#‘this is a story about love’ NO THE FUCK ITS NOT
Text
Kiss Shot
love and deepspace: zayne x fem!reader
tags: smut, light bondage, teasing, semi-public sex, praise kink, pwp, dom!zayne, sir kink, pool & billiards, oh he has pretty hands, exclusive tutorial card
word count: 8.2K
synopsis: Zayne has curated a perfectly polished reputation. He’s a renowned surgeon, the youngest of his graduating class, has a plethora of research papers in his name, and is well-liked and respected amongst his peers. And he would throw it all away to have you like this again, whining and desperate as he fucks you over a billiard table. It’s not fair, really, how easily you manage to get Zayne riled up. Especially when you call him sir.
original ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55931518
Your negroni is fifty percent water by now.
The flock of past classmates, professors, and adorning fans has been relentless, swarming the bar where you and Zayne currently sit— or perhaps more accurately, swarming where the distinguished Dr. Zayne sits.
You sigh under your breath, fussing with the cocktail dress slit against your thigh before taking another sip of your drink, the melted ice dulling the burn of the gin. It has only been an hour since you arrived, and yet you can already feel your social battery reach its limits, tired of going through the same motions for every other person who bothers to acknowledge your presence: a smile, what’s your name, are you a surgeon as well, what’s your connection to Zayne, no we’re not together.
It’s not that you haven’t met fascinating individuals— your first round of drinks was shared with two sisters, old classmates of Zayne’s who were now Linkon’s top OB/GYN doctors and genuinely the sweetest women you’ve talked to today.
But everyone has limits. And with the relentless swarm sucking up to Zayne, it hardly gives you a moment of peace, let alone an opportunity to talk with your date for the evening.
Thinking about the stipulations of your relationship and what this night even means for the two of you sends your mind reeling further, and you finish the rest of your negroni in a shot, wincing.
As if sensing your frustration, the doctor in question looks up from his conversation with a classmate. Zayne gives a knowing, apologetic smile before returning to his conversation, the gesture leaving you with a fluttering in your chest.
Calling the bartender over, you place another drink on the tab before tuning in to the conversation next to you as you hear the echo of laughter.
“No, no, I’ve been lucky enough to have seen it myself!” An older man laughs again, his drink nearly sloshing over the rim as he smacks Zayne’s shoulder. You snort at the way he stiffens. “Our Dr. Zayne isn’t just a professional at work, you should see him play billiards. Let me tell you, he’s amazing at both the operating table and the pool table”
A deep sigh. “You drank too much…”
“Nonsense!” The man pats Zayne again before recounting a story from their residency days to the crowd of onlookers.
You yourself are rather engrossed too, more than happy to learn more about your elusive doctor, especially these hidden talents he seems set on keeping from you. Zayne, on the other hand, is far from impressed. Brows furrowed, he turns from where he sits against the bar counter to scan your face.
Leaning in closer, you inhale sharply at the feel of his cool breath against your ear. “Do you want to go somewhere else?”
His thoughtfulness would be sweet if it weren’t for the way Zayne had whispered it, lips brushing against your sensitive skin as you shudder at the slow, deep cadence of his voice.
Noticing your hesitation, Zayne’s hand comes up to rest on your knee, thumb slipping under your dress’ slit. He cocks his head, waiting for your response, drawing soothing circles against your bare skin, which is having quite the opposite effect.
Panicking, you shake your head. “I’m alright. Plus, I’d feel bad stealing you away from all your adoring fans so soon, Dr. Zayne.”
He scoffs under his breath, but you see the slight curl in the corner of his lips. Still, he has yet to let go of your thigh, and you decide to shift closer, turning in your seat so your knees brush against Zayne’s, his hand involuntarily sliding higher.
His fingers are calloused and worn, a testament to his many years spent in the medical field, and his grip is firm against your thigh. It feels familiar, and the memories of his hands on you in many different places sends heat rushing to your cheeks.
The thought doesn't seem to have left his mind either, judging by the way his eyes dart down to your parted lips.
Clearing his throat, Zayne looks away. He is about to say something when you decide to interrupt instead.
“Besides,” you hum, taking a sip of wine. “If the rumors are to be believed, then I’m missing quite a show. Is our Dr. Zayne really that skilled at pool?”
“Ah.” Zayne retracts his hand, clearing his throat as he straightens up in his seat. ”You’re trying to gang up on me.”
You know him well enough to recognize the hint of embarrassment in the way he avoids your gaze. But before you can tease him further, another cheery voice interrupts.
“We meet again, sir!” A young man practically bounces over to the bar, caught between a bow and a handshake as he stumbles into both, flashing a gummy smile at Zayne.
You raise a brow at his overwhelming enthusiasm, glancing at Zayne as you watch recognition flash across his face.
“Good evening. It’s Steven, yes? You don’t need to address me as “sir”.” Zayne nearly grimaces as he says the word, and you take a sip from your drink to hide your growing smile.
“Yes! I’m honored you remembered.” Steven nods vigorously. “But anything less would be inappropriate. After all, you taught me so much with your hands-on instruction, I owe my knowledge and successful residency so far to you, sir.”
Still, Zayne shuts him down. “I was only doing what I should have done. Any credit beyond that is your own.”
It’s almost like he’s allergic to praise.
“Humble and smart,” Steven laughs, winking all-too-obviously at you. “Regardless, I just wanted to thank you for everything formally, sir. You two have a wonderful rest of your night!”
“Yes.” Zayne frowns, leaning ever so slightly closer to you. ”To you as well.”
Quickly feigning ignorance, you pretend to be absorbed in the powerpoint some professor is giving on the opposite side of the venue, immediately lost in a diagram of a heart valve. You’re about to take another sip of your drink when something pinches your ear. Yelping at the sting, you jump in your seat, whirling around to face the culprit.
Zayne scoffs. “I could see you eavesdropping a mile away. Did you find anything interesting?”
“Oh, aside from learning that you are extremely humble, smart, handsome, and rather adept at hands-on instruction, nothing much,” you lean against the counter, blinking up at Zayne through your lashes as you sing the last word, “Sir.”
You watch his jaw clench, a rigid movement that makes your heart skip. Zayne laughs, a harsh, sharp sound. He shakes his head before his hand grips your jaw, tugging you gently but firmly towards him. His eyes narrow, and your heart stutters.
“Clever girl. What is it you want this time?”
This time. As if Zayne could refuse you anything, as if the mere sight of you isn't enough to make him go mad.
But you're not the only one who knows how to play. And he rather likes watching just how far you’ll go.
Smiling innocently, you rest a hand on Zayne’s shoulder. The warmth of his skin seeps through the silky material of his suit. You can't help but slide your hand further up, tracing the curve of his neck with your thumb. “Well…” You lick your lips, tasting the waxy remnants of your lipstick as you fight to keep your voice even under Zayne’s piercing gaze. ”You never did any hands-on training with me, and everyone says what an honor it’s been to be taught by you, sir. I wonder what I’ll have to do to experience it finally.”
Zayne sighs, and for a moment, he appears disappointed.
“It seems like you truly want to learn about surgeries.” A scoff, and Zayne’s face seems to fall back to its stoic facade. But he pulls you closer, tilting your head so his lips graze your earlobe once more. “Who knew my little hunter was so skilled at acting?”
You gasp, placing a hand on your chest in faux surprise. “What accusations, doctor. Besides, I was thinking about something with a… less steep learning curve.”
Zayne hums thoughtfully, thumb venturing from your jaw as it brushes across your lips. Once. Twice. Three times before he stands up, hand finally dropping from your face as he grabs your wrist instead.
“Then allow me to take our first lesson elsewhere.”
You don’t offer any sort of resistance as Zayne leads you through the crowd, opting to let go of your wrist and guide you away from prying eyes, hand instead lingering against the small of your back as he walks beside you. He opens the door for you, directing the two of you down one of the main venue halls, echoes of conversation muffled by the soft ding of an elevator. Zayne flashes his medical ID before clicking the top floor, the sensor buzzing green as it carries you up with the smooth flow of elevator jazz.
Zayne’s hand has yet to leave your waist. His thumb goes back to tracing soft circles against the divots in your back as though from habit, nearly touching bare skin due to the sweeping backless design of your dress. You fight the urge to lean further into him, already fidgeting in your heels at the thought of his touch, slow and careful and calculated, elsewhere.
Your thoughts are interrupted by the chime of the elevator.
Oh, god, snap out of it. You rush out of the elevator, hoping Zayne didn’t notice the furious heat you can feel rising from your cheeks to the tips of your ears.
Smoothing some loose hair back behind your ear, you close your eyes and focus on taking deep breaths, as if it’ll push all these obscene scenarios of Zayne’s large, perfect hands doing unspeakable things out of your mind.
It works for a moment, expelling all these potential scenarios and instead reminding you of every time Zayne has taken action. Memories of him after hours at the clinic, during movie nights when neither of you paid attention to the TV, and even the drive here where he decided to—
“Does the sight of a billiard table scare you that much?”
The heat from earlier is back in full force. Your eyes snap open, and you are greeted with Zayne’s signature eyebrow raise, feigning concern despite his amused smile that only grows more prominent when he notices the flush creeping across your skin.
“Hardly.” You force a smile, turning your head as you refuse to let him gloat. “I’m just so ecstatic that I’ll finally receive hands-on training from the Dr. Zayne.”
A low hum, “Yes, at least until you feel well enough to go back and socialize.”
He says this, yet you know Zayne is just as happy as you are to finally escape from the crowds below.
“Well,” you purr, “take care of me until then, sir.”
You giggle as he frowns at the title, waltzing past him to a corner pool table in the billiard hall. The floor is dedicated to different tabletop games, all lined up against numerous floor-to-ceiling windows aglow with a gorgeous view of Linkon City. The city lights bleed in since the entire room was rather dim, no doubt an artistic choice, adorned sensually with faux candlelight chandeliers and the low timber of jazz.
“Have you played before?”
“Once or twice– some call me a natural genius.” You brush imaginary hair from your shoulders as Zayne scoffs before handing you a cue stick. Lacing his hand into your own, you pull the stick and thus him closer. “Why? Are you going to be strict with me, sir?”
Seeing through your jab, Zayne responds without hesitation. “Strict teachers make outstanding students. Let’s start.”
You pout, about to walk to the other side of the pool table to observe his shot, when Zayne’s arm laces around your waist, holding you against him for a second longer.
“And no more distractions.”
Not trusting your voice, you nod, watching as he bends to aim the cue, muscles beneath his sleeves flexing with each calculated movement. You hear the sound of a cue stick colliding with its target, but your attention is too focused on his fingers to process any of the actual movements.
Another sharp click breaks the silence. You watch as the cue ball collides with a red striped one, sending the former skittering off the sides while the other sinks into the pocket with a dull thud.
“You’re unfairly good at this.”
Zayne raises a brow, “Maybe it’s because a surgeon requires steady hands.”
And the moment you glance down, any chance of salvation is lost.
You’re not a fool. You’ve noticed Zayne’s hands before, on more occasions than you’d care to admit. But it’s as he says and more.
Lining up for another shot, you watch him stretch forward, forearms exposed from his deliciously rolled-up sleeves and discarded blazer, your eyes tracing every prominent vein down to his hands, spread wide against the table, tense as the stick rests against his pointer finger and thumb. Even in the dim lighting you can see pale silver scars littering his forearms, and you swear you’ve never seen something so beautiful, like traces of frost against marble.
Again, it shouldn’t be a surprise that a surgeon must take good care of their hands, but it’s nearly unfair how gorgeous Zayne’s are. Not only that, but you remember how comforting his hands feel against your own, how they caressed your thigh earlier tonight, and just how attentive and precise they can be.
“You’re not focusing on my lesson.”
Shit.
With a single strike, Zayne tries to sink another ball, but the angle is just off, and the striped ball hits the corner of the pocket, ricocheting against the wood with a dull thud.
Zayne leans against the pool table, cue stick resting against his shoulder.
"Your turn."
Copying Zayne’s movements as best you can, you clumsily position your cue stick between your knuckles, aiming for what seemed to be a fairly easy shot. Only for the ball to ricochet far left as the white ball knocks into it. Even your cue stick wobbles after, as if shaking in laughter at your poor shot.
Frowning, you look up to see Zayne’s disapproving gaze locked onto the pool table.
“Is there not an easier way to do this? One more suitable for beginners?”
“There is.” Zayne leans in, his expression betraying nothing. “First, try adjusting your posture. You’ll see better results.”
Another sigh, and you halfheartedly drape yourself over the table again. “Like this? I’m not sure I fully understand, I think I need your help identifying my weak spots via more hands-on learning, sir.”
“Allow me to guide you, then.”
For a moment you think you’ll have to bait Zayne more, yet before you can figure out how to push the stubborn doctor any further, you feel the weight of his hands, heavy against your shoulder and hip.
Zayne shifts forward, and you can feel the fabric of his suit vest graze the bare skin of your back, his hands unnaturally cool against the dips in your waist as he nudges your back into an arch. You comply, Zayne’s body nearly folding atop yours as his chest brushes your back.
He takes the cue stick from your hand.
“You’re too tense,” Zayne pats your back two times. Your waist immediately bends, and you hear him laugh under his breath. “And now you’re too relaxed.”
With his hands still pressed against your waist, Zayne repositions himself and thus you as well, and you can feel the chill of each exhale against the crook of your neck.
He guides your aim, lining it up to the cue ball. The tip brushes ever so gently against the felt surface as it pushes, slowly and deliberately, practicing the gentle back-and-forth motion as you struggle to keep pace.
“Drop your left arm. Allow it to bend naturally.” He taps your elbow and waist. “Your head, dominant arm, and the cue stick should all form a straight line.”
You begin to shuffle according to Zayne’s instructions, hinging your hips backward before you realize what a wonderfully compromising position he’s placed you in. As discreetly as possible, you allow your right leg to step backward, movement forcing you further against Zayne as you press the curve of your ass into his hips. Immediately, you’re rewarded with a sharp inhale next to your ear.
But instead of pulling away or reprimanding you Zayne merely continues with the lesson, almost frustratingly unaffected if it wasn’t for the fact that you could feel his reaction grow between your thighs.
Still, he is nothing if not a professional as he whispers against your jaw, "Behave.”
"I am," you reply, and one of Zayne’s hands comes up to guide your cue stick. “...It just hurts a little.”
You don’t have to see his face to know that Zayne is giving you a smug smile.
“That means it’s correct.”
You take a deep breath. You practice the same back-and-forth motions, thrusting the stick forward on the third, watching as your cue stick strikes the white ball, sending a solid orange one rolling.
Another click and a thud, and you successfully land a pocket.
Just when you feel like you’re finally getting the hang of it, you make the fatal mistake of looking down to where Zayne's fingers guide yours against the cue stick, and your brain turns to scramble once more. His thumb brushes over your knuckles, a soft, fleeting sensation.
And you miss.
Zayne is quiet for a long moment, tilting his head, letting the warmth of his cheek press against your neck. “Snap out of it. Are you even paying attention?”
Bastard. He knows exactly what he’s doing.
“Of course,” you retort, skin feeling uncomfortably hot even when Zayne finally steps back from you, your body searing the memory of his touch into every nerve. “I’ll score the next one myself.”
He hums and cocks an eyebrow as if telling you to go on, prove him wrong.
“Remember, move the cue stick to gauge the shot two or three times, then stop at the position closest to the ball.”
You do, gauging the weight of the cue stick, bending down over the table so your chest nearly brushes with the felt, narrowing in on the solid green ball.
“Stop and pull back the cue stick in three, two, one.”
On Zayne’s command, you strike, a satisfying click followed by the thump of the ball falling into the corner pocket. You scored. All on your own.
“It went in!” You jolt up, spinning as you laugh.
“So it did. Seems like your pool skills are less about precision and more… passion.” Zayne’s lips twitch into a smile, and you’re not foolish enough to ignore his double meaning. “Granted, you might need a little more than passion to come back and win this round.”
