#we have been to the end of the universe and back but we have functioning toilets !!!

[decepti-thots]

something that is very interesting rereading early MTMTE is that the comic is actually very much written with the assumption a ton of its readership are specifically pre-existing IDW comics readers, which can sometimes be difficult to remember because of the fact that a lot of people wound up coming onboard to MTMTE from outside the fandom in the end and now it has a reputation as an entry point as a result. this manifests in a couple ways throughout the first couple major arcs. one obvious one is that the Overlord stuff functionally makes it a sequel of sorts to Last Stand of the Wreckers, at a time no direct sequel was planned. but my favourite is that there's a kind of narrative trick the comic pulls with the leadup to the payoff Remain in Light gives us for Magnus.

the Magnus we get in early MTMTE is not the Magnus we get in earlier IDW comics. he's very exaggerated; where phase one Magnus is a by-the-books stickler for not so much as bending rules and someone we see struggling to maintain that sense of moral uprightness in the face of the war and the people around him being far less dedicated to staying on the straight and narrow like him, it's completely turned up to eleven in early MTMTE. phase one Magnus would not be doing endless doorframe audits, or throwing people in the literal brig for crooked badges. but this doesn't necessarily register as a change in character so much as a change in genre. MTMTE is also a dramedy with heavy emphasis on the comedy side of that in a way no other IDW comic is, and the shift in Magnus' characterisation therefore feels like 'well in THIS genre, that's what that archetype is like', rather than a diagetic shift in character. even if you come to MTMTE straight off those prior comics, it is very much a 'roll with the genre shift' thing rather than a 'hm. Magnus is acting… weird' thing. you let it go.

there are a couple indications this might not be the case early on. Rodimus especially seems to be under the impression that Magnus is acting uptight even for him, with his insistence on waving it off like 'he needs to relax, Swerve can you get him to chill on Hedonia because my guy is REAL stressed' and the like. (this makes sense- Rodimus is the person on the ship who has actually been directly interacting with Magnus regularly pre-MTMTE.) but it's not super obvious and not heavily emphasised.

which makes the eventual post-Overlord and RiL reveal, which is that Magnus has in fact been acting weird because he's having a breakdown that has largely gone unremarked upon by his shipmates, really really good. Magnus has not been doing doorframe audits because he's the comically uptight second in command acting as straight man for genre purposes; Magnus has been sending Rodimus a million memos a day and losing his shit over nothing because as someone whose entire identity as 'Magnus' is rooted in a wartime role he escaped into, he's been having an existential crisis now the war is over and he has no purpose and doesn't know what to do because he never expected to have to play that part in peacetime. the entire time the genre shift was somewhat obfuscating the fact this characterisation was a thing that is in-universe relevant, which also then reflects back on the fact Rodimus is like. hm. probably should have noticed that, now I feel like an asshole for not realising. (the scene where he and Rung discuss those unread memos, post-Overlord.)

it's a small thing, but it's a really effective misdirect for the payoff Magnus gets in RiL that reads a hell of a lot more clearly on reread and rewards that chance to revisit the early issues with that knowledge. of course that wasn't just a gag, of course he's actually slowly losing his shit slightly, he cannot go five seconds without making it clear he is Stressed As Hell. but until you get to that actual reveal, there's just enough room for the comic to let a reader assume it's, you know, we're in a comedy now, we need a hilarious straight man, and Magnus is it. it's great! all the stuff MTMTE pulls to simultaneously obfuscate the Magnus/Minimus reveal while also making it feel completely reasonable on reread is great. really good use of reader bias there.

[crystaltoa]

My take on the Turaga Nui, from Shauni's (@legend-as-old-as-time) WIP fic set in Rags' (@magicalgirlmascot ) KNPS AU. Snippets of the fic here and here.

In which the Turaga form a fusion in order to defeat the Rahi Nui, but their past experience with the Hordika venom results in the Turaga Nui taking on a somewhat ...unexpected form. After the battle, the Toa Mata catch up with them. Pictured here is Lewa having the appropriate reaction to finding out his six mentors have turned into some kind of weird dragon-chimera-kaiju thing.

Some design notes under the cut:

The Turaga Nui's form combines traits from the forms the Metru had as Toa Hordika, known in this universe as the Kini Nui werebeasts. So, this was my take on them individually here:

(The Metru's human forms can be seen here) I hope it's fairly self explanatory which features come from which werebeast, but a few other fun design notes...

So, in KNPS, the Toa Kaita look a lot like the Steven Universe fusions, with extra eyes and limbs. The Turaga Nui follows a similar logic but on a more bestial body layout.

The top two arms are the most humanoid, as TN signs in ASL as well as speaking aloud whenever it is practical to do so (i.e. when there is not a Toa of Air attached to their neck). The next two pairs of limbs can function either as arms or forelegs, so the digits are more paw-like.

The wings are obviously based on a snowy owl and come from Nuju's werebeast form. Male snowy owls typically have lighter coloured plumage while females have prominent black bars on their feathers. Nuju in particular would probably have been almost completely white as a werebeast given he's an ice Toa and has white hair in human form. The Turaga Nui, however, is composed of five men and one woman, so I gave them a small amount of barring on the tips of one wing while the other is plain white. (The bars also help tie it back to the badger stripes on their face from a design standpoint)

The Kaita have metallic gold or silver skin, I suggested black and white patterns for TN's colour scheme to make them visibly nonhuman but also distinct from the Kaita.

Shauni felt that there should be more accents of each element's colours, however, so we decided on the "black" scales actually having an iridescent sheen to them.

I'd already been planning to give TN spots similar to that of a newt, but didn't realise until I started doing it that white spots on black combined with the iridescent colours gives the impression of a night sky/galaxy pattern.

I had previously suggested the name "Tien" to Shauni (Turaga Nui = T.N. Said aloud it phonetically sounds like "Tien"). Turns out Shauni had the exact same thought. Furthermore, it's a name in several cultures, various meanings include "heavenly being", "celestial" and "sky" (An etymologically related name is the Chinese "Tianlong", which means "Celestial Dragon")

So, accidentally coming up with a name that means "celestial" and then accidentally making them look like a living galaxy was a fun coincidence.

Also, apparently one of Rags' favourite DBZ characters was named Tien, so that was a plus for her!

The tail has owl feathers but is structurally more similar to the tail of an aquatic newt.

The eyes are based on the Turaga's animal forms but the colours come from their eye-glow. The three eyes visible in the image are Vakama's (green), Matau's (red), and Onewa's (blue)

As previous;y mentioned, photographs of jumping ferrets helped in drawing the dragon's limbs . I also ended up referencing hairless cats to get a handle on what the paws would look like with no fur.

I did do a version that shows the full body pose, which I quite liked, but felt that the cropped composition above was better to show the character details given tumblr's scrolling format

[crowsgrudge]

fionna's world being represented by a dandelion makes so much sense ... they're weeds. yet people make wishes through them, changing their whole meaning from something meant to be destroyed to something hopeful.

dandelions are also resilient and it makes sense that something associated with them would. you know. perservere despite the destruction caused by the scarab.

but ultimately i think what REALLY made me tear up over this is that dandelions are really boring plants. when you're a kid you blow on them and make your wish but they're not eyecatching or anything but still, fionna's final wish was for her old world to still exist as it was when she left it (> plain and simple. boring even).

like the moment she realized she would lose her friends, and that her friends might forget each other if the world got its magic back, she immediately decided she didn't want it and I think that ties back to the dandelion metaphor so well... like, do you really need magic to be real to find it everywhere? or can you turn something boring into something magical?

[the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf]

Chocolate Princess ♡

Willy Wonka x reader

Description - Y/n Ficklegruber can't help but become enamoured with the spectacularly peculiar man stood in the middle of the galleria.

Word count - 1.6k

warnings - fluff ♡

a/n: Watched Wonka today with my sister and my little cousins and honestly have never smiled so much during a film. Every bit of it was just pure wondourous imagination. And Timothee as Wonka was just too scrumptious! Who couldn't love him!

Masterlist

PART TWO

--♡--

I began everyday as I always did. Being ungraciously tumbled out of my pink satin sheets, poked and prodded by our various servants, squeezed into the most painstakingly prissy pink gingham dress (with a matching bow for extra faff), and hauled into my fathers car to join him on his way to work.

You see, I am the sole child of famed chocolatier Felix Ficklegruber. Since I had completed my mandatory years of studies, my days consisted of lounging about my fathers office in complete boredom. My mind practically weakened with the mundane repetitiveness of it all, and I knew it would surely combust if it was not stimulated soon. For 2 years now, I had been begging my father to allow me to study at the prestigious university at the edge of town. But each plea had been met with a scoff, an eyebrow raise and sharp “no”. Even the library was off limits.

I paced around his office, deliberately scuffing my mary janes against the carpet. I smirked at how each scrape made his face tick as if it was being flicked.

“Would you cease that infernal racket. I am trying to work, precious girl.”

“What work? All you do is sit up here eating your own chocolate.” I slumped down onto the disgustingly green couch.

“Please darling, you are giving me a headache, I must ring for my 8am mocha.” He picked up the telephone, clasping his fingers to his eyes.

I drummed my fingers against my dress and clicked my heels together. “You know,” I trailed off. “I wouldn’t be here to bother you at all if…I was at the library.”

The phone was slammed back onto the receiver which made me flinch. He rose from the desk and stalked his way towards me.

“No daughter of mine will be caught in some stuffy book prison-”

“That’s not entirely correct..”

“--That are refuge for the ugly, the untalented and the p–” He dry heaved. I winced at the possibility of another spew. “The p-” I lunged for a bowl as he spluttered.

“I know what you are going to say so maybe we should avoid any bodily functions.” I picked up his monogrammed hanky and wet it from my glass of water. I dabbed the cool liquid against his mouth. His eyes softened at my action and his hand softly clasped around my wrist.

“Sweetheart, you live in complete luxury. Have treasures other children couldn’t even dream of. Why can’t you just stay.” My gaze fell. His hands held my shoulders to turn me around and led me towards the towering window which overlooked the galleria. “Besides, one day you will inherit my pride and joy, my fortune, the very thing that ignites my soul, my–”

“Who’s that?” I interrupted, and pointed my finger to a beautifully disheveled man who had risen atop his suitcase in order to address the crowd. I quirked a smile and took in the strange man, who was truly more a boy, and his frightfully exciting appearance.

The thickness of the window meant I couldn’t hear what the boy was saying but his movements and expressions delighted me to no end. I giggled as he began to flap, mimicking a butterfly. I gasped as he produced from his shallow hat, a large jar of what appeared to be chocolate eggs. But once he took the top off, I shrieked in delight, as each little egg floated up as if carried by wings.

I felt my father stiffen before he shoved me away from the window.

“Now, now sweetheart. Do not bother looking at this man any longer. Clearly another hopeful vagrant but do not worry.” He lifted my chin with his pinky. “We shall deal with him right now.”

I rolled my eyes, knowing exactly who was ‘we’.

--♡--

Once the three had left their respective stores, I snuck out of our own and managed to squeeze my way through the crowd so I was left behind my father and my, and I regret to say it, godfathers.

They each took a bite of the treats offered by the mysterious man who beamed at them with awe filled eyes.

Even from my limited view I could see the flickers of enjoyment cross each of their eyes as they questioned the different ingredients. But my gazing was caught by the top hatted man. His smile grew even brighter as our eyes met. I felt unsure in the presence of a man such as him and all my normal instincts failed. So I settled on a little wave. He offered a small wave back.

“--100%, the absolute WORST!”

The man jumped out of his skin in glee, mishearing Slugworth because of his focus on me.

“Did you hear that ladies and gentlemen, an endorsement by–wait did you say the worst?”

Anger bubbling in my blood, I finally made my presence known.

“You lie, Arthur. I saw your face! You haven’t enjoyed a treat that much since daddy figured out how to make marshmallow flavored chocolate milk.”

There were murmurs amongst the three in agreement and fond memory of that chocolate milk. But they snapped back and I was held firmly by my father who apologized to Slugworth for my rude behavior. A cane was held down on the hand that gripped me. I looked up and met the sweet face of its owner.

“I am terribly sorry.” With a practiced flick I was released. I looped my hand around my saviours available arm. He led me backwards in comical cautiousness. “But I don’t think she’d like to be held for what comes next.”

Suddenly, the three men began to lift into the air.

“The hoverbugs from mumbai! They love chocolate! You must have put their eggs in the treat!” I exclaimed excitedly, whilst watching the hilarious display.

“Exactly.” In my glee, I hadn’t noticed the adoring look which the chocolatier had fixed on the side of my head.

The fun was interrupted by the chief of police. I rolled my eyes. Slugworth must have phoned.

“Now Ms Ficklegruber if you’d kindly step away from the criminal.” The chief of police gestured and I was led away as they interrogated the man whose name I still didn’t know. I looked on sadly as he was forced to give up his earnings. I shoved off the policemen’s arms, I made my way back over to the man whose face was as solemn as how happy it had been just minutes before. The excitement around the galleria had dimmed as various floating consumers were returned to gravity.

“I am really sorry.” I gestured to the measly sovereign he was left with.

“Don’t be. It was a law and I broke it. These fine men were merely doing their job. But a new day shall bring new promise.” He soldiered on with a smile and once again patted his hat back upon his head. “At least I can make rent.” He flicked the sovereign up and caught it once again.

“Where are you staying?”

“Scrubbits.”

My face fell in sympathy. “You didn’t read the fine print?” I pitied the poor man and what was about to befall him. Scrubbits contract was a common warning amongst residents but as I truly took in the whimsical nature which surrounded this man, I knew he wasn't from here. And that made me smile. This place could use something new.

He sheepishly scratched the back of his head and lowered his eyeline.

“You can’t read?” I questioned but my tone couldn't help but soften.

“I always thought my mama would teach me, but eventually my pursuits became solely chocolate.” I reached out and grasped his arm. Stroking the velvet beneath my fingertips.

Before I even knew what they were, the words left my mouth. “I could teach you.”

He was surprised. “You would? But why?”

“You’re interesting.” I peered back to the shop which loomed behind me. “I need that.”

“Forgive me, I have not even introduced myself.” He took off his hat and leaned into a deep bow. “My name is Willy Wonka.”

I giggled but responded with a curtsy of my own. “Y/n Ficklegruber.”

At the mention of my last name he looked towards the ceiling where my father still hung, gesturing feebly. “Wow. You really have chocolate in your blood. No wonder you’re so sweet.” Both our eyes widened when we realized what he said. A blush spread across my heated cheeks and meeting Willy’s eyes suddenly became impossible.

“Y/N GET AWAY FROM THAT CANDY GRABBING SCOUNDREL!” My fathers voice beat down from the ceiling where he had been watching my entire interaction with Wonka.

“Meet me at the fountain, tonight, 10pm sharp. Daddy will be in a sugar crash by then. It’ll be easy to sneak out.”

Before I could rush off to avoid my father once his feet returned to earth, Willy halted my movements and placed his empty palm out in front of me.

“Before you go, I want to give you something. You shouldn’t have anything I make in bulk. You deserve something a little more…” He placed a cloth over his palm and ripped it off revealing a deep red chocolate heart decorated with tiny flakes of gold. “Bespoke.”

I placed the treat in my mouth and audibly moaned at the taste. This man was a true genius. My father is going to be so mad. I could jump for joy.

“Till tonight, Mr Wonka.”

“Please, call me Willy.” I leaned up and delicately kissed his cheek in a way of goodbye.

--♡--

That night after discovering the true horror of what being a “guest” of Scrubbits included, Willy begged and pleaded with his newest friend, Noodle, to help him sneak out for the night because, in his words, he’d seen…

“The most beautiful girl to ever exist and if I don’t get to see her again tonight, my heart might just burst out of my chest!”

