirt, and you can hear his heart pound harder against his chest.

A painful sigh escapes from your lips as you listen to the tremble of his voice. “Whatever they say isn’t true, you know?” You offer in consolation, “They don’t know you like I do.”

“It wasn’t even about me, ughー They were talking about you, and... fuck, Iー” Yoongi fights against the tears that are threatening to spill, the frustration evident in his tone.

Your heart shatters at the sound of his broken voice. “Yoongi, people are gonna talk, and nothing they say will ever matter, so just let ‘em talk.”

Your words ring through his ear as he harshly swallows a glob of spit down his throat. He thinks to himself in silence, wondering whether or not his words will ever matter to you.

“Can I tell you something?” He pulls away from you to take a better look at your expressions.

“Yeah, of course, anything,” you knit your eyebrows together and nod your head in solace.

Yoongi walks backwards until the back of his knees knock against the edge of his bed, allowing you to climb onto his lap, mounting his thighs with one leg on either side. He licks his lips to ease his nerves, anxiety bubbling up to the surface. His hands get clammy as he rests them on the curve of your waist.

But all of that dissipates once he fixates his attention on your eyes.

It feels as if you two are in your own little world together while everyone else dances around in the ruins of their dreams.

His eyes soften and a shy smile spans across his lips. “I love you.”

You’re taken aback by his confession, almost as if you didn’t hear him correctly granted his low murmurs. Your mouth hangs open, jaw slack. Your eyes blink, stunned by what you may or may not have heard.

It takes four and half seconds for you to register that ー holy shit ー did he just say what you think he just said?

“What’d you say?” Your brows knit together and your forehead creases asking for the much needed confirmation.

“You really want me to say it again?” He’s bashful as he hides his rosy cheeks in the crevice of your neck, his hot breath tickling your skin.

“Say it again,” you encourage. Your face starts to ache with the beaming smile painted across your lips.

Yoongi’s mouth curls into a smile to mimic yours as he peppers kisses against the column of your throat. He repeats his words once again, each syllable caught between a featherlight kiss.

“Iー” His lips ghost against your jaw.

“Loveー” Onto your chin.

“You.”

His soft eyes flash open to gawk at your lips, waiting for permission to kiss you where he so desperately wants to. He blinks, looking up to peer into the depths of your soul through the gateway of your irises. You can see the whirl of emotions in his eyes, a mixture between elation and tenderness and everything in between.

But above all, you can see the love.

A shy look is exchanged before you flutter your eyes close and lean forward to hesitantly brush your lips against his, testing the waters. But once he melts into your touch, you dive into the deep end, firmly committing to your desires.

It takes another half second for you to register that ー holy fucking shit ー you’re actually kissing the love of your life.

Although you are no stranger to Yoongi’s lips, something about this feels different. Yet again, you’re drunk off serotonin and intoxicated by his fiery touch. The world around you disappears alongside your worries and your troubles. All of your feelings, your emotions, your secrets, and all of your wishes are laid bare before you.

But what’s different about this kiss is that for the first time in your life, you know for a fact that this is what love is supposed to be.

“I love you, Yoongi,” you finally confess with your whole chest. Tears begin to form in your eyes and a smile that’s larger than life spreads across your lips, bringing pains and aches to your cheeks. But nevertheless, it’s all worth it because Yoongi loves you and you love him.

It doesn’t even register in your head that your back is now flat against the mattress, nor do you register the embarrassing amount of slick that has pooled at your entrance. At least not until Yoongi presses his fingers against the slim cotton of your underwear, teasing your folds with the glide of his calloused fingers.

“You’re wet already?”

You mewl upon his comment. “Can’t help it.”

Yoongi tugs off your shorts with your underwear in tow. His mouth reconnects with yours in longing, and his lips taste exactly like blackberries, bay leaves, and blissful midnights blanketed underneath the stars.

Your breath hitches in your throat and you shudder under his touch as he grazes over your clit. His finger dips between your folds, collecting your arousal before rubbing soothing circles over your sensitive nub. Your heavy eyelids fall close, and Yoongi watches your face contort in pleasure, your eyebrows creasing together.

Growing restless of his teasing, you lurch forward to palm the tent in his pants. You will yourself to open your eyes just the slightest bit.

“Hard already?” You tease with raised brows.  

“Can’t help it,” he echoes.

You pull on the fabric of his jeans, begging him to remove the material from his legs. He obliges while you strip your top off.

At the sight of your bare breasts, Yoongi’s lips find its way to your pert nipples, hallowing his cheeks and sucking on the tender flesh until the blood rushes to the surface of your skin. His hand trails its way down your body, dipping two fingers into your tight hole, pumping in and out to massage your walls.

A thick glob of saliva forms in the back of your throat, and you sputter it into the palm of your hands. Reaching down for Yoongi’s shaft, you jerk him off exactly how he likes it. Your thumb traces over the tip of his cock, swiping over the slit as he leaks beads of precum.

Yoongi sighs as you work faster, milking him for all of his worth. He grips his hand around your wrist to slow down your movements, wanting to change it up. Instead, he trails kisses up your body until he’s hovering over your lips.

“Don’t wanna come like this,” he says with a heavy sigh.

His hand replaces yours as he pumps his length and lines it up at your entrance.

You brace yourself by squeezing your hands around his shoulders, clinging on to him for dear life. He pushes his member one inch at a time until your fingernails dig into his supple skin, dragging him down to meet your lips.

A gasp falls from your throat as the angle changes, and he pushes deeper inside of you.

“Oh, fuck,” you quiver.

Yoongi lays a kiss upon your cheek before meeting your eyes once again. “You okay?”

“Better than okay,” you nod.

A blinding smile makes its way to Yoongi’s lips and you can’t help but reciprocate. He pushes his length further until he’s balls deep, his pelvis pressed up against yours.