You scoff, attempting to change the subject without drawing attention to how red your face has gotten. “Well then, perhaps if you’re not too committed to this doctor thing there’s still a chance for you in the professional billiard space.”
“No, thank you. Now, think you can make another shot by yourself?”
“Wait a moment. When a student does well, shouldn’t they get a reward?”
“Very well,” Zayne relents, tone even despite the searing gaze he practically strips down your body. “What do you want?”
“There are a few balls blocking my next shot. Help me?”
A beat, and he blinks at you incredulously. “That is all?”
“What’s wrong, Dr. Zayne? Scared that if you give me too much help, I’ll steal this victory from you?”
“Provocation doesn’t work on me.”
“Then come here.”
God, you don’t think you’ll ever get used to how pliant he is for you, obeying your command without so much as a moment of hesitation. His larger frame now towers above you, close enough that you have to crane your neck to maintain eye contact. And you can’t help but tease him a bit more. It’s not your fault his obedience gives you a rush.
“Closer,” you whisper, teasing your fingers against his vest buttons. “Or else I can’t reach it.”
Still, Zayne complies. Although this time his brows furrow, shuffling closer so his knee slips between yours and your chest presses against his. “What exactly are you…”
You yank his tie, pushing him down atop the felt tabletop before he can finish his sentence.
There’s a dull thud, Zayne’s vest ruffled as you pin him to the table. He still looks frustratingly composed, not a hair out of place, but you feel his chest rise and fall uncharacteristically fast under your palm.
Smiling in victory, your other hand brings up your cue stick, making a show of tapping it on his broad shoulders. “Ah, look, the ball is so far away. I think I’ll need a cue rest.”
“Using cue rests would be overkill,” Zayne retorts, propping himself onto his elbows as you pout. You’ve been teasing him all night; surely just one more push, and he’ll finally give in?
Before he can escape from your hold, you lift the cue stick off his shoulder, letting the tip slip under his tie. Zayne watches with a tight frown as you tug his tie loose. “And this is inappropriate.”
“But are you not enjoying it too?” Your leg slides out from the slit in your dress, allowing you to straddle Zayne’s thigh as your arms cage him further against the pool table. “Sir?”
His brows furrow, almost surprised at your brazenness before he looks down with a huff, and you see the smirk he’s fighting to keep at bay. “I shouldn’t have taught you so much.”
Getting revenge for before, it’s your turn to grip his jaw, brushing kisses against his beautifully hooked nose and down his jaw, leaving smears of cherry red in your wake as you purposefully neglect his waiting lips. “What can I say? I have a very attentive teacher.”
Zayne is about to say something sarcastic back, no doubt, so you roll your hips forward, cutting off his words as you’re rewarded with a groan instead. The angle allows you to grind atop the rough seams in his trousers, nearly catching against his zipper and the heavy bulge you can already feel straining underneath.
His hand shoots out, gripping your thigh as you gasp. There’s a warning look in his eyes, but he makes no move to stop you.
Encouraged, you repeat the motion, rocking forward against him as you give an exaggerated moan. Zayne quickly cuts it off with his other hand, thumb pressing against your bottom lip as he muffles your noises. You open your lips further, allowing the digit to slide against your lipstick and push against your tongue.
Zayne tsks, shaking his head.
You gently nip at his finger before beginning to suck the offending digit, flicking your tongue against the rough pad of his thumb. You watch his eyes narrow, the grip on your waist tightening. Zayne is holding himself back. Again.
You release his thumb with a pop. "Don't worry, sir, no one will hear." As if to prove your point, you stop grinding, instead bringing your hand up to cup at the bulge straining against his pants. “Besides, you’re too pretty like this. I'm the only one who gets to hear all the sounds you make.”
You smile so sweetly despite the way you torture him with every rough drag of your palm against his clothed cock. But it’s only when your smile breaks into something more genuine that Zayne feels himself flush, gazing up at you adoringly before he tries to play it off with a chuckle and a pinch at your hips.
"The things you say..." His expression changes to something unreadable, stone-cold and conflicted. The chances of losing you again are greater than he once thought. He doesn't deserve this, and he doesn't deserve you. Zayne is reminded of that every time he dares get too close.
But he can't help it. He’d eternally become a fool, a martyr, just for you.
Zayne’s jaw clenches, and a stuttered moan slips through his teeth as your hand squeezes his clothed cock. "Do you think I'm that weak to flattery?"
"No. I just think you deserve it sometimes." You smirk. "Plus, I'm not flattering you, I'm complimenting."
"And what's the difference?"
"The intent," you whisper, grinding your hips forward again.
This time, you catch him by surprise, and Zayne moans, the sound low and rough and so fucking addicting. Zayne grunts, head tilting back as he shuts his eyes, lips parting ever so slightly as more soft sighs and moans slip out, spurring you on.
You lean in, breath warm against his ear as you whisper, "What's wrong, sir? I thought you had a lesson to teach me."
Zayne’s grip tightens, and he yanks you down so your palms skid across the smooth felt of the pool table you’ve pinned him against, pulling your hips flush against his as his palm cups your ass.
“If you actually want to learn, there's another way I can teach you…” Zayne leans up on his forearms until his lips brush with yours, and right as his eyes begin to flutter closed, you shove him backward. Denying his kiss. Again.
“Sir, this seems to be highly unprofessional.”
And Zayne finally snaps.
“First you use your teacher as a cue rest, then you try to talk about professionalism?” He lets out a curt laugh, and you can practically feel his patience wearing thin. It’s terrifying, and your stomach flutters in anticipation.
“ Unprofessional ,” he spits, and your thighs clench at the growl undercutting his words. “Unprofessional, like that time you were screaming my name in the back of my car while we were still at the hospital parking lot? Or unprofessional, like that time you interrupted me during work hours, begging me to eat your cunt out in my office? Or perhaps it’s like when you decided to turn this lesson into an opportunity to tease me since you’re clearly so desperate?”
You can practically feel yourself drip at Zayne’s blunt words, each one harsh and true— your relationship with him had passed morally ethical the moment you pulled him in to kiss you instead of pushing him away months ago.
Using this moment of weakness, Zayne lifts you up, flipping the two of you around so you’re the one pinned against the pool table as he reaches for his abandoned cue stick. And he finally- finally - claims your lips with his.
Zayne always kisses like he operates, slow and methodical, as if he could spend hours learning every inch of your body, and it never fails to leave you breathless. But today, the urgency in the way he licks into your mouth is palpable, and it has you whining and clutching his suit, legs wrapping around his waist as you try to bring him closer, the oak rim of the table forcing your back into a deeper arch as you whine.
A firm hand against your hip stops your movement, pinning you down. You feel so small, caged in between his much longer legs, his superior height much too obvious. The difference in size is almost laughable as he bends down to lick deeper into your mouth. You gasp against Zayne’s lips as his other hand slides to the back of your neck, thumb rubbing circles against the column of your throat and your fluttering heartbeat underneath.
You whimper into his mouth, futilely attempting to push him away even though your hips grind insistently against his thigh. “Zayne,” his name tapers off into a moan as he kisses you again, addicted. “We can’t–” another kiss. “Anyone could walk in.” Another.
When he does give you space to breathe, a thin string of saliva connects his bottom lip to yours. He pants heavily, lips shaded a hue of cherry red from your lipstick and teeth as the corner of his mouth tugs into a frown. “Hm, I suppose that’s true. But that didn’t stop you before, did it? So I see no reason why it should stop me now.”
And you realize your fate has long since been sealed.
Zayne returns to peppering your neck with kisses, teeth nipping the soft skin at your collarbone, and you yelp as he leaves a particularly harsh bite. Your hands come up to fist into his hair, and Zayne groans against your chest.
"Do not think I have forgotten our lesson," He whispers.
"Who, me?" You bat your eyelashes. "I would never. Sir."
His gaze darkens. "Then watch closely, I’m only doing this once.”
Leaning over you, Zayne positions the cue stick against your shoulder, not unlike you did to him before. But unlike you, he forces your hips up against his thigh, watching your eyes roll back from the delicious friction of his expensive trousers. “There are two striped balls left. As punishment for your attitude during my lesson, I want you to come on my thigh before I pocket both of them.”
Dumbstruck, you can only stare up at him, stammering at his demand as you feel your pussy flutter. “I- I don’t think…”
Zayne scoffs, silencing you by roughly thumbing at your lips again. “Don’t act so shocked. You’ve been humping me like a desperate brat all evening, so go on and come like one. Come for me.”
His words are demeaning, each one cold and seemingly emotionless as he stares down at you. But you can see the truth in his eyes as he watches your every reaction, their gentle green filled with an adoration so tender it terrifies you. You feel the truth in his touch, only moving with your consent, already having memorized your body to learn the way you tick and acting upon your every whim, only pushing you just as far as you wish to be.
Zayne has never told you he loves you, but he has shown you that he does in a thousand countless ways.
And he’ll prove it to you in a thousand more.
”Unless, you want more punishment?” Zayne twists his head towards you with his next statement, and he feels the way it makes you flinch— it makes him throb at the same time. You shake your head.
You can barely form sentences when he’s deliberately tensing the muscles in his thigh, each movement in time with every needy twitch of your hips like it’s a means to emphasize his point.
“Use. Your. Words.”
“No.”
His grip tightens, fingers tensing against your neck, and you stammer back out the correction. “No, sir.”
“Good girl.”
Your heart flutters at the praise, a quiet whimper escaping you as you buck against him. Your lips are pouty from being bitten between your teeth, and you still hear muffled sobs and moans slip past your lips as you begin chasing the friction against his thigh, the upward angle punishing your clit.
Despite how much Zayne likes to front that he’s in complete control, something tells you he’s having a harder time holding back than he’ll ever admit. You think maybe the bulge in his slacks and his low moans against your ear is proof enough of that.
Zayne’s not sure which is more distracting, the sight of your pretty pussy grinding against him, only just covered by the thin silk of your dress, or the sounds falling from your mouth. The room is filled with the wet sounds of your cunt, your whimpers, and Zayne's own groans.
Pressing his forehead against yours, Zayne leans in for another kiss, the tips of your noses barely touching. But the proximity makes you slow, and he clicks his tongue, reaching above you to line up his cue stick for the next shot. But he pauses, instead fully tugging off the tie you had loosed.
"Since you were so insistent on taking my tie off earlier, here. Keep it for me." Zayne grabs both your wrists with one hand, looping his tie tightly against your skin, skillfully making a knot without ever releasing your wrists.
“Maybe this will help you behave properly,” Zayne whispers, voice low as he mouths your pulse point, a fresh surge of arousal rushing to your core as you feel his length pressing further into you.
With a broken whimper, you hook an ankle around Zayne’s back as you begin to grind harder against his thigh, moaning at the new angle. It hardly compared to the feeling of his fingers or cock fucking into you, but you barely cared, arousal and lust spurred on by Zayne’s voice.
You soon fall into a rhythm, painfully slow, the mere friction sending jolts of heat through you until you’re certain Zayne’s trousers must be stained. You nearly beg for something to hold onto, hands writhing helplessly against his tie as your sobs are muffled into your red-bitten lips.
But just as soon as the pleasure builds, you feel it plateau, hips beginning to stutter as the dull friction becomes too little, the coiling heat inside you desperate to be properly filled up by something, anything.
Zayne, on the other hand, is faring no better.
He’s thoroughly distracted with the pretty little thing desperately fucking herself against his thigh, caging you down to the table as his hands clench against the cue stick, nearly enough to make it snap.
You continue to push yourself in desperation to fulfill Zayne’s order for you to come, his continuous praises mingling with the lewd squelch of your cunt, and your eyes roll back with a cry. Zayne’s voice is intoxicating, his steady tone rough with lust sending tremors down your spine, infecting you like an aphrodisiac. You were building further and further, mounting pressure in your core dizzying, desperation for release seeping through you, mind lust-drunk as you willed yourself to fall off the peak.
But the familiar sound of the billiard balls clicks somewhere above you, followed by two distinct thuds.
A hum, and Zayne pries himself away as you whine at the loss, cold air rushing in.
You failed.
“How disappointing.” Zayne scolds as if he wasn’t the one who nearly came from your grinding instead. ”But you know what happens to students who fail to follow clear instructions, don’t you?”
Standing back, Zayne discards the cue stick entirely as one hand readjusts his trousers, and you whimper at the sight of him cupping his bulge, stroking and coaxing it against his thigh just so he can stand straight.
“Turn around and lift your dress.”
You obey, propping yourself up on shaking arms before you flip around so the rough edge of the billiard table now presses against your stomach, the felt hot beneath your bound wrists.
Zayne hums in approval, almost apathetically observing the way you squirm before he nods at you to continue. Lowering your eyes from his, you allow your leg to slip out from the slit in your dress, spreading your legs back and to the side as the silk falls off the curve of your ass, Zayne’s piercing gaze following every movement.
“Didn’t think a game of pool would turn you on this much,” he muses, leaning against the rim of the table as he crosses his arms.
Unable to meet his stare any longer, your head falls between your still tied-up hands, every inch of your body burning in shame and lust as Zayne continues to wordlessly observe you. You swear you’ll burn up with the way he fucks you with his eyes.
Still, Zayne doesn’t move.
You nearly scream against the table, eyes scrunched as you snap. “Fuck! Zayne, I swear to god, if you don’t finally fuck me I’ll do it myself or find someone else who will.”
The words barely leave your mouth when a hand fists into your hair, pulling you backward until you arch back, and you gasp, mouth falling open at the sensation. Zayne's breath is cold against the shell of your ear, the growl undercutting his words sending tremors down your spine.
"Needy little brat," his fingers curl into your hair, pulling until your jaw goes slack. Zayne's other hand finds its way back to your underwear, the material so damp that it almost feels sticky beneath his touch, and you moan at the sensation, unable to formulate a retort as your eyes flutter closed. “I think you’re forgetting this is meant to be your punishment.”
He snaps the band of your panties, and you choke, knees wobbling.
"Remember to count, or we start over.”
Placing the flat of his palm in the space between your shoulder blades, Zayne pushes you down against the billiard table, the side of your face pressed against the felt.
You hear the sharp crack of his hand meeting your ass before you feel it, the burn returning with a vengeance as you scream into the table. The sting of his palm leaves a searing heat across the curve of your ass, and you bite down on the tie binding your hands to muffle the cries that escape you.
Then you remember his order, lips quivering as you say, "One."
Another smack. This time harder. The strike is so precise it nearly sends you toppling over, the sting and ache following pushing you further against the wood. You let out a sob, eyes beginning to water as you clench around nothing, the throbbing of your cunt only worsened by Zayne's firm grip on the base of your neck.
"Two."
The third strike comes down even harder than the last, the resounding echo of his slap followed by a strangled scream from you, the heat and pain making your knees give out, forcing you to rest fully atop the pool table. “Three.”
You feel tears running down your face, undoubtedly ruining your makeup. But before you can process the fourth smack, you feel the familiar sting against your ass and the paradoxically gentle rub of Zayne's hand against the aching spot, soothing the pain as you count.
"F-Four." You shutter as you feel sheer cold bloom against your skin, his Evol numbing your ass as you whimper from the pleasure-pain.
Zayne’s thumb dips past the seam of your panties, gathering the slick that has been dripping out of you for the entire night. You feel the heat of his stare on you and the weight of his hand heavy on the small of your back, his other hand still gripping your neck with his thumb tracing soft circles against your pulse.
"So wet. Is this what you were hoping for, hm? Testing me until I finally snapped and ruined you?”
You don't dare look him in the eye. "Please, sir. I can't—"
"Can't what? Take anymore? Can't take any more punishment like the disobedient brat you are?" Zayne's voice is low, and you shiver at his words, unable to respond as the tears continue to flow, the mixture of pain and arousal leaving your vision blurred and cloudy. He spanks you again, this time hard enough to leave a mark, and you keen, legs spreading even wider in desperation.
"I can't— ah shit — please. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, sir, please, just fuck me already.” you plead, voice trembling as you beg, desperate to be filled by anything other than the emptiness.
