#i Knew i had fucked up somehow and i fucked up in the paragraph order with the last two. well it's been addressed as of the seventeenth o
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☆-☆-☆
@tropetember #27: emotional constipation
Hemlines
outlast × mother gooseberry/ofc × women's bar
You've never really been to a woman's bar before. Even if they'd been as popular back in England, it's not like any of the models in your father's fashion house was willing to risk that kind of exposure, and going alone seemed like it'd be boring at best and disastrous at worst. You don't let that stop you now that you don't have much of a reputation to worry about. Or so you tell yourself after a particularly rough day at work. Truth is you're still in the payroll of a studio that caters to children, still rather inexperienced and crucially, still mixed. You're vexed enough after a hemline related squabble to not care. If worse comes to worse, Phyllis can very well read about an Englishwoman found drowned in the river, and the thought of her having to find a dressmaker that will put up with her punitive demands gets a grin out of you. If it all goes well though, it might just help you blow some steam.
You don't have a car, so you get a cab that leaves you a block away, as you're feeling like stretching your legs a bit either way. You're more angry about being nervous than you are nervous, so you manage to keep your head high as you enter, flounce your way to the bar and get a sidecar. Only when the bartender puts it in front of you you dare take a look around. It's a working class joint on a weeknight so it's not too crowded, but it's still more lesbians you've seen in your life. Feeling giddy enough to start applauding at nothing, you hide your excited smile in your drink as you tell yourself to keep your head. You've got no intention of giving your unworldliness away. You down the rest of your drink in one go and you haven't put the glass back down when the barkeep, lovely in a tight waistcoat and denim jeans, is sliding you another one with a wink. 'First time?'
Damn it twice over. 'Just in America.'
Five drinks later or six, of which you can only remember ordering two, you're quite sure everyone's onto you being as green as it gets, but are way past caring. You've joined a table of women who are at equal parts endeared and amused by your accent, which only gets more chavvy the more you drink but you really don't mind repeating what you said real close to their faces. Usually standing out would annoy you, but the atmosphere is too delightful for your pettiness to cut through it. Seeing women hold each other and even sneak kisses in the open still has you thinking you might be dreaming, and if you are you're sure nobody would mind if you think your interlocutor, Bill as she'd introduced herself, is worth the risk of going home with. You don't say that, instead you ask 'Can I tie your knot please?'
She raises the corner of her mouth and tilts her head like she's trying to figure you out. 'What?'
You don't reply, but reach out for her tie, hands buzzing from the liquor but you know clothes if nothing else, and she lets you undo it. A tulip knot has never been so hard to fix but she doesn't seem to mind it, not that her hand resting on your waist is helping. You sigh when you manage to pull it off, and she raises her hand to feel around for the changes.
'Leave it, please.'
'Since you said please...'
'You've never done one of those for me.'
That's a voice you'd recognise no matter how legless. Youe left eye twitches, and now you're convinced you're dreaming, or battling a nightmare. You stay really still trying to change the setting, and are just realising this is somehow real life as Bill looks to Phyllis then back to you. To her credit, she looks more entertained than anything, 'Forgot to mention you had a woman?'
You turn around now, properly angry at the whole thing and drunker than you should be. 'We're not...!'
Her voice, steady and exasperatedly confident, cuts you off. 'I'm her boss.'
'You're not my boss!'
She raises an eyebrow at that, then turns around. 'We're leaving now.'
'She's not!' You turn back to the table. 'We're colleagues.'
Your point is probably undermined by your exit after her, but you remind yourself you don't care about what any of them thinks about you and you've got bigger problems, on quick unbalanced footfalls that have you stumbling out into the alley until it's too much and you're narrowly saved from breaking your face against the asphalt by firm hands on your shoulders. Phyllis carries you until you're seated on the bonnet of her car and examines you critically. You tilt your chin up, like she's got any right to any part of this. You are not my boss.'
'Well I'm glad; because you're a mess.'
You cross your arms, unexpectedly affected by the comment. 'Nobody's asking you to unmess it.'
'But I think I will anyway.' She opens the car door. 'Get inside.'
Like hell. Just now it occurs to you to wonder what she's even doing there. 'Did you follow me?' She gives you an unimpressed look, points to the open door in a dramatic gesture, but you're over it and when you jump off the Corvette it's to lean back into the wall. 'I'm too smashed for carsex, cheers.'
'Obviously.' When she picks you up you're too tired to do anything but curse under your breath as she gets you inside. 'I'm taking you home.'
You're in the passenger seat. You were actually hoping to get to nap in the backseat but when she leans over to do your seatbelt, and of course shed be the type to have the bloody things installed, you find you don't mind much. She's wearing a different cologne than she wears for the show and her proximity warms your skin, and when did you even get cold? You lean your head in the window, looking down at the road racing under the wheels. Too fast. You feel the nausea trying to take over your body, and start humming out of tune until it subsides. Phyllis gives you a look between belittling and pitying. 'We have a show to do tomorrow.
'You're still not my boss, Phillys.'
'Mother' She corrects.
You huff, laying your head down and closing your eyes. 'Just because you've got a complex with your character...'
'Lots of people have complexes. You should probably try it next time you go out at night.'
Her voice is light and it ticks you off in a way you cannot explain away. 'Right.'
'Just a tip.'
'Well, I'm no waitress and I've never had a mother so I'm not about to start now.'
Your voice catches on the last word and you cannot explain why. You've never really minded not knowing your mother, but now you kindof do. It's been a long night. If she notices she doesn't accuse it, just rests her palm on your knee a moment before grabbing the stick shift again. 'We shall see about that.'
You actually are annoyed by that, but don't trust your voice to speak without breaking. Instead, you opt for turning on the stereo. You don't know the song, but Phyllis looks at you with chagrined indignation and you'll call that a win if it gets you to tomorrow.
You smash your alarm clock against the wall. It creaks in a way that has you planning on shopping for a new one after work today, but it's a small price to be rid of the ringing. You really shouldn't have gone out last night and, while the memories get you to smile through your pounding headache, you're not entirely sure this is a step up from drowning last night in the Delaware, or whatever was the river you passed as Phyllis drove you back. Phyllis. You drag yourself out of bed, you've got a show to make after all, finding you're wearing the same clothes you went out with.
You cannot remember going to bed, you don't even remember making it back. You do a lacklustre fullbody stretch before heading into the kitchen. You could still go back to bed, you figure you'll make it on time if you skip breakfast, and you're not feeling like breakfast at all. It's an attractive idea but as soon as you think that, you register the pot on your stovetop. Onion soup. You don't like onions, but you can easily picture Phyllis standing behind you at the table. And she'd tell you to eat. You'd probably argue for twenty minutes about it, but the hangover makes you pliant to the mere idea of her. You reheat it quickly and really, with the bread and cheese, it's not bad at all.
#mother gooseberry#outlast fanfiction#i Knew i had fucked up somehow and i fucked up in the paragraph order with the last two. well it's been addressed as of the seventeenth o#of october
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oh yeah i also wrote some of the fall out of the chunin exams from minato's pov
the [...] marks an unwritten scene or two lmao
***
Minato looked at the genin’s report first thing in the morning, opening it even before his assistant brought him coffee.
He was surprised it was in Tori’s handwriting and not Itachi’s. Itachi had always been picky about reports (and everything else anyone might do), and Minato often found his notes even on subordinates’ individual reports. Surely Itachi hadn’t told Tori to do the report. But the alternative also seemed strange. Who could convince Itachi not to at least write his own notes?
The format was also non-standard, but Minato didn’t mind it. Tori had somehow condensed the entire mission into a single page, front and back, with important events succinctly outlined in a logical, easy-to-read flow. To this page she’d stapled twenty-seven pages of what seemed to be notes on the conversation they’d had to produce this report, which were more detailed but not in an order that was easy for an outsider to follow.
The contents of the report turned out to be insane.
Minato had talked in length with Kushina about her version of events. He knew the details of the actual exam, their plan and Iwa’s eventual attack. He knew that, somehow, Itachi would end up rescuing Kushina alone while Tori and Deidara had gone after Morino. He knew what Itachi had deemed important for him to know immediately, which was that Tori had elected to make several decisions to manipulate Konoha’s international relations.
He had assumed the way they’d accomplished these things would be wild. He’d somehow underestimated how wild.
For one thing, apparently Deidara had fought the Tsuchikage. This was stated very matter-of-factly in the middle of a paragraph with no particular fanfare, and made Minato choke on his coffee.
There weren’t even any supplementary notes about this fact. Deidara had barged into the Tsuchikage’s box, screamed to a bunch of foreign dignitaries about Iwa kidnapping his sensei while everyone was distracted by the tournament, and then he’d fought the Tsuchikage. That was it. No further comment.
Deidara had also done this with enough skill to then leave the battle site in sufficient chaos that no one had been able to immediately follow him. This at least had detail; Deidara had simply broken enough of the building that the Tsuchikage’s guard he hadn’t killed needed all hands on deck to save their important foreign visitors from its imminent collapse.
Jiraiya had linked Deidara to a lot of destroyed structures– and buildings which were only partially destroyed in very sophisticated, calculated ways– but what the fuck. Deidara was eleven. A team of Iwa demolition experts couldn’t pull that off nearly as cleanly.
Part of Minato’s assumptions had been that Tori and Deidara had stayed together. Tori was extremely clever, and probably much more talented in fuuinjutsu than she let on, but she was very demonstrably not well-skilled in combat, and she’d shut down her own chakra in a last-ditch effort to stave off her own poisoning. That she would stick to a more combat-oriented person in a support role had been her MO as long as Minato had known her.
This, it turned out, was an incorrect assumption to the degree that Minato wasn’t even really sure how Tori had accomplished what she had. She had… simply walked into Iwa T&I, if he was reading this correctly. The report simply said she’d “infiltrated it through the back door.” Her supplemental notes clarified she’d done this via “the super secret jutsu of being twelve and unintimidating.” Then she’d called on a random T&I employee that she described as “looking slightly confused about his job (you know the type)” and convinced him they were meant to be relocating prisoners to help her move Morino.
These… these were not normal infiltration tactics. Minato had no idea what she was talking about.
At least with Itachi, Minato knew he was one of Konoha’s best and brightest. Minato would never order him to infiltrate a place by himself, but he understood how he’d done it with ample abuse of genjutsu and murder. He didn’t understand how Itachi had known where Kushina would be, and this was never commented on, but this question was extremely low priority.
Minato called back in his assistant and asked for a second coffee, and for her to schedule an all-day meeting the next day with Team 4 and some of Konoha’s leadership.
He probably wouldn’t keep everyone there all day. But he wanted everyone available.
The rest of his day was spent in more meetings on the Iwa fiasco. Morino was stable and talking, which pleased him. Tori’s report was copied and passed around to various offices for record-keeping and analysis, to see if anyone could divine Iwa’s motives and goals from their actions.
Shikaku sauntered into his debriefing with Minato with a copy in his hand.
“What the fuck is this?” he said, waving it.
“Team 4 is… resilient under stress?” Minato tried.
“More like Team Disaster,” Shikaku snorted, then dropped into a chair across from Minato.
Minato liked Shikaku. He’d call them work friends, maybe, as much as a Kage and his subordinate could be work friends. Shikaku was several years older and had usually been stationed in different parts of the war from Minato, but their sons were the same age, and Shikaku was always open for commiseration about the joys and challenges of fatherhood. Minato didn’t really get invited to afterwork events, but sometimes when they were both working late, Shikaku would show up with a couple beers and a few moments of friendly chat.
Today Shikaku’s friendly observation was, “Do you think they’re lying?”
Minato stared at him, nonplussed. “About what?”
Shikaku slapped the papers he was holding with the back of his free hand. “All of it. Some of it. It’s pretty unbelievable. A team of our best Jounin couldn’t pull this off.”
Minato frowned down at the original report, laid out on his desk. It did… well, it had occurred to him that some of Tori and Deidara’s parts, which neither Kushina nor Itachi had witnessed personally, might be exaggerated.
“Itachi was with them when Tori wrote the report,” Minato said finally. “He wouldn’t put up with a story he didn’t find believable.”
“He’s a genius, but he’s still only thirteen,” Shikaku said. “I’m not saying it’s likely. I’m saying it’s possible. Both Inoichi and I agree you didn’t do enough to vet those two.”
Minato sighed and leaned back in his seat. They’d been over this. He, too, would have liked to vet Tori and Deidara more and give them a longer probation period, but he’d also needed them for this mission.
“Let’s assume it’s a true and fair report of events for today,” Minato said at length. “I’ll let you and Inoichi grill them to your hearts’ content tomorrow.”
Sikaku raised his eyebrows. “And grill them I will,” he promised. “Fighting the Tsuchikage and his guard in close combat? Being twelve no jutsu? C’mon.”
They moved onto what Minato actually wanted Shikaku to talk about. It was unclear what Iwa’s motive was, or what their plan had been, if any, and for how long they’d been planning it. Their many, many analyses of Iwa’s movements and communications leading up to the chunin exam had borne no major red flags.
Tori’s report had made the astute observation that the window for synthesizing and then implementing the chakra poison before it broke down was quite narrow. Iwa would have had to produce it all during the week prior to the tournament, which meant there was some advanced planning, but they theoretically could have made these plans after Team 4 had arrived.
“They would have had to arrange all the equipment and ingredients too,” Shikaku pointed out. “That would have taken months.”
“Unless they already had it for other reasons,” Minato said. This idea, unfortunately, raised a bunch of other questions about why.
���True,” Shikaku replied. “But they’ve never used it before, and we have no intel on what they might need it for that they couldn’t get some other, less convoluted way.”
Shikaku had also gone through the reports on the exam itself, both the half-page Tori had dedicated to it and Kushina’s sprawling initial report she’d penned while babbling to Minato about how she was okay, she promised.
“There’s at least four places I believe an assassination was attempted,” Shikaku concluded. “Your Team Disaster just… didn’t notice, somehow.”
“Oh,” Minato said. He… also hadn’t noticed.
“The first is during the second phase of the chunin exam,” Shikaku said. “Kushina-san states that Tori was attacked by six other participants.”
“Oh,” Minato repeated, now seeing the problem. This had really been a blip on his radar too; Kushina had not expended an ounce of concern for her weakest student. This detail had only made it into the report as an example of Tori making friends immediately with a Kiri-nin in line for the Seven Swordsmen.
But no, actually, they had split up the Konoha genin and sent them off with inadequate weapons. This would have seemed immediately suspicious and unfair, if only it had slowed any of the genin down remotely.
“If I’m right that they were assassination attempts, the earlier attempts are sloppy,” Shikaku observed. “They might have been less well planned. A rushed decision, maybe.”
“Why?” Minato asked.
Shikaku stared at him meaningfully. “You waltzed one of their pet project kids right in there and said he was yours.”
Well.
“That reason doesn’t explain the poison synthesis,” Minato said finally.
“True,” Shikaku agreed. “It’s not the best theory. But we don’t have a best theory yet.”
The last item they discussed was the one that gave Minato the most anxiety.
“The reason they chose chakra poisoning…” he started. The main reason villages had started trying to stock it during the war was that it was one of the very few ways to reliably take down a jinchuriki.
Shikaku let out a long, tired breath.
“We’ve had no known intelligence breeches on Kushina-san,” he said finally. “My current theory is that because she’s a wildcard and all they really knew was that she has high chakra reserves, they wanted something guaranteed to work. But I have no way to verify this.”
“I get Jiraiya on it,” Minato decided.
The Tsuchikage’s communication on the matter arrived by hawk late in the evening, which was about the fastest turnaround time Minato could have expected.
Minato was, at least, in a decent mood when he received it. Kushina had brought Naruto and a home cooked meal up to the office for dinner, and he’d had a good forty-five minutes of laughter and a good-bye kiss from his wife. Shikaku hadn’t come by with a beer, but Akimichi Chouza’s wife had sent a tin of sweet sticky rice treats up to the other two thirds of Shika-Ino-Cho, also working late on this, and a couple of them had ended up on Minato’s desk.
The Tsuchikage’s letter was brief. He did not mention Kushina at all, offering no apology, explanation, or even acknowledgement his village had done anything to her. Instead, he wrote condolences for Minato’s out of control team and forgiveness for their incredible feats of property damage.
As an act of good faith, we will not request monetary compensation for said damages, only that your team be appropriately disciplined, the Tsuchikage’s secretary had written. We do request an international statement from you, disavowing the heinous and untruthful lies your genin chose to shout at our guests in what we could only assume was a poorly considered prank.
Damages listed all but outright admitted that Deidara had indeed personally attacked the Tsuchikage and then sauntered off largely unharmed. Minato couldn’t help it. He laughed.
What the fuck?
xXx
[...]
xXx
Two things of note happened the following week.
One, the Mizukage sent him a letter, penned by her own hand.
I have heard a terrible rumor, which if true, we in Kiri find most sympathetic, the letter started. Further down the page, she continued, Of course, Kiri must discourage any unnecessary retaliation, especially given… [here, Terumi Mei listed a non-exhaustive list of six different post-war treaties] …but know that should this escalate, Kiri is ready to honor its alliance, if we find this rumor to be true.
Terumi Mei then requested Konoha’s official statement in a tone that Minato would venture to call gossipy, and hinted that she wanted to know if he wanted her to contact the Tsuchikage or not. She’d left a lipstick print next to the Mizukage seal, which… Minato was not going to unpack.
Their alliance with Kiri wasn’t especially strong. Kiri had switched their allegiance from the Konoha-Suna side to Iwa-Kumo midway through the war; they’d only negotiated from a peace agreement up to something more like an “alliance” when Terumi Mei had taken over. Their shinobi still regularly clashed along the border, and all their alliance meant was that Minato and Mei just sort of politely looked away and didn’t escalate. On top of that, one of the post-war agreements, as insisted upon by the leader of Ame who’d strong-armed his way into negotiations last moment, was that no shinobi village could enter into an alliance which would require them to join another village’s declaration of war. In other words, an “alliance” didn’t mean Kiri would fight with them, or even lift a finger for them, should the need come.
But it was probably the most positive letter he’d ever gotten from another Kage.
Kiri’s support was also, notably, not something Oonoki seemed to believe Konoha had achieved in his communications. This was a definite win for them.
Nice job, Tori, Minato thought.
Then he buried his face in his hands at the thought. No. Tori could never find out that had worked the way she’d thought it would, or else she would interpret this as carte blanche to do whatever she wanted.
The second thing that happened threw their entire intelligence department for a loop.
He received a letter, not by hawk, but in the form of an animated, flying paper crane. It landed on his desk and then just sat there while his entire ANBU guard descended upon it. Minato was shuffled out of his office while a total of ten experts verified it was safe to touch.
Eventually, someone unfolded the paper to discover it was a letter.
Ame has uncovered some information you might find interesting, a feminine hand had written. We invite you to visit to talk it over. Attach one of your Hiraishin to this paper and come by whenever you wish.
Under it she’d written:
You may bring whoever you like. Your Team 4 seems interesting, for example.
“There’s no way that’s not a trap,” Shikaku said when Minato read it outloud. “Definitely don’t do that.”
Shikaku was right. No one in their right mind would invite Minato to send in a Hiraishin marker. Still, Minato pouted about it to Kushina in bed.
“No one ever invites me,” he complained. Hiruzen had visited other villages plenty of times. Other Kage regularly got to go show up for Chunin Exams, at the very least. But nooo, everyone politely suggested he just send a representative, because he was the scary guy who’d just plant markers to break in again whenever he wanted and kill everyone or whatever they thought would happen.
“I wouldn’t plant a Hiraishin marker on an ally,” Minato said.
Kushina looked up from her second attempt to get through the most recent Icha Icha.
“Yes, you would,” she said bluntly.
Minato pouted some more.
#reborn au#idk sometimes i write characters processing events before i actually write out what happens because. like.#it helps me categorize what i need to make happen and how it could happen#so the actual details might change and the scene might get cut for redundancy but here u go#also i legit forgot danzo is still around being a nuisance so pretend one of the missing scenes is him showing up to undercut minato#while minato goes: AAAAAAAAAH
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can I have something really sweet and fluffy messr? Maybe waking up with Tess and having cuddles? Maybe it could be pre apocalypse, no badness at all. I don’t care if it’s short or anything I just really need some fluffiness with Tess 🥺🥺🥺
Doctors orders
Tess Servopoulos x fem!reader
A/N- a few of you sent asks this week saying you wanted something fluffy as fuck so here you have it. I hope this cures any and all things you might be going through rn. Take a break. Come take a read and snuggle with Tess. You deserve it. Also look at how mesmerising that gif is my god she’s so beautiful. I’ll probably still post on Monday/Tuesday like normal I just wanted to drop this now cause it’s short and sweet ||| there is no readmore cut in this as everytime I included one it chopped off the bottom three paragraphs.
Warnings: none // pre apocalypse au.
Word count: 1.3k
Masterlist
Reblogs and comments are always greatly appreciated <3
You woke up to the sun shining across your face, peaking through a crack in the curtains and drowning you in early morning light. You twisted away from the curtains with a small groan, rolling over and reaching out for Tess. Only for your hand to find empty space instead.
Your sleepy eyes opened, handing patting the empty space as if she might somehow materialise back onto the sheets. Remnants of her warmth lingered in the cotton so should couldn’t have been gone long. You pressed your face against her pillow, comforted by the familiar scent of her and letting it ease you into a better sense of awareness.
Before you could call out for her, or get up and have a wander around the house to see where she’d gotten to, the bedroom door opened and she re appeared, climbing carefully back into bed again
“ sorry baby did I wake you? “ she asked as she opened her arms to you, letting you curl up against her chest.
“ it’s fine you didn’t “ you mumbled, pressing your face against her neck and sighing. You loved mornings like that. When you could just… exist together. Quiet and calm and warm.
Especially when the world outside seemed so… on edge lately. Rumours and fake news, scaremongering people about something or other. Wars in one country and famine in another. But in your house, your space, you could pretend the world was at peace.
“ don’t get too comfy. I have to get up and get ready for work soon “ you groaned in annoyance and it drew a small laugh from her, pressing a kiss to your head “ unfortunately not all of us have the week off “ you’d both booked the week out from work, needing to use up vacation days and hoping to spend the week alone together. You’d even discussed possibly going away for the weekend.
That was until Tess had come home last week to tell you she had to cover the week instead, one of her colleagues having had her baby or some shit like that. You’d known she had had the news the second she’d walked through the door with flowers to soften the blow.
You only got flowers on special occasions or when she’d pissed you off too much and needed to sweeten you up again. You knew it wasn’t her fault. But it was still annoying.
“ fucking Carla and her fucking baby “ you grumbled, tightening your grip on your girlfriend in some hopes it would make her stay, tangling your legs up with hers. She laughed in the way that always pulled a smile onto your face, light and melodic in a way that didn’t feel like it belonged to her.
“ yeah fuck Carla for getting pregnant huh? “
“ fuck em “ she shook her head, still laughing and ran a hand through your hair.
“ they’ll be plenty of other times we can spend the day together “ You sighed and shifted onto your back, looking up at the ceiling “ don’t get grumpy “
“ M’not grumpy “
“ yeah well tell you’re fuckin face that then “ she said with a smile, turning on her side to look at you, brushing your hair away from your face “ I can try get away early. We’ll go out for dinner or something, how’s that? “ you pondered on it for a while. Dinner would be nice. You hadn’t had an excuse to get all dressed up for a while. But it wasn’t enough. Four days worth of moping around the house bored because you didn’t have to work and she did, was finally coming to a head.
