#it can such a miserable affair at times | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

comfortless · 20 days

Note

i have been thinking about this for a while and i love how you write, so what do you think of biker!könig with a gf that studies in uni? how did they meet? does he get jealous easily of her classmates? what is the aftermath of his jealousy (😏)?

thank you so much 🩷

-🌵

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. fem (afab) reader, suggestive, but mostly just two sillies attempting to flirt.

They first cross paths at a gas station. Sundown and desolate apart from the woman who approaches the tiny shop on foot whilst he straddles his bike at the pump.

She doesn’t notice him, and that’s just fine. More often than not, people do but for the wrong reasons. It’s always the height or the face only his mother could love. This is a good thing, shows she’s not hasty with her judgment, shows she’s just unaware enough to let something like him in.

It’s stupid, completely ridiculous at how he feels his heart thump to life, ribcage squeezing and stomach a whirl with butterflies at the mere sight. The furthest thing from love comes to mind at the sight: plush thighs peeking out against the hem of shorts that cut off just below her bum, the tight tanktop that displays her cleavage in a way so enticing. But that’s what he immediately thinks of, that word that seems foreign to him even in his mother tongue.

Love.

König could be a gentleman, lie her down in his bed instead of fucking her over the bike, if she were kind enough to follow him home. That offer feels heavy as lead on his tongue, lost someplace in his throat when he really gets a good view of her.

He’s never been good with talking to women, anyway. Especially not an angel so far out of his league she would surely only scoff with her sweet drink in hand, turn away from him with her nose held high and dark circles under her eyes as she suffers through another paper back at her dorm or wherever she came from.

So, he leaves her be as much as he can and should, only watches her with his helmet in place and that dark visor masking where his eyes wander from her face down to the retreating view of her legs as she walks.

The next time time is during the rain.

König is good at refraining from acting on base instinct. There’s a lot to consider before stealing away some miserable dove on the sidewalk, the light drizzle from above soaking into her dress and battering her lashes as she sits and waits for a ride that just doesn’t seem to be coming. He’s got his military background, keeps his house tidy and rarely muddles in the affairs of other people.

It’s just that she’s cold.

He tells himself that the only reason he stops his bike some meters away is because she will get sick if he doesn’t offer her a ride. He’s just being a gentleman. There’s nothing more to it.

So he does. Keeps his helmet on and masks his face as well as the weird excitement and nervousness in his voice when the muffled offer taints the wet air.

It doesn’t matter that he wouldn’t have never considered any of this if she weren’t so cute. If she didn’t look so fragile and sweet. She smiles and nods immediately, fusses with her dress a bit when she climbs onto the bike behind him when she tells him that she’s only just been on a date. It just hadn’t turned out well and whoever the bastard had been had dipped before even the entree was served.

It sends his mind spiraling when it shouldn’t.

It’s deranged to think of her misfortune as fate when it isn’t.

“I’m sorry… I don’t know where to put my hands,” she laughs someplace against his shoulder, chin just slightly tilted up to bump his damp t-shirt. It’s the nicest thing he’s ever heard, not mocking at all, only shy.

“Around me.”

He sounds like an old pervert, feels just like one when he takes her hands into his own and guides them around his middle. Presses in a bit too tight, because it’s been a long time since he’s had a woman so close and it feels good to be held like this.

She makes some quiet noise, a soft gasp, then presses her face into the darkness of his shirt to hide away from the rain or maybe…

“You can come home with me. It’s close.”

She laughs again, and he’s reminded of just how little tact that he has with the fairer sex. She must think him an idiot, some hopeful vigilante that scoops women up from the street after nightmare dates with bad food or bad dick. It sounds so stupid to his own ears, he knows he’s burning crimson beneath the black helmet.

Until she squeezes him a bit, gives what must be her best attempt at a hug from their positioning. Again, too, maybe out of surprise that there’s muscle there. Something a woman like her might like.

“I’ve got nothing to lose, huh?” and then “You seem a lot nicer than he was, anyway.”

The air gets stolen from his lungs and his jaw grows loose. She had only told him yes to maybe sitting on his couch, watching some miserable war film until he brought her back to her academic wasteland, but not a part of him had expected that.

It takes a moment for him to realize he hasn’t said a word, that he’s sat panting like some stay being offered a meaty bone. He takes a moment to reposition her grip around him, too ashamed of the way his cock springs to life at her closeness and the ridiculous fantasy playing out in his head.

“Right… you can dry off there.”

He doesn’t immediately remove the helmet when she steps into his abode, just guides her over to the washroom when she asks if he would mind if she used his shower and lets her be. That room has never known a woman’s touch, and the shirt he gives her to change into isn’t comparable to the cute, floral thing she was wearing.

He takes her dress to the dryer to distract himself from the fact that she’s naked in there, just a flimsy door away. Changes out of his own sopping wet clothes after considering that maybe she would want to touch him again. Maybe it felt nice for her too, just to hold someone. He could hold her too, if she wanted that, bring her right to his bed and keep her safe and warm.

“You’re out of conditioner,” she peeps as she steps back out of the bathroom. “Just thought you would want to…”

Her eyes trail over him for a time as her words taper off to nothing. Then, they’re locked to his face and any hope goes up in an inferno. The scars are probably scary, the dark circles from weeks of minimal sleep are probably even worse. She probably thinks him some sort of monster or a demon, something no girl should be left alone with.

Then, she smiles.

“Wow…”

“What…?”

He expects the worst and instinctively casts a sideways glance toward the helmet sat by the door. The perfect covering to avoid situations like this. It’s not that he’s dependent on it, but… maybe he would have had some sort of chance had he not taken it off.

“I’m sorry for staring, you’re just really…”

Ugly. Scary. Whatever words she’s considering, he doesn’t care to hear them. She could just ask to go home, save herself some fear and save him from another rejection.

“… cute.”

“Okay.”

Scheisse.

That wasn’t a “thank you” or anything of substance, but this is more mortifying than anything prior. Even the women who had pitied him with a date before had never called him something so endearing, never likened him to some adorable little thing or stared up at him like she does now. She only seems giddy, a fire burning behind her eyes like she’s just discovered some secret treasure.

“… cuter than your date?,” he hazards, rolls his shoulders and tilts his head at her. His attempt at sounding confident only comes across bitter and jealous. Maybe he is, but that fucker blew his chance, and she’s blessing König with far too many.

“Definitely.”

The tension feels tangible, despite the absurdity of all of this. He’s not sure what to do with his hands, where to look, what to say or how long to take between breaths.

She’s stood there in his shirt, looking as if she’s already his and he’s the one left feeling ashamed and embarrassed.

“I think you’re pretty.”

“Yeah?”

“Ever since I first saw you, I…” He’s babbling too much, losing any composure because she just keeps her eyes trained on him, that adorable smile curling at her lips. If he sounded creepy, like he’s been following her, she doesn’t even seem to notice.

“Maybe you could take me on a date sometime,” she suggests, her voice coming as a breathy little whisper. Maybe she is shy, but she’s giving him the OK to push and prod and see just how far he can go, to expend all of his luck on this very night.

The rain outside only grows louder, threatening to cut the power and leave this docile angel in some dark pit with a mad king. He wishes it would, it grows harder to keep the prominent excitement in his crotch concealed the more that she talks and bats her eyelashes at him.

Being over-eager was a turn-off, right? He weighs his next words the best he can, considers playing it safe for just half a moment before they escape him anyway.

“Come here.”

There’s a darker storm brewing in his eyes when she takes those first, fragile steps toward him. But she graces him with the light of a spark when her hand finds his chest and presses there, feels his heart beating like it’s a normal thing to search for, like she’s just as mesmerized and surprised as she is now.

She’s snared in an instant with a face buried into her damp hair, lifted up with her legs guided to wrap around his waist. A decade worth of luck spent just like that, but he’s always been greedy.

The demand for more comes with a callused hand guiding her chin up. Her lips part immediately, eyelashes fluttering until they rest atop her cheeks, already warmed with the anticipation of what’s to come. His kissing begins gentle, soft for a second as he tries to memorize the plushness and curvature of her lips with his mouth alone.

Then, it’s only punishing.

He tries to hold himself back, but knowing he could have had this weeks ago while she was wandering about barely dressed drives him insane. The moment she gasps against his mouth, his tongue slips inside to find hers, rolls over it with such a ferocity that the corner of her mouth begins to glisten with their shared drool. She whines, then moans as her hands curl over his neck, petting at the short hair at the base of his skull.

His hands fall to her ass to keep her in place, gives her a pinch and then a grope when he realizes she’s not wearing underwear at all.

And that’s where the well must have run dry, because she tilts her face away with a series of soft pants, squeezes her trembling thighs around him as if to make a silent demand to stop, or maybe not. Everything she does makes him feel both hot and crazy; she doesn’t even attempt to wind out of his grip here, only looks up at him sultry and helpless. She must be wet, he can smell it, practically taste her already, but he doesn’t persist when she halts this dance.

“Wait… waitwait. I don’t even know your name.”

“König.”

She laughs breathlessly, then dips her head to press against his shoulder. His hand immediately rises to pet at her hair, twirling a few strands between his fingers as she tells him her name in turn.

“I don’t really want this to just be… one night, you know?,” she says, and that intrigues him.

“That so..?”

“Mhm…”

He slowly lowers her back down until her feet meet the carpeted floor, then takes her face into both hands while she gives him a cute pout. He could be sympathetic, could make her love him even… she’s left the door open for him already, after all.

“I could just hold you,” he mutters, tracing a circle into her cheek, savoring in the way her eyes seem to light up at that.

“I would like that.”

#könig x reader #konig x reader #being gifted this ask after that one anon put the thought in my head to begin with? you all are a godsend actually

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writing-fanics · 3 months

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‘silly little love affair’ [part ii of ?]

Lucifer Morningstar x F!Reader [Adam’s Sister]

[warning: angst: mentions of abandonment: Lucifer being sad: mentions of depression: panic attack: mentions of death:]

previous part > next part

Lucifer sighed, as he sat alone at his desk. His hand working meticulously crafting another rubber duck, a past time something he could do to occupy himself. He sighed, slumping back in his chair, glancing over at the empty chair.

A [f/c] jacket draped over it, he could still hear her laughter echoing throughout the study and manor. His study, that was once decently cleaned after starting his relationship with [Y/n], had returned back to how it was before. Six months has past since he’s last seen her, and he was absolutely miserable and angry, once again he was abandoned by someone he loved.

[Y/n] became his second chance a fresh start. She was breathtaking a breath at new fresh air. A friendship that lasted three years and ended up, becoming a relationship. A secret one, one filled with her secretly traveling down to Hell to have dates and spend time together.

Of course, there were times later in their relationship when she ended up in his bed. Clothes scattered across the floor haphazardly, love marks on her neck and legs. Her waking up beside him, being forced to leave quickly to not be caught.

He sighed, laying his head in his desk. A frown on his face, bags under his eyes. He should’ve known that it was a matter of time, before she left him as well just like Lilith. Sometimes love doesn’t last forever.

On his desk sat an open velvet box with an engagement ring inside.

————-

Everything seemed to have gotten worse for [Y/n], especially with the extermination being in a week. Her sleep plagued with nightmares of her getting news, of Lucifer death. Of everyone’s death in Hell.

Waking up in a cold sweat panting and crying, from the nightmare that felt so real. Her entire body shaking as she ran her fingers through her hair . Breathing heavily uncontrollably, as the world started to spin around her as the thought of losing him shook her to her core.

She gripped the blanket, as her body started to shake. Her knuckles turning white as her breathing quickened. Her head started to feel light, as she gripped the side of her head. She felt as if the roll was getting smaller and smaller, her lungs barely able to take a breath.

She gripped the bedsheets, *squeak* she looked down her hands shaking seeing the rubber duck. She squeezed it again, tears trickling down her cheeks. As she remembered, Lucifer helping her when she had a panic attack when she’d almost gotten caught sneaking down to Hell.

His face gently and relaxed, his fingers underneath her chin the other on her shoulder and he slowly breathed in and out.

“There you go darling,” he said, softly gently tracing circles on her shoulder. She stared into his eyes getting lost in them, as he helped calm her down. How he kissed her forehead after and comforted her, his arm around her waist.

Her breathing calmed, and she held the rubber duck close to her chest. “It’s so unfair,” she whispered, laying back in bed with the rubber duck.

——

Emily looked at Sera, “But it’s my job to bring joy to others,” said Emily, as her and Sera argued about [Y/n]. Emily believed that [Y/n]’s punishment was unjust, punishing her all because she was in love is wrong.

Emily placed her hand over her heart, “She’s hurting, her wings are wilting. She’s fading, Sera.” She said sadly, “Why, can’t she be with him if they’re truly in love?” asked Emily.

Emily glared at her a sad look on her face, “Her halo was flickering she’s dying, and I’m just supposed to sit around and let that happen?” Emily said.

Sera sighs in response, “We’ve extended and used every possible resource we can. To help Y/n, but she’s chosen not to take the help from others.” said Sera, and Emily looked at her in shock.

“She’s made her decision,” said Sera, letting go and Emily’s hand. Emily furrowed her brows and exited the room angrily. She was supposed to bring Joy to others, and it didn’t settle right with her especially now, knowing about the extermination.

Slaughtering of innocent human souls and [Y/n]’s fading soul in heaven, she had to do something if she can’t do something about the souls in Hell.

She can at least help the one in Heaven.

sneak peek [part iii]

“You really do love him?” asked Emily, and [Y/n] lifted her head. A faint smile appeared across her tear stained face, as she held the rubber duck in her hand, “More than anything.” said [Y/n], looking at the younger seraphim with bags under her eyes.

A portal appeared beside Emily, “Go,” said Emily, a smile on her face. [Y/n] looked at her in shock confused, but she gestured towards the portal to hell. She saw it the familiar Morningstar Manor, tears trickled down her cheeks as her heart skipped a beat.

“Don’t worry about Sera or Adam, I’m doing my job bringing joy to others,” she said, looking at her a warm smile on her face.

Even before she started a relationship with Lucifer, she always hated being alone. She struggled making friends even in Heaven, only being able to with Emily. She didn’t like to talk much or converse with other people, she felt awkward around others. Which is why she bonded so quickly with Lucifer, she fell in love with him as they became friends.