You throw your head back against the mattress, exposing the blank canvas of your neck. For a second, his eyes are gilded with gold, but it quickly regresses. His tongue runs over his bottom lip before languidly licking a stripe up the side of your neck. He suckles on your skin until it discolors, leaving behind a love bite that’s none other than a mark of his love.

As you finally adjust to the thick stretch of Yoongi’s cock, you start to fidget, rutting your hips against his.

“Yoongi, please move,” you cry out, wrapping your legs around the small of his waist. And you swear you could physically cry in this very moment.

At your request, his hips begin to thrust, fucking himself into your wanting pussy. With the drag of his dick, you can feel every inch of him move inside of you. Your walls contract and mold against his shaft, his balls slapping against the curve of your ass. The filthy sounds fill the tiny space of his studio apartment, as does the squelches of your arousal.

Yoongi bites his lip as he relishes this very moment. The way you look beneath him, taking his cock like a good girl, fucked out and in total bliss as a dribble of spit cascades down your lips. He tucks his hand underneath your chin to wipe away at the saliva, only to fall back down into a plank position.

Your chest heaves and your head lolls to the side. You can hardly see through your eyelids which are falling shut, but somehow, you resist, seeing the pretty ink that’s engraved into Yoongi’s skin. The most prominent one ー and also the newest addition to his sleeve ー being at eye level. Leaning over the slightest bit, you press your lips against the simple, fine line ink.

A fire within Yoongi is ignited upon your action. His hips begin to stutter, reaching close to the end of his release. He sticks his fingers in his mouth, sucking on the digits until they’re nice and wet. His hand trails a path down your body, only to find its way to your clit. It’s hot and slick down there, especially with the newly added pressure.

A series of moans tumble from your lips as he relentlessly rubs harsh circles onto your nub.

“Oh my god, Yoongi ー Yeah, just like that,” you whimper when the tip of his cock pushes against your cervix. Your eyes are starting to water at the immense amount of pleasure building up in the pit of your stomach.

“Like what?” He smirks, “Like that?”

His thrusts are harder as he quickens the pace. Your body drifts further up the mattress with the force of his hips and your arms wrap around his upper torso to keep yourself anchored. Your fingernails scratch the surface of his skin, leaving behind a trail of red marks down his back.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Yoongi, Iー” A strangled noise escapes from your parted lips.

“Yes, baby? You can come for me.” The soft coo against your ear contrasts against the harsh slap of his hips, sending you further into your release.

“Yoongi… I- I love you,” you manage to sputter out, albeit weakly from the current, fucked out state that you’re in.

At the sound of your confession once again, Yoongi grunts harshly, his breath fanning across your face. His cock grinds harder against your cervix as he chases your high.

The knot in the pit of your stomach unfurls with a harsh thrust, and you dissolve into pleasure. Your walls clench around his dick which continues to pound into you. Your body heats up and your heart races a hundred beats per second as waves of bliss come crashing through you.

Yoongi molds his lips against yours, kissing you with ardor. As you tremble beneath him, your vision starts to blur and your eyelids fall shut, yet with a few more pumps, Yoongi is releasing himself inside of you, painting your inner walls white with his cum. He collapses on top of you, chest heaving.

Your pussy is bare and battered, but you wouldn’t have it any other way with sticky thighs and Yoongi’s pulsating cock inside of you.

The two of you lie down together in the safety of one another’s arms in an attempt to catch your breath. Your fingers run through his raven locks as he rests his head against your chest, listening to the come down of your beating heart.

In the dead of the night, the air in this tiny space is quiet and still while every other deadbeat in this town runs rampant in the world, yet you wouldn’t have it any other way as long as you are never alone.

[adenei]

All You Knead Is Love - Chapter 4

It's time for another weekly update! Today, we learn how Lily got burned so badly. I hope you're stocked up on hatred for our least favorite person!

Two days later, Lily returns to the spiraling reality that is her life. After Lily got back from the loo during dinner on Saturday night, Mary and Marlene sensed her change in demeanor, even though she insisted that nothing was wrong. Her best friends followed Lily to her flat after the celebrations ended, and they spent the rest of the night drinking wine and watching sappy Hallmark movies.

They convinced Lily to take one more day off before jumping back into her career, where she needed to sort things out. Another morning and afternoon spent with the girls was just the therapy she needed, even if they insisted on paying for everything. Lily has never been one to receive charity in any form, and prefers independence in all facets of her life. But naturally, Mary and Marlene didn’t listen, treating her to brunch with endless mimosas and mani/pedis at her favorite nail salon.

When it was time for Marlene to take the train back to Dublin, she suggested Lily accompany her to London in two weeks for the semi-annual wedding expo. Marlene has gone to the February expo that occurs every year just after Valentine’s Day, when there’s an influx of newly engaged brides-to-be looking to book all facets of their dream wedding. Of course, Marlene goes to scope out the newest fashion trends and scours the new designs to add to the floor of the bridal shop.

Lily admits that it would be fun to join her, and will think about it since money is an ever-present issue. Even if she were to pay Marlene back—which Marly suggested—she still doesn’t like being in debt to others.

Now, on a crisp Monday afternoon, Lily kicks at the ground while she walks along the riverside. The weather has dropped back to below freezing, matching the hollow, empty feeling that once burned with so much excitement and prospect for her career. She does her best to follow Mary and Marlene’s advice—to keep her head up and not let Sev the slimeball get her down.

She’s spent the entire day on damage control, calling clients who have booked months in advance to confirm their appointments and scouring downtown Belfast for other available storefronts that might be closer to a price range she can afford. Lily even managed another meeting with the original landlord she was about to sign a contract with since all the equipment is already in place at the shop, but it looked like Severus got to him first.

Read the rest on AO3

[felassan]

Article: ‘The Most Powerful Woman in Gaming Wants to Make EA Loved Again’

Laura Miele is helping direct the company toward a future where it’s more attuned with consumers.