“ or you could just not go in at all “
“ baby-“
“ my god I think you’re sick “ you said with a dramatic voice, pressing the back of your hand to her forehead suddenly. You shifted to sit up more and pulled your best despair filled expression “ fuck. Yep. Burning up. Maybe it’s a fever “ she gave you a confused look, a smile pulling at her lips as she watched you “ I think you could even be contagious. I think for the benefit of your colleagues you need to stay home. It’d be pretty selfish to go and make them sick too wouldnt it? Oh no. What a shame. You’re just gonna have to stay home with me all day “
“ oh I’m sick? “ the smile on her face was the only real contagious thing about her, making it extremely difficult to force away your own.
“ so sick. I mean look at you, throwing up all over the fuckin place! Temperature. Got the chills. Man. You are just… you’re so sick. I think you should call in right now “
“ you are absolutely mental. Did you know that? “
“ fuck are you hallucinating now too? You’re worse than I thought “
“ that is possible for saying you’re being a fuckin head case right now. What have you been smoking? “ you rolled your eyes and folded your arms across your chest.
“ you have to stay home and be tended too by your wonderful, delightful, caring girlfriend “ you said, jutting your chin up with some air of superiority. Her hands reached out for you, tugging you back down onto her chest.
“ it’s sweet that you want me to stay. But I have to go to work “ you sighed and she brushed the backs of her fingers against your cheek, some gentle way of trying to ease the frown etched into your face “ cheer up “ she slid her hand round to the back of your head, pulling you in to kiss her. Knowing full well it would eliminate your frown immediately.
Which of course it did.
You’d long ago decided that it was physically impossible to be anything but overcome with immense joy when she was kissing you. Before her you’d not thought much of kissing, maybe because none of your exes had been particularly good at it. But she was. Fuck she was.
The gentle way in which she could command control with the soft press of her fingers, the way her lips seemed as though were made to kiss no one else but you. As ridiculously cheesy as it sounded, you were quite convinced they were made just for you. No one else on planet earth could make you feel the way she could.
“ that’s better “ she said softly against your lips, kissing you once more before pulling away “ see you crazy ass. I’m fine “ you shook your head, half lidded eyes falling closed again as you brushed your lips over hers.
“ still seem sick to me “ you whispered, kissing her again hoping to simply just distract her enough that by some miracle she might forget that she had to leave. Of course it wouldn’t work but at least you were giving yourself more reasons to kiss her.
“ a nurse now are you? “ she asked in between your kisses, a hand sliding up your back in a way that told you that your ridiculous plan might actually be working.
It was true that if anyone could make her do something it was you. Joel always joked that you two were joined at the hip, simply following the other around no matter what they did. Two lovesick puppies still stuck in the honeymoon phase even though you’d been together for years. And it was true for the most part. You were inseparable. The honeymoon phase probably was still in full effect. You had your ups and downs, but the ups were more frequent. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.
“ actually I am medically trained to the highest
“ well. If it’s doctors orders who am I to argue “ she said with a grin, hands soothing up and down your thighs. You reached over to the side table and grabbed her phone, scrolling through her contacts and clicking the number of her boss and handing her the phone
“ doctors. Orders “
#tess servopoulos#tess servopoulos x reader#the last of us#the last of us fanfic#tlou hbo#Anna Torv#lesbian#fluff#x reader#x you#tess tlou
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I feel like I win when I lose—Director's Commentary
In what is rapidly becoming a tradition of mine, I went on a research Bender for my Yuletide fic and there are so many details I want to point out and discuss—so I will. This year I wrote I feel like I win when I lose for @avengingmariner and I did loose my mind over it, but in a fun way. Join me in my descent into madness below the cut.
My brief was "you must put my man laurence in A Situation" and I somehow landed on the core nugget of "Napoleon finds Laurence in his darkest hour, instead of Tharkay"—mostly because NGL I haven't read further in this series than Victory of Eagles. I'm working on it, just not there yet.
From that point I just sort of... started writing and felt out where the story wanted to go, and then I kept falling into research holes. Here are some of the fun pieces of information I learned in rough order of where they popped up in the fic.
There was chicken set aside from the dinner he was supposed to have had hours ago, before an urgent missive had pulled him away—a simple roast bird, born out from what local provisions had been found
The WEEK I was working on this, Max Miller of Tasting History put out a video on Napoleon. I wasn't able to work in a lot of detail about the food here just because I couldn't make it flow into what I was writing, but there's so much I wish I could have talked about. The weird thing with chicken! Apocryphal stories about how dishes got their names! His drinking habits! The inherent whatever of breaking bread with somebody who's supposed to be your enemy! Now that I'm writing this paragraph I feel like I need to write another fic about food.
And then I Made chicken marengo the week after because I was curious. It was fine?
le mistral noir
Now this bit owes its thanks to Kangoo, my resident French correspondent. I was talking to him about what could be a nickname the French soldiers used for Temeraire, and he suggested "le mistral" which he described as "(very cold and often violent wind that blows into france from great britain, known for cleaning the sky of clouds and also wrecking your shit) (also the name of a fighter plane)" and I went "oh, that's Perfect". And I wanted to be able to explain that reference. Because it's So Good.
He blinked around at the courtyard of brick building before being hurried just as swiftly into a fine bedchamber where he was given a cold supper and the opportunity to wash himself. With little else to do, he fell into another restless sleep.
This was a fun bit of gamesmanship to think out—where would Napoleon want to set the treaty signing in order to send a message? And in order to think about that, I had to learn more about how the government of Britain worked in this timeframe (polisci major hat incoming).
In the US, authority to make treaties is vested in the executive branch, but the legislative branch has to ratify them. I did not know how that worked for the British, because their system mystefies me to this day. Luckily, I found this paper which explains how it worked in 1938, and there isn't much reason to expect it to have changed in that period, so the answer is "at least in theory, the authority rests with the Crown".
Based on that, I figured he'd want to make a point by holding it in a royal building as opposed to Westminster, so I went with St. James' palace which has been used for state stuff forever. Unfortunately, the details for the interior of St. James' are scarce. I was looking at 1860s watercolors to try and squint out a layout.
It was a dress uniform of aviator green, with gold braid and buttons as well as twin epaulettes. He dropped it as if it were a hot coal.
This was perhaps my longest diversion. I'm not intimately familiar with the internal culture of the military <understatement, but I knew having Laurence be present in any form would be read as a huge statement. So what kind of statement would you want to make? Ultimately I went with "the biggest 'fuck you' possible", so Laurence in a British aviator's uniform.
Then there was the question of fringe or no fringe. Which didn't even make it into the fic, but was an interesting diversion. You see, "captain" is a term that connotes a different level of authority in the Army vs the Navy. NATO has a standard rank scale I was able to squint at here, as it tries to standardize across branches and countries. Captain in the British Army is an OF-2 rank, but Captain in the British Navy is an OF-5 rank. What does it represent in those terms in the Arial Corps? I have no idea! This impacts nothing here other than if one or both epaulettes would have fringe on them.
He wandered the hallways, passing French soldiers who saluted him and English dignitaries who ignored him or glared at him in turn. In desperation he returned to seek refuge in the room he’d been left last.
The medal Laurence gets is that of the Légion d'honneur, and nominally military personnel in uniform are supposed to salute other uniformed personnel wearing it, regardless of ranks involved. That was too good of a detail not to gesture at.
The Wikipedia article
I picked Jacques-Louis David entirely because he's my favorite artist of this time period and location, though the fact he did official work for Napoleon was a bonus. I'm very interested in the uses of these really formalized displays of image-crafting as used for propaganda, and also it's just fun to think about. Spent ages looking at Wikipedia too to get the formatting and the style of writing right, which I think I did.
The Title
Really, it just made me laugh, so it had to stay. I mean the song is also fitting and I think it's the sentiment I wanted to gesture at emotionally, but it is also funny,
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have you been to twitter recently. ppl are accusing gege of things and they're even bringing up the mei mei and lil bro scenes from a long time ago..💀 reminds me of something that happened in one of your other fics
stop i get pissed just thinking back on it 💀🤚
ooooooh my god they're so annoying 😭 ppl are seriously accusing gege of incest because of what he put in his fictional works?? not only that but did you see them attacking myamura too???
context: one of my fic series has dark content in it and I explicitly warned my readers about the kind of stuff to expect. Fast-forward some chapters later, I get readers accusing me of supporting that shit and even complaining about the dark stuff... THAT I ALREADY WARNED THEM ABOUT. SO MANY TIMES.
What's worse is that I cross-post on wattpad and wattpad has a feature that allows you to comment on every paragraph. When I went back to my warnings, I noticed that the ppl complaining about the dark stuff had commented on my list of warnings in the past.
They knew what was gonna come. But had the audacity to act shocked and bitch at me for the stuff they were already warned about 💀 Even worse, they had so many chances to stop?? They read my warnings, if they didn't like it, they should've stopped reading ugh. Some of these guys continued to even read the sequel books??? like i thought they hated it??? pls stop omg???
On twitter I see ppl doing the same thing rn.
Even though Myamura translated Sukuna saying that he plans on killing Yorozu/Tsumiki to break Megumi, ppl somehow deluded themselves into thinking that they're gonna do some "freaky" stuff in the next chapter 💀
Sukuna literally said he was gonna kill her. Not fuck her. And they weren't even flirting in the last panel so wtf
There's no incest because Tsumiki and Megumi aren't related so pls stop calling it incest because ur just lowering the seriousness of that word (and I know some Americans have the tendency to do that with other serious words too smh)
And when they get called out, they're like "you can't blame us because gege has a history of writing problematic stuff all the time like mei mei and her brother, the maki and mai kiss, etc!!! it's gross!! he clearly likes it!!"
those instances happened like... almost 100 chapters ago. Why are you still reading if you don't wanna see problematic content??? We're literally on ch 216 rn, you ppl had SO many chances to stop reading. Pls stop pretending to be "moral" about fictional content that you deem problematic and continue to read said problematic content while also complaining about that problematic content.
They clearly enjoy the manga if they're still reading it and keeping up with the leaks 🤭 idk why they gotta pretend to hate stuff about it in order to look "moral"
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Leeanne: “I literally cannot articulate...”
Also Leeanne: *goes on for for 5 poorly written paragraphs spreading misinformation about me and what happened as you continue to gossip about me 2. freaking. years later while they still can’t even use my name*
You came into my inbox at 4:00AM in the morning just to insinuate how you thought I was going “anti” for being angry at someone being a scold to me because I just told off a whiny 13 year old for block evading me, and trauma dumping on me and then 4 days later after I took a well deserved break, I come back to see you had a meltdown and losing your absolute shit over me calling you “Honey” , a completely harmless pet name which I had called you before when I thought we were friends and I’d defended you from being attacked from another anti. And then when once I blocked you for being rude and not saying back when you had your chance, a 30 year old aroace abled-bodied autistic turbo virgin goes onto my posts to tell me that I, a wheelchair using invalid, was somehow being “condescending” towards you the the able-bodied cis woman I had previously thought was my friend (which is the only reason why I even answered you @ four o’clock in the fucking morning in the first place, because in the split second before I knew I should’ve blocked you I was actually relieved to see you, Leeanne). And then after I blocked you i needed to spend more time explaining a sex and romanced repulsed robot about how you were actually my friend once and how your little tirade against me complete with tacky Ace Ventura gif damn near broke my heart.
Then robot bonk had to show their flat ass, first by complaining to me about how angry they were that a 12 year old pretending to be a 17 year old blocked that 30 year old arsehole for trying to “discourse” with them. and then goes onto gossip to me about how you currently harassing a transgender black man and his transgender sex worker boyfriend and had stolen the personal photos of said boyfriend in order to “prove” to this transgender black man that his boyfriend of over a year or so was “white”, then when this mixed raced couple defended themselves against you, you told them “I’m black so shut the fuck up”, despite the irony of how you also claim to be mixed race, including part white, and the hypocrisy that no one in the fandom had ever seen any photos of you or proof of this.
I introduce myself to this couple and inform them of my plight with both you and the sexually repressed robot, me and couple become friends, we make fun of you people for harassing us, boyfriend is harassed for doing sex work, couple goes offline because boyfriend is having surgery. After things calm down for awhile because these people went offline you zero in on me specifically by block evading me and harassing me with questions about the boyfriends race because I’’m an easy target,
You made a cringey fandom centric joke about the 50 Shades of Gray parody ‘50 Shades of Black’ for some reason and I say find the irony of that I hilarious since you’re a Black Women Who is Not A Kinkster..( while the specific term for which is “Vanilla”) and were harassing a mixed black transgender man and his mixed transgender boyfriend for being a sex worker while you yourself are a Bisexual, Vanilla, Black Women (which is how my FULL sentence was typed) who basically just admitted to me how she was (and apparently still is, a virgin who knows nothing about kink and sex work and therefore should not have been commenting on any aspects of a transgender sex workers life, let alone their race.
You called me racist for quoting a direct example at you of Alex Hirsch being racist. You called me biphobic even though I kept explaining to you about how I openly identified as bisexual at the time.
After the Grandiose Party Goers came back they ghosted me and I contact your receipt blog requesting it be taken down, which mysteriously resulted in all the other clique blogs being taken down after the week I took off for self care, said my peace about that, and moved on. That is how I ended it. See, it actually should’ve ended the night I blocked you both or in the days that my friends were out for surgery but you wanted to push me and block evade me and see how far it went, while ornitha is just a poorly aging 30 something incel bastard who likes to scold teens and 20something for blocking them and then have one sided “arguments” with the corpses of dead URLS in an attempt let their tiny Transformer Dick finally feel the sensation of screwing someone over only if all that dirty talk has to be closed off under their pokemon sheets of a readmore, they can be certain that I ain’t gonna be climbing into that rust covered race car bed anytime soon. You’re both unwelcome.
Now the real question is Leeanne, how are you, ornithia, and so many of your little anon cronies who are constantly keeping tabs on me and reporting back to you people every single time I try to vent, actively even remembering and celebrating an “anniversary” of all ... this. And the fact that these people won’t even call me Moon or Rose like I’ve requested my bio while the ether abbreviated to mean fuck all or made fun of for being a “mouthful” while both Orn and Leeanne continue to dehumanize a wheelchair bound, housebound, sometimes bed bound queer cripple, (can’t say it you’re abled-bodied) not immensely disturbing to the rest of you?
I mean if what happened happened in 2020, and I haven’t said a word about these people since , then like why is the fact that Leeanne and her anons can mark a specific anniversary for it and the fact that Orn’s last specific tirade about me only dates back 9 months ago not disturbing to anyone else at all?
You know, Leeanne once flat out ignored me explaining to her how I use a wheelchair and just jumped at the chance of gossiping to her follows about how apparently I had told her I was “mentally disabled” instead of just pointing out to her the fact that I use a wheelchair, and since Leeanne just like to shorthand my URL so much instead of using my actual name, I guess “ mentally disabled” is just Leeanne’s shorthand way of calling me “mentally retarded”.
Guess we’ll never know.
Guess I’m too retarded to know how to properly spell Hors d'oeuvres ether I’m so sorry Leeanne’s one cultured French Anon has a kwuh-saunh permanently shoved up their arse but I’m glad to be such a bimboo I’m haunting you. ♥️
But now
Thanks to the StayFree extension, guess who’s gonna remain completely blocked on three of my google accounts for 84 slutty, years,
And before my completely final responses to your furthered harassment are even posted? I’m doing Ornithia next. ;) ♥️
And that I suggest you, ornithia, and all your little anon cronies get the extension and add my legendarily lengthy URL to it to if you desire my complete exorcism.
Since this os the last time I’ll be speaking however indirectly to this petite little piss shit jackass rabbit, goodbye forever from Rose! 💋 🌹
#Hazbin Hotel#hazbin hypocritical#petitprincess1#ornithia#reclaimed r slur#r slur reclaimed#untranscribed#undescribed#reclaimed slurs#Love how she completely erased the transgender sex worker she was harassing from her story and made it sound like I was fucking his#boyfriend! 💔#*Well that anon and her ...#This wording!
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Omg the 7 quirks! The first time it was introduced I was like cool art but what will this mean in the future? And yeahhh I knew it would cause character development problems.
it always makes me think "izuku why r u so damn lucky". tactically, izuku lost to shinsou during the sport festival, he was saved by ofa. the second time, the time when whip manifested during the joint training, it fucked up monoma's plan and tilted the advantage to 1A’s team. then, we know another thing: izuku gained ofa through sheer luck, and through sheer luck he became the last one, the choosen one of ofa. it looks as if everything about izuku and ofa is luck and izuku suddenly became the damn lucky brat who was tenfold fortunate than others yet had a habit to daub sympathy.
i’d clarify: i have no other issue with izuku besides his seven quirks. it’s just that my distaste for this went top notch in his tartarus arc. especially when some of his fans went around and cried that no one suffered as much as izuku to anyone who dared to give an opinion about his seven quirks; and i was like: for fuck’s sake? honestly, it caused a lot of issues in the development.
first of all, in order to give izuku’s 7 quirks more land to exhibit their worths, a vast potion of pro heroes had to perish, and follow them the previous good worldbuilding.
second, it shattered the balance and competition between izuku, bakugou and shouto. like, Horikoshi established them as a hero-in-training trio, top 3 of everything regard of screentimes, heroic wills and raw powers. it was what had been keeping a lot of readers stayed with MHA after the disappointed camp training arc. but now the atmosphere is gone as well.
third, the power development isn’t reasonable at all. the black whip had from joint training arc to PLW arc, that’s like three or four. but the rest? he got all of them (minus one) within a sole arc and kicked lady nagant, a former hitman, in the face. what the hell?
fourth, teamwork. omg the wasted potential! instead of making izuku performs more teamwork and show us more about how pro heroes or quirks work together, Horikoshi gave izuku 7 quirks, brushed aside available characters and somehow even gave izuku’s fans the chance to belittle other characters. the “heroes also need help” and “civilians should empathize with heroes” could be pulled in different way without sacrificing such potential. tbh, tartarus arc was a terrible writing piece.
for my personal reason, like i said in the first paragraph, is it makes izuku a damn lucky brat. the worldbuilding established a solid lore that one quirk per person. and it showed us how grueling it took to be born with a great quirk, two in one, we all know who i’m speaking about. everyone has been trying their best, everyone has been training and pushing against their limits. seven quirks to midoriya izuku feels like a direct slap to all of that.
i guess he’s the main character and i shouldn’t complain about it. but it’s not that i can stop what i feel.
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my hero - request
request: anon: hi could you write a sebastian x female reader fic where she suffers from anxiety and feels bad because of it but he comforts her and tells her there’s nothing wrong with her and how strong she is even though she has this disorder
pairing: sebastian stan x female!reader
warnings: self-esteem issues, anxiety, toxicity in the fandom, language?
a/n: hey nona! you weren’t super specific on what type of anxiety that you wanted to reader to have, so if this isn’t what you had in mind, lmk and i’ll write you another fic! other than that i hope you like it!
p.s.: my requests and tag lists are open!!
xoxo ray
check out my m.list
You and Seb met at a coffee shop in New York. It was totally cliche and seemed straight out of a storybook. You had somehow managed to spill coffee on that specimen of a man, and he was kind enough to let you pay for his dry cleaning. Your relationship didn’t grow until you ran into him again while you were at a bar with your friends. If he had any say in telling the story of how you met, he spotted you from across the smoky bar and he knew then and there that he had to get to know you. Truthfully, you liked his version, but the real one was just indescribable. It seemed, to you at least, that you were destined to be with this man. Seeing him twice in one week? Come on, that’s possible if you were in the small town you grew up in, but not New York.
You obviously had recognized him as an actor, but really you didn’t care. That’s what drew Sebastian to you in the first place. You treated him as if he was any other guy on the street, he was able to be a normal person around you. Now, two years later, you lounge on the couch of your apartment in LA that you shared with the man you love. He’s still auditioning for any role that catches his eye and you’re supporting him no matter what.
His fans for the most part adored you and your relationship with Sebastian. The fans who didn’t like you were your only issue with this whole affair, but they had nothing to do with Sebastian other than flood his socials with nasty messages about you. You weren’t perfect, that you knew all too well, and you tried to let the comments roll off your shoulders. Most of the time you were successful in your efforts, but other times they clung to your skin like an unwanted disease.
Sebastian was currently promoting his new project Endings, Beginnings. You were so unbelievably proud of Seb, he was doing something that made him happy. In this particular film, he was acting alongside Shailene Woodley, who was just amazing. Seb always came home gushing about the new inside jokes that they had come up with. One of your favorite things that Seb did with you was run lines. You liked having the inside scoop on his new works, but this one was harder for you. It had quite a few sex scenes between Seb’s character Frank and Shailene’s Daphne.
Not that it bothered you. Nope. Didn’t bother you. At all.
...mmm, okay maybe it bugged you a little. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Sebastian, it was… well you couldn’t really describe what it was. Whatever the case may be, it was putting you deeper and deeper into a funk, one that you were having a hard time coming out of. And Seb’s fans who weren’t in your corner, weren’t really helping you any.
A few nights ago, Seb surprised you with a casual night out in LA. He texted you before he got home and told you that he was going to be taking you out. Did he give you a dress code for the evening? No, he did not (wonderful, thanks so much Seb). You decided to dress in a half business casual, half rail me when we get home outfit. You ended up wearing an adorable bustier top that was embroidered with pretty blue and pink flowers, a pair of destroyed jeans covered your legs. You finished it off with a pair of nude heels, when you looked in the mirror, you thought you looked hot as fuck. It was around seven when Seb picked you up, mouth hanging open, in awe of your outfit.
“Oh my god. You look so beautiful, Y/N.” He opened the passenger door of his car after he hugged you, giving you a small peck on the lips. Sebastian drove you to a restaurant a block off of Thai Town called Home Restaurant.
“Babe, this place is so cute!” You squeezed Sebastian’s upper arm, jumping up and down beside him. “How’d you find this place?” Sebastian shook his head, smiling at you.
“I asked Shai, actually.” He rubbed his hand on the back of his neck, and your heart sank a little. Why did it do that? “She said that the paps hardly ever come around here.” He leaned down pressing a kiss to your temple. “I thought that draga mea deserved a quiet night out on the town.” His voice rasped as he spoke in his native tongue, making a shiver race down your spine.
“Well, tell her I said thank you.” You offered him a small smile. He wrapped his arm around your waist, drawing circles on the exposed skin above your jeans. He spoke with the hostess as your mind drifted away. You were pulled out of your thoughts when he guided you to your table. Sebastian sat across from you, staring deeply into your eyes. You brought your hand up to rest your chin on it, staring back at him. “How’s everything been going?” You were genuinely interested in the answer and it made your heart warm watching his face light up.
“It’s been going really well. Everyone we worked with was real nice, it made all the scenes more comfortable.” Seb’s eyebrows rose at the mention of the scenes and you knew which ones he was referring to.
“Oh, right.” You tried not to let your emotions show.
“Yeah, we’re about to start teasing some of them to promote the show.” Seb sighed at the thought of having to use social media, you shook your head at him.
“I’ll help you with it, you dork.” You laughed to hide your discomfort. “Which scene did they approve for the posts?” Sebastian began to speak when he was interrupted by your waitress. After the two of you ordered your food, the waitress returned with your drinks. Sebastian took a large gulp of his before answering your previous question.
“They want me to post the trailer and then the scene between Frank and Daphne at the bar.” You tried to think back to the script, remembering the context. Frank and Daphne were meeting after Daphne had gone out on a date with Jack. Daphne was claiming that she didn’t want to be a wedge in their friendship, then proceeded to make out with Frank. If you were recalling correctly, Frank and Daphne’s first sex scene followed soon after.