He made her laugh, and smile. She felt safe and comfortable around him. When they shared their first kiss, she felt butterflies in her stomach and fireworks. She’s never felt this way about anyone before, and it was scary at first but she grew to love the feeling.

She loved him.

Taglist

@lxkeee @the-attention-whore @httpakasha @dickmastersworld

#lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer morningstar #Lucifer Morningstar Hazbin #hazbin hotel lucifer x reader #Lucifer x reader #Hazbin hotel x reader #emily hazbin hotel #seraphim

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vagabond-umlaut · 9 months

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affaire de cœur

Plucking one's heart from their chest and devouring it is all 'affairs of the heart' meant to the King of Curses— until his Queen walked onto the stage of his life, that is.

▸ trueform!sukuna x wife!reader; comprises of elements inspired by the tale of 'hades and persephone'; gallons of domestic fluff between sukuna and reader; hints of spicy times; no warnings except sukuna is very much sukuna here but you too are there, so he's sort of a better sukuna... [not loads better, though]

▸ belongs to the series 'mine? yes, mine.' but you can treat this as a stand-alone fic if you wanna!

▸ i don't own the characters, the image or the divider used. please don't plagiarize or translate or repost this. enjoy reading! ❤️

"Repeat those words after me, my lord."

"No."

The pouty face you vault his way from the other end of the bathhouse makes Sukuna huff an annoyed sigh. Few monsoons back, you would never even see him in the eye, gaze trained on his feet – until he lifted your chin up; even then you would shyly avert your gaze — yet, now?

Now, you show the boldness to wear such a pathetic expression while making such an imbecilic request– nay, demand of him– locking your gaze with his the entirety of the time, no less.

Another sigh finds its route past his lips. Watching the way those sin-filled lips of yours twitch in a tiny smile before dipping into a pout, he groans.

"Alright. Fine," Sukuna grumbles, resting his two arms on the edge of the tub while the other two move to card through his damp hair, "Will you ever leave me for another, woman?"

Your eyebrows rise for a beat, the second the question you chomped his ears off earlier for, leaves his mouth. Your lover rolls his eyes, loud scoffs erupting from him at the utter inanity of the whole situation at hand — you, not beside by him, but beside those damned towels and bath soaps; him, not soaking in the warmth of your flesh but of these bath waters; the humid bathhouse not resonating with the sounds of your whines but with the remnants of a query, whose answer he does not care the least for, for no matter what you say or do, he will not—

"Yes, I will."

Your clear voice scatters his thoughts away, akin a strong wind and a handful of chaff. Sukuna freezes, every crimson eye of his fixed upon your approaching figure– your soft footfalls, your yellow yukata, your simple hairdo, your angelic smile...

Your husband takes a while too long before discovering his lost voice, eyes narrowed, throat tight and chest heavy as he asks you, "You will leave me, pet?"

"Uh-huh, I sure will," you hum in response, sitting on the stool next to the tub and moistening a towel. Sukuna moves to grasp your wrist in his palm but pauses when he catches you switch your attention from the towel to him, a terrifying emotion brimming in your tender gaze.

You draw in a tiny breath before speaking, voice now a mere whisper.

"Show me someone who is the most feared creature to ever exist, yet is a sulking mess if he isn't being cuddled in bed till noon every single day; someone who detests humans like I detest carrots, yet visits the monthly market in secret, to get gifts for his close one; someone who everyone's told me is the worst, yet goes on to prove, again and again and again, how he's the absolute best in this world—"

You stop suddenly.

Chest growing heavy from an entirely different reason now, your lover drinks in the manner your smile widens, your fragile fingers letting go of the cloth to trace those markings on his skin instead – you resume.

"Show me someone whose embraces feel the safest place in all the three realms, and I swear, my king, I'll leave you and run to his arms without thinking twice."

For the first time in his millennium of existence, the two-faced curse feels the same distress of being paralysed, as his mere mien induces in the muscles of his miserable victims— except, it isn't the fear of an end to his life which is causing this abhorrent weakness to him unlike those worthless mortals— no.

It is the fear of the unknown, of the uncharted, which is rendering his powerful self so, so powerless before your blinding brilliance. Sukuna thinks death might be an easier journey to undertake than these odd realisations your voice and touch elicit in him always.

These days, more so.

This moment, very much so.

The addicting timbre of your voice rouses him from his musings, the second time that night.

"Is every–"

"Is that supposed to be a love confession?" Your husband cuts you off before you can finish your question. You slowly blink at him once then twice, before leaning backwards and picking up the forgotten cloth, a visibly coy giggle bubbling out you as you return to washing his skin.

"Yes," you agree after a beat, gaze darting to his face before skittering away again, "That is supposed to be a love confession for my beloved king; though I wonder what my lord thinks of it. Was it heart-touching as I intended to make it? Or did it sound too tedious to him?"

The addressed being deliberately makes a big show of rolling each of his four eyes at your query. "Neither," he says, curling his lip in a show of vexation before they lift a little at the lower lip you jut out, "And you should count yourself to be lucky that you're my wife, not a worthless mortal, pet. For if you were not my wife–"

"– you would've sliced me into halves without a moment's hesitation," you finish the rest of the sentences for him with a fond shake of your head. "Trust me, my king, I know you. I do, I rea– Sukuna!!!"

The startled shriek of his name— not my lord or my king but Sukuna —parts the curse's lips in a smirk, which widens on noticing the warm water slowly seeping into your clothes, making them translucent; and you staring up at him with a disbelieving look etched onto your pretty face.

Sukuna allows his smirk to melt away into a genuine smile, for once.

Nestling your drenched form closer to himself, he closes his eyes to rest his forehead on your shoulder, palms holding you as if you were not a member of the race he lives for the sake of tormenting, but an invaluable blessing, beings he has never believed in, sent earthward for his damned self.

Which is true, the curse reckons. You indeed are a blessing he knows he doesn't deserve – yet will keep for and with himself for an eternity and some more.

Pressing you closer to himself, your husband lifts his head to plant a kiss to your forehead, followed by your warm cheeks — hoping you'll understand the meaning behind every reverent contact he's marking your form with now.

After all, you know him really well, don't you?

[You do— which is only why you reciprocate every brush of his sharp canine over your skin, with a brush of your soft palm over the wicked, handsome, wickedly handsome visage of the love of your life.]

▸ masterlist

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redflagshipwriter · 3 months

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Hot Ghouls in your Area ch 4 progress

(read other sections of this and more stories here)

Danny floated miserably through the stacks, pulling out books that looked remotely plausible. Maybe he needed help. Jazz would help him without laughing at him, right?

Sam and Tucker absolutely would not. They would think it was hilarious that he had so little game that the universe assigned him a boyfriend via Jeremy Waters.

‘As if I could pull a guy who looks like that,’ Danny thought wryly, and then felt a little bad about himself in comparison. Jason was, uhhhh, physically blessed. He was tall and well proportioned and his hands- Danny fought down a shiver and resisted the urge to steal another look. Jason was out of sight anyway.

Well. He still hadn't seen Jason's face. Maybe he was ugly! You never know. Or maybe under the helmet it was totally smooth, no face. That would be neat. Danny paused mid motion to imagine that.

Haha. Sick, man.

That concept cheered him up a little as he grimly opened the first book and started skimming for likely words like marriage, spouse, and concubine.

He didn’t bother reading anything in detail. He stuck a post it note on each page with a relevant term and then put the book in a pile to take back to his dorm. This wasn’t going to get solved in a day.

Ah, shit. Danny paused. This wasn’t going to get solved in a day. He bit his lip and looked off in the direction where Jason had disappeared to do his own research.

He truly didn’t have time to devote to this right now. He was not willing to drop his school life in order to solve a sudden problem. Jason was just going to have to cope with whatever timeline Danny could manage without setting his life on fire.

On the other hand, Jason was a human guy who probably had a life of his own at the biker bar/fight club. Whatever the hell required that kind of outfit probably kept him busy! So Danny couldn’t like, just leave him in the castle to chill.

“Not to mention the fact that he shouldn’t be able to live here very long anyways,” Danny muttered to himself.

That was troubling him. Frankly, Jason should have been intolerably uncomfortable in the ghost zone for this long without specialized protective equipment. It wasn’t meant for humans.

‘What did Jeremy do to this guy?’

Yikes. Did this mean… Did this mean Danny should have given that little cult thing more credit? But Jeremy was just such a doofus. He grimaced. Embarrassing. Why were his enemies so embarrassing? This shit didn’t happen to, like, Wonder Woman.

Danny buried himself back in the books to avoid the growing suspicion that Jason might have been uhhhh magically altered to make him an appropriate concubine to a dead king. That thought sucked! He didn’t like it. He really didn’t like the idea of bringing it up with Jason.

When he had what he thought was a good first round of research, Danny shelved the books he’d gotten out and went to find where his …

He whole-body flinched at the point where he needed to plug an appropriate noun into that sentence.

“Jason?” Danny called, juggling books into a stack. “I think we should probably get you back to the re- the human world. Before something inexorable happens.”

A pause.

“I don’t think you know what that word means,” Jason said. A book shut. Danny headed towards the sound, phasing through shelves effortlessly. A spark of curiosity lit up at Jason’s voice. He sounded relaxed, even through the helmet’s filter.

‘I want to hear his real voice. Bet it’s nice.’

Wait. What? Danny shook the thought away, discomforted. He plastered a wide grin on his face. “I don’t know any words,” he lied breezily. “I’m just ad libbing. Anyway!” He flopped dramatically down onto the big chair next to Jason’s, making sure to be extra physical to get a satisfying whumpf. “We really should go! I can get you to the human world, but, uh, I can’t promise to put you back where you came from.” He scratched at the back of his neck. “I think this is going to be a more than one day affair.”

Jason was watching him. There was nothing visible through his helmet, but Danny got the sense that he was tense, waiting for a threat.

Which, what? Why would Jason feel threatened by-

Oh. Danny felt a knot in his stomach. Right. That made a lot of sense. He felt kinda sick.

He didn’t let the feeling show through and barreled on speaking. “I don’t exactly have an easy way for you to contact me, but we probably need to stay in touch to fix this. Do you have any ideas?”

The lie felt kind of gross. But he could hardly tell the guy; “I’m an engineering student in Gotham, you can just call my cell or come to the dorms.”

Jason seemed to relax at the cessation of control. “If you can stick around, yeah. I’ll get you a burner phone, exchange numbers. You’re not going to…” He trailed off. Danny felt a frown somehow. “You won’t have any signal here, actually. That won’t work.”

“I can make it work,” Danny assured him, hands up. “I mean, I can’t make it work here, or I would have offered to help with your tech. But I can pop in and out of the human world and check my messages.”

“That’ll work.” Jason’s helmet turned ever so slightly. “About the books…”

“You found something good?” Danny asked, impressed. “Yeah, awesome. Just be really careful with them, the librarian is a scary guy.”

Jason’s hand flexed over the closed book on his thigh. “I can take- how many can I take out?”

Danny scoffed. “I’m not your dad,” he said. “Whatever you can carry, man. You ready to go or do you need a minute?” He flipped back to his feet with a grunt.

#red hot ghouls #dp x dc #dc x dp #dead on main

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thetriumphantpanda · 5 months

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i've got my love to keep me warm | joel miller

Summary | Joel agrees to spend Christmas with your family, away from the warmth of Texas, and it takes him a little while to warm up to the idea.

Pairing | Joel Miller x F!reader

Word Count | 1.4K

Warnings | Grumpy x Sunshine vibes, some sweetness, some suggestive thoughts but nothing explicit, mentions of consuming food and alcohol.

Authors note | For @yeollie-plz- It's your @pedrostories secret santa!! I really hope you love this because it was good fun to put together! Happy Christmas to you!

“You know, you could at least pretend to be happy?” You tease, nudging your elbow into Joel’s side.

With the way he’s bundled up in his big coat, you’re not sure he actually feels you do it, but he grumbles all the same. Whatever he says in incoherent, but you can discern the meaning perfectly. What’s the point in being here as grown adults? What’s the point in wandering around, looking at lights and getting excited about Christmas, when, for the first time in years, there won’t be any children around?

“Come on,” You beam, taking his gloved hand in yours, “Maybe a drink with a little something in would make you happier?”

“What would make me happier would be sat indoors outta this snow.”

You roll your eyes, pulling on his hand to get him to follow you. He walks by your side, gloved hand sitting in yours as you weave through the crowds of people. Joel had wanted to stay in Texas for Christmas, something about the familiarity of it, not wanting to spend too much money on travelling at this time of year, but knowing it was his first Christmas without Sarah, now that she was all grown up with her own family, you knew that he’d be miserable, no matter that you’d be there with him, so you’d put your foot down, told him the two of you would spend Christmas with your parents up north, somewhere cooler, more festive.

He’d met them plenty of times before, they loved him, thought the sensible, stoic man was good for you. He had his head on his shoulders, a home of his own - settled, is what they’d called him. A far cry from the other boys you’d chosen in the past few years, and they were overjoyed to have a house full of people this year - your brother and his wife, you and Joel, a real family affair.

The centre of town always reminded you of being a child when you came back at this time of year. The streets filled with small stalls - some selling food, some filled with little trinkets from small businesses, all set around the main square, with its big tree, lit up and sparkling.

There’s one stall you zero in on, a small line that you stand in, still gripping at Joel’s hand as you step further towards the front each time someone walks away. You remember the first time you’d stood in this line - you were eight, and your dad had passed you a cup full of warm hot chocolate, a towering swirl of whipped cream on top. You’d sipped it so slowly, savouring the cream and the sweetness of the chocolate, and anytime you’re here, you have to get it, it’s just that these days, it’s always spiked with something.

Joel, of course, orders an Irish coffee - black, bitter coffee, split with cream and his favourite whiskey. You watch closely as he pulls one of his gloves off with his teeth, slipping it in his pocket so he can feel the warmth of it in his palm. He’s watching you just as closely as the lady hands you the cup of hot chocolate, mixed with Bailey’s, still with that tower of whipped cream too.

You both step away, standing off to the side as Joel takes the first sip of his drink. You can see the slight softening of his expression as he goes in for another sip, this one bigger than the first. He’s watching you as you dart your tongue out, taking some of the sweet cream into your mouth before you sip the drink, hissing when it burns your tongue a little.