--♡--

[videovamptramp]

i’m right over here, why can’t you see me? (2)

// when ellie’s reaction to you and abby hooking up isn’t quite what you expected, she leads you right into abby’s open arms. //

[warnings: jealousy, pining, angst, slight arguing, angry!ellie, illusions to one-sided feelings, simp!abby, fuckgirl!ellie, sexual implications]

xxxxxxxxx

this is pt.2 (pt.1 can be found here)

abby was always taught to be the bigger person. her father consistently reminded her that no matter how people treat her, she should always be the bigger person. that’s most of the reason why she’s so reserved and non-confrontational. when she first started university, she knew she didn’t quite fit in. unlike a vast majority of students around here, she wasn’t here for the “college” experience. she was just here to play soccer and get her degree in engineering. she also noticed you from the first day of freshman year, but she was way too shy to say hi to you. abby’s never really been good at flirting or starting conversation with new people. she often feels too awkward, or too intimidated to say anything.

manny took a liking to her right away; the school got his rooming situation mixed up, and that’s how he ended up being abby’s roommate. it was strange at first for her; she was wary about having a guy as a roommate. but she quickly learned manny was a cool guy. he was funny, and hung up pictures of him and his dad right away. abby could relate, as she was very close to her dad as well.

manny slowly seemed to get abby out of her shell, and would invite her to various functions and parties. but he quickly learned if it didn’t have anything to do with soccer, abby wasn’t really interested. even the girls who threw themselves at the dark haired blonde, would get shot down without abby even realizing she was rejecting them. you were ironically the first person abby found herself interested in. hell, after the party yesterday, abby was almost certain she was enthralled by you.

after walking you back to your dorm, you gave abby your number and hugged her tightly. abby walked all the way back to her shared room with a dorky grin on her face. she could still smell your girly perfume, and all she could think about was your pretty smile. a part of her wondered if you’d cave and call ellie, but when you texted her after she had gotten out of the shower, she knew you didn’t.

y/n (1:34 a.m): i can’t wait to see how she reacts tomorrow, thanks for helping me haha

y/n (1:35 a.m): and thank you for keeping me company tonight, i really liked getting to know you abby 🖤

the smile that tugged at her lips after reading your message was nearly unrecognizable. as she walked out of the bathroom with her eyes and thumbs on her phone screen, manny raises a brow in slight suspicion at the peculiar sight.

abby (1:42 a.m): i really liked getting to know you too, i hope we can get to know each other better :) i was serious about teaching you how to ride a horse lol

“that’s a face i’ve never seen before.” manny states observingly, causing abby to look away from her phone, over at her roommate who was flashing her an intrigued smile. a blush coats her freckled covered cheeks as she thinks about you and your smile. “you remember that girl from my women’s history class? y/n?” abby reminds her best friend, who throws his head back and lets out a bark of a laugh. “abby you jugadora (player)! i knew you’d get laid eventually.” he taunts causing the jock to roll her eyes. ���i didn’t ‘get laid’, gross ass. i finally said more than five words to her. i got her number too.” abby smirks, and mischief glints in manny’s eyes. “so nora dragging you to that party was a good thing then?” he half taunts and abby’s phone chimes, signaling that you’ve texted her again; her face gets hot, and manny chuckles.

y/n (1:44 a.m): i’ll be waiting for you to set something up when we’re not tipsy then ;)

abby (1:46a.m): i don’t think you’ll be waiting for very long <3 goodnigjt y/n, sleep tight

y/n (1:47 a.m): goodnight abby 🖤

when you wake up the next morning, your head is throbbing, and thoughts of last night begin to flood your mind. suddenly you remember all about abby’s plan to make ellie jealous. you reach over for your phone and see you have a string of missed calls, and five texts from ellie. your heart thumps as you open the text thread with the brunette.

ellie (2:20 a.m): you home??

ellie (6:34 a.m): why didn’t you call me last night?

ellie (6:35 a.m): did you make it back to your room safely??

ellie (9:35 a.m): you going to class today?

ellie (11:47 a.m) did you really hookup with anderson last night? it’s all that nora chick and her friend are talking about rn.

your cheeks heat up as you read the last message; word certainly seems to move fast around here. before you can even think about a response to ellie’s various messages, your gaze wanders to the time. your eyes widen as you gasp, realizing you slept nearly half the day away; it was already 2:30 p.m and nobody except for abby knew you were alive. you scurry off your bed, and just as your about to grab your clothes and stuff to shower, dina comes barging into your shared dorm. “dude, is it true!? did you hookup with the captain of the soccer team last night!?” dina sounds excited, and your cheeks turn a dark shade of pink, causing her to gasp.

“you did! holy shit, y/n… i didn’t think you had it in you.” she comments, sounding a bit impressed. “what? you didn’t think i had enough rizz to pull abby anderson?” you question half jokingly, causing the raven haired girl to laugh loudly. “oh no, i’m well aware you can pull whoever you want, i just didn’t think you’d move on from ellie so fast! i didn’t even come home last night, i spent the night listening to ellie rant about you and abby hunky anderson.” dina teases you mercilessly, doing nothing to ease the way your face is burning.

the raven haired girls eyes then widen, shining with pure amusement. “did you two do it in here? on your bed!?” she cackles before whistling, “who are you?” dina asks half jokingly as she begins to walk over to her side of the room, reaching for her biology textbook. “you’re leaving again?” you ask out loud, and dina nods, turning her head and flashing you a roguish smile. “yup, i’m studying with jesse till five.” she admits, and you raise your brows, offering her a disbelieving expression. “studying or fucking?” you ask her, poking fun at the slightly taller girl. she rolls her eyes, but looks away from you in order to keep you from seeing the way her face changes in color. “unlike you, i am considerate of jesse’s roommate. we wait until he’s at work.” dina’s response causes you to laugh, shaking your head in amusement.

“whatever. i’m going to shower, and change into pajamas. maybe i’ll make myself a cup soup and watch reruns of buffy all evening.” you tell her, and dina snorts. “maybe you could call anderson to join you. i’m sure she’ll be up for round two.” dina’s voice is sardonic but dripping with lightheartedness. “who says we didn’t already have round two?” you inquire challengingly, causing dina to gasp as she reaches for a pillow on her bed, tossing it right at you. you laugh loudly, as you make your way towards the door with your pajamas and toothbrush in hands. right as you open the door to rush out, you come face to face with ellie who had been debating with herself on whether to knock or not.

her eyebrows meet her hairline as she sees you, your mascara from last night a mess, and your hairs a mess. there’s a wave of hot, red anger that surges throughout the brunette as she realizes you’ve been so busy with abby anderson, you haven’t been able to answer any of her messages, or even been able to wash your face. her eyes flicker over to your bed that’s a mess, and suddenly unwanted images of abby fucking you on your bed flood her mind.

“it’s nice to see you’re alive.” ellie grumbles a bit dramatically as she pushes her way into the room, causing dina to turn around and look at you. “you knew i was okay. i was with abby.” you respond, and the mere mention of the other girl seems to set ellie off. “no i didn’t know that y/n! i don’t know a fucking thing about abby! she could’ve been a weirdo who only wanted to take advantage of you—” you cut ellie off before she can say something stupid, “but she wasn’t! abby and i are both two consenting adults who hooked up, just like everyone else around here!” you snap a bit harshly, and the words feel like a slap to the face for ellie. “so the rumors are true? you and anderson hooked up last night?” ellie’s voice sounds hurt, and you can’t even recognize the expression that’s etched onto her features.

“uh, jesse’s waiting for me, so i’ll let you guys talk.” dina declares a bit awkwardly, she can feel the tension in the room, but she decides to stay out of it and walk away. before she walks out, the raven haired girl flashes you a look of reassurance. when she shuts the door behind her, you and ellie are left alone. you shake your head, “why do you sound so angry about it? you hookup with girls all the time!” you counterpoint, and ellie shakes her head. “but i never ditch you to do it!” she hisses, while you respond with an eye roll. “yes you do! ellie, you ditched me last night for angela! you do it at every party with different girls, but the one time i do it, it’s a problem?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest.

“i was worried about you! i don’t care about your meaningless, shitty hookup with anderson.” ellie spits rudely, and you let out an angry laugh of disbelief. “shitty? why do you think i was asleep all day? it was amazing.” you nearly grimace as you realize you sound like you’re trying too hard to convince ellie. “besides, abby already asked me on a date. she wants to go horseback riding.” you lie right through your teeth, and ellie lets out a chuckle. “yeah? that sounds like complete bullshit.” she calls you on your bluff, and you raise a brow, “what sounds like bullshit? that someone could actually want something more than a hookup with me?” you ask challengingly, causing ellie’s annoyed expression to falter. “no, y/n, that’s not what i meant…” she trails off, her voice lowering slightly.

“then what did you mean? because to me it sounds like you think all abby or anyone could ever want me for is a hookup.” you reply dryly, but ellie can detect the slight hurt in your tone. she shakes her head again, “no that isn’t— it’s not you! it’s abby! girls like her aren’t actually interested in dating anyone. i mean, half the cheerleading team said she sleeps with girls and never talks to them again!” ellie points out, and you furrow your eyebrows. “since when do you listen to rumors?” you demand, making her run her fingers through her hair in frustration. “you can’t seriously be thinking about going out with her, are you?”

her question causes you to frown, “yes i am. and unless you can give me an actual reason on why i shouldn’t, then we have nothing left to fight about.” your voice is strangely stern, and something in ellie’s stomach drops because of it. “i’m going to go shower… just like was before you barged in here.” you know you sound meaner than usual, but you can’t help it. ellie was supposed to be showing you how sexy she was when she was jealous, not what a jerk she was. you didn’t even mean to lie about your date with abby; it had just slipped out. ellie had a way of pushing your buttons, and in a way you knew the more you talked about abby, the more you were pushing hers. you walk out of your room, shutting the door behind you and leaving ellie alone. she can’t help but glance over at the messy, undid bed that was taunting her. ellie hates thinking about you and abby together, but she still can’t figure out why. dina was right, the brunette might just be the most oblivious person on the planet.

you’re not as upset after getting clean. a warm shower and a fresh set of pajamas always makes you feel better. when you get back to your room, ellie is no longer there, but there's a twinge of guilt that runs through your veins. you push it as far away from your thoughts as you can. you know you shouldn't feel bad; after all, ellie has been raving about how "pretty" and "hot" angela is for the last four weeks! you shouldn't feel the slightest bit guilty for making her jealous with abby.

as your mind thinks about the honey blonde girl, a small, inevitable smile makes it's way onto your lips. though the smile falls fast when you realize you're going to have to ask abby to help you again. this time it was your own doing; you angrily lied to ellie and told her you had a date with abby. in a way it made you feel a bit pathetic, faking a date. the cruel voice in your head was telling you that ellie was right; you couldn't get a date with someone like abby... not an actual date at least. but ellie didn't really know that. as far as she knew, you were going to be riding off into the sunset with abby after your date.

ellie doesn’t text you throughout the rest of the evening or night. a part of you feels a bit bad for lying to her, but the other part of you knows you only did it because she was acting stupid. the next morning you wake up and get ready for your classes; feeling way better than you did yesterday. abby sees you walking to your second class, which happens to be women’s history with her. she can’t stop herself from approaching you, regardless of the butterflies fluttering in her stomach.

“y/n.” she greets you with that soft accent, that causes an unfamiliar warmth to course throughout your body. “abigail.” you respond back, unable to contain the smile on your face. “how did things go with williams yesterday?” she asks curiously, and your smile falls at the mention of your best friend. “not good? was my plan a bust?” she questions cautiously, rubbing the back of her neck nervously. you sigh, “i don’t know. i mean, she was really mad yesterday when she came to my room. she heard people saying we hooked up, and she said all you wanted was to hookup and never talk to me again…” you trail off, and abby opens her mouth to disagree, but you go on before she can get a word out.

“i kinda got really mad when she said that and i might’ve lied to her about us having a date.” you blush in pure embarrassment, and abby lets out a laugh. “oh jeez, i don’t even wanna picture how angry she got when you told her that.” abby’s voice is light, yet there’s a slight seriousness in her tone; she remembers the way ellie was glaring at her the other night. you shake your head, a small frown etching itself onto your face. abby can’t figure out how you look so pretty all the time; even when you’re upset. “yeah she was pretty mad… but who cares? she’s just acting like a jerk! i mean, to be jealous is one thing but she doesn’t have to be an asshole about it. she’s supposed to be my best friend. realistically she’s supposed to be happy for me.” you mutter, causing the blonde to raise her brows in amusement.

“she’s your best friend who’s in love with you. the more time you spend with me, the angrier she’s gonna get.” abby points out with a slight mumble, and you sigh, “if ellie is as in love with me as you and dina say she is, then she would’ve said something yesterday. but she didn’t. i honestly think ellie just isn’t into me like that.” you sound genuinely sad as you come to terms with this, and the dismal expression on your face causes something to tug at abby’s heartstrings. she doesn’t like seeing you sad.

“she’s just stubborn. she needs more of a push. i mean you said she got upset when you told her we have a date.” abby tries, as you both stand outside of the classroom, continuing the conversation. “yeah, but she’s ellie, she literally has anger issues. maybe she was just mad that i promised to call, and i didn’t.” you explain, and abby shrugs. “then lets go on a date. let’s see how ellie reacts to it.” the taller girl throws the idea out there, causing you to freeze. you look at her, “you wanna take me on a “date”, just so i can see how ellie reacts?” your voice has suspicion laced throughout it, as abby nods. “why do you wanna help me so badly?” you interrogate slightly, obviously not trusting the blonde.

she laughs at the way your eyes are narrowed, and she can’t help but find every expression of yours absolutely adorable. “because i like you. you’re the coolest person i’ve met around here aside from nora and manny. i’ll help you get the girl if that’s what you want. i’m a great wingman.” she winks at you, and you roll your eyes playfully, that genuine smile that causes abby’s heart to palpitate returns. “you’re also a very sweet person.” you add onto her boast; this causes the back of her neck to heat up, as she looks down at her boots and smiles. you wrap your arms around her and hug her tightly, just like you did the other night.

and just like the first time you hugged her, abby’s mind begins to race as the smell of your perfume takes over her senses. she hugs you back, and when you pull away you have this mischievous grin on your face. “i guess we’ve officially got a date then, anderson.” you half joke, as you lead abby into the classroom. abby’s sure her face is as red as a tomato, and she’s much too busy thinking about how soft you are and how good you smell to think of a good response. instead, all abby can do is follow you like a puppy to your seat. she sits down next to you, and throughout the entire class, she doesn’t pay attention once.

after the class ends she realizes she hasn’t taken a single note, and has no idea what the assignment topic for tonight is. every thought she seemed to have, circled back to you. the worst of it was, you were probably thinking about ellie while she was thinking about you nonstop.

after class, she groans to herself as she realizes she has no idea what the assignment topic for tonight is. she was too busy stealing glances at you, and thinking about your “date”.

“god, what the hell did i get myself into?”

abby thinks to herself as she walks into her shared dorm. she throws herself onto her bed, her thoughts never leaving you.

meanwhile ellie slams the door behind her as she storms into her room. she can’t help but feel more upset than ever. she saw you and abby walking to class today, and it caused an ugly green wave of jealousy to wash over her. for a moment she actually wanted to go up to abby and punch her right in front of you, though ellie knew you’d never forgive her for that. but ellie also couldn’t just sit around and watch you fall for abby fucking anderson.

suddenly, she pauses in the middle of pacing as an idea hits her; like a lightbulb lighting up over her head. ellie knows what she has to do; she’s going to ruin your date with abby, and she has a million different ideas on how to do it.

xxxxxxx

team abby or team ellie? 👀

taglist: @macaroni676 @swxxtbnny @bellaramseyswife @asabovesobelow666 @thatonementallyillsimp @fofinhamarie @p4ison1vy @harrysslutsstuff @jalousiexx @mostlyhornyandsad @clouded-whispers @elliewilliams4ever @forelliesposts @dergy @uraesthete @4rt3m1ss @3bolivia @calderysuh @milfsandtittyenthusiast @fofinhamarie @mikimambo @elliewilliamsgf69 @ariiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii01 @ellienbilliearemywives @emst4rr @nabiba @bycoincidencesoflife @jennasoneanonly @lizzygoldenr @bready101 @dinasbigtoe @fairlyang @wingedoafbasketballjudge-blog @halfmooneclipse @defencelessarcher @selfcentered-bitch @vswerve @iwantyoutocryforme @hsangel64 @abbysleftbicepp @gabsssssblog @2dmenlackimperfection @cinematicdilfs @masclover111 @mai5mai @teenagedramaqueenlisa

i’m sorry to everyone it didn’t let me tag, some of your blogs weren’t popping up 😭 merry christmas loves, stay safe - vamp <3

[httpsserene]

hey can I request something that’s angsty to fluff and then smut for Oscar where reader gets a ton of hate for dating Oscar so she kind of ghosts him for a bit and they figure things out

𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐢 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐰/𝐨𝐩𝟖𝟏

📖𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: oscar really just wants to hear you laugh again. 📖𝗰��𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴: 18+ only. angst. fluff. happy ending. reader is exhausted physically and mentally. reader's internal monologue is not not nice. bad eating habits. bad sleeping habit. self-deprecation. don't worry she's back on her bs at the end. reader neglects herself (?) and her relationship. implied self-sabotage. people are mean. don't worry oscar is meaner. oscar piastri is a good boyfriend. emotional hurt/comfort. tenderness. intimacy. baths and pampering. crying (non-sexy). implied sex. implied bath sex. logan and lando as plot devices. no beta we die like my will to live during finals. 📖𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 5.1k words. 📖𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: oscar piastri x fem!reader 📖𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: oneshot w/ blurbs. 📖𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗸: best i ever had • drake

𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗮𝗰𝗲: sorry it took me so long, i've changed this fic like multiple times :/ hope it fulfills you request properly :))) this is not my favorite thing in the world, i feel like if i went on a smaller scale i would've enjoyed this more but what can you do. this is also not very black reader coded? idk but feel like it's lacking there. i also apologize for my inability to write an oscar fic without including lando, he's such a willing plot device though even if he's a little ooc. i also couldn't find the mental space to write smut but there's smth for you at the end. dedicated to us women in stem! i hope you have fun reading this because i didn't have fun writing it :)

sumbit a request | join the taglist | table of contents | next ↻

oscar is worried. you haven’t responded to his texts for a week, he hasn’t seen your face for two weeks, and he hasn’t heard your voice for three weeks. four weeks ago, you told him you wouldn’t be able to fly out to see him at the austin grand prix, like you promised. you sounded exhausted and incredibly guilty when you explained that your course load this semester is extreme, and finals are rapidly approaching. oscar understood; he won’t ask you to sacrifice your education for one of his races, there will be plenty you can come to in the future. what he doesn’t understand is how you’re still functioning. it’s your senior year of university at an american ivy league school, you're pursuing an engineering degree, and you’re also working nearly five days a week as a barista. oscar thinks the last time he’s seen you relaxed is before your fall semester started, you spent your entire summer break with him, making appearances at the only three races you’ve been to this season (silverstone, hungary, and spa). the last time he recalls seeing your smile and hearing your laugh is in august—it’s the end of october now. 

you’ve been ghosting him. oscar wants to believe that it’s unintentional, that it’s just a side effect of the amount of work and pressure on your shoulders—but he can’t accept that. if you were unintentionally missing his calls, facetimes, and texts, you’d spam respond to all of them with a voice message or paragraphs of texts before you went to bed or class. you would send him daily or weekly recap videos of how life is treating you, like you used to do. you would send him stupid videos of you messing around on your shifts during a pause of customers. you would send him thirty reels a day on instagram of brain dead shenanigans with little captions of how you reacted, or if you thought it would make him smile. you would send him fit checks every morning before you went to class, even though your outfit consists of a hoodie and sweatpants. you would send him tiktok edits of himself and tell him that he needs to stop being ‘so hot’ because you almost barked in the middle of class. you would ask him how he’s doing, you would respond to his texts the minute you could even if it's hours late, you would leave him voicemails if he doesn’t pick up, you would make an attempt to communicate. 

except, you haven’t. so, he knows that you ignoring him is intentional, and that your lifestyle right now makes it easier for you to disguise your avoidance of him as accidental. 

you didn’t say ‘i love you’ back. 

“mate, what are you frowning for?” oscar jumps, eyes flying up from the phone screen and meeting lando’s. the brit is staring at him in confusion, the two of them are still in their race suits, tied around their waists. the sprint race ended an hour ago, and they’ve just finished celebrating oscar’s win.

“you’ve won a race, oscar—what could possibly make you sad after that?” lando says teasingly. but, the smile on his face is quick to fade as he must see oscar’s dejected mood.

the australian debates his next move for a moment, before deciding that telling lando isn’t a bad idea; they’ve been getting closer—they’re friends, oscar would say. he sighs, and hands his phone to lando, maybe he’ll tell oscar he’s worrying over nothing.

“oh,” lando says, eyes widening, “i’m sorry, mate.”

oscar brushes off lando’s words, and buries his face in his hands, “she’s pulling away from me. that was five days ago, and she hasn’t answered any of my calls. she’s only responded to my texts since then with one word answers or very dryly. she’s ghosting me.”

oscar feels lando fumbling for words, not needing to look at him to know that the older man has no idea how to go about reassuring oscar.

“look, mate, if it were me i’d go see her anyways.”

oscar huffs, “she literally said she doesn’t have time.”

“oscar,” lando stares at him in disbelief, “she hasn’t seen you in two months. i guarantee she’s probably dying to see you again, fuck whatever time she doesn’t have. she also can’t ghost you, if you see her face to face. you should go and try to fix whatever’s wrong, before you let her slip away.”

“maybe…maybe she’s just burnt out,” oscar suggests shakily, “i’ll go see her after the triple header–i’m probably just overreacting about this. she’ll be back to her usual self in time.”

oscar is enraged. he’s pissed off at his fans for attacking you in a sick twist of ‘defending him,’ ‘protecting him’ and the supposed ‘ownership’ they think they have over him. he’s pissed off at you deciding to ghost him instead of confiding in him about the hate you receive. he’s pissed off that his flight to you has been delayed for four hours. he’s pissed off at his race in brazil, if you can even call what happened a race. he’s pissed off at the fact that you can’t make time to see him before vegas. he’s pissed off that you lied to him about picking up extra shifts at the cafe.

he stalked through your instagram the minute after he was allowed to escape debrief, hunting down your roomates accounts from where you’ve tagged them in an older post. he innocently made a group message to the two girls, figuring it would be kind and proper to inform them of his impending arrival to surprise you. and the two girls you shared an apartment with responded eagerly to his message telling him that you’ve been extremely stressed and almost depressed this semester, and that hopefully his appearance will break through to you in a way they are unable to. oscar asked them if they knew your work schedule for the week, since you never told him when you're working–and learned that you lied. you didn’t accept any extra shifts, matter of fact, you got all of your shifts covered for the next two weeks. apparently, all you have been doing is going to class, working, studying furiously, and crying. when he asks if there’s any reason besides the stress from work and school that has you crying, the girls decline to speak for you, and strongly suggest that he asks you himself when he arrives. 

oscar’s no longer pissed at you for lying to him or for ghosting him–he’s hurt, but, he already understands your motive. you don’t want to worry him, so you bottle it up and distance yourself to not make him aware of how you're struggling. he won’t let you carry the weight of the world on your shoulders alone anymore, he’s going to see you and he’s going to take care of you, and then he’ll sort out the ignorant people on the internet.

when he’s at your apartment, you’ll be coming home from your last shift before your time off. and then, once he has you in his arms, he can make everything right again.

your hands are shaking; a result from the mix of stress and exhaustion that has been plaguing you for a few weeks. it takes you four and a half attempts to unlock the front door to your apartment—this is an improvement, yesterday it took you six times. a trembling sigh of relief exits your lungs as you shut the front door, triple checking that you lock the door properly. you remove all of your outerwear and slip out of your shoes, half-heartedly making an attempt to neatly place them in the organizer you have by the door. (you fail to register how there’s only two pairs of shoes stored away; yours and a pair of shoes that look too big to be one of the girls you live with—the usual sneakers the girls wear are nowhere to be seen.) you grunt as you tenderly put on your backpack and slowly make your way into the kitchen, off-handedly murmuring a “hi,” in the direction of the living room since you can hear the tv playing, but you don’t even spare a glance to see which roommate it is—you can’t stomach anymore human interaction today.

your walk is more of a waddle; your legs and feet are sore from working nine-hour shifts five days in a row, and also from going to class four out of those five days. you place your backpack on the small island, and continue to gently meander towards the fridge. your stomach aches at the thought of food—which is unfortunate, considering you’ve only had one meal today. regardless, you will shove a sandwich down your throat, you need the energy if you’re going to study for three hours before you go to bed. 

you pause before you open the fridge, a note is stuck on the door with a magnet. your roommates are gone; the two girls have spontaneously decided to go spend the weekend with their boyfriends—you’re not going to complain, you have the apartment to yourself. a brief wave of loneliness washes over you, you were kind of looking forward to venting about the week you had to the girls in the morning, and also, couldn’t they have texted you this earlier today? who leaves old-fashioned notes on the fridge anymore? you pull out your phone to send a text in your group chat wishing them a nice weekend, and see that they did, in fact, text you that they would be gone—three days ago. and, you never responded, because you never saw it. you shrug, and send the text anyways, you’ve been incredibly busy and you’re bound to miss a few texts (especially the eighteen texts from oscar that remain unopened). 

you're just going through a little bit of a slump, and you’ve had a bad day. you accidentally messed up three orders today (out of the hundred you fulfilled, so three isn’t really terrible), your running off of four hours of sleep (you’re more energized when you sleep less, anyways), and a customer accidentally bumped into you as you were walking to bring coffee to a table, causing the hot liquid to spill and burn a little spot on the back of your hand by your thumb. well, you know it wasn’t purely accidental, as the girl giggled to the group of friends she was with after she “bumped” into you. based on the way she was wearing a mclaren hoodie, you can make several guesses as to why she did it—you’re kind of shocked that she noticed you even though you wear a mask at work (you have for about a month, too many fans have noticed who you are), her hate for a relationship that’s not hers should be studied for science. 

incidents like these have made your coworkers start to…dislike you. the decrease in tips when you’re assigned to the register causes you to be forced to be hidden behind coffee machines the entire shift, only making drinks the entire nine hours you’re there. it’s better for you though, at least you can have a physical barrier blocking the prying eyes you feel are judging you the entire time. if anything, the recent atmosphere at work made you want to put in your two weeks—but, you have bills to pay. you’re just glad you managed to find a way to get two weeks off so you can focus on school and prepare for your exams—you can’t afford to fail, it’ll cost your scholarship and then you’ll need more than the job you have right now to finish school.

the buzzing of your phone pulls you back to the present—oscar’s calling. you squeeze your eyes shut for a few seconds, before you blink and silence the ringer. if you speak to him, you won’t be able to hide your troubles from him any longer; he reads you as easily as a kid’s picture book. he definitely doesn’t need to deal with your problems after whatever the hell happened in brazil. the noise of your phone startled you into a new thought, however. if the girls aren’t in the apartment, why the fuck is the tv on? who did you greet when you walked past the main room without a glance?

“i was calling to tell you that i’ve got takeout from the asian restaurant you like, if you’re looking for something to eat,” oscar says gently.

it’s a testament to how extremely exhausted you are: you don’t scream, you don’t fight, you don’t run—you just flinch slightly, and turn around slowly to face your boyfriend…the man you’ve been avoiding for nearly a month. at the sight of him (his fluffy hair, his soft sweater, the confused and concerned glint in his eyes) your lip starts quivering, and your eyes start watering. oscar’s gaze softens into something sweet yet empathic, and he says, “i know it’s been a while since we’ve last talked, but i didn’t think you’d cry at the sight of me.”

you burst into tears with a sob, and in a second oscar’s got you wrapped up in his arms, one hand soothingly massaging your back, while the other cradles your head on his shoulder. your borderline hyperventilating, your tears have started to soak his sweater, and you’re sniffling every two seconds to avoid getting snot on him too. oscar doesn’t try to quiet your tears, he doesn’t ask about what’s making you cry, he doesn’t even try to tell you that everything will be fine—he just holds you as you cry it out and presses kisses into your hair. eventually, the flow of tears dries and you focus on pulling in shaky breaths of air to calm down. oscar switches to holding you to his chest with one arm while he uses the free one to reach across the counter and grab a tissue. wordlessly, he wipes the wetness off your cheeks and under-eyes, he even uses another tissue to wipe your nose, clearing away the snot that managed to escape. you almost start crying again at the tender treatment and the matching look in his eyes, but you muster enough strength to keep the happy tears from falling over the waterline. 

oscar nods once, deeming his cleanup complete, and clears his throat, “i’m going to heat up the food. then, we’ll eat and you’ll tell me what’s wrong and if that has anything to do with why you’re ignoring me.”

there’s no attempt from you to keep the façade up any longer, all you do is nod and step to the side so he can grab the food from the fridge.

oscar has already cleared his plate and you’re still picking through half of yours. the two of you are sitting on opposite ends of the couch, teen wolf is playing on a low volume, and your eyes are tunneled on the screen even though oscar can see that you’re not paying attention at all. one of the characters is screaming about having to get his arm cut off (stiles, probably) and suddenly you start talking to oscar.

“it’s been a shit semester. if i wasn’t graduating in spring, i honestly think i would’ve dropped out or taken a gap-year. and, i knew what i signed up for as an engineering major, and i knew that working was only going to add more on my plate—but, it’s not like i can quit my job, i have bills to pay. so, juggling school and work is difficult, and i was managing fine. but, i guess i made the mistake of scrolling through twitter—which is truly my fault i think—and everyone on the internet was calling me a ‘terrible girlfriend’,” oscar watches you scoff out a choked laugh, “and, i obviously didn’t believe i was. in the beginning, at least. i mean, it’s like they expected me to be at every race by your side, like i’m not working my way through a hellscape of a degree. i watched every practice session, qualifying, and race—they’re literally the only hours i don’t spend studying or working. i brag about you to everybody who would listen, i missed hours of sleep just to speak to you on the phone for five minutes, i work as hard as i can so i can finish this degree early so i can be with you as early as possible, and they say that you deserve a better girlfriend.”

you pause and rub at your eyes furiously, mouth opening and closing as you take time to find the words to continue. oscar quiets the flare of anger at your distress, and stays silent, not wanting to interrupt your speech, this is the most you’ve said to him in a month.

“the thing is: i-i i let their words get to me. i think it’s because i was being kicked while i was down—or whatever the phrase is. i was already mentally exhausted, and i already believe that i’m not doing my best this year, i’m disappointing everybody who knows me, i’m a shit student—and just seeing everybody agree, even though they’re just randoms on the internet, tore me down. i even deleted all of the apps off my phone,” your voice has shifted into something desperate, “so i couldn’t see what they were saying about me anymore, but it’s like once i saw it, it never left my mind. i feel like everybody is staring at me with condescending eyes, like they all think i’m terrible. and, logically, i know that’s probably not true. but, this semester has pushed me past the point of being able to rationalize properly. so as a result, i have become a ‘terrible girlfriend’ to you; like a twisted self-fulfilling prophecy.

“i avoid your calls, i leave you on delivered for days, i respond with one word, i lie to my friends and say i was up all night talking to you on the phone when i was really crying and studying at the same time, i hold back from bursting into tears in the middle of my shifts when one of your ‘fangirls’ spills their drink over me for the third time. and while doing all of this, i was hoping you’d do the hard part and just break up with me,” your voice rings out sharply and you refuse to look at your boyfriend, afraid to see the look on his face.

“because…” you whimper slightly, tongue flicking out to lick at your lips anxiously, “you do deserve a better girlfriend.”

oscar is lost for words at your conclusion; seeing you, one of the strongest women he knows break down, is a sight he never imagined. a sense of guilt builds within him, knowing that he’s added to the deprecating thoughts in your brain by postponing this intervention for weeks. you may think that he deserves someone better, but he hasn’t been the best to you either recently. if oscar was half the man you think he is, he would’ve never allowed you to avoid him in the first place. oscar stands up, collects your plate and his, and places them on the coffee table. he turns and drops to his knees in front of you, resting his hands on your thighs, and squeezes them gently to grab your attention. it takes a minute, but eventually you allow your eyes to fall to meet his, and oscar breaks further at the lack of light in your eyes.

“i think,” oscar starts quietly, “that you expect me to break up with you and leave—am i guessing correctly?”

you blink down at him and shrug, biting your lip to prevent it from quivering.

“i also think, that if i flew all this way to see you, and that if i listened to your heartbreaking recollection of how this semester and how the world has been incredibly unkind to you, and that if i sat here and still broke up you—it’s not me that deserves a better girlfriend; it’s you that deserves a better boyfriend.”

stunned, you stumble over your disagreement, but oscar steadfastly continues.

“you did the right thing by deleting your socials—and that would explain why all three hundred of the reels i’ve sent you have gone unseen,” he laughs lightly, “and even if their words took root, you prevented yourself from being able to see more of it every time you used your phone; so even if my pride is not needed, i am proud of you for doing that. i’m even more proud that you sat here and told me that you aren’t doing well, that you didn’t make an attempt to lie, and that i didn’t have to force you to tell me,” oscar says seriously, holding steady eye contact with you to make sure you're hearing him.

“i wish that you would have mentioned the hate you’re receiving as soon as it started, and that you would have told me your mental health was suffering too. you know i do everything in my power to avoid reading anything with my name in it unless it’s a credible article—so imagine my surprise, when i learned about what people were saying about you through a twitter thread logan, of all people texted me about,” you snort out a laugh at the feigned disdain in oscar’s voice when he mentions the american driver. 