“Okay, we can do that. Do you have any behind the scene pictures you wanna post too?” Seb got out his phone, scrolling through his camera roll to see. He had several different photos of him with Jamie and then him with Shailene. He showed you his phone on a picture of Shailene leaned against him on a couch, her arm over his waist. A red filter colored the photo, you had to hand it to him, it was a good one to use. “We can post it whenever we get home, love.” Sebastian locked his phone and shoved it in his pocket, to focus solely on you.
“How has your day been, draga mea?” You bit your lip as you thought about what you’ve been doing. You’ve been working towards your Master’s, so your days have been filled with preparing for your dissertation. On top of that, you’ve become a bit of an influencer on different social media platforms. Really, you believe your popularity came from your relationship with Sebastian. You’ve been giving his fans the content that they’ve always wanted. Not only that, but you’re active with them.
“My day was good today. I had to edit a few papers from my other classmates but other than that I didn’t do much. I did make a few TikTok videos, but really today was a bit of a lounge day for me.” Seb smiled at you, proud of how hard you’ve been working.
“I should be getting a few days off soon, so we can relax together in the apartment, if you aren’t too busy with your classes.” He stretched his arm across the table, palm up waiting for your hand. Seb pulled your hand up to his mouth, placing a sloppy kiss onto the back of it. His eyes settled on you lovingly. To Sebastian, you were the greatest thing that had ever happened to him.
The two of you managed to finish your meal in peace. No fans came up to Sebastian asking for photos, no paparazzi swarms when you left, just a quiet meal for a normal couple in love. After you got home and you were snuggled in your pajamas alongside Sebastian in your comfortable bed, he handed you his phone to read over his post for his Instagram. The paragraph was sappy, about his time working with Drake, the director, and working with the rest of the cast. Seb always was a softy, never was able to hide it, especially in promo posts.
“It looks good to me. Are you going to post it now? Or wait until tomorrow morning?” Seb debated, he probably should wait and do it tomorrow, but he was most likely going to forget to do it. He clicked post, putting his phone on charge and snuggling into you.
“Thank you for always being there for me, Y/N.” He kissed your jawline, nuzzling his face into your neck. “It really means a lot to me, baby. I love you so much.” He wrapped both hands around your waist, pulling you to his front. You smiled wide, momentarily forgetting all of your troubles.
“I love you too, Seb.” You turned your head slightly, pressing a kiss against the corner of his mouth. “Now let’s get some sleep, love.” Little did you know that a single post could ruin all of the progress that you thought you had made.
*********************
You woke the next morning, alone in bed. You could hear pots clanging in the kitchen of your home, bringing a smile to your face. Before you left the safety of your bed, you checked your socials out of habit. You opened Instagram first, seeing an absurd amount of notifications this early in the morning. Your smile dropped as soon as you opened the first post. Comments on Sebastian’s post about Endings, Beginnings and his chemistry with Shailene weren’t entirely out of the ordinary. They were to be expected, they were playing parts in a love triangle. People were ‘shipping’ Shailene with Seb and Jamie, so that wasn’t too crazy.
What hurt you were the comments saying, “living for shailene and sebastian! she’s a much better match for him than y/n.”
“never thought that y/n girl was going to last, glad he’s going w shailene”
“shailene and seb supremacy”
“yes! i’ve always supported seb in everything he’s done, but i rlly questioned him when he got w that y/n girl. what was he thinking?!”
Tears gathered in your eyes as you continued scrolling. You never thought you and Sebastian never fit. You knew that people had issues with your relationship, but you never let it get in your head this bad. You checked your explore page, pictures of you and Sebastian from last night were riddling the page.
Your heart dropped.
There were pictures of the two of you from last night with parts of your body circled. The exposed skin above your waistband, the excess skin on your neck and arms. You don’t know where they got these pictures, but your stomach was steadily sinking with each picture you saw. The door of your room opened, revealing a smiley Sebastian with a plate full of eggs in one hand and a cup of orange juice in the other.
“Good morning, baby.” You quickly shoved your phone away from you, wiping your tears away from your eyes to meet his. His brows furrowed immediately. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” You snuffled quietly, before answering.
“Uh, nothing. I’m just so proud of you.” You smiled at him, not wanting to bring down his already happy mood with your problems. Was that entirely healthy? Probably not, but you were doing it anyway, consequences be damned.
“Oh, well you don’t have to cry for me, Y/N. Even if you’re proud.” He walked up to your side of the bed, placing the cup and plate on your nightstand. He brought his hand up to your cheeks, wiping away your tear streaks. “You know that I only like to see tears whenever it’s me causing you so much pleasure you beg me to stop.” He winked at you, smirking at your rising blush. To say that didn’t lift your spirits for about half a second would be a lie. Sebastian brought the plate to your lap, waiting for you to start eating. At this particular moment, after seeing all those horrible pictures of your body, your appetite had gone out the window, but he was so smiley.
“After you eat, I want ya to shower.” Sebastian’s hand came up to your jaw, cupping it as you used it to chew the eggs. “We’ve got a long day of lounging and enjoying each other's company ahead of us.” Sebastian stood from the bed, throwing a wink at you as he left the room dramatically. You stopped eating soon after he left, the food tasting like ash on your tongue. At some point, you got into the bathroom, staring at the reflection in the mirror.
Your phone was in your hand again. The pictures flooding your Twitter feed. Shaky breaths left your mouth as you watched your reflection tilt its head. Tears began gathering in your eyes as it felt like you weren’t in your own skin anymore. You had worked so hard to be comfortable in your own body.
It’s amazing how just one picture can ruin everything.
You leaned forward on the countertop, hands holding up your weight. You shifted towards the mirror, examining every miniscule detail that your eyes could see. Your lids came down quickly, tears dragging down your cheeks. You squeezed your eyes closed, shaking your head back and forth.
“You are not going to let this get to you.” You took a few deep breaths as you turned on the shower. Not wanting to be around the mirror anymore, you kept your bath short, talking to yourself the whole time. By the time you left the bathroom, it was steamed completely, you couldn’t see your reflection even if you wanted to.
“He loves you.” You had a mantra and you continued to repeat it as you walked into your shared closet. “He loves all of you.” You pulled one of his old t-shirts off a hanger. “Sebastian loves you.” A pair of your underwear and his loose boxers covered your lower half. “Sebastian loves all of you.” You shoved your feet into a pair of fuzzy pink socks, leaving the closet still muttering to yourself. You tucked your phone into your waistband after checking your socials again. You know you shouldn’t have, but there was some part of you that just wouldn’t let you not.
The same shit covered your For You page on TikTok. Videos from the trailer of Seb and Shailene and then videos of you and Seb, comparing the two relationships. “They do fit well together.” You thought to yourself. A part of you wondering why Seb was with you in the first place.
“Did you say something, love?” Sebastian looked at you from the couch. A blanket was strewn over his lower half, his upper body inviting, waiting for you to join him. His smile dropped when he took in your glassy eyes instead of your usual happy expression.
“Oh baby, what’s wrong?” He started towards you, eyes running over your body for any outward injuries. An understanding look crossed his face when he saw your phone clutched in your hand. “Y/N, talk to me, baby.” Sebastian’s hands rested on your shoulders, lightly caressing your biceps. You recoiled from his touch, feeling uncomfortable in your own body.
“Just some stuff that some fans posted.” Seb’s thumb traced just under your eye, wiping away the tears. He held his right hand out for your phone, to understand what you were talking about. His brows furrowed deeply as he scrolled, not fully processing how destructive his fans could be. Sebastian always believed that they were the best fucking people in the world. He knew that they could be mean, but this was something else.
“They don’t know what they’re talking about, Y/N.” Sebastian’s voice was firm. It was almost strong enough to cut through the fog invading your brain, but not quite. You had officially zoned out. Dead to the world. Lost in your own thoughts. No matter how destructive those thoughts may be.
Sebastian noticed that you were already too deep, having experienced this with you many times before. He was aware that you were self-conscious, insecure, however you want to describe it. Your anxiety always got worse when you were stressed. Prepping for your dissertation was definitely a stressful time. Add on top of that, Sebastian was constantly pulling you from your work for various reasons. Had he contributed to this? Scratch that thought, he didn’t have time for that. He needed to bring you back down to Earth, back to him.
“Y/N.” His hands hovered over your hips. “I’m going to touch you for a second.” He directed you to the couch, settling on the coffee table in front of you. His fingers lightly traced circles onto your knees, as he assessed how he should approach this.
“Y/N. Baby?” Sebastian hesitated before bringing his fingers up to your chin, not wanting you to react badly. “I’m right here, Y/N, it’s Sebastian.” His left hand hadn’t left your knee, continuing to trace small patterns into your skin, giving you something to ground yourself with. He watched you blink and swallow harshly, inhaling sharply before opening your mouth.
“Why are you with me?” Your chin trembled with unvoiced sobs. “You deserve the world, Seb. I’m not even--” Your sentence was cut off by a loud whimper causing tears to start streak down. Sebastian wasn’t sure if this was a situation where you wanted him to be involved, so he waited for a sign.
“I’m not even worth a glance from you.” Your hand came up to wipe at your runny nose. “They’re so right. You need to be with someone like Shailene.” A bitter sob racked your body, making your body fold in half. Sebastian caught you before you hurt yourself.
“Y/N. I love you.” He always heard you say that to yourself when you thought he wasn’t listening. He knew that you suffered from anxiety, so he was always watching. Always paying attention to your little cues. The little things that he could use to help you as much as he could. “I love all of you.” He held one of your hands, running his thumb over the back of it.
“I don’t care what they say, baby.” He lifted your face to his, steel blue eyes locking with your cloudy pair. “I picked you.” He pecked your right cheek. “I want you.” A peck to your left. “I want only you.” One to your forehead. “It’s always been you, Y/N.” Another on your chin. “I love all of you, Y/N.” Sebastian landed a final short kiss to your lips, lingering for only a second.
“I want you to understand something, Y/N.” His gaze never left you. “I’m not going anywhere.” His brows raised as he hardened his voice. “I’m especially not going anywhere at the behest of my fans. I love them to death, but they don’t get to decide who I love.” Sebastian shifted to sit next to you on the couch. “Is it okay if I put my arms around you?” All he got was a brief nod in return, which was expected.
“I’m yours, Y/N. As much as you’re mine.” His arms descended around you, wrapping you in a loving embrace. You turned to face him fully, bringing your own arms around his waist, shoving your head into his neck.
“I’m sorry you have to deal with all my shit, Seb.” Sebastian almost missed your comment because you spoke into his shoulder and through loud snuffles. He backed away to look you in the face.
“I signed up for this, Y/N. I’m here for whatever we go through.” He tucked a stray hair behind your ear. “We go through ‘your shit’ together, Y/N. This is a partnership, a two-way street.” He looked at the weak smile on your face, heart warming slightly at the sight. His face turned serious, casting a glance at your phone on the coffee table.
“How long have you been sitting on this?” He knew how quickly your mind could twist things, so he wasn’t sure what to expect. You bit your lip, not meeting his eyes anymore.
“Just since this morning.” He held you away from his body, watching your expression.
“Is this why you were crying earlier?” You gave him a meek nod in response. “Baby, I thought we talked about this. We have to talk to each other when we think we’re going to go into a funk.” The two of you had talked about it before, but you didn’t think this was going to be a funk.
“I should’ve been able to just shake this off because I know you love me and you won’t leave me because of something that some people on the Internet say.” The words left your mouth before you could process everything, your mind quick to defend itself.
“It’s okay, Y/N. You don’t always have to be able to shake something off. We just have to keep each other in the loop.” Sebastian looked over your tear-stained face, pressing a kiss to your forehead again. “Let’s ditch the phones today. Just spend the day in each other’s arms, how’s that sound?” You smiled softly, nodding at the man in front of you. He got up quickly hiding both of your phones in the kitchen somewhere.
This definitely wasn’t a solution to dealing with your anxiety, Sebastian knew that. It also wasn’t dealing with the toxic people on the Internet, but you didn’t need that right now. You needed to be immersed in an environment that accepted what you were going through without judgement, Sebastian could provide that. Seb hummed happily when you snuggled into his side under the covers on your couch while he searched for a movie. He kissed the top of your head and he felt you smile against his stomach.
“I’m proud of you, draga mea.” You turned to face him, a confused expression lacing your features.
“For what, Seb?” He stroked your face with a single finger, mapping out your features.
“I’m proud of how you handle yourself. I’m amazed at how strong you are, even when you think you’re not.” He leaned closer to you, whispering his next words. “You’re my hero.” One corner of your mouth twitched upwards, not wanting to accept it. You rolled your eyes playfully, settling back onto his stomach before speaking.
“I love you, Sebastian.”
“And I love you, Y/N.”
#sebastian stan x reader#sebastian stan x you#sebastian stan x y/n#sebastian x reader#sebastian x you#sebastian x y/n#sebastian stan x yn#sebastian x yn#sebastian stan#sebastian stan fanfic#sebastian stan fanfiction#sebastian stan fan fic#sebastian stan fan fiction#sebastian fanfic#sebastian fanfiction#sebastian fan fic#sebastian fan fiction#seb stan#seb stan x reader#seb stan x you#seb stan x y/n#seb stan x yn#sebastian stan imagine#sebastian stan x female!reader#seb stan x female!reader
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hi! could i request for an imagine involving childe and a gn reader? the reader is childe’s longtime childhood friend who’s more or less been in love with him since they were young—and they document the extent of their feelings in a diary (complete with embarrassingly detailed paragraphs planning out theirs and childe’s wedding, gushing over every little thing about him, incidents where they felt petty and jealous over childe showing interest in someone else, etc etc.) that they accidentally end up mailing to childe in liyue thinking it was the book they bought him as a gift.
when they realize the mix-up, they try to make a run for the post office to stop it from being sent to him, but it’s no use—it’s already been shipped out and sent off. how childe ends up responding, doing, or reacting is completely up to you! (i apologize if this request was a little long aha; i hope you have a wonderful day!)
featuring: childe x gn!reader
warnings: none
published: april 22 2021
form: imagine
a/n: thank you for requesting!! this is so cute~~ i love wholesome, bashful childe www
you couldn’t believe it. oh my god, you were such a huge, fucking idiot. how could you have gotten the letters mixed up with the bank documents??? the whole point of keeping your ridiculously embarrassing letters to tartaglia separate from the rest of your documents was just so something like THIS could never happen!
the eleventh fatui harbinger had requested a few copies of official documents from northland bank to help zhongli with some funeral parlor legal paperwork, and you happily obliged, jumping at the opportunity to be of help to the boy you’ve admired for so long.
but for some reason, you were feeling particularly airheaded today. the night before, you had written yet another “letter” to tartaglia in your diary, much like the countless other sheets of paper clipped together, filled with endless words of yearning that will never be read by their intended recipient. you wrote:
“my dearest ajax,
i hope life as a harbinger is going well. i quite miss when we were back in snezhnaya as children, but i suppose i should thank celestia that fate brought us back together in liyue. i still cant help but to miss you each and every day, though. it feels like its been so long since we last got together and talked. i remember last time we had an actual conversation was at wangshu inn— was it three, no, four months ago? i cant quite recall. you looked so lovely, as usual. your smile never fails to make me laugh, especially with that one crooked tooth. i still love to bully you about that, you know. hopefully we can meet again soon, sincerely. im tired of being just friends, tartaglia. not when you look at me like that, and not when you always love to put your arm around my shoulder and pull me in to you every time we meet. i dont know how you feel about me—sometimes it appears as if you might feel the same, though i can never be sure. but i digress. life is rather lonely without you, and yet i manage to get by, somehow.
always yours,
[y/n]”
you tucked the letter amidst the stack of all the others, confident that they would never see the light of day. but somehow, somehow, your foolish, sleep-deprived brain mixed the letters in between the documents from the bank, and now tartaglia would know everything. all your foolish musings over the years, fawning over his rogueish charm like a child, yearning for your friend with such humiliating naïveté. this cannot happen. you have to get to him before the mail can, somehow. he was currently staying at an inn nearby the funeral parlor—there’s gotta be a way to be quicker than the mail deliverer.
you hurried out of your office and hailed the first rickshaw you see lined up on the street, and ordered him to drive you to the inn, as soon as humanly possible.
upon arrival, you leapt out of the seat, tossing an indiscriminately large fare at the driver before stumbling onto the sidewalk, almost dropping your things. slamming open the door to the inn, you reach the front counter. asking breathlessly, “which room is mr. tartaglia staying in?”, you hurry to the room the doorman indicates to be the fatui’s residence.
but before you get the chance to even look for the room, you turn the corner and slam into a taller body. to your dismay, you look up and see the face of a shocked tartaglia looking down at you, a stack of papers tucked under his arm. shit.
shit shit shit. this cannot be happening right now. maybe he hasn’t read the letters yet? slim chance, though—he’s always been nosy.
“[y/n]...” Childe looked at you with a pained glint in his eyes. he reached out for your arm with his free hand.
ah. so he knew.
you tried to jerk away, feeling your cheeks heat up with embarassment and the pressure that always comes before tears. things are never going to be the same again. all because of my stupidity.
you felt yourself colliding with the wall of tartaglia’s chest again, as he abruptly dropped all he was holding. a pair of arms wrapped themselves assuredly around your waist, so familiar, yet so foreign. not able to hold yourself together for any longer, you let yourself go, crying into tartaglia’s chest, your voice racked with harsh, humiliating, childish sobs.
“why did you hide it from me for so long?” you felt tartaglia whisper into your hair, his breath grazing your scalp. his warmth was so delicious, something youve been craving for so long finally being satiated.
looking up, his usual charming smirk was much more sad, almost guilt-ridden. “i care about you so much [y/n]. you know you can tell me anything, right?”
gasping for air, you felt so ashamed for making such a scene in front of him. “i was so scared, ajax. scared that i would drag you down, or scared you would leave me behind.” you couldn’t bear to meet the pained gaze of the boy yoy so hopelessly fell in love with.
his rough hand smoothed over your hair, comforting you like he used to, back when you two were children in snezhnaya. drawing you effortlessly closer towards him, until you felt his lips plant a chaste kiss upon your forehead.
“you know i love you, [y/n], don’t you? i always have and i always will.”
you clung on to him tighter, fearing what the world might return to if you ever let go. you couldn’t let him slip through your fingers, not again.
“i don’t want you to suffer because of me anymore, my dear.”
a/n: to clarify YES THIS IS A HAPPY ENDING READER AND CHILDE GET TOGETHER i just didnt wanna go any further and do a complete 180 on the tone lolol i hope this is okay!!
#childe x reader#genshin impact#genshin impact x reader#genshin headcanons#childe headcanons#childe imagines#tartaglia x reader#tartaglia headcanons#genshin childe#genshin impact childe#childe fanfic#childe fic#when will i stop writing angst
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King of Cups || Chapter 2
Chapter 2: Five of Pentacles
Archive: ao3 | masterlist | one
Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader
Summary: Still reeling from the attack on Jortho, you begin your journey to scower the systems for galactic aid. The Mandalorian takes you aboard his ship temporarily, agreeing to shuttle you to your next destination. You both figure your tenure on the Razor Crest will be short lived... But you've been wrong before.
Word count: 3.8k~
Rating: Mature
Warnings: blood/gore, minor character death (mentioning), mature themes/language, vomiting
Notes: Hi friends. Here we go. Chapter 2... The last paragraph is marked with ///|||///, denoting a change to Mando's POV— his pov will be cropping up now and again, and I have a tendency to play with the timeline/tenses when it does. Enjoy x
You have to think about it. Genuinely.
It takes longer than you’d like to admit, with the Mandalorian looking down at you expectantly, a gloved hand slotted against his belt—postured and waiting.
‘Do you have a way off this skug hole?’
You open your mouth, but no words come out. It snaps closed. You swallow, but the action provides no relief. Your tongue feels too big for the small space it’s trapped in; too swollen, too dust logged— like you could choke on it, if you really tried. Finally, a single syllable frees itself, the weight of it plummeting through your ribs, ricocheting off the bones until it lands in your stomach with a dull, sinking splash.
“No.”
He doesn’t move.
“Do you need to get anything?”
You shake your head, small at first, phantom movements, before stringing together a sentence. “N-No. It’s all gone. Everything I had- it all went up on the shuttle-“
Oh gods, the shuttles.
Your heart seizes, a cold hand like a vice, gripping the bloody organ. You feel green; sickly chartreuse slithering it’s way up your esophagus, poisoning your soft palate. There were pilots on board when the ships blew. Two on each one. That’s four— four people. You knew their names. Knew their home planets. Knew about their families. One had a kid. Fuck. That’s four dead, and you didn’t even think of them— Maker, how could you not have thought about them?— No, fuck, fuck fuck-
It didn’t before but it’s hitting you now, stabbing you right between the eyes, the image of their bodies disintegrating in the blast wave, charring up like coal and carbon. You breathed them in, you realize. Their corpses coat your lungs.
The thought is all it takes.
Your feet move on instinct, scrambling to the side of his gunship where you vomit, bracing yourself against the riveted siding as you hack and sputter, wretching bile and what little broth you’d had for supper to splatter onto the cracked earth. Mercifully you’re hidden enough around the corner that you don’t think the bounty hunter sees, and if he does, he has the curtesy not to say anything.
What a gentleman, you think dryly, wiping your mouth with your sleeve.
You pant, body beyond spent, chest heaving as you press your scratched palm into the durasteel, the cool metal soothing it’s sting. Moments stretch like this— you doubled over, catching your breath— before you stumble back into view, graceless and encumbered, as if you didn’t just casually throw up down the front of yourself. You stand below him at the bottom of the ramp. He’s still there, a fixed point. Steel boots welded into the steel ramp.
“Uhm, are you-“
You cough, and it’s an ugly, hoarse sound; your throat burns, roughened and raw around the edges, and your nerves are too strung out for polite colloquialisms. You don’t have the energy to play coy and tip toe around the question. You’re fucking tired.
You try again.
“Are you offering me a ride?”
And now it’s his turn to hesitate, almost like he didn’t fully think the proposition through— as if it’s all just dawning on him now.
The Mandalorian didn’t strike you as someone who familiarized himself with answering to anyone— or picking up hitchhikers, for that matter— even if the offer was his to begin with... That was what he was doing, wasn’t it? Those words in that order? He meant to give you transport off planet? He wasn’t just… making conversation? Did Mandalorians even do that? Maker, if you’ve read this whole situation wrong, no small thanks to a laser-brain full of mush, you reckon you’d die from embarrassment on the spot where you stood, splotched with soot and puke and blood.
You think he’s going to tell you to shove off— you see his hand balling into a fist at his side— and close the ramp right then and there. Be rid of you. Sluffed, like a flea from a dog.
But he doesn’t. He surprises you both.
“Yes.”
Oh. Oh. Kriff, okay. Think think think-
Your mind reels and you’re rambling now, words ending and beginning in the same breath— steamrolling over yourself.
“Okay, I-I need to go back in to town, just for a—I cant let them think I’m just leaving them like this... Is that okay? I’m sorry, I won’t take long, I promise, I just— they need to know I’m getting help. Is that- uhm, can you wait? Can you wait for me?”
There’s another unreadable pause that makes you want to bury your head in the cold, fallow soil.
The man is looking at you like you’ve grown another kriffing leg, but eventually he grumbles out a noise that sounds like an affirmative, turning on his heel, and disappears into the belly of the ship— leaving you there alone.
Alone.
Pin pricks needle at the nape of your neck and the hair down your arm stands on end.
Alone.
You’re alone for the first time since the attack and suddenly you feel half your size and shrinking smaller still, like atoms collapsing and folding in on themselves until they dematerialize completely—and you along with them. You tell yourself to breath. To fight the bubbles of panic as they burst and pop, dimpling you from the inside out. Breath. Focus, he said. Focus.
You shift your weight from foot to foot, gnawing at the inside of your cheek.