“That’ll be hot, baby.” He teases, earning a little glare from you as he drinks his again, seemingly unaffected by the steam that rises from his own cup.

“It’s good,” You muse, holding it out to him, “Try it.”

“I don’t want none a’that,” He shakes his head, “Too sweet.”

“Joel Miller,” You chastise, pushing the cup closer to his face, “It’s Christmas, for the love of God, try the hot chocolate.”

He sighs, shakes his head in that way he always does when he knows he can’t win the battle. He hands you his drink, laughs a little when you wrinkle your nose at how strong it smells, takes yours from you and brings it to his mouth, taking a big sip, and when he pulls it away to hand back to you, you can’t stifle the giggle that falls from your mouth.

“What?” He asks, as your giggle falls into proper laughter, “What the hell’s the matter with you?” He snatches his own drink back sinking his neck down into his coat to keep the biting wind from his skin.

“Y-you’ve,” You choke out, pointing at your own nose, “You’ve g-got something here.”

You bring your hand up to his face, running the pad of your thumb over the tip of his nose, swiping the cream from his face. You go to pull it away, to wipe it away on the leg of your jeans, but Joel has other ideas, gripping your wrist to still you. He brings your hand to his mouth, enveloping your thumb into the heat of his mouth. You suck in a breath, feeling the tip of his tongue dart out against the skin, licking the cream off, before he drags your thumb from his mouth with a soft pop.

He drops your wrist from his hold, but you’re stuck, staring right at him, with the familiar throb of want settling across you.

“Thought it was too sweet for you?” You raise an eyebrow when you’ve composed yourself enough to speak.

He shrugs, takes hold of your hand and starts walking you back towards the tree, “If you’re gonna laugh at me, I ain’t gonna make it easy on you.” That familiar tone of grump is back, but you know he doesn’t mind really as he walks slowly, guiding you both to a bench that looks directly at the tree, dressed in red and gold, icy lights casting that familiar festive glow across everything.

He wipes the snow from the bench, makes sure it dry enough for you both to sit on, draping his arm across the back of it, encouraging you to curl into his side. The two of you sit for a while, watching the people come and go - young children excited to stand in line for the chance to meet Santa in his grotto, men on their own going from stall-to-stall, clearly shopping for last minute gifts, and couples, just like the two of you, wrapped up in nothing but each other as they hold hands, point things out to eat other.

“Thank you for coming,” You speak softly into his shoulder, looking up at him as he looks down at you, “I know it’s not really what you wanted, but I like that you’re here.”

“Of course it’s what I wanted,” He speaks just as softly, leaning down to press a featherlight kiss to the tip of your nose, “I only ever want to be where you are baby,” He motions his head to the scene in front of you, “Even if it is in the freezing cold, surrounded by too many people, wherever I’m with you, I’m happy, okay?”

You smile at him, tilt your head slightly, as his lips come down onto yours, cold and chapped from the winter air, but oh-so familiar as they slant across your own. You open your mouth against his, let your tongue meld with his own, the bitter of his coffee mixing with the sweet of your own drink. It’s soft, gentle, and over far too quickly. He pulls away, places two more soft pecks against your mouth, and then settles back against the bench, his hand now resting on your shoulder.

A shiver settles across your bones, something to do with the fact that even a few years into your relationship, he still sets you on fire without even trying, but mainly because it’s fucking freezing. Leant against Joel’s body, you feel him shiver a little too.

“Home?” You ask.

He looks back down at you, smiling a little with a nod, “Home.”

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silverwhittlingknife · 28 days

Text

The Bats Are Fighting (Distaff Edition)

some conflicts I enjoy:

Babs is pretty hostile/judgy toward Helena at first & is bitterly upset and hurt when Helena starts wearing a Bat costume - apparently a Batgirl costume - without asking her. Later on, Bruce chases Helena out of the costume, and Babs gives Cass the Batgirl costume with her explicit blessing. Helena and Cass never have a rivalry over this exactly, but I don't think they ever really get along, either

Babs and Helena eventually make up when Babs lets Helena join the Birds of Prey but it's rocky in the beginning - Babs dislikes Helena's methods and doesn't entirely trust her; Helena resents being kept on the outside

Steph is super-impressed by Cass and tries to get her to like her and they eventually get close, but Cass has a pretty low opinion of Steph-as-a-vigilante and doesn't hesitate to boss her around or knock her out, and she's super-hurt by Steph lying to her about what's going on during War Games (probably not unrelated: Cass is the only Bat to blame Steph instead of Bruce after Steph dies)

Babs and Cass get very close but also have tensions because Babs wants Cass to have the 'normal' life that Babs thinks she should've tried harder to have when she was younger, and Cass isn't entirely comfortable with this pressure, plus - this one I think is a bit more well-known - Babs spends a lot of time tutoring Cass and looking after her (awww), BUT ALSO in a tense moment she gets really nasty and harsh about Cass's reluctance to learn to read and calls her "stupid"

Dinah finds Steph REALLY annoying and wants her to stop tagging around after her... until she finds out about Steph's miserable home life, and then she appears like an avenging angel and kicks Steph's dad and his cronies out of the house

Babs decides to work with a guy who tortured Dinah because she thinks he's capable of redemption and Dinah is NOT HAPPY about it

Just generally, Steph and Helena are very much outsiders who don't get brought into the "core" Batfam and who aren't trusted with info like Bruce's secret identity. By contrast, Babs is an insider almost from Day 1 - she may have conflicts with Bruce, but she's also got his absolute trust - and Dinah is as insider as it gets, with a mom who was also Black Canary and a stint on the JLA

other general characterization notes that cause Conflict (TM):

Babs is pretty much a classic Bat - she's got a ton of control issues and she's an instinctively secretive workaholic

Helena is an adult who will kill people if she damn well feels it's necessary and she doesn't appreciate being lectured about it

Steph is a defensive teenage outsider with a bucketload of family problems - deadbeat evil dad! addict mom! - and when she's upset she's got a reckless self-destructive streak

Cass is very much like Bruce in that 1) she is wildly super mega good at fighting, 2) she's an instinctive loner who's comically bad at people AND YET she can nevertheless effortlessly manage to head off to a foreign country for a weekend and have a passionately-felt mutual love affair with some random criminal or something, and then that person dies & she goes home like nothing happened, 3) she cares about other people but completely sucks at communication & when in doubt will just go silent & take off or refuse to have conversations, 4) because she hates talking sometimes she'll just knock you out or hit you so that she won't have to do it, 5) she will spend an entire year planning to have a fight to the death with someone for Reasons and tell no one about it because why would she tell someone

anyway they're all terrible <3

#I found this in my drafts & I was originally gonna do all the Bats I think #but I feel like the boys' conflicts are better known & also I'm lazy fdsfdsfs so here are a bunch of my favorite interpersonal conflicts #anyway some people think that female characters should support each other & have solidarity but they are wrong #i mean don't get me wrong i allow for SOME solidarity but you should also be snide sometimes!! rep for bitchy people <3 #helena bertinelli #stephanie brown #cassandra cain #barbara gordon

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adonis-koo · 7 months

Text

sweet nothing • 7

↳ Description: being a guest at the Jeon Estate after a mishap of being kidnapped and dragged into your brothers affairs isn’t all that bad. Truth be told it brings you a lot closer to the mobster and owner of the estate Jeon Jungkook himself.

His two rules are simple, don’t cause trouble and don’t give him a hard time. Somehow you manage to constantly do both in the most endearing way despite being pregnant and waddling around most of the time.

Pairing: Jungkook/reader, ???/reader

↳ Genre: slice of life AU, mafia!AU, pregnancy, there’s like…a little bit of a plot but not a lot, future smut? maybe? it's very domestic!

Word Count: 2k

Previous | Next…

Note: IM ALIVEEE, barely, but my skin is clearing, my cortisol levels are lowering, nature is healing 🧘‍♀️ 🍃 I finally gave up and just decided that despite this story not being plot heavy, we’re still getting some plot anyways

“Are the meds not working?” You frowned, standing at the entryway of Jungkook’s bedroom, his laptop abandoned on the other side of the bed as if in defeat, he wasn’t asleep, just vacantly staring at the ceiling while laying down.

You felt an amused sense of pity for him, you don’t think you’ve ever seen him look so utterly miserable before.

“They are, just not fast enough.” He rasped out, not bothering to look at you as he sighed, closing his eyes, “I can't even focus on anything.”

You could feel your heart tug just the slightest for him, he really did look awful, “Well how about we watch a movie? It could take your mind off the pain.”

“I need to work.” He stressed the word as best he could despite his eyes still being shut.

“Okay well, as far as I can tell, you aren’t working.” You replied walking up to the bedside as he opened his eyes into an unappreciative glare.

You offered a somewhat apologetic smile, “C’mon it’ll make you feel better, you’ll have something to focus on.”

Grabbing the remote off his nightstand you left him little choice in the matter, he said nothing, eyes following you as you rounded the bed, huffing a little as you managed to get sat down next to him.

“Remind me why I put up with your antics?” Jungkook asked dryly.

You shrugged as you turned on the TV, “You tell me.”

Jungkook only stayed silent, even as you gave him a side glance, perhaps a little curious, after all, how could you not?

If he had an answer, he kept it to himself as you browsed through the streaming services before eventually settling on an action movie, the plot however was difficult to keep up with, Jungkook however funny enough seemed invested.

Half way through the movie you had given up, the sleepy lethargy you had been experiencing the last few days winning out as you began nodding off.

“Are you really sleeping through the climax?” Jungkook’s raspy voice made your eyes open.

“This was for you not me,” You complained, managing to grab the throw blanket that had been hanging off the end of his bed, curling up against the fuzzy material.

For a brief moment, a memory pulled a smile to your face, “Y’know….when I was little, Wonho used to make me soup- it was from a can but it was the thought that mattered, he’d always get me a fizzy soda from the corner store and we’d watch cartoons together. I remember falling asleep against him and then I’d wake up tucked in on the couch.”

Jungkook’s eyes stared at the TV but you could tell he was no longer focused on the movie, dare you say he seemed almost bothered by your words.

“What?”

He seemed to be debating something in his head, “You used to never go into detail…about your parents. Just that they weren’t around.”

You gave him a weak smile, you knew what he was asking. It rarely got brought up, but you did recall mentioning the few times he had tried to pry before, always shewing the question away with a ‘My parents were never around’.

You shrugged, “Would it be too simple to say that was the truth?”

Jungkook shifted a little to face you, “Was it that simple?”

There was no challenge in his tone, only a quiet raspy question, he was always good at hiding his intentions, shrouding it behind an unphased expression, but the more you had gotten to know Jungkook, the better you had become in the art of seeing the subtle shift in his gaze.

And right now he was nothing but curious, he always had been, but even moreso now.

Your hands had managed to hold the lower half of your stomach, otherwise you would’ve crossed them, eyes flickering away from him you gave a small shrug, “For me….”

You paused for a moment to gather your thoughts before you relented with a quiet sigh, “They were always off going to bars and clubs together, they were addicts. Wouldn’t come home for days at a time, and when they did they were never sober.” Your lips twisted into a frown, voice no louder then a whisper, “Then one day only my dad came home. Definitely not sober but he was crying, like hysterically sobbing, and he just collapsed in front of me and kept apologizing.”

“Grabbed me real tight around the shoulders and kept babbling incoherently, his mouth was all discolored and his skin was real clammy looking.” You rubbed your head, the memory leaving an icky feeling in your chest.

Jungkook looked pensive after a long moment of silence, it was as if he knew there was more, “And?”

“Apparently he overdosed on fentanyl on the living room floor,” You smiled bitterly, “In front of me…I don’t remember it though, can hardly recall the night anymore honestly. I was young, maybe eight or nine. Wonho was around thirteen at the time and he ended up intervening, he told me later that he found out my dad pimped out my mom to get enough money for the fentanyl, problem was that the dealer was apart of the Jang Hi mafia. I can’t even remember the last time I saw her before she disappeared, don’t know if she’s even alive anymore.”

“You never went to look?” Jungkook asked, a soft note could be detected in his voice.

You shook your head, “There was nothing to look for,” you couldn’t hide the sadness in your voice, your lips trembling a little, “She was never there to begin with…maybe that makes me a bad person, but I can’t imagine having a child and just…”

You couldn’t even think about it, your hands rubbing over the swollen skin of your stomach to try and calm your nerves.

“Out of all the people I’ve met- and trust me, I’ve met a lot,” Jungkook’s hand lifted, fixing your blanket back over your shoulder, “In comparison, you’re an angel.”

You stared at him for a long moment before you couldn’t help the smile that tugged on your lips, a smile of his own appearing, “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“No, I'm saying it because it’s the truth.” Jungkook replied, it was quiet for a moment, his gaze dropping, “You’ll make a great mother.”

“You think?”

“I know,” He had a confident look about him that was difficult to not believe, “How do you feel about the delivery coming up?”

“I still have another twelve weeks to go Jungkook,” You tried to push the anxious feeling from your chest, “But I am nervous, I mean, I’ve never had a child before, don’t really know what to expect, other then I’ve heard it’s excruciating, which I guess is a given…”

You squinted a little, the movie long forgotten playing in the background, “I was terrified when I first found out I was pregnant, and the morning sickness was awful. I could hardly hold anything down the first few days, I was so sensitive to smells, any kind of strong scent gave me a raging headache…”

Jungkook’s lips parted and you could almost see it, hear it, the question of who the father was. But his lips immediately shut once more, as if perhaps sensing you would be unlikely to answer.

“I thought about it…” You admitted quietly, “Getting an abortion, but…” You shook your head, “I don’t know, I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. Any other woman in my shoes surely would. And even now, I wonder if I made the right decision, if I had known Wonho was going to disappear like this…” You sighed, “I don’t know, I guess some silly part of me, thought that maybe, this was meant to take me to a new path in life, one where I’d work hard and I’d be able to separate myself from this life. Was that too naive to think?”

“I think anyone who values their life would want that,” Jungkook concluded easily, “Someone who isn’t meant to be in this lifestyle, who’s honest, and still has a shred of dignity left.”

It was quiet for a moment before he continued, “You were always too good for the underground. Shame you got dragged into it.”

