#obviously its up to each individual to decide where the line is | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

padfootagain · 1 year

Text

That spot on your finger

Hello!! Here I come with a new Ben Barnes fic! I hope you like it! Please, let me know what you think of it :)

(Also, side note… the beige suit for Ben in this fic is directly inspired by that Ferragamo campaign he did a few years ago. Was that forever ago? Yes. Am I over it? Absolutely not.)

*****

Pairing: Ben Barnes x reader

Warnings: none but fluff. Soulmates AU

Sum up: The mark on your skin that should allow you to find your soulmate is pretty hidden, hence your difficulty in finding them. Or maybe you simply haven’t them yet? Anyway, this guy at your friend’s wedding makes you fall head over heels. Could he be the one?

Word count: 5164

There was a mark on your ring finger.

Right there, on the right side of it, the piece of skin that was almost invisible because often hidden by your middle finger. A tiny space you had to purposely reveal.

Three little dots, a red line. Tiny and invisible almost.

You reckoned that it was the reason why it was taking so long for you to find your soulmate.

It was easy for others to recognize each other. When your mark was imprinted right in the middle of your forearm, or at the base of your neck, it was easy to spot. You could have had a mark on the back of your hand, that would have been easy as well. But you didn’t. You needed to find, in this ocean of people, in these billions of individuals walking across the globe, the only person who also had a red mark of three dots crossed by a line… on the inside of their left ring finger.

Obviously, you were still single.

But then again, you couldn’t exactly pretend that you were particularly lucky, as a person in general. Even worse, you were clumsy and just… a bunch of chaos. The location of your birthmark was just one more proof that when the Universe had decided to create your life, they dropped the bottle for ‘bad luck’ right into the mix.

But then again, it was alright. You had made a lovely life for yourself on your own. You had your hobbies, your passions even. You had a nice little apartment where you cohabitated with your neighbour’s cat named Reggie who, in all fairness, spent more time at your place than in his home. You had pretty houseplants, a wonderful collection of books, friends you adored. And it was more than enough to fill your life with sunshine. You had kind of stopped looking for your soulmate, actually. When you were younger, it was an obsession. But then, every teenager had to go through this phase of obsessive search for their soulmate. You had grown out of it. If you met them, then wonderful. If you didn’t, then you would still enjoy your life to the fullest.

As you walked through the venue where one of your oldest friends was about to get married, you genuinely were not jealous of her. She had found her soulmate; they were getting married. Meanwhile, your life was already full of everything you wanted.

You smiled as you opened the door to the room where you friend was getting ready. On the opposite side of the building, the groom was adjusting his tuxedo.

Mary was lovely. A true ray of sunshine. She turned to you at the sound of the door turning on its hinges.

“You’re right on time!” she gave you a thumbs-up.

On her neck, you could see the four lines of her birthmark aligned along the curve. They were visible even from the doorstep.

“I might be a little chaotic, but I can be on time for my friend’s wedding,” you rolled your eyes at her remark, closing the door behind you.

“It is literally the first time in my entire life that I see you arriving anywhere on time…”

“That… might be true. Shows you how much I love you, I guess.”

She laughed, looking so happy on this bright and sunny day.

Her day…

“Do you need anything before the show begins?” you asked her, waving at your friend’s mother who was on the phone on the other side of the room.

“I would kill for some coffee, to be honest,” she confessed. “I was so nervous, I’ve barely slept at all last night.”

“I don’t see what you could be nervous about. You’re marrying your soulmate. The Universe literally planned that you would fall in love and spend your lives together. I don’t even see what the point in getting married is, you’re already sure it will work between the two of you.”

“Once you’ve found your soulmate, you’ll understand. It’s just… an extra step. An official promise. And a way to tell every other woman to back off from my man cause he’s taken.”

You both laughed at that, and you congratulated her with a hug.

“So… a coffee? You sure? Aren’t you nervous enough as it is?” you asked her one last time, but your friend was determined, and so you walked out of the room in search of a cup of the hot beverage.

You had to walk across the parking lot to reach the park of the venue the couple had rented for the day. The venue… it was a mansion, it was huge, it had a parking lot and a park where the ceremony and the celebration would take place. It was a place that could have existed in a fairy tale.

And you found it cute, of course, but also… you promised yourself that if you were to get married, you would organize something small. Something intimate. In a place you loved, and nothing more. Nothing too fancy.

One of the employees of the venue gave you the precious beverage, and you started your walk back towards the mansion, not paying too much attention to your surroundings, lost in thought instead. As you usually were… Besides, there wasn’t anyone on the parking lot, so it wasn’t too risky to walk with your head in the clouds.

Or well, that was what you thought, at least…

Because on the other side of the parking lot, a man dressed in a beige tuxedo was hurrying towards the mansion. Actually, he was almost running. He was late. And he felt terrible about it, because if there was one day in his life when he needed to be on time, it was today. His little brother was getting married, he couldn’t afford to be late today. And he was always on time, so why now? Why was he late on the only day that truly mattered? He checked his pockets, and got out the velvety box that protected the wedding bands. What a groomsman he made… he had to drive back to his apartment when he was already halfway to the venue because he had forgotten these bloody rings.

But now, Ben had arrived. He was late, but not desperately so. He had the wedding rings. He was dressed, ready to celebrate his younger brother’s wedding.

He walked even faster – even if that hardly seemed possible – checking the time on his watch. And thus, he was not looking at where he was going for several seconds.

Several crucial seconds.

Before any of you knew what was happening, Ben was colliding quite violently with you, and your precious cup of coffee fell to the ground, along with Ben’s precious velvety box. As you collided, you dropped everything to hold onto whoever had bumped into you, and Ben did the same, out of pure reflex. You were thus holding onto each other’s forearms, for now trying to not fall down and to understand what was happening.

Ben felt something wet on his chest and knew even before he looked down at his white shirt what had happened. The coffee…

“Oh…”

He looked up at you, getting both panicked and angry in a mere second, until his eyes met yours and then… then something very strange happened.

It was like… time had stopped suddenly. He took in your features and it felt like he knew you, like he had seen you before. And every ounce of anger or annoyance disappeared.

“…fuck.”

All of a sudden, all the air had left his lungs, and his mouth was dry and all he could do was to stare at you with his mouth slightly agape and a dazzled look across his face. His brain had stopped functioning altogether.

And you felt exactly the same.

He saw you look down at the ground, but he didn’t, he kept staring at you, and in the back of his mind he wondered what this was all about…

"Huh... were you going to... propose?!"

You sounded panicked, and when you looked up at him, your eyes were wide in horror.

“Oh no! Have I ruined your proposal?”

“Proposal… wha… what?”

He didn’t understand a word you were saying, and he wasn’t sure if it was because of his brain suddenly deciding to shut down, because you didn’t make any sense, or because he was too busy staring at your eyes to listen properly to you.

“The box… were you going to propose to someone?”

Finally, Ben looked down, and seeing the black velvety box he finally understood.

“No… no, I’m with the wedding party.”

“Oh! You brought the rings!”

“Yes, I did.”

“I’m with the wedding too.”

“Really? I don’t think we’ve met…”

“I’m with the bride…”

“Groom.”

“That’s why, I guess.”

“Yeah… I guess so…”

You exchanged a smile, not really knowing why. You were still holding onto each other, not really knowing why either…

“Ben!”

You were interrupted by a deep voice calling from the front door of the mansion.

“What are you doing? You’re late! Come on!”

“I’m coming, dad.”

But the old man walked a little closer, and after just a few steps, noticed the disaster the two of you had caused…

“Your shirt!”

Ben finally looked down at his shirt. It was drenched with coffee. Luckily, his vest and tie were alright.

“I’m so sorry,” you apologized over and over again. “I’m so clumsy and…”

“No, it’s nothing,” Ben reassured you. “I wasn’t looking at where I was going either.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s alright.”

“We have a couple of extra shirts inside, come on,” Ben’s father started to walk back to the building, inviting his son to follow him by a quick hand gesture.

But there were still the cup of coffee – now empty – and the box containing the wedding rings to pick up from the ground. You both bent down at the same time, bumping your heads together.

“Ouch!” you exclaimed in unison, rubbing the now painful spots on your foreheads.

You looked at each other, and couldn’t help but laugh.

“I’m sorry, I’m very clumsy,” you apologised with a smile, standing back up.

“I’m sorry too. Looks like I’m particularly unlucky today.”

He picked up his box, and he handed you your empty cup as well. You thanked him as he finally turned away from you and towards the mansion. Thomas had not waited for him, and was already rummaging through the bags he had brought in search for a new shirt.

But Ben had merely taken three steps towards the building when he turned towards you again.

“I’m Ben… by the way.”

He seemed a little shy. A little hesitant. As if, as soon as the words had passed his lips, he felt ridiculous for saying them.

You probably didn’t care what his name was anyway…

He was wrong though. You offered him a bright smile as an answer.

“I’m Y/N.”

He smiled back at you, a bright, wonderfully warm smile.

“Y/N…” he repeated your name under his breath, liking the taste of it on his tongue, the way it rolled passed his lips…

“Well, it was nice meeting you, Y/N,” he went on. “Eventful, but nice…”

“And a little painful too,” you added to his joke, successfully making him laugh.

“I hope it won’t be so painful if we cross path again during the day.”

“Yes… let’s hope so.”

Finally, he turned away for good, and soon disappeared inside.

You let out a long, shaky breath.

Who the hell was that…?

The ceremony went perfectly. Mary and Jack took their vows, and didn’t stop smiling for a second as soon as they shared their first kiss as a married couple. The rest of the day flew by with games, and drinks, and dancing, and funny speeches about the newlyweds and an awful lot of joy.

And it turned out that Ben was the groom’s brother, which meant that he was involved in every game and every activity planned for the day.

You were not one of the bridesmaids, but you were close enough to Mary for her to always look for you in the crowd to join the games with her, so you did spend quite a lot of time with Ben.

And it seemed that, somehow, Fate had decided to team you up very often. You were not, however, one to complain about that fact.

It turned out that he was a lot of fun to be around, and a little shy sometimes, and awfully charming with that. Which… did not help you focus on the games you were playing at, but it did make your heart jump in a very sweet way.

However, now was not the time for letting your heart be softened by a charming smile. It was a duel, a battle to the death…

… for the last chair.

You were the two finalists for the game of musical chairs, and the battle was merciless.

On the right, Ben Barnes, mischievously charming, winner of the previous round.

On the left, Y/N Y/L/N, ruthless and ready to push her opponent to the ground, but she had landed second on the previous round because of her stupid dress that impended her movements (or because she was clumsy and sat down next to the chair… we’re not sure).

It was time for a rematch. The duellists were staring at each other in the eye, wary of their opponents’ movements.

Until…

The music stopped.

It was then a rush of limbs reaching for the lonely chair, a bit of pushing and a lot of pulling and an awful lot of laughing.

You shoved Ben aside, and sat down, victorious, onto the chair. Mary was cheering for you, and everyone clapped and laughed as you shouted in victory.

By your side, Ben was laughing as well. He buried his face in his hands to fake disappointment, when really, he was grinning like an idiot.

The look of glee on your face had made him blush outrageously…

You had a little victory dance before receiving your great prize: a plastic whistle.

Ben offered you his open palm as the guests were looking for drinks again and settling into conversations, waiting for the next game or dance.

“Congratulations, it was a great win,” he complimented you as you shook his hand.

“Well, thank you, my good sir. You put up a decent fight.”

“Only decent?” he asked with a loud laugh.

“Well… not bad, I’ll admit.”

As if to make your point clearer, you put the whistle between your lips, and blew. Some guests turned to you their amused faces. And you successfully made Ben laugh some more.

“I’m sure you could lend a pretty good deal coaching with that thing,” he laughed, pointing at the silly whistle.

You blew again, with an interrogative tone this time.

“Hmmm… it would suit you just fine. After that pushing skill you showed out there, they could recruit you even in a rugby team.”

This time, you couldn’t help but laugh, and had to put down the toy.

“I was a bit ruthless, right?”

“No, I was too. It was fun.”

Ben started to fumble with his tie, until he managed to untie it, and he popped open the first button of his shirt.

“I did not expect that a wedding would ask so much energy though,” he joked.

You realized then that he had become a little dishevelled during the game, a few locks of dark hair falling before his eyes, although he didn’t seem to care. You decided that it suited him a lot…

“Me neither, to be honest. But I prefer it that way, I think. It’s a lot of fun.”

“Yeah, I think so too.”

You settled at an empty table together, grabbing a glass of water. You lost yourselves in a relaxed conversation about your families, your jobs, your lives. It felt familiar, comfortable. Like talking with an old friend you had not seen in years. It felt more like catching up, than revealing yourself.

It was a strange feeling, and you weren’t sure where it came from. Ben couldn’t really understand it either. He didn’t mind though. Basking in the warmth of the late afternoon, he decided to merely enjoy the moment, while it lasted.

The afternoon drifted into a warm summer evening, and soon enough into a bright summer night. Lanterns and lights had been set all around the park, revealing the beauty of the mansion and its architecture. It was a time for dancing now rather than playing, and after a delicious meal, most couples directed their attention towards the dance floor.

You had not seen Ben in a while. After spending most of your afternoon with him, you had gone your separate ways when it was time to eat, being placed at different tables. You kept on stealing glances in his direction though, which Mary did not fail to notice.

“So… you like my brother-in-law, huh?” your friend asked you, sitting down in the chair next to you.

She was taking a break from dancing while Jack was talking with a few friends. She took off her high heels, and let out a relieved sigh as her feet met the cool and soft grass.

You laughed at her, disregarding her remark, even if it meant blatantly lying to your friend.

“Absolutely not, what are you saying? I don’t even know him!”

“You spent your entire afternoon talking with him.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“You like him. You’ve been staring at him all evening. Besides, he likes you too, so…”

“He does?”

You couldn’t help but interrupt her, revealing your lie. Your friend laughed at you.

“Yeah… he does like you. He’s not even discreet about it.”

“Really?”

“Well, besides the fact that he spent his afternoon with you? He also asked me many questions about you…”

“And I’m sure you revealed my most ridiculous moments…”

“Of course not. I told him you were lovely. And single.”

“Mary!”

“What? You said yourself that you’re not looking for your soulmate, but that doesn’t mean you have to live like a nun.”

“I do not!”

“He likes you. And I know him, he really is a good guy. You should give it a try.”

You reflected on your friend’s words, but were left undecisive. You did like him. But it felt different this time around. Not like a mere crush. Not like a fling you knew would disappear on its own after a few months. You couldn’t explain it, but you felt like there was something important about this decision, and it made you afraid.

Mary was off with her family again, and you talked with a few friends as the night went on.

Meanwhile, Ben was puzzled.

He was puzzled because of you.

Because he had talked with his mother about this weird feeling that had settled in his heart and chest as the day went on, stronger, softer, warmer with every moment he spent with you. And his mother’s words woke up an old desire of his he had almost given up on.

You should ask her about her birthmark.

Why?

Was he attracted to you? Yes, absolutely. Did he enjoy your company? Without a doubt. Did he want to make you laugh as much as he could? Definitely. Did he feel pulled towards you by some invisible string, like a moss towards a flame? Undoubtedly…

Was it some kind of ‘love at first sight’ situation? A crush? But it felt different this time around, and he wasn’t sure why. And who better than his mother to advise him? But her answer was unexpected.

You should ask her about her birthmark.

Was it something to be taken so seriously? Could you be…?

He was staring at you, and he knew it was considered rude, but he couldn’t help it. He was hesitating. Even if he wanted to ask you about your birthmark, how could he do it? He couldn’t simply walk up to you, and blurt out something along the lines “hey, nice evening, don’t you think? By the way, what’s your birthmark? Because I think you might be my soulmate, so… thought I’d check.”

No, that would not do.

He decided that a drink would help, so he went to get a glass of wine. But when he turned towards you again, you were gone.

He scanned the crowd in search for you, but he couldn’t see you anywhere. Had you gone home? It was late at night, and most of the guests had decided to sleep at the mansion. You had assured him during the afternoon that you were staying till morning, so… had you left anyway? Where could you be?

He set out looking for you, a hint of worry setting a slight frown across his brow. When he spotted Mary, he asked her about your disappearance.

“Oh, I saw her setting off further down the park with a blanket. Have no idea where she found one though. I guess she must have been tired of partying, and wanted some quiet.”

Ben nodded, visibly relaxing. Mary offered him a knowing smile.

“But… quiet doesn’t necessarily mean alone…”

He couldn’t help but laugh, the tip of his ears turning red.

“I see… I wouldn’t want to seem too desperate though,” but he was only half-joking.

“Desperate is better than stupid.”

“Well, thanks Mary. I do love it when you insult me.”

“She likes you. Don’t ask yourselves so many questions about all of this and just… go with the flow.”

“Go with the flow?” he mocked her, but Mary didn’t back down.

“What are you so worried about anyway?”

“I don’t know… I guess… I don’t know, really.”

“Then… off you go!”

She gently pushed him in the right direction, and Ben could only yield, laughing as he walked away.

It took him a while to find you. You had followed a path that led further down the park, and had settled under the falling branches of a willow.

You admired the stars picking through the leaves, looked at their reflection on the pond that was splayed at your feet. There were lanterns set around the water, and a small picnic table on the left side of the water. It was quiet, with only the sound of crickets singing the song of summer, and the distant music from the party. Ben almost walked by without seeing you, hidden as you were by the branches of the willow. You were barely visible in the dim light, a blanket set across your laps and your head turned towards the sky.

His heart skipped a bit at the sight, but he chose to ignore it.

You heard someone approaching, and offered the newcomer a smile when you recognized him.

“What are you doing out there on your own?” he teased.

“Just relaxing. It’s been a tiring day. Good, but tiring.”

“Yeah… I agree.”

“You want to join me for a while? It’s lovely here.”

Ben didn’t notice the dreamy smile that curved up his lips.

“I’d love to. Thanks.”

He walked under the branches of the tree, fingers tickled by the soft leaves as he pushed them aside, and he sat down next to you. He started pulling on your blanket to tease you some more. You resisted, laughing.

“Stop stealing my blanket!” you protested, faking outrage.

“You could share, it’s cold out here.”

He finally stopped, letting out a laugh and setting his dark eyes on the pond before you.

He thanked you when you placed the blanket on his legs.

“How’s the party? Still going strong?” you asked after a short silence.

“Yep! And it doesn’t show any sign of stopping. Jack is wasted, but then again, I reckon he has the right to be tonight.”

“Mary is pretty drunk too, I’m sure.”

“It’s safer if they both stay away from the dance floor, I reckon.”

You exchanged yet another laugh, something that seemed abundant whenever you were together.

There was barely a breeze to shake the leaves of the trees around you, to disturb the mirroring surface of the pond. Waterlilies were in bloom, white and pink touches of colour above green leaves. The moon, high and full, shed a silvery light upon the world, painting the grass with ethereal hints on every blade. You barely noticed your fingers moving towards his, only when your skins collided did you acknowledge your movement. You couldn’t ignore it, given the jump your heart made under your ribcage…

You remained silent and motionless, sitting there in the night, fingers brushing against his and afraid he would pull away if you moved at all.

Instead, he wrapped his fingers around yours, gave your hand a gentle squeeze.

You caught yourself looking for any sign of birthmark, but just like yours it didn’t seem visible, not at first sight at least. It made you stare at him for a while, and he couldn’t refrain a teasing smile.

“Do I have something on my cheek?”

You jumped, looking away.

“No, no… nothing.”

“Why are you staring, then?”

“No… no reason. I wasn’t staring.”

You cleared your voice, fidgeting with the corner of the blanket.

“Why did you come out here, anyway?” you asked, trying to change the subject.

“Honestly? I was looking for you.”

His response made the two of you stare at each other. There was no one around, in the calm night; but you reckoned that, had there been anyone else, you wouldn’t have noticed their presence at all. Not when he stared at you like that.

You noticed the freckle under his right eye, found the detail endearing, for some reason…

You looked away.

“Why? Why would you be looking for me? Aren’t you supposed to be with the groom?”

“You say that as if I haven’t spent my entire day with him.”

“Just saying.”

“Well… I… I wanted to be with you instead.”

“Why?”

You asked again, but couldn’t muster the strength to look at him. You noticed then how unbearably close the two of you were, shoulder against shoulder…

“I… I wanted to ask you something. Even if it’s a bit weird.”

The music from the party seemed to grow louder, people were cheering. A brand-new wave of dancers was standing up from and joining the jumping fray.

You didn’t care about it at all.