The Mandalorian never reemerges.
Well… you guess that was your cue.
///
Staggering back into Jortho is like sleepwalking through a nightmare.
The smoke from the bombing has completely engulfed the lower atmosphere, doming the town in a thick canopy; the sky is blackened, starless, and the moons hover noncommittally like mere suggestions in the dark canvas.
Half the town had been decimated to rubble, and the other half was covered in the shockwave of it’s explosion— caked in grime, windows knocked out, doors splintered open. You almost expected the pieces to have reversed themselves back up, like you’ve seen in holovid special effects—homes rebuilding, fires dousing themselves, air purifying itself from the smog… but they don’t. They remain in shambles.
Time has granted you the unforgiving gift of clarity, and it’s one you’d rather not have been given. You don’t want to see the aftermath without the saccharine filter of shock to cushion you. The town is just as you left it, but somehow worse— worse because you can hear the crying, now. The wailing. You didn’t before with the blood pumping in your ears, deafening you, but you do now. The woeful noises that reverberate over the crackling embers still smoldering, the muffled sobs being choked down behind fractured walls.
Tripping over stray debris, you find Hareem close to where you’d left her, her fuse short hair grey with ash. The blood you smeared from her cheek still clouds her skin there, staining it as it does your fingers that wiped it. She wobbles to her feet and meets you in the middle of the road.
Neither of you speak, not at first. You hold onto her shoulders, and like a pillar of salt, you quake.
You try explaining to her that the communication’s system on your transport freighter had been blown up alongside the town, that you’ve accepted a ride from the bounty hunter and that you’re getting off world to contact the RRM headquarters, that you’d stay if you could but you can’t and you need to call for assistance, for help. You try to tell her that you’d do anything— travel through dimensions, if you could, to undo all of this chaos— if the laws of time allowed it.
You want to go back and pretend today never happened. To unlearn the tremor in your hands as they grip her frame. To unlearn all of this. To unknow. But,
you can’t.
All you can do is move forward. Do the next right thing. Take the next right step.
You’ve explained yourself in circles but it still doesn’t feel like enough. The words feel shallow, like slapping some bacta on a severed limb, and guilt rips through you— your voice torn with it.
“But how can I leave now?” you ask helplessly, eyes skittering around you. “After all- all of this?”
Hareem finds your hands, her spindled fingers encasing your own. A crease engraves her forehead, little lines clustering around her eyes. “You’ve done enough, hm? You go now. Go with that Mandalorian. You can’t shoulder this alone.”
“Har-“
She doesn’t let you say it. The older woman soothes a thumb into the web between your knuckles.
“Make contact. Comm for aid. It will come, but it won’t if you stay here.”
Your shoulders release with a defeated sigh. You know the Balosar’s right— you’re the one who’s told her as much. That’s RRM protocol. In case of emergency, you were to comm in and reconvene with the closest branch to your system to send additional supplies and volunteers to the camp. You know this better than anyone here, and yet this woman, this refugee, was the one aping your mission back to you.
She’s firm. Kind. “You’re just one person.”
Briefly, you wonder if she’s a parent. You think her child would be lucky to have her as their mother-- all of her somber strength. You think you would have been lucky, too.
Maybe things would be different—maybe you’d be different.
You gather yourself, piece by piece, and give her knobby hand a squeeze. You bore into her, determined and unwavering. You need her to understand. “I’m not abandoning you—any of you. I need you to know that, okay? I’m not leaving you alone in this.”
She smiles. It doesn’t reach her eyes.
“I know, my friend,” Hareem says plainly, a sad sort of resolve quieting her tone. She has no fight left, nothing left to give— as empty as her pockets, lint lined and turned out. Barren. “I know.”
///
You weave your way back to the ship, feet padding across the arid landscape. You don’t blink, not even once, eyes crusted open and gaping. You barely remember the trek but somehow you’ve managed it, treading up the ramp, the thuds sounding hollow and foreign to your ear.
“I’m not a taxi service.”
You nearly jump out of your skin.
“Maker almighty,” you gasp, hand coming up to clutch your canary heart, beating fast and frantic. He’s just standing there, waiting, the dimmed lights of the hull glinting off his beskar. It’d only been a few hours, but you had already somehow forgotten how kriffing imposing he was, how ominous. A vacuum in space.
“O-Okay,” you stutter, a twitch in your brow.
“I’ll get you as far as you need to go, but on my terms. I’m not making a special trip— can’t promise you when.”
You nod. You’re not sure what to say. Lamed, all you can do is repeat yourself.
“… Okay.”
“What sector?”
“Bajic,” you start, fiddling with a loose thread poking from your sleeve. “We- uhm, the RRM, we have a branch there, but then—” your throat bobs as you swallow your words, and he gives you an exacting look, tilting his helm subtly. There was no getting around it.
You’re pinned.
“Coruscant. I’ll need to get to Coruscant,” you finish quietly.
Did you just hear him ‘tsk’ under that metal bucket?
“It’ll take a while to get to the Core. Longer than you’d like.”
And here you go, babbling again before you can stop yourself, throwing up defenses, excuses— back pedaling. You’re earnest, and it’s dripping from you. “Listen, if this is too much, I get it. You don’t owe me anything. Really— you don’t have to take me anywhere you don’t want. I-I, honestly, I’m just grateful you even considered it.”
Silence. An endless sea of silence.
No current, no breeze. It feels like you’re stranded in dead water, drowning in it. Again, you hang there on bated breath, just waiting for the man to chuck you from his ship. Not worth the effort. Not worth the fuel.
And again, he surprises you.
He tips his chin, gesturing to the side. “Fresher’s that way. We’ll be up in five.”
You exhale, visibly relieved, and mumble a thank you before shuffling off in the direction he motioned towards. You get one foot through the door before you hear him.
“Dala,”
Your attention snaps to the Mandalorian. There’s that word again—you think he’s called you that before—but there’s something different in his voice now, a lilt you’d not yet heard from him. What is that? Nerves?
“There is… one more thing.”
You cock your head just as a gargled coo comes from somewhere behind him.
///
You look like bantha shit.
Which, considering the events of your evening, should probably go without saying— and yet, the woman staring back at you in the small refresher mirror still manages to startle you.
You’re covered in dirt and cinders and contusions you hadn’t had the luxury to notice before. With the adrenaline retreated from your veins, you finally feel the full scope of your injuries and Maker do they hurt. Your tunic is torn at the collar and the fabric is discolored, pants and boots scuffed and ashen. Your bottom lip is swollen, a split running down the side of it, the seam of which is cracked with dry blood. Your palms are scratched— knuckles, too. There are narrow licks from shrapnel bites nicking your forearm. Twisting your body, you discover a dark bruise already blooming on your shoulder from the initial impact of the blast. You’re stiff and achy all over, and you can practically hear your bones creak and groan with each strained movement.
You turn on the faucet and begin to bend forward before you wince, a sharp pain gripping your skull. Ginger fingers come up to touch the back of your head, patting around tentatively until you find a raised bump and something viscous wetting the strands of your hair. You pull your hand back, inspecting it— more blood, glistening black under the low light.
Your eyes flit back up to your reflection.
You should be scared at this point, you guess. Worried, at the very least, by all of this—by the gore of it, the cuts and marks. But it’s your eyes that frighten you most— they’re hard. Devoid. You don’t recognize them. You’re a stranger.
You blink. She blinks back.
Rust red water eddies in the basin of the sink as you scrub yourself clean. You let out a hiss as the cold stream hits your skin. You count your breaths.
///
Being anywhere on board his ship without the Mandalorian feels wrong. Unnatural. Like you’re a tourist, out of place.
Unsure of where else to go, you find yourself in the cockpit with the bounty hunter, sitting in the seat beside him. Glancing over the knobs and dials and pulsing displays, your focus drifts in and out, posture slumping, lids growing heavy, darkening around the edges of your vision, blurring—
“Try to stay awake.”
With a sharp inhale, your eyes snap open, blinking wildly, and you scoot your hips up higher into the seat. You shoot the back of his helmet an inquisitive look you’re not sure he sees, but he responds to it all the same.
“Could have a concussion.”
“Didn’t know you were a doctor,” you reply, tone low and rolling. Maker above, apparently the final stage of shock was sarcasm. The fact that you thought it wise to damn near sass a Mandalorian on his own ship after he saved your kriffing life...
Stars, maybe it really was a concussion. Brain damage. Had to be.
He doesn’t acknowledge the quip, which you can’t readily blame him for. A quiet beat, red buttons flickering against the dark of the cockpit, and then—
“There’s bacta in the medpack. Might not be much left.”
You’re wide awake now.
Your rebuttal is immediate, bristled even, words escaping before you have a chance to even consider his suggestion. “No— no, thank you, but I’m not taking the last of your supplies. I’ll be fine, you’re- you’re doing enough for me already.” He graces you with another of his grunts, a hush following closely behind it.
Your gaze wanders—it wanders onto him, and you watch him.
Watch as the stars dance across his armor, incandescent and shimmering. Hypnotic, even. Something you hadn’t noticed before catches your eye, and you have to crane your neck to get a good look at it. It’s hard to make out, but you think there’s a symbol on the pauldron adorning his shoulder. You can’t imagine it’s completely cosmetic, seeing as the hem of his cape is frayed and worn (and the fact that being a lethal hunter didn’t really scream ‘needless decoration’), but maybe, if you work up the courage somewhere between here and Coruscant, you’ll ask him about it.
His posture is carved out of stone and he sits like a statue, spine rigid under all that beskar. Fleetingly, you wonder if it’s heavy, if it’s uncomfortable—to carry it with him wherever he goes. But you suppose he’s grown accustom to the weight, wearing it like a second skin.
He’s broad too, you note. Of course he is, you recognized that straight off, but inside the confines of the ship, without the towering Lothal sky as his backdrop, it truly strikes you just how large the Mandalorian is. He engulfs the space around him. Devours it.
You stay like this, entranced, studying the man properly for the first time, allowing the muscles behind your tired eyes to relax on him— until his visor notches up quickly and meets your line of sight in the mirrored pane of the window, catching you in the act.
Kriff.
You avert your eyes, an embarrassed warmth crawling up your neck, suddenly finding a particular panel soldered to the wall incredibly interesting— looking anywhere else but at the faceless stranger you’re saddled with.
The kid gurgles, interrupting the awkwardness, and you’ve never been more grateful for a three pronged toddler in your life.
He’s sitting in the copilot’s seat opposite you, as if the tiny thing is navigating for the Mandalorian, and he’s completely dwarfed by the massive chair. Everything about him juxtaposes the other man. He’s all brown robes and wispy peach fuzz, and he looks almost comically out of place against the interior of the gunship. He’s playing with a shiny metal ball in his lap, and with one small arm, he extends it to you like a gift.
Out of the two of them, the child was a one man welcoming party.
“Is this for me?”
He gives a soft patuu, and your heart nearly bursts. You take it from him gently, and the little guy coos through a babbling grin, cheeks round and impish. “Thank you,” you tell him, all serious-like, and you have to actively suppress the squeal that threatens to break free from you. He glances to the Mandalorian with such a look in those big eyes; its hard to make out, but you think its something close to pride or satisfaction, maybe: Look dad, I shared my toy.
Kriff, this kid is cute. Like, dangerously cute.
You both take each other in like this; your micro expressions, his pruned little forehead, your fleshy form, all soft lines and angles. You’re sure you look just as strange to him and he does to you, especially given the only other lifeform on board he has as reference is coated from head to toe in metal. The child’s gaze snags on a lock of your hair, little teeth peeking through his mouth, eyes glued to it like a metronome as it dangles. You give your head a little shake, strands waving, and he giggles. You skip the ball over the hills of your knuckles, dazzling him momentarily.
“Does he have a name?” You ask, his eyes like black saucers peering curiously at you, and you give him back his toy— an offer he eagerly accepts.
“No.”
“So what do you call him then?”
“Just ‘kid’.”
A beat. “... Do you have a name?”
“Mando.”
“Just ‘Mando’?”
“This is the Way.”
You nod, worrying your cheek absentmindedly as you stare out the transparisteel. This is the Way. You’re not entirely sure what the phrase meant, but you know respect when you hear it— how reverent it sits on his vocal chords— and by the manner of which the man, this Mando, spoke, you can tell there’s more to those words than you know.
And you can appreciate his desire for anonymity; it doesn’t bother you much—you figure you won't be around long enough for it to matter anyways. You don’t know a lot about the Mandalorian people, but you have heard rumors. Everyone had. That’s all they were anymore: rumors and stories. Legends. Just seeing one was rare, and talking to one even rarer. But flying with one and his adorable, green baby? It was… definitely unique, to say the least.
You share more dulled quiet. And although the silence isn’t entirely uncomfortable now—you’re settling in to it— it’s not exactly desirable either, but it doesn’t matter because it doesn’t last.
Mando clears his throat, breaking the white noise that’s blanketed the three of them. He doesn’t turn his helmet. He keeps his focus straight ahead. You watch his reflection in the ship’s window and you can’t know for certain, but you think you feel your eyes brush against his, if only for a moment. A unintelligible noise filters through his modulator.
“Do you?”
You grin, a slow smile tugging at your lips.
“Last I checked.”
It’s the first smile he draws from you. The first of many.
///
Despite Mando’s warnings and better judgement, sleeping is exactly what you end up doing. You pass out, hard, stirring only once when an errant beep sounds through the cockpit. You’d fallen asleep right there in the chair, chin tucked into your chest, hair fanned across your cheek, arms wrapped around your waist in a measly attempt to trap your body heat to you. You’ve woken to find the cockpit empty— the ship must be on autopilot, you think— and by the illuminating glow of hyperspace, you spot his medkit, sitting open on the seat across from you and in it, nestled among old wrappings and gauze, a single patch of bacta.
///|||///
That smile.
Din remembers this moment, much later, holding it like a photo in a locket. Private. Secret. He keeps you there, gold plated on a chain, to loop around his memory.
Encircling him. Strangling him.
#din djarin x reader#mando x reader#din djarin x fem!reader#mando x fem!reader#King of Cups#ngl i got kinda emotional writing some bits#idk why but the hareem scenes kill me#din djarin fic#mando x you#din djarin x you#no y/n#pedro pascal#mando x female oc#din djarin x female oc#ofc
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florence (iv)
warnings: smut!! in the middle but you can see it coming if u wanna skip over it
wordcount: 8.3k
______
Six and a half hours and two transfers later on the train, Sophie and Rafe made it to Florence. They’d fallen asleep on each other multiple times and woken up with cricks in their necks or imprints of each other’s clothing onto their cheeks, and were both running on little sleep - somehow, he’d convinced her to go skinny dipping off a little cove at 2am the night before. She lasted about ten minutes in the water with him before she spotted someone with a flashlight along the beach and freaked, practically sprinting out of the water to pull her wet clothes back on and shove Rafe’s at him. (He’d hissed at her to relax until they heard yelling of “arrêter! Policiers!” They put together pretty quickly that it was “stop! Police!” and booked it back to the hotel, giggling the whole way.)
Despite Rafe’s tired grumblings, she made him freshen up and walk with her to go get dinner at a place a few blocks from the hostel. It was only 6, but they both hadn’t eaten in a while and had to be up early for an architecture tour Sophie had scheduled at 8am. He took two looks at the menu before handing it to her - she raised her eyebrows, skeptical. “You know what you’re getting?”
“It’s Italy. I want pasta every day.”
“Every day.” She repeated, doubtful.
“Every day. And gelato, every day. Those are my two requests.” He nodded, sure of himself.
“I think we can manage that. Did you learn Italian too over the summer, you want to order for us?” She teased, holding back a smile.
“C’mon, my Spanish wasn’t that terrible. It really wasn’t.” He protested, kicking her gently under the table.
She kicked him back reflexively, maybe a little too hard, and just rolled her eyes when he made a show of dramatically grabbing his leg. “It wasn’t awful. You just had zero accent, that’s kind of important.”
“Whatever, I’ll work on it.” He grinned. “You can teach me where to put my tongue.”
“Your ability to make anything sexual is impressive.”
“Wasn’t even sexual, but good job on you for twisting it.” He smirked, leaning across the table and lowering her voice. “Hey. Guess what.”
She did the same, reaching out and taking his hand. “What.”
“We’re in Italy.” He whispered conspiratorially, squeezing her hand.
“Yeah, and…?”
“When you were drunk on FaceTime once, you told me we needed to have sex in every country.”
She blushed, raising her eyebrows. “Did I?”
“You did, and I’m holding you to it. I got us single rooms in the hostels for a reason.” Rafe wiggled his eyebrows back with a smile, trying to get her to laugh. “But there’s like, a 98% chance I fall asleep on you if we try anything tonight, so we can check that off the list tomorrow.”
She had to hide a giggle as their waiter came over to take their order, turning it into a cough into her elbow. When the waiter left she shook her head, grinning. “Tomorrow’s fine. I appreciate the honesty.”
“Any time.”
_______
The next morning, Sophie woke up to her third alarm in a row with Rafe still blissfully asleep next to her, his arm curled around her middle and her leg thrown over his waist. She nudged her head up, knocking against his chin. “Hey.”
He stirred just enough to pull her closer and bury his face into her hair. “Shh. Sleeping.”
“We gotta get up, Rafe, we need breakfast before our tour.” She started scratching gentle circles on his chest, placing short kisses up along his neck. “Up.”
“If you keep doing that something else is going to get up.” He mumbled, humming contentedly with his eyes still shut. The hostel was busy with other kids their age and he’d woken up to the sound of two groups trying to open their door - twice - and their drunken whisper-yells. Sophie, of course, slept peacefully through the whole thing.
“We don’t have time for that.” She placed a kiss on the tip of his nose and tried squirming from his grip unsuccessfully. “Come on.”
“Five minutes.”
“Two.”
“Four.”
“...Fine.” She settled her head back onto the pillow, sighing as he grinned and nuzzled against her. “Only ‘cause you’re warm.”
“Yeah, what the fuck is up with the temps? This place is an icebox.” He replied, slipping his hand under her shirt and cupping her breast.
“Rafe.” She elbowed at him, a warning tone to her voice.
“M’ just holding it. You’re warm.” He argued, brushing his thumb over her nipple and smiling to himself when she let out a tiny whine. She made the mistake of pressing her hips back into him, just a little, and he groaned quietly into her ear. “Careful there.”
“You’re not seriously - oh my god, Rafe.”
He wasn’t embarrassed in the slightest, just pushed his hips against her ass. “Can’t help it. I have my beautiful girlfriend in my bed that I haven’t seen in months.”
“It wasn’t even that long -”
“It was a whole quarter of a year without you, Sophie, now hush and let me sleep.” His tone took on a teasing lilt and he brushed his fingers down her stomach, making her tense. “Unless you’d like to do something else.”
“We don’t have time.” She told him firmly, knocking his hand away. He grumbled and pulled his hand out from under her shirt, settling his arm around her waist instead. “Lame.”
“You’re lame.”
“Okay. Good comeback. You’ve lost your touch.” He quipped with a tone of amusement, pulling her close again. Her alarm went off and he sighed dramatically, dropping his head to her shoulder. “Let’s skip.”
“We’re not skipping, we might never be in Florence again and I’ve wanted to see the Duomo and Palazzo Vecchio for years.” She twisted in his grip just enough to place a quick kiss on his lips then sit up, stretching. “Get up.”
“I’ll bring you back - no, Sophie, stay -” He protested weakly, reaching for her.
She smiled fondly at the way he was all squinty in the mornings, adjusting to the lights and trying to find his glasses, but her smile gave way to a pout she knew Rafe couldn’t say no to. “Baby, please? I don’t want to be late.”
“Fine.” He yawned and dragged himself out of bed, pulled on his glasses and shoved his feet into sneakers, just wearing his boxers. “I’m gonna go pee.”
“You’re not gonna at least throw on a shirt? Or shorts?” She questioned, eyeing him over with no shame.
He caught her gaze and flexed his chest, smirking. “Not if you’re enjoying the show.”
“You’re the worst.” She informed him, leaning over to give him a kick to the ass. “Go.”
As requested, she pulled out his clothes for the day after she got ready, finding a certain kind of pride in the fact that he trusted her in his appearance. She grabbed his wallet from the desk too, ready to stick it in her backpack, but paused when she realized it was a little thicker than normal, barely snapping shut. Curiosity got the best of her and she flicked open the wallet, pulling out a couple wrinkled and worn pieces of paper from one of the slots.
Rafe returned just as she was smoothing it open. “What are you doing?”
She startled, quickly turning and holding the paper behind her back. “Nothing! Just putting your wallet in my bag. So we didn’t forget.” She clarified quickly, cheeks blooming red at being caught.
He smirked, kicking off his shoes and striding closer. “If you wanted money, you could’ve just asked.” He teased, reaching around behind her. “Whatcha got?”
“Nothing.” She twisted, trying to set it on the desk without him noticing, completely unsubtle.
“Oh. You found your letters?”
Sophie paused. “My letters?”
“Yeah, that’s what they are.” He nodded and started pulling on his clothes for the day.
She brought it from behind her back to read and brightened, realizing it was two scraps from the many letters she’d sent to him when they were apart. He’d just cut out the two sappiest paragraphs she’d written, embarrassingly, as she found it much easier to express the extent of her love for him through writing rather than face to face. She pouted a little, skimming over them. “Baby.”
He turned back to her and ran his thumb over her bottom lip, shaking his head. “Hm? No pouting, little fish.”
“Little fish?” She quirked her brow, confused.
“Yeah, remember that one time you blamed your crying during finals week on being a Pisces moon? Pisces is the fish, I think.” Rafe reasoned, taking the papers out of her hand and carefully tucked them into a zippered pocket of his suitcase. “Since you’re here with me now, I guess you’ll just have to tell me how much you love me in person instead.”
She beamed up at him, adoringly. “I love you so damn much.”
He grinned and slipped his hands around her waist, pulling her close to kiss her slow. “Love you too, Soph. My favorite girl.”
Fifteen minutes later, the two of them strolled out hand-in-hand to the hostel cafeteria and picked through some pastries for breakfast, Sophie promising him a protein bar from her backpack when he complained he’d be lightheaded by eleven. He snapped a photo of her when she recoiled at the strong cappuccino with zero cream or sugar to cut it with, laughing as she tried her best to hide a cough. They found a spot at an empty table and it wasn’t long until a friendly couple came up to them with twin smiles.
“Hi, can we sit?” The girl asked, already setting down their plates.
“Yeah, yeah, go ahead.” Rafe replied, gesturing. Sophie noticed that his slight Carolinian accent came out a little more in Europe instead of in Ohio, as if he was trying to mimic a little bit of the Spanish and Italian accents and butchered it in his own special way. (She hadn’t corrected him yet, finding it endearing.)
“Thank you! I’m Elena, this is Marco.” Elena introduced herself, sliding into her seat.
Marco gave them a nod and pointed at Rafe, hesitant. “It’s...Jake?”
“Rafe.” He corrected, then explained to Sophie, “we met in the bathroom.”
“Your boyfriend is built.” Marco informed Sophie with a grin, making her laugh. “I know. I’m Sophie, it’s nice to meet you both. Are you just visiting, or…?”
“Yes, we’re from Milan, we wanted to make a weekend trip.” Elena confirmed. “And you? Americans?”
“North Carolina, yeah.” Rafe nodded. “Sophie was studying abroad in Barcelona, then I came to tag along.”
“Oh, so cool!” Elena grinned. “Do you have plans today? I love Florence, it’s beautiful.”
“It is, yeah.” Sophie glanced down at her phone, then back up at them. “I’m sorry, but we have to run, actually, we have a tour to go to this morning. But no plans later.”