You shrugged, “I don’t really think about it much anymore, I mean, it is what it is.” You chewed on your bottom lip, “Maybe it would be better if I didn’t keep the baby. I’m sure any couple unable would kill for the chance to adopt.”

You had never seen Jungkook straighten the way he did on this moment and you couldn’t help but somewhat regret your words, not your thought on it, but the fact that you had voiced it aloud.

It wasn’t the first time you had thought about it either, it was stupid of you to think having this baby would do anything other than pull you into the underground further.

“What makes you say that?” Jungkook’s gaze was like steel, it made you shy away a little, almost feeling the same way when you had first met.

You couldn’t keep eye contact with him even if you wanted too, “A lot of reasons,” you confessed, nothing more then a whisper, “The fact that I’m a single mom for starters? Or the fact that my brother is in serious debt and I’m being held here as a makeshift safe house? Let’s not even begin to talk about being able to properly provide for a child. I never had present parents and I don’t have anyone to ask for help.”

You felt tears of frustration fill your eyes.

Jungkook parted his lips, but quickly shut them once more, you could tell he was battling a plethora of questions, which maybe he didn’t deserve an answer too, but you could tell it was beginning to slowly eat at him.

Instead Jungkook’s lip twitched as if in irritation at whatever he was thinking about, eventually vocalizing his thought, “Is the dad really that much of a deadbeat?”

He didn’t say it but you could see it on the tip of his tongue, ‘I never thought you’d go that low’

You didn’t say anything for a long moment, carefully thinking about how to reply, it wasn’t that you were purposely withholding information, it just simply brought back uncomfortable memories.

“Far from a deadbeat. Furthest thing possible,” you shuddered, “It did cross my mind,” You mumbled, “Finding him. Them. But…” you trailed off before shaking your head, “What good would that do me? He might want the baby but he isn’t gonna want me.”

You only glanced down at your stomach, hand rubbing around the swollen skin as you felt a flutter trill across, the baby once again kicking.

It briefly made you smile, your worries put at ease.

A hand suddenly reached out, grabbing your chin along with your attention.

You nearly jumped at Jungkook being nearly nose to nose with you, his lips parted and his eyes had so

many things they wanted to say, “You can always ask me for help.”

You hated the way you felt all of the old feelings you had once upon a time suppressed into nothing more than a blur of self-gaslit delusions.

But it was never delusions, it was never just all in your head.

“Can I?” Your voice wavered.

Jungkook stared at you for a long minute, his eyes dropping briefly to your lips before he eventually, almost reluctantly looked away, only letting out a small laugh.

Perhaps a tone of bitterness if you really listened close, possibly regret?

“We’re gonna have to replay entire last quarter of the movie,” Jungkook complained with a rasp, sinking into the bed frame and suddenly you remembered how easy it was to pretend like there was never anything there.

You cleared your throat, before giving him a weak smile, “I’ll get the remote.”

The past was the past anyways, you’d just have to figure things out one day at a time, just like you always have.

#jungkook #jungkook x reader #bts #bts x reader #jeon jungkook #jungkook x y/n #jungkook imagine #mafia!jungkook #bts jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader smut

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heliads · 1 year

Text

You Agreed to This

Pierre Gasly has a reputation for flirting with anything that breathes. You have a reputation for being scarily focused on racing. When Charles, Lando, and Esteban get it into their heads to dare Pierre to get you to fall in love with him, the results can only be tragic.

a/n: i was frustrated when i couldn't find fics with this vague plotline like two months ago and then i remembered that i can simply make them myself. anyway this is my longest fic to date (6k+ words), enjoy!

masterlist

The whole affair started in the recesses of the Alpine motorhome, too far from prying eyes and chances to stop before it got bad. Miami is boiling hot as per usual, it gets to Pierre just like it always does. He’s trying to fend off the heat by hiding somewhere deep within his team’s complex, team jacket stripped off somewhere on a nearby sofa and fans cranked on high.

It was just Pierre at the beginning, but drivers tend to flock together in times of heat related stress, and now there are four of them sprawled across floors and furniture in an attempt to alleviate their suffering. Charles found Pierre first, just like he usually does, then Lando followed after media duties were over, and Esteban was last, claiming that if this many rival drivers were there he had a right to die in his own motorhome too, god damn it.

Pierre has mixed thoughts on that. He has mixed thoughts on quite a lot, actually– the blistering temperatures are getting to him, swirling memories into fact into fiction. He’ll get his head in order when it comes time to race, but that won’t happen until tomorrow, once qualis are in order and they’ve all been shunted around for the grid lineup.

Across the room, Lando groans from the shadows of a functionally decorated armchair. “This is miserable.”

Pierre gives him a look. “Your complaining is miserable.”

Undeterred, Lando keeps up his protests. “We should do something fun. Pierre, don’t you know like a thousand people here? Invite someone over.”

Pierre snorts. “I don’t know all of Miami, Lando. Go to sleep or something.”

Esteban chuckles. “Could have fooled me. Didn’t you tag, like, a hundred people in your latest Instagram story?”

Pierre turns his head to glare at his teammate. They’re still supposed to be friends as of three or so months of being racing partners, but apparently that association doesn’t go so far as requiring Esteban to defend him. “Aren’t you supposed to be on my side?”

Charles shakes his head, grinning. “It’s the truth, let him speak. You have connections.”

Lando flings a dramatic arm over his eyes to block out the sunlight pouring in through the windows. They’ve all been shut with the blinds pulled down, of course, but some warmth has a way of coming in regardless of what anyone wants. “Pierre’s just sociable like that. He could win over anybody. Or flirt with anybody.”

Pierre rolls his eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous, Norris.”

Charles arches a brow. “What would he be jealous of, your losing streak? I saw you strike out trying to talk up Margot Robbie last time we were in Monaco, don’t lie to me.”

“That was different,” Pierre protests, “she’se literally married, what did you expect?”

Charles coughs pointedly. “Yet you flirted with her anyway. Anyways, don’t argue. You can’t flirt with everybody. Not successfully, at least.”

Pierre leans forward cautiously. “What does that mean?”

Charles laughs. “There’s one person you could never charm in a thousand years.”

Pierre sighs, answers Charles’ unspoken question in time with his friend. “Y/N L/N?”

“Y/N L/N,” Charles confirms, and the other three drivers break into identical grins.

Pierre can accept defeat on that front. Y/N L/N is the only female driver on the grid at the moment, and anyone can tell why she made it despite the odds mere moments after meeting her. She’s crazy intense, more dedicated to racing than even Max or Lewis. Pierre wouldn’t be surprised if she could win a driver’s championship in the next year or two. Talk to her once and you’ll be stunned that she hasn’t done it yet.

Every time Pierre, or any other driver or spectator for that matter, has tried to chat her up, they always end up shut down faster than you can spin out on a slick track with the wrong tires. She doesn’t have time for any of them. The girl lives and breathes and dies for racing, she’s not going to let something like a boy get in her way.

This only makes Pierre more tempted to keep up with her, of course, but he learned a long time ago that was a lost cause. The only reason Y/N would ever look twice at him is if he was a place ahead of her during a race, and given her knack for overtakes, that doesn’t happen all that often.

Lando sits forward, and Pierre decides that he doesn’t like the gleam in the younger boy’s eyes. “Say, I’ve got a great idea to stave off boredom. Pierre, go date Y/N.”

Pierre almost chokes. “Are you insane? Just like that, go date her? How would that help you in any way?”

Lando spreads his hands. “If it would be so easy for you to flirt with anybody, how about you prove it? Surely Y/N isn’t so far out of your league. You’re both in the same line of work, at least you’ve got that going for you.”

Pierre opens his mouth to fight this. He may have a bit of a cocky streak, sure, but he’s a driver, who amongst them doesn’t? Just as he starts to get himself out of this, though, Esteban speaks up instead.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Pierre couldn’t even come close. None of us can.” Esteban says it like a fact, and that’s all it takes for Pierre to change his tune.

“You know what?” He says, feeling his adrenaline start to kick in, “Sure I can.”

Charles’ eyes widen. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m always serious about girls,” Pierre says, causing a ripple of groans to cascade around the room, “This time I am, at least. I’ll win her over, no problem.”

Lando sits up. “If you’re really doing this, we’ve got to set some rules.”

“Such as?” Pierre dares him to continue.

Charles taps a thoughtful hand on his leg. “It has to be more than a one time thing. Just a single conversation could be a fluke or her feeling bad for you.”

Outraged, Pierre starts to fight that, but Lando picks up the thread of the conversation before he can cut it short. “That makes sense. We have to be sure that she’s actually in love with you. Like, get her to kiss you or something? And pics or it didn’t happen. We need proof.”

Pierre snickers, trying not to feel like control is slipping out of his hands with each passing second. “Anything else? Want me to name our firstborn child after you?”

That makes Esteban crack up. “That’s a little extreme, don’t you think? We’ll settle for being named godfather. All three of us collectively.”

Pierre shakes his head incredulously. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

Charles slaps him on the back. “You have to believe in yourself, Pierre. If you don’t, she’ll never fall for it.”

And so Pierre Gasly gets himself stuck in the con of a lifetime. Is it going to work? The odds are abysmal. Will he make it, though? Well, Pierre never likes to back down from a challenge. He’s not going to let this one get away from him so easily.

The sun is bright and the morning is tense in the paddock. You arrived early, earlier than most of the drivers, all so you could get a taste of what the track was like without anyone breathing down your neck. Some would call you a little too eager, others would say you’re plain stressed out and nothing more to it.

You’d give yourself a little more credit than that, though. You know exactly who you are and what you have to prove. The more time you give yourself to plan and acclimate, the less time there is for mistakes.

That isn’t to say that you ignore all the comments on your pre-race habits. You are well aware of your reputation, even proud of it. You wear it as a second skin, a racing suit, a livery specially designed to flaunt your own achievement. The whispers of those out and about in the world of motorsport follow you wherever you go, dogging your footsteps until you half expect to leave streams of words behind you instead of burned rubber.

That’s Y/N L/N. The one who only cares about the track? The one who lives and dies for racing? That’s the one. That’s the one.

There’s not much else to it. So what if you tend to be a little more intense than most? Being serious is the only method of survival available to you. You can be sweet and fun, play yourself off as the ditzy girl who only got in so her team could capitalize on brand deals, or you can be a woman without a feminine bone in her body, so far from girlish she chokes whenever she sees the color pink. Both are awful alternatives, so you choose the only one you can: ignore every box they try to push you in until everyone else gives up. Let them whisper. At least they aren’t trying to change you anymore.

That’s how you’ve navigated the paddock up until now, the entirety of racing life as you know it. It’s worked out in your favor, or so you’d say, at least. You push yourself on and off track. You answer the unfair questions they throw at you. You solve the mysteries of why someone is taking an involvement in your affairs and come out on top of any possible rumors.

There are mysteries, though, and then there’s the latest one, which is why on Earth Pierre Gasly has taken to following you around the paddock. They all did, at the start; the drivers, the fans, the interviewers, even the team bosses, all staring at you like you were in a circus exhibition. A girl in motorsport? Couldn’t be. Yet it is.

That’s mostly drifted off, though, the attention gone once they realized you weren’t interested in belonging to any of them. Most of them did it unintentionally, of course, and the few who got too close on purpose quickly learned they would get nothing from you. Pierre learned that himself, or so you thought. That doesn’t stop his attention from surging up again all of a sudden.

It’s been a solid few weeks of this behavior, and you’re still no closer to understanding it than you were at the start. If you were to put an initial date on this whole affair, you’d maybe say everything began back in Miami. All of a sudden, Pierre, who up until now had accepted that you weren’t interested in him even if he didn’t like that all too much, had decided to renew his affections once more.

Where you had been content to walk briskly through the paddock by yourself, Pierre is suddenly a few feet behind you, always ready to offer a bottle of water when you need it or issue a joking comment when you seem in need of a laugh. He’s playing his cards carefully, always disappearing the moment you start to take his presence for granted, but why, you cannot tell. Everyone here has a motive. Surely Pierre Gasly has one as well.

You weren’t willing to trust him at first, ignoring him throughout the Miami race and all sessions at Imola. The only angle worth your while is your own, and maybe your constructor’s, too. Still, he stayed. That has to count for something.

And, when the end of a race finds you absolutely desolate after an engine failure, that starts to count a little more than it would have before. This race is early enough in the year that the DNF doesn’t have to sting too much, but all you can think about is how you just gave Max, Charles, and the rest of the title competitors the leg up they need to beat you out.

It’s not a good feeling, to say the least. You find some empty corner of the paddock where you can be alone and let your emptiness consume you. That was your plan, at least, but you’ve only been able to wallow in your own misery for about ten minutes or so before someone else joins you. The only other driver to fail to complete the necessary laps: Pierre.

Pierre may not have had engine problems like you, but that doesn’t make him any luckier. George Russell spun wide on a turn and took out Pierre before righting himself again. George got off relatively easy for a crash, only needed to swap out some tires and his front wing, but Pierre took the brunt of it and ended up in the barriers. You heard him swearing, frustrated, on the radio after the race; the commentators loved that one, even if he didn’t.

That leaves both of you in the same undesirable position. Pierre arches a brow as he takes in the sight of you: legs pulled up to your chest where you sit slumped against the wall, expression hopeless and all ambition gone for the moment.

“Mind if I join you?” He asks, “I’m trying to hide from Sky Sports.”

You gesture vaguely at the open floor next to you. “Feel free. I'm not too thrilled about hearing from them, either.”

Pierre collapses in an untidy heap of limbs by your side, pulling at the collar of his race suit so he can unzip it down to his waist, leaving only the long sleeved shirt clinging to his skin. “At least engine failure is something you can’t control. Everyone’s been all over me trying to get me to admit that I should have seen George coming.”

You wrinkle your brow. “That wasn’t your fault. He braked late, it was obvious.”

Pierre glances over at you, clearly fighting a laugh. “Obvious, huh?”

You look away, wondering why you feel embarrassed all of a sudden. You don’t lie when it comes to racing, why bother? Thanks to the vast supplies of driver cameras and radio clips, there’s no point in glossing over what everyone knows to be true. Still, Pierre has a way of making that feel like something you should think twice about, like maybe not all of your attitudes towards drivers and their habits are things you should speak freely on. Maybe some things can be kept just to yourself. Maybe some drivers are beginning to verge beyond mere functionality as competitors.