“Go ahead,” you encouraged Ben, as he seemed to have fallen silent.

It was his turn to nervously wrap his fingers around the corner of the blanket.

“I was just wondering… have you found your soulmate, yet?”

He tried to ask it in a nonchalant tone, and failed miserably.

At last, you turned your gaze towards him once more. It seemed that you had caught his whole world, trapped it in your eyes…

“No, I haven’t,” you gave him an earnest answer. “Why do you ask?”

He shrugged, looking more vulnerable now. Still charming though, he gave you a shy smile.

“Just… the usual.”

“The usual?”

“I… I kind of like you. So…”

He was surprised when an amused smile appeared on your lips.

“That was not very smooth,” you commented.

“Doing my best. But you’re not making it any easier on me.”

“Really?”

“It’s hard to be smooth next to someone who seems to be turning your world upside-down.”

You let out a chuckle, and it was your turn to be shy.

“That… was smoother.”

“Still true, though.”

You struggled to swallow, but forced your voice to come out anyway. You didn’t notice the way you held his hand tighter in yours.

“Have you found your soulmate?”

But Ben shook his head.

“No, haven’t found them yet. Have… kind of given up, if I’m to be honest.”

“Yeah… me too.”

“Besides… my birthmark is pretty hidden, so it’s not easy to spot them in a crowd.”

“Mine too.”

Ben nodded, and weighed his options. But he decided against asking you about your birthmark. It felt like it would break the charm of the evening. And this moment made too sweet a memory to taint it in any way. It could wait. For now, he didn’t mind not knowing.

“I was wondering,” he went on instead, “if maybe… after tonight you would like to… have a coffee with me, one of these days.”

You offered him a bright smile, somewhere between joy and mischief.

“That was smooth.”

“Thank you, I’m practicing.”

“I’d love that. Going on a date with you, I’d love that.”

He offered such a smile, it felt blinding almost.

“But…”

The curve of his lips disappeared.

“I don’t want to make you waste your time,” you added. “Because I really like you too, and I fear that we… we could get attached. Like… really attached. And maybe, if we’re not meant to be together, then there’s no use in breaking our own hearts by going any further than this lovely day we’ve shared. So…”

You raised your hand and revealed the three red dots crossed by a line, hidden on the side of your ring finger.

“I bet it doesn’t match, does it?” you asked, already disappointed.

But Ben’s eyes seemed glued to the mark on your finger, and you wondered why. His expression was unreadable.

He let go of your hand, and you hated yourself for feeling so disappointed to be rejected. You hated your throat for tightening, and your lungs for pushing out every molecule of air, and your eyes for watering. You were ready to look away to hide your reaction, when Ben lifted his left hand before you, separated his fingers.

You stopped breathing altogether.

Three dots crossed by a red line…

When you looked into his eyes again, none of you were able to move or say anything. You needed a moment to take it all in.

“So… it’s you,” you let the words out in a breath, shaky and fragile and hesitant.

But Ben answered with a smile, withheld tears making his eyes shine.

“Nice to meet you, soulmate.”

You brushed a tear away as you laughed.

“Smooth.”

“Not really. I’ll work on that.”

“It’s okay. I kind of like that cheesy style.”

You both chuckled, his hand falling to hold onto yours again.

“So… what do we do now?” you asked, shaking.

Ben shrugged, and you could hear in his voice that he was struggling to stay calm as well.

“I mean… I reckon you should definitely accept that offer for a coffee.”

You both let out a laugh.

You turned around as loud shouts echoed through the park, coming from the party that was still raging near the mansion. It gave him a moment to take a deep breath, to finally calm his nerves, at least a little bit. At least, enough to speak again.

“But I think that for tonight… a dance sounds like a nice beginning. What do you think?”

#ben barnes #ben barnes x reader #ben barnes x you #ben barnes x y/n #ben barnes fanfic #ben barnes fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #writing #ben barnes oneshot

203 notes · View notes

no-where-new-hero · 7 months

Text

Wrap up thoughts on Tale of the Nine Tailed 1938 even though I'm fairly sure none of my followers will have a clue what I'm talking about:

The writing was better than in Season 1. Aside from the huge continuity plothole (what happens in the past bloody well should affect the future, otherwise what's the point), the depth of characters, individual lines, mixture of humor and tragedy, and juggling of many parts came off with more dexterity than I'd have thought. The characters have even more reality because of it and drive the plot onward.

Hongjoo and Mooyeong were amazing new characters and really helped to push through the theme of the season, which was that the way you care about other people is what makes you do the things you do, whether for good or bad. You lie because you want to protect the other person, you leave because you think that'll save them, you decide to perform sketchy magics because that might be enough to stitch back together the family you lost.

Rang. O Rang, my beloved. Kim Beom went for the throat in every scene with his haunted eyes and whispered lines. S1!Rang and S2!Rang felt like different characters somehow, or that they grew from different places. In S1, he was more complicated: more morally grey, more inwardly tortured, more selfish and shallow yet therefore more surprising when kind. He seemed to have more actual power, but less inner strength. In S2, he had a nobility that worked considering he no longer had to be the villain, but that also caught him in plot trappings of heroism: externally tormented, driven to protect and support others, less self-absorbed, less magical in order to seem less dangerous. It still felt consistent and a necessary shift to keep from being repetitive, but its a puzzle, considering that time travel continuity problem.

The folklore! The approach to the elemental magics felt much stronger and more authentic than in S1, where the big bad was a little too big and a little too bad to the point where his choices for villainy seemed meaningless. Here, each magical antagonist came with a different set of limits and strengths, which diversified the fight scenes and fleshed out the world.

Politics! We love a historical drama that actually uses the circumstances of history to animate the plot (looking at you again, The Edge of Love).

The cinematography and direction of the last few episodes blew me away. It was great throughout, but the director was just serving through that finale.

The pacing was excellent, despite the...whimsical decision for some cuts between scenes. Like there was some heavy emotional whiplash.

Makeup and wardrobe must have had the USA's military budget. The costumes and looks overall deserve their own tribute post.

Yeon is literally invincible in this season which therefore makes him the least interesting (hero problems again) BUT Lee Dongwook has a knack for comedic delivery, which really shone here in his quieter scenes.

Kim Yongji played a COMPLETELY different type of role yet pulled it off beautifully with her trademark presence.

I'm so hoping that the obviously dangling plot thread left means the writers are planning a third season.

If we don't get a third season, can Hwanghee, Yongji, and Beom just have their own show? Not even playing their characters from this; I'd be fine with any genre or format (slice of life as artsy 20-somethings would be perfect), but they're all just so good together, the chemistry is off the charts.

#tale of the nine tailed 1938 #tale of the nine tailed #totnt #totnt 1938 #kinema #blake's last braincell

30 notes · View notes

violet-prism-creatively · 9 months

Text

good omens s2 episode reaction: 1

hi! i've been watching good omens season 2 with my family, one episode a day, and writing down my reactions. it occurred to me that it would be better to post the reactions individually rather than all in one post. so here's the first one, from a few days ago! spoilers for s2 e1, obviously, but not for any of the other episodes.

[the rest of my reactions: e2, e3, e4, e5, e6 - links will be added as i post them]

starmaker crowley!! he's so happy! seeing him get excited about the universe is so cool! the dynamic where he's annoyed about his work and creativity going to waste and wondering why the plan is like that, and aziraphale is enchanted by the stars but warns him not to ask questions, is exactly how i would have pictured it. the wings moving to express emotion is a nice touch. the sheltering wing same as eden!!!! when they met on the wall of eden, they didn't seem to know each other, so i would guess their memories were erased but the instinct to shelter the other beneath their wing remained, which is so sweet. i didn't get a good look at how crowley's eyes were when he was an angel, obviously not snakey yet.

the next time we see crowley being on the bench with shax where he's asking what's the point of it all hits even harder in contrast to his pre-fall self. i wonder why he's so cynical and why he hasn't spent as much time with aziraphale! did something happen between them?? i hope future episodes explain.

"you only call me when you're bored, you want to tell someone about the good thing you've done, or something's wrong" (paraphrased). why doesn't aziraphale call more often??!!? or maybe he does, but crowley is interpreting his attempts at reaching out as boredom and wanting to brag about good deeds. either way, it's sad that their dynamic is so different from the fluffy post-s1 that most fanfic imagined.

lots of focus on maggie and nina. i like them, but i wonder whether they'll actually be relevant to the story. they're so aziraphale- and crowley-coded though! dark color scheme/light color scheme, cynical/sweet, old fashioned/modern. from maggie's lines about not drinking, i already relate to her, growing up sheltered and deciding i'm not interested in partying because it's not the kind of thing a good girl like me would do. nina already being in a relationship is an obstacle to her and maggie's romance, but it seems like her current relationship is unhealthy from the type of texts that were showing. interesting effect to have them written on pieces of paper that pop up.

the special effects on beezlebub are wonderfully creepy, and so is beezlebub zirself. (is neil gaiman's post about beezlebub using ze/zir pronouns canon?) the threat of being erased from existence entirely is especially threatening to crowley and aziraphale because if they never existed, they never would have stopped the apocalypse.

gabriel/jim is delightful! i had already seen a lot of his funny lines in trailers and sneak peeks, but my parents and i definitely laughed. a lot of the lines have great meme potential.

there's a lot of potential for angst in crowley's reaction to gabriel: crowley recognizes that gabriel was abusive towards aziraphale, but aziraphale himself doesn't recognize that. i wonder if crowley remembers being an angel and whether he has history with gabriel.

i didn't love the michael and uriel in heaven scenes. it's cool that there's an angel in a wheelchair though!

we got the song good old fashioned lover boy! unfortunately, not in the sweet way that so many animatics use it. although it blasting while crowley speeds toward aziraphale's shop is pretty good.

good on aziraphale for demanding a real apology! the song and dance are hilarious. i've already started learning the dance just for fun.

they seem to have dropped the narrator, which i didn't notice at first because the dialogue was very good on its own. it was a fun convention, though. i wonder if any of the main characters from s1 like adam and anathema will be appearing.

my overall rating: 8.5/10. i think it would be a higher rating if i hadn't seen so much of the episode through sneak peeks already. there's an intriguing mystery set up! the dynamic between aziraphale and crowley is tenser than i was expecting- i hope we get an explanation for why- but i guess we still need conflict between them. seeing them again is like reconnecting with an old friend!

✅ discussion in the replies and reblogs - yes please!

❌ spoilers for the rest of s2 - no!

#good omens #good omens season 2 #good omens season 2 spoilers #good omens 2 #good omens 2 spoilers #go2 spoilers #go2e1 #go2e1 spoilers #good omens s2 #gos2 spoilers #gomens #good omens s2 spoilers #wow there's a lot of varied tags for this #a violet original

10 notes · View notes

ruins-and-rewritez · 1 year

Text

It's amazing that Van Ick has absolutely no reason for hating Wylan and decides that not only is his own SON not good enough, but also his inability to read is a motive to have him assassinated

Does he really think the people around him are gonna forget his constant "Oh don't mind Wylan he's illiterate scum equal only to perhaps, a rat"

Obviously he would have gotten away with killing off his own child because he's rich and Ketterdam is more focused on its own development and creating more lucrative means of enticing tourists in order to gain the most possible profit, than they are on the clearly suspicious death of an elite

But for an entire economy/government based on profit and business ventures that are more often then not, a risk (albeit calculated), where people at least need a hint of open mindedness in order to see beyond the possibility of failure, Van Ick is a hoe the least qualified to run a company not to mention hold a seat on the Merchant Council

The man cannot even see the potential directly under his nose, which is absurd when his son shines so magnificently

Not only is Wylan Van Eck Hendricks incredibly smart, he also continues to hold ambition above and beyond anything his father could begin to imagine

We know Wy is good with numbers, which let's face it, is amazing because unless you're some sort of astrophysicist, math is fucking awful, and being good at it is a blessing

Despite have barely any formal education, save his mother's teaching of the flute, our boy continues to show an expertise in chemistry that holds great potential to be more than just bombs and flash flashbangs, as seen in his development of the Wyvil which held great results even though it had only been recently developed

I don't even have to mention his art skills, especially with schematics which helped allow for the Ice Court Heist in the first place

You don't need to be word smart or even book smart to hold value, yet Van Ick decided that Wylan holds no use for the simple fact he can't read

What a doucheweasel. Blind people can't SEE but does their value decrease? No. Everyone is capable of greatness within their own set of skills but Van Ick is incapable of changing his mind to see his son as anything but a failure since he decreed him as such

This disallowance of change is what inevitably leads to his downfall. Change is essential to advancement (in moderation of course) and denying the potential for that change leads only to destruction

Given time anyone can grow beyond their limitations and succeed beyond expectation

Parents often forget that skills and abilities need time to grow based on each individual, they expect success in all areas immediately (beyond reason ofc) forgetting that perfection is unattainable and learning is always a curve as opposed to the shortest rout of a straight line, forgetting everyone is wired differently and excelling in some areas and struggling with others is normal

Wylan struggling internally with his self worth is a direct result of his father's actions. Support and stability would have allowed him to advance as a child but constantly berating him over one failure over and over until he gave up on himself (although crucial to his specific character development) was unnecessary and harsh

Wy would have bloomed naturally in his own time and would have been the son that any father would have been proud of

Getting away from the toxic relationship the two held gave Wylan that time and allowed him to be exactly what he wanted and needed to be for the Crows to succeed in their plans

Finding his place among them was the best thing that could have happened for him. Wylan has so much light and love to give and him getting that chance was so meaningful not to mention adorable and I'm so glad he found his home because he deserves so much for all he's been through, as much as any of them

#wylan hendriks appreciation post #my son #so smol #but also #violent #he deserves better than what he had #i glad he found his home #wylan hendriks #jan van eck #ick #six of crows duology #dont mind me #sorry im in a mood #but its fine #anyway #character analysis #?#rarzo #ruinrants

19 notes · View notes

single-malt-scotch · 7 months

Note

i'm in agreement with what you've put on your blog about hermitcraft not being an rp server- it just isn't and i'm kind of sick of new age mcyt fans treating it as such. i am curious though about where you draw the line (or even if you do draw a line) between rpf and "character" fanfiction. as you've mentioned, fans are the ones taking the improv bits in videos, creating their own "lore" out of it, and shipping those characters together. obviously, the lore characters are very much linked to their youtuber counterparts, but it's not like most hermitshippers want the real life grown men and women to kiss each other or even are referring to the actual flesh and blood youtubers in their fanmedia (the term cubito from spanish mcyt/qsmp folks comes to mind). do you personally consider this to be rpf?

the rpf topic in this situation is veryyyy hard to make a conclusive answer on and the one i make is one i think people shouldnt take as fact, everyone can decide personally what it means for them. my constant mindset, due to the subjective thoughts, just ends up being "is it rpf? maybe. i dont know. i dont care anymore" but i can explain more of what i really do think

considering i came from 2011~ minecraft youtube there was no concept of "characters" for youtubers outside of blatant series like... shadow of israphel and a bit later, lords of minecraft. there was nothing comparable to what we have today in terms of roleplay. they were still The Person just in minecraft and many of us back then, myself included, called it rpf. and we even wrote fics outside of the minecraft settings-- we wrote stuff in the real world, but it all just looked the same to us because we did not have any separation between a person and a character made out of them. it was the youtuber to me, whether or not i throw them into a lore heavy high fantasy AU (which i did lol), it did not come off any different to me than the fics written about them chilling at minecon.

i took a number of years away from this fandom and so the change like... oof it was a lot to understand. it confused me a lot (still does), i did not at all get this idea of separating them into their own character. the thing is, the extent to which people do so is again, subjective.... but for the most part the point nowadays is to say its not the Real Person at all anymore, even if the difference is only that there is absolutely no mention of the outside world and it is often heavily enforced to remember it is Not the real guy.

and thats where it just gets complicated. whenever i write i always generally imply its a game. and if its not a game i still think of it as guys playing a game. they are behind a screen and i may even reference the real world. so for me? yeah, its in the vein of rpf if we're looking at it that way. people who create a fictional realm with the guys made into characters that fit into this crafted world, well i guess its not... or is it?

the whole topic of saying hc isnt roleplay isnt to scare everyone into realizing they were writing rpf the whole time. but kinda to say- one stop being afraid of the label rpf. and two honestly i define "rpf" fandoms as a fandom built around real people. mcyt is built around real people. no matter how much you do make a character out of the youtuber its still in many regards.... the youtuber.

so yeah this isnt a conclusive answer some may want. short: it is always rpf because i define rpf as being a fandom based around real people. when it comes down to specific content (headcanons, fics, art) its totally fine and makes sense to not consider it that individually but in an overall sense i would categorize it as such because i also grew from an mcyt fandoms who saw it that way

#Anonymous

3 notes · View notes

trickricksblog08 · 11 months

Text

It Is TIME to use our DIVINE SENSES — Not Common Sense!

In this NOW. . . Humanity is Experiencing what is Called the “Twilight of Kali Yuga” — an Ending Phase Where Conditions on our Planet are at their Most SERIOUS. . . CRITICAL. . . and INTENSE.

It is also a TIME whereby there are Many Opportunities to Level Up in Consciousness Provided.

This is the Compassion and Mercy of The DIVINE SOURCE.

However. . . DIVINE SOURCE will NOT allow DIVINE Principles to BE covered over by Culture or Historical Inaccuracy.

Deep Study of Ancient Scriptures and the Original Languages that they were written in must BE done in order to understand the SACRED TRUTHS Moving through each of them.

This is Called Performing an EXEGESIS.

However. . . in the era of “Kali Yuga”. . . most of Humanity is NOT interested in Extensive Study and Deep Prayer and Meditation.

Therefore. . . there is much low intellect and poor cognitive ability in “Kali Yuga”.

Because of the low consciousness of so much of Humanity. . . DIVINE SOURCE is NOW Causing DNA to Tremendously come On-Line — DNA that traditional science for far too long referred to as “junk DNA”.

There is NO such thing as Junk DNA.

The DNA in each Cell is like a Coil that is Unwrapping and Receiving Massive Amounts of “BIO-PHOTONS” which is a Network Carrying SOURCE LIGHT FREQUENCY from Cell to Cell.

WE Are Comprised of LIGHT. . . and WE Are NOW in a Process of LIGHT AND SOUND TRANSMISSION AND RECEPTION. . .

a Process that has been Experienced by Vast Galaxies and Universes Long. . . Long ago that are NOW Far ADVANCED.

This is NOT Science Fiction. . .

As LIGHT Comes into the Cellular Network. . . HIGHER Capabilities of Consciousness occur. . . and Greater KNOWLEDGE is Desired.

The LIGHT Comes into some persons faster than it does into others because DIVINE SOURCE Knows how much each individual can handle based upon Where their FOCUS is relative to their Intellectual and Spiritual Orientation.

Thus. . . Everyone is Receiving LIGHT. . . but NOT Everyone Processes it in the same manner.

In like manner. . . BIO-PHOTONS are Always Available for Profounder Processing.

WILLINGNESS is a Key Component in BIO-PHOTONIC Reception.

WE Are What WE Choose to BE. . . and our Experiences Out-Play Accordingly.

As the final days of “2022” occur. . . there will BE HIGHER COSMIC ENERGY Almost Daily.

The Stage is BE-ing Set for even GREATER COSMIC EVENT in “2023” and BEyond as our Planet. . . Solar System. . . and Galaxy SOAR through Bright and Intense LIGHT.

Our Sun will BE Receiving ENORMOUS Amounts of LIGHT from the GREAT SENTRAL SUN. . . the Photon Belt. . . and the Great Attractor

All the Creations of The DIVINE SOURCE Who is also Sending Direct SOURCE LIGHT from what CANNOT BE Truly Analyzed or Understood with a Left-Brain Logic — Beyond the Beyond.

So. . . although our Magnetosphere has been Depleted by about 20 percent in Strength which Allows for Challenging POSITIVE PROTONS to Enter into our Planetary REALM from its far side (which SOURCE is obviously allowing). . .

WE Are BE-ing Given the LIGHT that WE Need to BE Protected. . . Cleared. . . Cleansed and Illuminated in order for the BIO-PHOTONIC Network to Perform in DIVINE ORDER.

All Anyone Needs to Do is Decide to ANCHOR to the LIGHT. . . and to Engage in Spiritual and Natural Techniques for SELF-NURTURANCE.

Although HU-man Consciousness is ELEVATING. . . the Physical Vessel and the Emotions are STILL Sensitive.

Thoughts can Still BE Confused.