“We will meet you by the Duomo, then, around lunch! We can show you around.” Marco declared, handing over his phone to Rafe to put in his phone number - he was a little confused, but did so anyways. “You guys don’t have to -”
“No, new friends are always fun.” Elena waved him off with a smile. “Enjoy your morning.”
Sophie brightened, slipping out of her chair. “See you later!”
Rafe followed her back to their room, and turned to face her after shutting the door with a skeptical look. “He was flirting with me.”
She laughed, packing up her backpack for the day (she’d bought the little leather bag in Barcelona and it was now one of her most treasured possessions, carrying her camera and sketchbook every day). “Don’t be ridiculous, you just have a big head.”
“No, I swear, he was giving me a look this morning when I walked back from the bathroom.” He insisted.
“I think you’re misinterpreting things, he was probably confused that you were shirtless. They were friendly, we should meet up with them! New friends!” She grinned and slapped a protein bar into his hand, as promised.
He furrowed his brow a little but slipped the bar into his pocket. “How long do I have to share you for?”
“Rafe.”
“I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” He amended quickly, leaning down to give her a sweet kiss. “Ready to see your Domo and whatever?”
“Duomo, baby. And the Palazzo Vecchio.”
“Yeah, that’s what I said.”
“Uh huh.” She held out her hand with a grin. “C’mon, Florence awaits.”
He took her hand and raised it, guiding her into a twirl. “We certainly can’t keep her waiting, then.”
______
Rafe wasn’t sure he absorbed a single word of the self-guided tour. Twenty boring minutes in, he’d turned down the volume on his audio pack that they’d rented and just observed Sophie and the small look of awe on her face at every new turn, the way she nodded enthusiastically when she recognized a piece of information shared on the audio. He decided he would be perfectly content with just watching her for the rest of his life, to see the way her face lit up when she learned new things and got to share that information with him.
He listened just enough to be able to hold a conversation with her afterward, but his intro to architecture class that he’d had to drop midway through the first month of the semester didn’t really give him a strong enough background to keep up. Sophie made him pause the audio several times too, so she could tell him a story about the architect or about the construction of the buildings - he did his best to look as interested as possible. She could tell he was losing interest, just a little, but carried on anyways, just excited to share her passions with him.
After finishing the tour and returning their audio devices a little early, they took a seat out on the steps of the piazza as they waited for their new friends. Sophie took out her sketchbook and started drawing the front entryway of the Duomo, and after two minutes she ripped out a sheet so Rafe could doodle too. (His sketches were much less refined, a little rough around the edges, but they made up for it in character.)
“Do you think they’ll show?”
“Marco and Elena? Yeah. They sounded genuine.” She replied, her tongue poking out a little in concentration as she sketched.
He suppressed a grin and snapped a quick photo of her before she could realize. “How long do we have to hang out with them?”
She shrugged. “Dunno. Maybe go to lunch, let them show us around and if we like them we can hang out more?”
“Hm. You think we’ll like them?”
“Yeah, why wouldn’t we?” She reached over and adjusted his hand, trying to help him draw a straighter line, but he just scowled and went back to his usual method.
“We don’t know anything about them.”
“That’s the whole point of staying in the hostel, baby, to meet people.” She nudged her foot against his, giving him an eager smile. “C’mon, you like making friends. You’re good at it.”
“Okay, fine, but I have something planned for us tomorrow afternoon.” He told her, raising his eyebrows.
She huffed, exasperated. “Rafe, I promise, we can have sex later, but I’m not wasting the day in bed -”
He laughed, flicking at her knee. “No, no, not that, but I like where your mind is at.”
“Oh.” She cocked her head a little. “What is it?”
“A surprise.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Not an expensive one, I hope?”
He made a show of pulling out his phone, dramatic. “Siri, cancel the private shopping tour at Gucci please.“
“Rafe Cameron.” She fixed him with a glare, unamused. He grinned back and leaned over to kiss her forehead. “I know you better than that, don’t worry.”
“You’d better.” She rolled her eyes, then brightened when she saw Marco and Elena approaching and gathered up her sketchbook and pencils back into her bag, along with Rafe’s little drawings. He followed her gaze and stood, visibly steeling himself a little - she instantly nudged him to relax.
It didn’t take long for Rafe to warm up to their newfound friends, especially when Marco showed interest in his camera and when Elena asked him about his film minor, and enthused about how jealous she was that she couldn’t study something fun like that. He was a little caught off guard when they each got kisses on cheeks as a greeting, but didn’t mention it when Sophie shot him a look.
As promised, the two gave Rafe and Sophie a mini tour of the city, stopping for gelato twice along the way. After a solid few hours of walking and chatting, they stopped at a fountain by their hostel and sat around it to take a break.
“This fountain is special to us, you know.” Elena smiled at Marco and he nodded, tugging her down to his lap.
Rafe cocked his head. “Why’s that?”
“It is where we kissed for the first time.” Marco revealed with a raise of his eyebrows. “There’s a legend, if you throw a coin in here over your shoulder and it makes it to the top tier, you will find your lover.”
“Or lovers.” Elena added with a grin and dug in her pocket, then tossed two coins to Rafe and Sophie. “Here. I’ll tell you where it lands.”
Rafe tried handing his back, shaking his head. “No, I don’t want to waste your coin. I already have Sophie.”
Elena pushed it back into his hand, insistent. “You never know what will happen. It’s just good luck.”
Sophie looked a little confused but accepted the coin, tossing it in. Marco let out a whoop as it landed in the top tier, making a satisfying clink. “There you go!”
Rafe scowled but flicked his in too, looking a little smug when it joined hers up top. “See, I told you. Your lover’s right here.” He slipped his arms around her waist from behind, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, and mumbled, “Stupid fountain.”
Elena laughed, gesturing out to the crowd milling around. “Your lovers could be anywhere. Love is meant to be shared with more, yes?”
“...Sure.” Sophie leaned back into Rafe, content. “How long are you two here for?”
“We have as long as we’d like.” Marco shrugged. “Wherever the wind takes us.”
Rafe chuckled quietly into Sophie’s hair, murmuring. “Sounds like your worst nightmare.”
She just hummed in agreement back to him. “Oh. We leave in two days, early in the morning. Do you have plans tonight?”
“Probably a club.” Elena grinned. “You should come! We will teach you the tricks, get you the good Italian drinks. Sophie, I can show you how to flirt for the free drinks, the Italian way.”
She held back a laugh as she felt Rafe’s grip tighten a little around her. “Going out sounds fun. I’m not sure I have the right clothes, though, I sent a lot home already…”
“I have clothes! We will share.” Elena dismissed her immediately, then got up off Marco’s lap, tugging him up. “We are meeting with friends for dinner, but we will meet you later? At the hostel?”
“Sounds good.” Rafe nodded, letting Sophie go, and was surprised when the two of them said goodbye - again - with cheek kisses, Marco included. Once they were out of earshot, Sophie giggled at the bemused expression he wore. “I think you should start greeting James and Colin that way.”
He scowled. “James would participate. Colin might deck me.”
“Yeah, probably. I miss them.”
“More than you missed me?” He raised his eyebrows and she rolled her eyes, shoving at his chest. “Of course not. Don’t be weird.”
“I’m not being weird.”
“You are being weird, you get all overprotective and I know you wanted to say something earlier when she talked about flirting.” She took his hand and intertwined their fingers, giving it a little squeeze.
He softened a little and leaned down to press a kiss against the crown of her head, ignoring her remark. “What do you think she’ll have you wearing?”
“No clue. We’ll see, I guess.” She shrugged. “We have a few hours to kill, what do you want to do?”
“Hmm. We can go see the David?” Rafe tipped his head in that direction, and Sophie visibly brightened. “You want to go to an art museum?”
“Yeah, I’ve heard it’s cool. One of my buddies went last year and said it was worth checking out. Plus, air conditioning.”
“My two favorite words.” She grinned.
____
Later that night, Sophie walked out of the girls’ dorm with Elena to meet the boys, looking extra hesitant. She wore a black bikini top, maneuvered differently so it was upside down and strung up to push her boobs together, with an open back. One tug of a string and it’d all come undone. It was paired with a leather miniskirt and Elena insisted on doing winged eyeliner and soft pink lipstick too, all completely out of Sophie’s comfort zone.
Rafe’s eyebrows shot up and his jaw fell open a little. “Soph.”
“She’s gorgeous, yes?” Elena grinned, giving Sophie a little push on the shoulder toward him.
“Yeah, definitely, stunning.” Rafe nodded, searching her face. Sophie gave him a small smile, clearly uncomfortable in the attire. “It doesn’t look bad?”
“No! No, not at all. Do you like it…?” He questioned. “I can go get an extra shirt of mine from our room, if you want a little more, uh, coverage - not that you need to cover up, but -” He started, stepping toward that way even without her encouragement.
“No, um, I think it’s okay.” She grabbed his arm, stopping him in his tracks. “Just a little...different. I just need a drink. Or two.”
He paused. “You’re sure.”
“I’m sure.” She nodded, then gave him a wry grin. “Just make sure no one accidentally tugs at this string or I think it’s all coming apart.”
He clapped his hand against the string at the back of her neck protectively. “You got it.”
“Ready? You look nice, Sophie.” Marco asked, sending her a polite smile, then stopped in front of Rafe. “No, wait.”
“Something wrong?” Rafe frowned, then widened his eyes as Marco reached out and undid two more buttons on Rafe’s shirt that already had three unbuttoned, so his chest was basically on full display. His attire was completely out of character for him, a short-sleeved maroon silk button-down that Marco had insisted on, but he wore it well. Sophie stifled a laugh.
“There! Much better. Now we go.” Marco took Elena’s hand and they led the way, starting the walk toward the club.
Sophie giggled at Rafe’s bemused expression and reached over and undid another button with her free hand. “You look extra slutty tonight.”
“Extra slutty?” He emphasized in mock outrage. “Maybe I’ll be the one getting us free drinks.”
She grinned. “How about we make it a competition?”
“Go on…”
“Whoever can get to...um, two drinks first wins.” She decided.
“Just two? Why not go the whole night?” He cocked his head.
“I don’t think I’m going to drink too much tonight.” She reached up and tugged at the bikini string to tighten it a little, pushing her boobs together more. “I feel like my tits are gonna fall out at any second.”
He snorted. “Say the word and I’ll give you my shirt.”
“I know you would, baby, but I think you need some semblance of decency too.”
They were practically glued to each other’s side all night despite their bet, with her being stressed about her outfit and him being overprotective. (Sophie noted that Rafe looked remarkably comfortable in the overpriced and fancy club environment, while she felt wildly out of place. For a moment she wished she’d taken him to Monaco just to see how quickly he’d assimilate, even though she knew she’d probably hate it.)
They took two shots with Elena and Marco and lost both of them shortly after, not expecting them to leave so soon. After they said hasty goodbyes, not returning, Rafe slung his arm around Sophie’s shoulders and kept her close. “I’m pretty sure I just saw Elena making out with some girl on the dance floor.”
Sophie furrowed her brow, leaning into him. “You’re sure? Isn’t she dating Marco?”
He shrugged. “Dunno, maybe it’s their thing. I swear it was her.” He grinned, repeating Elena’s words from earlier. “Your lovers could be anywhere, remember?”
She rolled her eyes. “She’s a little out there. When we were getting dressed she dragged a crystal down my spine and told me I had to align my chakras.”
“Kinky.” He quipped, laughing when she shoved at his shoulder. “Whatcha thinking, want to stay?”
“Honestly?”
“Yeah.”
She shook her head. “I’m tired and my feet are killing me. Let’s just head back?”
He took the rest of her drink and tipped it back, then set it on a nearby counter as they walked out. “Exactly how tired are you?”
She grinned. “I could stay up for a little longer. I saw your packing skills, might as well put them to good use.”
Rafe blushed - she’d found a whole strip of condoms in his bag on the first night in Barcelona and immediately teased him, asking how many nights he thought they’d be doing it. He merely responded by shrugging and ripping one open, setting it on the bed like an invitation. (She had accepted. Of course she did.) “We might as well take advantage of your top. Easy access, y’know.”
She rolled her eyes and checked her hip against his, shaking her head. “You have me, you know. You don’t have to keep constantly flirting.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
“Touché.”
_________
Rafe’s planned surprise for the next day was a bike tour (“so you can live out your Lizzie McGuire dream,” he’d told her, but she didn’t have the heart to correct him that technically Lizzie rode a Vespa in Rome).
The bike tour was out to a small winery where they had a private dinner and both got drunker than they expected, especially Sophie. The owners of the winery made them a three-course meal and kept coming out with more and more wines to try, successfully convincing Rafe to order three bottles to be shipped home. When Sophie nearly fell only a few feet after attempting to ride the bike back, the owners laughed and just ordered them a cab - Rafe thanked them with a tip that was probably a little too excessive, but his drunk brain didn’t care.
When they tumbled into the car, Rafe immediately pulled her feet into his lap, running his hand over her shin. She gave him a look and tried twitching away but he wouldn’t let her, keeping a firm grasp on her ankle. In Spanish, a little slurred but near-perfect, Sophie told the driver their address and the name of the hostel. Their driver nodded and responded something in Italian - neither of them could understand, so they just nodded back.
Rafe dug his thumbs into her calf and she nearly moaned, biting her lip. “Oh my god.”
“That good or you’re just drunk?” He smirked, continuing his motions.
She let her head flop back against the car door. “Both. You’re drunk too. My brain is working funny though.”
He raised his eyebrows, smiling. “I don’t think it is. What’s 15 plus 26?”
“Rafe, you know I can’t do mental math, unfair.” She whined, pulling her leg back a little so his hand slipped back to her ankle.
He swapped her legs, massaging into her other calf. “Not gonna take your shoes off in the car, sweetheart, you’ll have to wait for more.”
“Sweetheart. That’s new,” she repeated, mulling it over. “You know what?”
“What?”
“If you gave me a foot massage right now, I genuinely think I’d marry you on the spot. No contest.”
“No contest implies there is competition, Soph.” He pushed both her legs off his lap, ignoring her squawk of protest, and slid into the middle seat so he could buckle her in and lean into her.
She tucked her head into his side comfortably. “You’d marry me too. Wouldn’t you?”
“Right now?”
“Yes.”
“Hm. No.”
She whined, squeezing his thigh. “Rafe!”
“Sophie!” He mimicked her whine, although much quieter, and pushed her hand away from his leg. “No, I wouldn’t, you deserve a big party and a pretty white dress. Plus, wouldn’t you want our friends there?”
“I suppose.” She hummed, pulling his arm a little tighter around her shoulders. “Sometime, then.”
“Yeah, sometime.” He agreed, starting to play with her hair. It wasn’t long until she fell asleep on his side, always extra sleepy when she was wine drunk. He snapped a picture and sent it to Allie and Julia, who instantly demanded a Facetime session.
A few minutes later, the cab dropped them at the hostel and Rafe had to practically drag her sleepy body out of the car and haul her inside. He convinced her to stay awake just long enough to get into their room, then let her flop onto the bed as he untied her shoes.
She perked up a little when she heard the familiar ring of the Facetime call. “Who’s that?” He scooted in close to her, pressing his cheek to hers to fit them both on the screen with minimal effort. Allie and Julia picked up right away and both their faces broke out into a grin.
“Mom and Dad!” Julia exclaimed.
Sophie grinned back, immediately taking the phone from Rafe and shoving him away. “Hi!”
“She’s drunk.” Rafe informed them unnecessarily off screen.
“I am not, shh.” She snapped at him. “Hi guys! I miss you!”
“How’s your trip? I want to hear all about it!” Allie asked right away.
Sophie glanced at Rafe, the wheels turning in her head. “Should we tell them? Are we allowed?”
He furrowed his brow. “Why wouldn’t we be allowed?”
“Okay. So we had sex last night -”
“Jesus, Sophie, no -” He immediately wrestled the phone away from her as Allie and Julia both cried out with a chorus of “no, stop!”
“You said it was allowed!”
“I didn’t think you were going to talk about that!” Rafe rolled his eyes and gave them an apologetic smile. “We’ll be home in a little under a week, Soph can catch you up then. On the less explicit details.”
“You taking care of our girl, Cameron?” Julia asked, smiling as Sophie nuzzled into his side like a cat - she was always extra touchy when drunk, even just with the girls.
“Technically, she was mine first.” He pointed out.
“Technically, you made her cry after multiple fights before you ever dated, so no. She’s been ours since freshman year.” Allie corrected.
“I can be everybody’s.” Sophie mumbled, taking Rafe’s hand and placing it on her head so he’d get the hint and start playing with her hair again.
“Polygamy. Spicy.” Julia quipped.
“I would like to have sex or go to sleep now.” Sophie announced without a care in the world. “Can we hang up?”
Julia snorted, while Allie rolled her eyes.
“You’re not gonna talk to your friends?” He asked, trying to hand the phone back to her, but she just shook her head and pushed it away. “M’tired.”
“You just said you wanted to have sex.” Julia said.
“Yes, I’m not gonna do any of the work.”
Rafe shook his head and angled the phone back to his face. “Okay then. Sorry, guys, we had way too much wine at dinner. We’ll see you soon?”
“Yeah, of course. See you soon! Bye, Soph!” They both chimed in, waving until they hung up. He dropped the phone, amused. “What was that about?”
“Honesty is the best policy.” She told him, sprawling out onto the bed. “Alright. Have at me.”
He rolled his eyes. “No. You need to shower, then we can go to sleep.”
She sighed dramatically. “Rafael.”
“That is not my name.”
“Okay. Rafe.”
“Yes.”
“Can we please have sex?”
“No we cannot.”
She pouted, rolling over onto her stomach and looking up at him. “Please? I’ll let you go down on me.”
He laughed. “You’re so generous. No. Come on, shower time.” He gathered up her towel and clothes for her to change into after, then tugged at her hand. “Angel. Up.”
“Shower with me.” She demanded, getting up and following him out the room with only a few stumbles along the way.
“You want us to get kicked out? I don’t think so.” He ushered her into the small shower stall, slipping in behind her and locking the door, then helped her undress, dodging multiple kisses. He folded her clothes and set them aside then gave her a small push into the shower that he’d turned on for her. “Okay. I’m going to wait outside.”
“No, no, stay.” She yelped as the water hit her, ice cold, and fiddled with the handles. “Fucking - oh my god -”
Rafe quickly jumped forward and adjusted them to the right temp, then turned his back on her. “Fine, I’ll stay, but only because I’m worried you’ll drown.”
“Can’t drown in a shower, silly.” She reached out and shoved her soapy hand through his hair and he sighed, turning back to look her in the eye. “Sophie Flint. Please behave.”
“You behave.” She gave him a mischievous grin, then lowered her voice to a whisper despite there being no one else milling around in the bathroom. “Come in.”
“You’re drunk.”
“Not completely. Not anymore.” She argued. “I’ll go down on you.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “If you really want to, you can save that for the morning. Finish your shower so I can get in. I’ve decided I don’t trust you to stay alone in the room.”
“Or you could get in with me…” she trailed off, tugging him down for a kiss - he gave in just for a moment before glancing away, trying his hardest to ignore his naked girlfriend - wet and covered in soap suds, no less.
“Soph. Rinse your hair.”
She crossed her arms, stubborn. “No.”
“Oh my god.” He rolled his eyes and double-checked the lock before he stripped down and got in with her, nudging her back under the feeble shower spray. He figured he’d have to shower anyways, and the faster he got her back to bed, the better. “Rinse.”
“Do it for me.” She protested, resting her head against his chest. He sighed but tipped her head back into the water and massaged his hands through her strands, stilling for a brief moment when she let out a breathy moan. “Hey. Can’t do that.”
“Sorry, can’t help myself.” She excused, then reached up onto her toes to lather shampoo into his hair once he was finished. He ducked down a little so she could reach, pressing his head against her hand. “M’ gonna be hard if you keep that up,” he mumbled.
She giggled. “It’s just shampooing. And I think you’re halfway there.”
“It’s intimate.” He protested, nearly melting into her touch. He loved when she played with his hair, how gentle she was (except when she’d occasionally tug on some strands to get his attention).
After shampooing and rinsing his hair, she lathered soap between her hands and smoothed it over his chest, over his shoulders. He swallowed, watching her and feeling like his skin was on fire despite the warm water waning. “You’re still drunk.” He mumbled.
“Not really.” She pressed a kiss to his neck, then another, then along his collarbone. “I know what I’m doing.” His illogical side was beginning to give way to her actions, especially as she sunk to her knees in the shower, running her hands down his thighs. “Let me.”
“Baby…” He was hesitant and clearly worried about being caught, and reached down to tip up her chin. “You’re sure?”
“Yes. Although this is twice now that I’m getting cheated out of shower sex, kind of rude.” She grinned up at him.
“Sophie, I will fuck you in the shower all you want when we’re home - oh, shit -” He nearly gasped as she took him into her mouth, jerking his hips involuntarily. She gagged and immediately pulled off him, pinching his thigh. “Jesus, Rafe, trying to bruise my throat or something?”
“I had no warning! I’m sorry!” He exclaimed in a hushed whisper, fumbling for the shower faucet to turn it just a tad hotter as it rained down on his back. “I didn’t mean to, I swear.”
“I mean, we can try it, but another time, okay?” She smirked as his eyes went wide and she licked up the underside of his cock, carefully taking him into her mouth again. He let out a deep exhale and bit down on his knuckle to keep himself quiet, letting his head fall back against the shower wall. She continued bobbing up and down on him and when he looked down after a few moments, he nearly choked watching her touch herself at the same time.
“Sophie - let me -” He tried, but she just hollowed out her cheeks and moved on him a little faster, and he could tell from the way she hummed around him that she was close too - impossibly close. He pushed her gently off of him and hauled her up to stand, even though she protested, and traded places faster than she could think, hooking her knee over his shoulder and going straight in with his tongue.
She gasped, a little louder than intended, and he sent her a warning look. They could hear some giggles from down the hall, coming closer and closer, and she panicked, tugging at his hair to bring him up, but he refused to stand. “Be quiet.”
“Rafe you know I can’t -” She pleaded, then pressed her hand tight to her mouth when the door opened and he continued to eat her out with no sign of stopping. Realistically, there was no chance of getting caught unless they were heard - they were in one of four locked shower stalls and even Rafe couldn’t be seen over the top, despite his height. Another gasp caught in her throat as he flicked his tongue across her clit, faster, and she felt like she might black out when she came.
He looked up at her and she could barely see the blue rimming his pupils, eyes dark with lust. That was enough to push her over the edge and she couldn’t stop herself from letting out a not-so-quiet whine.
The girls’ conversation stopped out by the sinks and one of them spoke up, loudly. “Did you hear that?”
Rafe stood after working her through the orgasm - as always - and clamped his hand over her mouth, reaching down in between them to jack himself off as he whispered in her ear. “Don’t make a sound. You’re so good for me, Soph, so fucking special.”
She felt like her legs were jelly and her head was spinning, in a haze post-orgasm (and the excessive steam in the shower didn’t help). She pushed his hand away and kissed him, hard, grinning against his lips when he uttered a soft groan, painting her stomach with his cum.
He rested his forehead against hers, trying his best to breathe quietly, a different girl spoke up. “No, I didn’t hear anything. Probably just the shower faucet being weird.” There was a murmur of agreement and the group left, the door swinging shut to make a loud exit.
Sophie let out a small laugh of disbelief, shaking her head. “You’re…I can’t even think.”
“Incredibly sexy?” He supplied with a grin, nudging her back under the shower spray and handing her the body wash to clean herself off.
“Incredibly insane, more like it.” She shivered once she was clean and flicked off the faucet. “You went from no sex tonight to near-exhibitionism all within the span of a half hour.”