“Everyone saw it,” you justify, “bad timing, that’s all. Not something you could control no matter how much space you gave him.”

Pierre nods solemnly. “The engine wasn’t your fault either, by the way. There was nothing you could have done to make it work again. You can’t limp through a problem like that.”

You tilt your head back, staring up at the ceiling above you. “I tried, though.”

“I know,” Pierre says. They’re only two words, but for some reason they make you feel better than any of the minutes spent listening to your engineers’ speeches on how they would fix that issue by the next race.

Judging by the slight smile on Pierre’s face, he must know that too. When the seconds stretch into minutes and you never tell Pierre to go, that smile only deepens. The conversation leaves the race eventually, and you end up talking about silly things like movies you’d like to see or places you want to go but never have. You don’t know that you’ve ever spoken to another driver like this before. You don’t know that you could with anyone else.

You have to leave that corner eventually, called away by a team principal with apologies in order. Pierre departs around the same time, claiming that he can’t run from the interviewers forever. You steal one last glance at him over your shoulder as you go, and can’t help but notice the grin on his face. It’s broader than before, proud of something; what, you can’t tell. Despite the fact that both of you have failed out of the race, you still get the feeling that Pierre has won at something more than you today.

Charles releases an Instagram post later that day of him, Pierre, and a few other drivers out at a club. You see it, and spend too much time wondering how long you have to wait after a photo is posted to like it so it’s not weird. What you don’t see is the conversation that happened later, how Pierre triumphantly told the rest that he was closer than they’d ever believe. You don’t see it, and the next time you see him, you stop to talk with a ready smile.

So it goes the next race, and the next one, and the next. Pierre is there. So are you. You end up finding him eventually; as time goes on, it’s not just Pierre seeking you out but the other way around, too. It’s even, both of you wanting each other just as often as the other. Eventually, you have to admit defeat to the voice in the back of your head telling you that you might have misread Pierre after all. Maybe he’s not just a horrific flirt. Maybe he can be a friend.

And, leaning over the railing of Pierre’s room in the Alpine motorhome so you can feel the gentle wind on your face while you stare out at the paddock, you think you would be alright if there was something more, too. You swore to yourself you’d never even think about another driver in that way, too scared of all your efforts to distinguish yourself from everyone’s expectations for female drivers being for naught, but it might be okay if it was Pierre. Pierre is different, nothing like the rest. It would be alright if it was him.

Pierre stands by your side, back straight and posture perfect as he surveys the mess of people milling about some floors below. “Nervous for the race?”

You tilt your head to the side, considering the question. “As much as anyone, I guess. I like this track, though. Should be good.”

Pierre nods, smiling at that. “And what about me? Am I going to be good, too?”

You roll your eyes. “You don’t need me to tell you that.”

He doesn’t; this is one of Pierre’s best tracks. He should be up for a podium or at least high in the points if everything goes according to plan.

He just grins. “Indulge me.”

You give him a pointed stare, then head back into the room. “You’re an ass.”

Pierre follows. “You love me, though.”

A pause. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” He asks, unable to disguise a slight shine of surprise from entering his eyes, like despite all the luck he’d had recently, Pierre still didn’t think he would get this far.

You lift your shoulder in a half-shrug, unwilling to commit to anything further. You feel as if you’re standing on a lake frozen over, aware that any wrong move could shatter the ice beneath your feet.

Pierre moves towards the door, and for one horrified moment you think he’s actually going to leave right then and there before you realize he’s closing it instead. He turns back once he’s sure no passersby can see you, and then he’s kissing you and you can’t worry about anything else. Not even the race. Not even the threat that this might send you spiraling until you’re so lost on him that you won’t be able to think straight for the rest of your life.

He leans back at last, smiling at you with the same smile you think you saw on a podium on Monza when he first won a race in F1. “We could have done that earlier,” he whispers, not daring to disturb the quiet victory of the room.

“We could have,” you answer him. Every driver hates losing time. This is no exception.

Your head is light with the most wonderful feeling, and then over Pierre’s shoulder you see something strange. He left the door open. Cracked halfway, even though this door is notorious for never staying open right. He would have had to try to keep it like this. He would have wanted it to be that way for a reason.

Pierre’s phone vibrates and he grimaces, murmuring something about having to talk to one of his engineers before slipping out of the room. He kisses you one last time before he leaves, a quiet touch pressed to your cheek. He takes great care to ensure that you do not see the message blinking up from his screen, and when he goes, you notice that he does not have to turn the knob, only pull open an already ajar door.

Something is wrong. The longer you stand there, alone in Pierre’s room, the more you start to think, and what you think about is not good at all. The timing of the text message. The look on his face when he left. Nothing is adding up.

Voices drift to you down the hall as you stand there wondering, Pierre’s among them. You walk slowly forward, unable to fight a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach like something is about to go very, very poorly. You usually trust your instincts. As it turns out, they won’t be wrong now.

Pierre is standing in a meeting room down the hall, talking in hushed voices to a few other drivers. As you draw closer, you recognize them. Charles, closest; Lando, eyes wide; Esteban, even, staring in disbelief. All three are telling Pierre replications of the same sentiment, which is that they cannot believe he actually managed to do it.

Get you to fall in love with him, they mean. Fulfill the dare, they explain. Like they all agreed a few months ago. Back in Miami, the three of them dared Pierre to get you to fall for him, and like the overconfident, thrill seeking diehard flirt that he is, Pierre agreed.

Worse: he did it successfully. You know, you had been wondering if this was too good to be true. Looks like it was. All that time you were letting Pierre into your heart, and he was manipulating you into falling in love. How pathetic. How incredibly soul-destroying.

The four drivers look up when you shut the door to the meeting room behind you. Pierre is the first one to notice it’s you, and you don’t ever think you’ll forget the look on his face when he realizes that you know the truth. His entire expression contorts with horror and his hands rise by his sides, trying to force your heart to stay unbroken. Pity it’s too late for that.

“Y/N–” he begins, a little too loud, a little too desperate, “wait– it’s not what it sounds like–”

“Actually,” you say coolly, “I believe that it is. You three dared Pierre to get me to fall in love with him? That’s exactly what it is, right?”

It’s not a question. Charles, Lando, and Esteban have realized you’re here, too, and they wear similar shades of Pierre’s alarm. Charles opens his mouth to say something, perhaps to explain himself, but you cut him off.

“Don’t even try. I know what you did, I don’t want to hear your terrible reasoning for why you thought this was okay. I’m going to go back to my motorhome and we are never going to speak of this again. Don’t talk to me in the paddock. Don’t talk to me at all unless we’re in a media event and you have to. I never want to speak to any of you.”

Lando interrupts, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “Y/N, don’t you think that’s a little extreme? It was just a prank, that’s all. Just a laugh.”

Pierre looks like he’s fighting back deep irritation at that. You just arch one brow. “Just a prank to humiliate me? You disgust me. All of you.”

You let that silence their arguments and leave the room. You think Pierre might have tried to follow you out, but Charles blocks him. You hear the Monegasque’s voice spilling out into the hall as you leave, telling Pierre not to try it. She obviously doesn’t want to see any of us anymore, mate. Best to leave it be.

You wish it was that easy for you. It takes everything in you to make it to your private room in your team’s motorhome and lock the door behind you before the tears finally come flooding out. You’d like nothing more than to fly home and spend the next several days and nights comatose in your bed, but, as if things weren’t bad as is, there’s still a race tomorrow, so you won’t be able to go anywhere for at least twenty-four hours.

The lights go out, the chequered flag waves some time later. You’re not entirely aware of what happened in that race, nor of how you were able to drag yourself out of your room and back to the starting grid, but you blink once and you’re on the podium, so evidently everything worked out. You watch the clips later, the commentators are all in shock. They haven’t seen you race so aggressively in years. It bordered on cruelty.

Pierre, by contrast, had his worst race in months. It seemed like he was hardly in charge at all, more like the car was controlling him. He wasn’t even in the points. No one can understand it. You refuse to think about it any longer.

Another race weekend comes and goes. The interviewers are confused– wasn’t it just last week that you seemed so much happier than you are now? You’re surly in press conferences, answering questions in a clipped and emotionless tone. They’d say you were totally checked out were it not for the fact that you’re still getting good results.

They don’t know everything, of course, but some of the more eagle-eyed reporters are starting to put the pieces together. What’s up with you and Pierre Gasly? Someone asks one day, Weren’t you two good friends recently?

We’re drivers, you reply, Aren’t we all used to pretending things are better than they are?

When you see Pierre after that press conference, he looks dizzy, totally unsteady on his own feet. You don’t meet his eyes. You’re not sure that it’s guilt, but it feels something like that anyway. Everything is wrong.

Pierre is asked about it later, of course, and he’s a little more candid than you were. He never names names, just says that things happen sometimes, things he wishes he could take back. Pierre has to take a moment to get himself together after that to answer the next question, a fantastic display of emotion. How charming of him to wear his heart on his sleeve when he’s just ripped yours out of your chest.

The pattern repeats the next few weeks. Pierre, Charles, Lando, and Esteban try to talk to you on multiple occasions, but you brush them off with nothing more than a well-placed glare and some good avoidance tactics. Even then, you should have known that your cold shoulder couldn’t last forever.

Of course it would be Charles who gets you at last– if there’s anyone on this entire damned grid who could get why you are the way you are, it would be him. Il Predestinato knows what it’s like to have the entire world expecting something of you, and he doesn’t lie easy because of it. Charles finds you late as the sun is setting and won’t let you avoid him forever, even though you try.

At last, you give up and stop making him chase you around the paddock. You’re sitting at a table outside your motorhome, shaded by a sunbleached umbrella and sipping at a bottle of ice water long since turned lukewarm.

“He regrets it, you know,” Charles says by way of introduction.

You refuse to raise your eyes from your intense study of the bottle’s printed plastic label. “He’s going to have to do a lot better than sending his best friend to talk for him, then.”

Charles scoffs. “Oh, come on. You know you haven’t let him get close enough for that.”

Your water bottle receives a very irate glare. “Wonder why that would be.”

Charles sighs. “We were wrong, we all know that. It was a stupid thing to suggest and even more stupid to keep it up that long.”

You look at him at last, anger gone and replaced by mere disappointment. From the way Charles shifts in his seat opposite you, you think that might be an even worse threat for him to face. “Then why did you keep it going? If you knew it was so wrong? Pierre was committed to your prank for weeks. Why didn’t any of you call it quits?”

“He didn’t want to,” Charles admits, “not because of the dare, because he liked being around you. Did you know he was mad at us the day you caught us? He didn’t want us anywhere near that room. Told me privately it’s because he wanted the first kiss for himself, not for anything related to the dare.”

That makes you go silent. The fan whirs overhead, pushing your thoughts around in slow circles somewhere above you. “That makes no sense.”

“Of course it doesn’t,” Charles grumbles, “Happened, though. Regardless of what he thought at the start, Pierre doesn’t want to hurt you. Not anymore.”

You turn towards him. “Is that supposed to make how he felt at the start okay somehow?”

Charles shakes his head. “No, but it makes the ending better, I think.”

He’s right. You lean back against your seat, contemplative. Charles takes this as his cue to leave. He pauses once before he’s out of range, then calls something else back to you. “He’ll kill me if he finds out I told you that, by the way.”

You can’t fight a laugh. “I won’t tell a soul you’re on my side.”

He smiles at that. You’ve missed him, you realize, him and the rest. You thought distance would save you from feeling quite so badly about all of this, but it just cut you off from your best support. Charles disappears into the crowd, a bright flare of red in a multitude of shifting shades, and for the first time since that treacherous discovery, you start to wonder what it would feel like to forgive.

Pierre is in an awful state. So Esteban has told him about a thousand and one times, at least, each utterance delivered with the same derisive snort. Pierre knows he’s supposed to bounce back from this, pretend it was all just a prank, but he’s known better for months now. It might have been a prank the first day, even the first week, but not after that.

Here is the problem: Pierre, in all his cocky eagerness to show his friends up, failed to consider that Y/N might be able to charm him as well. He might have gone a little overboard in his attempts to make her fall in love with him, perhaps even to the point where he fell in love instead. He isn’t sure when he first realized he had feelings for her, but Pierre is more than certain it was before Y/N discovered she felt the same way.

What a ruin to his reputation. Pierre hadn’t minded, though, not when they were still on speaking terms. He liked the way they could talk for hours, how Y/N’s guard slipped when she started to trust him. She had a way of smiling when she was sure no one was about to stab her in the back. Pierre misses that. He’s sure he’ll never see it again.

Unable to stand Esteban’s dismissive attitude anymore, Pierre picks himself up from where he’d been wallowing in misery on the floor of the Alpine motorhome. He doesn’t know where he’s going yet, only that it needs to be somewhere without a single soul in sight. Still, when he passes aimlessly through the halls and almost runs into another driver, he supposes he should take it as a testament to his distracted mind that he doesn’t realize it’s Y/N until they’re already standing still and staring at each other.

Too late, Pierre remembers she hates him. His eyes drop to the floor and he mumbles an apology, ready to keep moving. She told him not to speak to her anymore; Pierre can hardly fault her for that, and he won’t use his presence as a weapon if that’s the one that will cut her the deepest.

He is surprised, then, when Y/N reaches out to stop him before he can get too much farther. Pierre looks at her hand locked around his, then back up at her.

“Wait,” she says, “I want to talk to you.”

“I thought that wasn’t happening anymore,” Pierre says. It occurs to him that it probably sounds cold, but she speaks before he can try to explain what he meant.

“Things have changed,” she says.

That’s enough to convince him to stay, if not for the feeling of her fingers still on his than anything else. He doesn’t miss the way her gaze keeps flitting from him to the occasional Alpine aide walking down the halls, and to save her, Pierre jerks his head towards a door down the hall.

“There’s an empty room to the left, we can talk there.”

A brief flash of relief crosses her face, and Y/N lets Pierre lead her over to the room. He leaves the door open to give her an easy escape, but she closes it after her anyway. No onlookers. Maybe that’s for the best.