“Language.” Zayne reprimands, and the sting of his strike follows shortly after. “And you forgot to count.”
“Five! It’s f-five.” Your knees buckle with a sob, and Zayne has to hold your waist so you don't slide onto the floor, his touch paradoxically gentle compared to everything else he’s done.
“Shh, you’re far too noisy. It’s almost as though you want someone walking in to find us like this.”
Your dress is only noticeably bunched up from the back and Zayne is still fully clothed. Anyone walking by the billiard hall would just see a couple talking by the tables, but if they were to enter the room it would hardly take a brain surgeon to figure out what was happening. The realization has your walls clench around nothing.
Zayne hoists your wrists up, forcing you into a deeper arch before untying your restraints. You then watch him fist the purple silk into a ball before pushing it into your mouth, gagging you with it. “Don’t worry, this will help.”
It doesn't.
You moan against his tie, saliva pooling against the silky fabric as Zayne pushes the soaked garment deeper into your throat, his chest pressed against your bare back. You look up at him through watery eyes, sniffling, the tingling sensation of being punished in such a way overwhelming you completely. Zayne uses this opportunity to soothe you like he always does— never failing to find the perfect balance between rough and gentle.
"It's alright, I know, my little darling can’t make up her mind. I’ll help you, I’ll show you what you want." Zayne soothes, stroking your cheek with his thumb, his gaze gentle despite his steady and strict voice. Then, he leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he whispers, “If anything hurts or becomes too much, tap the table twice."
You wouldn’t dare, not after finally getting what you wanted.
Zayne slips his hands under the backs of your thighs, easily lifting your weight against his chest as you whimper, the toes of your heels just barely grazing the tiled floor. The position is beyond embarrassing, ass up, face down, completely exposed and at his mercy.
He withdraws one hand, and you cry out, a garbled mess of pleas. The absence of his touch is torturous, the throbbing of your pussy and the soreness of your ass a painful reminder of the punishment you received.
The tent in his pants was tantalizingly obvious, even more pronounced once he pushed his pants down, taking out his length. He spits on his fingers, the slick sounds of him stroking himself making you whine in anticipation. It was oozing with precum, head red and flushed as he jerks himself off with sharp movements between your thighs. You grind your hips back, trying to tempt him, but all Zayne does is coo at your pitiful attempts.
"Look at you, so desperate. All that childish stubbornness just because you want my cock." He lines himself up, the head of his cock catching against your entrance as you shiver. The stretch burns, and you groan, eyes screwing shut at the feeling. "My beautiful, filthy girl."
Zayne whispers, curling an arm between your sweat-slickened bodies. You think he means to finally alleviate the needy throbbing against your clit, but instead his hand presses firmly against your lower stomach as he continues to fuck into you, torturously slow, allowing the blunt head of his cock to bully its way deeper and deeper still.
The sensation is overwhelming, the stretch of Zayne's cock combined with the sting of his earlier punishment leaves you a mess, fluttering around him as he finally bottoms out.
He lets out a long moan, a low rumble that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. You're so full, the head of his cock pressing insistently against the bundle of nerves inside you.
Some distant part of you is mortified of every lewd squelch and moan that echos over the jazz in the public hall, but feeling Zayne gently cup your ass while the other brutally pins you down, hearing him come apart against the back of your neck, knowing that your stoic lover was pushed to such extremes has you keening.
You want to feel every inch of him, so you clench down, and Zayne bites the back of your neck in retaliation, his hips stuttering.
"You’re perfect." Zayne praises, and his breathless voice sends shivers down your spine. "So good for me, taking me so well."
Zayne finally starts moving, letting the tip of his cock pull back until the head catches on the rim of your cunt, trying desperately to keep him inside, until he thrusts back into you in a single harsh motion, watching you fall apart just as he knew you would.
Your scream muffles into the gag, and Zayne reaches down to push the tie deeper into your mouth, the knot catching on the back of your tongue as he sets a steady pace.
The hand against your lower stomach shifts, still pressing hard enough so Zayne can feel his cock throb through you, and yet now positioned perfectly to thumb against your clit too. He needs to make you come, to feel it around him.
Zayne knows your body better than his own, knows exactly what angle he needs to hit, knows exactly where to touch to send your hips jerking back, and knows exactly where to tease to have you clenching down and sobbing into his tie.
It doesn't take long until you're coming, his fingers circling the bundle of nerves until you're screaming, thighs shaking, and he has to hold them open as you fall apart around him, cunt gushing as you squirt over his suit and trousers.
Your orgasm has your walls fluttering, clenching around his cock as it nearly begs for him to be buried deeper inside, and Zayne grunts, a broken moan ripped from his throat as his grip on your thigh tightens.
The pace of his thrusts grows sloppier, and you can tell he's close, the wet squelch of his cock inside your cunt driving you mad as his rhythm becomes inconsistent. You can feel his breath fan against your neck, labored and shaky, with the way he chases his high.
Your cunt aches with how full you feel, overstimulated and sensitive, but you push your hips back anyway, meeting Zayne halfway as you both chase the release that's been building up all night.
With one final thrust, Zayne finally comes inside you, a choked gasp followed by a low moan as his hips stutter, almost fucking his cum back into you as a sloppy mixture of your release drip down his cock and your thighs.
Your eyes roll back into your skull, and your second orgasm takes you by surprise, your body convulsing at the overstimulation and the warm soothing sensation of being filled to the brim.
"Fuck." Zayne whispers, his hands holding your hips as his thumbs trace circles against the dimples at the small of your back. The chill and comfort of his hands is almost enough to distract you from the ache, and you groan, legs finally giving out beneath you as you fall forward onto the pool table, the hard surface unforgiving as the wood rubs against your bruised knees.
Ever so gently, Zayne removes his tie from your mouth, turning you around so you’re pressed tight against his chest, burying his face into the crook of your shoulder. You can feel his rapid heartbeat and the way his hands tremble, and you smile, the familiar tenderness of his touch calming the both of you.
He slowly runs a hand down the curve of your back and you hum against the top of his head, your own hand coming up to gently stroke his hair. “I think I love you, Zayne.”
He doesn’t say a word, instead, you feel his other arm wrap around your waist, tucking you further into his embrace.
The two of you remain like this, tangled in each other until your breathing finally evens out and the fever that inflected you begins to cool. When Zayne finally speaks, his voice is muffled against your skin, and you shiver at the mere brush of his lips. “You’re not hurt, are you?”
“Hmm, not any more than I’d want to be.”
You mean it as a joke, but Zayne immediately stiffens in your hold, pulling back just enough to inspect your neck, then your wrists and hips as he kisses each bruise and remaining mark with hushed apologies.
"Did you mean it?"
You look down at him, his brows furrowed as you thumb at the stubborn crease that appears between them. You’re not sure why, but something in the way he stares up at you, waiting, longing, makes tears prick in the back of your eyes.
"Zayne," your voice is gentle, and you cup his cheek. "I do. I love you."
The tension in his jaw melts, his expression softening into something unnameable. His hand comes up to cup yours, scarred thumb tracing circles against your palm. " Say it again."
"I love you," you repeat, the corners of your mouth tugging upwards. "I love you. I love you."
"Again."
"I love you, Zayne–"
The last syllable of his name is cut off by his lips against yours, and you smile into the kiss, pulling him up until his forehead finally rests on your again.
"As do I," Zayne whispers, voice thick, and the sincerity in his eyes threatens to make you cry.
And you believe him.
#love and deepspace#love and deepspace fanfiction#love and deepspace x reader#lnd zayne#lads zayne#zayne x you#zayne x reader#zayne love and deepspace#lnds smut#l&ds smut#love and deepspace smut#lads x reader#love and deepspace zayne#fuck he has nice hands man
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"so american"
ln4 x american!singer!reader
🎧 - so american by olivia rodrigo
authors note: i promise i haven't forgotten about percy jackson and im worning on a request right now for luke x grumpy!apollo!reader but i'm really on a f1 kick rn. if you want smth specific you can request and don't forget to check out my masterlist. xoxo, liz
MASTERLIST
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twitter:
texts between you and lando:
ynyln's story
view reply from yourbestfriend:
yourbestfriend Y/N
yourbestfriend YOU DIDN'T TELL ME IT WAS GOING SO WELL
ynyln he's so perfect
ynyln i'm so in love
yourbestfriend 🥹
landonorris's story
view reply from oscarpiastri
oscarpiastri mate
oscarpiastri are you with y/n fucking l/n right now
landonorris maybe
landonorris BUT YOU CANT TELL ANYONE
oscarpiastri lily is screaming rn
oscarpiastri don't mess this up
view reply from danielricciardo
danielricciardo u with someone? 🤨
landonorris can't a guy just go out to dinner
danielricciardo not after the paparazzi spotted you with someone like 6 hours ago
landonorris 😐
twitter:
liked by landonorris, sabrinacarpenter, yourbestfriend, and others
ynyln MIAMI!! thank you for three amazing nights, you have all my love 💜❤️🧡
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user GIRL WHO ARE YOU SO SMILEY FOR
user orange heart?? HELLO??!!?!
sabrinacarpenter in love w u
ynyln lets get some espressos and chat 💜
user obsessed with their friendship
user lando in the likes...
user IKR I SWEAR THEY'RE TOGETHER
jackantanoff 🤫
ynyln 🤫
user JACK WHAT DO YOU KNOW
user Y/N???
user smth is coming
gracieabrams 💜💜💜
liked by ynyln
yourbestfriend you rn: 😍🎶✏️
ynyln 😊
user ok something is definitely coming
liked by ynyln, mclaren, carlossainz55, and others
landonorris WWE FUCKIJG DID IT. P1 🏆
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user NO LONGER LANDO NOWINS
mclaren so happy 🧡
liked by landonorris
carlossainz55 LETS GOOOO AMIGO
landonorris 🧡
user first of many
user y/n in the likes what is happeninggg
user OMG SHE JUST COMMENTED
ynyln 🏆💃☀️
liked by landonorris
user what the FUCK
user omg omg omg
user i cannot rn
lilyzneimer HIIII
oscarpiastri cheers mate 🍾
landonorris your overtake at the beginning gave me so much hope, thank you osc
user fav grid friendship
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ynyln my new song, so american, is out now. i love you and i'm so proud of you baby 🧡
tagged landonorris
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user OH MY GOD I CALLED IT
user "and he's got hands that make hell seem cold" correct.
yourbestfriend obsessed w you guys
ynyln i love you
landonorris i love you, even if you're so american
ynyln i love you london boy
user screaming crying throwing up
user if you listen close enough you can hear me sobbing
user ITS HER FIRST LOVE SONG
mclaren sooooo can the crew get tickets or what?
ynyln my people will talk to your people 😉
oscarpiastri lily is literally dying to meet you
ynyln i sense a double date in the future
sabrinacarpenter in her girlfriend era
ynyln espresso really manifested this for me
landonorris' story
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ynyln i love youuuu
landonorris 🧡💜
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carlossainz55 the grid wants tickets to her next show
landonorris mate i can't just get you tickets
carlossainz55 yes you can tf
landonorris is mean i'm sure she'd be excited i just want to wait a little bit
carlossainz55 i will have to release the army then
view reply from oscarpiastri
oscarpiastri WE WANT TICKETS
view reply from danielricciardo
danielricciardo WE WANT TICKETS
view reply from maxverstappen1
maxverstappen1 WE WANT TICKETS
view reply from charles_leclerc
charles_leclerec WE WANT TICKETS
#lando norizz#lando norris#mclaren#f1#formula 1#formula one#lando norris headcannons#lando noreis smau#lizlovestofangirl smau#lizlovestofangirlformula1#lando norris fluff#f1 smau#smau#lando norris x reader#singer!reader#american!reader#formula 1 fluff#lizlovestofangirl
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ADORE UR ANGST!
Can you do a lando norris x y/n where lando is upset with y/n because she wasnt listening when he was ranting about something that happened. He feels annoyed. Y/N doesnt know why he's upset but then she realises. she tries to apoligise
can i just say i love it when y/n messes up, because writing reader groveling is my guilty pleasure <3 thanks anon
look up from your fucking phone (ln4)
✦ pairing - lando norris x female!reader
✦ genre - alot of fighting, y/n is being annoying, angst, fluffy ending
Lando slammed the apartment door shut, the echo bouncing off the bare walls of their new place in Monaco. He threw his helmet on the couch, the familiar orange a stark contrast to the simmering red of his mood.
"Y/N, did you see that?!" he yelled, stomping towards the kitchen.
Y/N was hunched over the counter, phone glued to her ear, a frown etched on her face. "Ugh, why won't this load?..." she trailed off, finally noticing Lando's stormy entrance.
"Didn't you see what Yuki pulled out there?!" Lando practically exploded. "That dive bomb into Turn 12? I could've been wiped out!"
Y/N finally peeled her phone away from her ear. "Yeah, I saw it. Sounds scary," she said, her voice flat. She scrolled through her phone again, a picture of a cupcake taking center screen.
Lando's anger intensified. "Scary? Y/N, it was reckless! He could've ruined both our races!" He gestured wildly with his gloved hands. "And all he gets is a five-second penalty? That's a joke!"
Y/N sighed, a sound of exasperation that sent a fresh wave of irritation through Lando. "Look, I'm sure you'll bounce back. Maybe get some revenge on him next race?" She offered a tight smile, her eyes still glued to the phone.
Lando felt a knot tighten in his chest. "That's it? No 'are you okay?' No 'that was a dirty move?'" His voice dropped to a low growl. "Don't you even care?"
Y/N finally looked up, startled. "Of course I care, Lando! I just... I had a really stressful day too, okay?" She gestured vaguely at the phone. "Work stuff."
The knot in Lando's chest unraveled, replaced by a hollow ache. "Right," he muttered, his voice devoid of its usual spark. "Work stuff is always more important than your boyfriend getting wrecked on the track, apparently."
Y/N's eyes widened. "Hey, that's not fair! I wouldn't say that." She reached out a hand, but Lando flinched away.
"Just forget it," he said, his voice tight. "I need a shower."
He stormed past her, the slam of the bathroom door echoing through the apartment. Y/N stared after him, the phone clattering to the counter with a forgotten thud. The file which had now loaded mocked her from the screen.
Her heart pounded a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She'd been so caught up in her own problems, she hadn't realized Lando was having a terrible day. Shame washed over her as she remembered his frustrated yells, his need for support.
She jumped up, rushing to the bathroom door. "Lando, wait!" she called out, her voice laced with panic. "I'm so sorry, I was just..."
Silence.
She tried the knob, but it wouldn't budge. He must've locked it. Lando, who never locked the bathroom door. A cold dread filled her.
He was mad. Really mad. And it was all her fault.
The silence stretched on for what felt like hours. Dinner, usually a time for shared laughter and stories, was a tense affair. Y/N cooked Lando's favorite pasta dish, but it sat untouched on the table, growing cold beside her untouched plate. Every time she stole a glance at the bathroom door, a knot tightened in her stomach.
Finally, unable to bear the silence any longer, she cleared her throat. "Lando," she began tentatively, "I know you're upset, and I just wanted to say again that I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have been on the phone. I was just..."
The clatter of the bathroom door slamming shut cut her off. Lando stormed into the living room, his face a mask of fury.
"Just what?" he spat out, his voice raw with emotion. "Just another bad day at work for you? Don't you get it, Y/N? Today was a nightmare! Yuki nearly took me out, the car felt off the entire race, and to top it all off, the media keeps hounding me about missing out on the podium."
He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration evident. "And you," he pointed a finger at her, his voice cracking, "you weren't even there for me. You were too busy with your stupid phone to even see how much I was fucking hurting."
Tears welled up in Y/N's eyes. "Lando, I-"
He cut her off again, his voice laced with a raw vulnerability that ripped at her heartstrings. "No, Y/N! You don't get to talk now. I had the worst fucking day of my life, and your sorry does. not. fix. that. You listening to me, maybe even caring, might have. But you weren't there. And frankly, right now, I don't even know if you care at all."