One of the first things Laura Miele did when she became chief studios officer of Electronic Arts Inc. three years ago was to gather 19 video game influencers in a conference room. “What do you want me to hear? Lay it on me,” she recalls asking them. “One guy sitting at the corner of the table, he just said, ‘I don’t understand why you don’t give players what they’re asking for.’ ”

[rest of article under cut for length, pasted as Bloomberg has an article read limit]

One of the first things Laura Miele did when she became chief studios officer of Electronic Arts Inc. three years ago was to gather 19 video game influencers in a conference room. “What do you want me to hear? Lay it on me,” she recalls asking them. “One guy sitting at the corner of the table, he just said, ‘I don’t understand why you don’t give players what they’re asking for.’ ”

It’s something many gamers have wondered about EA for years. The $40 billion company, one of the biggest in gaming, is responsible for Battlefield, Madden NFL, and other megahit franchises. But many gamers have long seen EA as a necessary evil, resenting the direction in which it took some games and bristling at its aggressive attempts to extract money by charging extra for digital items in games that cost as much as $70 upfront. This dissatisfaction was no secret in 2018: Gamers spent their days filling up Reddit and other message boards with free advice for EA—but many felt its decision-makers weren’t listening.

EA’s leadership knows it has to improve that relationship, and Miele is a key player in its efforts to do so. Her focus group asked for new content for Star Wars Battlefront II and requested new types of games. Miele quickly assigned 70 people to the Battlefront development project, which dramatically improved its net promoter score, a measure of how likely people are to recommend the game. She also prompted EA to create a skateboarding game and committed to reintroducing its college football franchise, the two genres at the top of the influencers’ list.

In a sense, the guy at the meeting became a stand-in for all of EA’s long-suffering customers in Miele’s eyes. “I wanted to do right by this player,” she says.

As chief studios officer, Miele manages 6,000 staffers and thousands of contractors globally. She oversees EA’s 24 studios, where she makes personnel decisions and sets strategy, and she’s reshaped how the company uses analytics to create and market its games.

In the process she may have become the most powerful woman in gaming. In a 2019 International Game Developers Association survey, fewer than 30% of the more than 1,100 respondents were women, and few if any hold a more central role at such an important company. “It’s a tough place for a woman,” says Peter Moore, who was Miele’s boss when he was EA’s chief operating officer. “It wasn’t always smooth sailing, but she battled her way through.”

Proving good intentions is more important for EA than ever, as the business model of gaming continues to shift in ways that have the potential to alienate customers. Like its rivals, the company is increasing its focus on free-to-play games, making money through sales of digital products such as outfits and weapons for characters.

There are signs it’s succeeding. Apex Legends, EA’s free-to-play hero shooter game, has posted more than $1 billion in sales since it was first published in 2019, and it continues to grow. “The way to succeed with free-to-play games like that is to listen to and engage your customer base and earn their loyalty through incremental purchases,” says Doug Clinton, managing partner of the venture capital firm Loup Ventures, who says Miele deserves much of the credit for Apex Legends. “It feels like a proof point for her that the company is adapting well beyond traditional disk sales.”

Miele, 51, was born in San Francisco but grew up on the north shore of Lake Tahoe. She got her start in games—the kind that require a board—during family nights, when she pitted herself against her brother in Monopoly, Clue, Yahtzee, and backgammon. While attending the University of Nevada at Las Vegas, she worked at architectural companies. By the time she dropped out she’d moved on from receptionist positions to more senior roles, while gaining a reputation for organizing lunch-hour card games with her co-workers.

Miele landed a job as a project manager at Westwood Studios, a video game developer best known for Command and Conquer, in 1996. She eventually took over all marketing for its parent company, Virgin Interactive.

It wasn’t always a hospitable atmosphere: Miele remembers her colleagues expecting her to take notes at meetings, then clean up afterward. “That is just not something I would do today,” she says. “I adapted a lot because I was so passionate about what I was doing. I found my voice along the way.”

When EA acquired Westwood in 1998, she stayed on. At the time, the company did revenue forecasting by looking at sales data once a month and putting together spreadsheets by hand. Miele was tasked with developing more advanced analytics. She hired a group of data analysts, nicknamed “the Jedi,” and had them build EA’s first statistical regression models to examine sales trends, seasonality, and preorders. It took almost two years to put the system in place, but it overhauled the company’s business processes, and executives were soon using it to determine how to invest in advertising and promotions. “I loved how data and analytics can inform your judgment and your gut instinct,” Miele says.

Miele also decided to make one major break with EA’s existing business practices. In 2011 about 80% of game advertising budgets were spent on TV ads. But she saw how much time gamers spent online and decided to spend the bulk of the ad budget for Battlefield 3 on digital, downplaying other types of ads and cutting the TV ad budget to only 30%.

Messing around with the plan for Battlefield 3 was a good way to make people nervous. Miele remembers two executives calling her in for a meeting and demanding to know why they weren’t seeing billboards for the game as they drove in to the office. “It was scary for me, too, and I don’t blame our executives questioning me on that,” she says. But the game ended up being EA’s fastest-selling, moving more than 5 million copies in its first week. From that point, Miele’s marketing strategy became the standard for the company.

When EA signed a 10-year deal with Walt Disney Co. in 2013, Miele became Star Wars general manager. In 2014 she took over publishing operations, marketing, and other key areas, first in the North American region, then globally in 2016. At the time, the game industry was moving from physical disks to digital downloads, transforming its relationship with retail partners such as Walmart Inc. and Best Buy Co.

Miele was in charge of smoothing things over, explaining that EA would start competing with them for customers even as the retailers accounted for the largest portion of the revenue. “I never said to them, ‘Hey, see you later, we are moving on,’ ” she says. “It was, ‘How can we move forward together?’ ” EA began making physical cards with digital credits that its retail partners could sell at their stores, allowing them to share in the revenue from digital sales.

