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writefightandflightclub · 3 years

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Somebody to love (PART 2/2): (Richard Alonso Muñoz x fem!reader)

Summary: PART ONE IS HERE. Whilst your neighbour, Richard, is in love with love, you are a little more commitment averse. When he performs a small act of kindness though, your feelings start to unravel, and you wonder if you may have found somebody to love - right next-door all along.

Richard is a sweet, gentle man, and so I hoped to create a sweet, gentle story. I hope you enjoy spending some time in it!

I HAVE POSTED THIS IN TWO PARTS, ONLY BECAUSE OF LENGTH. WHILST YOU COULD PROBABLY(?) READ EITHER PART AS A STANDLONE, THEY ARE MEANT TO WORK TOGETHER.

Genre / tropes: pining, friends to lovers (sort of - neighbours to lovers), getting together, domesticity, fluff, smut, nothing bad happens, ends happily, quite a slow burn for a one-shot, I guess?

Author’s note: This is part of my friends to lovers event, prompt requested by @foxilayde who I adore and you should too. Prompt was: he does something utterly mundane which shows how well he knows you, and your feelings hit you. I took some liberties with the prompt, and there is zero pressure to read this - IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A BLURB! :P More of these requests in pinned post!

Tags: (will add tomorrow)

Warnings/ Ratings:

PART ONE (Mature, 18+ ONLY): swearing; sexual themes (erotic poetry, thirsty internal monologue, sexual tension); food themes inc. mentions/ consumption; family mentions - reader has nieces but they need not be biological; brief mentions of the prison system - Richard is a Corrections Officer; exceedingly brief mention of the Holocaust in context of a non-fiction book Richard is reading (I believe this is a canon read but may be wrong); loneliness (theme, not too angsty); self-esteem issues if you squint.

PART TWO: (Explicit, 18+ ONLY): swearing; explicit sex, including - oral m + f receiving; unprotected vaginal sex; creampie; f squirting (first time doing so); well-endowed man, ahem.

Word count: 10k for part 1, 9k for part 2.

The date has been flawless. The best date you’ve had.

Richard is amazing to talk to and appealing to look at. He makes you feel safe and secure, yet also ignited and pleasantly destabilised. His laugh is music. His smile is sunshine. He is at times serious and in other moments delightfully playful. His gentle, quiet nature suckers you in to him, and once you are in the circumference of his warmth, you simply don’t want to leave.

You want to treat this special man to all the love he deserves.

You reflect, as you walk together towards your street, hand-in-hand, that it feels as though you’ve known him for years - and, of course, you have. You simply hadn’t been paying adequate attention. It is evident that Richard has, however. That he already knows you and understands you better than you could have imagined.

So, now, as you step up on to your porch, Richard stands a couple of steps below you, his cola-coloured eyes big and gentle and sparkling as he looks up at you. You loop your arms so that they rest on his shoulders, your fingers dipping into the glorious manicured curls at the nape of his neck. You had hoped that Richard might respond by winding his arms around your waist -or perhaps gripping your hips or your ass, to be quite honest- but instead, he stands there, taut with nerves, and yet his arms hung limply by his sides.

He seems so responsive; so receptive to every small touch you give him, the man humming lightly as you stroke his soft skin, and yet, he hasn’t returned the favour. You wish he would touch you, but, in resignation, you smile softly, guessing that if Richard won’t take the initiative, you will simply have to. After all, you’ve been desperate to kiss the man all evening. So, with a gentle smile and a search of his eyes, you shift one hand to cup his shapely chin, tipping his face up towards you.

“I want to kiss you, Richard. Is that okay with you?”

Keenly, he lets out a half-strangled affirmation, the weight of his plea creasing the space between his brows. “Please.”

And so, you pick up his unsure arms and you guide them around your waist, until his hands tentatively settle, polite but also firm and broad and warm around you, and you rehoop your arms around his neck, readying to move in for the kill.

Dipping your head down, you inch yourself closer and closer towards Richard’s lips, and you wonder if his heart is hammering the way yours is. You take in the beautiful sight of his eyes fanning closed and chin tilting up eagerly towards you, before your own eyes follow suit, your noses bumping awkwardly as you tilt around each other. The first sensation you feel is his moustache, the thick brush of it tickling your lips and causing you to faintly moan as you feel this small indication of his closeness. This breathy, broken sound from you causes Richard’s hands to tighten around your waist, finally, and with either a surge of bravery or a collapsing of his resolve -perhaps both- it is he who closes the remaining distance, his warm lips keenly meeting yours.

At first, it is a chaste, closed-lipped kiss that, even so, makes your legs tremble almost immediately. His soft lips are so moreish that when you break from him, leaning your forehead against Richard’s -both your chests heaving and your breaths practically one- you immediately sink back again to his lips, needing to taste him again.