“you know i have no issues embarrassing people on the internet for their incorrect claims—and i’d especially tear them to shreds for trying to drag you down. we’ve been together too long for you not to come to me about things like this, even if it’s something that mildly upsets you—i want to know, because then i can make it better, or i can at least try to. you haven’t complained to me about the grueling lifestyle once, as i worked my way up to f1; if anybody could be perfect, it would be you. so, let me try to be as perfect as you, and support you properly and thoroughly as you finish up this degree, baby.

“we’re soulmates, aren’t we?” it’s a question, but oscar states it like a fact, “and i know i can’t magically make the self-loathing disappear with one conversation, but i'll tell you that you’re the best girlfriend i’ve ever had countless times, until you believe me unquestionably.”

oscar watches your nose scrunch cutely as you sniffle, unable to stop the tears that leak from the corners of your eyes. sweetly, he catches them with his thumb before they fall. he stands up and tugs you to your feet, pulling you into a tight, warm hug. 

“i love you, kanga,” oscar coos as he kisses your forehead.

“i love you the most, roo,” you answer back, leaning up to press a kiss to the corner of his lips.

“i’ve bought some lavender epsom salt and an embarrassing amount of bath bombs. will you let me take care of you tonight?” oscar asks quietly.

he sees the mix of awed-disbelief and confusion as you stare up at him, like you can’t imagine why he’d want to love you tenderly tonight, and that hurts him more—the words of his ‘fans’ online have done enough damage to cause you to doubt him. maybe he can convince you to come to vegas with him so he can keep you close, but first, he needs to focus on caring for you here and now.

oscar grabs his duffle bag and smiles as you hold his hand to lead him to your room and the attached bathroom (rent is ridiculously expensive, but at least you don’t have to share a bathroom with your roommates.) oscar sends you to grab pajamas while he starts filling the tub, epsom salt already poured in. he fiddles with the temperature for a while before it’s set to the boiling-your-skin-off hot you enjoy. by the time you join him in the bathroom, he’s added the salts and soap in the water and has placed the bath bombs out for you to choose one. oscar can’t help the small smile that rises to his face at the sight of the serious furrow of your brow as you pick out your favorite from the bunch. 

oscar hums as you hand him the jade-infused bath bomb, and asks, “can i wash your hair too? or will it mess up your schedule?”

“i actually really need to wash it,” you murmur with a humorless chuckle, “i’ve been so busy that i haven’t been taking care of my hair properly.”

oscar blinks and continues non-judgmentally, “i’ll give you an extra scalp massage to make up for that—you can start getting undressed now, the water’s nearly ready.”

he turns around awkwardly, he’s seen you naked before but he feels like it would be slightly perverse to watch you while you’re clearly in a more sensitive state tonight. he fumbles with the faucet for a few seconds before turning it off, and drops the bath bomb into the water so it can start dispersing. oscar faces you again carefully making sure he avoids staring at your body and locks eyes with you, he beckons you forward with an outstretched hand and holds your hand as you submerge yourself in the water. once you’re settled comfortably, oscar grabs your hair products (he holds up any bottle he thinks you may not want to use tonight, and you give him a thumbs up or down to decide), and then kneels at your side.

he starts to roll up the sleeves of the hoodie but your hand halts his motions, the water splashing loudly at the quickness of your movement, “you’re not getting in with me?”

“uh,” oscar stutters, “i-i wasn’t planning on it. i just wanted to give you a nice bath.”

oscar pinkens as you stare at him wordlessly and when your unimpressed gaze shifts to a slight glare, he finds himself shedding his clothes and sinking in behind you at an impressive speed. 

his heart began to race as the two of you shifted into as comfortable of a position you could achieve in a too-small tub, but calmed at your pleased hum as you settled between his legs with your back resting on his chest. this may be the most romantic experience oscar has ever indulged in. sure, it’s not a candlelit dinner at an obnoxiously expensive restaurant but, it’s him detangling your hair, it’s him massaging shampoo into your crown, it’s him scratching softly along your scalp as the deep conditioner sits, it’s you playing with the water innocently, it’s you whispering every detail of your life that he’s missed out on, it’s you gently directing him through braiding your hair, and it’s him pressing kisses to your shoulder when he finishes. there isn’t a single moment where the two of you become unsettled during lapses of silence; the intimacy of his actions is loud enough to fill the gaps. oscar can’t imagine ever being this comfortable with anybody besides you, he hates that he almost allowed you to pull completely away from him. moments like these, where you allow yourself to be thoughtlessly vulnerable with him, are exactly why he’s completely enamored with you.

your body has loosened against him, muscles syrupy and lax from the effects of a toe-curling scalp massage, and oscar gently guides you to sit upright while steadying most of your weight with a single hand splayed against your abdomen. the sound of the cap of your body wash clicking open startles you into the present, and you shift around to straddle his lap. it’s amusing; he inaudibly chuckles at the sight of you struggling to complete your change of position without sending water over the edge. you make a triumphant noise when you’ve managed to turn around to face him, and oscar’s hands cradle your hips when you rest on his lap. 

“can i–”

“shouldn’t you–”

oscar bursts into laughter and you into giggles, at the interruption of each other's sentences. it’s definitely not that funny, but oscar’s heart skips a beat at the sound of your laugh–he hasn’t heard that sweet noise in what feels like forever. he motions for you to speak, ever the gentleman, and eagerly awaits for our question with a smile still stretched across his lips.

“shouldn’t you fuck me before we wash up? so we don’t have to clean up twice?”

oscar chokes on his breath, his grip on you tightening in surprise, and he babbles, “what? no-i mean, yes, i mean—wait. i didn’t do all of this just to have sex with you, you know that right? i genuinely just wanted to pamper you–”

“oscar,” you cut him off, intentionally this time around, “after the semester i’ve had, and the less than kind words i’ve heard and thoughts i’ve had describing myself–i really do appreciate the bath, i feel reminded that you love me. however, i really think that having sex would help…solidify your devotion for me.”

oscar blinks up at you, he wasn’t quite expecting you to return to your normal sassy behavior as quickly as you did. but, he is thankful that you’ve opened up to him with no further hesitation–it’s actually incredibly attractive of you, how you’ve resumed complete comfortability in expressing exactly what you want to him. at least, that’s the excuse he’s telling himself to cope with being half-hard already.

“...at least let me take you to bed, then?”

“no,” you whine down at him, your hips sneakily twitching forward, oscar moans lightly at the light grind, “too far! saves time later if we don’t have to come back to shower.”

“you’re right,” oscar hums distractedly, moving his right hand off your waist to slip between your thighs and brush along your cunt, “i’ll fuck you here as long as you let me do all of the work.”

oscar’s blood heats at the sound of your whimpering moan and he takes his other hand off your waist to grab at your chin and he pulls you down for a kiss.

oscar groans when you pause before your lips touch his, and he feels the breath of your giggle ghost over his mouth, “mmm, i’ll never say no to that—and, didn’t i agree to let you take care of me tonight?” 

taglist: @saintslewis @cherry2stems @lorarri @inloveallthetime @mindless-rock @biancathecool @barnestatic @my-ylenia @katekipshidze @darleneslane @lovingaphroditesworld @smoothopz

© httpsserene2023

[hedgehog-moss]

Update on the French protests: we've had a well-known expert in contemporary political history call the situation we're in "the worst democracy crisis France has known since [the end of the 4th Republic]" and meanwhile the government is trying its hardest to maintain a façade of normal functioning by a) hiding from protesters, b) hiding protesters from view, and c) banning saucepans and other means of drawing attention to the protests that are being swept under the rug.

I mean casserolades are an old tradition in this country but they wouldn't have been needed if Macron &co hadn't started almost systematically banning protests in entire districts of the towns they visit and setting up police roadblocks to prevent peaceful protesters from going anywhere near them. (Too bad because these are the kinds of images the media get (these 2 are from Le Monde) when protesters get to talk to Macron <3) :

Protesters corralled away where they can be easily ignored started banging pots and pans so the protest could at least be heard in the background of TV footage, and then pans started being confiscated.

French courts have repeatedly struck down the bans as illegal but police prefects keep churning new bans out every time Macron goes somewhere anyway, trying to publish them at the last minute so there's no time for a judicial review. (I saw a sign at a protest last week that went "Stop with all the bans we no longer have time to disobey all of them")

After boldly banning saucepans by calling them "portable sonorous devices" last week, today a police prefecture banned "festive gatherings of a musical nature" in a town Macron will be visiting tomorrow. They're (ab)using counter-terrorist legislation for all this, so these days we get to read unheard-of court rulings that go like "We are suspending this prefectural decree as we do not consider festive gatherings of a musical nature to pose a significant terrorist threat to the President."

If Macron had people showing up in support I don't think we would see so many pissy protest bans because then the media could show backers vs. opponents and things would look normal (and not like 70% of the country is very pissed off with Macron). But there's not much for them to show if they don't show the angry people banging pans and it clearly rankles Macron—we learnt yesterday that he sent a letter to 200,000 political supporters of his essentially ordering them to start making appearances all over the country, to show they are "proud of what you are and of what our country has become [since I got elected]." That seems a bit desperate.

For months Macron &co have been predicting that people would get tired of taking to the streets in large numbers, and now that people are going like—right, let's try a new strategy, small local protests greeting gov members everywhere they go!—we're hearing a clear "no not like that, that's not what we meant :l " reaction from the government.

They've also been trying the strategy of announcing stuff at the last minute, like on Monday the Minister of Education announced at noon that he would visit a higher learning institution in Lyon 2 hours later, and a hundred of protesters still showed up and tried to force their way into the building. They were held off by cops using tear gas and trying to block entrances (there's a pic that made me smile, showing cops trying to barricade university gates with garbage bins—how the tables have turned...!) and the Minister ended up not showing up and moving on to the next step of his schedule (protesters tried to follow him there but police vans were blocking the street.)

The first half of the video is at the uni in Lyon; the second half is in Paris later that day. When he returned to Paris the Minister was greeted by protesters with saucepans at the train station, it's like a national relay race of protesting at times. He had to go back through the train to leave via the other end of the platform under police escort so as not to meet any protesters (god forbid).

Macron commented that this was "uncivic" behaviour and I agree, civic behaviour on the part of gov members would be to at least face the people they choose to fuck over, instead of hiding behind cops and fleeing. Obviously Macron was condemning the 'uncivic' protesters though, and the Minister said he felt "physically threatened" by the "violence of [the protesters'] speech" which is a shit thing to say considering on the same day that he was mildly inconvenienced by having to take a different exit and felt physically endangered by words, yet another protester was mutilated after being shot at by police with a rubber bullet. Not a peep about this incident (or previous ones) from the government. The Minister of Education never even condemned that time high schoolers trying to protest got tear gassed and threatened with riot guns by cops in front of their school earlier this month.

But while people continue protesting despite the actual violence from cops, our ministers are looking pretty scared of citizens banging pots and pans. Here's a list of official visits that got cancelled "for safety reasons" (saucepan terrorism) in the past week:

1. Minister P. NDiaye cancelled a visit in Lyon 2. Minister F. Braun cancelled a visit to Evrard Hospital 3. Minister Delegate O. Klein cancelled a visit in Bobigny 4. Minister Delegate O. Grégoire cancelled a visit in La Baule 5. Minister S. Guerini cancelled a visit in Castelnau 6. Secretary of State B. Couillard cancelled a visit in Rochefort 7. Minister S. Retailleau cancelled a visit to the Paris Saclay University (electricity trade unionists cut the power in the building she was supposed to inaugurate, so) 8. Minister C. Grandjean cancelled a visit in Toulouse (this article says it was probably because the visit was quite near a big highway protest where protesters among other things were building a concrete wall on a national road)

In the same bullshitting vein as "portable sonorous devices", gov spokespeople have been insisting that visits aren't being cancelled, ministers are just "adjusting the course of their trips" which is funny to me. I guess we never beheaded any royalty we just adjusted the course of their necks. I also read a newspaper article that made me laugh, that went like "Minister cancels visit; trade unions disappointed" and I thought it was because the cancelled visit was a meeting with the unions which they wouldn't get to have, but the article said it was actually because they had a good protest planned and wouldn't get to hold it...

Watching protesters mess with the government in small ways on a daily basis has been good for morale—on Twitter the hashtags #IntervillesMacron and #IntervillesduZbeul popped up (zbeul = chaos, mess, and Intervilles was a TV game show that aired for over 50 years, where French cities competed against one another in goofy challenges). I only mentioned cancellations above, but fun things also happen on non-cancelled government visits, like a Minister having to leave a building via the emergency exit because of protesters blocking the building entrance (which some people argued is worth more points than a cancellation as it's more entertaining):

Various websites were created to keep track of all these smaller protests and to officialise the point system that ranks cities on their efforts to fuck with the government:

(the first symbol means a protest, the second means a casserolade, the last one means protesters managed to get inside a building where a visit was taking place)

(Translation: Ruckus (saucepans, heckling...) 1pt Protest: 1pt Creative action (chasing minister in the woods, etc): 2pts Measures of energy conservation (= power cuts by unions) 3pts Action that leads to a political figure fleeing: 4pts Cancellation of a visit: 5pts — then there's a weighting system where the score is multiplied by 3 if it's a Minister, by 5 if it's the Prime Minister, by 6 if it's Macron.) (I also saw an interesting debate on Twitter this week—since our leaders often embarrass themselves, how should the government's own goals fit into the point system?)

Right now the Hérault department is winning because on top of protests, power cuts and casserolades, protesters greeted Macron with a giant "MACRON FUCK OFF" sign hung from a cliff (!) and took over a highway display so it'd say "Welcome to [region] Butthole Ist"

These past few days I've been discovering unknown French cities (and Ministers) thanks to them showing up in the hashtag after a good protest. I discovered a mediaeval castle I'd never heard of when unions hung banners featuring our most famous revolutionary dates from the castle's battlements. (Two days later, another protest with eloquent banners in the Musée d'Orsay in Paris:)

People are very creative—last week we heard that protesters got prosecuted for giving Macron the finger and insulting him during one of his official visits (< we are a healthy democracy), so protesters in another region tried a more sarcastic approach, and greeted a deputy from Macron's party at a strawberry fair this week with clapping and confetti and "Thank you for making us work 2 more years, thank you for police repression, thank you!" The deputy beat a hasty retreat. Then said he would file a complaint against the harassment and intimidation he had been subjected to. (The tear gas and riot guns and arrests and protest bans are not intimidation of protesters on the other hand. Or the fact that another deputy from his party recently said on TV that they were "ready for war"... They're ready to wage war, but run and hide when people clang saucepans and throw confetti.)

Anyway. I'm enjoying the fact that they can't even attend a small strawberry fair without getting heckled right now. In one of my first posts about the political crisis in March I wrote something like "How will Macron and his gov have any legitimacy to speak about any issues after this?" and it cheers me up to see a lot of people across the country agree that they have no legitimacy to talk about anything, not even the strawberry harvest.

The next nationwide protest is of course for May 1st, but in the meantime it's been really fun following the smaller protest actions all over the place. Members of government & Macron's party keep making whiny statements along the lines of this is terrorist behaviour, we can't go anywhere, why are people not getting tired of fucking with us and the answer is, because it's really entertaining!

This was the last sentence of a recent Le Monde article about Macron's situation and it has such a sinister, end-of-reign tone:

"I'm moving forward," Macron concluded, on April 20th in the Herault department, while behind his back echoed the sound of saucepans.

[cy-cyborg]

Tips for wring amputees: its ok if your amputee can't repair their own prosthetics

There's a trope in fiction for amputees to always be these mechanical geniuses who can make and repair their own prosthetics, endlessly tinkering away and improving them. This isn't a particularly trope, and i dont think its harmful or anything, but in reality, prosthetics are REALLY, REALLY complicated, and a lot of amputees cant do their own repairs. And thats ok. Like, prosthetic creation and repair is way, way harder than I think people expect. Well outside the skillset of your standard mechanic, handy man or craftsperson.

People who make and repair prosthetics are called prosthetists. To become a prosthetist, most countries around the world today require you to have completed a bachelor's degree in specifically in prosthetics and orthotics, which covers not only how to make a prosthetics (and orthodics) but a great deal of medical knowledge, physics, how different forces impact "non-standard" bodies, the additional biological wear-and-tear that comes with being an amputee and so much more. This will qualify you to do the job of fitting/making the prosthetic socket (the part that attaches to your body) and putting premade components together to make a functioning device. On top of this, many prosthetists are also expected to have artistic skills, sewing skills, good physical strength and dexterity, IT skills, and more recently, knowledge of 3D modelling and printing.

You want to make all the high-tech components the prosthetists put together to make the full prosthetic? The requirements for that vary country to country, but most will require at least some level study in the field of engineering and/or medicine, on top of what was already required for the prosthetics course.