EA’s studios are spread around the globe, and Covid-19 altered Miele’s routine radically. “It was a very difficult year, and I’m really proud about how our company showed up,” she says. “I considered myself a wartime leader last year. You had to get in a bunker with everybody.”

Days became an endless progression of Zoom calls. To keep up with gamers, Miele started spending evenings listening to Clubhouse chats while answering work emails. Because she hasn’t been on the road, she’s also had more time to dine at home and play board games or Apex Legends and The Sims with her 16-year-old twins. As the pandemic retreats in the U.S., her schedule might change, but she still envisions providing more flexibility to her employees to work from home and office. “I do think we’re going to have a different work environment as we go forward,” she says.

Miele is itching to get back to the studio visits. She’s helping steer EA further toward smartphones. The company plans to release mobile versions of Apex Legends globally this year and spent $2.1 billion in April for Glu Mobile Inc., a mobile game publisher, while also preparing the next releases in its existing franchises. “I think the next Battlefield and the mobile shooter games, along with how successful the M&As come out will be key litmus tests of her management this year,” says Matt Kanterman, an analyst with Bloomberg Intelligence. “Her scope is clearly rising.”

— With Dina Bass and Jason Schreier

[source]

[vinylhazza]

ok so we all know that gray rushes/is eager about his relationships, but this time, what if the reader asks him to slow down or something? like she’s just getting started with her degree and she wants to slow down a bit, not rush into things, and eth agrees and gray is finally happy? also sorry if u aren’t taking concepts or requests lol

i feel like...low key....he needs this irl lol

this man doesn’t even have the phrase slow down in his vocabulary so when you say those words, the look of confusion that crossed over his face was to be expected. you knew you would have to spell it out for him, at least slightly. he gets in over his head with every relationship and wonders why they somehow fall apart so soon. some girls fall into that spell: the attractive guy wants me so it must be something real and true and they fall before they ever really form a strong bond, sliding to third base a time or two and tricking themselves into thinking it’s deeper than surface level lust. 

but you, you are not the ‘kick it into high gear’ type of gal and you thought you made that pretty obvious from the start. grayson gets attached easily, we all know that. you take your days one at a time, scope out the pros and cons of every situation. and you know, yeah it might be a trauma response from the countless times people have fucked you over and made you out to be a fool from a very young age, but that same mindset has helped you dodge many bullets over the years.

his first initial infatuation—it’s no different with you, but you are how do you say—hyper aware of his intentions and motives. you’ve been screwed over, toyed with, used your fair share of times and the world be damned to hell if some buff fluffy brown haired boy with amber eyes and a smile that oozes light and happiness comes in treating you like you’re this...lost treasure and you just believe him. believe all of the pretty words, take his hand and follow him into the dark, blindly let yourself love someone again not be sure of what they expect out of the relationship. and damn you if you let him swoop in and carry you off like a princess from a tall tower. like he’s this knight in shining armor. you won’t be fooled by the cloud of attraction and get yourself in too deep before you’re completely on the same page with one another. and first things first; you aren’t someone that needs to be saved, and neither is he.

you understand the puppy love stage of relationships. it’s bound to happen: the subtle obsession with your partner, that new light fuzzy feeling you get thinking about them, thinking of what they might be doing when they’re not with you, if they are thinking about you too, listening to all the sappy love songs and suddenly all you can think about is the color of their eyes after they’ve laughed real hard, the dip in their brow when they are thinking for a long time, the electric feeling that zaps your skin when they touch you, the way their voice lowers two octaves when they lean over and whisper something sweet in your ear, it’s all there for grayson. you know you’re falling in deep, and maybe that’s what scares you. maybe it’s the way you are so willing to trust him early on that leads you to the conversation of slowing things down. for the protection of the both of you, it’s not one sided.

not only had grayson made you feel secure in the very beginning of the sudden relation you had started, but he kept consistent with his actions and words. something that was unusual and strange after dealing with men that never really grew up beyond 16. at the stage of your life you’re in, there isn’t any room for a childish game of tag with a boy who didn’t have any intentions of sticking around in the first place.

you worked hard for everything you had, you always have. your upbringing wasn’t one of sunshine, rainbows, and unicorns. you didn’t have it easy. it wasn’t something that you used to weazle your way out of situations, excuse your occasional bad behavior, but it was something you thought about when you did catch glimpse of your growing attraction to someone. especially grayson, who was...one of the nicest men you had ever met. charming really didn’t even cut it. but just starting on your degree...complicated things. made you really want to reiterate to him that your degree, it was important to you and you fought tooth and nail to be able to even touch a college textbook. you couldn’t be blinded by his charms and be distracted from your dreams. there were times where the world seemed dark and hopeless and with hard work and perseverance you climbed out of that hole, just to stand as the strong intelligent woman he was falling head over heels for. you didn’t get that way over night. and you sure as well weren’t going to screw up your studies because you found someone that maybe wanted to stay, maybe didn’t. if the two of you were to work out and keep developing that beautiful bond - you hoped it would be as a team, one with understanding and clarity.

in your past experience, once a man knows he’s got you hooked, that’s the green light to treat you how they’ve wanted to the entire time. their once soft caress turns possessive, trust turns to assumption and blame, dates grow less and less frequent, and are left to sit and wonder what you ever saw in the first place. tricked, manipulated, and heartbroken. it’s never been honesty, love, and acceptance first. it’s “i love you” and “i care” when their actions don’t support their claims. you promised that the next boy you catches your heartstrings and strums until you’ve fallen under their spell, you would know exactly what you’re falling for. that means taking it slow, knowing what makes grayson tick, what he hates, what he adores, what brings him peace and comfort, if he cries during chick flicks, what kind of person he wants to be remembered as, if he fears the unknown as much as you do, was makes him completely and totally happy, and what infuriates him the fastest of all, what hardships has he had to face alone, what haunts his mind in the dead of night where no one can hear him crying, and what thought makes him smile when he’s doing nothing in particular. for once, just this once, you’re heart longed to know more that what meets the eye. you wanted to know if your feelings were 3 demensional, encompassing the good and bad about grayson, or if you truly just loved the way he fucked you.

but most importantly, you wanted him to know you. know the things about you that most people didn’t have the pleasure of knowing, all while making your dreams come true.

you thought maybe it was a mistake reaching out to ethan in your time of dire need of a shoulder to lean on, but it ended up being just the conversation and pat on the back you needed. the right nudge from the right person to have you sitting down with the softest soul you’ve come to find. grayson wasn’t someone you wanted to hurt, and ethan reassuring you that by talking to him and making him slow down, it would save him from more heartache than anything.