This is why PATIENCE and NURTURING is Vital for Everyone — both for those Who are HIGHLY ELEVATED as well as for those Who are just BEginning the Journey to HIGHER Understanding.

Everyone is STILL Riding the COSMIC SEA as its Waves BEcome LARGER.

This is the LIGHT that has been ADVANCING Towards us AGE after AGE.

The Brighter and More Intense that LIGHT BEcomes. . . the WIDER the Door Opens to our NEXT AGE.

Within DIVINE LOVE of ONE

Pars Kutay

✨🤍✨

0 notes

vipcapitalfundingusa · 1 year

Text

Working Capital Loan: The Financial Engine for Your Business!

Make a rundown of what you need to be aware, what you really want to be aware, and what you definitely have some familiarity with this subject.

A business needs a consistent crowd of sort out notes to continue to work. It additionally maintains that cash should develop and grow. A functioning capital credit is a definitive fluid. Whether you are hoping to get new tackle for your business, or figure to add to your record, or perspective on break new fuel at new areas or adjust the empty ones, or sending off publicizing and limited time programs for your business, or simply in important to take care of your obligations right away, working capital advance can take uneasiness of all your monetary needs obviously. In the event that you are important of some agile supporting for your business needs, contemplate working capital credit as an outstanding choice.

Viable capital supporting empty to organizations comes in two flavors. Both have their characteristics. So the following time you consider getting working capital supporting, get coordinate to choose from between a Small businesses working capital and a business notes continue. We should investigate each.

Getting working capital supporting for your business has its part of hardships and questions. Most consistently, individuals develop to baffle a functioning capital credit with a business notes continue. In any case, there are significant contrasts between the two. To send off with, business notes go before is regularly more straightforward to strong than a functioning capital credit. This is one reason why many pick a business notes go before over a functioning capital credit as a nimble approach to getting notes to check their organizations.

In the start of this article, we went over the essentials. Presently, we will check out at this subject somewhat more inside and out.

Most moneylenders and monetary bodies will consider the brilliance portrayal of the borrower, empty guarantees and different elements prior to putting their loving on yielding a functioning capital credit. Then again, getting able for a business notes go before is a significantly more straightforward makes due. There is barring desk work perplexing and the cash arrives at the candidate in barring than 72 hours. Getting cash from a functioning capital credit ordinarily requires about seven days.

A business notes go before isn't related with a level timetable for discount. The plan of discount is associated with magnificence permit deals continues and thus, it is an enormously more genuine makes due. In that capacity, organizations usually don't feel intensely compressed over discount issues. This, tragically, isn't the situation with working capital credits which depend on a level discount plan that the borrower should spike to. Without to do so would expect the borrower's brilliance make unfavorably and there is a risk of behind the security too. The floor-line is that no inquiry what the quantity of business for a specific month is, the functioning capital credit must be reimbursed by the pre-decided level amount.

In malignance of these hardships, a functioning capital credit body an extraordinary method for bearing the cost of your business the notes it needs to continue to bud furrow such a reason where all functioning costs are protected by the income that the business produces. Most independent companies include one to travel drifting and make to the following obliterate of character adequacy. Notwithstanding, it is critical to endure in keenness the significance of keeping up with great business brilliance makes to treat for a functioning capital credit. With great business brilliance makes, you can travel strong of getting the functioning capital credit that you take nimbly and effort excludingly.

For more information, Visit us:-

Small business working capital loans

Easy small business grants usa

Small business loans up to $15mm in USA

0 notes

pendrivedatarecovery1 · 1 year

Text

How to Export G Suite Contacts to CSV File or VCF File – Two Methods?

G USB Drive Recovery (previously known as Google Applications) gives cloud-based support of its clients. It allows you to work straightforwardly on the cloud and store information on its server. In this way, associations don't need to stress over keeping up with equipment for various applications. Of late, it has been seen that G Suite clients need to trade their information to neighborhood PC. Out of the relative multitude of information things that are popular for send out, today we will zero in on trading G Suite contacts to CSV record.

Obviously, we will likewise show you the technique to utilize VCF design for something similar. To do it with messages and schedules, you can get directions to send out G Suite schedule to ICS record as well as how to download G Suite messages in our different web journals.

Prior to beginning with the techniques, here is a client question that will provide perusers with a superior knowledge of the circumstance and assist you with trading contacts from G Suite in a productive way.

Due to inquiries, for example, this one, the second technique we give here is explicitly to G Suite overseers to trade contacts from different G Suite client accounts without a moment's delay. Along these lines, how about we begin!

Strategies to Product G Suite Contacts to CSV Record/VCF Document

Clients can send out their G Suite address book utilizing two strategies. The principal strategy is the local Google element to send out the information from one record. While the subsequent strategy utilizes a choice to send out contacts from Pen Drive Recovery software Suite various client accounts immediately.

Strategy 1 to Move G Suite Contacts to CSV Document

The guidelines are as per the following:

Open Contacts.

contacts

In the Contacts tab on your program, search for Commodity choice from the left board and snap it.

send out choice

For specific commodity, pick the contacts that you wish to send out from G Suite and afterward, click 'Product' choice to save just these Google contacts to PC.

Presently, pick your product design - Google CSV, Viewpoint CSV or VCF design.

select csv design

Click Commodity button to continue.

Whenever provoked, decide to save the record. The program will download the documents in the favored arrangement on your PC.

Every one of the contacts of G Suite are effectively traded from one record. Assuming you have more than 1 record to process, rehash the means for every last one of them. Or on the other hand basically settle on the following strategy to trade contacts from G Suite different records on the double.

Repeating Issues During Manual Commodity of G Suite Contacts

It has been seen that individuals face unmistakable issues while physically trading G Suite contacts to CSV document. Some of them are:

Mistake Directive for Surpassing 2000 contacts: Assuming you attempt to send out in excess of 2000 contacts, a blunder message will spring up. To keep away from this, trade under 2000 G Suite contacts all at once.

Directions not material: There are occasions where a client peruses the guidelines relevant to old format of Contacts page and attempts to apply it to new design. Obviously, it won't work. A similar applies for the contrary situation. For instance, see this picture client question:

issue 2

To defeat this, just remember that the new format has Product choice in the left board. While the old format has Commodity choice here: More > Product

Loads of excess contacts: Here a ton of garbage contacts are sent out in the record.

issue 3

Each Client in turn: This technique is relevant for only each G Suite client in turn. For 50 clients, you should rehash the directions multiple times.

Technique to Commodity G Suite Contacts from Various Records On the double

It is clear from the conversation that the manual technique is practical for few records in particular. That is the reason we suggest G Suite executives use Google Applications Reinforcement Apparatus for this undertaking. This product may not trade G Suite contacts to CSV however involves VCF as the commodity design. Be that as it may, this is a surprisingly positive turn of events. Since VCF is open by each application that utilizes CSV organization and the sky is the limit from there. In this way, you don't need to stress over altering, and getting to the G Suite contacts document.

This is a Windows-situated application that is allowed to download and attempt. The free rendition will trade just 25 things on the double, yet seeing its functioning features is all that anyone could need. Likewise, it upholds sending out messages, schedules, and a few records alongside contacts.

Stage 1: Open the apparatus on your framework and hit the Reinforcement choice.

Stage 2: Snap on Area Clients.

Stage 3: Enter the administrator id for G Suite and import a CSV record having the rundown of client represents handling. An example is likewise given.

Stage 4: Select Contacts from the Classification and apply channels according to necessity.

select contacts

Here's a clue: If it's not too much trouble, remember that assuming that you pick PST as Commodity, the resultant contacts will be sent out in PSt too. SO pick some other arrangement.

Stage 5: Pick where you need to send out G Suite contacts and hit the Beginning button.

That is all there is to it. Every one of your contacts are effectively sent out from G Suite client accounts. The requirements and complete directions are accessible on the authority page exhaustively.

End

A USB Drive Recovery software take care of the answer for trade G Suite contacts to CSV documents from individual records. We likewise gave a strategy to trade contacts from G Suite numerous client accounts at the same time. You can check your prerequisites and afterward pick the arrangement you wish to execute. The two strategies are proficient in their particular space. This will without a doubt make your commodity interaction consistent and bother free.

#data recovery software pen drive #Pen Drive Data Recovery #USB Drive Data Recovery #Pen Drive Recovery #USB Drive Recovery #Pen Drive Recovery software #USB Drive Recovery software #Pen Drive Data Recovery software #USB Drive Data Recovery software

0 notes

chibi-chanforever · 3 years

Text

𝙰 𝙳𝚎𝚋𝚝 𝚃𝚘 𝙿𝚊𝚢

Pairings: Bokuto x Fem Reader x Akaashi

Warnings: Hardcore Smut and triggering themes please read at your own discretion. This is just a work of fiction and is not encouraged in anyway whatsoever.

themes: Non-con, Kidnapping, Drugging, Gunplay, Orgasm control/denial, Edging, Cuffs, , Creampie, Cunnilingus, Voyeurism, Masturbation, Blowjob, Threesome, Face Fucking, Penetrative Sex, Mentions of Stalking and Yandere.

A/n: Heyaaa so basically this is in collaboration with the Church of Meian theme of May-mafia/Mayfia. Its my first collaboration and my first time posting smut, hope yall enjoy!! Please make sure to check out the amazing art and stories posted by the lovely people in our little church and give them some love, the link is at the end of the story!! Also special thanks to @kinsurou, @murdereddaydreams and @vanille--kiss for helping me and supporting me through everything. Love you soo muchoo my little ohana

A heavy sigh escaped your lips as you glanced over to the stacks of paperwork you still had to go through. The daunting pileup that only increases every hour. You sighed again as you thumped your head onto the desk,frail arms just barely cushioning the blow. While staring blankly at your own feet, you spied the wastepaper basket sitting near, completely empty apart from a few used sugar sachets and soggy teabags.

Your eyes flit towards the pile of files again and you couldn't help but wonder what would happen if a few papers landed in the trash can, accidentally, of course. You contemplated for a few more seconds, before you shuddered as you imagined familiar cat-like eyes flit across your vision. You didn't want to really know what would happen if he found out about it, did you?

The minx-like golden eyes flashed once again in your mind as you recalled the fateful day. The day from which everything spiralled downhill.

If only, if only your family hadn't gotten into trouble with the Nekoma clan, things would be different. But no, they had to take a loan and fall into the mercy of Nekoma…

But at least you got off easy, you thought as you cradled your head. At least you and your family didn't suffer the same fate as the others. You were thankful to the head of the Nekoma for giving you the opportunity of paying off the debt through work, instead of the usual means. A shudder ran through your spine as you thought of the stories you've heard, of what happened to the other people who owed the clan money.

A heavy Bam shook you from your stupor as your head jerked up to stare at the new batch of files that had been banged onto the stack. You shook your head to clear your thoughts as you reached for the first file of the batch. It would be better to just get to it and finish it before the end of the day. That's when you noticed the little photograph that slipped out on the floor and you bent to pick it up.

There were four guys in the frame, two of them being the focus of the shot, with goofy big smiles and arms draped around each other, though there was a big red circle drawn around the one with owlish silver hair, the ink of the marker recent enough to smudge a little. The other two guys looked like they were not meant to be in the picture, but oddly that fact only made it so much better.

One with blonde highlights stood grimacing in the background while the other guy's face was barely visible, his body half turned and blurry as if someone had called out to him at the last moment when the picture was being taken.

Overall it looked like a fun bunch of friends but you wondered why there was a circle drawn around one of them. You flipped the picture, curiosity getting the best of you. Finding only a date written you turn the picture again, choosing to focus on the people in there.

“T-these are the next in-line heirs to the Nekoma clan” you whisper lowly to yourself. They were the ones who were supposed to take over in the coming years and were your current bosses. You couldn't wrap your head as to what this was doing in your file. You were given only the most basic work to handle as their secretary, numbers to jot down, business meetings to book and take note of the expenses and make detailed reports about meetings they attend. Maybe this slipped in by mistake somehow ??

You centered in on the person grimacing and the one with bed-hair; cogs turn in your brain as you wondered why these two individuals seemed so similar before something dawns on you and an audible gasp leaves your lips as the picture dropped onto your lap.

With trembling hands you shoved the picture back into the file and hide it at the bottom of the stack, maybe this was a file that was not supposed to be in your hands, fuck fuck fuck. Your eyes skim the room to watch out for anyone observing you. These guys didn't trust you enough to give you such things, so obviously it was misplaced and dumped into your paperwork by accident.

You suddenly noticed Lev jogging towards you and your whole body tensed as he approached. You pretended to work on the other files that were scattered around on your desk, typing random words and numbers into the excel sheet, your gaze was strongly focused on your screen yet everything was blurry. If Lev were to take a peek as to what you were doing at this moment, he would realise that what you were typing was utter bullshit.

“Ah, you remember the stack of files and papers that I just placed here?” He pointed his finger to the stack of papers that still lay stagnant there.

“Yes sir? What can I do for you t-today?” You kicked yourself under the desk for how weird you sounded in the moment, but lucky for you he was in a hurry so he didn't pay much mind to you.

“Can you give those back to me? I think there were five bunches of them, I think I gave you the wrong ones,” he rubbed the back of his head as his voice took an almost sheepish tone by the end.

Without saying anything in return you just nod stiffly before taking the first four files, slowly sneaking in the file that you shoved at the bottom, you softly banged them against the table as if to align them before giving them to him with a small smile.

“Hey Y/n?” Lev called out to you after he cleared his throat. You slowly turned your head towards him trying your best to act innocent as if you hadn't just seen a picture of the mafia head with his friends.

A light pink blush clouded his face as he clumsily took the files from you, bowing a little before he scurries off to give those files to whoever he was supposed to give them to in the first place.

You let out a deep exhale of relief, slumping further into the chair as he turns a corner and goes out of sight. Your phone suddenly buzzes and you yelp as your body jolts upright from the chair, you relax visibly when you notice that it was only a reminder that you had kept on your phone signalling the end of your shift.

Dropping it back onto the table with a clatter you stretched yourself in the chair, a smile gracing your lips as you collect your things to head home, deciding to stop at the grocery store to make a big dinner for the family today, just to relax your mind and console yourself that everything was alright, that you wouldn't be killed for seeing confidential information. It was just a picture, you thought, yeap just a picture that could possibly be a kill target, fuck did you get involved in a crime? You pinched your arm as you walked out of the office, shaking your head of all the negative thoughts.

The keys jingled as you struggled to slide the key into the lock with two grocery bags in hand, the atmosphere eerily silent as you entered the house, you called out for your mom and dad, followed by a soft “tadaima” only to receive no response in return.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You laughed as you remember that a few days ago your dad tried to make dinner and ended up breaking your mom's favourite ceramic pot while removing one of the pans. She has been so mad at the time that she took a vow to not cook until your dad got her a similar ceramic pot if not a better one.

You entered the living room to find it completely empty, and chill ran down your spine, where were your mom and dad? You walked toward the fridge and suddenly everything made sense when you saw the small sticky note with a haste scribble that said that your parents had gone out at the last minute for a makeup dinner, decorated with a small smiley in the end.

With a broad smile plastered on your lips you placed both the grocery bags on the counter, humming softly to yourself as you removed the items from within the bags. From the corner of your eye you suddenly notice a shadow cross and your body goes rigid. Your hand slowly inched forward before curling around the handle of a pan nearby when a tingling feeling rises up your spine, signalling someone’s approach.

In the room filled with soft rays of evening light you stand ominously still, breath bated as you tighten your clammy grasp, knuckles turning white, cold beads of sweat running down the side of your face. You backhand swung the pan the moment you see a slight shadow come up behind you, but your actions were stopped midway as you were pushed head first onto the counter, your hand with the pan being banged harshly against the cold surface of the marble, forcing you to let go of the pan. The person behind you used their body weight to keep you pinned to the counter as you trash around, trying your best to get hold of any object you can use to defend yourself.

Just as you get your right hand free from under the person’s weight, you feel a pinch on your shoulder and suddenly your body starts losing its strength,eyelids getting heavier and your vision turning blurry. As a last attempt you tried to scream out for help, but the moment you open your mouth a gloved hand clamps down on your lips and you try to trash around, only for him to lean his weight further on you, knocking the air out of your lungs.

Right before you passed out, you faintly heard a phone buzzing and for a second you wondered if it's yours. You fought to stay awake as the man still kept you pinned against the counter, shuffling behind you before a small beep followed by a smooth soft voice reached your ears.

“ I have her Bokuto-san”

That was the last thing you witnessed before losing control over your senses and everything went dark.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You woke up to a cold concrete floor, a dull throb sitting in the back of your head as you grunted softly, your vision confiscated by a blindfold. The place where you were injected felt like it was on fire, limbs feeling heavy and…

You tried shifting your arms but all you could hear was the clang of metal against the concrete. You tried moving your feet but they were seized with cuffs which were attached to metal chains rooted firmly into the floor. You pushed yourself up onto your knees, only to be pulled back by the chains hooked on cuffs around your wrists, the rattling sound echoing loudly throughout the room along with a disgruntled sob. You held your breath in fear, hoping that no one was around to hear it. The room fell utterly silent as you tried your best to hear for any footsteps, only to be greeted by a soft hum of jazz, barely thrumming in through the walls.

You wanted to cry, scream, trash around, but there you laid, frozen in fear, trying your best to not make a single sound, making it seem like you were still unconscious. You were just delaying the inevitable, buying as much time as you could; you didn't have a single clue as to what you had done to be in such a situation, if it was about the loan, weren't you already paying it off by working? Or did they get tired of waiting?

But hadn’t you walked the perfect line with your job? you didn't have a single complaint from your superiors and your colleagues commended you on it, because it seems that they weren't compatible with just anyone and most of them didn't survive beyond the second week. So why were you here then? Was it the–

Your thoughts were cut short as you heard keys chime on the other side of the door and you froze in your spot, trying your best to pretend that you weren’t awake just a moment ago, tugging on your restraints.

You slowed down your breathing, evening it out just as the door opens, its hinges creaking loudly as you hear a chorus of footsteps pad through the room. But your little act of being asleep was immediately cut short as a bucket of ice cold water was thrown over your body making you jolt upright in shock, gasping and shuddering at the sudden overwhelming sensation.

“Looks like the little kitten is awake now! Let’s get this over with, shall we?” A deep voice boomed throughout the room, and you cower back a little, chains clanking along with you.

“Akaashi, remove her restraints but keep the cuffs on her hands.” The same authoritative voice commands and soon you feel a presence behind you, undoing your chains.

Your shivering body only trembled more as you felt fingers graze your calves and back, your now damp blindfold only serving to rile on your fears. You didn’t shift from your position when you felt the weight drop from your hands and legs, too scared to do anything. Your mind ran a million miles per minute, barging through your brain with various emotions and thoughts, but yet you feel blank as a chair scrapes loudly against the floor, placed in front of you.

A hand hooks under your arm, pulling you to sit upright and a whimper leaves your lips in fright. You wanted to plead– heck even beg for mercy, cry a litany of apologies and offer anything up in exchange for your life, but your lips didn’t move a single inch, even though you were practically screaming from within. You choke on the silence that suffocates the room before a gentle finger traced the back of your neck and you suppressed the urge to shudder at the feeling, soon finding your blindfold falling to the floor. You squinted, trying to move away from the sudden bright light before coming face to face with the last face you expected to see, the supposed kill target, his golden orbs more brighter and fierce than you remembered, excitement dancing along his lashes.

“And what do we have here?” He leaned forward as he rested his elbows on his knees, his palms joined in front of him and a cunning smile plastered on his face. His eyes raked your form before looking at the man behind you, nodding at him before you heard the softest “Yes Bokuto-san” flow past you and your eyes widen when realise where you heard it before; you recollect to the voice you barely managed to hear before you were rendered unconscious and painful tears started to collect in the corner of your eyes as you tried to swallow the lump on your throat.

The guy now known as Akaashi brought something to the guy in front of you before going back to his earlier position behind you. Faint light glinted against the object and when you realised what it was, tears flowed down freely your cheeks as soft hiccups wrecked through your body.

“Aww honey, don’t be scared. All you need to do is answer all our questions truthfully and I won’t have to use this. Whaddya say hmm?” Bokuto cooed as he slid the gun against your cheek, before placing the barrel under your cheek and tipping your head upwards. Afraid, you closed your eyes before nodding meekly.

“That’s a good girl. See we won’t be having any problems then.” He says with childish enthusiasm in his voice as if it were just another game for him. Akaashi stood silent, his eyes never leaving your form, watching the way your nipples pebbled under the cool air, your shirt now almost transparent as droplets of water slid down your shivering form. Bokuto feigned a cough and Akaashi flits his gaze to him, immediately registering that Bokuto noticed him staring at you, his signature playful smile getting a little bit wider, a hidden intent written behind that smile.