Y/N sits down in one of the chairs, legs crossed, arms folded. She may be here with him after so long, but that doesn’t stop her from throwing up all her walls, even the physical ones. It hurts to remember how easy it had been to be with her that last day. Pierre plays those moments on repeat in his head– the balcony, the breeze, the words, the kiss. He can never stop the later scene from following, how her demeanor had changed when she realized the truth. He didn’t think he could hurt one person that badly. He was wrong.

She’s still silent, so Pierre assumes it’s on him to start talking. “I’m sorry,” he begins, “I know that’s not enough, but it’s true. I was stupid. I should have told you before–”

Regret clogs up his throat and he can’t choke out a single syllable more. Y/N looks suspicious. “Before the kiss?”

“Before anything,” Pierre clarifies, “when we were talking at the beginning. I never should have let it get so far. Doesn’t mean I minded when it did,” he remarks half to himself, “but I should have done it on my own terms.”

When he dares look up at Y/N again, he swears she seems slightly more open, but that could just be his wishful thinking. “Do you mean what you said in the interview?” She asks suddenly, “Do you wish you could take it back?”

“Yes,” Pierre says in a rush, “I want a do over. I want to do it right. I would have done all of it without ever talking to Lando or Esteban or Charles first. I would have done it for me.” His voice is quiet. “I would have loved you without making it a lie.”

Y/N’s eyes are wide, but she isn’t afraid or angry. “Second chances come around more often than you’d think,” she whispers.

“Even for me?” Pierre asks.

She nods once. “Even for you.”

They’re both on the podium that day. His race engineers can’t explain why Pierre’s luck has suddenly had this tremendous turnaround. He can. She can, too. Sometimes your heart likes getting in the way if it knows you’re doing something wrong. It’s a good thing, then, that he’s finally doing something right.

She’s waiting for him once the interviews are over. They’re both exhausted, half drunk on the champagne in the air and wholly pleased with themselves. The sun goes down, and Pierre is happy. It is just as easy as that.

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Posted on September 30, 2022 by Jay Bettencourt

In an uproarious interview with Vice published in 2013, the philosopher Slavoj Zizek describes a dynamic all too familiar to many workers today. He says, today “a typical boss no longer wants to be a boss.” He goes on to describe how, in the postmodern workplace, workers are forced to pretend their employers are their friends. You have to be overly polite, give the boss a hug, “exchange vulgarities,” and so on. The whole time both parties act like this is a relationship of friends and equals.

Management sometimes goes to absurd lengths to keep up this illusion. They will go out for after work drinks or parties with workers, engage socially during off time, invite workers to funerals and weddings, and even try to position themselves as on the side of workers, really. I cannot tell you how many times I have heard my manager say, “I’m on your side guys. I asked the owner for a wage increase but he said no and there’s nothing else I can do.”

This game wears you down fast, especially if you work a low-wage job. Management or HR expects you to maintain a good, polite mood and passion for your job while making your life materially miserable. Some even deploy a line like, “this is a very chill workplace, I try not to be too hard on you guys” as if it were a benefit like decent healthcare or ample vacation time, which are usually missing. All the while, consumer price inflation leaps ahead, wages stagnate, and working conditions steadily decline.

On the flip side, this dynamic can lead to some workers trying to overperform to impress the boss or play into favoritism to secure preferred treatment and respite. Management’s intrusion into the off-hours social lives of their workforce can also act as a form of social surveillance and conditioning on the workers – you can’t talk frankly or even safely vent about your issues if your management is there. Or, if you do, management can easily use that to bribe, isolate, or otherwise retaliate against workers. They threaten to stop being nice.

When you dispense with the niceties and pull back the curtain, the whole sham reveals itself as a classic divide-and-conquer strategy. Employers set up pay structures and work conditions that pit workers against each other in productivity competitions. But to keep workers from cutting each other’s throats, management’s “door is always open” for workers to vent to a friendly ear if they want. Management wants workers to have good social relations only with them. Snitching and ratting out are encouraged, every worker is expected to be a teacher’s pet, and the only way to get any relief from poor working conditions is to play into a manager’s favoritism.

The late Mark Fisher touches on this form of working class isolation in his hard-hitting 2009 book Capitalist Realism. Like Zizek, he hones in on the postmodern workplace and argues that this pervasive structurelessness serves to both alienate workers from each other and break our will to fight. He illustrates this with a point about discipline; during the earlier parts of the 20th Century, workers were regularly subjected to rigid discipline directly from capital, the state, or their agents. Today, workers are socially conditioned to have a “good work ethic,” practice “self-discipline,” and “hustle” to increase labor productivity instead of withstanding discipline meted out by the employer. Management hardly has to intervene.

Furthermore, Fisher argues that this state of affairs conditions working class resistance to capitalism into useless individualized channels like consumer activism. Without knowledge of a class structure (and capitalists pretending to be Just Like Us), there is no clear target to force into giving us what we want. And thus, the problems of capitalism feel as though they have no beginning and no end, intractable as the movement of the planets around the sun.

Unfortunately, Fisher does not offer us much in the way of practical advice for moving forward. Luckily, the IWW is full of battle-hardened class warriors who have learned many hard lessons over the years. In my personal experience, the “nice employer” has proved one of the toughest barriers to getting a union drive off the ground. I generally see management organizing after-work socials, happy hours, and events much more than workers themselves. In my own workplace, managers join workers for game nights and often accompany workers on outdoor activities like biking or camping. It seems they will do anything to make workers forget that the labor relationship is anything besides fundamentally economic in nature.

Management’s deep tendrils in workers social lives tends to make workers reluctant to take actions that may jeopardize their friendships. Organizers must know who is close to whom in the workplace in order to avoid this trap and prevent management from turning workplace leaders and other workers against an organizing effort early on. In our Organizer Training 101, we teach new Wobblies this, what we call Social Mapping, as one of the very first steps in a budding union drive.

In that section, trainees learn that the workplace is already organized. Only, it is organized by management with the capitalist’s interests in mind – usually for maximum labor productivity and profit extraction. I see management’s efforts to infiltrate and structure (or isolate) workers’ social lives as a deliberate way they organize the workplace. It is the organizer’s job to clearly see that and start to break management’s structure down. But organizers must know the lay of the land first if we are to make effective strides toward collective action.

Once the organizers are armed with a good understanding of the social structure and who the leaders are in the workplace, they can start building relationships and pulling workers away from management toward the nascent union with Agitation and Education, or even before that starting to “socialize the workplace;” i.e. developing relationships with coworkers outside of management’s view. This step may be increasingly necessary to counteract the growing alienation and isolation of the modern workplace and getting workers to care about each other and be a bit more involved in each other’s lives. This is the raw material that class consciousness and class conflict is built on, but it can take time and effort to grow.

While Fisher is a bit nihilistic about our prospects, Zizek goes on to say in his interview, “the first step toward liberation is to force [the boss] to really behave like a boss.” He is a bit glib, but his point is a good one. In today’s muddy waters where class organization has been suppressed almost to nil and everyone is forced to act as if they are an “independent contractor” who works for the passion of it, even drawing the lines clearly seems like a radical step. But it is a necessary one that can cut through the confusing fog of modern existence and lay the groundwork for a brighter, revolutionary future free of capitalist exploitation. As the old labor saying goes, “united we fight, divided we beg.” I, for one, am sick of begging.

We must be able to bring our coworkers together to see past management’s superficial niceness in order to fight for that future. I teach new Wobblies in Organizer Trainings that one of the most important and powerful parts of Agitation and Education is helping our coworkers slice through the propaganda to see the world for how it really is. In this case, management’s politeness comprises a small tactic in a much larger strategy on the part of Capital to delude workers and maintain labor peace. We must help our coworkers stand firm for ourselves, together, against management. We can’t be afraid of not being nice –in fact, we can use it as a weapon just like they do.

Furthermore, in many workplaces management remains the sole puppetmaster of workers’ social lives. Modern management theory seems to have recognized the fractured state of the working class and seeks to prevent our organization by relentlessly trying to mediate, filter, and prescribe workers’ social lives. I think this is a key to building an effective organizing committee; sometimes even before having one-on-ones, IWW organizers must build up some on-the-job social life to pull workers away from management. Meet up for coffee and chit-chat. Have small group events with no managers. Having a stake in each other’s lives is a crucial building block toward effective one-on-ones and toward the trust necessary for taking collective action.

Slow, steady building will pay off in the long run. Take the time to build some friendships and other long-term relationships in the workplace. Agitate and Educate coworkers effectively. Over time, we can build strong worker committees that can finally drop the curtain of politeness, make clear demands, and take collective action to materially improve all our lives. Just don’t fall for the bait.

Jay Bettencourt is an Organizer Trainer with the IWW. Read more about the history of the IWW Organizer Training program here.

Contact the IWW today if you want to start organizing at your job.

#iw #useful #organizing

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lena-in-a-red-dress · 2 months

Text

Alt Assistant Pt 7 (finale)

Kara reflexively keeps her distance from Lena, for all of two days, until she realizes that while respecting Lena's boundaries is important, she does not have to respect any boundary set by Lex.

She comes to this conclusion late Sunday night, and makes a point to be in the office early to make her point. She's lucky Lena's already there, plugging miserably away at a spreadsheet R&D had sent to her the Friday before. Kara plunks down her boss's coffee of the desk, nearly sloshing it, and scowls when Lena turns her gaze up at her.

"You don't have to do everything your brother tells you," she says, far more scathingly than she intends. It backfires when Lena interprets her tone as petulance.

"I hardly think two days without sex warrants a tantrum Miss Danvers," she responds coolly. Her gaze returns to her computer. "Nor do our trysts qualify you to pass judgement on my relationship with my brother."

"I know you better than you think," Kara snaps. "And living under Lex's thumb isn't a good look on you."

At that, Lena's gaze snaps back up with razor sharp precision, skewering Kara to the spot. Her jaw tightens. "My respect for my brother--"

"Isn't respect!" Kara bites back. She knows she skirts the limits of Lena's goodwill, but she can't help the anger and resentment that bubbles up. "It's control, and you know it."

At that, Lena's scowl deepens, but her focus skitters away, proving the veracity of Kara's accusation.

"You are your own person," Kara pushes. "And you're capable of making your own decisions."

Lena's moment of concession evaporates with a scowl. "Get out."

It's enough to make Kara see red, but she manages to keep her temper in check.

"Fine," she clips out. She turns on her heel and marches towards the door, only to pause with her fingers wrapped in a fist around the handle. "And maybe you should think why Lex has such a problem with you being fucking happy for once."

With that, she yanks the door open and all but slams it shut behind her when she leaves.

----

Prepping a charity gala isn't easy-- or fun-- when they can hardly stand to be in the same room together without snapping. It involves a lot of "fines"s and "just get it done"s and "yes, miss luthor"s, but it eventually culminates in a lavish, extravagant affair that the guests seem to enjoy.

Kara hovers in her floor length gown that snugs in all the right places, yet leaves her arms bare to give her room to actually work during set up, and now cools her down as she takes a moment to breathe.

She knows Lena is here, by way of a curt text received an hour ago, but has yet to actually see her in the throng of well-dressed patrons. She does see Lex though, who somehow manages to look smug even as he glowers at her. It's nearly halfway through the night when Kara finally catches a glimpse of her boss.

Her mouth promptly goes dry.

Lena's dressed in a black chiffon dress that hugs her hips. When she turns, Kara sees the thin straps that leave the ivory skin of her back largely bare-- and the long silver chain that dangles against Lena's spine.

The vision is so distracting that it takes Kara a long moment to notice that Lena had turned towards a tug on her wrist, and that it was Lex who now gripped it tightly.

Kara watches their heated exchange of hissed words until Lena finally wrenches her wrist free of her brother's grasp. Lex's features darken as he issues what can only be a final warning before taking his leave. Lena watches him go for a long moment before finally turning.

Their eyes lock.

In that moment, Lena is laid bare-- Kara can see the shock of their unexpected connection (Lena has been avoiding her), and registers the brief up-and-down of Lena's gaze as she's scanned by wide green eyes. Then, Kara sees that dreaded word again: don't.

Only this time it's not directed at Kara, but rather inward, a silent scold towards Lena herself, combating the flush of desire written clear across Lena's cheeks. But then, almost as soon as it appears, it's eclipsed by a sudden hardening of Lena's gaze, now resolute as Lena comes to a conclusion known only to her.

Kara stares as Lena marches towards her, determined and unflinching. She barely has the time to grin before her arms are full of Lena, and warm hands sandwich her face fiercely as she's kissed long and deep.

When Lena comes up for air, breathless words come tumbling out.

"You're fired," she says. Their foreheads rest together, and Lena's hands have yet to move from where her thumbs rub gently against Kara's cheeks.

Now, Kara does grin.

"About time," she growls, and pulls Lena into another searing kiss. Kara senses the eyes on them, but doesn't bother to look to see if Lex's is among them.

Screw them, Kara thinks, savoring the taste of Lena's lips and the glide of their tongues together.

Screw them all.

#supercorp #alt Assistant au #I have few snippets I'll also add #but this is the main plot #hope you enjoyed!#lemme know what you think!#pls and thank you

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grimoireofhayley · 10 months

Text

Of Friends and Horror

Stu Macher x Fem!Reader x Billy Loomis

WARNINGS: Graphic content, eventual Smut (MINORS DNI), Language, Talks of SA, Cheating, Obsessiveness, Gore, 18+ Content, Stalking (let me know if there's more that needs to be added), Possessiveness

Word Count: 0.7k

Summary: You have been best friends with Billy Loomis since you both were in diapers, however, when high school hit, Billy's mom had filed for divorce and had left his father. His dad was miserable even in marriage, hence his continuous affairs with Maureen Prescott. Though, after the divorce and his mother leaving, Billy has been different since; He started dating Sidney Prescott, the late Mrs. Prescott's daughter. He never showed an interest in her until now… But why?

You had a crush on him forever, but decided to make it dormant since he’s in a relationship… but his head was elsewhere even after he got with Sidney. His heart wasn’t in it and you can tell. He was void with any empathy with her and lacked the emotion in his friend group, but when he is around you his true self would show, which sent you mixed signals, often making you question yourself. He was toying with you and he knows it, but he can't help himself, he has to have you one way or another, but not just yet...