He stormed past her, grabbing his helmet from the couch. "I'm going for a drive. Don't wait up." The slam of the front door echoed through the apartment, leaving Y/N standing alone in the cold, sterile silence. Tears streamed down her face, a silent apology echoing in the empty room. She had messed up, badly. And now, she had to find a way to fix it, even if it meant facing Lando's anger and rebuilding the trust she had so carelessly shattered.
Lando's car tore down the familiar winding roads, the roar of the engine a poor substitute for the roar of frustration in his chest. Tears, hot and angry, blurred his vision as he navigated the steep climb towards his favorite spot - the very same hill where he'd asked Y/N to be his girlfriend.
"Stupid phone. Stupid fucking Yuki. Stupid me," he muttered under his breath, slamming the car into park with more force than necessary. He stormed out, the cool night air doing little to quell the fire burning inside him.
He reached the familiar crest of the hill, the city lights twinkling like scattered diamonds below. It was supposed to be a place of peace, a place where he could clear his head. But tonight, it was a stark reminder of everything he'd lost.
"Why couldn't you have listened to me Y/N," he growled, the words catching in his throat. He sat down on the familiar patch of grass, burying his head in his hands. A choked sob escaped his lips, the sound harsh and raw in the quiet night.
Suddenly, a soft voice broke through his despair. "Lando?"
He looked up, startled, to see Y/N standing hesitantly before him. She was holding a basket overflowing with snacks, drinks, and a familiar fluffy blanket. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her face etched with worry and regret.
"Y/N? What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice hoarse. His anger hadn't quite subsided, but it was overshadowed by a wave of surprise.
"I followed you," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. She set the basket down beside him cautiously, the woven handles creaking softly. "I know you needed some space, but I couldn't just stay there. I had to try and fix this."
Lando hesitated, then gestured towards the spot beside him. Y/N sat down, her gaze fixed on the glittering cityscape. Silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken emotions. Finally, Y/N reached out, placing a hand tentatively on his arm.
"Lando, I'm so, so sorry. There's no excuse for my behavior today. You were having a terrible day, and I completely ignored you. It was selfish and insensitive, and I hurt you. And for that, I am truly sorry."
Lando flinched, a tear rolling down his cheek. He looked at her, his eyes filled with a mixture of hurt and longing. "I just... I needed you, Y/N. Today was one of those days when everything felt like it was going wrong. And all I wanted was for you to be there for me, to listen, to just be you."
Y/N's hand tightened on his arm. "I understand now. And believe me, I was there in spirit. Every time you yelled, every time you slammed the door, it broke my heart a little more. But I was so caught up in my own problems, I didn't even see how much you were hurting."
She squeezed his arm gently. "Please, Lando. Let me try to make it up to you. Let's stay here, talk, share some snacks." She gestured towards the basket with a small, hopeful smile. "Maybe then we can face tomorrow together."
Lando looked from her hopeful face to the inviting spread in the basket. A flicker of his old smile played on his lips. He sighed, the tension easing from his shoulders. "Alright, Y/N. Snacks and talking it out sound pretty good right now."
As they settled under the blanket, the city lights twinkling around them, they began to talk. Lando poured out his frustrations about the race, Yuki, and the media. Y/N listened intently, offering words of encouragement and understanding. They reminisced about better races, laughed at silly inside jokes, and slowly, the rift between them began to heal.
The drive home was filled with a comfortable silence, a silent promise to communicate better in the future. As Lando pulled into their driveway, he turned to Y/N, a genuine smile warming his face.
"Thanks for coming after me, Y/N." He leaned in, his lips brushing softly against hers. "I love you."
Y/N smiled back, her heart overflowing with relief. "I love you too, Lando. And next time, I'm chucking the phone into the bin."
#lando norris#lando norris x female reader#lando norris x you#lando norris x oc#lando norris x y/n#lando norris x reader#ln4#ln4 x y/n#ln4 x reader#ln4 x you#ln4 x female reader#formula 1 x female reader#formula 1 x y/n#formula 1 x you#formula 1 x reader#formula 1#f1 imagine#formula one#y/n#mclaren
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thunderstruck // mick schumacher
summary: the breakout stunt stars behind hollywoods biggest movies are about to get the recognition they deserve with the release of ‘the fall guy’. one stunt woman, however, is about to become a little more well known than the rest
pairing: mick schumacher x stuntwoman!reader
faceclaim: april rose pengilly
liked by ryangosling, emilyblunt and 1,246 others
yourusername hey google, play 'i was made for loving you' by kiss! i can't wait for you guys to see the film, i'm so proud of the work that everybody on set has done.
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user MOTHER
vogueaustralia 😍😍
yourbestie slay the house down bestie
-> yourusername consider it done!
60 Minutes Interview with Stuntwoman Y/N Y/L/N on all things "Fall Guy"!
yourusername just posted to her story!
TEXTS BETWEEN Y/N Y/L/N AND HER BEST FRIEND!
yourusername just posted!
liked by madisonlintz, mickschumacher, yourbestie and 987 others
yourusername not a swiftie but damn, fuck me up florida!
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yourbestie that is not the view from our room....DID YOU GO HOME WITH THE HOT LAP GUY
-> yourusername no comment
-> yourbestie YOURE DATING HOT LAP GUY! THATS THE BACK OF HIS HEAD IN THE LAST PIC
user shes so real
madisonlintz come home i miss my favourite stunt double
-> yourusername im trying but nobody from the studio will tell me if we got a third season (and i need to visit my *real* home)
user guys i might be delulu but is that mick in her last picture? and in the likes?
mickschumacher just added to his story!
yourusername just posted!
liked by mickschumacher, yourbestie, vogueaustralia and 2,381 others
yourusername so i might have gone home with the hot lap guy (and my show might have gotten renewed for a season three)
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yourbestie I FUCKING KNEW IT
-> yourusername hehehehehe
yourbestie I EXPECT TO BE GIVING A SPEECH AT YOUR WEDDING
ryangosling you guys are so cute! oh to be young and in love again
-> yourusername you're happily married and hopelessly smitten with your wife????
mimirogers bring mick to the set when we start filming again! i want to meet him!
user its so on brand for mick to date such a badass...have you seen her stunt reels?
mickschumacher i love you! stay safe when you do the car roll!
-> yourusername stay safe on track this weekend! i love you more!
mickshumacher 😍😍 i love my hot girlfriend
#mick schumacher x reader#formula one x reader#f1 imagine#mick schumacher imagine#ig aus#f1 smau#f1 x reader#f1 x you#mick schumacher smau#Spotify
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Okay, so, there's one thing that I'm kind of tired of beating around the bush with white fans about, and it's this: if you pretend to "ignore" race in OFMD, you will miss a lot of what the story is trying to tell you.
Now, I do not truly believe that race is something you can ignore in a story. I just don't think it's possible, and when you try, what you wind up with is something like the conservative worldview of "not seeing color." Trying to ignore race will make you sound racist and ignore important racialized themes.
You can't understand Stede's need for character growth at the beginning of the show if you just focus on how he's "cringe" instead. When Stede makes his crew members of color serve them at dinner when the English board, this is gross, and their faces tell us exactly how they feel about it. Stede unlearning his biases here isn't subtle (guy who called him and Pete "fucking racists" I love you forever), and learning to take all of his crew members seriously as fully actualized people, moving away from the sort of Kindergarten-teacher behavior at the start to truly valuing them as people and taking their input and suggestions, it's an important aspect. Stede asking Abshir for intel at the party isn't just funny, it's also proof he's learned to see value in people in positions like Abshir's.
You can't understand the motivations behind Ed's actions, especially the violent ones, if you ignore the racist overtones. Ed is not a randomly violent person - he gets angry at a captain for calling him a "rich donkey," and if you think it's unreasonable for a brown man to want to get revenge on a white man for calling him that? Then fuck I'm glad you can't see the conversations I have with my other black friends, man. Ed's anger and frustration at the party aren't just because he fucked up with some spoons, lol, you can't get it unless you realize he's the only brown guest in that room. Yeah, he's ignoring Stede's advice, but he's immediately under a pressure Stede never has been. Ed's wanted posters in s2, too, rely on heavily caricaturizing Jewish features to make him look grotesque and monstruous. We're supposed to be horrified by that aspect.
And, yeah, when we ignore the racist tones to Izzy's behavior, I think that's undermining an important aspect of who he is as an antagonistic character. Him buying Ed from the English should feel like a gross violation, because it is. When he sits in front of the crew eating and making Fang and Ivan serve him, I think it's a pretty obvious parallel to how the crew members of color were similarly insulted in the pilot. It's impossible to ignore race in the way he dehumanizes Ed and tries to force him back into a caricature of behavior he hates and is horrified by - when he calls Ed a "wild dog" in s2, if that doesn't cause a visceral reaction of disgust in you, I dunno what to tell you. This doesn't mean that Izzy is irredeemable - just as Stede wasn't - but it does mean that racist biases are things Izzy had to unlearn.
OFMD so often takes so much care with how its characters of color are depicted. We get thoughtful, relatable moments (those French boat people getting humiliated and setting their boat on fire after they'd tried to touch Ed's beard is so satisfying, guys) and excellent, supportive friendships between men of color. The characters of color on OFMD are clean, smart, respected, and it's wonderful. And just because these things aren't always relatable to you specifically doesn't mean they're not important parts of the story.
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PR Stunt (Only, Right?) | Sukuna/M!Reader | Teaser!
#NSFW in full, bottom!reader, top!sukuna, Sukuna owns a body shop, reader is a performer, kinda meet cute, ABO dynamics, mpreg, yes there are always babies involved because i love dad sukuna, surprise baby, sukuna is a dickhead (what else is new), teaser not edited lmao
Note: This is just going to be a one-shot since it's already pretty much completed, just need to finish off the tail end and then go back and edit. Wanted a break from writing the other stories for a bit, so I hope you'll enjoy the full story when it's out
tags: @better-imagination-9 @better-imagination-9
“Did you sleep with (L. Name) (F. Name)?”
The question caught Sukuna off guard; normally, Uraume didn't inquire into his personal life in regards to who he had and hadn't slept with. They were a friend, yes, but moreover they were the bookkeeper and helped with securing clients and arranging meetings–celebrities and their managers were fucks that Sukuna didn't like negotiating with. Best to leave the yapping to someone with a cooler head.
“Where the hell did that come from?” Sukuna asked as he rolled out from under the newest commissioned vehicle.
Uraume walked to him, iPad in hand, and turned it to him, stone cold.
Sukuna sat up straighter and squinted at the screen, annoyed. You’d probably just made up some salacious rumour and spread it throughout your friend circles; or worse, you wanted revenge on him for something he probably definitely did. In that case, Sukuna could somewhat understand. But still–
(Name) putting on weight? What’s happening to the former bombshell babe of Japan?!
Pregnant with a baby boy?! The secret's out!
(Name) returns to the stage after giving birth to a baby boy–but who is the father?
(Name) driving a Ryoumen Sukuna rescue vehicle?! Could he be the deadbeat dad we've been looking for?
Sukuna sucked his teeth after skimming over the article titles presented to him.
“...No proof.”
“Ah. Then please explain this,” Uraume requested, still polite as ever, as they flicked to an additional few images the scumbag paparazzi had caught of you.
One was the car mentioned. Sukuna remembered it like it was yesterday–the joy of restoring a Porsche 911 back into its former glory was unmatched. You happily paid for all the parts and too often swung by to see the progress being made on the old thing. Obviously, Sukuna was more than happy to oblige.
The next was of you holding a little nugget of a baby against your chest as you walked down a street in Shibuya. Nothing too damning, nothing too inspirational.
But the last one–
“The fuck?” Sukuna mumbled as he snatched the iPad from Uraume’s hands and zoomed in on the now-toddler sitting with you in that damn Porsche, grinning brightly beside his mum while you ruffled his hair. His very, very pink hair.
Sukuna took a breath while he thought. He didn't have to think too hard, though, not when he still dreamed about you and the short-lived fling between the two of you.
“A Porsche 911, huh?” Sukuna grinned as he looked over the beat up, rusted beater of a car. He could still see scraps of its former glory, of the beautiful thing she used to be. Heaven knows she would've become an irreparable hunk of junk if you hadn't bought it from a scrapyard.
“Yep.” You beamed. “So you think you can make her pretty again?”
“You kidding? I'd pay you to let me fix this thing, baby.” Sukuna caught sight of your security stepping forward, but you waved them off without a second thought.
Sukuna smirked. “But it’s not gonna be cheap.”
You nodded. “Well, do what you have to. I'll pay whatever you need, handsome.”
“Yeah?” Sukuna asked, looking your neatly-manicured appearance up and down; you were dressed like you were meeting someone of great importance (and you were, obviously), with your hair groomed perfectly, outfit fit for a premiere, skin flawless.
“Mhm. And I tip well.” you looked him up and down in kind, grinning as you bit at the nub of your sunglasses.
“Done.”
Every time you came to check on his progress, genuine excitement flooding in your motormouthed Words, you'd go home with him and fuck him silly.
And now, you were the momma to his baby. Allegedly.
“I–so what the fuck does this have to do with anything?” Sukuna ran a frustrated hand through his hair after Uraume took the tablet back. “Bitch isn't asking for anything, he's not asking me to be his public fucking baby daddy, not asking me to pay for nothing?”
“No,” Uraume conceded, “But he and his PR managers have reached out concerning this.”
The man groaned and stood. “Fucking hell. Can't stand fucking PR teams. Thw fuck did they want?”
“They want to make a statement about Touma's father.”
Sukuna froze.
“Touma's a good name for a boy, right?”
You asked the question so suddenly, so out of nowhere in the quiet of the afterglow. The city lights sparkled and winked at you both through the towering windows keeping you safe from the outside world. In hindsight, Sukuna would wonder if the city was excited for him. For you.
“What, for a mutt?” Sukuna drawled, puffing on a blunt while he played with your hair and drowned in the tingles left in the wake of fingers drawing circles on his bare chest.
“For a kid,” you chastised With a laugh. “I like Touma. Or Touka for a girl. Ayato's nice, too. Maybe Kazue.”
“You better not be pregnant.”
“I'm not, I'm not. I'm just getting baby fever, I guess.” You hummed and left a sweet kiss against his tan skin. “I guess being around a big, bad boy like you's got me feeling domestic.”
Sukuna laughed, dazed and happy. “You wanna ruin this pretty lil’ body for a fucking kid? Be my guest. Just don't come looking for a booty call after you've ruined yourself like that.”
“Oh, don't worry,” you cooed. “I won't.”
Man. Man.
“A statement.”
“In other words–”
“I'm not the fucking father.”
“This might be a good way to get Yorozu off your case,” Uraume suggested, and Sukuna perked up.
“Right. She fuckin’ hates kids.”
“So, if you were to have a son, and it's revealed you've been quietly trying to make things work behind the scenes with (Name), then hypothetically–”
“I'll take the runt.”
#sukuna x reader#ryomen sukuna x reader#sukuna x male reader#sukuna x m!reader#sukuna x you#jjk x you#male reader insert#male reader#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen reader insert#jujutsu kaisen x male reader#jujutsu kaisen x you
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THAT MOMENT YOU REALIZE ALASTOR IS ACTUALLY WAY SCARIER THAN WE GIVE HIM CREDIT FOR
So, in the throes of doing world-building for my Hazbin fics and analyzing characters and how they fit into Pentagram's political system, I realized not only how powerful Alastor actually is, but how fucking scary.
Now, yes, in the grand scheme of things, Alastor is far from the most powerful person in Hell. Far from it. The Royal Family (Lucifer, Lilith, and Charlie), and the Goetia are way above the Overlords. Our twinky, angsty, galaxy bird, Stolas, could 100% body Alastor. I'm sorry, Al. I love you, babe. But in terms of the hierarchal system, you and the other Overlords aren't influential to the rest of Hell, at all.
But, it's an entirely different story if we stick exclusively to the Pride Ring.