“i think it’s going to mellow him out, actually,” ethan nods along with your words, picking at a stray strand on his pants.

he wants what’s best for his twin, which is the exact reason you wanted to have this conversation with him. you didn’t want to mess something up and be rash and childish before anything real really even started, “grayson doesn’t really do ‘slow’, so this will be good for him.”

“i just don’t want to hurt him you know? i don’t want to be another girl that leaves so suddenly when he gets a bit too much. i know those are special circumstances and he was desperate with the desire of finding that special connection...” a pause to catch your breath, nervous from the vulnerability you’re showing already, “but when i make a commitment, i keep it. i want him to know that. i just want him to be secure within his decision to want...whatever this is with me. i want to be able to know him enough that my feelings for him are justified. and vice versa...i don’t want him to think that because i want to slow down, means i want to stop.”

“he will understand more than you think. if there is one thing i know about him, it’s that he will bend over backwards to make something he wants work. if he really wants you like i know he does, he will slow it down and make sure that you are comfortable. sounds like he doesn’t have much choice.” and it’s nice hearing those words from someone you haven’t gotten the chance to grow all that close with yet. hell you’re not even that close with grayson yet. you’re in the beginning stages still, learning your way around life with him in it. independence has always been one of the things that made you, well, you - and Grayson must understand you need more time before moving forward. 

“really?” your heavy sigh shows your nerves are shot from worrying about not just school, but about the many different outcomes of the talk you need to have with Grayson. it has to happen, but you’ve never been one for confrontation even if it’s ensuring a positive outcome for both parties. 

another shrug with a kind smile from ethan warms your heart, “just talk to him. he’ll appreciate your honesty. most of the other girls got wigged out and dipped, it’s going to mean so much more that you are wanting to stick it out even if it’s going too fast for you right now.”

growing up in a family full of huggers really shows when you step forward to wrap your arms around his waist for a split second, appreciative that he listened to understand and actually help you.

“thank you e, i hope he doesn’t just think i’m trying to make excuses and leave.”

when you pull away he is smiling still, pleasantly surprised by your friendly hug. with a light squeeze to your shoulder and a soft sort of smirk playing on his lips, he gives you just the advice you needed.

“something i’ve learned being his twin; give him a little more credit.”

when  you have that conversation that had you so nervous your stomach tossed and turned all day long, you make sure you’re chanting ethans words over in your head. breathe. it’ll be fine. he will understand. give him a little more credit. he really wants you. the words play like a song through your head as you wait for him to sit back down on the white floral sheet in the softest patch of grass in your backyard. water spills from the glass in his hand as he plops onto the ground in a heap of giggles, muttering “fuck” softly, trying (and failing of course) to wipe the water off of his light blue button up shirt. it’s a good color on him, and you’re momentarily distracted from how attractive he looks in the late afternoon sun. 

when you first met grayson, he had stumbled upon you sitting all by yourself in a small park, book in hand, peach in the other, completely unsuspecting that you would catch his heart captive when you glanced up with a smile that just about made him pass out. you were still surprised months later that he had had the nerve to say a word to you, he looked ill with anxiety to even utter a word. it was a day you’d never forget - and you would try and remember that innocent look in his eye when you explain why you had planned this picnic in the first place. to talk, to listen, to understand. 

you figure if you really want to have the conversation be as smooth as it can be for the both of you, you could take it back to the very start. a simple picnic, with a lot of hope for the future.

after the laughter fit falls down, it’s time to get to the root of the issue. you prepare yourself with a deep breath in, holding in for a few seconds with your eyes closed, then slowly releasing when you look back at the questioning raise of his eyebrows. when he cocks his head to the side, you know it’s now or never. if you don't say it now, you might regret it. 

“I actually brought you here so that we could have a talk real quick,” you finally explain, making sure to maintain eye contact and drink in ever facial expression he may have - just so you know how to go forward. 

“you know you can talk to me about anything, is something wrong?” He’s so soft with the way he talks, never suspecting anything like what he’s about to hear, and it almost hurts to know you’ll be disappointing him in some way. 

“nothing is really wrong...i just think maybe...we should slow it down for a bit.” 

“what do you mean? we just got here,” he chuckles, taking a sip of his water with a shake of his head. not understanding, his fingers fiddle with the fringe at the bottom of your sundress. 

you continue without stopping, ignoring his joke and hopefully make him see you aren’t here to fool around, at least not entirely. it was a serious talk for once and you wanted him to respect what you had to say. 

“-not go so fast we miss the exciting part of getting to know one another,” you carry on to a now confused, sorrowful looking grayson, finally understanding that you weren’t talking so much about the picnic - but the two of you as a whole. 

“i still want this—still want you i mean. but i just...want us to be us for a bit and not worry so much about the next step and then the one after that and the one after that and-” 

he holds his hand up to stop you, cutting you off while looking at the ground deep in thought. setting the water down slowly, he climbs back up to his feet. you watch him patiently while he treads through the clipped grass, knowing he’s trying hard not to overreact and over think. After what feels like eternity, he sits down with his hands hanging off his knees, picking at a blade of grass he’s ripped from the earth beneath him. 