He glanced at his watch before wrapping her in her towel. “Forty-five minutes since we’ve been home, actually, it’s a miracle the water wasn’t ice.”
She patted herself dry and pulled on her clean clothes, scowling as she had to shove her feet into her mildly sweaty shoes. “Um. You need fresh clothes.”
“Right.” Rafe paused, then stacked his clothes on top of hers and wrapped her towel around his waist. “This’ll do. You leave first?”
“Good call.” She grinned and slipped out of the bathroom unnoticed, back to their room, and was under the covers when he returned. “C’mere.”
He tugged on clean boxers and called it good, slipping under the covers with her and drawing her close. “Sleepy?”
“Yeah.” She grinned to herself and pressed a chaste kiss to her jaw. “Baby.”
“Hm?” He closed his eyes, feeling like he could fall asleep at any second.
“You’re so easy.”
“Easy?” He echoed. “Maybe. Just for you.”
“Aw. Slutty just for me.” She grinned and rested her head on his chest, sighing contentedly when he wrapped his arms around her. “Good night.”
“Night, love you.” He mumbled.
“Love you too.”
_____
After another long day of exploring (and five gelatos, between the two of them), Sophie and Rafe agreed to meet up with Marco and Elena to go out again before they left. Rafe insisted on buying Sophie a better outfit for going out, despite her protests, and they ended up buying three outfits instead of just one. The night started out tame, with Marco and Elena actually sticking by Sophie and Rafe - until Marco kept buying more and more shots of limoncello and sambuca.
The sambuca shots came to their table on fire, and Rafe was a little too enamored by the flame by the third round he’d consumed (Sophie passed hers off to him, a little worried about her ability to keep an eye on him otherwise). When she noticed Rafe’s terrible typing on a Snapchat to Colin and James, she leaned up to yell in his ear. “Hey! I’m going to go get water. No more shots.”
“I’ll come!” He got up from his chair and immediately stumbled, gripping the table. Marco caught him by the arm, laughing. “I can watch him. It’s okay.”
She nodded and pressed both hands to his shoulders to keep Rafe in place. “Okay. You stay here with Marco, I’ll be right back, baby.”
“Promise?” He frowned, reaching out for her.
“I promise.” She pressed a kiss to his temple. “Stay.”
After fighting her way up to the bar, and poorly communicating that she wanted acqua, water, not acqua di cedro, an Italian liqueur, Sophie finally made it back to the table after ten minutes - just in time to catch Marco leaning in and kissing Rafe.
Rafe had leaned in a little too, misreading and thinking Marco was just trying to tell him something in his ear over the loud crowd. He jerked away with wide eyes just so Marco caught the corner of his lips, then abruptly looked around in shock to see if anyone else caught it.
Marco cocked his head, confused. “You are not interested?”
Sophie came up and handed Rafe the water, tucking herself into his side protectively. “What’s going on?” He gaped at her for a second then back at Marco, trying to gather his thoughts. “Interested?”
“In me.” Marco nodded. “We have been flirting.”
“We’ve been what?” He repeated, in shock.
“I’m his girlfriend.” Sophie clarified, gesturing between the two of them. “I thought we told you -”
“Yes, and I have my girlfriend too!” Marco nodded, tapping Elena on the shoulder and bringing her close. “What is the issue?”
“Oh, did you ask?” Elena brightened, sending Sophie a flirtatious grin. “Did they say yes?”
“I’m too drunk for this.” Rafe mumbled, pressing his palm to his forehead.
“Wait, wait, so. You two want to hook up with Rafe -” Sophie started, only for Marco to shake his head. “No, no, both of you. You for Elena.”
“I thought you could tell? We were flirting all week!” Elena exclaimed, and both Sophie and Rafe thought back to several incidents over the past few days that they’d just chalked up to the Italians being friendly. Kisses on cheeks, Elena telling Sophie to toss coins in the fountain so she’d meet her lover in Florence, Marco complimenting Rafe’s body multiple times when he came back in just a towel after the showers - shit, were they really that oblivious?
Rafe just groaned and dropped his head down to Sophie’s shoulder. “I’m so drunk.” She laughed, more out of confusion than anything. “Um, I’m sorry, I think there’s been a misunderstanding. We’re not really inter - well -” She paused, debating for a moment and glancing up at Rafe to make sure she wasn’t speaking for him. (In her defense, she wasn’t sober either.)
“No!” Rafe exclaimed.
She nodded quickly. “Right, right, yeah. We’re not really interested, I’m so sorry if we gave you the wrong idea.”
“Oh. I would not have kissed you, I am sorry -” Marco began to apologize, but Sophie shook her head. “It’s okay! It’s okay, he’s fine. Um, here, you can have these, I think I need to get Rafe back home.” She pushed their waters into Elena’s hands, giving them an awkward smile.
“Will we see you at breakfast?” Elena asked as she smiled back, completely unfazed.
“Um...yeah. Maybe. Rafe, c’mon, let’s go.” Sophie looped her arm around his waist and tried pulling him out of the club, and he just dragged his feet along. “I can’t believe he kissed me.”
“Shh,” she giggled as she hushed him, tugging on his arm. “Rafe, cooperate, please.”
“I’m trying, I’m trying.” He grumbled, standing slightly more upright and doing his best to walk with her once they finally made it out. She got out her phone to look up the directions back to their metro stop and he wiped his hand over his mouth, scowling. “I need a kiss.”
“You nearly got one from Marco.” Sophie quipped with a smirk.
“I didn’t want a kiss from Marco.” He lamented with a big sigh. “Need one from my girl.”
“Just one, then we gotta make it home.” She complied, rising up on her toes to give him a short kiss. He grabbed her chin, not so gently, and tilted it back up to give her another kiss. “No. More.”
“I’ll kiss you as much as you want when we get back. Will you please help me and walk to the metro? One block, then just two when we go to the hostel. You can do it.” She pulled out of his grip and looped her arm in his, trying to get him going. “Rafe. Please.”
“So whiny.” He mumbled, but followed along. “Sophie, baby, Soph.”
“Yeah, bud?”
“My legs feel like jello.”
She grinned. “Kissing Marco had you that weak-kneed?”
“Shut uppppp.” He whined, messing with her hair. She jerked away, swatting his hand. “Hey! Quit.”
“You quit.”
“Shut it.”
He was quiet for a solid minute and she could tell he was thinking something over, with the way his brow was furrowed and lips were pursed. “Sophie Flint.”
“Yeah?” She was grateful when they arrived at the metro, tugging him onto the empty car and scanning their tickets. She wrestled him into a seat and eventually ended up on his lap after some pushing and pulling, his forehead pressed to hers. “What, Rafe.”
“Were you gonna sleep with Elena?” He looked concerned and his hands gripped her waist a little tighter.
She laughed, pulling back to brush his hair out of his face. “No, baby, I wasn’t going to sleep with her. I didn’t even know that’s what they were trying for.”
“Oh. Good. I don’t think I’d like you sleeping with someone else.” He told her, closing his eyes a little as she combed her fingers through his hair.
Sophie held back another laugh, nodding. “Yeah? I didn’t think you would. Don’t fall asleep on me, buddy.”
“Boyfriend. Not buddy. Buddy’s just a friend. I can have other nicknames too though.” He argued, letting his head fall back against the metro walls.
“What other nicknames?” She asked, moving to get off his lap, but he just tightened his grip on her so she couldn’t.
“Hm…I’m okay with smokeshow.”
She snorted, nodding. “Alright, smokeshow. We can go with that.”
“Sophie.”
“Yes, Rafe.”
“I’m in love with you.” He declared, leaning forward and placing a kiss to the bridge of her nose. She beamed and leaned in too to bump her nose against his, then press a short kiss to his lips. “You’re very sweet when you’re drunk.”
“I need you to say it back.” He frowned, tugging gently at the ends of her hair.
“I’m in love with you too.” She grinned. “Adore you, even.”
He hummed, looking her over with concentration and a small smile. “I like the sound of that. Do we have to go to breakfast tomorrow? I don’t really wanna see them again.”
She laughed, shaking her head. “Our train to Rome is at seven, I was kind of hoping they’d be too hungover to remember us.”
“Hostel breakfast doesn’t open til 8.” He frowned. “Am I gonna starve?”
Sophie rolled her eyes and nudged her nose against his. “No. I’ll make sure you get food.”
“You’re so good at taking care of me.” He smiled sleepily, pulling her closer and dropping his head to her shoulder.
She beamed, combing her hand through his hair. “I try my best, baby. Always will.”
taglist: @whoeveniskendall @kkmaybank @karsinner @outerbanksbro @outerbankspreferences @randomficsandshit @jailcalledlife @tovvaa @moniamaybank @illbesafeforyou @dontjinx-it @freddymaybank @jjmaybankzz @g4bster @oopsiedoopsie23 @babygal-babygal @thecuthoney @babeyglo
#also this happened to one of my friends lmao it's not a weird take on italians#the story is just too good#i am 80% sure this gif is of florence but for some reason i am doubting myself even tho i have been there#idk whatever#rafe cameron#rafe cameron fanfic#outer banks#outer banks fanfic#obx#obx fanfic#frat rafe#college rafe#rafe x sophie#mine
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HEYYYYY i finished the board and it says chap.8 i included the prologue as a chapter but if it’s acc chap 7 just tell me and i can change it!! I couldn’t get some pics i wanted like i wanted one of them two painting but i couldn’t find any, both of them in the rain i couldn’t find any but just ppl kissing LMAO and ones of her in the rain but they were all cringe and i found one of her painting but it was outside in really nice weather so it didn’t fit 💀 i also tried to put the pics in order of the chapter accept for the prince phoenix ones i kept them all together in one :)
here’s the link before i bore you with thsu fucking paragraph LMAO: HERE (scroll down to the start of the board so it’s in order of the chapter the first pics being the start of the chap the last (aka the first pics you see like the tea etc) being the last scenes of the chap etc, etc) also incase that link doesn’t work https://pin.it/CzC6H8j
BUTTTT the one i’m REALLY happy i got was them two talking on the log at the fire, it’s a pic of two ppl talking on a log and the girl has a book in her hand, AND AHHHH I GOT A PIC OF TWO PPL TALKING IN BED WITH THE GIRL SMILING FOR THEM WHEN SHE GOES TO HIS ROOM EVERY NIGHT (i wanted loads for that part but i couldn’t find any </3 ) then two pics of the moon for their paintings, and there’s 5 pics all together (hopefully you can tell which ones i’m talking about) which are basically supposed to be what jean sees when y/n and Phoenix are together? AND SOME PICS FOR THE SMUT LMAO then pics of her crying n shit and him at her door and the hardest one to find was the one of kai brining her fo her bed and i really wanted to include that since it was one of my fav scenes AND I FINALLY FOUND ONE and apparently in the pic the ppl are both siblings aswell LMAO. then i literally couldn’t find any pics for them in the rain so o had to settle with two ppl looking at the moon kinda. BUT i’m really happy for the pic i got of jo and laurie for y/n and jean talking in the rain/ green house it was exactly how i envisioned him talking to her in that scene 😭 AND AHHH I GOT A PIC OF THEIR HANDS KINDA TOUCHING. and ofc i included some jean wet cause it looked like him in the rain kinda IDK. I know there’s a lot of little women BUT IT ALL FITTED SO WELL and i included amy burning jo’s pages but i kinda saw it as y/n burning other letters she wanted to send to jean, i know that never happened but i REALLT wanted to include that pic especially because it’s younger amy so it could be seen as younger y/n. and one of the literal hardest to find was a kinda royal aesthetic of jean readying the letters cause each time i’d try type something up i’d either get some kid thing of letters or some guy tryna be aesthetic reading a fucking book but i FINALLY found two. hardest by far was definitely trying to find one of him running i could only find one good one 💔 I DONT KNOW WHY BUT RHESE ARE MT ABSOLUTE FAV LIKE YOH DONT YNDERSTAND I KEEP GOING BACK TO THESE TWO PICS SPECIFICALLY. I found two pics of this girl who’s the same girl who played Cinderella and ones of her kinda looking down and you can see she’s exhausted and another is of her trying to smile and clearly exhausted again while talking to some guy AND LORDDDDD it was literally exactly how i imagined the scene when she saw the letters, like the first pic is exactly how i envisioned her seeing the letters in his hand for the first time the way she’s about to cry and already looks exhausted but she can’t, and then the second pic is her smiling but about to cry telling him to drink the tea LIKE AHHHHHHHH ANYWAYS SORRY I WENT ON ABOUT IT SO MUCH I JUST WANTED TO SHARE i also REALLY wanted to include him painting her nails cause that was my fav scene but couldn’t find any and knew if i did it wouldn’t go with the aesthetic.. ALSO IDK IF YOU NOTICED BUT THUS MADE ME 10 TUMES HAPPIER.. ALL THE PICS I WAS LOOKING FOR AND HAPPY I GOT I SOMEHOW GOT THEM ALL TO BE A ROYALE AESTHETIC OR OLD IF THAT MAKES SENSE AND IT MADE ME SO HAPPY. SORDY FOR GOING ON FOR SO LONG!!!!
OMG SO CUTE ILYSM
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Too Good for Grey
A/N: Sooo this is a fic that I’ve had in mind ever since I first posted my list of Imagine Ideas a while ago! Though I know Charlie’s decision not to play the role of Christian Grey is what was best for him, part of me will always be heartbroken that we all missed out on 50 Shades of Hunnam 😭💔 In this fic you’re his girlfriend; he’s considering the role and you let him... practice in the bedroom 😏
Pairing: Charlie Hunnam x F!Reader
Warnings: smut, swearing, dirty talk, rough sex, dom!Charlie, blindfold, bondage, punishment, light flogging (just with his belt, nothing too intense)
Request: No specific request, but there’s been demand for a Part 2 of Red Carpet Rogue and I decided to write this fic as a sequel to it!
Word Count: ~3.4k
[Please read Red Carpet Rogue first if you haven’t yet! Otherwise the second paragraph won’t make much sense without that reference...]
You love mornings like this one. Lazy weekends with your boyfriend, hottest man under the sun. Completely chill and easy and carefree, nowhere to be. No work, no plans. You’re seated in his lap feeding him pancakes from your fork, since that’s the only way to get your man to focus on his breakfast. Charlie’s hands are fully occupied, roving and reckless, moving all over your robe and deep inside. Clearly still riding high from such a scandalously sexy night.
You push another forkful past his lips, then playfully lean in to lick some syrup from his chin as it so sweetly drips. His stubble tickles, causing you to giggle, while he growls and tightens his grip on your hips. “Mmm...” he hums, digging into your skin with his thumbs. “You know I still can’t get over just how fucking awesome last night was, Y/N. Thinking we should invest in a stretch of red carpet to relive it over and over again.”
“Hmm, I like the way you’re thinking...” you respond, settling deeper in his lap and slowly sinking, till you feel your man’s enormous cock grind up against your cunt. Heat burning through your silk robe and his sweatpants. “God, you were so fucking dominant. More than you’ve ever been.”
“That a good thing?” the bastard asks you, as if he has to, bursting into laughter when you shoot him a glare of the fuck do you think?!? Your dom/sub dynamic is not a new thing. “Well, chalk it up to this new script that I’m considering. Came my way yesterday before we headed out for the evening.”
He gestures at the stack of papers on the counter behind him just now, which you hadn’t noticed all morning somehow. You blink at the title printed on the front page and cannot believe what you’re seeing. Basically stop breathing. “Oh, wow...”
Charlie flashes a cheeky grin as he gets off on your reaction. Can’t resist making a stupid dirty pun, ‘cause he’s the worst. Rubbing his crotch harder against yours as he says the words. “Yeah, who could’ve seen that coming.”
“Now if you’re gonna start talking dirty to me, Mr. Hunnam... you’d better be ready to act on it,” you warn him, well aware he’s been ready and raring to go all damn morning. “I know you’d slay this role but don’t know if you really want it, to be honest.”
He shrugs as he kisses stray drops of maple syrup from the corners of your mouth. “Yeah, I’ve got my doubts. But haven’t ruled it out. Think some part of me wants it. Luckily I’ve got the greatest girlfriend in the world to help me work through my decision-making process.”
“Well, should we call it work...” your lips curve into a seductive smirk, “...or play?”
At those words, Charlie’s cock fucking jerks. That’s your answer, of course. Better than anything he can say.
And you’re so fucking ready to meet Mr. Grey.
***************
“You sure about this, babe?” he asks as you hastily finish your pancakes. You’re hungry for something quite different, for fuck’s sake. Your pussy’s so wet that it practically aches. “It’s not like we have a red room...”
“But we do have a very nice bedroom,” you tell him. He’s trying to stall and you’re not gonna let him. You’re ready to go. “Plus we’ve got, you know—silk scarves and ties, a closet full of all kinds of hardware supplies. So I’m sure you can... improvise.”
Charlie’s still acting as if he has to think twice. Blinks twice, with an excited little twinkle in his eyes. “Somebody’s eager...”
“Somebody? Both of us, baby. You know you can’t wait for this either.”
“I just want to make sure you’re ready...”
“Charlie, I know you’ll take things slow and steady. I trust you completely,” you reassure him as you kiss his cheek softly and sweetly. “Besides, we’ll rely on the traffic lights code. Red for stop, yellow for ease it up. Green for go. They used those safewords in the books, right? Never read them so I don’t really know.”
“Then how do you know what—”
“Know what Fifty Shades even involves? Love, I’m not some kind of pop culture idiot,” you interrupt, taking his hand to guide him down the halls. You’re really not about to let him stand and stall. “And I may have looked up... a few things on Google. Being such a kinky bitch and all. Brainstorming new ways to play the role of your submissive little slut.”
“God, you’re so fucking hot,” he grunts as he finally gives in to what he wants, suddenly slipping into dom mode all at once. Changing his tone, making you moan, slamming you up against the wall. Towering over you so big and strong and tall. “Who would’ve thought... who knew that’s what my sweet little girl is up to when you’re clicking away on your laptop? Googling filthy ways for me to fuck you up?”
You groan in desire as his dirty words start a fire. “Ch-Charlie...”
He reacts just as you knew he would, and his dominance feels so damn good. Last night he scolded you just the same, when you called him by name. “What the fuck do you call me?”
“Sir,” you instantly answer. Obviously. Filled with the urge to say more, like a good proper whore, since you feel more submissive than ever before. Thirsty for fifty shades of Charlie. “Thank you for reminding me, sir. I’m so sorry.”
“You better be,” he chides, sliding his hands down your shivering sides, then swiftly untying your robe and letting it fall open wide. His touch upon your skin is hot as hell and fucking heavenly. “Your place in life is to obey. Do as I say. To serve and pleasure me.”
“Yes, sir,” you whimper, breathing heavily, as he cradles your face in his dominant fingers. “I promise I’ll always remember.”
You’ve known it to be true, since the day you first met him: Charlie Hunnam owns you, and you fucking let him. You’re fated to live for his pleasure and love him forever.
He reads all of the thoughts in your head as he slowly lets go of your face, slaying you with his blazing blue gaze. Though you moan at the loss of his fingers, the power and passion of his touch still lingers. You can feel it all over your sensitive skin. Fifty shades of pure sin.
And you love it. Want every damn shade of it. Already so addicted to the deep submissive state you’re in.
The next words that he speaks... make you so fucking weak. Mr. Grey has most certainly come out to play. And he is here to stay. To make you fifty shades of horny. “That’s a good little whore. Gonna give you the punishment you’ve been so desperately hoping for. Now run off to the bedroom and wait for me... facing away from the open door... naked and down on your knees.”
****************
Yes, sir. Yes, please. You’re pretty sure your cunt is leaking all over the floor as you obey your master’s orders, flinging your robe off your shoulders, stripping down and sitting back upon your heels.
It’s not the first time Charlie’s ordered you to kneel—but this right now... just hits different somehow. He’s so hot it’s unreal, too dominant for you to even deal. And you’re obsessed with how insanely good it feels.
You’ve already lost track of just how long you’ve waited. Heart racing, breath bated. How much time has passed? It may have been two minutes or two hundred. You just know that once your man arrives at last, he’ll be all set to give you everything you’ve wanted.
The moment when he finally comes... you feel his presence from across the room. Exuding vibes of absolute alpha male dom. And you’re so desperate to receive all of that energy from him. You can’t believe how blessed you are to be his woman. Here experiencing fifty shades of Hunnam.
Though you’re dying to turn behind you toward the door to see how good he surely looks right now, you stop yourself somehow. Keep both hands resting on your thighs, with lowered eyes, head bowed. Still and silent, though self-conscious that you are breathing incredibly loud. You’re so fucking aroused.
As Charlie takes a few deliberate steps toward you... rests his hand against your head, stroking your hair and tenderly twining his fingers through... you already feel dead. Can’t stop some smutty sound from slipping out your slutty little mouth.
He then reaches around, to trace his thumb across your bottom lip, shifting his grip before you can even attempt to kiss his fingertips. Needs you to know that you are not to make a sound, till he allows. That he owns you without a fucking doubt.
He’s owning you now with the tone of his voice and the touch of his hand. “Y/N. I need you to understand... that you are mine to command.”
“Yes, sir,” you breathlessly answer. And the slut in you compulsively reacts, tilting your head back, in an effort to make eye contact. Dying to look up at his gorgeous face, to meet his gaze, as you profess the shameless fact: that you belong to him, in every way and always...
And yet your man has other plans. Prevents you from catching a glimpse of him before you even can. He had arrived with something in his hands—a strip of cloth, some kind of tie or scarf, silken and soft. He masterfully fastens it around your eyes the moment that your head tilts back, and suddenly your vision fades to black.
“Now that’s no way for a good little slut to act,” Charlie scolds, as he tightens your blindfold. “Shifting from your position? Moving without my permission?”
Ugh God, he’s so hot you could die. “I...”
“Don’t tell me you’re sorry. I’m sick of your worthless apologies. High time I teach you a lesson in proper submission.”
“Ohh, sir—” you moan as he pulls you closer, till the back of your head rubs against the huge bulge in his crotch. The prize that you crave so fucking much. The object of your dreams. You can tell that he’s wearing your favorite jeans, and his cock is so hard it’s obscene, bursting out of the seams.
Then he effortlessly hoists you onto your feet, the bare skin of your back sliding up against his upper body—shirtless, naturally—so that you can feel every firm ridge of his muscles and all of his raw carnal heat. “Now I know what you want... but what’s much more important... I know what you need.”
Those words murder your cunt, and it feels like time stops. Then the next thing you know Charlie has you facedown on the bed, both arms over your head. And he’s tying you up. Binding both of your wrists to the bedposts, with some fucking serious rope.
This is everything your inner slut ever hoped. And you can’t even cope.
He’s just getting started and already this feels so damn perfect you just want to cry. Fucking magic. You’re fucking ecstatic. Tears of pure euphoria rise to your eyes, fighting at the blindfold he had tied, dampening the fabric.
Charlie picks up on all your unspoken emotions, as he always does. He can tell that you’re buzzed and just wants to make sure that this isn’t too much. Leaning in near, to whisper sweetly in your ear. “How’s the traffic?”
“Huh...?” you reply in a hazy sigh, taking a moment just to realize what he means. “Oh—green. So green.”
“Mmm, good to know,” he smirks against your cheek, as you revert to being too horny to speak. “But we can always take it slow. Just let me know if we’re approaching yellow—”
All of a sudden you’re able to speak again, just then. The words are somewhat muffled as your face is partly burrowed in the pillows; you make sure that Charlie hears you loud and clear, though. “Hell no. Green means fucking go.”
“If you say so...” he smirks once more, kissing your cheek before he lifts off of your back, all fucking ready to attack. You both can’t wait for what’s in store.