I'm not trying to do a big, essay-length analysis, that's a lot of work and I'm tired, so I'll try to make it as brief as possible.
We know three crucial things: 1) sinners aren't allowed to leave the Pride Ring, 2) they've built a semi-functional society for themselves that is exclusive to their specific ring (with a political system that they've molded just for them), and 3) sinners can't kill other sinners.
So, what we have here is a big piece of land stuffed with people who can't leave it, in a society they've built specifically for themselves, with an amassing population that is constantly growing because they have no way of dying/or killing each other. (Honestly, it's like Heaven was setting them up for an Exterminations - THOUGH I'VE ACTUALLY COME UP WITH A COMPLETELY DIFFERENT, COMPLETELY FANON BASED THEORY/WORLD BUILDING IDEA ABOUT HOW HELL HAD KEPT THE POPULATION DENSISTY CONTROLLED FOR THE MILLENIA OF COLLECTING HUMAN SOULS, HOW THE POPLUATION STILL GOT TOO LARGE AND THUS RESULTED IN THE EXTERMINATIONS, AND HOW IT WAS ROSIE WHO HAD A HUGE HAND IN IT ALL.
Anyway, back on topic, so the Overlords essentially control this Ring. We know Stolas lives in the Pride Ring (judging by the red sky we see when he's at his house), so its possible more Goetia live there too (and imps, and succubi; the Pride Ring is known for being the most diverse of the Rings), but we haven't seen any evidence of the Goetia, or any of the other Hellborn, interact or influencE Pentragram City in a political way--outside of the Goetia being above the Overlords in the hierarchal system). I headcanon that they do have some involvement in Pentagram City, as they do live there, but for the most part, the Pride Ring is left completely to the sinners and how they run things.
Lillith got involved, obviously (but she's been missing for years in the beginning of the show), Lucifer hasn't been involved for who knows how long, and Charlie obviously doesn't have a lot of sway, nor did she have any previous influence given how she's treated by the very people she rules over. Her status is known, but there's no actual respect for her or her title as the literal Princess of Hell.
The royal family may the the strongest beings in all of the 7 Rings, but outside of Lillith, it seems they had very little involvement (in Charlie's case) or interest (in Lucifer's case) in ingratiating themselves into Pentagram City.
The entire Ring is being run by the Overlords. They cannot leave it. The Pride Ring is their domain. This is their new home. This is their world.
And in this world, the Overlords are the top dogs.
So, Alastor is powerful just in the sense that he is one of the Overlords. Like them, he is essentially one of the rulers of their personal, caged-off little world. He has power and political sway. He joined the other Overlords for Carmilla's meeting, where they were going to discuss the aftermath of the Extermination and what they can do about the loss in the population (and thus, their power, given that owning souls is how they get it).
It's implied that this isn't the first time they've had meetings like this, and if they get together to discuss the best ways to recover from the Exterminations and make up for their mutual losses (literally working together when they could've all just been rivals trying to undermine the others to get more souls), who knows what else they've discussed in their efforts to keep Pentagram City running (especially considering that the best way to maintain their power IS by maintaining the city, it's people, and keeping it from falling apart at the seams. Taking care of the city is in their best interests - I use "taking care of" very, very loosely, considering this is still Hell and it's hardly the gold standard of utopia's). They're essentially a Board of Leadership with mutually shared power.
The Overlords have all the power. All the sway. In their established world, THEY are at the top of the food chain.
BUT then, you take into account that sinners can't kill each other (a rule that extends even to the Overlords), and that's when things get interesting.
In episode 4, "Masquerade" Valentino told Angel that he's "killed people for less" during the scene in the dressing room. But, in episode 2, after Valentino had torn apart one of Velvette's models, she wasn't upset in the way an Overlord would be if they lost someone under contract, especially considering that owning souls is what gives them power (and I assume that they own the souls of most, if not all, of the people they employ). She said that she can't sit and wait for "that bitch to pull herself back together," so, yeah, the implication is that sinners can literally be torn apart (even by the Overlords, who are the strongest among them) but won't die is immense. No matter what you do, a sinner will reform, or heal, or whatever, but they will come back.
So, consider, that there is only one person who's been able to kill sinners, permanently, and that person is Alastor.
Not only that, he killed Overlords.
In a realm where death is impossible, Alastor had cheated the system. And as far as we know, he's the only one who's been able to do it.
The only person I can think of who has something similar is Carmilla, but that's because she'd integrated angelic steel into her apparel. (Though, there's something to be said about her selling angelic weapons to the masses, as she is a manufacturer and distributor of them not only in Pentagram city, but all of the 7 Rings, (as Stryker had gotten his hands on a "Carmine blessing tipped rifle" to kill off Stolas, who's a Goetia), thus, sinners killing other sinners can still be possible, but that's only if they get you're hands on a weapon with angelic steel, or they're wealthy enough to buy onr, and I imagine Carmilla doesn't sell those cheap.
But Alastor didn't use angelic steel. He found a way to tear souls apart, where otherwise they were only able to be owned. Considering how terrified Husk (who is one of the most calm and collected people in the Hazbin crew; who had once been an Overlord, himself) was when AIastor threatened to do they same to him, like, that goes to show just how serious it is. He was literally full-body shaking. Ears-pinned back. Flight-fight-or freeze. Pressing himself down into the carpet.
We've never seen him like that at any other time during the show, even during the Extermination when they were all about to die.
Alastor's threat had scared him more than literally getting killed my an army of Exorcist's.
And like, yeah???? I get it????
That shit has to be terrifying. Not only for those that Alastor threatens, but for every single sinner in Pentagram City.
This random guy cheated the system, killed without any outside means, and if he can topple Overlords (the strongest and most powerful of them) almost over night, there's no saying what he can do to regular sinners. (Or what they think he can do, I have more thoughts surrounding whether Alastor would be able to tear apart a soul that is owned by someone else, but this is already getting long).
And, presumably, the only reason he stopped is because he decided to.
Like???? Do you guys understand what I'm saying???? For someone to have that kind of power??? In a system where that power SHOULD NOT be possible??? A power that gives him this massive advantage over everyone else???? That no one else can do???? And the only reason he doesn't use it is because he decides not to????
It's no wonder Alastor was so feared. Why he still is feared (by those who know of him at least LOL he has been gone for 7 years). And, like, yeah we see him be all creepy and scary during the show. We see him use his magic and grow into his demon form, and he is intimidating in that right, but I think the true horror of his character comes from this ability to kill the unkillable in a system where it never should've been possible in the first place.
That's where the true terror of the Radio Demon lies. That's where the visceral fear comes from. And it's why he's someone you wouldn't want to mess with, even for the other Overlords (especially for the other Overlords).
Like, it makes sense why he has such a massive ego. Why he thinks he can take on anyone. It's because he has. He's powerful, even by Overlord standards, and he knows it. And it makes further sense why him now being on a leash is making him unravel at the seams.
Am I making sense??? Is this all just meaningless rambling to you guys??? Idk! Idk. It's just been tumbling through my head, and it made me realize just how scary Alastor is, especially from an outside perspective.
I have SO many headcanons T.T I've done so much world-building, and I am have so much fucking fun. I feel like a kid in a sandbox. My brain hasn't stopped buzzing since this show came out.
Anyway, I'm off to outline more wips and work on the fics I'm writing. Happy Hazbin-ing to the rest of you.
#sometimes I feel like im out of my mind#the way this show makes me go feral#and GOD I love doing worldbuilding for Pentagram City#this is the most worldbuilding I've done for any other fandom or fic I've written#im having so much fun#my favorite worldbuilding right now is what I've come up for the cannibals#they are one of the biggest most crucial most terrifying aspects to the Pride Ring and the sinners#im just out here having a good time#i needed to get these thoughts out of my head#really#its know wonder Alastor has such a massive ego#its not wonder why he thinks he can take on anyone#because he HAS been able to.#hazbin hotel#alastor#hazbin alastor#hazbin hotel alastor#the radio demon#alastor hazbin hotel#alastor the radio demon#meta#character analysis#world building#headcanons#my world building
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dearly beloved
sunday & gn!reader | wc: ~1.3k
Some birds were not meant to fly.
tags/warnings: SPOILERS FOR 2.2, implied/nongraphic animal death, childhood friends trope, kind of a character study, there is humor is you squint, romance is not the focus here
notes: the story quest had the gears turning and i have this to show for it! i honestly just wanted to yap. so. sunday's characterization is loose and i just had fun with this!
Sitting on the windowsill is a cage fashioned from wrought iron.
Inside Robin’s bedroom—the one you play in almost everyday—it’s a jarring new addition; the dull gray metalwork draws your eyes away from the scattered dolls and books resting upon the honey oak floors. Before your lips curl downwards, the shape inside of the cage catches your attention.
…A small bird chirps from inside.
“Robin!” you call out, hoping she’ll hear you from the hallway, “Since when did you get a pet bird? And is that a Charmony Dove?” She doesn’t come running in to answer, so you assume that she’s still held up with dinner. Making your way over, the little dove chirps at you.
It’s so pretty—and you would surely be scolded for gaping like a fish impolitely near any of the Oak Family—but Robin has never been a Judgey-Mc-Judger-Pants like all of those other stuffy adults.
“So adorable…” You decide to stick your hand between the bars so you can pet the animal. Though it’s beautiful, you’re sure you’d be able to hear its song much better if it could be let out for some fresh air.
An annoying voice decides to scare the ever-living shit out of you. “It is, right?”
“F-Fuck! Sunday, you scared me!” you say hotly, jabbing an accusing finger to his chest. “Where is Robin? She doesn’t take joy in my suffering!”
He tries not to smile at your “crass” language—whatever that means. “Mr. Gopher Wood wanted her to continue her lessons instead of playing with you,” Sunday straightens his posture, “She made me come to tell you, so…”
“Are you kicking me out?” You narrow your eyes at him. “Because if you are, I didn’t even wanna be here anyway! Robin is better than yo—”
He facepalms like you’ve seen your mother do. “No, I’m not. I don’t think I could make you leave if I tried. But weren’t you wondering about the dove?”
Your scowl drops into an awed smile, forgetting the whole reason why you were upset. The bird shifts from foot to foot (talon to talon?) on its perch, looking at you with eyes that look like sparkling amethysts. “Yes! When did you guys adopt one? I’ve never seen a Charmony Dove here before.”
Sunday frowns, a serious one, you note. It looks out of place on his face that still matches the chubbiness of yours, but he’s always been the one to talk you out of shenanigans in your ragtag group. He seems older right now, standing like he’s ready to lead an entire lineage while he can barely preen his feathers by himself.
“That’s because they normally don’t live here. Robin and m—Robin and I—found it outside in one of the gardens a week ago, sick and hurt,” he says, taking a spot at your side while you examine the bird with sympathy. “We decided to adopt it and nurse it back to health.”
“Poor thing…” It allows you to scratch under its neck, cooing affectionately under your touch. “At least it’s looking better. Robin must be so happy to have her own pet in her own room! Did she name it yet?”
Sunday frowns deeper, and he should really stop doing that, ‘cause he’ll get wrinkles. “No, she didn’t name it yet.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Robin… isn’t really happy about us adopting the dove.” Now that just doesn’t make sense! Robin loves animals, and you both once talked about adopting hundreds of them if you could. You’re about to open your mouth until Sunday adds on quickly, “She says birds are meant to fly in the sky.”
“I mean, she’s not wrong,” you survey the sturdy cage and how it dwarfs the inhabitant inside. “It looks like it’s in jail like Hanu from the cartoon.”
He flicks your forehead. “Be serious for once.”
“We’re eight!” you cry.
Sunday agrees to show you how to feed and hold the dove properly after you beg him, and the longer you hold fledgling life in your hands, the more cruel the cage seems. You don’t know if birds are meant to do this or that, but you know that their song is louder (and more annoying) when they chirp outside of your window.
Before you leave for the day, he also tells you that he and Robin plan to release the Charmony Dove when it fully recovers. A bittersweet notion that you think fits the siblings perfectly. If Robin is the sun that everyone’s eyes will be on, then Sunday must be the silent moon obscured by the curtain.
The moon lost its sun not long after. Robin’s departure from Penacony was also bittersweet, and you were left with one less friend. Not a week after she left, you found yourself in her empty bedroom, lonely. She did say that you were allowed inside anytime you wanted, and that you both would message everyday. Still, you missed her.
Something else is clearly missing too. The wrought iron cage that normally houses the Charmony Dove you’ve become familiar with is empty. You don’t think it could have escaped; the door to the enclosure is sealed with a solemn air. Sunday would naturally be taking care of the little thing, that much he told you, so where is it?
You get your answer after searching the winding halls for a short bit.
“...I didn’t mention this to you because I knew it would make you upset,” his brow is furrowed again, and you’d tease him for looking like an old man, but something is definitely wrong. “But the dove died a few days ago. It tried to fly, and when it did, it crashed.”
“That’s… what? I thought that you said it was healthy,” you supply, heart clenching.
“I’m sorry. It was, but I guess that some birds aren’t meant to fly.”
You don’t think you’re going to cry. “Why not? It looked perfectly healthy, so why shouldn’t it be able to fly like the others?”
Sunday laughs, “That’s a good question. It’s unfair, isn’t it? If we didn’t set it free, it’d be alive.” Somehow you get the feeling that Sunday isn’t feeling guilty, but instead something else. His eyes are set and intense, as if he’s not talking about a Charmony Dove, but something more than you can’t understand.
It is unfair. Birds are supposed to belong to the sky; that’s one of the first things you learn about them when you’re learning to speak your first words and take your first steps.
You feel heavy. “I’m glad it, um, passed when it was free, at least.” Maybe he’s acting a bit more down because of Robin leaving—which does make sense. You feel far away from him.
Sunday grabs your hand tentatively. “I wish there didn’t have to be an ‘at least’.”
You squeeze back. “Maybe one day, there doesn’t have to be… does Robin know?”
(You’re too naïve to notice the look of resolve aging his features by the day.)
Now he looks guilty—doing that thing where he shifts his weight from foot to foot, “I didn’t want to upset her either.”
It’s silent save for the shuffle of your feet as he leads you out of the room and outside into the familiar gardens. They’re beautiful, filled with freesias, roses, begonias, and even a few unkempt weeds growing in the little abandoned corners. You’d go as far as to call it your paradise.
The reason you’re here reveals itself: a stone marking a mound of dirt that is plainly a makeshift grave. “Is this…?”
Sunday nods, halo dipping in tandem with his head. “It is. Just like the cage, it also needed a place to rest. This time I, um, fashioned it,” he pauses, “But one day, like you said, hopefully there needn’t be an at least. I want to make a world where there isn’t one.”
That sounds bittersweet, you think, plucking a weed from the otherwise flawless grass and placing it on the pillow of earth.
(You just hope that the boy beside you doesn’t lean too far in either direction.)
taglist: @flower-yi, @moineauz, @nomazee
#—stellaronhvnters.#・ nouveau livre ˎˊ˗#sunday x reader#hsr x reader#honkai star rail x reader#sunday hsr x reader#hsr sunday x reader#sunday x you#sunday x y/n#star rail x reader#sunday angst#hsr angst#honkai star rail x you#hsr x you#sunday x gn!reader
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Temptation & Consequences
A Short Story
~Jensen has been busy all weekend at the convention, leaving little time for fun with his girl. Luckily, Y/N knows how to get his attention... and more...~
Jensen Ackles x F!Reader
2,176 Words
Warnings: NSFW, Dom!Jensen, sub!Bratty!Reader, Hair Pulling, Spanking, Kinda rough(ish) sex, Delicious.
A/N: Another block off my @jacklesversebingo board. The prompt was "temptation". Also written for Kym who wanted some hair pulling. Hope you all enjoy!
JacklesBingo Masterlist
Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist ~ Patreon ~ Published Works
His phone buzzed.
He couldn’t hear it, but he felt it vibrating in the front left pocket of his tight jeans.