“have i pushed you?” 

sweet boy, always trying to take blame.

with a small smile you shake your head, “you haven’t pushed me at all gray. I just want this to grow - want us to grow. i don’t want you getting in too deep before you’re sure you’re ready for all of the things i’m looking for in the future and likewise.” 

another nod of understanding, he was listening close. his respect for you grow tenfold, you had the courage to not let your lust or even affection cloud your judgement and you were honest with him. something that grayson admired most from anyone he let into his life was honesty. 

“i’m not very good with slow but i’m sure you’re probably right,” he laughs more at himself than anything, “i just get carried away. especially with a woman like you. how couldn’t i?” 

always the flirt. and a good one at that. he always knew exactly what to say to get you blushing, which is exactly why you hide your face bashfully in your shoulder for a few moments before you could look back at him admiring you. 

“I hope you know that this is different though, Y/n. I can’t exactly explain how, but you should know i’ve never felt this way for anyone no matter how many times i’ve tried to convince myself otherwise in the past out of...fear, shame, even guilt. it’s different. and because of that difference, i know i can’t be selfish with you.” 

for once you’re grateful for your mothers voice at the back of your head nudging you to let your heart be open, because without that voice, you would never be sitting in the grass with a man that truly does want to respect your boundaries and looks at you like you’re made of exquisite glass. you wouldn’t have memorized the soft texture of his lips as you lean in to kiss him, or the feeling of his hand cupping your cheek. you wouldn’t know the sound of his relived sigh, or the giggle that breaks the kiss only a few seconds later. and you wouldn’t have the clarity that you so desperately craved. 

if there is one thing you knew for sure it’s that he is telling the truth. his truth shows with the delicate placement of his hands, the soft caress of his thumb on your cheek, his fingers running through your hair, and all the other ways he shows his adoration for you every day that you wish to hold on to forever. you know that the waiting and slow pace will be worth it in the end and the slow burn will turn into the blazing fire that you can already tell shines in his eyes. your hesitation has nothing to do with him but a past you would explain in due time. 

for now, you’d continue kissing him on the sheet that smelt faintly of laundry detergent, in the backyard of your quaint apartment on 26th and Broadway, with his hand in your hair, lips pressed gently against yours, and a whole heart full of hope for a long future of days just like this. 

[rdrhoe]

daddy dutch x fem reader here we goo

my first ever fanfic for the red dead community i wrote this as complete self indulgent pwp whilst vv high

warnings: hella daddy dutch, spanking, dom/sub, angsty ish maybe

part 1 of 2 (2 is here)

& on ao3

Dutch is pissed that you stormed off after an argument. now you gotta face the consequences >:)

🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙

You drew in a shaky breath as you made your way through the night, finally heading towards the swamps where Shady Belle lurked. Having spent the last couple of nights busying yourself on the streets and surrounding area of Saint Denis, you missed your bed and the gang, but most of all you missed Dutch. You were scared. Scared to go home, back to camp.

You'd had a disagreement with Dutch and decided there and then the best course of action was to simply leave. In part because you'd had enough of his shit, but also because you had an almost violent need to prove to yourself that you still could survive alone. You didn't need him, not like that. But your heart and soul needed him. He unlocked feelings within you that you had never known, only dreaming of, but god he did grate on you sometimes.

He had insisted you start staying behind on more jobs and it just irked you. Being inconspicuous and nimble was how you found yourself in the gang in the first place, sneaking through windows into people's homestead in the dead of night, quietly robbing them of everything and anything valuable they possessed.

That had sort of become your role in the gang. When Dutch and the boys would go out on a job, you would either join them in whatever scam or con they were cooking up - no one ever suspected you of a thing, you were too polite and innocent with folk to be a no good thief - or would scope out nearby towns and homesteads, sometimes alone, sometimes with Dutch, sometimes with a few of the others, but you were always free to do what you wanted; within Dutchs limitations of course.

But lately, things hadn't always been going to plan. You thought Dutch hadn't been acting quite himself, and you made sure to tell him as much. Ever since Blackwater, and that nasty business in Rhodes, you'd just lost all hope. You weren't seeing life through rose tinted glasses anymore. But you loved Dutch, loved the gang... most of them anyway. As you grew closer to camp, your mind was racing with your last conversation with Dutch.

"Can't you understand, sweet girl? I'm just trying to protect you, keep you safe-" Dutch had told you when you when you confronted him on being left behind for the hundredth time. You'd been repeating yourself a lot lately, as had he with his responses. There was always an amused glint in his eyes, a hint of a smirk daring to poke through on his lips. He found your 'tantrums' adorable and often told you as much.

"Oh don't give me that shit Dutch" you snapped at him "this isn't about keeping me safe, you know damn well I can protect myself! You just adore the idea of having your own personal whore...always waiting around for you an keeping your bed warm!"

You cringed at how you sounded, you knew you were coming off as shrill and your voice died you when you saw Dutch stand from his chair near the fire. The amusement that played on his face before was now replaced with one of annoyance.

"Watch your mouth, girl. I understand you're... upset," he grabbed your hair as he stalked closer to you, twisting it so you gasped as he forced your neck up to look at him. "Don't you dare be forgetting your place now, sweet thing"

"my place!? My place?? so I am just a whore to you-"

"Sweetheart, you know that's not true, but I'm growing increasingly tired of your attitude," he spoke harshly into your ear, before easing his grip on your hair, his voice becoming softer "I've lost too many already, I can't lose you too"

You stiffened as tears threatened to spring to yours eyes.