“It’s time to pat her down, Akaashi.” Bokuto stated before turning to you, “Don’t worry hun, it's just a mandatory procedure.” The moment those words were said you were lifted off the ground and placed onto Bokuto's lap and a sob fell from your lips as you tried to get away from his hold, but that only spurred him on to wrap his hand around your waist firmly.

“Shush now little kitten, don’t worry, the more you struggle, the harder it will be.” He pulled you closer to his heated body, your back hitting his chiseled chest as you straddled him, making your pencil skirt bunch up, your cuffed hands uncomfortable as they get smushed at an odd angle between your back and his chest. You try to move forward because the burn was too much, but the hand on your waist only tightened, keeping you put, your legs kept secure behind his ankles.

“So tell me kitten what’s your name hmm??” He asked you while Akaashi kneeled down in front of you and started patting down your shoulders before his fingers found your buttons, relieving them from its reserves with ease; you looked down at Akaashi with unbelieving eyes, Bokuto’s question falling on deaf ears and that was your biggest mistake. His hand on your waist slid up to roughly grab one of your tits, pinching the nipple harshly and making you cry out in pure agony.

“I asked you something pet, I don’t like to repeat myself twice. Geddit? Now I'm going to ask you once more and that will be your last time. You hear me?” His voice was viciously low and threatening. You only nodded back in response, the sting still fresh on your skin. “ Use your words kitten” He commanded, and you choked out a broken “Y-yes.”

“Good girl. Now tell me what your name is, hmm?”

“ It’s Y-Y/n,” you managed to stutter out, chest heaving.

“That's a lovely name for a kitten! Well now, what is a pretty little thing like you doing in the Nekoma estate, hmm? What is your relationship with Kuroo and Kenma? Are you their fucktoy? Wouldn’t doubt if you were, you seem quite fun to play with” he whispered the last part as he grabbed your face, turning your head away from him. He brushed his nose against your neck, taking in your scent as hot puffs of air collided against your skin.

“I’m j-just a secretary, I have a debt to clear with them, t-that’s all. I’m not their- their- '' heat rushes to your cheeks as embarrassment and anger flowed through you as it dawned upon you what he really meant and you tried to pull away from Bokuto. “I don’t do anything of that sort! I don’t have that kind of relationship with them. I just arrange meetings and appointments, and other basic stuff, that’s it! Now let me go!” You spit the words out, anger boiling through your veins, but it soon turned ice cold with the next question, and you realise you fucked up… Big time.

“ Then you must know about the upcoming business meetings of Nekoma, right? That means you would know the location of Kuroo and Kenma? ” And the room once again went silent. In your fit of anger and defiance you didn’t even realise that Akaashi had slid your shirt up over your shoulders, sliding them down up to your cuff covered wrists and was now drawing your skirt down. You tried to wiggle your hips to hinder his movements but it only serves to his advantage as it slides down easier.

“Please l-let me go, I-I don’t know anything please!” You begged, voice turning desperate, you couldn’t give out information about the Nekoma clan or they would have your head for it. What about your family–

“You’re a smart little one aren’t you, you know they will hunt you down if you give me their information. But if you decide to tell me, I give you my word that no harm will come to you or your family, furthermore your debt will be repaid. And if you don’t, I could put a bullet through your head right now.” Bokuto said with a playful lift to his voice, bringing the gun up to your temple.

“ I really don’t remember! Please, I can’t recall w-with who it was.. Please don’t shoot!!” You sobbed out, mind going blank when the gun is placed to your temple, fear overwhelming your senses.

“Aw it was good knowing ya kitten, you would’ve made such a good pet.” He cocks the gun with a loud click finger at ease on the trigger while he places soft kisses on your neck, softly whispering against your skin, “ Sayonara–”

“KARASUNO!!” You screamed out the first thing you remembered right before he could pull the trigger. “It’s Karasuno, sometime in the middle of next week, in the Miyagi Prefecture.. That’s about all I know. Please, please let me go now, I’m begging you!!!”

He chuckled darkly right next to your ear and goosebumps rose all over your skin with adrenaline. You closed your tear filled eyes, sobs shaking through you. You wanted this to be a nightmare, a dream from which you would wake up any moment, but the cuffs digging into your wrists and warm hands searing into your skin said otherwise.

“Mmm you definitely deserve a reward for that, don’t you?” He licks a long stripe from the base of your neck to your ear before whispering those words. You shake your head violently, not wanting to spend another waking minute here but he completely ignores your signs of protest. Bokuto’s hand travels down your body till his hand reached your panties to cup your pussy, groaning when he hears a small whimper leave your lips at the contact. He tugged on your panties, a hiss leaving his lips when he noticed how sensitive your body was.

“Such a pretty kitten, Akaashi, why don't you reward her for me, yeah?” Bokuto said as he shifted your panties to the side, dipping his fingers into your folds before prying them apart, giving Akaashi a good view of your cunt. Akaashi took his lower lip between his teeth before swiping his tongue across it as he indulged himself with the sight of your glistening pussy.

“Go on ‘Kaashi, don’t you want a taste?” Bokuto questioned, his fingers circling your clit, before travelling to your entrance, he dipping two fingers inside before removing them and spreading them, your juices smeared all over them and he popped his fingers to his mouth, a low growl arising from his chest made you bite on your lip harshly. “Of course I do Bokuto-san.” And that was all Akaashi said before he hooked your legs over his shoulder and dived into your pussy, flattening his tongue against your entrance before dragging it upwards towards your clit, rubbing his tongue against it before sucking on it.

You moaned loudly as Akaashi kept slurping up the juices dripping from your hole, making sure to not let a single drop go by, while Bokuto unhooked your bra, sliding them up so he could see your perky little nipples just begging for attention. He uncocks the gun and hooks it on his waistband, after which his hands find purchase of your soft mounds, pressing each nipple inside with his forefinger before pinching them and rolling them between his fingers. He gave your nipples a few rough tugs just to hear your sweet voice more.

You’re too overwhelmed to do anything but mewl as Akaashi detached himself from your pussy, fingers tugging down your panties and pocketing the soaked fabric. He used his thumb to rub your nub while his tongue prods your entrance and you gasp, taking a shaky breath in. When he rubbed a certain spot at the entrance you threw your head back and Bokuto immediately wrapped his fingers around your throat, his grip firm as his lips hastily crashed onto yours, drinking in all your moans and whimpers. He continued to kiss you, your moaning making it easy to plunge his tongue into your mouth, the kiss so heated that it brought you right on the edge of tipping over.

Your legs shook uncontrollably, being just one flick away from falling over the edge when Akaashi pulled back and you breathed heavily, not wanting to show them that this affected you much, while you mourned the loss of such a sweet release. His face is smeared with your juices and he licks his lips as he uses the back of his sleeve to wipe off the excess. The corner of his mouth lifted as he looked at Bokuto and nodded at him as you whined at your stolen high. Bokuto broke the kiss and smiled at Akaashi wide enough to have the tops of his incisors seen, the feral intent in his eyes reminding you of the dangerous position you were in.

Your eyes widened when Akaashi abruptly stood up and slid his hands under your butt, fingers digging into the flesh of your ass as he picked you up from Bokuto’s lap and you yelped. Akaashi’s eyes were fixated on you the entire time you were in his arms, his eyes shifting from your eyes to your lips continuously while you squirm.

“P-please no, I-I don’t want to go any further please” you told Akaashi, eyes big and pleading, filled with fresh tears.

“It’s okay Doll, don’t worry, we won’t hurt you until you disobey. So be a good little pet for us alright?” He whispered against your ear as he placed you down on your wobbly legs with your back against the mahogany table behind. He cupped your face gently, thumb swiping across your trembling lips as he looked at you with pure adoration. If it were any other situation you might’ve even considered going out with this beautiful man; but here you were, held against your will, your body being used as per their whims and wishes and you couldn’t do a single thing about it, it made your stomach twist with hate and disgust knowing how weak you were.

Akaashi leaned in, softly pressing his lips against yours into the most sweetest and gentle kiss you’ve ever had. You were so lost in it that your mouth unconsciously granted him access when he licked your bottom lip, you immediately tasted yourself on his tongue. The way he explored your mouth made you moan, your pussy clenching over a single kiss, only coming to your senses when his fingers fiddled with the straps of your bra, unclasping them and you bit his lip in defiance when he pulled your bra off your body, the taste of iron now pooling on your tongue.

Akaashi pulled back when you bite his lip, raising an amused eyebrow at you. He couldn’t believe that you still had thought that you could say no to them, it was cute to him; luckily it wasn’t Bokuto-san or she would've gotten a punishment by now– Akaashi thought as blood dripped from his lip onto his chin.

“This kitten is still using her claws I see, quite feisty~” Bokuto chimed as he came behind Akaashi, watching the entire scene from the corner. You looked at both of them in shock when Bokuto turned Akaashi’s head and pulled him into a kiss, licking up the blood that was on his lips and groaning when he still tasted the remnants of your sweet juices on Akaashi’s tongue. Bokuto broke the kiss, his lips sliding down to Akaashi’s neck and chuckling against his skin as he remembers the day Akaashi first saw you.

Akaashi was so mesmerised by you, couldn’t stop talking about how beautiful you were and how he wanted you so badly. Akaashi mentioned you so many times that it had started to get on his nerves, sometimes he even moaned out your name when he was asleep. Bokuto finally snapped when Akaashi choked out your name as he came all over Bokuto’s hands pumping his shaft. And when Akaashi found out that you worked for Nekoma it was the perfect excuse he needed to bring you in and play with you, see what was so special about you. Akaashi insisted on getting you personally, not wanting anyone else to get their hands on you; he was possessive like that– Bokuto was brought out of his fazed stupor with your cute little mewls filling the room.

Akaashi had started marking up your neck, slurping bruises on your skin while his fingers played with your nipples.

“Kitten, why don't you put on a little show for us? Play with that pretty little cunt of yours, show us how you like it and maybe I’ll think about letting you go?” Bokuto said as his fingers rub circles on your hips soothingly. The prospect of getting out of here had you ready to do anything and you eagerly nod your head at the offer, maybe once they freed your hands you could try to escape too. But Bokuto seemed to know what you're thinking, because he turned you around and shoved your head onto the table, your toes barely grazing the floor as you struggled under the weight of his body on yours. He removes the gun from his waistband and places it on your neck.

“Don’t even think about doing anything funny, cause there won’t be a second chance~” He singed as his hips grinded into yours, his erection pressed against your ass and you gasped as you felt how big he was even through his pants. He lifted himself off you once you yelp out a “Yes” he slowly slid the gun down your back, smacking the barrel against your ass before going lower and rubbing the cool metal against your folds. You dug your nails into your palm to ground yourself as he continued to rub against your clit, teasing the little nub till the barrel was covered in your juices.

“Get on the table kitten, I want a perfect view of your pussy.” Bokuto stopped his ministrations as you struggle to get on the table, when you took too much time for his liking he shoved your other leg on top and smacked your ass, making you scream out, he rubbed his fingers over the red print that is visible as he growled out a ‘hurry up’. Akaashi on the other hand started uncuffing your hands, sliding the shirt that was stuck above your wrist along with your cuffs.

You were already on the verge of cumming earlier, so doing that once again wouldn’t take that long. You reached down your trembling fingers and started slowly circling your clit, you moaned as you started going faster, rubbing yourself just the way you had done dozens of times before.

“Don’t be shy, Doll. Stuff a few fingers up that sweet hole” Akaashi said as he unzips his pants, pumping his cock in his hand at the lewd sight of you playing with yourself. He had imagined you like this whenever he stroked his cock alone, but he didn’t know it would be so fucking hot.

“You heard him, use those fingers to stuff your hole, kitten.” Bokuto chimed in with Akaashi. You reached down further and slowly start to slide two fingers in and out of your pussy, moaning as you started feeling good, the base of your palm bumping against your clit. You started going faster, feeling yourself reach your high once again, your moans turned higher and higher in pitch. You were just about ot cum when Bokuto slaped your hand away from yourself, making you whine loudly when you were denied another high. It was starting to feel like torture, your thoughts were getting fuzzy and all you could think was how badly you wanted to cum.

“Doll if you wanna cum then you just gotta ask” Akaashi said softly as he rubs his fingers over your sensitive folds, making you buck into his hand. You almost didn’t care about anything anymore, the only thing on your mind was the need to cum, but there was a little shard of dignity that was left in you and it made you bite your tongue. Your anger and frustration of not getting to cum makes you a little bold.

“F-fuck y-you” you panted out with as much venom in your words as you could muster. Bokuto shook his head as a chuckle wrecked through his chest once again. You were certainly a fun thing to tease and play with, the way you refused to give up only served to pique his interest further. “Oh I certainly plan to kitten, I’m going fuck this pretty little cunt all night. Make you a pliant mess on my cock”

You heard the clink of a buckle being opened, noticing the gun placed on the table not too far from your reach and with your hands free, you tried to push yourself off the surface only to be held down by your neck. “Oh no you don’t Doll, I’ve waited an eternity to feel those lips on me” Akaashi remarked as he unbuttoned his pants with his free hand and slid down the zipper. “Now pull my cock out, pretty girl.” He slowly released the pressure on your neck, Bokuto smacked your ass when you didn't comply, his heavy hand stinging enough to have you immediately reach out, tugging on the waistband of the his pants.

Akaashi bit his lips as your fingers touched his cock, his hard member twitching at the contact. Not being able to control himself any further, Akaashi swooped down and pulled you in for a kiss while simultaneously Bokuto aligned his tip with your entrance. Akaashi pulled back, standing straight so that his cock was mere inches from your face. He removed his shirt before he gathered your hair in his hand and pulled you towards his member. You shook your head no, using one to keep you up while the other pushed on his waist.

But your attempts were futile as Bokuto slammed himself into you with one swift movement, making you scream at the stretch and Akaashi used that as an opportunity to shove his cock into your mouth, groaning when you gagged and sputtered on his length, still attempting to cry out. The sounds from your warm mouth made him shudder in pleasure.

Bokuto starrted slamming into you immediately, fucking into you with feral intensity and using you as his personal pocket pussy, each thrust pushed your mouth further on Akaashi’s cock.

“Nghh you're so fucking tight kitten, squeezing my dick so fucking good” Bokuto grunted out before placing both his hands on your hips, his fingers holding you tight enough to leave dark bruises and he used that at leverage to fuck into you faster, His fat cock stirring up your insides and hitting spots deep inside you that you didn't know you had, making you moan continuously on Akaashi's cock. Said man slowly started to buck his hips into your mouth, falling into a rhythm with Bokuto, once in a while pushing his cock deep enough that the tip hit the back of your throat.

The room echoed with muffled moans and low growls, squelching sounds filling the room. Both men fastened their pace, pulling and pushing back and forth, singing praises and defiling your body at the same time.

“Oh fuck d-Doll haa.. your mouth feels so good, I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum!! And I want you to drink every drop of it” Akaashi keened as he kept moving his hips, he wrapped his hand around your throat, squeezing firmly till he felt the outline of his cock making you lightheaded. Akaashi watched as you rolled your watery eyes back in pleasure, choking and gagging on his cock, feeling his cock on your throat was the last strand and it pushed him off the edge and he gave a deep thrust cumming directly inside your throat, fingers still clutching your neck. He pulled out halfway, so that his cum spilled all over your tongue; shudders wrecked through his body as his thighs flexed till it burned, he pinched your nose as pulled out of you and clamped his other hand over your mouth so you had no other choice but to swallow, and once done he pulled you up as he climbed on the table as well.

You hung on Akaashi, hands hooked around his shoulders as Bokuto still kept pummelling into you, thighs slapping loudly against your ass. Akaashi kept kissing you, not leaving your body alone even for a second, biting and sucking on your lips or roaming along the length of your neck. His hands roamed all over your body before sliding between your folds, lithe fingers barely grazing your nub before forming a 'V' where Bokuto's cock enters you, spreading your folds. Your thighs trembled uncontrollably, body shivering, you would be laying flat against wood, had it not been for Akaashi holding you up, one hand wrapped around your waist.

Your mind was going crazy, you were so close to cumming but you just needed that little push, that little rub and nudge on your clit. The fact that Akaashi's fingers kept lightly brushing against it didn't help any further, you wanted to just cum, a dam waiting to be broken and you couldn't take it anymore.

“Please, please mmnnn j-just let me cum!!" You cried out, transgressing in the moment of pleasure.

“All you had to do was ask Doll” Akaashi murmured against your skin as his fingers slid up to your clit, rubbing refined, delicate circles around your sensitive nub and that was the final push that made you cum all around Bokuto's cock, pussy fluttering around his shaft, squeezing him tightly as an orgasm wrecked through you, compelling your body into a convulsing mess as a prayer of moans leave your lips, your toes curling till your feet hurt.

Your pussy clenched tightly around his shaft triggered Bokuto’s orgasm as well, his hips slowing their pace as he pumped deep strokes into your hole. And with a loud shivering groan against your ear, your pussy was filled with hot spurts of cum as he leaned his weight slightly on your limp body, his skin hot and sweaty against your own.

He placed a soft kiss on your back before pulling out of you, walking away to get something. During the time he’s gone Akaashi gently stroked your hair, while holding you in his warm embrace until Bokuto returned with something in his hand. Bokuto reached out and clicked it into place with alige fingers before smiling devilishly. You looked down, weak hand unconsciously reaching up to touch the item and you gasped, realizing it's a collar, and yanked on it to try and remove it. Hastily you reached behind hoping to find a buckle to release it, but instead you found a lock and turned towards Bokuto.

“D-didn’t you s-say you were going to let me go?” You asked, voice trembling with trepidation. While you were looking away Akaashi linked a leash to your collar, wrapped the excess length around his knuckles and handed it over to Bokuto. He yanked on your collar as he did so, forcefully bringing you closer as he offered Bokuto your leash with a heated kiss before Bokuto pulled away to look at you with a sickeningly sweet smile.

“Oh I said I’ll think about it, and I think I’m not done with you just yet kitten~”

Heyya thank you soo much for reading!! As promised the collabs links are down below, please show some love and support!!

The Church of Meian Masterlist🌼 Mayfia masterlist🌼

Also requests are open!!

©️Copyrights of chibi-chanforever. 4/6/2021.

#tw.noncon #tw.kidnapping #tw.choking #tw.gunplay #tw.drugging #mafia #bokuto smut #akaashi smut #haikyuu smut #hq smut #smut #yandere haikyuu #yandere #yandere akaashi #collab #church of meian

618 notes · View notes

yyxgin · 3 years

Text

7 days (lee minho)

pairing: lee minho x gn reader genre: fluff, best friends to lovers au, college au word count: 3.7 k warnings: swearing, mention of alcohol in like one sentence listen to: 7 days - nct dream requested by: anon

synopsis: you confess your love to your best friend for a whole week before he finally takes it seriously.

THINGS YOU SAID MASTERLIST 28) things you said in the dark

MONDAY

Lee Minho is your best friend. Now, Lee Felix would disagree and say you’re in love with him, and your roommate might be right, but you’ll never actually admit it to him. You managed to hide your feelings for the older boy for far too long now and you’re not just going to lose your streak for nothing, right?

Wrong.

Well, it’s not your fault that you have to break the little promise you gave to yourself. It’s all on Lee Felix and his pathetic bet. You should have known better than to make bets with a short Australian boy, but you guess even your brain has its dark moments and this was surely one of them.

“I bet you’ll forget to take out the things from the dishwasher before I come back from my afternoon class,” he prompts to say while putting on his shoes in the hall, glaring at you after a small argument you two had over who is the dirtier one in your apartment (it’s obviously Felix. He just can’t stand the truth).

“Oh yeah? What are we betting on, then?” you mock him, pouting in annoyance.

“If I come back and the dishwasher is still full, you’ll have to confess to Minho. No excuses.” he spits at you, putting on his coat and taking his backpack from the floor, looking like an angry cat.

You snort at his comment. “As if,” you roll your eyes, “okay, deal. And if I don’t forget and you lose this bet, you’ll have to clean for the whole year alone. I’m not helping in the slightest.” you bark at him, watching him open the door and snickering at your proposal.

“Right. Okay,” he nods his head, getting out of your shared apartment, “deal.”

Now, this was a huge deal for you. It was important for you to win this bet, because, well, you hate cleaning. And on top of that, you can’t just confess to your best friend out of the blue, right? That would be horrible. Everyone would have thought you paid much attention to your task and that you actually did what you had to do-- take the dishes out of the dishwasher for once. It was easy!