Ignoring the alert, Jensen stepped up to the mic stand and reached for it, tipping it up slightly so that it was aimed at his lips. He smiled and the crowd swooned. That was all it took- just a flash of a grin and a sweep of green eyes and the whole room fell to its knees. It was too much power, and inevitably fleeting, but he loved it just the same.
Another alert shook against his thigh and Jensen’s attention was pulled away from the purple-haired teen who was timidly inching closer to asking her actual question. He knew who was texting and it was all he could do not to sneak a peek at his screen.
“...And yeah, so I just wanted to say thank you. My mom and I really love Supernatural.”
Jensen smiled and nodded in thanks. “Your mom?”
The girl blushed. “Yeah. She made me watch.”
The cell buzzed again.
Jensen pursed his lips and narrowed his gaze at the girl. “Your mom,” he said again, making the front row snigger. He raised a brow and acted offended. “How old are you?”
“Fourteen.”
He sighed heavily and rubbed a hand across his forehead. “I am so old…”
The crowd laughed and the girl hid her face.
“I’m sorry!”
Jensen shook his head. “Fourteen,” he echoed. “Sheesh. Who’s your favorite Winchester?”
The girl chewed her lip and bashfully leaned into the microphone.
“Well?” Jensen grew comically annoyed.
She cleared her throat. “Sam.”
With great flare, Jensen tossed his hands up into the air and spun away.
As the audience enjoyed the theatrics, Jensen’s pocket vibrated twice and he gave in, dragging it free from his jeans. While the room was distracted, he checked the messages and his pulse raced.
‘You look so fucking hot today, J.’
‘that shirt is killing me. The buttons… your huge arms…’
Jensen looked up at the crowd, his cheeks beginning to burn.
‘Need your big cock in my mouth’
‘Or right here…’
He scrolled down to the last message and was met with a close up of Y/N’s bare tits. Her nipples were hard, her skin creamy and begging to be touched.
With a thick swallow, Jensen closed the messages and stuffed the phone back into his pocket.
“This is why I don’t do panels alone!” he joked, swinging back toward the mic.
Fans came and went, questions flew around his head. There was nothing that he hadn’t been asked before and he was able to phone it in well, all the while thinking about his own phone. Two more texts came through but he refused to look at them, knowing Y/N was just upping the ante by teasing him some more.
“Who would win in a fight, Soldier Boy or Dean?”
Jensen laughed at the question as if he’d never heard it before. He had.
Another buzz.
He scratched a hand down his cheek and grabbed his phone, looking quickly before jamming it into his back pocket.
‘Hurry. Im starting without you’
A photo of her fingers against her thighs, tips poised and ready to dip into the sweet honey between.
He hissed a breath in and then let it out slowly, pretending to ponder the question. Finally:
“Well, obviously Soldier Boy is a supe, so he’s stronger…”
The crowd was divided, half cheering, half booing. Jensen held up his hands and called for patience.
“That being said,” he growled into the mic, “Dean is a genius and he’s always got a plan. I think he could kick a little ass before goin’ down, don’t you?”
Half a smile from his plump lips pulled the audience back together and everyone, no matter which character they favored, cheered and had Jensen’s back.
He always won them over.
The final message came through and he glanced at the screen while the audience carried on. A photo of her wet fingers pulling at her juicy bottom lip greeted him. Her pink tongue was curled and ready to steal a taste and Jensen could all but hear her intoxicating moan.
He clenched his jaw, shoved the phone back in his pocket and slyly adjusted himself.
She was gonna get it.
He’d make sure of it.
Y/N was backstage when he stepped through the curtain. Phone in hand, she leaned against the wall, eyes heavily painted and staring as if he were the only thing she could see. She was dressed up for the convention, skirt short and boots tall.
Green eyes traipsed down her body, making her pulse quicken.
Jensen shook a few hands, chatted quickly with his assigned volunteer handler, and fake-smiled at everyone around him. He kept one eye on Y/N, glaring his disapproval and offering a stern warning.
She could run if she wanted to, but he knew she wouldn’t.
Pleasantries done, he pushed through the crowd and slowly walked towards her. She stood up straight as if pulled by puppet strings and bit her lip, scared but aglow with anticipation.
He dipped his chin and pointed at her with a solo finger, shooting an invisible bullet at the center of her. She shivered and he motioned quickly to the hallway.
Defiant, she stood frozen on the spot until his thick fingers curled around her upper arm and yanked.
Not a word was spoken.
Not until the door slammed behind him.
“You think you’re funny?” he asked, flicking on the light and illuminating the empty conference room. A long, highly polished table sat in the middle of the room, its chairs stacked against the blank back wall.
Jensen took a step toward her and Y/N countered, falling back a pace.
“Well?”
She swallowed hard and smiled. “I mean… I wasn’t trying to be funny.”
He sucked his teeth. “And what, exactly, were you trying to do?”
A tingle of fear soaked arousal ran down her spine and Y/N took another step backwards.
“Um… Just trying to… uh…”
“Get yourself in trouble?” he grit.
She shook her head teasingly slowly. “No…”
He loomed above her. “Get me hard on stage in front of everyone?”
She bit back a grin. “No?”
He lunged forward, grabbing a giant fistful of hair and tugging her around. She spun on the spot, guided by his firm grip, and held in a gasping cry.
“You wanted my blood to boil, didn’t you, little girl?”
She held her breath.
He pulled harder and her back arched.
“You wanted to get me so worked up that I’d have no choice but to take out all my frustrations on you.”
Jensen turned his wrist and wound her hair around his hand. Her neck lengthened and curved backward. He dipped his lips to her ear, growling deeply.
“Was that your plan?” He tugged again and she moaned. “Answer me.”
His breath on her ear sparked goosebumps along her throat. His voice made her tremble. The surge of pain he invoked traveled down to her cunt and she could feel herself drip.
She exhaled her reply. “Yes…”
A tiny smirk played upon his plump lips.
“Did you think you’d get away with it?” he teased, pulling her back to fall against his chest. The hand in her hair dropped to her throat and his fingers curled around the front. He didn’t squeeze, just kept his hand in place, letting her know that he could.
She knew it all too well.
“Did you think I wouldn’t punish you for all that teasing?”
She swallowed against his palm. “I… I knew you would.”
Jensen snaked his left hand around her waist and up to grab her breast. She whimpered, let her head fall back against him.
“Wanted you to,” she confessed.
He pinched her nipple and snapped his teeth by her ear. She shivered.
“You’re a bad girl, Y/N…”
Helplessly, she nodded. “I am.”
His fingers tightened gently around her pulse points and Y/N’s eyes fluttered. Her heart raced, her head became fuzzy.
“Such a fucking brat,” he hissed. His left hand slid down her front, tucked into the warmth between her thighs. He hummed darkly when his fingers slipped against bare flesh. “No panties, either?” He tapped on her slit. “You are asking for it.”
He teased her pussy, dragging his middle finger back and forth over the sensitive outer lips but never pushing inside. Y/N rolled her hips back and felt his cock, hard and trapped in his jeans.
She chewed her lip and wiggled her ass against him. “You gonna give it to me or do I have to go find someone else to help out?”
His voice deepened. His fingers squeezed a bit more. “Excuse me?”
Y/N laughed teasingly. “I don’t know, Rob’s looking pretty hot today… got that sexy beard going-”
With a shove from behind, the table came up to greet her and Y/N found herself face down on the polished top.
“You think so?” Jensen yanked her skirt up, exposing her ass and wet cunt.
“I always think Rob is hot,” she answered, pressing her luck.
Jensen opened his belt, ripped his zipper down.
“Especially with that stupid little hat…”
He’d had enough.
He clenched his teeth, kicked her feet apart, and grabbed her hips.
“Shut up,” he warned.
Y/N smiled into the cold wood. “The things I would let him do to me…”
“I said, shut up.”
Y/N opened her mouth to expand upon her lustful feelings for his friend, but Jensen forced a choked cry out of her instead.
In one unceremonious thrust, he was buried deep in her slick hole. Her pussy gripped him tight and Jensen inhaled hard and loud, his eyes snapping shut as lust and relief washed over him.
“Fuck…”
Y/N’s eyes rolled as he crushed into her from behind; the warm, solid mass of him pinning her to the table. She managed to push her palms up against her chest and lift her head, but his thrusts were quick and powerful, each forcing her back down onto the table.
“God, Jay-” Her voice crackled. Her breath stuttered.
His nails dug into her sides and Y/N moaned.
“Needed this so fucking bad,” she whimpered.
Jensen clawed at her ass and then slapped her left cheek hard.
She gasped but couldn’t move away. Moaned but couldn’t reach for more. She was desperately captive.
Another crack and she melted. Gentle pain spread like warm honey through her system and she relaxed, falling into his rapid rhythm.
His hips jerked faster, cock jabbed in deeper. She clenched around him, her body pulsing with edging pleasure.
“Please-”
Jensen growled wordlessly, lost in the moment. He bent his knees, dipped down and slowly stroked upwards.
Y/N hissed and clawed helplessly at the table. With nothing to hold onto, nothing to scratch, her nails slid across the smooth top and she shuddered. “Fuck! Please!”
Once more, he grabbed her hair; his palm pushing hard at the base of her skull. He twisted his wrist, yanking up a ponytail into his fist.
“Yeah? You want all this?”
He pulled and her back arched, lifting her chest from the table.
Her voice was shaking. “Y-yes!”
The web of pain mixed with his swift thrusts and Y/N came, her body squeezing him hard. Jensen let out a tight-lipped cry and slammed into her again and again, quickly following along.
“Fucking, fuck!”
When his hand relaxed, Y/N fell back down to the table and struggled to slow her breath. She could feel him stuffed inside, hesitant to back away.
“So good, baby,” she cooed.
Gently, he let himself fall over her and lean close to kiss her cheek. “Was, wasn’t it?” He grinned, toothy and punch drunk.
“Remind me to text you more,” she laughed as he moved away, releasing her from captivity.
He shook his head, tucked himself away. “Don’t even think about it.”
Green eyes were stern, but she knew he’d enjoyed himself too.
Spinning around, Y/N pressed up on her tiptoes and kissed his lips. She licked into his mouth while sneaking a hand around to dig in his back pocket. Quickly, she withdrew his ever-present bandana. His cum was beginning to drip down her thigh and she needed to wipe it away before heading back out into the real world.
She took a step back with the kerchief and Jensen grabbed her wrist.
“I don’t think so,” he grunted, ripping the bandana from her hand.
Y/N startled and gaped up at him. “But- I gotta clean up-”
His teeth dug into his lip. He shook his head. “No. Leave it.”
Turning away from her, he shoved the handkerchief back into his pocket and headed to the door.
She gasped as his hand hit the knob. “Jensen! Someone might notice!”
Looking back over his shoulder, he cocked an eyebrow and shrugged. “Payback’s a bitch, ain’t it? Maybe next time, you’ll consider the consequences.”
2024 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!) @alwaystiredandconfused @babysimpala @beardburnsupersoldiers @chenshemesh1 @cosicas-cuquis @deans-baby-momma @deanwinchesterswitch @feelmyroarrrr @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @impalaspixie @jackles010378 @kazsrm67 @k-slla @leigh70 @lunaroserites @lyarr24 @nancymcl @nix-rose @peachy-vans @pizzagirlxnsfwx @rachiem4-blog @sexyvixen7 @suckitands33 @the-wounded-healer05
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alright, hear me out. i looked through the prompts list and can we give roommate!steve a little airtime beCAUSE—
trying to not hit anything or each other, when there is a power outage and it’s way too dark
— is SO steve coded. i wanna see this man during a power outage. please and thank you. i love you.
hi baby. here you go. sorry it took so long. it is the first thing i have written in about 6 weeks so apologies for it's roughness. i adore you. thank you for helping me give steve Harrington his triumphant return. | fluff, 1.3k, roommates!au
Summer storms in the Midwest always take you by surprise. The never-ending expanse of blue sky becomes crowded with swirling grey clouds without warning and everything stills, like the very fabric of time is holding its breath. Until the dam bursts and rain pounds on your windows, the roof, the pavement with wild abandon. Deep, rumbling thunder follows bright flashes of lightning.
You find it relaxing. A steady, reliable chaos into which you settle without complaint.
Well, usually. Your roommate, Robin -- a talkative and whip-smart girl who makes you laugh-- enjoys storms just as much as you do. It's one of the only times she settles, so you often read side-by-side in companionable silence. Sometimes, if you're feeling bold, you'll both dance in the rain.
But Robin is on some six-month trip for brilliant people and she's left you with a subletter.
"My best friend Steve," she'd said. "Come on, I talk about him all the time. You basically know him."
It's true. Robin is full of stories and this Steve is in most of them. A funny, brave, well-intentioned guy who is a bit of an idiot and has a great head of hair.
And now he's living in the other bedroom. And he's hot. And he always does his dishes and remembers to put the seat down after you scolded him once for doing otherwise and you have a crush on him.
It's annoying. He's been here for like, three weeks and keeps asking you where the spoons are and you like him.
But Steve? You are learning that Steve does not like summer storms.
In the few you've had since he arrived you've noticed that he paces, or sits in the living room with the television turned up high, or something noisy. You've never asked him about it because honestly, he could be much worse as far as roommates go.
You can hear his radio through the wall and it's making it hard to focus on your book. You should really go to sleep but this chapter is really good and does he have to be so loud? Maybe you should get up and ask him to keep it down --
A flash of lightning makes it seem like daylight in your room for a brief moment and then everything is dark. Everything.
"Fuck," you say. The power must have gone out. A clap of thunder so loud it feels like your building shakes startles you. You hear a shout from the other side of the wall.
It's not as hard as you'd expect to feel your way to your bedroom door in the dark. You manage to do so without injury apart from bumping your hip on your dresser.
But when you open your door you smack into a solid wall of warmth. Your fingers grasp for purchase and find none -- only bare skin.
"Jesus Christ --" Steve says. He manages to prevent you both from falling over and holds you at arm's length in the dark. "What are you doing?" His voice is tight and he squeezes your shoulders once before releasing you.
"Uh," you say. You're certain that he's not wearing a shirt. You can feel that he's not wearing a shirt. "The power went out."
He huffs. "Wow, thank you. I had no idea."
You wish it wasn't dark so you could see his face. Three weeks hasn't been enough time to learn all of his expressions. "Were you sleeping?"
It feels like a dumb question considering how loud his music was.
"Yeah," he says. "Obviously I was sleeping. It's like, 1 am."
"Just go back to sleep. If you can, under the volume of your radio."
You imagine him wincing. "Sorry," he says. "I don't, uh. Sleep well during --"
Lighting illuminates the hall and you see him for one brilliant second, messy hair, bare chest rising and falling, boxers slung low. Boxers with...are those...bananas? Then: darkness, thunder. You sense his flinch.
"That," he says flatly.
A smile creeps its way onto your face and you allow it because he can't see. The fact that this guy, your temporary roommate, your sort-of crush, is afraid of thunderstorms fills your chest with warmth. It's endearing. It's adorable. It makes you like him so much more.
You ease past him and into the dark of the rest of the apartment.
"Woah, woah," Steve says. "Where are you going?" You hear him follow you and immediately run into something. He curses. You keep your hands out to avoid the same fate.
"You okay?" you call back.
"Why do we have so much furniture?" he grumbles. "Fuck, that hurt."
You don't correct him that we actually means you and Robin.
"Watch where you're going," you say lightly.
"Oh, ha, ha."
Careful steps take you closer to your destination. "Go look for candles in the kitchen," you tell him. "They're in the drawer by the trash."
"Uh, okay," Steve says. He bumps into things with quiet curses on his way as you look for the matches that should be in the closet. "Why? You could just go back to bed. I'm fine."
You chew on your lip. He's right. But you want to hang out with him. The dark makes you honest. "The thunder is loud," you say. "I won't be able to sleep. We might as well hang out."
He laughs, the first genuine one all night. "Oh, you want to hang out? In the dark? You know what this sounds like, right?"
Ah, the famous Harrington charm Robin has told you about. It makes your cheeks feel hot and you can't hide a smile. Steve ruins the moment by running into something again.