Charlie has spanked you countless times before. With you facedown in bed, you would’ve guessed that’s what he had in mind—to slap your slutty ass red, then to fuck you from behind. Remind you that you’ll always be his dirty little fucking whore.
Today you’re hoping for a little something more.
And that’s exactly what he’s giving. This time around... the punishment’s bound to hit different.
You can hear the faint rustle, telltale sound of metal and leather as Charlie undoes his belt buckle. Oh, shit—surprise, surprise—for some of these supplies, he didn’t even have to venture in the hardware closet.
Everything he needs to exert his total dominance, he’s fucking got it.
And it’s everything you’ve ever fucking wanted.
“Know just how much this pretty ass loves getting punished...” he teases, taking your bare naked cheeks in his hands with a few tender strokes and squeezes.
If you had to guess—without being able to witness—he must’ve looped his undone belt around his neck to free both hands for just a minute. He must look so fucking hot right now. An absolute sex god like nobody’s business.
“This sweet ass will look even prettier in pink by the time we’re finished,” he says it like a promise, and you really hope he keeps it, to be honest. “You know I would say prettier in red, but...”
“Oh, no, that’s a bad word,” you murmur in playful laughter. Repeat the right color to make sure he feels reassured. “Green, sir. Want you to let loose and get fucking mean, sir.”
“Ugh fuck,” he murmurs, as you hear him smile while he slides the leather belt off of his shoulders. You can just imagine what the sight of you in such submission has done to his denim-clad cock. “You’re killing me, love...”
“But that’s your job. I’m the sub,” you remind him, well aware you’re coming close to topping from the bottom. Sort of. Whatever it takes, to get Mr. Grey to come out to play, to feel comfortable falling into his role as your absolute dom. “Now go crazy and get rough. I promise I want it, sir. Honest. I can’t get enough.”
“Such a good fucking slut,” Charlie rasps, slowly grazing the edge of the leather across the soft globes of your ass. “Once we’re done with your punishment... you know I’m gonna fucking wreck this perfect little cunt?”
“Yes, sir. Please punish me and use my pussy for your pleasure.”
“Motherfucker...” you hear him quietly mutter, scrambling to strip out of his jeans, because his cock is probably straining in pain against the denim, harder than it’s ever been. No surprise since your cunt’s also wetter than ever. It’s just so perfect that you two are getting off on this together. You love the way your dirty words have this effect on him, just as his do on you. You’re such a slut for Mr. Hunnam; the best thing is that he’s such a slut for you, too.
Once he’s finally naked and gets in position behind you, he takes a few seconds to soak in the view. Psyching up for what he is about to do: whip the shit out of you. Just as you want him to.
“Now with each lash that comes down, I want you to keep count. And need you to repeat the color. Loud. You understand?”
“Yes, sir,” you swear, yielding to his command, instinctively arching your ass up in the air, because you’re desperate for your punishment. “Yes, sir, I understand. Green means hit me as hard as you can.”
“You fucking greedy little cunt,” he taunts with a dominant sneer. “Who makes the rules here? I’m gonna go just as hard or as soft as I want.”
You realize you were stupid to think he would go so hard, right from the start. Charlie knows where your limits are, even when you don’t. He reads your body and your mind and sees into your heart. Knows just what you need even when you’re too focused on only what you want. That’s why you have no doubt that he’ll dish out the most perfect punishment.
And so he does.
From the very first lash on your ass... your breath halts with a heart-stopping gasp. You have never felt such a damn buzz. From the way the sensation bursts onto your skin, underneath the smooth leather, a blossom of sin, pain blurring into pleasure... you want this to just go on forever and ever.
Your master had given you orders, you somehow remember. “One...!” you scream, as you sink deeper into submission, so desperate for him it’s obscene. “Oh God, thank you, sir. Green.”
“Good girl,” he mutters, just before he treats you to another. Each hit makes your fucking toes curl. You are the luckiest bitch in the entire fucking world.
“Two! Fuck, thank you...” you wholeheartedly thank him again and again, with each serving of perfect pain, grateful to your dom for how fucking awesome it feels. It’s unreal. And you keep screaming green on repeat, to give him all the safety and comfort he needs.
He’s enjoying this, no doubt—his cock’s standing rock hard and proud—but this first time around, with each strike that comes down, Charlie is much more focused on reading your signals. Respecting your limits, especially when it’s so tempting to test them a little. You don’t really seem to have any with him, as far as he can tell. Which is epic on some level, but also scary as hell.
He decides when you’re finished, with getting punished, since you’re taking it too fucking well. All you want is more of it; you love it and can’t think of anything else. On your end it’s exquisite. Excruciating ecstasy fulfilling your every fantasy. All because it’s pain coming from him. Fifty shades of Hunnam. All because of how deeply you worship and love him.
If there’s one thing you love more than taking these whips from his belt, the sweetest sting you have ever felt... it’s getting ripped to pieces by his massive cock. Playing your lifelong role as a slut for Sir Hunnam to fuck. Taking him in your soaking wet cunt, letting him ravage you just as hard and as fast as he wants, rough and savage, dishing out some serious damage, till you both explode deep inside and all over each other at once.
Something about the hard passionate sex today, the way he wrecks today... feels even hotter after how you got to play.
Apparently he really likes it when you tap into his inner Mr. Grey.
You both come harder than you ever have, as his huge shaft unloads inside your hole and feeds your soul and breaks you right in half. Breathing in shallow gasps as you feel him fucking collapse, your naked back slick from the sweat off of his sculpted chest and his firm chiseled abs. His face is buried in your hair, and though you know how much he wants to unfasten your blindfold and unbind your wrists, so he can turn you over for a heartfelt kiss, and shower you with hours of loving aftercare... right now your man’s just laying there and praying for some air.
He’s just so perfect it’s not fair. You know he’ll spend the whole rest of the day talking through all your feelings, treating you to every form of healing. Endlessly obsessing over every mark upon your skin, like he committed some ungodly sin, compulsively asking you whether you’re really okay. And he’ll keep on asking no matter what you say. Although he also loves to play this way... deep down he’s doing it for you, because his love is pure and true.
And that was when you fucking knew: this man is way too good to take the role that he was offered yesterday. You’re here to help him though each step of his decision-making process, to respect him if he wants this, and support him either way—but you already feel quite sure after today that your man Charlie is quite honestly... too good for Grey.
***************
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Hello! This is a bit different from your usual gwynriel/elucien asks, so I hope you don’t mind, but it’s something that’s been bothering me lately and I wonder if anyone else has noticed.
I’m not sure if it’s because if the upsurge in popularity of acotar on tiktok/twitter with a younger audience reading it, or if I’ve just been lucky and not noticed it before, but I’ve seen so many Tamlin stans coming out of the woodwork and it honestly bothers me.
I definitely do agree that Tamlin is a complex character and of course, it’s fine that people are interested in him (I really don’t care about him, but to each their own)! But lately there have been so many people in the fandom arguing that he’s a victim of PTSD who deserves better, often villainizing Feyre/Lucien because of this.
I‘ve seen takes that Feyre was gaslighting Tamlin when she told him she was happy with Rhys because Rhys still had the whole night court persona going on?? And that Lucien and Feyre were a horrible support system because they wouldn’t stand up to him (completely ignoring that when they did Tamlin … ya know … physically hurt both of them)? And that somehow Feyre spying in the Spring Court in ACOWAR was also abusive and manipulative towards Tamlin?
I just genuinely don’t understand where all of this is coming from. I try to be critical of SJM’s writing because I understand that it can be flawed, especially since I have problems with how Feysand was written after ACOWAR, Azriel’s issues with women, the IC’s treatment of Nesta, etc. But I just can’t seem to get behind these interpretations and I’m not sure if I’m just missing something (or ‘biased’ by Feyre’s POV as some claim).
Wooooooo boy, so I didn't know that this was a thing happening but lemme break down how wrong these people are with some of these arguments! This is going to get long.
(I definitely don't mind, I appreciate any ask that's not just about ship wars!)
So I'm going to lay out the claims people are making and talk about them one at a time.
Tamlin has PTSD:
Probably yes. In the beginning of acomaf, Feyre mentions that he has trouble sleeping, just like she does, and I believe he gets up at night, and this is when their relationship really deteriorates. I can't say for sure what he was experiencing, but it seems like he had a lot of anxiety and fears left over from Amarantha and watching Feyre die. The things he was experiencing emotionally are 1000% understandable and valid, even if it wasn't diagnosable PTSD.
But you know who else likely has PTSD? Lucien and Feyre.
Say it with me everyone: emotions do not always justify behaviors.
Feyre is gaslighting Tamlin:
Hell fucking no.
People need to learn what gaslighting is. Gaslighting is not just "lying". Gaslighting is not "disagreeing". Gaslighting is a very specific tactic used to make someone question their memory, their reality, to twist the truth.
Rhys definitely had a persona. That was a calculated decision. But when Feyre tells Tamlin that she is happy, she is not lying at all. Her telling Tamlin that she is happy has nothing to do with whatever lies or manipulations that Rhys did in the past. Why? Because even if Rhys was a super asshole dark dude, Feyre saying she is happy with him is still the truth. Feyre isn't lying, let alone gaslighting Tamlin, that idea is completely laughable.
The only way that people could say that Feyre is gaslighting Tamlin is to say that she is responsible for Rhysand's Dark persona, that she is the one who created it with the intention of making people question what they thought was true. Which she isn't. That isn't even the reason that Rhys created the persona. He created it to obscure the truth in the first place.
And even his persona isn't gaslighting? He isn't trying to make people question their reality. He isn't trying to make people question themselves. He is trying to make himself look scary. And so when he drops that persona, he is telling the truth. He isn't gaslighting people, he is saying "hey I wasn't being honest before but now I am".
And i think that's a big, big difference that people are failing to understand. Gaslighting is about trying to change other people's reality. Rhys's persona was about him. Feyre saying she was happy was about her. Neither of those things were about trying to make people feel like they were crazy.
So there has to be this reality. Let's say Rhys was spotted being menacing. Person A is like "hey, you look scary!" And he's like "noice, my evil plan is working." Then later on Rhys is like "hey you know what, I wasn't being honest before, I'm actually a Super Cool Dude." Person A might be confused for a minute because what they thought was true wasn't true, but they'll get there.
If it were gaslighting, on the other hand, it would go more like: Rhys: *is nice*. Person A: "hey, I thought you were scary though?" Rhys: "nah, that was my good twin, Rhysnaldo. I've never been nice a day in my life. You must be confused." Person A: *questioning everything they thought they just witnessed".
So yeah anyway, people gotta stop using that term if they don't know what it means.
Feyre manipulating Tamlin:
Personally, I agree with the argument that she manipulated Tamlin in the beginning of acowar. I don't think that's even a matter of interpretation, she went to Spring with the intention of burning shit down.
Feyre was not abusive towards Tamlin. She knew his weaknesses and exploited them. I don't care that she did that to him, I think that she deserved a bit of vengeance. However, personally I cannot stand the fact that in doing so she caused a lot of collateral damage and did not gaf. Deal with your abusive ex however you need to, Feyre. Don't knowingly, intentionally bring harm to other people in doing so.
Feyre and Lucien failing as a support system:
NO.
Feyre literally saved Tamlin's life by killing and dying for him. Lucien was also tortured by Amarantha because of Tamlin. Neither of them broke and betrayed him. They were incredibly loyal to him throughout acotar. Even now, when Lucien is being emotionally and physically abused by Tamlin, Lucien is still trying to work with him, make sure he is fed, make sure he doesn't completely lose his humanity fae-ness. Lucien is the only reason that the Spring Court hasn't completely collapsed while Tamlin wallows in his beasty feelings.
Any time that either Feyre or Lucien try to stand up to Tamlin, he gets manipulative and abusive. He emotionally manipulates Feyre into feeling guilty for wanting to be able to defend herself. He emotionally abuses Feyre by making her afraid of his anger and afraid of how he will react to anything that she says or does. He glares or shouts down anything the Lucien says.
Also, Tamlin is a High Lord! They can only do so much when it comes to standing up to him.
For real, Feyre and Lucien did literally everything that they possibly could in order to try to support Tamlin, and much of that was to their own detriment. In trying to support Tamlin, they got emotional and physical abuse in return. So no, fuck that. Being supportive does not mean we have to put up with abuse.
Being biased in Feyre's favor:
We are not biased by Feyre's POV in the sense that she is trying to mislead the reader, but we are limited by her POV because she doesn't know everything. She tells us the truth as she knows it. That is very different from a narrator who is intentionally trying to hide things or lie or mislead.
But even if we were biased by Feyre's POV, so fucking what??? Is it so wrong to take the side of a victim of abuse? Why do we need to try so hard to understand Tamlin's side? People can do that, of course, I have myself, especially later on in the story. In acofas I started to feel sorry for him. I've been mad at how Rhys treated him in acofas. But the idea of being biased in Feyre's favor means that we would have to question her, in some way, when she recounts the story of her abuse. That's disgusting, to me. What reason do we have to think she isn't telling her story truthfully?
We might naturally have more empathy towards Feyre because we heard the story from her POV, but again - why is that a bad thing? To hear a story from the victim of abuse and feel empathy for them??? Call me crazy but that's not a problem. I'm going to empathize with Feyre, and I'm going to believe Mor (and Rhys, and Lucien). The end.
A final word
Just something you said in the last paragraph struck me, in regards to Azriel's view of women and how the IC treats Nesta: those are not thing to criticize in sjm's writing, I think. Just because Tamlin is abusive doesn't mean that sjm shouldn't have written him that way, ya know? If there are inconsistencies in characterization or a lack of understanding of abusive dynamics or alcohol abuse or something like that, those are things we can criticize in her writing. But characters do uncomfy things, that's supposed to happen.
What I'm trying to say is that there is a difference between criticizing a character's actions, and criticizing the way they have been written. Pretty much everything above falls under the realm of "analyzing a character or story", not criticizing the author.
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Knock
→ Pairing: Kim Myungjun x Reader (female OC) [feat. Kim Seokjin and Park Jinwoo]
→ Genre(s): Romance, Fluff, Friendship, Humor, and & Slight-Angst
→ AUs/Tropes: Non-Idolverse, Fashionista!Reader, Fashion Editor!Reader, Accountant!Myungjun, Strangers to Lovers trope
→ Word Count: 5.6K
→ Warning(s) & Rating: alcohol, alcohol consumption, heartbreak, swearing, & shameless flirting from MJ | PG-15
→ Summary: In what seemed like a normal meetup with a friend ended up changing your life forever...
→ A/N: The majority of this story is set in the past; hence, the past tense, but near the end, it does switch to present tense as the two leading characters finish reminiscing about their first meeting! I apologize in advance if it’s a bit confusing and/or hard to read! I will use some sort of line break to separate the past from the present to make it, hopefully, a tad easier!
☄ This one-shot is dedicated to an incredibly good friend of mine, Beanie @jinned, who is the sole reason why I even got into Astro and officially place MJ on my list of ULTS. He may or may not even be ult of ults. We will see!
“In the end, you’ll thank me as our marriage would’ve been a mistake...You know it. And I know it…”
That phrase knocked the wind out of you as you remained speechless ‒ practically mute ‒ while the loud and bustling noise of the fine dining restaurant continued in the background. You opened your mouth, desperate to form a coherent sentence. Shit. Even an audible word would suffice, but you honestly couldn’t.
The person you firmly believed, with all your heart, that he was the one for you, sat right across the table and declared that the wedding was off—terminated.
The wedding was scheduled to happen in just two months. Two...fucking...months…
“___,” Your fiancé began, breaking you away from your thoughts, “I honestly can’t express how deeply sorry I am for doing this to you, but it was the only way I can preserve our twenty-something friendship.”
“Friendship?” You scoffed, finally finding your voice. “You broke our year-long engagement so that you can PRESERVE OUR FRIENDSHIP?! Are you kidding me, Kim Seokjin?!” You practically boomed, alarming the patrons around you, but you didn’t care.
Seokjin tried to calm you but ultimately fails. Your emotions ran rampant throughout your body that nothing and no one could relax you. Well, Seokjin used to be able to, but since he’s the source of your fury, it’s pointless.
Forcing an airy chuckle, you reached over to your wine glass, drinking it all in seconds. The cool liquid hits the back of your throat but soon leaves behind this warm sensation. You felt that warmth settles within your cheeks, creating this pinkish hue, as you flag down a passing waiter and swiftly order another glass of your favorite wine. Within minutes, your second glass of wine appeared right in front of you. At first, you’re tempted to down it as you’ve done with the first glass, but then you opted against it. The last thing you needed to be was a drunken, heartbroken woman in a luxurious restaurant. At the same time, your ex-fiancé remained calm and collected. Then, the surrounding people - both the workers and customers ‒ would sympathize with him and utter phrases like, “Damn. He dodged a bullet. Look at the way she’s behaving, especially after he explained that he only wants to preserve their friendship.”
“God damn it…” You whispered, taking a long, deep breath, as you realize that Seokjin is right. Your marriage would be a mistake, especially if you’ve fallen out of love with him.
“___?” Seokjin questioned, noting this trance-like expression written all over your precious face.
“Why do you have to be right? Even up until the end of our relationship, you just have to be right…” You trailed on as a small, almost nostalgic-like smile slowly dances across your face.
Seokjin chuckled softly, “Well, someone has to be.”
“Yeah…” You nodded, maintaining that tiny grin as your eyes trail down to your ring finger. Slowly, you slid off the engagement ring, freeing yourself of this heavy burden that you’ve never known you had until tonight. Then, with your right hand, you placed it gently in front of Seokjin, saying one last farewell to him. You thanked him for being your first of every romantic milestone you’ve experienced.
As you stood up, placing a few twenty-dollar bills on the table, you said softly,
“I hope you find someone that will make you unconditionally happy.”
“I hope the same for you, ___. I truly do hope you find your soulmate.”
You uttered a quick thanks before walking from the table and towards a new chapter in your life.
An intriguing yet uncertain chapter where you explored the idea of being single again after so many years.
It should be a fun adventure, right?
Well, it was in the beginning. Yet like with everything else in life, it was only natural you’d experience some ‒ let’s just say ‒ writer’s block.
The first few pages contained incredible details of the first year since your breakup from Seokjin. You found yourself going back to school and majoring in fashion while finding the time to minor in journalism. During that good old university life, you met a person who you now considered a dear, close friend of yours.
Eun Byeol. Now that was a true definition of a “ride or die” friend. To this day, you still remember how you essentially handcuffed your roommate-turned-best friend to the closet door handle, preventing her from driving over to your ex-fiancé’s place and destroying his most prized possession. Yep. You guessed it—his 1960s candy red Jaguar E-Type car. Stereotypical of a fella valuing his vintage ride above anything else, but shit. Even you found yourself admiring that beautiful car once in a while.
But that was ancient history. Old news—just like your editorial on the most fashion show in Milan would be if you didn’t stop reminiscing about your first love and haul your ass.
Lightly shaking your head, forcing yourself back into reality, you cleared your throat a few times, sniffing the Tropical fruit scents that lingered around your office.
“I could really go for a mango shaved ice…” You muttered, blankly staring at your document as little to no inspiration enters your mind. You drummed your fingers against the keys, desperately hoping that something - anything - would jump right out of your brilliant mind and land directly on the page; thus, resulting in a finished article to hand over to the boss lady.
Yet here you sat for another couple of hours staring at the same paragraph. You were pretty sure that you edited that paragraph to the point that it wasn’t even a paragraph. You somehow managed to dwindle it down to a three-sentence summary of Emma Aruda, a rising top model, and how stunning she looked walking the runway. Great. Now your column was too short, thanks to your sudden need to edit before it was even completed.
“Come on, inspiration…” You groaned, slouching in your office chair as you swiveled back and forth, looking at the blanket of white that you called a ceiling.
“You know...the longer you keep your head positioned like that, the higher the chance of your brain cells leaving will be…” quipped a familiar voice, causing you to swivel towards your door.
Soon, a small grin formed on your face as you lightly scoffed at that person’s words.
“Well, hello to you too, Eun Byeol.” You greeted, sitting up straight but still resting your elbows on the arms of your chair.
Eun Byeol flashed a warm smile ‒ so warm and inviting that it could even get the coldest, most standoffish person to greet her back ‒ as she strode towards your desk and leaned against the edge.
“Dumb question, but what’s with frustration radiating off of you?”
“Oh, my brain stupidly remembered my relationship with Seokjin while I was in the middle of writing this article, and now I’m stuck…”
You heard Eun Byeol winced, grimacing as you went into details of the memories that resurfaced in your mind. As each word escaped your sweet lips, the more this unbearable stab pressed against the chest. To be more precise, this cruciating pain that invaded your heart.
“Damn, ___. It’s been like, what? Five years since he called off the engagement? I thought you were officially over that arrogant ass.” asked Eun Byeol, clearly fed up with your ex, as evidence in her tone of voice. You couldn’t help but shrink in your chair as each of your drear friend’s words grazed your soft skin.
Taking a long, deep breath before exhaling slowly, you tilted your head towards your friend, revealing a small and remorseful smile. You felt guilty mentioning him towards, fully aware of how she had rather colorful opinions of him.
“I am over him, but can you blame me for remembering the good old days I experienced with him?”
Now, it was your friend’s turn to feel a tad guilty for allowing and directing her fury towards you. Eun Byeol knew you were over him, but you fell victim to the old saying, “One never truly forgets their first love,” and that was Seokjin. He was your first love, and he might be even your last—unless her boyfriend’s longtime friend was still single.
Then, a lightbulb lit up in her devious mind as this scheming smirk danced across her face, instantly alerting you. That smirk usually led to some rather “exciting” shenanigans, and most often than not, you went home questioning your life choices and wondering how on Earth did your friendship with Eun Byeol last this long.
As you opened your mouth, ready to warn your friend, she beat you the punch.
“What are you doing tonight?”
“Uh, besides pulling an all-nighter to finish this article? Nothing. Why?” You asked with a wary expression. Your eyes slightly narrowed while your brows became knitted together.
“Wrong! You’re coming out with me for drinks at this bar Jinwoo and I usually frequent whenever our schedules allow it.” Eun Byeol announced, overly excited, further adding to your suspicions.
You swiftly glanced at your editorial piece before flickering your gaze back to your friend. You sucked in some air through your clenched teeth. Your mind desperately tried to find any, if at all, hidden motives behind Eun Byeol’s random invitation. Unfortunately, you came up with nothing. No secret plans that laid underneath the seemingly harmless invite that your brain could zero in on.
“It’s just the two of us, right?” You asked, feeling apprehensive towards Eun Byeol’s invite.
Eun Byeol simply nodded, smiling brightly as she promised you that it would be just the two of you, and that was all.
After mulling it over for a good minute or two, you whined loudly before agreeing to go out with her.
“But I’m stopping after two Whiskey Sours! I still have a deadline to meet, unlike someone who’s currently in my office and clearly being a bad influence.”
Eun Byeol snorted in response, “Please. If I was such a bad influence, would I suggest that we steal Seokjin’s car and take it on a joy ride?”
“Actually, you did. Like, several times.”
“Shut up and write your damn column.” Teased Eun Byeol before exiting your office. As she created enough distance between her and your office, she fished out her phone from the pocket of her black slacks and sent a quick text message to her boyfriend. A message that read,
“Hey, can you convince MJ to come to our favorite bar? I’d think he’d be perfect for ___!”
Not even a minute after pressing send, Eun Byeol received a response that said,
“I’ll do my best, but he’s been moping lately since his last date ghosted him without any warning. Plus, you can’t forget how soul-sucking our line of work is, babe.”