Well… you see… Friends were on the TV.

Isn’t that enough of a reasoning for you forgetting? No?

Okay, right, maybe you do have a memory of a goldfish. But it’s totally not your fault that the episode that was running was just your favorite and Felix’s afternoon class wasn’t as long as you thought it was going to be!

Needless to say, Felix came home to a full dishwasher and a shit-eating grin on his face announcing his victory, bringing you back to your senses.

“Oh no..” you curse under your breath, fear in your eyes.

“Do it. Now,” he orders, “call him. I can’t believe you actually forgot.” he shakes his head, laughing to himself, “oh, well, I did think you would, but something inside of me still had a little bit of hope.” he shrugs, watching you nervously sweat under his gaze.

“I can’t!”

“It was a bet, you little bitch! Do it now or I’m telling him!” he yells, motioning to your phone and glaring at you for the thousandth time that day, making you take it with shaky fingers and a deep sigh coming out of your mouth, dialing your best friend’s number, because truth be told, maybe you do fear your roommate just a little bit. He is short, but full of angst and rage for this world and you didn’t want to be the victim of that.

“Hello?” Minho asks, making you tremble even more with the reality hitting you.

“M-Minho?” you call into the phone, biting on your nails as you put your phone on speaker so Felix can watch you do the biggest mistake of your short life.

“Yeah?” he asks nonchalantly, making your heart skip a beat.

“I love you.” you deadpan, hearing the other side of the line get silent. It’s not an outcome you predicted, but it’s not the one you would like to hear either.

After a while, there’s a short snicker coming out of the speaker followed by a teasing question that makes you instantly roll your eyes. “Who doesn’t?”

And you chose this as your object of interest? You huff, instantly getting irritated as all of your nerves leave your body. “I love you, Minho.”

“Did you drink?” he asks, “I mean, I know it’s only like 4pm or something, but with you and Felix living together, you never know…”

“No, I didn’t drink anything. I’m completely sober-” you prompt to say, getting cut off by your best friend again, his voice coming out in a rushed statement.

“Okay, I have a class in like 5 minutes and I haven’t gone out of my apartment yet, so please don’t get wasted and I’ll see you soon, bye!” and with that, he gives you no time to answer as he ends the call, leaving you sitting shocked in your living room with a silent phone in your hand and a moment to take in.

“So... I guess it went good?” you mumble, raising your eyebrows at your roommate that just shakes his head at you.

“You’re gonna try tomorrow again. I’m not letting you go before he takes your confession seriously.”

“Felix-”

“No excuses.” he glares.

You had to clean out the dishwasher that afternoon anyway.

TUESDAY

You decide to follow your promise you gave to Felix, because in your words, mamma ain’t raise no bitch, and you also, admittedly, can’t stop thinking about the words you said to him ever since you got them out of your mouth. There was a sense of relief overflowing your body after your confession that tells you that maybe, this wasn’t such a bad idea as you first thought it was.

You confess to your best friend on the second day of the week again. It’s tuesday and you two meet in a coffee shop, talking about how your week was. You two were quite busy with school and classes, so it was hard for you two to talk, but you quickly caught up and your conversations were still as comfortable as ever, as if nothing happened and you didn’t just spill out your heart to him the day before.

You think that maybe, he even forgot. Who knows? Lee Minho was quite the individual.

Once the barista calls for his name and he comes to take his order, you watch him with a look you only imagine can resonate the textbook version of heart eyes. It’s hard for you to look anywhere else-- you have eyes only for him. It’s quite silly, you think. You managed to fall for him even though all he’s ever done was tease you and laugh at you.

Well… that’s not all. And you know that. To a stranger, it might seem like your relationship is strictly like two siblings. You two tease each other more than you actually have serious talks, but that doesn’t mean Minho isn’t a good listener that always offers you the most honest advice. His humour is also the only thing that could get you through your hard days sometimes and for that, you’re forever thankful.

So once you step outside of the coffee shop and walk side by side on the sidewalk, you decide to go for it again. Because what could go wrong, right?

“Minho, I love you.” you say, voice much more steadier than yesterday, watching him react.

But exactly in the moment you do so, the cup of coffee in his hands slips out of his grasp and falls to the ground, making him wince and scowl, because truth be told, his only love is and always has been the americano now spilled all over the concrete.

“A terrible decision, really.” he mutters, taking the empty cup from the ground and throwing it out to the bin, sighing to himself.

You offer to share your coffee with him. He teases you for drinking latte.

WEDNESDAY

Wednesdays are the hardest for your best friend. You know this, because you know him too well. You know his schedule by heart and you also know when he’s having a hard time-- you are his best friend, after all. You can see it on him even in the slightest change in his eyes.

You visit him at his apartment on Wednesday with some takeout in your hand, knowing he doesn’t have the time and energy to cook on this particular day.

His classes start in the early morning and they end in the late afternoon-- leaving him exhausted, only to be going to his dance classes in the evening. They always tire him out even more. It breaks your heart to see him getting home with dark circles under his eyes and fair skin, but you can’t really do anything about it-- it’s his schedule, after all. All you can do for him is be there with takeout in your hand, waiting on his bright yellow sofa (you were strongly against this color, but he just didn’t care about your opinion. Or he bought it just for the exact same reason, who knows) until he comes home, ready to hear him complain about his day.

And he does exactly that-- he comes home a few minutes after you sneaked into his apartment with the spare key he nonchalantly gave you once when you hung out, falling down face-first onto the sofa with an exaggerated sigh, screaming into the cushions.

“Hard day?” you ask, voice soft and considerate.

He answers you with a hum before he sits up again, coming closer to where you’re sitting on the sofa, taking the takeout from the bag sitting at the coffee table and sitting on the floor in front of you, right between your legs. You don’t know why he does that, but it’s become a tradition at this point-- he sits at the floor, even though he has plenty of space on the sofa to sit on, and you sit right behind him, legs on either side of his body, nudging him with your heels when you feel like teasing him.

“Thanks for coming,” he mumbles, getting the chopsticks and munching on his food, chewing out loud-- a sign that it tastes good and you made a good choice on picking his dinner today.

“It’s not a big deal, I always come over anyways,” you answer, smiling down at him.

He only nods at you, but you see his composure shift in the way he aimlessly stares at the wall-- he doesn’t feel good. It’s not only the exhaustion today. There must be something else going on.

“Are you okay?” you ask, bringing him out of his thoughts.

“Yeah,” he nods, continuing to eat, “it’s just… I feel so useless today.” he shrugs, snickering to himself.

“Why?” you simply state.

“We’re learning this new choreography and I just can’t get it right…” he mumbles, not once meeting your eye as he explains what’s on his mind. Minho doesn’t say a lot, but somehow, you always entirely know how he feels.

You sigh, shifting a little in your seat so you’re closer to the boy sitting on the floor, tenderly bringing your fingers into his hair. You brush it away from his forehead, playing with it, as you quietly speak up, wanting to heal your best friend’s heavy heart.

“It’s just a bad day, Minho. It will be okay, I promise. You just have to rest, okay?” you mumble, continuing to play with his hair. “You’ll get the dancing right in no time. So don’t worry about that, yeah?”

“Hmm,” he hums in a mix of pleasure and acknowledgement, closing his eyes momentarily before he puts the empty box of takeout on the coffee table and leans back into your touch, “fine. Wanna sleep over and watch a movie?”

You shake your head in disbelief at how quickly his mood changes, giggling. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he nods, but doesn’t move from your touch. You watch him from up close, tracing the sculpted features of his face, admiring his beauty, when you decide to say the three words again, nonchalantly and randomly, as always.

“I love you, Minho.”

“Thanks.”

THURSDAY

You wake up to the sunlight aggressively shining into your eyes, scowling a little and cursing at Lee Minho under your breath, because he is the only person you know that doesn’t close their blinds before going to sleep. You thank the gods for not having a morning class today, trying to force yourself to go back to sleep, when you hear loud cursing from the kitchen, prompting you to hurriedly stand up and rush to the room, watching a disaster happen right in front of your eyes.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck-” you hear, seeing something set to flames on the stove-- you think it’s eggs, by the carton placed on the kitchen counter, but you really can’t recognise the object when it’s coal black and burning.

“What’s going on?” you nervously ask, watching the scene unfold.

“A fire.” your best friend says, making you laugh.

You just shake your head at him, taking a seat at his kitchen table, not even rushing to help. Watching him struggle is much more fun anyway, and you know he’ll figure it out eventually-- he’s an engineering student. He’s smart.

“Are you not going to help?” he glares at you, putting the pan under the sink, flashing water on the hot surface.

“Not really, no,” you shake your head in innocence, seeing how the hot oil reacts with water in a small explosion, almost burning your best friend’s fingers off as he quickly lets go of the object and curses loudly again, taking a step back.

“How did this all even happen?” you ask, watching him sigh and take out another pan, cracking an egg on top of it and letting it cook.

“I was looking for Dori and forgot I had eggs on the stove…” he scratches the back of his head, laughing a little at himself.

“Right. Yeah. Why didn’t I think of that? I’m such an idiot,” you propose, laughing with him. It’s such a Minho thing to do, you don’t even feel surprised anymore.

Minho then finishes cooking the eggs, serving them to you on a small, white plate, acting like a chef as he takes a seat on the chair opposite of yours, eating his own creation as well.

“Is it good?” he asks, watching you fierclessly nod at him with big eyes and full mouth.

“It’s amazing. I was starving, really, so these eggs really hit different right now,” you mumble out, “Thanks Minho, I love you.”

It slips out casually now. It’s been four days and your best friend doesn’t seem to notice the change in your behaviour, but you don’t really even care at this point. Maybe it’s easier for you this way, after all.

Minho just hysterically laughs at you like a maniac this time, not even finding words to say back as he finishes the breakfast he made with so much struggle, and maybe even the tiniest bit of care.

FRIDAY

The cars behind the window blur into themselves as you drive down the street, sitting on the passenger seat of your best friend’s car. You smile fondly at him when he shortly glances at you from his place, driving with ease down the neighbourhood you live in, the raindrops angrily falling at the surface of the car making it hard for the two of you to even listen to music on your drive home.

“Thanks for driving me home, you’re a lifesaver,” you say when you’re near your apartment complex.

“Well, I have to take care of you since you’re too stupid to get driver’s licence,” he shrugs, grining.

“I’m not stupid!”

“You failed the test twice!”

“I was stressed!” you argue, laughing at him.

He shakes his head at you, parking in front of your building, waiting for you to get out with your things and run into your apartment. You don’t forget your ritual, though, looking him in the eye before you leave, muttering the cursed eight letters again before saying goodbye.

“I love you.”

“Why?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed. There’s a hint of amusement hitting his features, but confusion is a feeling overpowering on his face when he speaks to you.

“What do you mean, why?” you shake your head.

“Why do you keep saying that?”

“Because it’s true?” you answer, sounding more like a question, though, watching his expression change into even more confused one.

“But like… why?”

“That’s a stupid question.” you scoff. You feel your palms sweating, trying to nonchalantly wipe them on your pants, the stress finally falling on your shoulders when you’re being questioned.

“It’s not. Answer me.” he insists, pouting at you like a little child in the store when their parents don't want to buy them something.

“Because you’re my best friend? I don’t know,” you sigh, hurriedly taking your backpack from the floor, opening the door wide to escape the conversation, “bye!”

You run into your apartment, breathing heavily as you take off your shoes and reach the living room, seeing your roommate laying sprawled out on the sofa in his usual manner. This is a situation for a short australian man to cope with, if you’ve ever seen one.

“Felix, I think I fucked up.”

SATURDAY

After a long, long conversation with Felix about your feelings and how you think you ruined it all, you think your mood couldn’t be worse. You feel like you either completely missed your chance by telling Minho you love him only because he’s your best friend, or you messed it all up and made your friendship awkward by saying so and he finally caught on to what your words really mean.

You walk around the apartment like a stressed-out shell without a soul, chewing on your bottom lip at all times, when you hear the bell on your door ring, throwing you out of your thoughts as you run to see who’s there bugging you in the late hours of the evening.

“What are you doing here so late?” you ask Minho, caught off-guard.

“I was bored,” he shrugs, looking down to his feet. You want the ground to swallow you whole. It’s suddenly hard to stand there in front of him-- it only deepens how embarrassed and frustrated you feel.

“Do you wanna go out for a walk?” he asks, raising his eyebrows up at you in question.

“Sure,” you shrug, following him outside.

You walk by his side, feeling your hands slightly brush against each other from time to time, making you shudder with the unexpected contact. You’ve never felt more nervous than now-- and you took your driving test twice, so that really tells you something.

“Why are you so quiet? Did something happen?” he asks, slightly nudging you with his elbow.

“What? No,” you shake your head, “everything’s fine.” you smile.

“Are you sure? I know I can be a dick sometimes, but you know I’m always here for you,” he says, gazing into your face with such fondness it actually comforts you.

“Yeah, I know,” you nod, “thanks.” you sigh.

A few more steps later, though, the sentence slips out of your mouth again, and you don’t even try to fight it as you let it go. It feels natural to say it now. You’re getting used to it, yet, the feeling he makes you feel always somehow shifts-- but still stays the same as well.

“I love you.”

A nervous laugh is all he gives you, hugging you to his side with his arm, keeping you close to shield you from the cold.

SUNDAY

And when the clock passes midnight and Minho’s still sitting in your room, you feel like somehow, you two have never been closer. You managed to confess to him every day for the past week and he’s still by your side. It’s a change to your relationship, but you don’t feel like it’s causing you trouble anymore.

You sit in silence, just enjoying each other’s presence. You don’t have a clue why he didn’t want to leave yet, but you don’t mind him staying. He brings your soul another kind of comfort-- like the morning by the sea, just listening to the waves hitting the shore, the distant chirping of birds lulling you back to sleep.

His hands rest on your calves, your legs thrown over his lap as he sits up on your bed, his back pressed against the wall. You lay there, watching him in the moonlight. You had to turn the lights off, because Felix’s room is right opposite yours and the landlord didn’t let you change the door, meaning you both had an old, white door with a big glass window in the middle of it, letting the lights shine right to the other’s room at night.

He tickles you in the spark of the moment, making you laugh quietly. You don’t want to wake Felix up, or else he’ll get mad at you, and once again, you don’t play with a short australian boy, or you’ll get burned-- you know that by now.

“Stop it!” you whisper-shout at him, sitting up and moving away from him.

He chases you on the bed, though, his fingers laying everywhere on your body, lightly tickling the skin of your stomach when his hands slip under your pyjama shirt. You push them away, squeeking with the coldness of his fingertips, tears threatening to fall from your eyes at the force of your laugh.

He stops, falling down to the bed next to you, heavy breathing being the only thing heard in the quiet room. His hand slowly makes its way to your thigh, resting there delicately. You curse at the butterflies rising in your stomach-- you want to shout at them to go away, but hell, is it a good feeling. It’s like you’re torturing yourself, but it’s a sweet torture. You wouldn’t change it in the slightest.

And so then and there, after confessing to him for six days straight, you decide to try again, with as much sincerity as you can, because suddenly, there’s something inside of you telling you that this time, it might actually work.

“I love you.”

And perhaps, you’re not wrong, because with the shuffling of the sheets, he turns his body to yours, facing you. He stares into your eyes, smiling softly at your face, the action looking angelic sitting on his features.

“I love you too,” he confesses in the dark.

730 notes · View notes

winchesterxxi · 3 years

Text

Enough is Enough (Poe Dameron x Reader)

Rating: T (Teen and Up)

Type: Angst

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Female!Reader

Summary: Reader and Poe have been arguing for over a week and completely avoiding each other. This has come to the attention to the person that happens to be your third wheel most of the time - Finn. Along with BB8 and Rey they come up with a plan to get the two of you talking.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Swearing

A/N: I’m back baby.

MASTERPOST | REQUEST HERE | TAGLIST

Buy me a Kofi!

✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸

It’s only 8am on a Monday and you already feel like murdering people.

Your fiancé to be exact.

As soon as your alarm had sounded across the room, you jumped out of bed and headed to the bathroom, closing the door behind you. You brushed your teeth and hair, got dressed and walked out into the bedroom, striding across it and out the other door.

Poe was awake, facing the door, and he saw you walk out, eyes trailing after your back but a scowl firm on his face. He really had fucked up, and he knew it. But for fuck’s sake, you’re both adults, if you are going to give him the silent treatment like a child, he is not above doing the same to you.

So out he goes. He rises from the bed, tired hand running through his unruly curls at the same time as a yawn proceeding to complete his morning routine, before striding across the same path as you, grabbing his pilot jacket in the process.

The cantina was packed – it’s a Monday morning, of course it is. Pilots, mechanics and Resistance workers from all branches crammed along the trayline trying to get the freshest pieces of toast or the juiciest pieces of fruit before the others could get to them.

Poe doesn’t blame them. Most of these people were either on the brick of hunger and homelessness or being deprived of their needs by the Empire before they had been recruited the Resistance and the fact that they now had warm meals every day for which they paid with their own sweat, was something to be cherished.

The latter case resembled that of Finn who he spotted at one of the tables, and he made a b line to seat next to his friend. Upon getting closer he noticed that Finn was sitting in front of Rey who, in her turn was sitting next to…you.

That’s fine. This is fine. This is absolutely fine.

Before going to the table, Poe decides to take a detour and get some breakfast before sitting down. Because he was hungry. Not because this would buy him some time before inevitably sitting down in front of you and try to contain the immense annoyance you’ve been causing him for the past week.

After a few moments, Poe looks down at his tray and its fullness, food about to spill out – more food than he could ever possibly stomach. He closes his eyes and sighs before an Ewok is pushing him away from where he stood in front of the pastry baskets. Straightening himself back up, Poe finally walks up to the table, flashing a smile at Finn before setting his tray down next to him and sitting in front of you.

When he passes your side you can sense his cologne invade your nostrils and, somehow, that only makes you angrier.

“Morning, pilot.” Rey teases but her smile quickly retracts once she spots the scowl on both your faces, looking from Poe to you and to him again. Finn senses the heavy energy and eyes Rey who gives him a silent clueless shrug.

“So,” Finn asks “what plans does the Dameron couple have for today?”

It’s as if the guy read your minds.

“I don’t know of any couple that goes by that name.” You mumble into your spoon of oatmeal and Poe’s eyes zero in on you.

Panic flashes across Finn and Rey’s once they hear you. Did the two of you break up? Is the wedding off?

“People are individuals, you know, Finn.” You settle down your spoon and turn your face to him, elaborating with a tone that had a slight taint of menace in it “Even though a couple is in a relationship they remain individuals.” You point the tone in word individuals, eyes narrowing to the man in front of you. Rey and Finn exchange a look.

“The fact that people are individuals doesn’t mean they can’t share a part of the other’s identity.” He snakes into the rim of his cup of coffee, eyes never leaving yours.

“It does if that meant they had to give up a part of their own identity.” You snap back, voice low.

“I’m not sure I follow.” Rey wavers and looks between the two of you.

“Thing is, Rey.” You turn to her “and Finn… there is no Dameron couple. There is a Poe Dameron and Y/N Y/L/N couple. But I’m not even too sure of that now.”

Poe puts his mug of coffee down a little too abruptly as he leaned forward, elbows on the table.

“Are you really that entitled?”

“I’m the one who’s entitled? Have you heard yourself speak lately?” you mimic his movements, leaning forward on your own side of the table

“Why is it such a big deal for you?”

“Because it’s who I am!” you borderline-scream and get all of the cantina’s attention drawn to you, specifically those of the two people sitting next to you, looking in shock at your sudden outburst, which they’d never even gotten a glimpse of.

You and Poe hold each other’s gaze for a long while, focused on nothing but each other and the mix of rage and hurt rumbling inside of you. And when you can’t help your lips from trembling and your eyes to burn with tears, you swear you can see something break inside of him.

He himself swore he was about to break this stupid game the minute he saw your face. For the glimpse of a second, he felt like reaching his hand up to cup your face, or to hold your hand or to stroke your jawline in that way that calmed you down. But before he could act on his impulses, you stormed out of the cantina, leaving behind your cooling breakfast and a torn Poe.

“What did you do?” Rey asks horrified at what she just witness and somewhat ready to throw fists at the man who seemingly broke her friend’s heart.

“It’s not what I did it’s what I said.” He mumbles and stands up from his own seat and, just like you, leaving behind an untouched tray of food and a half cup of coffee while Finn and Rey follow him with their gaze.