"I... that's not fair Dutch, if you had just listened-" you tried

"No. Enough. The answer is final. You're to stay here unless I say otherwise. There's nothing more to be said. This is for your own good, girl. I know what's best for you" he let go of your hair completely to tilt your chin up, looking at you with a fierce intensity. You knew, looking into his eyes then, you loved him, so very very much, and you knew he loved you too. But god you were angry. You had survived alone for years without his help, and when you tried to voice that to him, he had already turned away, muttering about wanting to finish off a chapter of his latest read, when something in you just snapped.

"Fuck you, Dutch" you turned and stormed off not awaiting his response. You heard him call your name as you had stomped off. Others had questioned you, asked what was wrong, where you were going...

You climbed onto your horse, ignoring the shouts and questions, and rode out into the night.

That had been two nights ago now, and you regretted your actions. You knew Dutch was trying to keep you safe, you could see that, and if you were being honest with yourself, you didn't mind not having to go out on jobs as much. The thrill you used to feel from robbing bad folk had been replaced by a constant gnawing anxiety that something would go wrong, because more often or not, something usually did go wrong. But rather, it was the way Dutch would talk to you. Belittle you. Insisting it was him and only him that knew what was best for you. If he just listened to you once in a while, actually take your advice on a job, things could go differently, but he was stubborn. You were too, and that was often how you found yourself in disagreements with him. But he'd been worse lately; ignoring your thoughts and feelings on everything, and you just couldn't take it anymore.

You tried to steady yourself as Shady Belle appeared in your eye line. You were doing your best not to think too hard about what Dutch was going to do to you, it was the principle of the thing! But the confidence you had tried to instil in yourself soon vanished once you saw Dutch's' silhouette atop of the balcony. His cigar smoke circling around, clouding his face. Not that you could see him clearly anyway, it was too dark.

You took several deep breaths as you climbed down off your horse. Most of the camp were asleep, but a few were sat talking quietly by the campfire. Their voices cut off as they saw you, rushing over to check on you. You hurriedly reassured them, you were fine, you had just needed space, time to think.

And that's what you done. You knew you had messed up, and honestly right now more than anything you just wanted to feel Dutchs arms around you, telling you what a good girl you were. You craved his praise and affection, but ferociously loved the darker side of him too. One that would come out when you disobeyed or angered him. He had punished you countless times since the start of your relationship, often because you had purposely pushed his buttons too hard, knowing the sort of response you'd get from him. You craved the feeling of being at his complete and utter mercy. Just as Dutch craved having you beneath him, begging for him. He didn't mind your bratty attitude most of the time, using it as a decent excuse to do all the wicked things he had always desired. But this wasn't just pushing his buttons, you knew he would view it as you putting yourself in danger, running off had been the last thing you would usually do, but you were so sick of trying to talk to him when he just never listens.

After assuring the awake gang members of your safety, you found your way into the old Manor house, eerily beautiful at times, even with it being lost past its glory. Slowly heading up the stairs toward your shared room with Dutch. You hesitated as you approached the door, before reaching up to knock. The second your knuckles graced the wood, the door flung open and you found yourself being hauled into the room by Dutch, slamming the door closed and pushing your back up against it, caging his arms against either side of your head. Eyes dark and burning, staring down at you.

"Where have you been, dear girl?" his voice gave you chills, he wasn't yelling, not yet. But there was a tone of malice, a sneer at your audacity. "I've been worried, I sent Arthur and Charles out looking for you, but seems you were too quick even for them. Clever girl" Dutch spoke slowly, and quietly.

You though it best not to mention you had indeed seen the both of them looking for you, but dashed off without a trace before anyone knew otherwise.

His eyes studied your face carefully. You couldn't match his gaze, choosing to stare at the floor. Dutch lifted your chin, encouraging you to look at him.

"Are you hurt, darling?" he asked softly.

You shook your head slowly, trying to keep your breathing steady.

He hummed. His grip on your chin becoming firmer.

"Well then sweet thing, I'm going to need you to explain to me.." Dutchs hand travelled from your chin down to your neck as he spoke, gripping it just hard enough you could feel his rings digging into your flesh, but not so hard that your breathing was fully cut off, "as to why you think running off on your own like that was an okay thing to do, hm?" the hand around your throat became impossibly tight, just for a moment, before easing off again, giving you a moment to respond.

"I... I..." you tried to steady yourself, trying to find the right words to say. ".. I'm sorry, Dutch...really I just, got sick of being spoken to like a damn child and-" Dutchs grip became like iron then, cutting off your planned excuse. A whimper caught in your throat as your hands flew to up grip his wrist, eyes widening. He gave you a dark glare before crashing his lips to yours. It wasn't soft and tender, it was hard and biting. Making sure you understood your place.

"So, my girl," Dutch began as he withdrew the kiss, relaxing his tight grip on your throat, "if I'm to understand you correctly, in response to being supposedly treated like a child, you decided to act none other than a child, a spoilt little brat who's not getting her way?"

Dutch was beginning to sound angrier by the second. You were trying to focus on his words, how much trouble you were in, but you couldn't ignore the tingling between your legs, you could feel yourself getting wetter the deeper his voice became. You were squirming already, trying to maintain a decorum of composure, opening your mouth to respond, he cut you off before you could get the words out.

"Oh sweet thing, you really do test my patience like no other," Dutch spoke, holding you close for a moment, before pushing you into the middle of the room.

"Strip." the order was barked out faster than you could blink. You stood there for a moment too long for Dutch, who practically started growling at you.

"you listening, girl? Strip, now"

You reached around shakily to start unlacing your dress and bodice, whilst Dutch slowly began making his way across the room, bringing a fresh cigar to his mouth to light it.

You were down to your chemise and bloomers, staring up at Dutch, aware of the way he was scowling at you. You weren't trying to annoy him, you were just in awe of him. He always looked so handsome, especially like this. Moonlight beaming in through the windows, giving his glare just enough light to look all the more menacing, yet still somehow so enticing.