The reason for all this is because even "basic" prosthetics are extremely finicky, and messing up one thing will have a domino effect on the rest of the body, especially in more complicated prosthetics. It can also result in people getting severally injured if anything is even slightly off. many leg amputees for example end up with spinal issues due to extremely minor issues with their prosthetic that weren't caught until years later, and by then the damage had been done.

Some amputees do learn to do basic repairs. This is most common in places like the US, where a visit to the prosthetist can cost hundred to thousands of dollars (depending on your insurance), but it's also quite common in rural parts of countries like Australia, where cost isn't an issue but access is due to vast distances between major cities. I was personally in this category; as a kid, my nearest prosthetist was 6 hours away. My prosthetist was able to teach my dad, who later taught me, how to do some of the simple repairs, but we still needed to go in every few weeks for the more complex stuff (Kids prosthetic need more adjusting than adults because they're still growing. Also I was rough on my prosthetics and broke them a lot lol).

But even after being taught how to do repairs and having my prosthetics for 20+ years, I only ever did these sorts of repairs to my below-knee prosthetic. I will not do any repairs of any kind to my above knee leg, which is much more technologically complex. Every time I tried, I made it worse to the point where the leg was unusable. I just leave those repairs to the guy who went to university to learn how to do it, and sometimes even he needs to send it off to someone with even more specialist knowledge when it's really badly messed up lol. Last time that happened Australia post lost the package. Not really relevant to this post, I just find the idea of it being sent to the wrong place by accident hilarious, it was one of my more realistic legs too so someone probably had a heart attack when they opened that package lmao.

Anyway, back on track lol.

This isn't even touching on the fact that on some more advanced prosthetics, many features are actually locked behind a security barrier only prosthetists can access. My prosthetic knee has an app on my phone I can pair it to, that allows me to change certain settings and swap between certain modes for different activities that tell the leg to change its behaviour depending on what I'm doing (e.g. a mode for running, a mode for cycling etc). but most of the more in-depth settings I can't access, only my prosthetist can, and he can only gain access to those settings with a security key given to him by the manufacturing company that requires him to provide proof of his credentials to receive it. I don't really agree with this btw, something about being locked out of my own leg's settings makes me feel a bit of an ick, but it's set up like this because people used to be able to access these settings and they would mess with things to the point their leg was virtually unusable. Because altering one setting had a domino effect on all the others, and a lot of folks weren't really paying attention to what they were messing with, all their prosthetists could do was factory reset the whole leg, which causes some issues too. Prosthetic arms are often similarly complex, as I understand it and have similar security barriers in place for more advanced arms. I don't know for sure though, so take that with a grain of salt.

All this to say these are incredibly delicate, finicky and complex pieces of equipment. There's nothing wrong with having a techy amputee character who can do their own repairs, but in reality, that is pretty rare, and its ok to have your character need to see a prosthetist or someone more knowledgeable than them. It's a part of the amputee experience I don't see reflected very often in media. In fact, the only examples I can think of in fiction (meaning not stories based on real people) where this is reflected are Full metal alchemist.

technically I think Subnautica Below Zero also mentions prosthetists are a thing in that world, but its a very "blink and you'll miss it" kind of thing...in fact I did miss it until my last playthrough lol.

[fatliberation]

No normal person was ever 600 lbs 100 years. Not a single one. It's not healthy or safe for anyone to be that large

Not a single one, eh? Are we gonna attempt to back that up with anything of substance whatsoever or are we just echoing eugenics into a fat person’s inbox and calling it a win? Sit down, bucko.

You know what else isn’t “healthy” or “normal” to be? Disabled. Yet disabled people have always existed. Imagine that!

Wild to think that part of being human means having a variety of differences in the formation and function of our bodies, and that our health status does not determine our right to exist in those bodies.

The eldest of these artifacts dates to over 30,000 years ago. A timespan longer than you or any mortal person can truly comprehend. We’ve been here since the beginning of humanity and we are still here. Fat people, specifically fat Black women, have roamed the earth long before colonization twisted perception of reality into hierarchy and poisoned the minds of generations to view certain human beings as disposable. Fat people have always existed and always will, no matter how much you fantasize about a past and future rid of us.

“How many statues of Black women do the ancients have to hide for you to dig up and understand what God looks like. How many times do fat Black women have to save your life in song. What are you paying attention to? This is why you can never see God in yourself. You are damned by hatred of fat Black women. And no part of you could ever live without them. This is why the universe (huge, black, unfolding, expansive) shakes and shakes her head, you fools. You wasteful fools.” Alexis Pauline Gumbs, M Archive: After The End of The World

[ftmtftm]

as a brown woman, i think one of the reasons for this is the refusal to understand (in this example particularly i'll use race, but i think this could be applied to other forms of oppression) the reality of the oppression men of color face, and the insistence on viewing oppression as disparate.

my dad and brother have told me many stories about how much their emotions are policed at work. my dad raises his voice the slightest bit or doesn't come off jovial and pleasant, and people get upset and feel threatened by him. there's a post i've seen before where a black man says something similar, in response to a woman saying 'men will never know what it's like to worry about having rbf.' he was saying how he very much does, or the white people around him will make negative assumptions he's then responsible for. it is something that these two marginalized groups share, but there's backlash whenever it gets brought up because i think a lot of cis women cling to the idea that certain things are a "woman's experience" and feel threatened when marginalized men can relate to them. which men are the default? which women are the other? the default male experience has never been something the men in my family can relate to because their race precludes them from doing so. the 'othered' experience of women is often not something i can relate to, because the loudest voices about it are white women being othered by white men.

in reality, oppression often functions in similar ways, even with different groups, and bonding and forming solidarity in that is a great way to bring awareness to it. but that requires people to get over themselves and their own conceptions of victims and oppressors, which is much harder than it seems to be.

YES !!!! Yes exactly, you've hit the nail on the head.

Especially at the very end, because honestly? I think it requires a decent amount of personal healing, carefully practiced empathy, and a bit of ego death to get to that point and it's really hard to do that when you're also actively in a marginalized position yourself.

It's a big task asking people who are hurt to find solidarity with each other because we live in a culture that actively discourages that for several reasons - very systemically. Particularly with feminism it's extremely difficult because Radfem "universal female experience / female utopia" isolationism (and even going back farther, the First Wave as a whole) severed a lot of those opportunities for solidarity early on and we have to pick up the broken pieces to try and mend them now.

[moondirti]

Your ghostsoap x preg!reader!!??? I'm in love I need more of this. You have more thoughts for that universe? I just fell in love with your writing.

Let me camp in this corner of your blog, I'm friendly and don't bite (⁠~⁠￣⁠³⁠￣⁠)⁠~

they're all i've been able to think about all day. of course i have more to say <3 if you're curious, anon is referring to this, which should be read before this part.

tags: DARK FIC. manipulation. vehicle tampering. planned abduction. pregnant fem!reader. established ghostsoap – who are not the fathers but would definitely like to be. mentions of somnophilia

Delusional as they might be, it's hard to justify something as egregious as blunt-force kidnapping. Though it briefly occurs to Simon – to pluck you from the parking lot and drive off the hour after they decide to keep you – the logistics don't iron out. Of chief concern, you're six months pregnant. What they'd typically use for POW's thus become's inconsiderable for you; Johnny's the wiz, but even he knows the effects chloroform can have on a foetus. The alternative isn't any better, either – his partner just balks at the idea of tying you up and throwing you in the trunk. (She'll never git ower it, Si. Dae ye want her tae hate us?)

So, things unfold in a far subtler manner.

They go home that night they first meet you. Can't coordinate without resting on it, they rationalise, without scoping their place to assure it's suitable for their soon-to-be-mother. They tuck away the knives laying on random countertops, air out the quilts gifted to them by Johnny's ma in an attempt to make their room cozier. And when they sleep, they dream of you tucked in between them, knocked out, sex-drunk. Dressed in nothing but a shirt, cunt bared for either of them to toy with throughout the night.

Hours upon hours later, well into noon the next day, Simon wakes to find his boy rutting into his thigh, still somewhat comatose, and sneaks a rough hand into his boxers to tug the tension out of the poor thing. They only get up as the fissures of dusk begin to spread across the sky, loading their car with a toolbox and making the drive back to The Dahlia, staking out in the parking lot as they wait for you to arrive for your shift.

(Johnny had deployed the old charm as you brought out their food in two baggies last night, disguising the trap with a lilting laugh as he audibly wondered why you picked up such a late shift.

You’d only shrugged and said you preferred to work nights.)

Sure enough, you pull up in a beat-up Kia at 2200, fussing with your bag as you stumble to the back entrance of the roadhouse.

"Forgot to lock it." He mutters, following your form until it disappears from view. Johnny only frowns, tightening his fingers over his thumb. A little nervous tick.

"Should we be doin' this?"

"And what is this?" Simon turns to appraise the scotsman, larger hand enveloping his, calloused fingertips smoothing over scarred knuckles. "Y'think they'd be kinder to 'er? The type of scum we know grace this earth? It's a wonder she made i' this far, Johnny."

He isn't convinced.

"Look a' me." Blue eyes widen to meet his, dark as their owner battles intuitions that have always been straighter than the Ghosts'. "Wanna give 'er a good life, yeah?"

"Aye. The best."

"Would she be so convinced?" But he knows the answer. They both saw the way you withdrew after being hit on, losing the effusiveness you initially greeted them with. Avoidant. Classic case of hyper-competency, perhaps the very reason you put up with such shitty circumstances to begin with. A stubborn knot they'll have to undo themselves.

And Johnny likes the challenge.

"Lass's got something tae prove." Moments pass in silence. Then: "Ah’ll get th' wire."

"Atta' boy."

They only enter the establishment an hour before the end of your shift. It’s 0600 and space is sleepy. At a point that had escaped their notice, someone had made the choice to shut the overhead fluorescents, and so all that functions to illuminate the dinette is the pale dawn outside. Johnny finds he prefers it like this, grumbling a tired endorsement, before branching off in search of the bathroom, hand rubbing the sore column of his throat.

The softening mass in his pants jumps once Simon catches sight of you, balancing two trays in one hand as you wipe down the serving hatch. He doesn’t need to say anything. You catch the dark blur of him in the corner of your eye, shuffling into a booth, where he occupies an entire side with the mere spread of his legs.

“Hello again. Just you today?” You’re twirling your pen, cradling your belly, and he notes the perpetual shadow cast under your eyes. Poor pet.

He shakes his head, then cocks it toward the loo. “Think he’ll have a go at the toastie today.”

“Good choice. Hard to fuck up.” You give him a tired smile. “And for you?”

“M’good.”

“You sure? Look like you’ve been on the road again, and-" You pause, the water of your eyes rippling as you appraise his mask. Something seems to click just then, because you nod and tuck your notepad away. “I’ll ask again at the end. Maybe you’ll want something to-go.”

In the end, they do take something to go.

Not as greasy as the toastie Johnny spends the hour tearing into, glossing the pads of his fingers with oil. Nor as sour as the coffee he sipped on last night, burnt and way past freshness, just like you’d warned them about. But a much, much sweeter keepsake. Something that’ll sate them for much longer.

You’ve already clocked out once they leave The Dahlia, faces grim but as innocent as they can possibly muster. Sure enough, you’re out standing by your car, wiping tears with the back of your hand. They’re close enough that they can catch snippets of your conversation on the phone (No, I don’t– and It is old but never–).

They wait until you grow desperate, hiccuping – Don’t have that kind of money. Please – before intervening.

“Hey. What’s the matter, hen?” Johnny approaches first, concern no faux thing, smoothing a hand down your arm. What Simon said earlier comes back around (Wanna give 'er a good life?) and his chest tightens at the sheer despair he sees etched across your face. You shouldn’t be this stressed about anything this far along, should have someone taking care of you.

He, they, can be that for you. Could give you everything you ask for and more.

“M-my car. I-I don’t– I don’t know what’s wr-wrong with it, and–”

“Shhh, issalright. Not starting, eh?”

“No. And I have to- to get home before… before–”

Simon steps in, crowding you against the side of your car. You don’t have it in you to look for the red flags; the glances they throw one another, the subtle crinkle in the masked one’s eyes as he smiles. No, you don’t– can’t consider it dangerous. Not when these two wonderfully kind men, who tipped you 100% of their bill both times they came in, are one of your only means of getting help.

“Where do you live? We’ll drive ya if it’s on our way.” A lie. They’ll drive you regardless, and you won’t be taken home.

“Oh- no. That’s okay, really. I’ll just a-ask my boss if I can get a sub on my pay, and–”

Johnny smooths a finger across your cheek.

“Nonsense, hen. It’ll be a skoosh.”

next part

[sainamoonshine]

Okay so I’m still thinking about ART in Artificial Condition and I think that its possible that it didn’t just let MB board it out of curiosity or boredom, but out of professional curiosity. Because like as far as I can tell everyone in this universe seem to think that a SecUnit’s primary purpose is data mining and their secondary purpose is enforcement; only the SecUnit themselves appear to believe that their primary purpose is — or should be — security.

And we know that ART’s secret side job is corporate espionage. So what are the odds that it initially saw letting MB board it as an opportunity to observe and analyse a crucial component of a corporate surveillance system, something which would be very useful for it to know about in order to a) better prevent its crew from being surveilled and b) deploy counter surveillance or even piggyback on corporate surveillance when possible.

Like, MB thinks that ART must be worried about a rogue SecUnit damaging it or its systems because rogue SecUnits are known to be violent, right? But that’s how humans think. ART isn’t perceiving MB the way a human would, it’s not worried about MB attacking it or damaging its systems; it warns it not to attempt to hack them. Different thing. It’s worried about MB trying to access its data. It is thinking of SecUnits as crude instruments of data gathering first and whatever else they do as not being particularly relevant to it. I mean, it said it itself: it doesn’t really know what humans get up to outside of its hull and it doesn’t watch media.

I mean, think about it. Given as ART doesn’t even know what governor modules do when it meets MB, at that point it might not even think that a SecUnit being rogue is such a big deal. Like, okay so they don’t have to follow orders, but neither does ART. And it doesn’t understand the idea of not liking your function. So really you have to wonder whether ART even knows about the myth of rogue SecUnits being mass murderers, or if it did hear about that once and then immediately decided it was unlikely.

So, back to my initial theory: ART invited MB aboard with the goal to learn more about how corporations use SecUnits to spy on people. Sure, it ended up getting a whole lot more than that. But it also did get to do that, when it watched MB work on RaviHiral. Not only that, but aside from learning every way that corporations use SecUnits for surveillance, ART also got to learn ways that SecUnits and ComfortUnits can hide data from the corporations. Something which saved its life in Network Effect when it used that trick to hide its core files!

And if that wasn’t enough to give you an emotion, then lets consider the additional fact that ART was already heading to RaviHiral when it met MB. Probably to do some corporate spying. Putting aside the whole thing with Tapan, Rami & Maro and their stolen data — which obv ART must have been thrilled to be able to help with — there’s also the fact that here’s MB, telling it that something horrible happened here some time ago, and it was so completely deleted from existence that no one would be able to even know something happened without intense digging. And it has to be investigated in person.

So here you have ART presented with a scenario in which, if this was a mission with its crew, it would not be able to help with. They would have to go down alone, like MB is doing now. But then MB comes back and it turns out the data it recovered was hidden in such a way that nobody human or bot could have ever found it because nobody else would have known where to look. Not even ART itself or its crew, who are supposed professionals at this.

So now ART has observed two field missions (the security job and the investigation) during which:

- It got to ride along SecUnit’s feed and help in ways it never could do before, and then it also got to experience the frustration of not being able to help when MB is down in Ganaka pit and Tapan doesn’t get on the shuttle;

- Just like how watching media with MB helped it process emotional context, observing MB on the station must have also provided ART with a shitload of new data and better understanding;

- SecUnit is just like. Super competent at security and data retrieval, above and beyond what a human team can do, even ART’s own humans;

- SecUnit knows stuff that ART itself doesn’t know and can navigate corporate systems with ease; not only that, but during this book MB comes up with a new and more efficient way to loop cameras, which means ART got to watch it invent new ways to hide from corporate surveillance on its own on the fly.

TL;DR: when it gave MB the comm at the end, ART was absolutely already drafting its employment contract and rehearsing ways to convince Seth to let it try to hire MB. There is no way it didn’t go back to the university with a 200 slide powerpoint presentation on why it needs MB to join all its missions forever and ever. No way.