It was nice of Rey to ask you to go out for drinks tonight. Not just that, but she didn’t ask questions – she didn’t throw you a pity what was that about? or are you okay? Because it obviously wasn’t. It wasn’t and you don’t think it would ever be again.

So here you were, walking into a low-light bar in Canto Bight in your favourite pair of dress and shoes with nothing in your mind but the drink you were eager to order and the friend you were looking forward to meeting – a luxury that, just a few months ago would not have been possible. When you’re fighting for your own survival, a night at the bar isn’t exactly your top priority, but that was in the past.

Straightening yourself up, you smooth your dress and walk over to the table with the number she had told you – number 15. Upon reaching it, you sat down facing the door and nudging away the waiter who comes by to ask if you’d like a drink. There was no way in the galaxy you were starting the drinking night alone. Maker knows how that would end.

It had just been a few minutes of fidgeting with the table towel when you look up to the bar’s entrance and your eyes meet the last person you wanted to see. Poe. And damn, if it weren’t for the current situation he would’ve knocked the wind right out of you.

He looked good. Shinny curls and a fresh face with his good leather jacket. He looked really good. And you hated him for that.

He didn’t quite spot you until he was halfway across the bar in the direction you were sitting in, eyes coming into focus on your figure as you quickly stood up and took a small step back. Standing to your full height, Poe swears he’d never seen you look so perfect, which made the energy between the two of you all the more painful.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, hugging your arms close to your body.

“I’m here to meet Finn.” He replies, hands nervously spasming by his side, a habit you’d come to know and love.

“On this table?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I’m here to meet Rey.” You answer quietly, scoffing.

“It’s a two people table.” He says matter-of-factly.

“And they’re not here.”

“But we are.”

Realization struck the both of you and Poe runs a hand over his exasperated face as you throw your head back and close your eyes. He sighs deeply before bringing one hand up to his hip.

“Can we then at least talk?”

You scoff at him.

“No.” Is your simple one-word answer before you try and make your way to the door, which he blocks.

“Y/N –“

“No. Are you going to let me pass?” he doesn’t move.

“For fuck’s sake Y/N.”

You scowl and turn around striding to where you know to be an elevator – if you can’t get out, at least you can go up. At this point, being on a different floor was enough. You can hear him mumbling words behind you but you try to pay him no intention, beyond grateful that the elevator’s doors opened as soon as you clicked the button.

“Fuck you Dameron.”

Stepping in, your not quick enough to press the closing button before Poe is slithering between the almost-closed doors and stepping into the same space as you.

“Oh, now you’re okay with using my last name?”

“When addressing you? Yeah, totally.” You nudge him so you can reach the buttons and press R for rooftop. He does a double-take on you before running his fingers across all the floors. You look up at him incredulously. “Really mature.”

“Mature is talking. And we are going to talk.”

“There is nothing to talk about!”

“Will you talk to me?”

“I don’t want t---” you were about to scream when the elevator came to a halt and you stumbled into Poe’s arms, before standing right up, the lights above you flickering.

“Great! Just what we needed.” he throws his hands up in the air, and now you really thought you could slap him across his beautiful face.

“Maybe this wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t pressed all the buttons like a kid!”

- Meanwhile, above the elevator -

“BB8.” Finn whisper yells from the open door, three floors above. “How long can you hold them?”

The poor droid, with his little tools stuck in the flashing wires, beeps in response.

“He said maybe 5 more minutes.” Rey translates, before flopping back on the floor and away from the open door and the empty elevator space. After a few moments in silence, she nudges Finn’s side.

“Don’t you think this is adding fuel to the fire?”

“They just need to talk. Plus they’ve been avoiding each other. We’re doing them a favour.”

- Back on the elevator –

Taking in a deep breath you lean back against one of the elevator’s golden mirror walls.

“Why did you get like that when I said I wanted to keep my name?”

“I… do you really hate the idea of being called a Dameron so much?” his voice is small as he stands in the middle of the floor, eyes searching yours.

“It’s not that! I just… I hate the idea that just because we’re getting married I need to give up being called by my last name. I never wanted that! It’s not because it’s you. I told myself that if I ever was to get married I’d never take another man’s name.” Tears are back at pooling at the corners of your eyes as you turn your head slightly to look into Poe’s sad face.

“Or maybe you just don’t want to be known as the ex-spice-runner’s-wife.” His statement is but a whisper as his voice gets caught in the back of his throat and you have never seen him this close to tears.

That’s what does it for you. That’s what makes you reach forward and grab his warm face in your hands, guiding him to look at you.

“Hey, hey… That is not true. Don’t you ever think that. I love you. I love you for who you were, who you are and who you’re yet to be… which I hope to be there to cherish.” The tears roll down both your cheeks as a breathy chuckle leaves you. “It’s not about your name. It’s about mine. And I… it really hurt me when you said those things. Acting as if me keeping my name was a sin or something.”

He averts your gaze, looking at the floor but you motion his face back to where it was.

“Hey. Here…” you guide one of his hands to where your heart beats “I’m already a Dameron. Have been for a long time. Just not on paper. And at the end of the day… what is more important?”

It’s his turn to cup your face and bring his forehead close to yours. “I’m so sorry. I was an idiot… thank you for…this.”

“No, thank you.”

His hands are the ones that pull your face up and wipe a stray tear from the corner of your eye, before stroking your cheekbones with a feather-light touch.

“You look beautiful-- ”

“I love you.”

It’s a short and exasperate sentence, but you’ve gone almost two weeks without saying it and Maker, how you missed the way it sounded and the way it felt rolling out of your lips. Poe could say the same, the deprivation of that sentence that he has suffered sending a bolt of warmth across his body as if this were your first date all those years ago.

For a moment your eyes cross, but before too long he is lunching forward and capturing your lips in his. The tears came again as he held onto the kiss as if that was the only thing keeping him alive.

You were reluctant to pull away from the sweet embrace, but you did. And you were met with the sweet smile you had missed.

“What do we say we go downstairs… I have a feeling there’s a table waiting just for us.” He jokes, running a quick hand over his watery eyes and you chuckle at the timely joke.

“Yeah, yeah… I’d like that.” You smile, grabbing his cheek and kissing it once again. And, as if on queue. The elevator starts working again, lights flickering for a few seconds, and the only button that was on was that of the Ground floor from which you were trying to get away from just a few minutes before.

Little did the two of you know that attached to the roof of the elevator was a happy BB8 as the compartment went down and, just a few floors above, two very content Resistance members, high-fiving.

✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸

TAGLISTS

ADD YOURSELF HERE

PERMANENT TAGLIST

@blondekel77 @pedrobreakmyback @phoenixhalliwell @Lolo2bougie @tailormotelkamzoil @stardust-galaxies @mandossweetgirl @ajeff855 @weewoo-soldier @janebby @chingonajamie

POE DAMERON TAGLIST

@niall2017

✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸

Want a completely personalized imagine just for you? Click here!

#Enough is Enough #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron imagine #poe dameron #poe dameron one shot #star wars #oscar isaac x reader

246 notes · View notes

fuckyeahharryhart · 3 years

Text

THE ART OF SEDUCTION Reader Insert

After working months at his side, whether it be in the field, during training, debriefing in his office, or simply occupying the same space in quieter moments- reading in the lounge with a cup of tea, enjoying a few precious moments of peace, you were no closer at deciphering the gorgeous mystery that was Harry Hart. Your time with him merely reinforced what you already knew. And what you knew had, much to your chagrin, become increasingly and disconcertingly distracting with every moment you shared space with him. Harry was beautiful, obviously. You determined that the moment you saw him. Even from a distance, he cut a striking figure. But it was the understated way he acknowledged his own appearance, knew that it was pleasing and accepted it with grace, dignity and a matter-of-factness, that only made him more attractive.

Harry Hart’s appeal wasn’t just based on his good looks. There were other men who had more classically balanced features. It was significantly more than good genes or the symmetry of bone structure. Not that his purely physical attributes were lacking in any regard. You had already committed to memory every aspect of his form and figure, from his hair, with a distinguished flurry of silver, all the way down to his feet in their gleaming oxfords. No doubt polished with every wearing; they carried him with purposeful movement and long measured strides.

Harry Hart was a tall man. Often folding his legs as gracefully as possible under tables and desks that were just a breath too short to accommodate a man of his stature. He carried himself differently. Always with a posture, walk, a gait, that had a purpose. Never rushed unnecessarily, he possessed the ease of someone in full control of his physical body. His movements were light, sharp, and kinetic. When he was still, he held himself straight and tall, without strain. In more casual moments, his weight would shift to one side or the other, or he might lean against a support, breaking up the long, precise lines of his full height.

Mostly, this had to do with a hyper awareness of his environment and his place in it. If Harry needed to calm a new recruit, he might stand with authority, but tuck his hands in his pockets, conveying a sense of ease and familiarity. When confronting an adversary, his stature seemed to grow as he pulled himself to his full height. In those rare moments where he was free from personal and professional obligations responsibilities, as much as he could ever be, his figure would take on smooth curves and relaxed angles. The space he occupied was his to claim, mould, and manipulate. And Harry Hart did so with his body, his voice, his gaze, his way of dress.

Surprisingly, you discovered that Harry was a man who often communicated through physical touch. As a man of few words, who often guarded his privacy and personal life, you expected him to be even more reserved with his body language, to be even more wary of close physical contact. Quite the contrary, he was often more generous with a hand on the shoulder or a gentle pat on the back as a form of approval or encouragement. Sometimes, he would place his hand over yours as gesture of support and understanding. Harry was more demonstrative with contact and touch than he was with using words of praise or comfort. Even his proximity, whether it be as a figure in the distance or his physical closeness, could affect the energy of the room.

Rolling it over in your mind, you realised that it made sense that Harry would be comfortable communicating through touch. In some regards, he was a very tactile man, a sensual man, if not overtly so. He was a man that celebrated the senses.

In his office, though minimalist by Kingsman standards, austere even, there were touches of extravagance not influenced by tradition. All the furniture, as well as being beautifully made, focused on designs that were hospitable as well as functional. The chairs were comfortable. The lounge was upholstered in a dark, rich leather, well oiled and worn smooth by years of use. It was masculine, but also soft and inviting, a piece that you could relax and sink into. A sumptuous throw. Pillows covered in dark velvet that were actually soft, not just decorative.

The items that did adorn his office were obviously selected thoughtfully and with care. The enticingly smooth curves of a vase, seemingly out of place, brilliant jade against the subdued tones of hunter green, tartans and plaid and the deep tones of polished wood and leather. The delicate lines and breathtaking color of a framed butterfly. A small, sterling silver paperweight in the shape of a terrier. A cut crystal decanter, with matching tumblers, no doubt holding an insanely old and very expensive scotch.

There was an emphasis, not on the prestige or price of an object, but on its, color, texture, lines that were pleasing or challenging to the eye. Not as a flaunting of wealth, but a source of pleasure. It wasn’t an ostentatious display of the rich, it was the luxury of selection and taste. Any piece of clothing or fabric that touched his body directly was often luxurious, as well, scarfs, gloves, fine cashmere or calfskin leather. Though you had no way of knowing, you assumed his sheets would be of the highest thread count.

Harry’s manner of dress was immaculate and as precise as the polished, clipped tones of his aristocratic accent. He presented himself as a man who was self-assured with his appearance. Whatever he wore, he wore with confidence. He wore it well, without vanity, pretension, ego or conceit. Not that he needed the help of his wardrobe to face the world. His manner of dress seemed to highlight, magnify his innate sense of self. He was not a flashy man, but he appreciated the expert craftsmanship that went into a finely cut suit. That good clean lines, quality materials, understated but interesting details could be the final polish on an already finely honed presentation.

His clothing was the other area where he allowed himself some extravagance. A firm believer in the principle that if one’s self and surroundings are not only presentable, but impeccable, then one will always be prepared for what surprises life may decide to throw in one’s direction. In his line of work, unpredictability was as predictable as the sun rising in the east and setting in the west. His wardrobe countered the erratic nature of life as an agent. Thus, his was a look of man who had his life in order.

Harry Hart was a man of consistency. His tie was an unfailing full Windsor, tucked under the spread collar of a pristine white shirt. An equally crisp pocket square, folded neatly, peeked from his breast pocket. French cuffs were secured with custom gold links, bearing the Kingsman insignia. His suits were mostly double breasted, in classic shades of black, charcoal, navy and grey and cut in a wool that was appropriate for the occasion, whether solid, pinstriped, or woven with a pattern such as herringbone, or houndstooth. After years as a Kingsman agent, he had amassed a considerable and varied wardrobe that consisted of classic suits, formal wear, overcoats, ties, scarves, for any occasion or any type of mission. Each Kingsman agent also wore a gold signet ring on the pinky of their dominant hand. Harry wore the ring on his right.

Kingsman suits were cut close to the body, but designed with allowances made to accommodate weapons, ensure maneuvrability and flexibility in all types of action. They were also bulletproof. It was a feature created after decades of experimenting with different textiles and weaves and exploring processes and techniques that would result in a material that could withstand the velocity and impact of of a bullet shot at close range. The lightweight, flexible lining was sewn into every Kingsman suit and many times proved to be a lifesaver.

Shoulder harnesses were used for carrying. Not belt clips. Belts constricted the body whereas a harness allowed freedom of movement. They were also easily and quickly detachable in case they needed to be removed. Belts, on the other hand, though they had their uses, could also cost valuable seconds when needed to be taken off. The carry position prevented printing and maintained the lines of Kingsman’s suits.

The fine, bespoke tailoring emphasized Harry’s height and build. Trousers were slim cut, long and hemmed with a perfect mid break. He preferred the simple Oxford rather than brogues. He styled his hair in a classic, handsome cut, and was always clean shaven, (unless in the field where there was no opportunity for a straight razor shave). His aftershave and cologne were unobtrusive but memorable. Rather than preceding him, the warm and masculine sent of woods and spices, with hints of cardamon, bergamot, the tactile sensuality of rich leather and suede, would linger after his departure, like a layer of warm dark velvet. Even his hands were beautiful. Beautiful but not delicate. Large wide palms, long elegant fingers, his nails were neat and clipped. They sometimes bore the marks of time spent in the field. They were strong and capable.

Overall, Harry Hart had the appearance of a man who embraced classics, honoured tradition, but defined his look with his own individual aesthetic personality and sense of style.

In quieter moments, when you had the opportunity to watch him without being too obvious or call attention to yourself, you allowed your curiosity to wonder over all the small details and mannerism that were unique to Harry. How his fingertips would gently find the arm of his glasses and rest lightly there, when he was thoughtful or pondering a question, as if it helped him focus or think. The automatic gesture probably developed after years of transmitting information through the eyeglasses, which also functioned as communication devices. Through your experience in human psychology, you recognised this as a self soothing gesture. Finding the comfort of something familiar. You were fairly sure that Harry was aware of this gesture and allowed himself some habits, that were, not particularly productive but, helpful nonetheless. Rubbing his thumb along the band of his signet ring. The way he would always shoot his cuffs when rising from his seat. Or run the palm of his hand along the back of his head, smoothing down the already polished hair.

Never had you met someone who had the ability to asses and evaluate any given situation as throughly and unerringly as Harry. Whether it entailed clearing a room, identifying a mark, or even just something as simple as slowing his pace when you walked along side him so you wouldn’t have to struggle to keep up. He was constantly aware of his surroundings and deconstructing what needed to happen to make the environment more pleasing, the conversation more engaging, the meeting more productive, the mission more likely to succeed. He was nothing if not thoughtful. Thus, when you walked with him, he always slowed and allowed you to maintain your own graceful stride.

His physical appearance, his exacting nature, his precise moments, his carefully maintained wardrobe, his formal patterns of speech, his refined accent, not to mention his good looks could intimidate even the most confident agent, let alone a green one. That was until the person in question realised that this outward perfection was merely the layer that he presented to the world.

It would seem impossible for man to be blessed with so many gifts, but Harry Hart proved to be the exception to the rule, for he was as charming and gracious as he was handsome. His quick wit, his clever way with words, as well as his dry, incisive sense of humor could enthrall even the most unwilling participant.

He could placate the most difficult handler, assuage the most reluctant agent, enchant the most reserved target, or ingratiate himself into the most inhospitable of circumstances. When Harry turned on the full force of his charm, the people he met, let alone the men and women who worked with him, frequently found themselves elevated in his presence, their own experience heightened by his vitality and charisma. They left the experience a little breathless, a little awestruck, a little seduced by Harry Hart. You were no exception. And you had been spending a lot of time with him.

————

You found yourselves alone one evening at the manor. In the lounge, when you both happened to desire a drink at the same time. Most of the Kingsman had already departed for the shop if they were returning to the city. The rest had dispersed to their own private quarters, or were participating in whatever activity they had planned for the evening. The lounge was quiet. They way he liked it. Apparently, it was the way you preferred it as well.

Harry spotted you the same moment you lifted your gaze at the new arrival. Your eyes narrowed slightly in pleasure at the sight of him. You gave him a small, but welcoming smile. The musical clink of crystal against glass as he poured a scotch from the fully stocked bar was the only sound aside from the cracking logs in the grand fireplace.

The club was a vast space with a vaulted ceiling. The stately fireplace stood on the far wall. Like most of the manor, it was dressed in masculine shades of dark brown and hunter greens, tartan and plaids. Polished hardwood furniture, mostly antique, and historical paintings, displaying the rich history of Kingsman, whispered class and wealth. In the center was an arrangement to accommodate a more substantial group with larger sofas and chaises surrounding a massive polished low wooden table.

Around the room were smaller clusters of tables and leather club chairs tucked into alcoves for smaller gatherings or intimate conversations.

It was at one these clusters that he found you, tucked in a quiet corner near the fireplace.

In the most relaxed arrangement Harry allowed himself while still on Kingsman property, he had his coat draped over his arm. Dressed in his shirtsleeves, tie and shoulder holster, tumbler in hand, he approached you, also with a pleasant but small smile. Pleased that you were the one that was sharing this space with him.

You were dressed quite differently from how Harry first remembered you. Well, your clothes hadn’t been memorable, but you had been. Since you were not a knighted agent, they weren’t quite sure how to classify you yet, you took the freedom to dress beyond the Kingsman uniform. Though always appropriate and surprisingly on brand, you were not quite regulation. If you were out in the field, you were in tactical, or the women’s version of the kingsman suits. You even had the shop tailor some custom pieces so you could have more diversity. When you were at Kingsman HQ or at the shop in support, you dressed appropriately, but in your own style. There were handfuls of fashionable men at Kingsman. You couldn’t turn around and not run into a gentleman turned out in Kingsman’s finest. But an attractive, stylish woman was a rarer sight. Even Harry noticed the heads that turned when you walked by.

Walking toward you, Harry took the time to observe your appearance, he told himself as spies always did out of habit. Today, you remained on the property. Without the need for being in the field, this would be your most proper look. You were dressed in a way that was very elegant, but sexy at the same time. Or, perhaps it wasn’t supposed to look sexy. Harry set that observation aside. Not the time nor the place, he thought to himself.

You were dressed in a slim, knee length pencil skirt in a very deep shade of oxblood red. It was velvet he noted when he saw the sheen of the fabric as you shifted your knees in his direction. A matching tailored jacket, that, like him, you had removed and draped over the back of your chair. Topped with a delicate, almost sheer silk blouse the color of sun bleached bone. It had tiny pearl buttons down the front, and lace detailing at the collar, cuffs and similar detailing along the button placket. A narrow dark brown leather belt circled your waist with a gold clasp rather than a prong buckle. Dark brown suede court shoes with a tall, but reasonable heel. Your makeup was minimal and natural. You looked like you had just somehow heightened your features, but in no discernible way he could describe.

As Harry got closer, he was able to notice even smaller details. Your beautiful hair, was twisted up and away from your face and secured in some secret way women have where it would stay perfectly in place by means he could never quite see. Your accessories were feminine and understated. Small gold earrings in the shape of teardrops, a simple gold cuff around your wrist, a Kingsman issue watch on the other. A signet ring on your own pinkie. Your nails were trimmed short and clean, either no polish or something bare. A thin gold chain around your neck with a small solid gold version of the Kingsman pendant.

Harry didn’t know what he wanted a woman to look like until he first saw you. The first time, on that first chaotic night, he had the same thought. He could give you a basic description of what you were wearing, but he could describe every feature of your face. The way you looked when you were reflective. The line of your jaw when you were determined.