On the other hand, there’s Stuart ‘Stu’ Macher, another taken guy. You met him during your first year of high school when Billy went through a stage of not talking to you. Stu was quick to befriend you during your time of strife and he never failed to miss an opportunity to flirt with you or grab at you, even in front of his girlfriend, Tatum. You took it as a sign he was playing around, but what if he wasn’t? What if he couldn’t have you just yet, either?

Both seem interested in you and both have been obsessing over you in their own ways, but they can’t let the thought of having you get in the way of their plan… Neither of them know about one another’s fixation with you…

All chapter links! 👇🏻👇🏻👇🏻

OF&H Masterlist

Chapter 1

Your fingers flew across the keyboard, typing away at your English Assignment that was due the next day.

You sighed, hearing a loud crackling sound outside.

…A storm…

Lightning flashed, filtering the already darkened-sky as you pushed away from your desk. Wandering across your room, you opened your window. Pellets of rain hit against the chipped-frame, splashing up your arm as you leaned outside.

“God, what a sight.” You smiled, fluttering your eyes.

Storms always make you happy, especially during times of stress.

You loved how the sky would light up in different shades of white, yellow, and even purple when the lightning strikes. How the rain sounded when it hit the pavement, windowsill, or cars. The way the wind caused the trees to dance and how it whistled and tousled your hair. It was pure bliss.

You closed your eyes, the smile still on your lips, droplets of water began to run down your face, and your hair was beginning to damp.

“Oh, how I wish I could be reading The Shining right now.” You chuckled, “Too bad the school has other plans..” You whispered, blinking your eyes open.

You turned around to head back to your computer to finish your assignment, though, something or somebody had grabbed your arm.

You screamed, jumping back. Only to laugh at the realization of who it was.

“Billy! What the hell are you doing here?” You whisper-shouted, stifling a laugh, “You nearly gave me a heart attack…” You trailed, running a hand through your wet-(h/c) locks.

A look of amusement fell on Billy’s face, “I’m sorry, (Y/n).. I couldn’t help but make my way over--” “Through the window?” You spoke, quirking a brow, folding your arms over one another, cutting your friend off.

He rolled his eyes, “Of course.. What better way to scare my best friend?”

You stuck out your tongue, letting your arms fall to the side.

“Alright, loser, what do you want, really? Because I know it wasn’t just to scare me..”

Billy was baffled, how could you possibly know he came here to talk to you about something? Was he that obvious?

“You’re obvious, Bil.. What is it?” You pouted, jumping onto your bed, patting the spot next to you for him to sit down.

Billy groaned, “How do you do that?” He muttered, sitting next to you.

“Do what?” You tilted your head to the side.

“How do you know when something is wrong?”

“Look, man, I’ve known you for how long?”

“Since we were in diapers..” He rolled his eyes, looking up at the ceiling.

“There’s your answer.” You giggled, “It’s Sidney, isn’t it?” You frowned, staring at him with big-doe eyes.

“Yeah..” He looked down, fiddling with his thumbs, “We used to be so hot and heavy, now it’s like I’m in a PG-13 movie, I can’t stand it.”

Your heart ached, not because of how he was feeling, but because you’ve had the biggest crush on him since the first year of highschool. You never understood why he went for Sidney, she is the complete opposite of him and is such a prude. It hurt hearing about their relationship…

“Ah, I see… Relationship problems… Lucky me…” You scoffed, Billy only chuckled, playfully punching you in the arm.

“Oh, C’mon.. You’re usually good at the whole… you know, advice stuff..” Billy spoke, getting up from the bed.

You licked your lips, averting your gaze elsewhere, not wanting to continue the conversation, “Look, Billy.. I really don’t know what to say that will help you, you’re talking to the wrong person, have you asked Stu?” You mumbled, and he shook his head.

“Oh..” Was all you could mutter, “I’m sorry, Bil, I wish I could help, but you should really get going. I have homework to finish.” You forced a smile, shoving him back towards the window, “And you really need to go..”

“(Y/n)?” Billy asked, noticing the change of demeanor. “Everything okay?”

You grinned, void of any emotion. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. My assignment is due tomorrow and it’s really kicking my ass…” You lied, well, not really. It truly was kicking your ass, but that wasn’t the reason your mood suddenly changed, it was the jealousy you felt.

“Oh, okay.” Billy laughed, nervously. “I guess I should have called first, I didn’t know you were busy..” He looked at you, studying your posture; trying to see if it was really what you said that was bothering you, but you were stoic, stiff like a cardboard box. You were hard to read.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

You nodded as he climbed out your window.

“Goodbye, Loomis…”

Next->

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atom-writings · 2 months

Note

omgg i cant stop giggling n kicking my feet BUT can i request gn!reader 'accidentally' leaving a lipstick kiss mark on russia, america, canada, greece and japan before they leave for the day and the countries dont notice until either from a mirror or someone else points it out? AAOUGUGGH

hetalia russia, america, canada, greece, and japan when their s/os leave a kiss in lipstick

1.6k words ~ gender neutral headcanons

tw: none!

a/n: hjey guys did you know being a costume director is time consuming? i did not. send help. also enjoythis idk

Russia

It was never an easy affair to get Ivan out of the house. His clinginess combined with how admittedly boring his job was made it near impossible for him to leave without you forcing him to. Today was one of those days, and you were beginning to think you’d have to leave with him.

"But darling, can't you understand? It's so cold and miserable out there..." He whines as he holds you.

He's got you positioned so that you're standing between his legs while he sits on the couch, his arms wrapped tightly around you and his head resting against your chest. So... no escape available without coaxing.

"I know, I know, but you'll be late..."

"They will be ok without me, but I won't be ok without you!"

All you can do is sigh until you're suddenly struck with an idea. You can't go with him, but you can leave something with him. And looking down at his snow-white skin, you have just the idea.

"But you won't have to be without me, Vanya!" You chide, tilting his head up to look at you. His face lights up instantly.

"What do you mean?"

Instead of responding, you lean down and press a soft kiss against his forehead, leaving a pink imprint of your lips on his face.

"That one was magic, ok? It'll stay with you the whole day, so I'll always be with you!" It's childish, and you're struggling not to laugh, but his innocent expression tells you all you need to know. He'll finally let you go, none the wiser as to what you really meant.

"Ah- Mr. Braginsky..." Some random intern was forced to prompt later in the day, his tone fearful as to how Ivan would react.

"Yes?"

"You... you have something on- on your face..."

"Huh?" He reaches up to wipe where the intern had gestured, but only smiles when he comes away with your favourite lipstick. He decides that whatever left can stay... it's just your magic, after all.

America

Alfred was a busy man for all the effort he expended to prevent that exact reality. He'd much rather spend all day playing video games at home with you, but duty calls. Though, now, was just glad that for once, you were busy as well.

“Hey, babe!” He greets you with a bright smile, resting his hand on your shoulder before moving to sit across from you. The meeting spot he had chosen was busy, but at least it wasn't far from either places you two needed to be.

“Were you waiting long?”

“No, not really,“ You respond with a sigh, twirling the straw in your drink.

”Well, that's good because uh- bad news, I won't be able to stay l-“

”Ugh! Seriously?“

He shrinks a little, fidgeting with his hair, ”Yeah, I know, but like- I can't reall-“

”Do they know you're a person? Like, a person who needs to live?“

“Technically, I'm not, babe,” He laughs, “But I appreciate how protective you are anyway.“

He continued to talk with you for a while, about your day, his day, a weird guy he saw on the street, about how you can't keep threatening his boss because he's the president- until after only a few moments, his phone rang.

He sucked in a quick breath and accepted it, only speaking for a second. Then, he got up with a dramatic groan.

“That's my cue. I guess I'll see you later, K?”

But he wasn't about to get away that easy. You shot up, grabbing onto his tie and pulling closer so you could kiss his cheek quickly.

“For good luck,” You assure, and he grins.

“What are you guys laughing about?” Alfred asks as soon as he goes back to work, looking nervously at the group of co-workers pointing at him.

“Got something on your face, man!”

Instantly, he realizes what happened and hurriedly wipes it off. His face is red with embarrassment, but he can't deny the butterflies in his stomach.

Canada

No matter how long you've been together, Matthew never stopped trying to be the picture-perfect boyfriend. At least, that's what you thought as he chose to show up with roses when he came to pick you up. It might've been a fancy event, but you're sure no one else would be doing that kind of thing. But who were you this kind of attention?

“Uhm- good evening, Y/N,” He stutters out as you let him come in for a moment.

“Awww, you shouldn't have!“ You take the roses from him and set them aside.

”It- It's nothing, really-“

”Most men wouldn't even think of that anymore...“ You assure him. He looks sheepish now as if he hadn't expected you to like your gift.

”Then- then, um- they should learn how to t-treat their partners...“

How cute. You walk over to him and stand on your toes to kiss his cheek, to which he immediately stiffens and blushes.

“Thank you, Matthew.”

“Ye-Yeah, uh-huh- yeah- y-you're welcome,” He mumbles, looking down in embarrassment. The colour gracing his cheeks almost perfectly matches the mark your lipstick left behind. You begin to say something about it, but before you can, he frantically cuts you off.

“So- we should get g-going right? Right, time to go...” He blurts out, taking your hand and almost dragging you out to the car.

Finally, once you two arrived at the event, you gathered the courage to tell him.

While you two walked, arm in arm, up to the main entrance, you suddenly blurted out, ”You have lipstick on your cheek!“

Except by that time, more than a couple of people had seen him. causing him to instantly freeze up.

The colour drained from his face, and he weakly whimpered out, ”Um, c-could you- uh- g-get it?“

You immediately obliged, cleaning off his cheek. He was embarrassed, but it was still on his mind all night.

Greece

“But do you have to?”

“Yes.”

“But-”

“I’m not getting out of this one, ok?”

“But I don’t want you to go…” His protests were typical, but that didn’t make them any less annoying. Although, it’s hard to resist him when he’s clinging to you like a lost puppy and he smells like he just finished cooking.

“It’ll only be a few hours, ok?” You sigh, finally finishing your makeup.

All he can do now is whine softly, which makes you realize there may be only one way to stop his desperate clinginess. You turn around in his arms, take his pleading face in your hands, and press frenzied kisses all over it. Instantly, his eyes light up and his lips form a dopish smile, and you know you’re free.

“Is that better?” You ask, and he nods. But before you let go, you have to admire how silly he looks with your lips painted all over his face.

By the time you return home, it’s already dark. The house is quiet, and when you check the time, you realize he would’ve fallen asleep hours ago. But considering how exhausted you are already, it’s nothing but a relief.

When you enter your shared bedroom, your thoughts are confirmed. He’s already passed out, his broad body splayed haphazardly over your blankets. At first, you don’t think anything of it. But when you turn on the light to get ready for bed, you notice the red stains still sitting on his cheeks.

Somehow, throughout the entire rest of the day, he never looked in the mirror long enough to notice the lipstick covering his face. Or, maybe he did, and just decided that your tokens of affection could stay.

Japan

Kiku was never late. Not even when tired, sick, or at war, was he late to anything. So, the one day that he allowed himself to relax with you, was naturally the first day in centuries that he hadn’t been an hour early.

“It’s gonna be alright!” You call out from the bathroom while you do your makeup, and he doesn’t even waste the time to respond. Even from all the way across the house, you can hear him desperately throwing things together.

“It is not alright!”

“You’ll still be on time!” That doesn’t seem to convince him to calm down at all, as you can hear his panicked breaths growing louder as he makes his way over to the entry door.

“Wait, wait, hold on,” You insist, and he pauses for a moment. When you meet him at the door, he looks a mess. His hair was askew, his eyes wild with panic, and his tie nearly all the way to the side.

You sigh and begin tidying him up. He relaxes under your touch, you can tell even from under his layers of stoicism; although he can’t allow himself to bask in your attention for long.

“I must go-”

“I know, I know, just…” You pull him forward, quickly pressing a kiss to his cheek. He blushes but doesn’t let that distract him. In a moment, he’s gone out the door.

After a frenzied drive into the city, he can finally breathe a sigh of relief. 10 minutes early… not great, but enough. He looks in the mirror one last time, making sure he looks his best before he finally steps out into the public when he notices it. The print of your lipstick, still on his cheek.

His touch lingers on it for a moment, his breathing stilling, before he rubs it off. You’ll just have to replace it later, he tells himself before he finally steps out of the car.

#not proofread at all #heta tag #hetalia imagines #hetalia x reader #ivan tag <3 #aph russia x reader #alfred tag #aph america x reader #hws america x reader #hws russia x reader #matthew tag #aph canada x reader #hws canada x reader #heracles tag #aph greece x reader #hws greece x reader #kiku tag #aph japan x reader #hws japan x reader

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kneelingshadowsalome · 2 months

Note

I can see some fellow sailor try to explain to Minotaur!Konig how a traditional marriage is supposed to go and how a husband is supposed to act after seeing the (almost scandalously down bad & whipped) way he is with his wife and how he doesn't go to the brothels with the rest of them when they dock at other ports, and Minotaur!Konig being like "That sounds miserable. No thank you." He actually doesn't think it is possible for him to care less about what other people think and how weird his relationship with his wife is, especially since this is the happiest he's ever been. He doesn't consider himself a normal man and he certainly doesn't consider his wife to be a normal woman (she's the sun and moon and all the stars in mortal form) so why would they have a normal relationship??? Sometimes he takes people's advice in an attempt to understand and fit into this world better, but this advice will go in one ear and out the other...unless something is said that sounds like an insult to his wife. Then, (unfortunately) the fellow sailor has Minotaur!Konig 's full attention...

Other men (and women & children & even the house cats) staring at Minotaur!König like he’s a walking natural disaster when it comes to married life.... And Minotaur!König looking at his sailor buddies like they've all gone crazy.

Why pay for something that’s not your wife? 🤨 Why pay for it at all?? Do these men even know how to fuck?

He uses the time other men spend in brothels to search for a gift for his sunshine, earning a wink or two from the merchant. Is he trying to appease a difficult young bride or did he get caught having an affair? Yes, we all know how it is with those hissy little creatures, gods save a man from an angry wife… ;)

König just looks him dead in the eye and says he’d rather fuck the gods in their ass than leave his wife without a gift

#minotaur!könig #he's such a sweetheart <3

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thought--bubble · 5 months

Text

In Need Of an Heir Part 3

Aemond (Canon Era) X (Baratheon! Reader)

Warnings after the cut.