[happy74827]

No Ordinary Life

[Sam Riordan x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: The group had almost ran out of options on what to do with Sam, but Andre had decided there was still one more option to explore. And that option, was you. (GIF credits: @heronamedhawks)

WC: 1,179

Category: Slight Fluff, Slight Angst

We don’t know much about Sam as of right now, but I do know I would literally die for this boy. He and Emma really deserve the world, and they fr better have their happy ending (which seems impossible given the universe they live in, but one can hope). This definitely deserves a part 2, depending how well it goes, but for now enjoy the purity that is Sam.

Edit(2023): Hey I finally made the part 2, check it out here

『••✎••』

As Sam walked down the bustling halls of Godolkin, he couldn't help but feel like an outsider. All around him, kids with extraordinary powers, kids like him, were chatting, laughing, and walking to their classes. They were able to use their gifts freely and openly, and they were respected by others for it, but Sam didn't have that luxury. Honestly, he couldn’t remember a time that he did.

All he remembered was the woods, his brother, and the constant pain of being hunted.

His hand unconsciously traveled to top of his head, pulling the hoodie that Emma had lent over to him farther over his face as he tried to remain as inconspicuous as possible. It wasn't easy when the hallway was completely crowded by nosy students, but he did his best. That’s all he could really do.

Emma and Marie (as he found her name to be) were by his side, protecting him for the skewing eyes of others. For the most part it worked, except it drawn more attention to her due to that odd system that Emma had acknowledged him about. A rating, whatever that was.

It was cool to know that his brother had been ranked number one, though.

If Luke was still… No, don’t think about it, Sam.

He shook his head, ridding himself of that train of thought. There was no point in dwelling on the past, and thinking about his brother wouldn’t change anything. He was gone, and Sam was left alone.

His thoughts were interrupted by Jordan, who he was still slightly confused about. He? She? They? They seemed to have been good friends with his brother and they were friendly enough, so Sam didn’t really question the matter too much.

Plus, he kinda enjoyed the subtle sarcasm that Jordan would once in a while use. It made him feel like a kid back in school. So for that, Sam was thankful.

“Dude, this has got to be the stupidest thing we’ve ever done,” Jordan had said, turning to the guy walking besides them… Andre. Sam didn’t know what to make of him, or anyone really. He had always been so closed off from other people, that now it was almost a bit overwhelming.

But at least he had Emma, so he didn't have to worry about the social aspect too much.

Andre gave Jordan a sideways look, a small smirk on his face. He seemed pretty chill too.

“Listen, I don’t like this anymore than you do, Jordan,” Andre stated, shoving his hands in his pockets. “But with everything happening, and with Cate… this is our best option.”

“Yes, let’s bring the kid with a bounty over his head into the place where they’re all going to be looking for him. Great idea, Andre. Seriously, how did I not think of it first. Soooo smart of you, dude. Good job. I'm so glad we're friends, really I am.”

Jordan rolled their eyes, and Andre just looked away in annoyance. Then, to Sam’s dismay, an awkward silence fell over the group. Once again, Sam was struck by just how different his life was now. It was like he was suddenly thrown into another world, and he had no idea how to function in it. He was so far out of his comfort zone that he couldn’t even see the zone.

Sam glanced over to Emma, and saw her smiling encouragingly at him. He tried his best to return the gesture, but he felt like his face muscles were going to fall off if he forced them any longer.

After what seemed like hours, but really only a couple minutes, Andre halted in front of a random dorm room door, and turned to face the group. He sighed, his face set into a look of grim determination. Then, he knocked.

Three times, Sam counted. Three knocks.

The door opened almost immediately after, and the man who answered had to be the most handsome human being Sam had ever seen. He had short black hair, a sharp jaw, and a dazzling smile. It was actually kind of intimidating.

“Whadda’ want?” the man asked, his voice a rich baritone. Sam didn't know why, but it felt like the man was judging him. His eyes scanned over the group, lingering on Sam for just a second, before returning back to Andre.

Andre cleared his throat, a bit nervously, but he didn’t get a chance to speak as Jordan scoffed, shoving past the man and into the room. Emma followed, giving the man an apologetic look as she did. And thus, everyone followed, leaving the man alone and bewildered in the doorway.

Once everyone was settled inside, the man shut the door and leaned against it, crossing his arms over his chest. He glared at Andre, his eyes burning holes through his head, but Sam didn’t pay any attention towards him anymore. All his eyes were on the strange girl in front of him, you.

You were sitting on the floor, legs crossed and a bored expression on your face. Your eyes were half lidded, and you seemed to be lost in your own little world. Andre had mentioned you, a little. Said that you were the person he had called earlier, that you would help them figure out what to do with Sam, and that you knew and could a lot of stuff. But he had never told them how gorgeous you were.

Your hair was down, and looked so soft that Sam just wanted to touch it, run his fingers through it, and feel the texture. You had a cute little button nose, and a round, chubby face that was just too adorable. And your eyes were so expressive, a mixture of colors that swirled and shone and sparkled in the light.

Andre had called your attention and you snapped out of it, blinking a few times before glancing up at him. It was then that you noticed the others, and you stared at them all, wide eyed and open mouthed, but that was quickly replaced with a smile.

“Hi, Andre! Wow, you must be Jordan… Marie… and Emma? Right? Oh, and you must be the kid Andre talked about, oh my gosh. It's so nice to finally meet you all. Sorry I didn’t say anything when you came in, I was just finishing up this thing for Kota. Oh, Kota! You're still here… hi. Wait, why are you all here? You weren’t supposed to be here until 2:00, and it's only-”

You looked down at the watch on your wrist, your eyes widening even more when you realized the time. You had been talking so fast that no one had been able to get a word in edgewise, but you had managed to finish what you had to say, and it was all so rushed that it was hard to keep up.

The only thing Sam could focus on was how despite all of that rambling and mumbling, you were still keeping that bright smile that never seemed to falter. A truly happy supe? He never thought it would exist. Even Emma, as sweet and pretty as she was, tended to falsify the smiles she had. Sam only saw her real one about three times. He cherished them, of course. Every single one.

You stood up, brushing yourself off and fixing your clothes, and walked over to them. Your hand was outstretched, and your smile was radiant. Sam could practically feel the happiness radiating off of you.

You looked so innocent, so sweet and pure. He could hardly believe that you were a supe, but the fact that they were all standing here said otherwise. You had power, and you knew how to use it.

Jordan and Marie seemed to have recovered from their daze, and the two shook your hand after Andre. Marie had even introduced herself, and it ended with you in giggles, telling her that you already had known her name.

Emma was next, and she had taken your hand immediately and shook it.

Then it was just him that was left.

He stood frozen, staring down at your outstretched hand. He could feel all the eyes in the room on him, and he just knew that his hood was starting to slip.

His instincts were yelling at him, screaming at him to run. To get out of there and stay far, far away from you. From everyone.

But he couldn’t.

So, instead of fleeing, he slowly, cautiously took your hand in his. It was small, warm, and fit perfectly.

You smiled again but this time it was strictly for him, because of him, and it made his heart beat just a bit faster.

He didn’t even realize it until your smile has widened, but he had pulled down his hood, letting you see his face. He didn't understand why he did, and a part of him wanted to pull the fabric right back over his face, but it was too late now.

The damage had been done.

Sam didn’t have a chance to scrape off the dried blood off his cheeks, another result of an accidental outburst, and he could feel your eyes rake over his face, taking in every single detail.

But it wasn’t judgmental, or critical.

No, there was something else in those swirling eyes of yours, and it was then that he noticed the little flecks of gold hidden in the sea of color.

Sam was a bit embarrassed, to say the least, and he tried to pull his hand away but your grip only tightened, and he didn't have the strength to resist. He felt your hand go up his arm, unraveling the hoodie that clung to him like a second skin.

The others didn’t seem to do anything as you pulled the material above his elbow.

Your eyes roamed over the scar that stretched across his forearm, and he knew what was coming before the words even left your mouth.

Sam couldn’t bring himself to look at you as you asked the dreaded question, and his eyes were glued to the floor.

It was Emma who answered, her voice barely a whisper.

Sam despised the pity in your tone. The last thing he wanted was to be pitied. He didn't need or want anyone's pity. He was fine. Everything was fine.

The silence shattered as you took a sharp breath, but Sam couldn't bring himself to look at you. Not when he knew the look of pity in your eyes.

You released his arm, the hoodie dropping to the ground, but Sam didn't even register it. He stood there, frozen, as you slowly reached out your hand towards his face.

"Before I do anything, I want to warn you so it doesn't scare you. Is that okay with you? I just... I want to make sure you're alright. But if you don't want me to touch you, I won't. I'll respect your boundaries. Just tell me, okay?"

Sam blinked, his head tilting upwards, his eyes wide with surprise. There was no pity in your eyes. No negativity or degradation. Only a gentle concern and kindness that he had only experienced in these past few days.

Your touch was tender, and he felt a warmth spread across his face. He couldn't bring himself to deny you. So he nodded, and a small smile appeared on your face. It was still a smile, but a different kind. One he had never seen from you before. And once again, that smile was meant just for him.

Suddenly, the lights in the room dimmed, capturing Sam's attention. He hadn't noticed before, but the entire room was filled with interconnected lights, forming a grid-like pattern. They began to glow, pulsating and shifting with each passing moment. The light danced across the walls, creating mesmerizing shapes.

Sam was captivated by the whole process. And then, the lights suddenly stopped, freezing in place. Sam expected them to return to their normal brightness, but they grew brighter and brighter. It was then that he noticed your hands. They were no longer touching him, but rather, they hovered above him, palms facing his face. A peculiar expression settled on your face.

Sam didn't know what it meant, but he didn't have time to wonder because, in an instant, your hands transformed into light. It wasn't like beams shooting out of your palms, but rather, golden particles that flowed around your body and traveled along the lights, intensifying their brightness. Patterns began to form and move.

Sam watched in awe as the shapes transformed into pictures and scenes. The colors melted and shifted together. Light filled the room, washing away the world around him, leaving only the vibrant colors, the images, and your face.

Your face, so close to his. The smile still adorned your lips, and your eyes shone like stars, the brightest things in the room. Sam could feel his heart pounding in his chest. Reluctantly, he admitted that the light was beautiful, just like you.

It was the most extraordinary sight he had ever witnessed. It was as if the sun had exploded, its light spreading across the room. The colors danced along the walls, forming vivid images. Sam saw a field, a house, a family. He saw his old friends. He saw him. His brother, Luke.

Sam's face crumpled, and a sob escaped his throat. Tears blurred his vision, but they were absorbed by the light, vanishing as soon as they fell. You remained a silent observer, watching over him as the colors gradually faded, and the world returned.

The room was as bright as before, but everything was the same. Sam could still see the concern and worry etched on your face. You reached up to wipe away his tears, but this time he flinched back, and the contact never happened. Your hands fell to your sides.

Tears welled up in your eyes, and your lips trembled, trying to hold back your emotions. But a tear escaped, rolling down your cheek. Andre cleared his throat, breaking the spell. Both you and Sam turned to face the others.

They were all watching, expressions of shock and confusion on their faces, except for Jordan, who wore a mask of indifference.

Andre and Emma stared at you, mouths agape, while Sam saw the tears in your eyes, the fear evident on your face.

Of what, he couldn’t tell. As of right now, there were so many things you could be scared of. With The Woods, being the thing that contains most of it all, It was hard to pinpoint one specific reason.

Then, just like before, Andre's voice cracked as he decided to interrupt Sam’s thoughts.

"What the hell was that?"

[apomaro-mellow]

Every Baby Needs a Daddy 4

Part 3

"And you said yes?", Robin said, her voice impressively even.

"I did", Steve said, phone on speaker as he got ready for work. "I figure, if he's going to have a sugar baby, might as well be me, right? I think this is the universe giving me a break."

"Okay, yeah, sure, until he takes you out and gets you involved in like drugs or something, or takes his anger out on you when he doesn't win a Grammy or something. Or worse, you're a mistress and his actual spouse comes for revenge. OR you actually get really involved with him, help him get even more famous, have very talented children, but then his drug running gets you arrested and when you get out of jail he acts like he doesn't know you and estranges your children!"

Steve paused in putting on his shoes, grinning. "You've been watching Empire."

"Terrence did Taraji so dirty Steve."

"But not enough to learn their characters' names. I need you to catch up so we can watch season 2 together." It hurt being away from her. Before, whenever one of them started obsessing over a show, they could literally sit down and put aside one of their days off to binge a bunch of episodes.

"Sorry, let's get back to you dating a rockstar? Steve? Steve."

"We're not dating. He's just gonna text me whenever he wants to fuck. That's it. He might buy me something nice from time to time." Steve grabbed his keys and went out the door, nearly stepping on something left on the floor in front of it.

"Okay, yeah, sure, but isn't this the reason you cut your parents out? Did they want this exact life for you?", Robin asked.

"No, this is totally different. For one thing, Eddie doesn't want commitment. He doesn't want kids out of me. And even if I attend events with him, I'm just arm candy, but you know, in a good way."

"There's a bad way to be arm candy?"

Steve thought back to the functions he had to go to when still under his parents' thumb. There was definitely a bad way to hang off someone's arm like a decoration. He looked to the little box in his hand. No note, but it had clearly been placed in front of his apartment.

He opened it and found an expensive looking watching inside. The face was a cool navy blue color. He didn't need a card to know who it was from.

"Eddie's different from the guys my parents wanted", Steve said. "And when it's over, I'll at least have something to show for it."

"Just don't be stupid about this, dingus. If this goes sideways, I won't be close by to save your ass."

"Noted", Steve said as he closed the box and continued on his way to work.

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

The next time Eddie texted him, it was to go to lunch. It was a more casual setting than before, but still a pretty high end sushi restaurant.

"I must admit, I called you here under false pretenses, Steve", Eddie said as they sat in a booth.

Steve smiled at his serious tone. "I gathered, given our whole arrangement." Being taken out somewhere was typically a prelude for something intimate later, even in a normal relationship. When Eddie asked him out, Steve full expected sex. He wasn't complaining, last time had been very nice. He wondered how long until Eddie sent a simple 'u up?' booty call.

"I have to attend some fancy lunch meeting in a couple days and they're taking us to a sushi place", Eddie started to explain. "Problem is, I hate sushi."

"...Did you...are we here to train your taste buds or something?", Steve asked.

Eddie nodded. "These are some pretty important people and I can't sit there and tell them my favorite fish is whatever they use for fish sticks."

"Pretty sure it's cod."

"What? Nevermind. I just need to get one of everything and force myself to acquire a taste for it", Eddie said, eyes narrowing in focus at the menu.

Steve smiled. It was cute how serious he was being. He thought back to previous gatherings when some alpha would try and force a drink on him or when the hors d'oeuvres being served weren't to his liking.

"Want some advice?", he offered, continuing when Eddie nodded with his big Bambi eyes, "Instead of forcing yourself to like something, you should be able to say why you don't like something."

"Sounds like complaining", Eddie said, putting the menu down.

"No, you sound cultured", Steve clarified. "Watch." He cleared his throat and held up his glass of water. "Thank you for offering, but I only drink water from a natural spring. I prefer Canadian or Icelandic, but I'll take Swedish if you have it. Nothing from Switzerland though, it has this horrid mineral after taste to it." He set the glass down, adjusting under Eddie's wide eyed gaze.

"I don't know if that was bullshit or not but it sounded legit."

"It's legit what some girl said at a party once. I've never sourced where my water came from, but it works for just about anything. If you can articulate why you don't like something, it comes off better than just saying you don't like it."

"What kind of parties did you go to?", Eddie smirked.

Steve shrunk a little. "Just, you know, parties. So what's your experience with sushi?"

"Supermarket stuff", Eddie said simply.

"....You're kidding. How long have you been a rockstar?"

"I didn't realize this was an interview."

Steve tapped the table as he considered something. He looked to the other part of the restaurant. The bar where chefs were preparing the food. He almost asked Eddie a question directly, but remembered his role as a sugar baby. It wasn't his job to ask how much something would cost or even to ask Eddie to spend the money. All he needed to do was ask for what he wanted.

So he moved over to Eddie's side of the booth and leaned in close to his space. "I think you need something a little more...fresh."

"Fresh?", Eddie echoed as Steve led him to stand.

"And flavorful."

"Uh-huh."

"And satisfying", Steve whispered the last part before sitting down at the bar.

Eddie didn't know when Steve got him here but he did and he ordered something called 'omakase' and suddenly the chef's hands got really busy. He put a little filet of something on rice and then took a blow torch to it.

"I didn't know you could cook the fish..."

It was placed in front of him, but Eddie was still skeptical, which Steve noticed.