Eun Byeol giggled softly as she typed out,
“Even more reason to add a certain fashionista to his dull life. She’ll liven it up with her colorful and bright personality,”
She then scrolled through her list of emojis, picking the perfect one before sending it. After waiting for what seemed like ten minutes, her boyfriend didn’t reply, meaning that he was on board and hopefully planting the seed at that moment.
“Oh, please let them hit it off…” thought Eun Byeol as she journeyed back to her office, dying to know if her boyfriend executed his mission perfectly.
Yet like with any task, there were bound to be tiny hiccups as Jinwoo exhausted all his go-to methods to convince his close friend, Kim Myungjun. While Eun Byeol and ___ worked at one of the top fashion empires, he and Myungjun worked a regular office job, crunching numbers for their CEO.
Again, a soul-crushing type of profession, and it didn’t help that their office space was oddly white. Everywhere Jinwoo turned, it was just pure white. Apparently, someone thought it’d be a brilliant idea to add fluorescent lighting into the mi; the entire building gave off this abnormally cleanliness vibe.
Every day that Jinwoo walked into the office, he seriously felt that he entered that agency from the hit movie Men in Black, especially in his black and white two-piece suit that his company required the workers to wear. What was next? He’d get a cool gadget that wiped civilians’ memories?
“Oh, man. That’d be amazing…” He mumbled, unaware of someone standing behind him.
“What’d be amazing, JinJin?” asked an all too familiar voice belonging to a person that Jinwoo actually had to see.
The eager man turned his chair around, now face-to-face with his close friend and coworker—Myungjun.
Quickly clearing his throat, Jinwoo plastered on the warmest smile his face could handle and happily greeted his friend.
Myungjun, at first, felt weirded out by his friend’s sudden surge in energy but soon brushed it off. He then matched Jinwoo’s energy, capturing the attention of a few bystanders.
“So back to my question, what would be amazing?” questioned Myungjun, ignoring the strange glances he and Jinwoo earned from their coworkers.
“Um…” Jinwoo began, nervously chuckling, “It would be amazing if you and I go out for drinks tonight, especially after how shitty this week has been.”
“I don’t know, man, like you said, it’s been a shitty week, and I don’t think I’m up for going out and having a fun time with you and the rest of our buddies.”
“Come on, MJ, you’re still not moping about what’s her face? She’s not worth your time, especially when you weren’t worth hers.” Jinwoo retorted, hoping that his tough-love approach would entice him to come out and meet his girlfriend’s friend. Sadly, it didn’t. If anything, his words made Myungjun even more upset as this solemn expression washed over his once joyous face. Now, his friend looked as if someone took his heart right out of his chest and crushed it with their bare hands.
“Alright...new approach…” Jinwoo switched tactics, going for the more “brotherly advice” approach, “Look, I was out of line, and for that, I’m sorry MJ. But I honestly hate seeing you upset over her, so please come out with me tonight. Tomorrow, you can sit at home alone and mope on the couch. Deal?”
Myungjun made a face, weighing his options but ultimately leaning towards going out. After all, Jinwoo was right. His loneliness and favorite couch would be there tomorrow, so where was the harm in downing a few shots of Vodka to numb the hurt?
“Fine, deal. What’s this place called?”
“Ahora.”
A quizzical expression slowly washed over Myungjun’s face as he couldn’t help but question the intriguing choice of that bar name.
While the uncertainty still filled his entire body, something deep within told him that something ‒ or maybe someone ‒ would change his life after tonight.
Mustering his signature thousand-watt smile; his eyes practically disappeared as he did, Myungjun gave his friend a thumb’s up and said,
“Alright. See you tonight! Maybe you and I can finally see who can drink the most without acting goofy after the third drink!”
Jinwoo playfully shook his head, letting out a few light chuckles.
“I don’t know, my dude. I think I got you beat the last time we had our little drinking competition.” He teased, masking his hidden motive behind inviting his buddy out. Secretly, he hoped that Myungjun would ask like his goofy self since, according to Eun Byeol, you had a thing for comedic guys.
Now, the real question was, how would Myungjun successfully capture your heart?
“So, what should I wear?” Jinwoo heard Myungjun ask, forcibly removing him from his frenzy thoughts.
“Um…” Jinwoo paused, silently panicking since his girlfriend never told him what you were going to wear tonight or even your preferred style on men. “Do you still have that purple and black striped sweater? You know with that creamy-tan color as well? I think it might be cold.” He suggested though he was unsure of his own recommendation. Honestly, he began questioning his life choices when he said, “purple and black striped sweater.”
A faint hum emitted from Myungjun’s lips while he mulled over his buddy’s fashion suggestion. Then, he simply shrugged, going along with Jinwoo’s choice.
“Yeah, I think I have that sweater still. Wait.” The biggest grin danced across his handsome face, “I knew you loved that sweater on me!” He cheered, flinging his arms around Jinwoo’s neck and giving him the warmest hug known to man.
“Let go! People are staring at us weirdly!!”
“Let them stare! I want the entire world to know how amazing of a friend you are to me!”
“Damn, you just had to make it even creepier. Didn’t you?”
“You know me so well.”
Later that evening, while Myungjun knew what he’d wear on his night out with the fellas, you were the polar opposite. You rummaged through your walk-in closet, flinging every single clothing hanger you could get your hands on. You tossed aside the latest peacoats, dresses, wool sweaters, everything onto the floor because nothing matched the vision you had in your fashionista brain. While, yes, it was just going out for a few drinks with Eun Byeol, you still wanted to look reasonably decent just in case Mr. Right made an appearance.
Silently scolding yourself while you tap the pads of your fingers against one another as you desperately try to capture the perfect attire you envisioned yourself. Minutes had gone by, and you still drew a blank. You even pressed your cold lips against your fingers, slightly enjoying the warmth that radiated from your hands. Then, it finally dawned on you as millions of light bulbs lit up in your pretty mind like a beautiful and well-organized lamp display at a furniture store.
“I’m a dumbass.” You teased, softly chuckling as you pulled out this dark gray pin-striped black peacoat and gently draping it over your desk chair. Then, you flipped through your rack, your fingers grazing the fabric of your blouses, button-ups, and plain old t-shirts. Your eyes scanned each article of clothing until you found the perfect blouse that would compliment the jacket perfectly. You pulled out this satin white long-sleeved blouse with ruffles on the ends of both sleeves and the collar.
With a pleased smile, you gently laid the blouse over the jacket before grabbing a nice pair of navy blue slacks. The very same pair of slacks that Eun Byeol has dubbed “the highlighter” because apparently it perfectly accentuated the best parts of your body—whatever that meant.
Grabbing both the coat and blouse with your pants draped over your forearm, you made your way towards the restroom. Just as you’re about to disappear into the well-lit room, you commanded your Alexa to play your go-to “getting ready” song, “Rebirth of Slick (Cool Like Dat).” The second the opening beat dropped, you bobbed your head to the tune, even swaying your hips as you jammed out.
One by one, your lounge clothes dropped to the floor and soon replaced with your jaw-dropping outfit. You smoothed out any wrinkles that your eye instantly locked on before switching focus to your makeup.
Now, this might not be an easy task compared to picking out your current outfit. Any look would pair well with your fashion statement. You could go for a “girl next door” look, but did you really want to portray an innocent person tonight, especially with drinks involved? Probably not.
Suddenly, a short gasp exited your lips as you grabbed all the necessary components for your femme fatale look. Your outfit almost reminded you of the main heroine in a 1940s movie.
“Okay, let’s see how red I can get my lips this time.”
Meanwhile, on the other side of town, Myungjun wasn’t exactly having the time of his life. He remained still as a statue, staring blankly at his closet. Did he genuinely want to go out tonight? Part of him firmly believed that he only agreed to drink his sorrows away and forget about this girl that ghosted him a few weeks back. That was always his problem—he had the tendency to develop an infatuation before the girl does. It was honestly quite pathetic.
Just as he was a step away from backing out from the hangout, a high-tone pitch echoed throughout Myungjun’s condo.
With a curious expression, Myungjun shuffled his feet towards his phone, taking it off the charger. His brows perked up as he saw that he received a text message from Jinwoo.
“Huh. Maybe Jinwoo wants to back out.” He wishfully thought, unlocking his phone to read the message. It said,
“Hey man, I’m going to be a few minutes late, so you can get a head start on our little drinking competition!”
Nodding his head, Myungjun hit the message box. Just as he was about to type out his reply, a photo appeared. The image contained a person, who looked to be female, and to his dismay, her head was cropped out.
“Okay?” He thought, typing out his reply and asking his friend why he received a picture of a woman with excellent taste in clothing. Then, for laughs, Myungjun added, “Is that what you’re wearing, JinJin? I didn’t peg you as the type to wear a frilly blouse.”
Not even a minute later, the playful fellow received a response,
“Fuck you, MJ! And to answer your serious question, if you see this girl, can you politely let her know that Eun Byeol is also running late. Apparently, that lady is a college friend of Byeolie, and they coincidentally also wanted to meet at the bar we’re going to. Cool? Thanks!”
Slightly shaking his head, Myungjun replied with a thumb’s up emoji before locking his phone.
“Well, I guess you can’t back out now,” He muttered, opening his closet doors and revealing a wide array of clothing, coming in every color known to man. “What did that old man suggest earlier? Oh! Purple, cream-tan, and black pull-over!” Then, a sudden pause filled the air, “That was oddly specific of him to suggest…” He realized, thinking back to their conversation at work. Yet he merely shrugged it off, thinking nothing of it except his friend perhaps wanted him to look good just in case he’d were to meet his Miss Right.
“Alright, MJ. Pick up the pace. We don’t want the pretty lady waiting too long, do we?”
Sadly, that happened, and to put it frankly, you were pissed off at Eun Byeol for making you awkwardly wait for what seemed like forever. Granted, it was only an hour that you waited for her, but that was beside the point.
Nope. The long wait time was not the sole reason behind your agitation. Nuh-uh. It was the fact that your oh-so-dear-friend failed to mention that every couple known to man appeared at the bar tonight. Thus, resulted in you nervously sitting alone at the bar, running the tip of your finger against the rim of your whiskey sour. You then gulped down the last remaining sips before almost slamming it on the counter. With a sour expression, you held up one finger and politely asked for another glass. Just as you mumbled a quick thanks, you felt someone tap your shoulder.
Instead of giving the “drunken” stranger, more than likely looking for a one-night stand, you wave the person away, citing that you were already waiting for someone.
“I mean, from the looks of it, I don’t think your friend is coming.” pointed out the stranger, with an unusual high-pitch voice. Though, to give the person the benefit of the doubt, you were used to deep, manly voices. This unknown bystander’s voice was honestly a breath of fresh air.
Reaching for your second glass of the evening, you swiveled in your seat, coming face-to-face with the stranger. But the moment your eyes landed on him, you felt your jaw drop slightly, forming a tiny “o.” Holy crap, this guy is incredibly gorgeous.
Quickly snapping out of your gaze, you cleared your throat.
“I’m sorry? I. Um. What do you mean my friend is not coming?”
“Just that. I mean, originally, I was supposed to be here 45 minutes ago and give you a heads up that Eun Byeol was running late. Still, I lost track of time getting ready to meet my friend here. However…” he trailed on, looking around. He, too, noticed all the couples chatting it up everywhere and anywhere in the bar that evening. “I’m starting to think that we were set up on a blind date.”
You softly giggled, “Yeah, I’m getting that hunch as well...I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.” You replied, unknowingly disregarding the fact that Myungjun mentioned your best friend’s name.
“Oh! I’m Kim Myungjun, but my friends call me MJ,” Then he playfully winked at you, flashing a bright smile, “I can’t forget pretty girls, like yourself, as well.”
You snorted, shaking your head in disbelief, “Well, I’ll think about it, but thank you for that disclaimer. Also, you can call me ____.”
“What? No playful yet flirtatious tactic like me?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. The night is still young, MJ.”
Hearing his nickname slip past your innocent lips, Myungjun couldn’t help but raise a brow with an interested gleam in his eyes. One corner of his mouth curved upwards as he observed your body language. He silently hoped for your non-verbal cues would give him the “okay” to continue his flirting. When he didn’t see any signs of uncomfortableness radiating off you, he took that as the first and ‒ hopefully ‒ of many positive reactions he’d gained from you throughout the evening.
Clearing his throat, the suddenly nervous young man glanced around the busy establishment, looking for a vacant booth for the two of you to occupy. Lucky must be on his side as his focused gaze immediately locked on an empty stall in the far right corner. With pursed lips, he swiftly analyzed the location and the atmosphere that surrounded it. Myungjun noted how dimly lit that corner was. With the added candles, that location had this romantic aura swarming it and those who sat in that spot.
It was perfect for this sudden blind date.
“So, would you like to sit over there?” asked Myungjun, pointing towards the only empty booth.
You followed his finger and landed on the isolated corner that screamed passion. Instantly, your eyes widened as your heart rapidly drummed against your chest. Oh, you weren’t prepared for this, but at the same time, you couldn’t help but feel this unexplainable excitement and giddiness. A few emotions that you hadn’t felt in a long time—not since your relationship with Seokjin. Yet to be quite honest, you didn’t feel scared. In fact, you were ready to take that plunge into the deep romantic ocean. You weren’t worried about drowning or hitting a bunch of jagged rocks. You just wanted to take that leap of faith and, perhaps, maybe Myungjun would catch you.
With a long, drawn-out breath, you steadied your racing heart before answering him,
“Yeah, let’s do it.”
In return, Myungjun greeted with his signature thousand-watt smile, resulting in this warm sensation creeping on your pale cheeks.
“Positive reaction number 2.” He silently cheered as he abruptly held out his hand, hoping you’d take it. “After you, m’lady,” said Myungjun with a hint of playfulness.
You couldn’t help but chuckle, slightly shaking your head in the process.
“Why, thank you, my kind sir.” You played along, gently grasping his hand and curling your fingers around his. The second you did that, this unspeakable spark shot through both of your arms, surging through your entire body. What made that reaction spectacular was that he interlaced your fingers together as he softly smiled with a genuine warm expression written all over his handsome face. With that smile alone, all recent thoughts about Seokjin and any doubts caused by your former relationship evaporated into thin air. Now, it was just you and Myungjun.
You took a mental note to thank Eun Byeol for setting up this blind date as you guided your bodies towards the booth. Naturally, you picked up the pace as you didn’t want anyone else to steal that perfect spot meant for the both of you.
Little by little, you pushed through the sea of people, swiftly closing the gap between your bodies and the table.
“Which side do you want?” You politely asked as you couldn’t help but notice a defeated couple look for somewhere else to sit. Huh. Perfect timing on your part.
Myungjun softly tapped his chin with his free hand as this faint hum emitted from his lips. Then, a bold idea appeared in his mind. Depending on how you’d answer, he could either make incredible progress or back to square one with you. Well, it was time to find out.
“I have a better idea. Why don’t I sit right next to you? You know so that you can hear me better, especially with how noisy it is right now.”
A tiny squeal escaped your lips as your eyes went round. Your face flushed from Myungjun’s boldness.
“Okay, ____. You need to form a string of coherent words.” You chastised yourself, feeling a tad foolish that you’re this nervous to the point that you can’t even form a simple sentence. “You can do it. All you need to say is, “Sure. You can sit next to me.” Is that so damn hard?” You mumbled to yourself—or so you thought.
“Um. I don’t know, sweetheart. Is it tough to say that you want to sit next to me?”
“Uh...no?”
“Really? You don’t sound so sure of yourself.”
“I mean, yes, we should sit right next to each other.”
You nervously chuckled as you entered the booth, placing your drink on the edge of the table just before shuffling towards the middle of the table with Myungjun following after. You then kindly ask him if he could slide your almost finished Whiskey Sour to you, which he did but not without some playful quips towards you. He teased you for acting like a nervous wreck, blaming the fact that you probably had one too many drinks already. You argued back, stating that you only had two drinks and that it was all his fault for making you this worked up.
Myungjun chuckled in response but soon, that boyish grin vanished from his face and was replaced with a scheming yet charming smirk. What was he planning? And as soon as you parted your sweet lips, Myungjun’s face was inches away from yours. One wrong you move and the two of you would lock lips right then and there. That’s how close you were to each other.
“Oh? So, it’s my fault, then how are you feeling now?” He whispered. His warm breath fanned your cheeks as his gaze darted between your doe-like stare and your apple-red lips. “Am I making you extremely worked up—”
“Hold up! That’s not how our first date went, MJ.” You say, interrupting your boyfriend’s somewhat exaggerated story. You’re almost sure that he’s currently telling a rendition of what he wishes occurred on your first date.
Myungjun scoffs, putting on the theatrics, clearly finding your words offensive.
“It is so! I distinctly remember you had two drinks that evening; hence, you becoming a blushing mess around me. Ooh! You can’t forget the fact that you wanted to kiss me as well.” He argues, acting like a child debating who’s the better superhero, Superman or Batman, with a school friend. You don’t know how you’ve managed to last an entire year with this dramatic fool.
“JinJin! Tell her how wrong she is!” Myungjun whines to his close friend and boyfriend of Eun Byeol.
You shoot Jinwoo a look, questioning why he’s even there on your anniversary date.
Jinwoo pauses, silently sipping his Coca-Cola as he still needs to drive home after he’s done hiding from his girlfriend, who he accidentally angered. A look of hesitation washes over his face as the poor fella absolutely does not want to get in the middle of your guys’ argument. After all, Myungjun is the reason why he’s able to safely hide from his furious significant other. But also, that stupid pretty boy is the cause of his and Eun Byeol’s argument in the first place.
So…
“Well, first of all, you’re both misremembering your first date because it actually wasn’t a blind date. You two had met previously at mine and Eun Byeol’s housewarming party. Then, you two decided to start out as friends because,” Jinwoo points to you, “You're in a relationship with Seokjin. Myungjun was seeing some random chick that I’ve forgotten the name for her.” He stated, debunking the first part of your love story. Before continuing with his explanation, Jinwoo chugs the rest of his soda and holds up a finger, flagging down a waiter to order another glass of Coke.
“Alright, now where was I?” He releases a tiny burp as he continues his journey of stating the facts of your relationship, making Myungjun protest and whine.
Then, your dork of a boyfriend leans towards you, his lips hovering over your ear.
“Why did I let him tag along with us again?”
“Because you two are tighter than a clam’s ass. That’s how close you two are to one another. It’s quite freaky at times.”
Myungjun, being his dramatic self, gawked, stumbling over his words,
“W-what? Name one-time that JinJin was with us.”
“Last night.”
Suddenly, Myungjun’s face becomes blank. Checkmate.
“And another thing! I wasn’t even the one who convinced you to go out that evening! It was Eunwoo!”
Knock is copyright 2021 by jinterlude, all rights reserved.
#kwritersworldnet#kdiarynet#/mystories#astro#astro fanfic#astro x reader#astro mj#astro myungjun#astro au#kim myungjun#myungjun#myungjun fanfic#myungjun x reader#mj#mj x reader#mj x you#mj fanfiction#mj scenarios#mj au
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Hey jen first off congrats on your new tshirt lol but also, do you know of any lesbians that truly didn’t realize they were gay or different until they were much older? i didnt realize I might be gay until I was 19 and even then, there was SEVERE self doubt cus I was well aware how my abusive father had and continues to completely warp and destroy how I view, trusted (i didnt and still dont) and interacted (i didnt and still dont) with cishetero men. Like I’m scared my sexuality is just a massive trauma response. Growing up I had a lot of what i thought were crushes on guys but a lot of times the ‘crushes’ were just me wanting to get their attention and be their friend. I did have a few “romantic” ones but again those men were completely unattainable and theres was no chance we’d ever date or that they’d ever pay me any attention and i...................took comfort in that. it wasnt until I was 19 that i had my first crush (or first that i was aware of) on a girl, but she was straight. and It wasnt until I got my first crush on another lesbian, at age 22 (im 26 now) that it truly smacked me in the face - I was literally losing sleep over this girl, I could barely hold a conversation without blushing and stuttering, hearing her voice or seeing her walk by made my stomach perform a simone biles floor routine, but when she smiled at or complimented me id be smiling goofily for the rest of the day. Then i found out she had a gf and my heart dropped to my ass and while I hate to admit it, i felt the petty jealousy and envy bubbling up to the surface (but i absolutely never acted on it cus i knew the feelings were irrational and silly). Like I felt like I was back in middle school and like.......a guy has NEVER brought that intensity of emotions out of me. The first time I slept with a woman I loved it, and continue to love it and i know this paragraph is painting a massive picture of “yes you fucking idiot you are gay” but when i talk to or hear stories from other lesbians, I can never relate or align to that feeling of “knowing I was different since I was young”, I had 0 clue up until my 20s. that paired with my upbringing, plus smaller traumas here and there also centered around men..........like im truly scared that the day i fully heal is the day I’m gonna realize my sexuality is a lie. and its a big reason (besides mental and emotional instability) i avoid relationships even though i want one cus i dont wanna put another girl through hell just cus i cant figure MY shit out you know? Like this sounds so childish but I wish there was like an entrance exam or something that you can take and itll give you some type of definitive answer like: “yes youre gay”, “nope straight”, “maybe? need more info/experience” or “pls for the love of god go to therapy”
Ok.. first. yeah.. therapy can be great.. even for healthy, well adjusted people.
BUT:
Once of the reasons I didn't know "what" i was is because I had no exposure to role models that looked like me. No one to show me what life might look like besides what I saw with my mom and dad, the neighbors mom and dad, my uncles and aunts.. the man woman kids model. I had no words or word for my experience and not really any idea there was any option.
I knew was different especially once puberty hit, there was just no way for me to know how I was different or to know I wouldn't outgrow the "phase".
I always say, it is not necessary for any of us to have intimacy or sex with someone in order to have that "awakening" of our sexuality and I believe that. However, sometimes that little touch, kiss, tingly feeling can push us more towards our admitting it to ourselves sooner rather than later.
We all have different reasons to be unsure. In a neutral world it wouldn't matter, we would be attracted to whomever we are attracted to and that would be that. BUT the world is not neutral and figuring out out sexual orientation is important because it helps us fine our "safe" community in an often hostile world. Sadly that means we have to sort out our feelings, our experiences, social media and media and lots of lies and inconsistencies to separate that from for our innate sexual attraction. It is not always clear what is attraction, true passion and what is imposed upon us from outside pressure.
We all have different reasons to be unsure. In a neutral world it wouldn't matter, we would be attracted to whomever we are attracted to and that would be that. BUT the world is not neutral and figuring out out sexual orientation is important because it helps us fine our "safe" community in an often hostile world. Sadly that means we have to sort out our feelings, our experiences, social media and media and lots of lies and inconsistencies to separate that from for our innate sexual attraction. It is not always clear what is attraction, true passion and what is imposed upon us from outside pressure.
The good news is there is no time line and no shame in being wrong. Our innate sexuality does not change but our understanding of it does as we gain experience and get to know ourselves. Follow your heart. Do not date for others, date for yourself. You don’t need to know for sure to enjoy figuring it out.
I can also tell you that I know lesbians my age who married men, had kids and had okay lives. It never occurred to them they were lesbians... then small things crept in. They realized what they thought was love was friendship. What they thought was passion was going through the motions. Then, one day, they met other lesbians, saw other lesbians and realized they had mistaken “finding a nice man” for love. and attraction.
Don’t worry about the opinions of others. They don’t have any right to judge you or your past or your dating life. You are allowed to be wrong and to reevaluate yourself. I have a feeling that once you allow yourself to trust yourself you will figure things out much faster.
When you are ready to date you will not be too much for the right woman. Somehow all those things you think will be too hard for another will not be for someone with whom you click. It is also okay to not be ready to date. To take time for yourself.
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