"Fuck! Jesus --"
"Steve, be careful."
"I can't see anything!"
You sigh and finally find the matches. Box in hand, you carefully make your way to the kitchen, your eyes adjusting just a little and making it easier.
Steve is looking in the wrong drawer. You should just tell him so, but instead you reach for him, fingers circling his wrist and dragging it to the right one. His skin is warm under yours, the back of his hand softer than you'd thought it would be. You open the drawer together and hear the candles roll around inside.
His face is a dark outline but you focus on the dark and think you see his eyes. You wish you could see him.
"Found them," he says. You're much closer than you realized, so close you feel his breath on your cheek. Steve leans in -- or maybe it's you, you have no idea, and your noses brush. He puts a hand on your hip, fingers sliding under the hem of your sleep shirt and burning you like a brand.
Your eyes slide close and you miss the flash but not the boom that follows, sending you both about a foot in the air and away from each other.
"Shit," you gasp. Steve laughs and you join in, giggling in the dark like teenagers.
Maybe this is a one-night thing, the darkness making you both a little lonelier and a little braver. But you've got months more of him and the idea of spending that time being something more than just roommates? It's appealing, to say the least.
You reach for Steve in the dark and he must have been doing the same because your fingers tangle without much effort.
"Come on," you say. "Let's light the candles and sit on the couch. I'm sure the power will come back on eventually."
He squeezes your hand and you squeeze back. "Okay," he says, a smile in his voice. "Don't let me run into anything."
You grin at him in the dark and hope that come morning he'll be familiar with it in the light, as well. "Don't worry, Steve," you tell him. "I've got you."
thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!
#emmas5kgarden#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x y/n#steve harringotn fluff#stranger things fanfic
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BNHA 423 - Thoughts (aka how to fumble your ending: a masterclass by Kohei Horikoshi)
I won't have time on Sunday, so I'll write up my chapter thoughts today. Probably the last time for this series (unless we get a Todo-family moment in the epilogue).
I've joined this fandom 6 years ago and written countless meta and analysis. I'm grieving today not that the story has come to an end, but the way it fumbled its landing.
Last chapter: Deku after a combo from everyone Rises to everyone shouting Ganbare and All Might Annointing him as HIS personal Jesus Greatest hero
This chapter:
Everyone's aggregate animosity (including 16 members of Class A - missing: Uraraka, Bakugou, Shoto and Aoyama) and the strength Deku added to OFA in 2 years kill AFO-in-Shigaraki's regen (even though he was engineered by Ujiko to be able to hold OFA).
Deku punches the body of that little crying boy he yapped about saving of the big bad and it starts to crumble. So AFO looks for a new host in Deku.
We get to the only good point in this chapter: as Aizawa is yelling for Midoriya, ShiraGiri worries about Tomura. The tragedy of how their lives went in separate ways. The only person on this battlefield who cares about Tomura is Kurogiri
WTF - I'm emotional. This must help bring Tomura back, right?
Let me see! what's happening on the vestige side?
Is Kurogiri dead? Why?
I NEED ANSWERS!!!
Or fuck that - let's get to Bakugou, because why not. Obviously, he's in desperate need of another highlight.
Let's even make sure he gets personally praised in case in the last 5 chapters he was not mentioned we forgot how he's the awesomest. Who cares about Kurogiri dying in the background? Who cares about Aizawa's or Mic's feelings? The most important question is how Bakugou got to the battlefield.
Oh, wait, here comes the twist. Remember that crappy little panel of Shoto in the last chapter? No? Don't worry. Neither does 99% of the fandom, except a few die-hard Shoto-fans.
Well, you see, that crappy panel was actually Shoto being hidden as he lifted up Deku at the end of that long combo to give him his last push. And the one above, is not a BKDK combo but an Origin Trio combo. It's just cropped the same way BKDK shippers always crop Shoto out of any Trio pictures.
Congratulations, Kohei Horikoshi-sensei! What an amazing twist. You managed to write Schroedinger's Origin Trio scene! It happened, but maybe it never did. Thanks for stringing me along all these years through the rollercoaster rides of Origins and Risings. I'll take that playground from you and give it to fanfic writers who actually care about maintaining it.
While Bakugou is yelling in the background, Deku is pulling a Mirio on AFO and calls him friendless. The worst thing that can happen to a Shonen boss.
There is some incomprehensible mumbo jumbo about OFA-magic - but don't worry peeps - it's all a set-up for Deku getting it back (in case you are one of the people who seems really to be worried about that)
And then AFO realizes - due to Deku transferring the last bit just so - that he was just a sad little human who loved his brother all along. Yoichi's lifelong efforts to make an impact on AFO didn't do anything. Only the Jesus-Punch-of-Magic did. Too bad.
Oh no, the whole fucking peanut gallery is back to nobody's surprise. (Actually All Might is missing, which may suggest Deku will only get the stockpile back). Even if Deku gets OFA back, please don't transfer these guys back. I'm so sick of them. They were a total waste of time and took Deku's precious real estate for introspection. Fuck that. I don't actually care. Deku has been damaged beyond repair.
GROUP FIST BUMP!!! Amazing Climax. Maybe a double spread, Sensei?
HK: Sorry, I used up my double spread quota on Bakugou!
I'm not one to criticize Horikoshi's artstyle, but boy, this panel is so underwhelming compared to the stuff he drew in this endgame. Is this your big AFO vs OFA clash????
What happens when Ghost Fist collides with Real blood? Of course, it will transfer all that sweet Ghost-DNA!!!
Aka - Horikoshi is saying - Don't worry, Deku won't be quirkless.
OK. Well. Let's move on.
Here is another line from Horikoshi's outline. Did you want to see a heart-warming scene between Nana and Tenko? Too bad for you. You get Bakugou, you voted for him.
(Btw, Shoto is not the only one who doesn't seem to be allowed to have a proper scene with his mom, I guess Tenko cannot even get an emotional afterlife scene. If you are an abuse-victim in story, Horikoshi says - fuck you! Take a swan dive and hope to be reborn as a bully in your next life).
Well, at least Tomura noticed that Kurogiri mysteriously died after Horikoshi couldn't think up an actual proper endgame for him.
OK, onto the MAIN ANTAGONIST's final monologue. It will be deep after being built for 400 chapters, right?
Shigaraki: Well, I didn't even manage to destroy your hand. I amount to just a crying boy.
Deku: Well, I still hate you for stabbing Kacchan and the others. (forget the others, I never cared about the others). I killed you because I was sick of your moping it's the International Board of Therapist's recommended therapy for victims of abuse and grooming.
Shigaraki: Well, what do I say to that. That's so fucking stupid.
Shigaraki: And to my gay little boyfriend, I leave my treasured Nintendo controller.
Deku: Yeah, whatever. I don't really have any thoughts. I've stopped introspection in Act 2. Your life sucked. You need to fuck off now and stop spreading the sadness, I have a victory punch to perform.
Deku: This is the story of how I became the greatest hero by punching the fuck out of this crying, abused little boy and then bathing myself in his nasty pixie dust. killing 2 main villains for the price of 1 in under 7 pages and changed the weather for the dudebros on Twitter can cry about the blue sky in the anime again. I also eradicated sadness with punching it hard enough.
Also - I probably still have a quirk. Tune in to find out in two weeks.
Sensei, with all due respect - this chapter was ass. Visually, thematically, from a storytelling point of view. Even the good ideas were executed badly or were crammed in with terrible ideas. What a fucking let-down.
Will Shigaraki go and be the hero of the villains?
I can see him reconstruct with Overhaul and magic, or I can see that we will get a reveal where Deku had the Lion Turtle solution all along and he has punched Shigaraki just at the angle to magically manifest 5-year old crying Tenko and save him and he was cold and aloof because he already "saved the boy".
I can see a BS solution incoming. But it will not fix this chapter for sure, nor the broader writing issues with Deku's character and with the Deku - Tomura dynamic.
#c1a reads bnha#probably for the last time#bnha 423#bnha manga leaks#bnha manga spoilers#midoriya izuku#bakugou katsuki#todoroki shouto#shigaraki tomura#kurogiri#aizawa shouta#afo#rooftop trio#bnha meta
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AITA for ignoring my ex's threats of suicide?
this is a very old story, but it keeps eating at the back of my brain because i feel like the asshole in the situation, even though people close to me say im not.
i (19nb) broke up with my girlfriend (16f) and told her that we may get back together in the future. we broke up because she was incredibly emotionally draining, it was a long distance relationship, and also, i felt uncomfortable being nearly 20 dating someone in high school (i was also uncomfortable with our age difference for the year prior, but thats a whole other can of worms).
after breaking up, i stayed in contact, because she was my friend and i still liked her as a friend, just not a partner. she had some pretty severe home life issues, and had made extreme comments before ("nobody loves me, everyone hates me, no one would care if i disappeared" those sorts of things). now, i personally chalked it up to be a mix of teenage angst and homelife issues, but she had never made outright threats on her life before. it was always vague, or just an outright meltdown that i would care for her during.
i told her i was taking time for myself, and would probably not date anyone. a few months pass and i meet my then partner (now spouse). i know i fucked up in not telling her that i was seeing someone new, but i didnt really want the backlash of her screaming and yelling and crying over this, so i didnt tell her we were dating, just that i was spending a few months in his country (he had a place of his own, was older and more financially stable, it made sense at the time) and we had grown close.
it came out during a call, about 2 months into me dating and living with my partner, and probably about 5/6 months after i had broken up with them. she had asked if/when i was moving back home, and i told them i didnt know, because i was planning on living in his country. she asked if i was dating him, and i didnt want to lie, so i said we were. she got incredibly hostile, telling me that i shouldnt have lied to her and that i had said i wasnt going to date anyone. she completely melted down, getting incredibly angry to the point of tears, before telling me she was going to end it.
i panicked at that point and started trying to help her through tears, telling her i would do anything, before my partner took my phone from me and blocked her on that social media, calmly telling me to message her friends the situation, and that it wasnt my issue to deal with. i finished blocking her on our other socials (with her messaging me that she was so sorry), did what he said, and waited.
her friends confirmed she was okay later, but they were upset with me for not sticking around and helping her through her suicide attempt.
i still feel like an asshole, even though its been nearly 4 years since its happened. i feel like i should have done literally anything except what i did. ik my partner did the right thing, but also. i dunno. i feel bad i guess.
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I imagine Deuce!Yutu is either A. The Ultimate Honor Student with perfect grades and a plsmile that makes old nannies and mothers swoon (Yutu: "Thanks, its because me and my parent are the local "weirdos" I had to overcorrect and become a golden child (':") OR B. just as bad as pre-NRC Deuce was, a gang member who'd jump anyone who'd look at him wrong (but still cried until he was sick when he watched My Girl (1991) behind Yuu's back. They told him not to because they knew it was sad, he didn't listen).
I imagine Yuu's main memory of Deuce to their Yutu was how much Deuce believed in self-improvement and redemption, always trying to be a better man, which either version of Yutu can't help but admire or respect, despite their complicated feelings over their absent father.
Upon meeting him in the "current" timeline as a student, A or B either can't help but give Pop's an A for effort, despite missing the goal sometimes or finds him a little cringe for being such a tryhard.
I had to google the movie you mentioned and got jump scared by it taking place in Pennsylvania. Pretty sure I have driven through the place it's supposed to be set before... and fuck just reading the synopsis made me cry I don't think I could watch it ;-; poor Yutu should have listened to his parent.
notes: they/them used for Yuu, for context on the fyuuture kid au can be found here and here.
I feel like I have read too much Tokyo Revengers because... we can have both: an honor student with a delinquent mean streak sounds like a good set up for Deuce! Yutu. Not that I think he would behave like Kisaki does exactly, but still. Dylla mentions in the White Rabbit event that she wasn't on the best terms with her mother when she was a teen, and we know about how Deuce was in middle school, so the idea of Yutu having a bit of a temper and rebellious streak to him does make a degree of sense. Sadly, I think that extends to his interactions with Yuu... so things are about to be angsty on two fronts today.
Much like Deuce, Yutu was just the cutest baby. He loved all things cute and fluffy. Bunnies, kitties, puppy dogs, he was such a sweet little kid who really loved chasing around butterflies in the great outdoors. He really loved to read, and learned how to do so at a very early age. When Yuu was having a bad day he would pick out one of his favorite books and insist on reading them a bedtime story so they could take a nap without any nightmares. If he was especially worried he would bring his favorite nightlight with him.
Not that anyone would ever dare to suggest it given what Yutu is like now, but he was very afraid of the dark as a child. He still is, there's just something about the void that exists in the darkness that screams danger to him. When he's isekaid to Twisted Wonderland it evolves into an extreme fear of blot and phantoms. I'd like his unique magic to have something to do with light or stars, something inspired by the Second Star to the Right from Peter Pan? I think it would be cute for someone afraid of the dark to be able to provide their own light.
When Yutu reaches middle school there's a noticeable change in his relationship with you. He's still polite, still bringing home good grades and unoffensive comments from his teachers. But he's a bit cold, as if he is purposefully putting emotional distance between you. His friends all treat you respectfully, but you just have a feeling, left over from somewhere, that you know what is likely going on but you can't put your finger on what. He gets angry when you try to ask questions, yelling something about how you just don't understand, maybe even throws in something about this being your fault...
I wrote about Riddle! Yutu having some fights with Yuu, but Deuce! Yutu's fights are so much worse. While Riddle! Yutu typically comes out of his room blubbering big fat tears ready to apologize, Deuce! Yutu feels the need to double down and save face. He does believe his parent has amnesia, he's seen how they act, but what he does not get is why they insist on feeling so fond of his dad and refuse to move on. In his mind their life could be a lot better if Yuu was willing to be honest with themselves about who his dad probably was. Yutu is very hung up on why Deuce felt the need to be redeemed, focusing on self improvement is all fine and good if you are someone worth redeeming but he's not around for Yutu to judge. And Yuu doesn't remember...
He's young, stupid, and angry, and he takes it out on anyone who looks at him wrong. What's worse for authority figures who want to help is that he's veeeery smart about how he does it. When he jumps someone you can bet there won't be cameras around to see it. When the police start troubling Yuu about what he's doing it's mostly just in the hope that they'll be able to talk some sense into their kid rather than to arrest Yutu or anything like that, but it doesn't work. Yutu gets to see the same thing that his dad did all those years ago, his parent crying because of his behavior but there's no grandparent Yuu is asking advice of. Since I am in the mood to be extra cruel, let's say the day that fight takes place, the day Yutu sees Yuu crying is the day he hears a very important name for the first time.
Deuce. His father's name is Deuce and the reason why he wasn't around was because he was from the other world that came to swallow up him and his parent the instant they began to remember. He doesn't get time to cover up the signs of his rebellion, or really a chance to say sorry. He has to look Grandpa Crewel in the face and admit that he made Yuu cry and added to the overly stressed mess their life had become. Everything they said about Deuce was true, and what's worse he was like him.
I feel like Deuce would be the sort of person who wanted to make a lot of home videos. Cater probably would be too, but he'd store most of them on his phone and I think that would be lost to time by the time his Yutu came home. Maybe it's because of the ghost camera, or his desire to be an "honor student" evolving into wanting to be an "honorable husband and father" but Deuce totally bought a video camera to take cheesy videos to show Yutu as he grew up. Instead the kid gets to see fragments of a life he could have had as he listens to his dad tell him about his life and how he met Yuu.
"Honestly I have no idea why they said yes." Deuce is a dork. A complete dork who looks so... young and life like in the video. He knows what features he took from Yuu but watching Deuce talk, he can pick up on the ticks, the way his mouth sets when determined. The look of shock that always made Yuu laugh, it bursts into view when he hears Yuu laugh as they enter the frame to snuggle into Duece's side, to press their face against his cheek with a happily contended sigh. "Y-yuu you're making me look uncool in front of the baby."
"He's not here yet!" You giggle and for the first time in a long time Yutu feels himself choking up as he watches his dad get all silly looking at the thought of his arrival.