And then, for the very first time he saw you, dressed, properly, walking down the long marble corridor of the HQ manor, when you had the opportunity to present yourself on your own terms. Harry thought, this is what I want a woman to look like. It wasn’t that you were model beautiful, or that your features were perfect. In London, on the streets, you could see plenty of models. They were beautiful, no doubt, and pleasing to look at, but once you were done, you were able to go about your day without a second thought.

Your beauty had substance. The fact that Harry knew what your skill set included, to know what you had overcome to be where you were, to be the person you were, made your beauty a real tangible thing, regardless of what you were wearing. Perhaps it was that, whatever you wore, you made it part of you. It wasn’t just a pretty skirt or a flattering blouse, it was the way you wore it that made him notice you. You could have looked completely different, with completely opposite features. Harry would have still have felt the same. And he would still say, this is what I want a woman to look like.

You posessed the capacity to stir his heart. Something that had been quiet and still for a very long time. Even something that Harry thought no longer had the desire to be moved. It was certainly not something he was seeking. He, long ago, had accepted the fact that the life of agent isn’t one that fosters lasting relationships. Relationships were based on communication and he had far too many secrets as a Kingsman.

Harry was beyond the time in his life for these kinds of thoughts. He knew he had been handsome in his youth. He had his fair share of relationships and much more than his fair share of sexual encounters. He was aware that his looks had carried him quite well as he got older and that if he wanted, there were women, very desirable ones, that would be more than willing to engage in a casual relationship. Harry was by no means vanilla. It wasn’t that he was prudish in the least, or one to deny himself physical pleasure. If you were not exactly who you were, then he would have most likely allowed himself to pursue you and enjoyed whatever that relationship had to offer. The crux of it was, that he would not be as attracted to you, or charmed by you if you weren’t exactly who you were. He would not want your as much as he did if you were any different.

——

Harry set these thoughts aside as he approached you. Even though it was obvious you were alone, Kingsman manners never failed. Never ask a lady directly if she’d like your company. Give her a polite way to refuse without making her say no. She will indicate if your presence if desired.

“Excuse me, miss.” he opened. “Is this seat taken?”

You awarded him with an amused smile. You always enjoyed his little game of manners.

You nodded toward the chair. Please.

Draping his coat on the back of his chair, just as you did, He adjusted his slacks so he could sit down comfortably and gracefully. The club chairs were low and designed to sink back into. Harry took his seat, adjusted a little until he, too, was settled in.

Since both of you were now relatively stuck in your respective positions, where you couldn’t move without significant effort, Harry simply raised his glass in your direction. You followed suit.

You were pleased when he was comfortable enough to sit in silence with you. It was one of the first tells you would look for in asset or mark. Did they have enough self assurance to be silent? Were they uncomfortable, awkward, fidgety? Did they try to fill the silence? Most often, if they lacked confidence, you would notice these tells immediately. One of your favourite activities was to sit in silence.

It was also one of your favourite activities to look at Harry Hart. The fact that he was handsome was no surprise. When you initially started at Kingsman, this was simply an objective observation, like masterful way he handled weaponry. Or the fact that he was right handed. The more you were partnered in the field, the closer you became, both in proximity and as colleagues, his physical attributes began to affect you in ways that continued to make you increasingly uncomfortable.

You were aware his body was that of a man that you admired and looked up to. Tall, broad shouldered, slim hipped. Strong, driven, powerful. You became aware of all the things that his body could do. You had the opportunity to observe him every time you were in the field, in combat, in action.

But you also began to discern a softness, a gentleness that he could convey when he gathered you up after a surprising blast had knocked you off your feet. Hands that smoothed back your hair from your forehead upon waking up in medical after a particularly dangerous mission. A warm hand on your shoulder as you successfully accomplished a challenging task.

You were aware that as your mentor, Harry had a responsibility to maintain a professional relationship. But with escalating frequency, you imagined how it would feel to have him pressed up against you, to feel his body, purposeful and confident.

————

The evening was relaxed. Both of you, without the urgency of an upcoming mission to prepare, took the opportunity to simply rest and unwind. A seldom occasion. Feeling more and more at ease when both of you were together, you allowed yourself a little space to test the waters. When engaging targets, if they seemed comfortable sitting in silence in your company, would they make direct eye contact? You took another small sip of your drink, savoured it for a moment, and swallowed.

Hmmm. You were very curious about HarryHart and you were feeling surprisingly playful. You wanted to try something. Let’s say an experiment in tradecraft. You waited until you caught his eye. Harry seemed amused and matched your eye contact with equal directness. You were pleased that he made eye contact and even more pleased when he maintained it. But he was a spy, after all. Making and maintaining eye contact would be elementary for him.

With a little cheekiness on your part, you raised your glass to your lips again and took a small sip. He did not waver. His eyes even took on a little bit of curious amusement. You held the scotch on your tongue, pulled it to the back of your mouth, rolled the scotch around a little bit longer than necessary, before you swallowed.

Neither of you would look away first. You gave him a half smile, half smirk, crinkled your eyes a bit in amusement. You seemed to be saying. Ok. Your turn.

Harry had never seen your in this kind of playful mood and he suddenly found himself enjoying this little match immensely.

He could more than participate in this game. He, literally, had decades more experience than you. An agent may be able to seduce. But a gentleman agent was a master at the art of seduction. And Harry Hart was the consummate gentleman agent. One did not get to where he was in life without knowing how to pleasure a woman. He was often told he had beautiful and talented hands. That may have been years ago, but those kinds of skills, they stayed with a man.

A quick raise of his brow. Darling, challenge accepted.

Holding your eyes with his, he lowered his glass just enough to where it was in your sight line, but slightly off to the side, at the edge of your peripheral vision. You would still be able to hold eye contact, but would have to make an effort not to glance down at his glass. Especially, when you saw what he was going to do with it.

Harry held your gaze suddenly with an intense focus you were unprepared for. Out of the corner of your eye you saw that he was holding his glass, cupping it in the palm of one hand. He began to simply roll it around gently, as one would while enjoying a proper scotch. He rolled it around harmlessly, in a slow, lazy, rhythmic pattern.

You had to concentrate a little harder not to look away, but you kept his gaze. If you were uncomfortable, you didn’t show it. You hoped your gaze held a similar intensity as Harry’s. His felt, well, piercing, for lack of a more appropriate word.

This was certainly turning out to be an interesting evening, Harry thought. You seemed determined to stick this through. He would be required to dial his technique up a notch. He nested the heavy base in the center of his palm and let it rest there for awhile without moving. Then, once again, he started rolling the glass in his hand, not to stir the liquid, but to feel the surface of glass itself. He bounced the glass, lightly, as if testing the weight and feeling the heaviness.

The movement was subtle, slow, and sensuous. He let his hand explore the texture of the smooth surface. The base of his thumb pressed against the glass in slow, languid circles, sometimes rolling on to the pad of his thumb, sometimes to his finger tip. But he did this as if he were doing it unconsciously, because he was staring at you with a focus and intensity that said you were the only woman on earth, and that he wanted you.

There was truth to the term, the male gaze. It was not looking at something through a man’s eyes, it was seeing into something as a man. There was a reason why they called this particular look penetrating. It was a gaze of desire, a singularly male want and need. If done properly, it was a way to make love to a woman without touching her. It was far beyond physical contact. It wasn’t hard for him to harness his essential masculine energy. Harry had done it for years on countless honey traps in his younger days with the agency. He hadn’t thrown the full force of himself to seduce in quite awhile and found that he was enjoying a little flex of his muscle. If desire had a name, at that moment, it would be called Harry Hart. He let his desire roll off of him in waves.

What you didn’t quite understand, was that the game you were playing with him, wasn’t about who could keep eye contact the longest. It was a question of who was going to be seduced and who was going to be the seducer. You were approaching what you thought was a staring contest as a battle of the wills, which was why you were going to fail. Making eye contact may be a test of power and confidence, but that was a quick, brief test. A simple meeting or a darting of the eyes. It was very easy to find out who was going to be able to make and hold contact. However, eye contact for a prolonged period of time, especially between a man and a woman? It became something quite different. It was a game of seduction. It wasn’t a test of power. It was a test of control. Control of two things in this case, the seducer’s own desire, and the desire of the other person. Could the seducer harness his own desire to control the seduced.

You had not faltered yet. He raised to single brow. Would you like me to keep going?

You narrowed your gaze. Please, do.

The expression on his face all but said out loud. “You asked for it.”

Harry saw the flush in your cheeks when you noticed what he was doing with his glass. Your breathing intensified. Your pupils dilated and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

They were very small movements, but very deliberate movements. He cupped the bottom of the glass in one palm, fingers spread as if he were holding up a small tray. Using only his middle finger, the rest of his hand now cupping the base, he began to stroke the center of the glass. Like he was using his finger to say, come here. In very slow, very deliberate, beyond suggestive movements. His other hand simply rested on the top rim of the glass. Gently holding it in place while he moved his bottom hand. He did this without twitching another muscle in his body, as if nothing had changed.

Your eyes widened. Holy fuck, you thought. With very exact and explicit movements of his hands, Harry was not just implying, but overtly demonstrating how he used them to give pleasure to a woman. The shock of seeing him within the frame of something so blatantly sexual, all the while looking at you the entire time? It was intensely arousing.

Harry was not only looking at you, he was positively devouring you with his gaze. You could feel him, his energy in pulses of heat. This wasn’t merely eye contact. This was something unexpected and you were not prepared for it. Harry was suddenly changed, maybe not changed, but different. He was harder, stronger, more demanding. He was more of everything. The polite, honorable, considerate gentleman was still there, but now he added an aspect of himself that you had never seen or experienced before. The man was still Harry Hart, but it was also as if a part of him had been unleashed, whatever primal energy that was held in check by the handsome suits and the manners and the chivalry, had been released.

You fought to maintain your composure. He knew exactly what he was doing. His hands moved expertly, and with ease. His gaze, became even more intense, if that was even possible.

Harry continued to play and to tease as he held the glass in his palm. You knew where he had his hand. You could feel the exact placement as if it were on your own body. The base of his palm would cup your center, with the rest of his fingers spreading between your legs. His middle finger was still moving in achingly slow circles, one direction, then slowly moving in the other direction. He curled his finger under, using his knuckle, rolling it in tiny circles. Not even really moving just shifting the pressure moving from one side to the other, from top to bottom.

You saw in his eyes, that he knew, that you were not only being affected by his movements, but you were feeling sensations as if he were touching you directly.

It was the most erotic experience of your life.

Here was this beautiful man, still dressed as properly as ever in his dress shirt and tie, his shoulder holster with his side arm. His perfect hair, his perfect face. With all his dignity and respect, relaxing comfortably back into his chair, his legs spread wide, an ankle crossed over his knee, one elbow resting casually on the arm of his leather chair. Radiating such a profound sexual energy, that without even touching you, had the ability to control your body with only his eyes and the the way he moved a glass in his hand. He was so confident in his movements. His expression said, however brief this moment, that he owned you, that you were his, and he knows that you wants it that way. He can see it all over your face. He can see it in your eyes.

——

Harry wasn’t even close to being done.

He took his other hand, laying his palm over the glass, as if it was resting there. On the other side of the glass, where his thumb fell, he began to roll it around in very explicit, very familiar circles.

He felt himself harden as his own arousal grew. He didn’t try to stop it. Instead of letting it distract him, he channeled that energy through him and into you. Allowing you to witness the physical evidence of his own desire would strengthen his hold. Never underestimate the power of the imagination. You would see it. Your mind would do the rest.

Harry saw your lips part, even the slightest bit. Your chest rising and falling under your ladylike blouse as your breath quickened. Your knees pressed tightly together. He watched your face very, very carefully and intently, watching the subtle changes in your expressions as he shifted the movements of his hands, knowing that you were feeling his movements in your body. Every time your brow would furrow, or you took a sharp intake of breath, or would clench your pretty hands, as he moved his own, he knew you were feeling pleasure. And that he was the source of that pleasure.

Harry knew that there were men who were turned on by violence. For him, however, there was nothing more erotic than the sight of a woman experiencing the pleasure that you were giving her. So, he was especially aroused when he was free to look at the nuances of your face and body freely and openly. Your pleasure had reached a constant as you moved almost imperceptibly to the consistent rhythm of his hand.

And you still did not drop your gaze. Harry knew, now that you were fully aroused, you would not break eye contact. You probably couldn’t at this point if you tried. For, half of your pleasure was a result of seeing the man who was controlling your pleasure. And seeing that you pleased him, that he was also sexually aroused, intensified your pleasure. And you wanted to offer that to him, very willingly. Harry was finding out much about you in these few moments. Things that he wasn’t even sure you knew about yourself. Very few women would have been comfortable enough with their sexuality to be purely on the receiving end of pleasure. In the intimacy of their own bedroom in a committed relationship. Let alone in an extremely public and therefore vulnerable way. With a man who may be, slightly off limits. Which, in fact, probably added to your pleasure.

To see just how much you were under his thumb, pun aside, Harry paused for a moment. He kept his hand, his fingers in the exact same place. He just stilled. And watched you. After a few moments he could see the tiniest furrow of your brow. When he continued to remain still, he saw the movement he waiting for. You probably didn’t even know you had made it. It was the slightest lifting and rolling of your hips. He didn’t realize he could be more turned on, but he felt himself grow harder. It was the motion every woman made, in his experience, when they wanted more, when they were asking for more, and when they were begging for more. The ability to actively listen and comprehend another person was the most profound influencing tactic one could hone in communication, and therefore seduction. Which is exactly what he was doing. In a very non verbal, very physical way.

Harry began his movements again, with more intensity and purpose. He let his finger, for the first time, slide all the way up the side of the glass, even letting it lift with the upward movement of his palm. He saw your body move as if you were receiving him.

He knew you were experiencing waves of intense pleasure. He could tell you wanted to close your eyes and tip your head back. As Harry witnessed your need, he went in for his last movements. His palm pressing up into the base of the glass, his thumb rolling in small firm circles and his entire middle finger along the entire length of the glass, the tip almost reaching the top of the rim. As if his finger were deep inside you, he made deliberate strokes while pressing into the glass, slow, but then gradually increasing in speed and pressure.

Harry knew, that you knew, the exact two parts he was pleasuring.

You lips parted, your breathing grew heavier. You had no idea what was going to happen next, all you felt were waves of pleasure. The only thing you could concentrate on was not losing eye contact with the man in front of you.

Harry knew at this point, he had let what was a silly, flirtatious game, go too far. He also knew this began as a challenge, and Harry Hart was never one to back down from a challenge. He also knew that he never purposely lost a game. If it took climaxing for you to break eye contact, then so be it.

Harry also knew he was mesmerized by the sight of you. He didn’t know if he could stop. But it didn’t matter because he didn’t want to. This moment had to hit the list of the top most erotic experiences of his life. Both fully clothed, siting in separate chairs, more than six feet apart. With only eye contact between you. He didn’t know if he’d experienced something more intensely arousing, knowing that he was the one you were feeling when you made yourself come.

Harry began to see the tell tale tremors, the quickening breath, your lips parting with cries that you desperately wanted to make that you would not let yourself, and still, you were trying to hold on. Psychologically you were making it harder for yourself, denying your own release would only make it that much more physically intense when you had to give in.

It was at that moment, that a door banged within the manor and someone appeared at the large entrance of the club room.

“Harry. That you?”

Damn it. It was Eggsy.

“Just headin’ out.” Eggsy called over. “What’s up? Looks like you two’re having a staring contest. Whose winning?”

“It’s a tie” Harry replied.

Eggsy held up his hand in a quick wave and left.

Harry gave you a quick glance, where you were still trying to maintain eye contact, wait no, you were just staring into the space behind him, concentrating on something he could not see.

——

You knew you had to stop staring at Harry, so you looked past his shoulder into the empty space behind him. At this point, even the sight of him might set you off. You were still right at the cusp of your climax and your body was still so aroused you were afraid that any movement could push your over the edge. You wanted to tell Harry to leave, but you couldn’t think of a way without embarrassing or offending one or both of you. All you could do at the moment was sit quietly. So that’s what you did. You were waiting for your body to catch up with the rest of you and settle down. Harry was waiting patiently until you were ready to move or speak.

After a bit of time, you glanced over at him, made sure it was safe. It was, and you began to relax a little, though your body still felt like a flame that was ready to ignite with any hint of friction. You just needed to stay still for awhile.

You saw Harry watching you, his face both concerned and amused.

He broke the silence.

“And that, my darling,” Harry said pointedly. “Is how one create’s an effective honey trap.”

In an attempt to further diffuse the situation, he wanted to be frank and direct with you and not to brush what just happened under the rug. That would be awkward for both of you. He did not want you to feel embarrassed or ashamed or uncomfortable with him or what had happened. The best way was to be as blunt as possible. He pushed down on his palms and rose out of his chair with minimal effort.

“My dear, I’ve been in the spy business for over 30 years. One does not get this far without knowing how to pleasure a woman.”

He winked at you.

“Not to worry, you’ll get there.”

Harry reached behind him for his coat, draped it over his arm, but not before you clearly noticed his own erection. Which before had just been a suggestion in the shadows. He’s hard.

The thought made you flame all over again.

“I need to take my leave. Will you be alright, here?”

All you could do is nod. You didn’t trust your voice yet.

Always the gentleman, he leaned over and brushed his lips against the top of your hair.

“Thank you for the lovely evening.”

You still couldn’t look directly at him so you turned your head slightly to the side and gave him a small nod. With a quick squeeze of your arm, you heard his departing footsteps. He was heading to the tunnels. He was going back into the city, He wouldn’t be staying at he manor. You didn’t know if you were glad or disappointed.

You were grateful to him for providing at least a somewhat graceful way to exit the situation, referring to the seduction technique that ALL agents are trained in. Harry was letting you chalk it up to a learning experience.

You opened your mouth. Nothing came out. You tried again.

“Fuck.”

It was the first word that you had said all evening.

——

“Fuck.”

Harry thought as he boarded the train back into the city. He had actually planned on staying at the manor, but with what just happened with you, he wasn’t sure if that would be the best course of action. It took all of his self control to remove himself from any temptation by leaving the place entirely. Making it impossible for him to act in a way that was inappropriate. Not that what had just happened would qualify as appropriate. At least it had the veil of a lesson on seduction. He wasn’t sure it would convince judges, but he found it a weak, but passable excuse.

No, the problem for the moment was that all Harry could see was your face as he pleasured you. How your lips parted, your breasts underneath your blouse, the flush of your cheeks. He wanted to hear what your cries would’ve sounded like. He wanted to be the one to make you cry out. His sex drive, always healthy, may have had a prolonged dormant period in recent times. But now it was raging like a fire that he unleashed and now he couldn’t put out. By letting the full force of it out this evening, it was fully awake and needed something to do. Harry had feared that if he had stayed at the manor even a moment longer, he wouldn’t have been able to help himself and would’ve taken you and had you right there.

If he could do that to you with his eyes and just the suggestion of his hands, he couldn’t imaging what it would be like pleasuring you with his entire body. Harry knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep until he took care of himself, and when he did, he would allow himself the sight of your trembling, responsive, body underneath his own as he gave you the pleasure he knew you so desperately wanted, joined together as he felt your body shudder around him when you climaxed, feeling his own release as he heard you cry out his name in pleasure.

#harry hart #harryhart #kingsman #kingsman the golden circle #kingsman the secret service #ardent #kingsman fanfic #colinfirth #colin firth #kingsman fanfiction #kingsmanmovie #kingsman ff #kingsman fan fiction #harryhartfanfiction #harry hart fan fiction

118 notes · View notes

testudoaubrei-blog · 3 years

Text

Content note for discussions of eternal damnation, and all sorts of other shit that will trigger a lot of folks with religious trauma.

Before I get started I might as well explain where I’m coming from - unlike a lot of She-Ra fans, and a lot of queer people, I don’t have much religious trauma, or any, maybe (okay there were a number of years I was convinced I was going to hell, but that happens to everyone, right?). I was raised a liberal Christian by liberal Christian parents in the Episcopal Church, where most of my memories are overwhelmingly positive. Fuck, growing up in the 90’s, Chuch was probably the only place outside my home I didn’t have homophobia spewed at me. Because it was the 90’s and it was a fucking hellscape of bigotry where 5 year olds knew enough to taunt each other with homophobic slurs and the adults didn’t know enough to realize how fucked up that was. Anyway. This is my experience, but it is an atypical one, and I know it. Quite frankly I know that my experience of Christianity has very little at all to do with what most people experienced, or what people generally mean when they talk about Christianity as a cultural force in America today. So if you were raised Christian and you don’t recognize your theology here, congrats, neither do I, but these ideas and cultural forces are huge and powerful and dominant. And it’s this dominant Christian narrative that I’m referring to in this post. As well as, you know, a children’s cartoon about lesbian rainbow princesses. So here it goes. This is going to get batshit.