You quickly stripped yourself of your remaining garments when he quirked a brow at you, fighting against the urge to cover yourself under Dutchs heavy gaze. He'd seen you naked plenty of times before of course, but the way he was staring at you was making you squirm.

Dutchs eyes raked over your nude form, taking in your beauty for his enjoyment. All the whilst continue to slowly circle around you, enjoying his cigar. Bastard.

"You do understand how much trouble you're in right now, girl?" Dutch said from behind you, his steady pace coming to a stop.

You shivered as he approached, with him being so close you could practically feel the anger radiating off of him.

"I was sick with worry, thinking the worst...and all because my little princess decided to be a brat. Were you trying to scare your Daddy, sweetheart?" Dutch sounded so menacing then, causing you to shiver with anticipation.

"N-no, Dutch-" you were interrupted when you felt a sharp smack on your backside, making you to squeal.

"What was that, girl?" Dutch snarled at you.

"Daddy!" you tried again, "I'm sorry daddy... I didn't mean to..." you started shaking, understanding how worried Dutch really had been.

Dutch hummed behind you, walking around slowly til he was standing in front of you. You stared at the floorboards, fiddling with your fingers. You heard him sigh and walk away, and glanced up to see him disgarding his cigar in the ash tray and sitting on the bed.

"Come on, girl. You know what happens now" Dutch reached a hand out to you, which you took after a moments hesitation, but knew from expierence attempting to get out of a planned punishment usually didn't end too well for you.

Dutch took your hand gently, before hauling you over his knee, considerably less gentle. He only took a brief moment to palm and kneed at your backside before he brought his hand down. Hard. Right on the lower cheek, causing you to gasp out.

"Not going to be able to sit for a week after I'm through with you, brat" Dutch spoke as his hand came down again and again on your ass. You tried not to kick your legs or reach back, it would only egg Dutch on to spank harder. "Maybe I need to start spanking you daily, girl. Make sure you know your place. That you're mine, and you do as I say"

The spanks were quickly became harder and faster, going from cheek to cheek, never giving you a moment to rest, and making sure every inch of your poor butt was on fire.

You were squirming now, and didn't even realise before it was too late that you were reaching a hand back, only to have Dutchs' large hand grip your own, forcing it down to the small of your back. He positioned himself so he could haul you further over his knee, you were able to touch the floor with your free hand, but your feet were now dangling precariously off the other end, unable to touch the floor. You whimpered again.

"Naughty girl," Dutch chided, resuming his former sadistic pace of spanking, "You should know better than that by now, hm?"

"S-sorry Daddy! I... ow... M'sorry, I really really am.." you were really feeling it now, the stinging burn of his hand. Tears were now forming in your eyes. You knew this is what you wanted, no, needed... But it hurt so much, and you were starting to feel more sorry for yourself by the second, and yet, despite this, you still couldn't ignore the wetness that had become visible down your thighs. You knew Dutch could see it too, especially when he would ghost his hand ever so slightly above your glistening folds, growling and giving your pussy a sharp slap if you tried to push your thighs together.

"Quit squriming, brat. Or does Daddy need to teach you a lesson with his belt?" Dutchs sudden threat made you still, letting out a small whine of defeat. You most certainly did not want to expierence the belt tonight, he'd only used it on you a few times before, but the memories of the welts on your backside was enough to plead for mercy.

"I'll be good! Daddy! Please, I'm sorry-I'll be good... I promise.." you sniffled at him, trying to put on your sweetest voice, the one you knew went right to his dick. You could feel his hardness beneath you, doing your best not to grind yourself all over him, a challenge that was proving to become increasingly difficult.

You heard Dutch grumble, taking a moment to run his large hand all over your burning butt, before bringing his hand down over your heat, he suddenly pushed two fingers into your soaking wet core causing you to gasp out and clench up.

"My girl... what ever am I going to do with you, hm? Such a filthy little thing..." Dutchs voice was considerably softer now, but you knew he was still angry. Pumping his fingers in and out of you for a few seconds more, before removing them. You let out a moan, only to have Dutchs fingers shoved in your mouth, encouraging you to clean yourself off of him. He removed them once he felt you'd done a sufficient enough job.

"Gonna have to keep you locked in a damn cage at this rate, girl" Dutchs stern voice made you quiver. And it would be a lie to say the idea of being Dutchs personal play thing, kept locked away in a cage for his desire only, didn't arouse you.

You only had a brief moment more to fantasise on this idea however, before Dutch suddenly started spanking you again. Somehow, impossibly harder than before. You shrieked then, begging him to forgive you, promising complete obedience.

Dutch laughed at that, loud and mocking.

"Empty promises, my sweet girl. How many times have you promised those pretty words before, hm? You really are shameless aren't you? Naughty, naughty little thing..."

The smacks continued to rain down, Dutch would spank all over until he found a spot that made you whail, bringing his down on the exact same spot over and over again, chuckling at your futile attempts to avoid his wrath.

You wanted nothing more in that moment for Dutch to pull you into this arms and call you his good girl, tell you proud he was of you and all that you had done. But this wasn't one of those times, you deserved the punishment and you were starting to resent yourself for having such a strange desire to defy him, even his most simplist of requests you often found yourself snarling back at him, just so you could hear that tone of voice he used on you when you were pushing your luck a little too far.

You were sobbing now, giving up any and all attempts to get out of your current situation. Letting yourself go limp and weak over Dutchs knee. You heard him hum above you, the spanks ever so slowly becoming softer and softer, until they'd all but stopped. Dutchs hand being nothing more than a soothing grace.

"Beautiful..." you heard him whisper above you, relaxing into the soothing feel of his hand, a welcome change from the pain inflicted only moments before.

You started to apologise again, only to have Dutch hush you.

"No you're not girl, not yet anyway..." Dutch sounded horribly wicked as he spoke, and your stomach dropped with the realisation that your punishment wasn't over.