"We're really looking forward to meeting you kiddo. I promise, nothing will ever happen to you. I'm not going anywhere."
"Well. Technically kept that last promise didn't you." He tries to play it off like a joke, but Crewel isn't laughing and neither is Yutu.
Gets put in Heartslabyul, but isn't exactly determined to be an honor student like his dad. While Deuce enjoys a good fight or the feeling of the wind in his hair... Yutu mostly got into fights because he was angry and needed someone to take it out on. Because of that temper he struggles with learning and controlling his magic but he still does pretty well with the practical academic side of things. He's proud of his ability to understand these things, and takes a lot of comfort in knowing his dad would be excited at knowing he was good at things like math and science.
Like with the other Heartslabyul boys, he had to fight his father's phantom. He sees putting Deuce to rest as part of his penance for how he treated Yuu in the years leading up to getting isekaid. He refuses to go back in time until he's able to lay this version of his father to rest next to Yuu so he can promise both of them, to their faces, that he'll create a world where they all can be together and live as a family.
Deuce is extremely friendly to Yutu! He wants to learn as much about Yuu's world as he can so he can help them feel as at home in Twisted Wonderland as possible. He makes sure to let Yutu know that extends to him too once Yuu warms up to having him in the friend circle, Uncle Ace is much less enthusiastic but it's clearly from a place of care towards Yuu. He starts to warm up when he sees Yutu trying his hardest to tutor Deuce, though he claims it's because he just thinks it's funny but really it's because Ace wants to see Deuce succeed.
Very correct on his feelings about Pops. His dad is so wildly cringe it's unreal. His effort is inspiring until he starts getting embarrassed for losing his temper and stuttering, or seven forbid you look at his grades. The more he interacts with both of you the more certain he becomes that Deuce would never have abandoned him... and that he is so getting grounded when Deuce learns about how he treated Yuu. And what's worse is that Yutu sort of wants him to.
Surprisingly that's not what happens at all. When Deuce learns who Yutu is, whether by sleuthing or through a violent confrontation with a monster from the future, when the whole story is laid out before him and his son bows to beg for his judgement it doesn't come at all. His Pops yanks him up by the collar and turns him towards Yuu.
"Say all of that again to your parent." Deuce's voice is as stern as it is serious. Yuu looks distraught, not quite to the point they were on the day everything changed but getting there as Yutu immediately breaks down and chokes, crying and begging for your forgiveness and saying he's sorry as Deuce brings all three of you together into a strong embrace. "I'm not the one you need to make things up to, but it's ok. I know exactly how you feel and we'll work through things together."
Deuce doesn't feel like he can be overly angry at Yutu for taking after him. He does feel the need to apologize to Yuu, profusely and in private, for putting them in so much danger and not being there to help Yutu work through his temper. If I was writing this as a story, I'd make Yuu sort of afraid of Yutu's feelings? I could see them blaming themselves and things being a bit awkward within their relationship with Yutu where they had been very good before the reveal. With Deuce being the loving and understanding partner that he is, the bridge is once again mended and the whole family gets to indulge in hobbies that aren't beating the shit out of other people.
Yutu gets back into reading, and starts looking up manuals and histories of blastcycles so he has something to talk to his dad about. He was right about his dad being extremely proud of him for being smart, he's that classic mechanic working class dad who can't stop talking about his kid who went to college and has pictures of him in his garage he makes sure to point out to everyone who comes in. Said person is really just Ace who really wants to make fun of Deuce and Yuu for being cringe together but is too focused on this whole world ending thing and wants everyone to be more focused on that.
Deuce promises that he is, he has a lot of confidence in the ability of your little group to be able to win against stacked odds. You've done it before you can do it again. Yutu couldn't have picked better allies, he's really determined to show him that and be a dad his son can be proud of. He repeats his promise to Yutu that he's never going anywhere, even though the kid never told him anything about the tapes because he really means it. He wants that world little Yutu dreamed of and older Yutu swore to fight for to be a reality, and it's his job as an honorable dad and future husband (he gets so flustered when he says that) to be the one on the front lines of fighting for it,
... just please please please do not tell Yutu about the egg incident. He doesn't think he could handle that embarrassment.
#<3 asks#twisted wonderland x reader#twst x reader#deuce spade x reader#deuce spade x yuu#ace! yutu is a charming rogue like robin hood#deuce! yutu is like basil from the great mouse detective#this took forever as i was inflicted with some big sleepies but i think they're gone now? we shall see
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What's New In IF? Issue 5 (2024)
By Erika, Marjorie, Axelle, Zach and Noi
Now Available!
Itch.io - Google Drive - Keep Reading below
EDITORIAL
Starting a conversation…
With this project, we hope to start a conversation within the community. A conversation about community, and how it could be better connected through projects bringing people together.
The Interactive Fiction is a broad genre, with so many formats and systems. It is full of choices and kinetic, clickable and type-able, visual and textual, loud and quiet, classic and experimental, and available in so many languages!
It is diverse…
… and fragmented.
Between the language barriers, the different Forums, social media spaces, chatrooms, email chains, lurkers, and non-initiated, there is so much to explore and find. So much hidden behind because of bad search engine, forgotten tags and obscure spaces.
So we hope this project of ours helps you find other corners of the IF space, and maybe create a few bridges along the way!
We hope you enjoy this issue!
ERIKA, MARJORIE, AXELLE, ZACH, AND NOI
EVENTS
CONFERENCE
You can now register for the Narrascope! It is happening June 21-23, in hybrid. They've also released the schedule of talks!
ONGOING (VOTING)
The voting period for the Text Adventure Literacy Jam ends at the end of May. The competition is looking for beginner players!
ONGOING (SUBMITTING)
If Spanish is in your wheelhouse, the Spanish IFComp (Rayuela) is currently ongoing! You can submit a game until the end of June, with the themes Es un sólo botón and/or Conexión.
Also ongoing is the ParserComp, which are looking for parser games, both with a classic feel or a more experimental approach.
If you are looking to make a Visual Novel, the Otome Jam will be looking for entries for the next two months.
🔥 Fuck Capitalism Jam 2024 🔥 is also a fun jam to participate in, where you can submit stories critiquing capitalism (as a whole/aspects of). (We know it's not technically IF, but they took IF entries before)
There are still a week left before the end of the REALLY BAD IF JAM, hosted on itch.io, where the goal is to make bad art (IF-style).
A Visual Novel focused version is also happening at the same time, as a “Worst Ever VN“ Challenge.
Ending soon after this weekend if the Locus Jam, organized by Neo-Interactives (@neointeractives), where the restriction is focused on one space.
Another short but interesting jam, the Text-Based Game/Visual Novel Jam, is also happening for the next week over on itch.io.
ENDED
This week, the results of the Spring Thing have been announced! Congratulations to the two Best-in-Show entries and all participants!
OTHER
The Interactive Fiction Showcase is still running, with new submissions, since last week! It is happening on itch!
GAMES
NEW RELEASE
The Flesh Mechanic (Twine) is a dark horror short story. (@reachartwork)
Terminal 71 (Twine) is a short post-apocalyptic game about tragedy. (@vagrantclown)
Relative Stranger (Ren'Py) is a horror game for people with social anxiety (strong CW!).
NEW RELEASE (WIP)
Орлёнок - Eaglet (CScript) is an early 1900s Russian focused project where you are part of the disgraced Imperial family. (@himbeereule)
Popular (CScript) is a reality-show project where your goal is to become the most popular contestant to win.
Serial Date (Unity) follows Aileen, a Toronto gal in a dead-end job looking for love, and finding more than she wished for. (@lehxra-arts)
GAMES UPDATES
Knights of Venus (CScript) has almost doubled its word count, up to 37k words. (@knights-of-venus-if)
Oh Mother, Where Art Thou? (CScript) has completed its first chapter. (@ohmotherwhereartthou-if)
When Life Gives You Lemons (CScript) now includes chapter 9. (@when-life-gives-you-lemons-if)
Velocity (CScript) has added chapter 2.
Sanguine Sky (CScript) updated its demo with chapter 2 pt 2. (@sanguinesky-if)
Drink your Villain Juice (CScript) part 2 of chapter 6 is available on Patreon. (@drinkyourvillainjuice)
Just Kiss Me (CScript) completed its first chapter.
Anti-Mutant Academy (CScript) completed its chapter 5.
Such Happy Campers (CScript) now includes chapter 4.
Core Uprising (CScript) added another part to its demo.
When Cloud Waves Break (CScript) completed its third chapter in this update. (@whencloudwavesbreak-if)
Incubus (Twine) has released chapter 2. (@sonnet009games)
Stake Through a Bloody Heart (Twine) now includes chapter 4. (@lacewing-if)
OTHER
Scales of Justice (CScript) is looking for beta- testers for the completed demo.
The new Amare Fortnightly Bulletin (@amaregames) is out! Check it out here!
The Twine Gardening v2 (@twinegardening) is updating again, for those wondering how some Twine map look like.
We apologize if we missed an update or a release. We are but volunteers trying to find as much info as possible, but sometimes news pass through the cracks.
Please, let us know if something should have been added to the zine, and we will shout it out next week!
HIGHLIGHT ON...
A couple of games that we thought were cool.
Dungeons & Distractions by E. Joyce (Twine)
D&D is a fantasy short game where you lead a D&D first session with your supernatural friends. It is a fun time, until… distractions arise. Will you manage to reach the planned end of the story?
submitted by Kastel
purrgatory by Niv (@nivrad00 - Godot)
“Heartfelt and touching, this game will make you laugh then cry as you figure out how to get everyone out of purrgatory. Charming art, and lovely music, but it's the writing that shines. Plus great LGBTQ+ rep! One of the best VN's I've ever played!”
submitted by @kris-mage-fics
Repeat the Ending by Drew Cook (@golmac - Inform)
Between meta and “reality”, RtE is a deeply layered and immersive parser, about trauma, guilt, relationships and fate. It is profound and emotional. An experience.
It also includes a “Story” mode (no input necessary) and extra downloadables.
recommended by [anonymous]
Your favourite game here?
Do you have a favourite game that deserve some highlighting? Tell us about it! A old or recent game that wowed you so much you want to spam it to everyone? Tell us about it!
We'll add it to the page!
FINAL WORD
Before we end this issue, we would like to thank:
@captchaluff, @elegantunknownphantom, Kastel, @kris-mage-fics, and a dozen of anonymous users!
Your shared news, helpful tips, cool links, filled form, written Sheet line, sent emails… all these little attentions toward the Zine help us so much!
We also would like to thank all of you who told us of cool recs that didn't appear this edition. We'll try out best to fit them in next week!
And a final thank to all of you who not only read our zine, but liked it, shared it with others, left a little sweet reply or dm, or even rated it on itch! Those little bits of support really help us so much!! Thank you for cheering us on this journey!
~
As a final parting word, it is less words but more of a question that we have for you:
Do you experience FOMO (fear of missing out) in the IF Community? If so, what brings FOMO for you and why? Is there a way of alleviating it?
We would really appreciate your POV!!!
See you again next week!
ERIKA, MARJORIE, AXELLE, ZACH, AND NOI
WHAT'S NEW IN IF? 2024-ISSUE 5
#interactive fiction#if news#visual novel#parser#choice of games#choicescript#twine#ink#twine games#ink games#itch.io#interactive game#interactive novel#IF#games#hobby#indie dev#choose your own adventure#if-whats-new#What's New in IF#NEW ISSUE IS OUT!!
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Are there any other games like ISAT you'd recommend? I'd play ISAT again but there's a whole game about how much it sucks to keep repeating your adventures.
*pulls up steam library*
omori is the first one because of how similar the games are /pos but for the love of god check the TWs before you play it
want more timeloop shenanigans? slay the princess!!
want more games about mental illness and being queer (minus the time loop)? night in the woods is a story-driven game, while celeste is a (very accessible) platformer!
want more 'game fucks with every well-established trope'? inscryption!
want more 'that is a lost child. that is my child now' in your life? oneshot!
if you haven't played deltarune just play deltarune (its literally free)
more wacky adventures, but for art kids? chicory: a colorful tale!
also the prologue to ISAT is free (start again start again start again: a prologue) if you just want more ISAT!!
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All my bridgerton thoughts, compressed:
1. The true love story is definitely Penelope and Eloise. No matter how hard they try, they cannot pivot away from the fact that friendship is the heart of this season. Be it between Penelope and Eloise, or Eloise and Cressida, or Penelope and Colin: it is that which drives this particular season.
2. To add to the above point: Colin may be Penelope's love interest, but it is Eloise who understands her. Eloise asks if Penelope seems despondent or sad - not just a simple is she okay but instead here are things she could be, which one is it? She knows her friend, no matter what. And Colin, for all that he is, does not find it all too startling that Penelope is suddenly looking for marriage. Eloise does. If Colin's eyes follow Pen across the ballroom, so do Eloise's.
3. Eloise has someone to talk to about the effect her friendship breakup is taking on her. Penelope has no one. I find Nicola to be an increasingly fantastic actor because she holds this tension so very well throughout the whole of Part 1. When Eloise comes to visit her, you see why she asked Colin what Penelope was feeling. Because Penelope is feeling that, has been feeling that ever since. Its so raw and on her face for the world to see but only one person ever looked and understood and read her like a book.
4. The two fingers while fixing her dress? Gag me god gag me
5. I have not seen the point of the Mondrich plot until this season which is where they are really using it to root the show to reality. There are conversations to be had that the society simply does not want to and Mondriches are the embodiment of it. Constantly knocking at society's door and making themselves be heard and fighting for a seat at the table but unwilling to compromise on what feels good and right. It's subtle and ita frustrating and I like that it's getting to people. You're going to get annoyed enough that the looking glass metaphor will play out in real life for you.
6. I see how unhinged Colin is being about Penelope and while I love that for her, I also get how fucked up her situation is rn. She does need stability. She has found her purpose. And I want her to be selfish in protecting that bit of herself. Instead of what she has been doing. She tried with Debling and yes, it was vexing to see how she ran after him but. I get it too? It's not always roses and camomiles. Cressida is the foil to this same narrative. The Bridgertons are foolishly romantic but that is just them. The show is through their lens but we can take a step back and see it for it is as well. I found Debling to be perfect and his reasons for ending everything were as well. If a little crassly done. Colin proposing to Penelope and falling headfirst in love just as she starts looking out for herself? My heart still needs to be sold on this idea, no matter how hot and sexy everything is.
7. The hair grab oh. Colin Bridgerton you slut. You whore. Colin Bridgerton would like to be pegged I promise. These two will actually be the couple who try out shit in the bedroom out of intrigue and discover a hidden kink. Colin finding the answer to his pent up ruminations when Penelope drags her hand tenderly through his hair vs Penelope close to tears because it is a dream come true and how many times has she imagined this and now its happening and its all that and more? Fucking yes
8. The diaries intrigue me. I shit you not I started this season with the firm belief that Colin had in fact NOT travelled lasts season because he was being all quiet about it. End of Ep 1 and I am now convinced he only really wants to talk if people listen and the only one who ever listened was Pen and if she's not there to hear him what is the point of speaking? He functions on 0 braincells because like. He has all the facts he's just not looking at them.
9. Someone talked of how they want to know more about Colin because he's been coming off as 2D and I agree. This is being told more from Penelope's view than Colin's and that is skewing the narrative a bit. I need more than 'pirate fashion-current rake-newly minted fuckboy' from him.
10. I like the yellow bedsheet.
11. The opening with the pining looks from Pen towards Eloise really set the mood and I'm so glad for it. For that matter I feel like Colin's apology for the comment last season was rushed and half hearted and I understand the hot and heavy vibes but they are friends first and that is the heart of the season and so much, so fucking much is left unresolved and I need them to have a couple of heated conversations PLEASE. express emotions fr!!! Beyond breathing hard!!
#bridgerton#bridgerton season 3#bridgerton spoilers#bridgerton season 3 spoilers#polin#penelope featherington#colin bridgerton#ya these are straight up unfiltered y'all i may have more thoughts coming soon
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