Word Count: 3,177

In Need Of an Heir Master list

Canon Era Aemond Master List

Full Master list

Banners By @arcielee

Warnings: Forced marriage, panic attack(took from personal experience for this) Nothing else really 🥰

A/N: Sorry this took so long! I did get that promotion, by the way! (I am now a staff accountant. Yay! 🥳) prepping for finals was the opposite of a good time....(strategic management and policy form was actually a form of torture and not a class🫠🫠) one more semester until graduation! 💚💚

The end of that dinner could not have come soon enough, when it finally did come you and Royce were the first two to head out of the room.

Once you enter the corridor, your brother lets out a chuckle "Unbelievable"

"What?!" You snap at him, your soft, gentle demeanor starting to peel back.

"You'll be a princess in a few days' time." He taps her arm thoughtfully.

"Oh yes, such wonderful news, my warm and inviting future spouse has me weak in the knees" you hiss

Royce looks at you and raises and eyebrow "ahhh there she is. I was waiting for you to be the little storm I know you are"

You roll your eyes. "This isn't funny, Royce! That man is void of all emotion"

Royce looks around. "Keep your voice down. These walls have ears"

You huff, you know he's right, but at this moment, you just want to scream at anyone who will listen that you do not want this.

You and Royce continue back to your chambers in silence. You are hardly feeling sad or anxious anymore. The only thing you feel now is rage.

When you enter your chambers, Royce follows behind you.

"I know he seems......cold," he says as soon as the door closes. You shoot him a pointed glare as he chuckles, "but" he puts his finger to his chin as if in deep thought, "he may perhaps be different when the two of you are alone. He is a prince, he was raised to show the world a certain version of himself. I'm sure there is a different version of him that he would show his wife"

You again roll your eyes. Royce could be right, but you don't want to hear this right now. You just want to escape this situation.

He sighs. "All I'm saying is don't just assume the whole affair will be miserable"

"I just don't understand how father could still allow this to happen in the first place! What of the disrespect shown to our house? He murdered a messenger in our skies, kin may I mind you. Then, he runs off and marries a low born servant while betrothed to me!"

"That was a rumor from what I understand. No marriage took place. She was but a paramour, " Royce says as he pours himself some wine.

"Oh yes that's much better. A man of honor clearly" you look away from Royce jaw tight.

Royce chuckles again and shakes his head. "Men can be weak to the allure of women do not take it as a personal affront."

You grit your teeth. " I am not taking it personally. I am taking it as a testament to his lack of moral fiber"

Royce sighs and gives you an annoyed look before running his hand down his face. " You needn't love the man. Just act as a faithful wife and a kind and just queen, and when the time comes, a loving mother." he sits down in the armchair before the hearth. "Just perform your duties and stay out of his way"

"You wouldn't understand, you will marry some noble woman who will answer to you, you are not the one who will be at the mercy of some Targaryen psychopath who burnt down half the realm in anger! Do not try and pretend to understand the situation in which I find myself and the very real dangers I now face!" You calm yourself and look at Royce with despair."Is there truly no way out of this?"

He looks at you with sympathy. "With this marriage, Baratheon blood will sit the iron throne. There is no way out of this, I'm afraid"

"Life as a broodmare..... lucky me"

"You will be queen of the seven kingdoms .."

"A broodmare dressed in jewels is still a broodmare." You sigh and look toward the bedchamber.

"I wish to retire." You feel exhausted and defeated

"Very well," he says as he stands. "Since you can not change your situation, I would suggest you find the good in it." With that statement, he leaves your chambers.

You roll your eyes as you hear the door close.

'The good in it,' you think to yourself,'how exactly do I find the good in a situation in which I have no power or control?"

The next few days went by in a whirlwind. The lack of time to prepare for the wedding had the dowager queen Alicent scrambling to have as much of what was expected of a royal wedding as possible. You were constantly being dragged to dress fittings, while Alicent stood approving or denying the fabrics and designs of the dress. You stood there like a mannequin. Not one choice was yours. Not the dress, not the jewelry, not the hair style and certainly not the groom.

A groom which you had seen none of. There was no courting or getting to know eachother you simply prepared for the wedding with the dowager queen, and he was off doing something else you knew nothing of. You would be married off to a man you have only ever greeted.

This had you in a state of mild disassociation. You simply existed in your day to day movements instead of living in them.

The day before the wedding started like all the others. Invited to tea first thing with the dowager queen. You made your way through the winding corridors, having memorized the path from your apartments to hers.

As you come upon her door, you tap lightly. One of Alicents serving girls answers the door and ushers you in.

"You come around the corner to see the dowager queen sitting in her usual stance teacup in hand. " she smiles up at you gently as she waits for you to take a seat.

"So I think we are as prepared as we are going to get. You have a long day ahead of you tomorrow, so..... I think today will be a good time for you to take some rest."

You squint your eyes at her in disbelief. "Hmm" is all you manage to say.

"Though" she starts, and you think to yourself, "Here it comes' "there is one thing I hoped to discuss with you. Since your mother is unable to get here in time, I wished to......... guide you. . .. through the requirements of your wedding night"

You inwardly cringe at the mention of your wedding night. You had been taught as a girl growing up about the coupling that will take place between a man and his wife. How important it is to consummate your marriage, and it is certainly not something you wish to discuss with Alicent.

"Oh " is all you can manage to say as you wring your hands in your lap.

"Aemond will guide you just listen to his instructions, and you will be fine. Don't be nervous or scared, " you can tell she is trying to bring you comfort, but it only serves to make you more uncomfortable.

"I understand this is a subject he is quite educated on already." You regret the words as soon as they leave your mouth and close your eyes. "My apologies, your grace, that was most inappropriate"

She sighs and looks down at her lap as she picks her fingers. "It was....but I can understand your distaste for impropriety." she places her teacup down and makes direct eye contact with you. "I ask only that you do not judge him too harshly. A man at war is under an immense amount of stress and may make poor decisions. He is a good man, though, my son, and I have not one doubt it my mind that he will be a good husband."

You nod desperate for this conversation to end so you can take your leave.

She sighs again as she eyes you up and down. No doubt trying to dicern your thoughts. "Very well. You may go. Do take a walk through the gardens. They are most beautiful and are a wonderful place to clear one's thoughts"

You thank her for her hospitality before you curtsey and gently walk out of her apartments. The moment you enter the corridor, you place your hand over your chest, trying to calm your fast beating heart.

You are chastising yourself in your head for speaking so out of turn with the dowager queen. 'What was I thinking? What if she tells him? What if he takes great offense?'

"Ugghhh"

"Is everything alright, my lady?"

You close your eyes and freeze before slowly turning around and coming face to face with your future husband. You have been so busy fighting this arrangement that you had not taken the time to properly look at him, but here, in front of you like this, you can not help but gaze at him.

Tall and lithe. Long bonde hair top half pulled back . Sharp jawline and high cheekbones. His one purple eye boring into you.

"Oh... yes, my prince just.....ummm big day tomorrow"

"Hmmm," he clicks his tongue as he looks you up and down. "Are you due to visit my mother?"

"Oh no, just left her company, actually," you shift nervously from one foot to the other.

"Very well then, I will keep you no longer." he walks past you and gently knocks on the door to Alicent's apartments.

You perform a small curtsey and then continue to make your way down the corridor. Before rounding the corner, you look back at the man standing before his mother's door. His long slender frame stood perfectly poised with his slim waist and long arms tucked behind him.

You feel your cheeks warming up slightly as you look at him, a small smile coming to your face before you come to your senses, turning quickly and continuing toward the gardens.

You reach the gardens quickly and look for a place to sit. You decide to sit by some rose bushes and start to laugh, thinking to yourself,

'I'm marrying a Targaryen prince, a mass murdering kinslayer. Who I am just now noticing is most pleasing to my eyes.' You put your face into your hands.

"I've gone daft"

"You've always been daft." Your head shoots up to see Royce standing over you.

"May I not have a moment where a man doesn't just sprout from the ground unannounced!"

He looks at you quizzically but just shrugs it off. "I wanted to see you on this your last day of being unwed"

"That is most kind, brother, but at this moment, I would like to be alone with my thoughts"

"I will be leaving quickly after the wedding. I really would like to spend some time with you. I do not know when I shall see you again"

You feel a pang of sadness in your chest. Once Royce leaves, it will just be you and the Targaryens. You'll be a little storm surrounded by dragons.

You spend the entire afternoon with Royce. Instead of talking about your upcoming marriage, you choose to reminisce about your shared childhood at storms end. How you used to sneak out to watch Royce's sword training lessons or how you used to steal Cassandra's hairbrushes and hide them throughout the castle just so you could watch her and her serving girls as they looked for them frantically. The nights when there would be a particularly strong storm outside you and your siblings would sit together and watch strikes of lightning cross the sky and enjoy just being in eachothers presence without having to say a word. The memories fill you with joy as well as grief.

You never realized how important these moments were when you were in them. But now that they are just memories and you know you won't be making any more memories like this, a feeling of finality settles over you.

You have supper in your chambers, just Royce and you, and once he leaves and your chamber maid helps you out of your dress and into sleep clothes you get in bed and lay down staring at the canopy above you.

Everything changes tomorrow. You leave house Baratheon the only thing you have ever known, and join house Targaryen. Royce will leave, and it will not just be you and your new family. Your new husband

You fought with yourself all night, willing to sleep to come, and when it finally did, it felt like simply a blink of the eye before you were being woken up, 3 chamber maids bustling about your chamber.

"Good, Morn, my lady." Amber greets you delicately. "We have a bath prepared for you"

"What of breaking fast?" You groggily grumble, trying to blink the sleep from your eyes.

"After the bath, my lady.... lots to do today. " Amber stands beside the bed hands clasped in front of her as she waits for you to get out of bed.

"Yes, ok, you are right." You sit up and look around your chamber. There are 2 more chamber maids assisting amber with filling the tub. They have the tub filled and seem to just be waiting for you.

You slide your feet off the side of the bed, and they hit the cold floor. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, your stomach a mix of knots and nervous queasyness.

You stand up and head over to the tub. You put one finger in the water. It is warm and inviting but you hesitate. Completing this bath is one step closer to the Sept. Every single thing you do today is one step closer to that damned Sept.

Your legs begin to wobble a bit beneath you.

"My lady?" Amber asks while looking at you with a concerned gaze.

"Let's get this over with" you strip from your night clothes and sink into the warm water and the three maids surround you a maid on each side scrubbing your body while amber is washing your hair.

It's all so dehumanizing. Being scrubbed and polished. Like some kind of jewel or prize for your new husband. You stare blankly ahead as the maids do their duty lost in your thoughts.

When your bath is complete, you are dried off and changed into a very basic gown. No doubt so you can have your morning meal before the real poking and prodding begins.

You try to eat but end up mostly just pushing food around your plate. Once you finally admit defeat and accept the fact that you are not going to get much more down besides a lone strawberry and a few grapes the real preening is ready to begin.

First Amber combs and braids your hair. A beautiful design of twisted braids accented by little white flowers she placed along the crown of your head.

Before you even have time to marvel at the beauty of it, you are dragged off to be fitted into your wedding gown one final time.

As the soft fabric of the dress sails across your skin, it suddenly feels suffocating, stifling. You start to push at the fabric, trying to get it off.

"My lady?" Amber asks concerned

"I ... I can't wear this.... I can't do this!" You start pushing on the fabric more forcefully desperate to remove the garment.

"My lady we haven't much time left-" Amber is cut off by your screams

"You think I'm unaware of how little time is left?" You bark at her, shoving the fabric off of your arms, watching as the dress pools around your feet.

Your breathing is fast and your head is spinning.

"I'll get the dowager queen" one of the maids says frantically as she goes to leave the room.

"No!" Amber interrupts. "Get lord Royce"

The other maid nods and leaves the room

"I'm sorry I shouldn't have snapped at you that way," you say, clearly panicking. You look down at the gown.

"I.... I have to get dressed......" Your stomach lurches.

"Let's just take a quick break, my lady," Amber says, gently putting her hand out to you to help you step down from the pedestal you had been placed on.

You nod furiously. "Yes, a break. Yes, " your breathing begins to regulate as you step out of the dress and off the pedestal.

The first maid returns with Royce following closely behind. You look up at Royce eyes wide and burst into tears.

"Everyone out," he orders, and the maids all scurry from the room.

"Little storm," he says while walking over to you

"I can't, Royce. I can not do this"

He grabs you by the shoulders looking you directly in your eyes.

"You can do this, and you will. As is your duty to your house and the realm, storms don't bend they don't bow. They persevere"

You leap into Royce's arms "please Royce please don't make me do this"

"It is done, sister, you will be fine. You will be queen, and you will make the realm better for it"

He stays with you for a while gently rocking you while your breathing returns to normal.

"You're right. I can do this. He is but at man at the end of it all"

Royce just smiles at you. "Now I will send the chamber maids back in. Can't have you married in a chemise." He chuckles.

He takes your hand and helps you back up on the pedestal. You step into the dress as he leaves the room and quickly the maids return, and this time, the dress slips on. The corset tightened. The sleeves puffed. The skirts fluffed.

A beautiful sapphire necklace is placed on your chest, and the baratheon maidens cloak is placed upon your shoulders.

The maids leave the room as you stare at yourself in the long mirror.

Who is this woman? Certainly, isn't me. You run your fingers over the sapphire that sits on your chest. Such an odd choice. You would have thought of a ruby or even an emerald.

When the dowager queen enters to do a final check and approval of your appearance, you don't feel as scared or nervous as you did at the start of this day.

This is my duty, and I will complete my duty with dignity and poise.

You are then led through the corridors of the castle. A few maids accompany you. One holding your train the other your hand to keep you steady on your feet as you enter the courtyard.

There in the courtyard stands Royce in some of his finest clothes next to a carriage with the door open. The carriage that will bring you to the Sept. Your last carriage ride as an unwed maiden.

You take a deep breath and walk towards Royce head held high. As he takes your hand and helps you into the carriage. He then follows you in and closes the door behind you.

"You ready?" He asks

"Actually,... I think I am"

Part 4

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