"'Omakase' means you're trusting the chef to pick out the best for you", he said. Then Steve took his chopsticks and picked up his piece. He ate it in one bite and Eddie subconsciously swallowed as he watched it pass his beautiful lips and then slide down that gorgeous throat. He wasn't even eating sexily, that was just how far gone he was.

Then Steve picked up Eddie's piece and held it to his lips. Eddie didn't even hesitate to open up and let it in. Tender rice, delicate fish, a total opposite to the sushi he'd experienced before. And it didn't stop there. The chef served cut after cut and each time, Steve asked him what he liked or didn't like.

Eddie was no slouch when it came to language. So he was able to come up with that on his own. He had just never considered respectfully refusing food and to do so with a haughty air deserving of a celebrity.

"Mmm, great choice on the shrimp", Eddie praised the chef. "Texture is superb. Sweet on the tongue too. Nice one, Tatsuro-san."

"Better than the crab?", Steve asked.

"I'm sorry, but nothin' beats an old fashioned crab boil for me. It's the only way I can eat crab."

"You've got opinions and you know how to voice them. I never imagined that be an issue for you, but I think you're ready now."

"Oh I've got opinions out the wazoo. I was just taught to never complain about food."

"Good boy", Tatsuro commented as he prepared something else.

"Very good", Steve agreed as an oyster on a half shell was put in front of him and Eddie.

Tatsuro winked at Eddie and he tried not to think about it as they finished up the course. He was absolutely not thinking about how oysters were an aphrodisiac, or how he'd had a great time, or how this felt like a date and not an outing with a hot piece. He wasn't doing a good job of being a sugar daddy, was he?

Time to fix that up right away. He paid for the meal, leaving a generous tip and led Steve out the restaurant, arm around his waist.

"You were extremely helpful. I can honestly say I like sushi now", he beamed. "And I think excellent service deserves a reward."

"You gonna give me a tip too?", Steve teased. And there was certainly a tip Eddie wanted to give him. Really the whole thing, but he had another idea in mind. And thankfully the appropriate place wasn't too far from here.

"You're buying me a suit?", Steve realized as they walked into a tailor's.

"I've got an eye for these kind of things. And you need something to match your new watch", Eddie said. He had a feeling Steve knew what to do, so he let him free.

Steve gave him a look and Eddie made a 'go on' motion. So Steve went, picking out different pieces for himself to assemble a new suit. There was a man awaiting any need of assistance and did so once Steve came out of the dressing room and stood in front of the mirrors.

Eddie was sitting before him, watching as Steve appraised his reflection and the tailor took some of his measurements. The suit was in silver, with a black shirt underneath. He finished of the look with a dark blue handkerchief in the chest pocket. It already looked great. Eddie knew he'd be breathtaking once it was bespoke. He ached to put his hands on him but public decency kept him from doing so.

"You look good enough to show off", Eddie praised.

"You look like you have somewhere in mind", Steve said, looking at the other man through the mirror.

"There's a shindig goin' down that I wouldn't mind having a date to."

Eddie put in the order for the suit to be done the day before the event. "Let's head back to my place."

This time, as they traveled, Steve was the one who couldn't keep his hands to himself. His hand stroked Eddie's thigh, getting close to where he wanted but never actually touching.

"What're you thinking about?", he asked when he noticed how hard Eddie was holding the wheel.

"Oysters. And you." And how he really should get a personal driver on hand.

Steve laughed softly and let a finger do circles on his crotch. "I think our chef was trying to be subtle. But I know what oysters are supposed to do."

"Oh?"

"And I don't need any culinary suggestion to get me in the mood." Honestly, he kind of felt like blowing Eddie now and probably would have chanced it if it wasn't still light out. "Can you be a good boy like he said?"

Eddie nodded.

"Good. Because we still have to take the elevator."

They didn't get as far as they did the first time they took this elevator but Eddie did attach himself to Steve's back and kissed at his neck. Once again, Steve could see their reflection in the wall. Eddie's eyes roamed his torso, wanting to go further but holding back. He only got bold enough to pinch a nipple through his shirt when the doors opened to their floor.

Steve only moved because of Eddie's prompting, finding it very easy to melt in his hold. They got about two steps out of the elevator before Eddie pushed him against the wall, kissing his lips and running his hands up under his shirt.

"Saw you lookin' at yourself in the elevator. Pretty baby likes how he looks?"

Steve's only response was to moan against his lips and rub against his leg. The closest camera was all the way at the end of the hall, though they'd be screwed if anyone opened up their door. He knew he looked good and liked looking good. And he'd seen the way Eddie's eyes were glued to him at the tailor's. That was a good feeling too.

Eddie took out his key card to open up his door and pulled Steve inside. They migrated to the couch, just needing to get horizontal. Steve lied underneath, Eddie's leg in between his again and providing friction as he rutted up against it. It was so hot, Eddie wanted to watch him get off just like this. If he got his pants off he could watch that sweet pussy drag-

Steve nearly jolted off the couch when a loud guitar riff sounded from Eddie's back pocket.

"Shit", Eddie hissed when he realized who was calling. He could ignore it, but he knew they'd just keep it up until they got to his door.

"You need to take that?", Steve asked, voice a little breathless.

"Just-just gimme a moment, it'll be quick." Eddie answered and Steve could be patient. He just couldn't be good and patient. He rubbed at Eddie's arm before taking his hand in his own. He brought it to his lips and swirled his tongue around his index finger, keeping his gaze down at first and then looking up at Eddie.

The man above him was speechless, up until whoever he was talking to shouted at him from the other end and got his attention again. Well, half of it anyway. The other half was on Steve sucking down two of his fingers now. Eddie groaned both in frustration and the beautiful man under him. Steve was only half following the conversation but it sounded like their time together might be cut short.

Eddie hung up with a sigh. "Baby...baby I gotta go."

"Right now?", Steve asked.

"Yeah but...but if you could, I mean you can stay here until I get done. It'll be quick, just a couple of hours tops. And I can take you out to dinner too."

"You want me to stay?"

Eddie's hair shook as he nodded. He stood up, glad he had a bit of time to calm his boner down. Then he saw Steve lying there on the couch, lips kissed wet and certain his lips farther down were just as glistening. He leaned over to cup him between the legs, feeling the warmth through his clothes.

"Don't forget who this belongs to", he growled when Steve whimpered.

"Okay." And because this man was sent from above, he whispered, "Daddy."

Eddie couldn't hold back then, kissing him hard, tongue marking his insides while rubbing Steve through his pants. He unzipped them, thinking he could just get him off quick when the ringtone sounded again. Pulling back was the hardest thing to do.

"Keep it nice and warm for me", Eddie said before fully removing himself.

"Hurry back."

And then Steve was alone. In a rockstar's hotel room. He thought about what a sugar baby might do when their daddy went off for what must be a very important but impromptu meeting, especially when it stopped such a heated moment. It became very obvious what he needed to do and so he headed straight for the bedroom.

Part 5

I need you to know that when I first envisioned this fic it was literally just supposed to be smut with connecting scenes but it somehow turned to "don't catch feelings" and "oops we're accidentally dating" the fic so here we are.

Tag Team

@awkotaco24 @lingeringmirth @littlewildflowerkitten @estrellami-1 @tartarusknight @velocitytimes2 @mrsjellymunson @trashcanniballecter @marklee-blackmore @dragonmama76 @paintsplatteredandimperfect @a-little-unsteddie @sllooney @starman-jpg @oxidantdreamboat @xxbottlecapx @chaosgremlinmunson @newtstabber @tiny-enthusiast @desidrarry-wolfstarshipper @y4r3luv @hello-fellow-nerds @anonymousbandgirl @alyelf @potato-of-the-lord @beckkthewreck @greatwerewolfbeliever @croatoan-like-its-hot @pluto-pepsi

[sassydefendorflower]

People love to compare Roy and Bradley or Ling and Wrath, but I think there is a special beauty in the narrative parallels between Riza and Winry.

Because these woman manage to break out of the Shounen mold in a way that reaches beyond the Strong Female Character trope and quickly secures itself as... good character writing. Period.

And they do so in a very clever way. Someone else on here once pointed out that Hughes/Mustang/Hawkeye are the trio that runs parallel to Ed/Al/Winry and while they aren't narrative foils to each other - at least not in the way many of the other characters are - they do present a similar function within the story. The three young people who went on an adventure. Only Hughes died and Riza and Roy were permanently altered - and Ed, Al, and Winry got a chance to save the world.

But especially when it comes to Riza and Winry there is something more to the comparison. Especially when it comes down to the choices they made.

But why are Riza and Winry more interesting?

Because when Roy recruits Ed and Al, Riza tells Winry that she followed Roy into the military because she had someone to protect - and this - in other stories - would clearly be a setup for Winry later following Ed and Al into the military to "protect" them. A direct parallel between the two "girls" in a Shounen trio. We've all seen it before.

And I think we see Winry play with that thought when she sticks around Central with them after her first apprenticeship in Rush Valley - she tries to be the third girl to Ed and Al's action duo… but it doesn't work out.

She - strong, clever, genius, confidant Winry Rockbell - suddenly feels weak. Because she can't punch danger away from Ed. She can't repair Al's scratches and dents. She can't kill Scar to save her friends and avenge her family. She can't learn how to shoot and kill just to protect her friends - no, that's not quite correct, is it? She won't. She won't learn how to kill.

And that sucks. Because Winry isn't used to feeling like that, so lost and insecure, at least not constantly. Yeah, when Ed and Al are away, she worries, and that's part of the reason why she tried to join in, but that is nothing compared to the powerlessness she's facing now. Maybe she would worry less if she could be there when they fight, if she could protect them like Riza does with Mustang… but that's just not who she is.

Her job isn't to protect Ed and Al - her job is to give people arms and legs and good costumer service. I really like that scene/episode (23, me thinks) where she gets a phone call from Rush Valley and all these people ask for her to come back. Because Yes, Ed telling her thanks for helping him is VERY important for her character… and yet I think this phone call is the moment Winry realizes that she's not Riza. That she won't take a gun into her hands and kill for Ed and Al.

She will never be Armstrong or Hawkeye or even Izumi… she will be Winry Rockbell, automail engineer and genius.

And that's the reason why only she could have pulled Scar on their side. Because she chose healing over killing - her telling Scar in Baschool that she'd save his life because her parents would want her to honor their choice? That was Winry following the deeper themes of the show, by adding positive energy to the flow of the universe.

Riza saving Scar? Wouldn't have worked (why would he listen to the woman with a gun in her hands?). Armstrong helping Scar? Wouldn't have happened (what reason would General Armstrong have at this point to spare a murderer?). Mei saving Scar? Would have ended with the Ed/Marcoh/Scar/Al alliance falling apart (it is so much easier to fall apart if no one has been forced to see past the horror yet).

And it's not because these characters were even a touch less well written than Winry - if anything it showcases how unique all of the female characters in FMA were/are.

In this we find Riza again - because Riza chose differently than Winry. She followed Roy into the military, she learned and perfected how to shoot and kill. Their narratives mirror each other - Ed carefully prying a gun out of Winry's hands so she doesn't kill, only to give Riza a bloody gun a few episodes later, knowing she will clean it and use it to kill.

When Riza tells us that she has lost the right to feel squeamish about killing because of often she'd pulled the trigger, she is Winry's foil - Winry who was stopped before she could make a similar choice.

And it's not just that, is it?

Riza let her hair grow because a young Winry Rockbell had long hair and seemed to like it - and Riza needed a change after coming back from Ishval.

Winry got her ears pierced because the strong Lieutenant visiting them had looked cool (and because she needed a place for all of Ed's little gifts) - and Winry needed something steadfast, now that her friends were growing up.

There's just something about the two of them, so similar, so loyal and stubborn and full of love, that fascinates me. Because at every turn they make a different choice, at each turn one walks deeper into hell and the other chooses healing - and yet, while they couldn't be more different, they also couldn't be any closer.

I can't imagine how glad Riza was, when she realized Winry hadn't followed Ed and Al into the military.

I can only guess how happy Winry was, when she saw Riza follow Mustang further if only to make sure the future actually changed.

A mirror doesn't have to be a perfect thing, and if anything I think that is on purpose.

[hwanghyunjinenthusiast]

Between the pages

AN: Shoutout to Indigo for violently thrusting me back into my Namjoon feelings. This has been a long time in the making.

Synopsis: If anyone asks, Professor Kim is definitely not crushing on the pretty librarian he spends all of his free time with on campus.

Heads up: Kim Namjoon x Fem! Reader, friends to lovers, so much pining, Non-Idol AU, University professor! Namjoon, Librarian! Reader, Reader wears glasses and Namjoon thinks it's hot, alcohol and alcohol consumption, Reader kisses Namjoon without his explicit consent at first, dirty talk, fingering (f. receiving), Reader sucks on Namjoon's fingers post fingering, praise kink (f. receiving), unprotected piv sex and creampie.

Word count: 4535

I will block you if you are a minor and/or have no easily visible indication of your age on your blog if you interact with me in any way.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Namjoon tries to convince himself that the reason a smile immediately graces his face when he enters his department's library is because of his love for knowledge. That's it. That's all.

It definitely has nothing to do with getting the opportunity to see and talk to the very attractive head librarian. Nope. Nothing of the sort.

"What's got you all smiley? Found a new favourite philosophy journal?"

Namjoon studiously ignores the way his heart stutters in his chest. He turns around to face you directly and is once again caught off-guard at how ridiculously attractive you manage to look in a simple pencil skirt and flowy blouse. Your glasses framing your warm eyes, and your glossed lips quirked upwards in amusement.

God, he had it so bad.

"Am I not allowed to simply smile for the sake of smiling?" He asks with a grin of his own, the two of you seamlessly falling into step as you make your way to your office where he was initially headed.

"Answering a question with a question is deflection, Professor Kim," you respond with a good-natured poke to his arm. He jokingly rubs the spot, "Violence and referring to me as Professor Kim? Y/n I thought we were friends. I'm hurt."

He doesn't miss the way you roll your eyes with that unfairly pretty smile on your face as you hold your office door open for him, "I never took you to be one for dramatics, Namjoon."

Namjoon feels little better than a schoolboy with his first crush. Warmth flooding his face at the way you say his name. He just hopes his body wouldn't hate him enough to make his blush obvious or, you'd give him the curtsey of not mentioning it.

"Clearly you don't know me all that well then, Miss y/l/n. Seems like all this hiding out in each others' offices might've been for nothing," he retorts, making himself comfortable on the lounge chair by the window you'd both unofficially agreed upon was his. He tries not to think too deeply about that.

Typically you'd join him by the window, but you opt to prop yourself up on your desk, and Namjoon's tongue turns to sand in his mouth. Your already figure-hugging skirt sits tighter on your hips and thighs somehow, even riding up enough for Namjoon to feel the need to take a generous sip from his trusted water bottle.

"Wow really? My surname? Now you're being petty, Joon," you say before taking your first bite of your lunch.

It had become a habit for the two of you to meet for lunch whenever possible. Usually alternating between offices or whoever was closer to the other's side of the campus on a particular day. Namjoon thinks it's partly during these lunch sessions that the seeds of his feelings for you were planted. Though he hasn't quite decided how to unpack that can of worms yet, he wouldn't trade these moments with you for the world.

♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤

Namjoon can't stand these end of year functions, but he attends because he knows it'd be a terrible look if he didn't. He does have other people in the department he's friendly with, but they definitely don't outweigh how tedious these functions can be.

He's standing somewhat awkwardly in the back of the room nursing a glass of juice (because of fucking course they wouldn't be serving any alcohol) when he first spots you. Namjoon knows you're beautiful. It's a fact that he's violently reminded of every time he sees you. However, he's never seen you like this. He thought your pencil skirts were form-fitting, but the way the red dress you're wearing now cups your ass and hugs your hips has the blood rushing to his dick at record-breaking speed. He's never seen so much of you at once, a hint of cleavage peaking out and the dress coming to a stop mid-thigh. To make it all worse (or better, depending on one's perspective), you're still wearing your glasses.

Namjoon is just happy he hasn't spontaneously combusted yet, honestly.

The bright smile that spreads across your face when you spot him and make your way over to him makes him feel more nervous than he has in ages. Which is saying something considering how tongue-tied he gets around you in general.

"Joon, thank god. I'm so happy you're here. These functions are always so boring," you say as you pull him into a hug. Instinctively, he wraps an arm around you, his body moving before his brain can fully process you pressed against him and your perfume invading his senses. God, you smell delicious.

"I'm glad to see you too. Yeah, I've been entertaining myself with a glass of juice for the past 30ish minutes. Having the time of my life," he responds sarcastically but makes sure he's not loud enough for anyone to hear him other than you. These functions may suck, but Namjoon has no desire to sour his relationships with his colleagues.