"All events whatsoever are governed by the secret counsel of God." - John Calvin

“We’re all just a bunch of wooly guys” - Noelle Stevenson

This is a post triggered by a single scene, and a single line. It’s one of the most fucked-up scenes in She-Ra, toward the end of Save the Cat. Catra, turned into a puppet by Prime, struggles with her chip, desperately trying to gain control of herself, so lost and scared and vulnerable that she flings aside her own death wish and her pride and tearfully begs Adora to rescue her. Adora reaches out , about to grab her, and then Prime takes control back, pronounces ‘disappointing’ and activates the kill switch that pitches Catra off the platform and to her death (and seriously, she dies here, guys - also Adora breaks both her legs in the fall). But before he does, he dismisses Catra with one of his most chilling lines. “Some creatures are meant only for destruction.”

And that’s when everyone watching probably had their heart broken a little bit, but some of the viewers raised in or around Christianity watching the same scene probably whispered ‘holy shit’ to themselves. Because Prime’s line - which works as a chilling and callous dismissal of Catra - is also an allusion to a passage from the Bible. In fact, it’s from one of the most fucked up passages in a book with more than its share of fucked up passages. It’s from Romans 9:22, and I’m going to quote several previous verses to give the context of the passage (if not the entire Epistle, which is more about who needs to abide by Jewish dietary restrictions but was used to construct a systematic theology in the centuries afterwards because people decided it was Eternal Truth).

19 Thou wilt say then unto me, Why doth he yet find fault? For who hath resisted his will?

20 Nay but, O man, who art thou that repliest against God? Shall the thing formed say to him that formed it, Why hast thou made me thus?

21 Hath not the potter power over the clay, of the same lump to make one vessel unto honour, and another unto dishonour?

22 What if God, willing to shew his wrath, and to make his power known, endured with much longsuffering the vessels of wrath fitted to destruction:

The context of the allusion supports the context in the show. Prime is dismissing Catra - serial betrayer, liar, failed conqueror, former bloody-handed warlord - as worthless, as having always been worthless and fit only to be destroyed. He is speaking from a divine and authoritative perspective (because he really does think he’s God, more of this in my TL/DR Horde Prime thing). Prime is echoing not only his own haughty dismissal of Catra, and Shadow Weaver’s view of her, but also perhaps the viewer’s harshest assessment of her, and her own worst fears about herself. Catra was bad from the start, doomed to destroy and to be destroyed. A malformed pot, cracked in firing, destined to be shattered against a wall and have her shards classified by some future archaeologist 2,000 years later. And all that’s bad enough.

But the full historical and theological context of this passage shows the real depth of Noelle Stevenson’s passion and thought and care when writing this show. Noelle was raised in Evangelical or Fundamentalist Christianity. To my knowledge, he has never specified what sect or denomination, but in interviews and her memoir Noelle has shown a particular concern for questions that this passage raises, and a particular loathing for the strains of Protestant theology that take this passage and run with it - that is to say, Calvinism. So while I’m not sure if Noelle was raised as a conservative, Calvinist Presbyterian, his preoccupation with these questions mean that it’s time to talk about Calvinism.

It would be unfair, perhaps, to say that Calvinism is a systematic theology built entirely upon the Epistles of Romans and Galatians, but only -just- (and here my Catholic readers in particular will chuckle to themselves and lovingly stroke their favorite passage of the Epistle of James). The core of Calvinist Doctrine is often expressed by the very Dutch acronym TULIP:

Total Depravity - people are wholly evil, and incapable of good action or even willing good thoughts or deeds

Unconditional Election - God chooses some people to save because ¯\_(ツ)_/¯, not because they did anything to deserve, trigger or accept it

Limited Atonement - Jesus died only to save the people God chose to save, not the rest of us bastards

Irresistible Grace - God chooses some people to be saved - if you didn’t want to be saved, too bad, God said so.

Perseverance of the Saints - People often forget this one and assume it’s ‘predestination’ but it’s actually this - basically, once saved by God, always saved, and if it looks like someone falls out of grace, they were never saved to begin with. Well that’s all sealed up tight I guess.

Reading through these, predestination isn’t a single doctrine in Calvinism but the entire theological underpinnings of it together with humanity’s utter powerlessness before sin. Basically God has all agency, humanity has none. Calvinism (and a lot of early modern Protestantism) is obsessed with questions of how God saves people (grace alone, AKA Sola Fides) and who God saves (the people god elects and only the people God elects, and fuck everyone else).

It’s apparent that Noelle was really taken by these questions, and repelled by the answers he heard. He’s alluded to having a tattoo refuting the Gospel passage about Sheep and Goats being sorted at the end times, affirming instead that ‘we’re all just a bunch of wooly guys’ (you can see this goat tattoo in some of his self-portraits in comics, etc). He’s also mentioned that rejecting and subverting destiny is a huge part of everything he writes as a particular rejection of the idea that some individual people are 'chosen' by God or that God has a plan for any of us. You can see that -so clearly- in Adora’s arc, where Adora embraces and then rejects destiny time and again and finally learns to live life for herself.

But for Catra, we’re much more concerned about the most negative aspect of this - the idea that some people are vessels meant for destruction. And that’s something else that Noelle is preoccupied with. In her memoir in the section about leaving the church and becoming a humanistic atheist, there is a drawing of a pot and the question ‘Am I a vessel prepared for destruction?’ Obviously this was on Noelle’s mind (And this is before he came out to himself as queer!).

To look at how this question plays out in Catra’s entire arc, let’s first talk about how ideas of damnation and salvation actually play out in society. And for that I’m going to plug one of my favorite books, Gin Lun’s Damned Nation: Hell in America from the Revolution to Reconstruction (if you can tell by now, I am a fucking blast at parties). Lun tells the long and very interesting story about, how ideas of hell and who went there changed during the Early American Republic. One of the interesting developments that she talks about is how while at first people who were repelled by Calvinism started moving toward a doctrine of universal salvation (no on goes to hell, at least not forever*), eventually they decided that hell was fine as long as only the right kind of people went there. Mostly The Other - non-Christian foreigners, Catholics, Atheists, people who were sinners in ways that were not just bad but weird and violated Victorian ideas of respectability. Really, Hell became a way of othering people, and arguably that’s how it survives today, especially as a way to other queer people (but expanding this is slated for my Montero rant). Now while a lot of people were consciously rejecting Calvinist predestination, they were still drawing the distinction between the Elect (good, saved, worthwhile) and the everyone else (bad, damned, worthless). I would argue that secularized ideas of this survive to this day even among non-Christian spaces in our society - we like to draw lines between those who Elect, and those who aren’t.

And that’s what brings us back to Catra. Because Catra’s entire arc is a refutation of the idea that some people are worthless and irredeemable, either by nature, nurture or their own actions. Catra’s actions strain the conventions of who is sympathetic in a Kid’s cartoon - I’ve half joked that she’s Walter White as a cat girl, and it’s only half a joke. She’s cruel, self-deluded, she spends 4 seasons refusing to take responsibility for anything she does and until Season 5 she just about always chooses the thing that does the most damage to herself and others. As I mentioned in my Catra rant, the show goes out of its way to demonstrate that Catra is morally culpable in every step of her descent into evil (except maybe her break with reality just before she pulls the lever). The way that Catra personally betrays everyone around her, the way she strips herself of all of her better qualities and most of what makes her human, hell even her costume changes would signal in any other show that she’s irredeemable.

It’s tempting to see this as Noelle’s version of being edgy - pushing the boundaries of what a sympathetic character is, throwing out antiheroics in favor of just making the villain a protagonist. Noelle isn’t quite Alex ‘I am in the business of traumatizing children’ Hirsch, who seems to have viewed his job as pushing the bounds of what you could show on the Disney Channel (I saw Gravity Falls as an adult and a bunch of that shit lives rent free in my nightmares forever), but Noelle has his own dark side, mostly thematically. The show’s willingness to deal with abuse, and messed up religious themes, and volatile, passionate, not particularly healthy relationships feels pretty daring. I’m not joking when I gleefully recommend this show to friends as ‘a couple from a Mountain Goats Song fights for four seasons in a cartoon intended for 9 year olds’. Noelle is in his own way pushing the boundaries of what a kids show can do. If you read Noelle’s other works like Nimona, you see an argument for Noelle being at least a bit edgy. Nimona is also angry, gleefully destructive, violent and spiteful - not unlike Catra. Given that it was a 2010s webcomic and not a kids show, Nimona is a good deal worse than Catra in some ways - Catra doesn’t kill people on screen, while Nimona laughs about it (that was just like, a webcomic thing - one of the fan favorite characters in my personal favorite, Narbonic, was a fucking sociopath, and the heroes were all amoral mad scientists, except for the superintelligent gerbil**). But unlike Nimona, whose fate is left open ended, Catra is redeemed.

And that is weird. We’ve had redemption arcs, but generally not of characters with -so- much vile stuff in their history. Going back to the comparison between her and Azula, many other shows, like Avatar, would have made Catra a semi-sympathetic villain who has a sob-story in their origin but who is beyond redemption, and in so doing would articulate a kind of psychologized Calvinism where some people are too traumatized to ever be fully and truly human. I’d argue this is the problem with Azula as a character - she’s a fun villain, but she doesn’t have moral agency, and the ultimate message of her arc - that she’s a broken person destined only to hurt people - is actually pretty fucked up. And that’s the origin story of so many serial killers and psycopaths that populate so many TV shows and movies. Beyond ‘hurt people hurt people’ they have nothing to teach us except perhaps that trauma makes you a monster and that the only possible response to people doing bad things is to cut them out of your life and out of our society (and that’s why we have prisons, right?)

And so Catra’s redemption and the depths from which she claws herself back goes back to Noelle’s desire to prove that no person is a vessel ‘fitted for destruction.’ Catra goes about as far down the path of evil as we’ve ever seen a protagonist in a kids show go, and she still has the capacity for good. Importantly, she is not subject to total depravity - she is capable of a good act, if only one at first. Catra is the one who begins her own redemption (unlike in Calvinism, where grace is unearned and even unwelcomed) - because she wants something better than what she has, even if its too late, because she realizes that she never wanted any of this anyway, because she wants to do one good thing once in her life even if it kills her.

The very extremity of Catra’s descent into villainy serves to underline the point that Noelle is trying to make - that no one can be written off completely, that everyone is capable of change, and that no human being is garbage, no matter how twisted they’ve become. Meanwhile her ability to set her own redemption in motion is a powerful statement of human agency, and healing, and a refutation of Calvinism’s idea that we are powerless before sin or pop cultural tropes about us being powerful before the traumas of our upbringing. Catra’s arc, then, is a kind of anti-Calvinist theological statement - about the nature of people and the nature of goodness.

Now, there is a darker side to this that Noelle has only hinted at, but which is suggested by other characters on the show. Because while Catra’s redemption shows that people are capable of change, even when they’ve done horrible things, been fucked up and fucked themselves up, it also illustrates the things people do to themselves that make change hard. As I mentioned in my Catra rant, two of the most sinister parts of her descent into villainy are her self-dehumanization (crushing her own compassion and desire to do good) and her rewriting of her own history in her speech and memory to make her own actions seem justified (which we see with her insistence that Adora left her, eliding Adora’s offers to have Catra join her, or her even more clearly false insistence that Entrapta had betrayed them). In Catra, these processes keep her going down the path of evil, and allow her to nearly destroy herself and everyone else. But we can see the same processes at work in two much darker figures - Shadow Weaver and Horde Prime. These are both rants for another day, but the completeness of Shadow Weaver’s narcissistic self-justification and cultivated callousness and the even more complete narcissism of Prime’s god complex cut both characters off from everyone around them. Perhaps, in a theoretical sense, they are still redeemable, but for narrative purposes they might as well be damned.

This willingness to show a case where someone -isn’t- redeemed actually serves to make Catra’s redemption more believable, especially since Noelle and the writers draw the distinction between how Catra and SW/Prime can relate to reality and other people, not how broken they are by their trauma (unlike Zuko and Azula, who are differentiated by How Fucked Uolp They Are). Redemption is there, it’s an option, we can always do what is right, but someone people will choose not to, in part because doing the right thing involves opening ourselves to the world and others, and thus being vulnerable. Noelle mentions this offhandedly in an interview after Season 1 with the She-Ra Progressive of Power podcast - “I sometimes think that shades of grey, sympathetic villains are part of the escapist fantasy of shows like this.” Because in the real world, some people are just bastards, a point that was particularly clear in 2017. Prime and Shadow Weaver admit this reality, while Catra makes a philosophical point that even the bastards can change their ways (at least in theory).

*An idea first proposed in the second century by Origen, who’s a trip and a fucking half by himself, and an idea that becomes the Catholic doctrine of purgatory, which protestants vehemently denied!

**Speaking of favorite Noelle tropes

#she ra horde prime #she ra #she ra catra #she ra spoilers #redemption arcs #toxic religion

222 notes · View notes

thechekhov · 4 years

Note

Hi! I saw on a post that you're agender and I'm kinda questioning my gender (again) but what interested me more about that post was that you said you believe that gender is a social construct and I'm not really familiar with that theory. I was wondering if you could explain to me what the whole idea is? (bc I kinda only feel like a have a gender in social situations? In my head, my dreams and how I picture myself in the future, I'm genderless idjskahwksjejensj) Sorry for bothering you if I did.

This is a BIG topic and it opens a LOT of wormholes.

We’re gonna do this in pie slice statements that will hopefully help explain what I mean. Please keep in mind I’m going to simplify many things for the sake of readability.

1) What is a social construct?

Social constructs are ideas that are negotiated by social groups. Something being a social construct does not make it ‘not real’.

For example, money is a social construct. Yes, we have cash - coins, credit cards - but these are physical props that are REPRESENTATIVE of the idea of currency. You have some form of credit to your name - the money is a socially agreed-upon idea of value being represented by bills in your hand, by numbers in your bank account.

[Description: Two humanoid figures are standing side by side. The right-side figure is holding a rock in its hand.

Right side figure: Let’s agree that this shiny rock is worth 2 sheep.

Left side figure: Sounds fake but ok.]

Technically, countries are also social constructs. We, as a society, negotiate what a country is, and this can be changed.

[Description: Two figures are standing on either side of a dotted line drawn on the ground. The left figure is pointing down at it while the right figure watches, its arms crossed.

Left figure: Let’s pretend that everything on this side of the imaginary line is mine.

Right figure: ...ok but my house is over there.

Left figure: ... for 3 shiny rocks you can come visit.]

Does that mean canada isn’t real? No. (I mean, obviously canada ISN’T real, but we all agree to pretend it is.) The thing that makes it real is that we are in agreement, and all follow the social rules of pretend to make it seem like the Canadian border, the idea of Canadian citizenship, etc... is an objective fact. (It’s not. These are in fact, negotiable limits and parameters. We have laws in place to define it in legal terms, but those laws can be changed, or may change in the minds of communities. That’s why it’s a construct.)

By that same token, I hold the view that gender, as we largely perceive it in modern society, is a construct. Why? Because it is not inherent; we, as a society, negotiate its meaning.

2) What is gender?

People will probably fight me on this and that’s fine, but here’s my (simplified) understanding of gender (from someone who personally has none)

Gender is a social category negotiated by cultures based on your assigned or desired role in your community that influences, among many other things, your physical appearance, your role in family units, your expected position in jobs, etc.

How I think it happened:

[Description: Two figures are standing on either side of the panel, both holding children-looking figures. The one on the left is wearing purple. The one on the right is wearing green.

Green figure: Hey, I’ve got an idea. What if we separate the babies into two groups based on physical traits they have no control over?

Purple figure: Wh-- okay...?

Green figure: And then limit the jobs they can do and the community ritual involvement available to them based on that!

Purple figure: ... I feel like this is going to backfire on us someday.

Green figure: Nah, it’ll be fine.

The past panel is a dramatic closeup on the purple figure’s face - which is featureless - betraying a deeply doubtful emotion. It says nothing.]

Important points to remember: what gender looks like, what the limits are, what the expectations are... are not inherent to any human biology. We make up gender roles. This is evident in the fact that across the world, gender roles differ by culture. The positions people of a certain gender are allowed to take up are different. What is perceived to be ‘girly’ or ‘boyish’ is different across cultures.

Simply speaking - currently the (western) model we have, dumbed down, is:

You are assigned male at birth because of physical characteristics

You are raised being told to ‘toughen up’ and ‘boys don’t cry’ and encouraged not to show emotions

You are taught to wear male-coded clothes and discouraged from female-coded fashion choices

You are given more opportunities to participate in sports, encouraged to engage in physical activity, etc

You are not expected to need time off for child-rearing

Here’s where gender as it works in society breaks down into being not a real thing but instead something we thought up:

Nothing about having a penis necessitates wearing pants. Nothing about having XY chromosomes means you need to keep your hair short. Nothing about your genome makes the experience of nail-polish different for any human being.

All of these are arbitrary traits we decided were allowed or not allowed to a specific group of people based on entirely unrelated physiology.

Even if we delve deeper, there is MORE variation among individuals of the same ‘sex’ than there are, on average, of members of the ‘opposite sex’ when compared to each other.

Many people use the excuse ‘women are physically not as strong as men’ to say that this has an evolutionary aspect driving these cultural, historical, socially-constructed gender requirements.

But if there was a physical reasoning behind the culturally-set gender-limited job expectations, then we actually WOULDN’T need a traditional binary gender system to sort ourselves into categories. It would simply be decided as a meritocracy - stronger individuals, regardless of gender, would be given physically-demanding jobs. (Also we know that many jobs thought to be ‘traditionally male’ are just the result of sexist bullshit, so this reasoning doesn’t fly any further than I can throw it which is, coincidentally, not very far. Politics is one such area. Doctors are another. We can go on but I think you get my drift.)

My own example of this is an anecdote when my grandparents came to visit my partner and I in Japan. While we were driving down to Tokyo, my grandmother - who has a PhD in entomology - began to say that driving is a masculine activity and women shouldn’t be driving as it was ‘un-woman-like’. My partner almost immediately fired back that in Japan, studying insects or having any interest in them whatsoever was considered a heavily masculine-coded activity. In Russia, there is no such assignment, and my grandmother was left silently blinking in confusion, unable to come up with any excuse except ‘well, all cultures are different, I suppose...’

Do either of these things inherently have a gendered aspect? Of course not! But we assign gendered ideals to them anyway.

3) If gender is made up and constructed by society, then does that mean trans people aren’t real?

No.

Even if you agree that gender is a social construct, trans people are still real. TERFs don’t get a pass. Why?

Because gender - as a social construct - still affects our everyday lives, dictates our social position in our community. Transitioning is still a thing that has to happen. The fact that you are NOT easily able to decide your own gender and are ostracized for wanting to transition, abused for dressing the way you want to be perceived, and bullied for wanting people to refer to you with different pronouns - all those are the effects of a social construct that has very REAL impact on our lives.

This is also why I dislike defining trans-ness by dysphoria. Because transgender people are not only their suffering - the suffering is coming from the outside!! Many trans people remember not being concerned about their gender identity in their childhood, because they did not yet perceive the world as being hostile to their desire to fulfil a specific role in society. The issues and self-hatred and dysphoria begins when they express wanting to be themselves - a life which they are forbidden from pursuing based on physical characteristics they were born with.

Does this mean we should try to remove gender from society? If we constructed it, we can deconstruct it, right?

Realistically, I highly doubt this is possible. Gender is so ingrained in our daily lives that it would be difficult. Nor, I would say, would it be necessary to achieve world peace.

Having social groups - having gender - isn’t inherently a bad thing. The bad thing is when we limit those social groups to specific basic human rights, like voting, or when we forbid them from transitioning from one to another based on things that are out of their control.

Also, I’m not saying genitals and secondary sexual characteristics aren’t real. Please don’t bother sending me that angry message, I’ll ignore it, I promise.

But the concept of gender IS something we thought up and maintain and negotiate with each other to this very day. It’s not granted to us by a higher power, nor is it a constant, unchanging thing. It’s a part of the human experience and like everything, it has the potential to evolve - as a concept in our communal memory, as well as on an individual level, for people who feel they want to be perceived differently.

Thanks for coming to my TEDtalk!

#hiimholalate #gender #agender #queer stuff #gender is a social construct #social construct #genderqueer #long post

3K notes · View notes