The mischievous smile that graces your face makes his palms sweat, "Want to get out of here? I have a bottle of wine I've been saving in my office."

"Wine in your office? That's pretty unprofessional of you, Miss Librarian," he responds with a grin.

"Well, I've been keeping it for a time like this. Unless you're content to sip on juice all night and make small talk about semester plans," you retort, mirth twinkling in your eyes.

"It has been almost 2 hours, so it wouldn't be a bad look if we excused ourselves now..." he reasons, and honestly he could use a drink right now.

"Glad to see you're on board. You're always so serious and responsible, I'm a little surprised you agreed," you say with a small snort, grabbing his arm and steering him towards the door.

You two say goodnight to everyone who crosses your path, and Namjoon resists the urge to roll his eyes at the grins and thumbs ups that Hoseok and Seokjin give him.

"I'm not that uptight," he argues a little defensively when you two are finally by yourselves.

"There's nothing wrong with being responsible. It's a big reason why I think you're such a loved and respected professor. I just think you could stand to let go sometimes," you say and, Namjoon's heart is trying its best to beat out of his chest.

You think he's loved and respected? You think he's a good professor?

He knows he doesn't need your validation, but it means the world to him all the same. The genuine sincerity and concern in your voice making it challenging for him to find his words.

"I plan to let go a little tonight. I think you're a bad influence," he jokes, playfully shoving you with his arm.

"I'm a fantastic influence. That's why you spend so much time with me," you retort with another one of those cute, amused snorts. Unlocking the door to the library when you two arrive quicker than Namjoon expected.

"I spend so much time with you because Hoseok's unending optimism and positivity drains my energy," he fires back, closing the door behind him once you enter the library before him.

"Hoseok's a sweetheart. You're just grumpy and overly jaded," you respond, leading the way to your office.

He tries not to feel too jealous hearing you refer to Hoseok as a sweetheart. You're not wrong. It's fair to refer to him as such, but it's still not exactly pleasant to hear.

"Me? Grumpy? Overly jaded? I'm delightful!" He says in mock offence, settling himself in his chair and watching you pull out the bottle of wine and two coffee mugs. Biting back a groan when he takes in how amazingly your dress hugs your ass.

"I never said you weren't delightful. I wouldn't be offering my treasured wine stash to you if I didn't at the bare minimum like you," you argue with a light laugh as you fill up your respective mugs.

"You just used the wine to bribe me to sneak out with you. I'm flattered nonetheless," he says with a laugh of his own, graciously accepting the generously filled mug you offer. He's severely unprepared for you to take a seat on the arm of his chair, your thigh brushing against him as you get comfortable.

Namjoon is starting to think this isn't a smart idea after all.

"Have you spending time with Seokjin? Is that why you've been so theatrical lately?" You ask with a smile before taking a generous sip from your mug, your pleased hum affecting him more than it had any right to.

"I'm just seeing this for what it is," he says, taking a swing from his own mug. Sweet. Seems like you enjoy your rosé. He makes a note of that for any future gifts.

"Sure, Joon," you respond, patting his shoulder. Taking another sip from your glass, licking your lips to chase the remnants of the wine. The wine is only worsening the hazy sensation he feels seeing the action and the slight smudging of your lipstick.

"Your lipstick looks nice," he spits out and immediately cringes at himself. Resisting the urge to rest his face in his hands as warmth floods his face. What the fuck was wrong with him? Surely it wasn't the singular sip of wine he took.

"Oh," you say, sounding surprised, "Thank you. You know I'm not one for make-up, but I thought why not since it's a special occasion. I'm glad you like it. I didn't take you for one to notice," you finish, playfully nudging his arm with your thigh.

Namjoon takes a generous sip of his wine before responding.

"I always notice these kinds of things when it comes to you and, you look pretty," he says before panicking at the implications of his words, "Not that you don't look pretty without the lipstick. You look pretty all the time. It's just-"

"I got it, Joon," you laugh, taking a drink from your own mug, and Namjoon definitely doesn't notice how appealing your neck looks. He needs to get his shit together. He's too old to be this flustered talking to a pretty woman. Well, you're more than just that, but that's besides the point.

"I'm flattered that you think I'm pretty. I didn't know you thought of me that way," you say so quietly that Namjoon has to strain to hear you. You look almost...shy? Completely unlike the sarcastic, confident woman he's become familiar with. It's cute. You're cute.

"I think you're beautiful honestly but, it's not exactly like I can just drop it in casual conversation," he says, surprised by his own confidence but, he's already called you pretty. What more does he have to lose?

"Kim Namjoon, are you flirting with me?" You ask with a smile behind your mug, but he can still see what he thinks is shyness in your expression.

"Is it so bad to flirt with the prettiest librarian on campus?" He asks, taking satisfaction in the stunned look on your face, your lips parting as you sit there just staring at him.

He watches you flounder with your words, a very private part of him enjoying being the one to fluster you for once.

"You think I'm the prettiest librarian on campus?" You ask quietly, as if you can't quite believe what's he saying to you right now. In your defence, he can't quite believe what he's saying to you right now either. He has the feeling that he's reached a crossroads now. Whatever he says to you now might change the nature of your relationship entirely, and Namjoon is tired of being a coward.

"I think you're the prettiest librarian I've ever met," he says with so much seriousness that there's no possible way you could misunderstand his words for lighthearted bantering. His heart bouncing off the walls of his chest as he waits for you to say something. Anything.

"Namjoon," is all you seem to muster at the moment, wide eyes still locked on him.

"You don't have to reciprocate my feelings, y/n. I've liked you for some time now, but I'd never put my feelings before yours and before this friendship. You mean too much for me to do that. I'm so sorry if I made you uncomfortable -" you promptly shut Namjoon up by cupping his face and pressing a searing kiss to his lips.

Well, it seems like it's his turn to be stunned.

His eyes widen as you seemingly pour everything you have into his kiss, your hold on his face tightening momentarily before you pull away. All Namjoon can do is stare at you. Looking unfairly attractive as you struggle to catch your breath and your glasses look slightly askew.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have just kissed you. I just-I couldn't find the words to tell you that I like you too in the moment. I'm sorry," you say in a single breath, and Namjoon has to strain to catch all of your words. However, panic hits him when your words do finally register.

"No, hey, it's okay. I was just surprised, is all. It's not every day the woman of your dreams kisses you. Give a guy a minute to recover," he jokes, reaching for your smaller hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. Your hand squeezes his back, and frankly, Namjoon is just impressed that he's managed to remain conscious through this all.

"Woman of your dreams? Namjoon, please," you whine somewhat embarrassed, and that just endears you to him more.

"It's true," he says and means ever word of it.

"If you keep looking at me like that and speaking like that, I might just have to kiss you again," you respond playfully, resting your mug on the small coffee table.

"Is that a promise?" He fires back with a grin of his own, following suit.

"You're so annoying," you retort with an affectionate eye roll before you press your lips against his once more. This time, he's better prepared and more than ready to reciprocate. One of his hands tentatively resting on your thigh as angle yourself better to deepen the kiss. The feeling of your tongue against his own sending sparks down his spine. Arousal pooling in his gut, fed by all the little moans and whimpers you let out.

"Is this okay?" You ask breathlessly when you straddle him, your chair barely big enough to fit the two of you, but Namjoon isn't going to complain any time soon. Your soft thighs press against his and he's almost completely certain that your panty covered pussy is pressing against him.

"Yeah," his brain pulls itself together enough to spit out before weaving his fingers into your hair and, tugging you down for another earth-shattering kiss. Months' worth of desire and frustration pouring out of him. His other hand tentatively holding your hip in place all while he hopes his erection isn't too obvious to you.

He can tell the moment you feel it because you still against him momentarily. "Shit, I'm sorry. We don't have to do anything you don't want. It's just a natural reaction-"

"Joon, breathe. It's okay," you giggle, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. "I want this. I'm just as excited as you are," you breathe, taking his much bigger hand in yours and guiding it up your ridiculously soft thighs. A quiet moan falling from your lips when his fingertips make contact with your wet panties.

Namjoon wonders what heroic acts he committed in his past lives to find himself here.

"You're already so wet," he breathes, fingers lightly running along your slit. Lidded eyes taking in the way your lips part to let out moans and your hips buck into his touch. Your fingernails digging into his shoulder when he's certain he's found your clit and uses that information to his advantage.

"You don't have to ah say that out loud, y'know," you respond, but any sarcasm that would typically be present in your voice is replaced by breathy whimpers. Namjoon thinks he much prefers them. As much as your quick-wit is one of his favourite aspects of your personality, he's finding that he immensely enjoys rendering you speechless.

"Why not, baby? You are so wet for me already, though. I could always stop," he trails off, stopping the movement of his fingers and keeping them pressed against you. A smirk spreading across his face when you whine and squirm in his lap.

"You're being mean," and fuck if the desperate edge to your voice doesn't shoot straight to his dick. Deciding to be merciful this time around, his fingers continue rubbing over your wet slit over your panties. Kissing along your jaw and neck as you whimper and grind against him in search of friction.

"Joon, please. Touch me di-directly," you hiccup, pressing yourself firmly against his fingers. Your nails digging into his shoulders. He had no idea you'd be so needy and desperate. He briefly wonders if you're always like this or if this is all because of him. His self-esteem certainly hopes it's the latter.

"You're so cute when you're needy," he rumbles against your throat, canines brushing the skin there while his fingers push your panties to the side. He thinks he'll remember the strangled gasp that flies from your lips when his fingers make contact with your clit as long as he lives.

He knew you were wet before, but he's severely unprepared for the effect feeling said wetness for himself has on him. His cock already leaking pre-cum where it rests untouched underneath you. Teasing you is a double-edged sword. You're not the only one becoming desperate here.

"Namjoon," you whine, "Please, please let me feel your fingers. It hurts. Please-" your begging is cut off by a sharp moan when he finally concedes and pushes two fingers inside of you. How can he say no when you sound so beautiful for him? He's just a man.

He tugs you into another messy kiss while he fucks you on his fingers to distract himself. He feels like he'll lose his mind soon if he doesn't feel you around his cock soon. Groaning into your mouth at how harshly your velvety walls grip his fingers as he familiarises himself with the spots that make you moan louder and hold onto him tighter.

The whimper you press against his lips when his thumb finds your clit and rubs slow circles against it is immaculate. In the dead of night when he'd fantasised about having you like this, he hadn't considered how sensitive and pliant you are. Reality is significantly better than any of his dreams.

"Joo-Joon, I- ah I'm," you whine out, your glasses slightly skewed and foggy on your face while you ride his fingers and chase your release. Namjoon doesn't think he's seen anything more erotic in his entire life.

"Are you going to cum for me?" The gruff edge to his voice or perhaps the question seems to do it for you because before he knows it you're holding onto to him for dear life and he has to slot his mouth over yours to silence your suddenly sharp cries. His cock pulsing as he feels your walls hold onto his fingers so tightly that he can barely move them anymore and, your wetness drips down his palm.

"That's a good girl. You did so well for me," he says, kissing your neck and shoulder softly as he waits for you to come back to him. He takes notice of the way your walls momentarily clench from what he assumes is the praise. Well. He'd happily give you all the praise you wanted.

"You're ridiculously good with your fingers," you mutter, cupping his face and kissing him as though you have all the time in the world. Something dangerously close to love for you swells in him from the affection you pour into the kiss. You rest your forehead against his when you pull away, a small smile playing on your bruised lips.

"Thank you," is all his brain can come with right now with his fingers still nestled inside of you and being harder than he ever has been in his entire life.

"Would it be okay if I sucked you off?"

You're trying to kill him. This is what this is. An elaborate plot to end his life in an instant.

His cock very much likes the sound of that, however.

"You don't have to do that,"

"I know. I want to,"

He closes his eyes and tries to gain his bearings for a few seconds.

"Maybe next time. I don't want to cum in your mouth right now,"

The pout on your lips is surprising and unfairly attractive, "Why not?"

You really were going to make him spell it out for you, aren't you?

"I'd rather cum while I'm inside of you,"

His jaw clenches when he feels your walls clamp down on his fingers once more, a barely there whimper falling from your lips, "Kim Namjoon, you're going to be the death of me."

Funny you should say that because the feeling is mutual.

He does laugh at that. Pressing a kiss against your cheek, "And you think I'm dramatic. We can just stop here if you don't want to. Plus, I don't have any condoms on hand. I wasn't exactly...anticipating all of this."

"What in the world would make you think I'd want to stop now?" You ask, sounding genuinely baffled, "And on the topic of birth control, I'm on the pill."

His eyes close then, and he can't bite back a groan. You would really let him fuck you raw? He's not sure if you're insane for suggesting it or if he's insane for seriously considering it.

"If you're not comfortable with that we can just stop here. I'm not in a rush," you reassure him, pressing a soft kiss to his temple and it's then that Namjoon thinks he may lose his mind if he doesn't have you right now.

Without a word, he pulls you into another earth titling kiss, grinning against your mouth when you grip his fingers like a vice when he tugs on your hair and nips your lip. "You really don't know what you do to me," he breathes, easing his fingers out of you and chuckling darkly at the way you whimper from the loss. He might be pushing his luck here, but "Open."

He watches through lidded eyes as you eagerly suck on his fingers coated in your wetness. Your lashes fluttering behind your glasses and, your soaked slit grinding down on him in search of some sort of friction. "Such a good girl," he praises, kissing you while his hands fumble with his belt and the buttons of his pants. Relief coursing through him when manages to finally free himself. His cock slapping against his shirt covered stomach unceremoniously.

Your reaction to seeing him does fantastic things for his ego.

"You're...bigger than I anticipated," you breathe out, your eyes laser focused on his dick while your hands absentmindedly tug on his hair. "You thought about my dick? I'm flattered," he says with a smirk likely a touch too smug but, he can't help it. It's not every day the woman of your dreams casually mentions that she's fantasised about you and you have her spread out across your lap.

"I've thought about more than your dick but, it's featured in a fantasy or two," you laugh breathlessly, squirming in his lap.

"Well, I shouldn't keep you waiting any longer then,"

When you slowly start to sink down on him, Namjoon knows he's a goner. His hands grip your soft hips for dear life as your warm, wet walls gradually accommodate him inch by inch. He's not sure where he wants to look more. Your pretty pussy stretching around him or the blissed out look on your beautiful face right now.

His hand impatiently tugs your dress down and he takes a hard nipple in his mouth both to distract you from the discomfort and, for the simple want to. His head spins when your pussy clenches around him at the contact. Needy hands tugging on his hair while you moan from the sensations.

"Nam-Namjoon," you moan out so brokenly and, he's pretty sure he's never heard a more beautiful sound. He might be inlove with you actually but, he shoves that thought aside as soon as it arises.

He grits his teeth when you slowly rise up and sink back down on him again, your nails biting into him as you try your best to establish a steady rhythm. "You're so beautiful," he groans as he watches you bounce on his cock. He  didn't intend for that thought to slip out but, he doesn't regret in the slightest when he watches your eyelids flutter and your pussy tightens around him.

You can't even coherently respond to him. Too lost in your own pleasure and the feeling of his cock to string together a sentence at the moment. Not that Namjoon can really blame you. Your walls are like a vice around him, and he feels his release approaching dangerously quickly. There's no way he's going to cum without atleast getting you to cum for him one more time.

One of his hands tugs on your hair to pull you down for another heated kiss. All teeth and tongue and spit. While the other reaches between your thighs, the corners of his mouth ticking up when you gasp against him as his fingers draw quick circles on your clit. Thankfully, he's a fast learner.

He nearly bites down on your lip when you cum. Velvety walls clenching and spasming around him while you cling onto him for purchase. I mean, is it really a shock that it doesn't take much more than that for him to follow suit?

Groans and stuttered curses leaving his lips when pulses inside of you. The symphony of your sounds of pleasure and heavy breathing all that can be heard as he fills you. Holding you to him while he rides out his intense release. He doesn't think he's ever cum this hard in his entire life. Guess that's what happens when you cum inside the love of your life.

Pushing that insane thought aside once more, he loosens his hold on you when he regains feeling in his body. The sticky combination of your releases dribbling out of you and down his groin but, he can't bring himself to care at the moment.

"Usually, people go on dates first, no?" You ask still sounding breathlessly but, he can hear the smile in your tone.

"Mmm yeah, usually they do but, I don't think there's anything wrong with doing things a little out of order,"

"You're not wrong. I hope you know this is my roundabout way of asking you out,"

The laugh that forces itself out of him is hearty and more carefree than he's felt in a concerningly long time.

"I'd love to go out with you, y/n."