You smile into the kiss as you become accustomed to the sensation of that glorious moustache, scraping lightly against your upper lip and cheek and nose, and you feel desire sink all the way through the pit of you like a stone as Richard’s tongue delves gently into your mouth. This surge of his kiss is like nothing you have felt before, and whilst Richard may seem timid, and while his ministrations may be gentle and slow, you could swear you have never felt a more assured tongue in your life.

“Do you want to come inside?” you ask urgently, your voice a broken, breathy thing, the air for your words ripped from his lips.

“Yes. Yes, I’d like to, very much,” Richard answers just as quickly, his eyes dancing with a delicious brewing heat as you take his hand and lead him into your home.

Your lips find him again as shoes and jackets are shrugged off, strewn haphazardly in the hallway, his kisses slow-moving and deliciously sweet, sending a cloying desire like warmed syrup sinking to the pit of you. Your stomach flips each time you feel his tongue against yours, as though your core intends to mirror the languid circling of his tongue, and suddenly you are already throbbing there, thinking of where these burgeoning kisses might be leading.

“You’re so beautiful,” Richard breathes, sinking on to your lips again, and your legs weakening beneath you.

You lead Richard deeper inside your home, and you vaguely consider your options, but with this hazy, hungry heat all around you, dragging him to your bedroom by the hand seems like the only viable course of action.

“Do you... want to come to my bed with me?” you ask, voice levelled with need and stomach buzzing with the pleasant thrum of nerves.

He answers affirmatively and you waste no time, until you are both seated on the edge of your bed, continuing your slow, sensual make-out session, bodies twisted towards each other. Richard kisses you deeply, opening your mouth up to him, until he breaks from you with a wracked groan, squirming with slight discomfort and apology as he adjusts himself, to better accommodate the growing bulge between his legs.

When he spreads his denim-clad thighs, like that, they look so sturdy and appealing that you want to climb him. Want to straddle his lap and writhe your heat right over his tenting arousal.

Still, you hesitate. He’s eager, you know that much; and God, so are you. However, he still seems nervous about reaching out to you or taking the lead. His hands never stray far from zones he may consider more polite or more comfortable, despite the fact he has happily allowed your hand to inch up and up his clothed thigh and towards that tenting crotch of his, his pretty, wracked moans spurring you on.

So, as he breaks from you, momentarily, you pull back to search his eyes.

“Would you… Would you like to touch me, Richard?” you suspire, wanting to progress this further, but only if he’s comfortable.

As you regard him, you note that you have never seen a man look quite so dishevelled with need - both literally and figuratively. Your hands have upset his perfectly fixed curls, mussed tendrils now draping over his forehead. His kiss-plumped lips are parted to accommodate his now ragged breaths, and he looks almost forlorn - pained with it, as though he might end if he isn’t kissing you again within moments. “Yes. Please.”

“Where?”

“Everywhere,” he responds, brow furrowed with weighty desire and eyes searching yours.

The tone with which he responds to you, sunken with need, has a hard swallow trailing down your throat. An immediate and impossible ache building between your legs.

“How about… here?”, you say tentatively, gingerly taking his hand, and moving it beneath the fabric of your dress until his warm fingers meet the bare flesh of your thighs. His thumb instantly sinks in to knead you as he works his hand up further, inching towards your core, exactly where you need him.

“God, you’re so soft. You feel so good.”

“C-can I touch you?” you ask, as he inches higher, and it comes out as a plea. You need to. Need to touch him. Everywhere. You need to feel him under your hand - feel him all over you. On you. Against you. Buried in you. Fuck, you need him.

With your question though, Richard’s hungry eyes are momentarily clouded by apprehension, and so, you take a moment to rein in your snowballing desire; to properly check-in with him.

“Let’s talk for a minute. Can I do anything to make you feel more comfortable?” your voice soft and soothing, your hand smoothing over his thigh.

Richard flutters his eyelashes and looks down at his lap, withdrawing his hand from under your dress. Your skin shivers, instantly cold with the loss of him. He nods, slowly, soberly, his face set and moustache downturned. Then, when his words come, his voice is small and sad. “I asked my buddy at work for advice. Said I had a date with someone out of my league. Somebody so perfect, and that I didn’t want to mess it up.”

Your eyebrows knit together. You shake your head in disbelief. Your one single desire now, is to set his misapprehension to rest. “Fuck that. I’m not out of your league, Richard. You’re gorgeous. You’re perfect.” You cup his cheek again, planting a kiss on that now familiar spot, right on the tip of his cheekbone, a spot perfectly contoured to your lips.

His eyes flick back up to yours, shining with gratitude, but he still looks unsure.

“Perfect,” you repeat, dipping to press a kiss to his opposite cheek. “Gorgeous.” To the tip of his nose. “Sexy.” To the corner of his lips. “Handsome.” To the column of his neck. Meanwhile, smoothing your hand over his thigh and arm and chest, keeping your desire stoked but mainly aiming to offer him comfort, and to bolster his wavering confidence.

A smile claims Richards eyes, at least, if not his lips, and he brings his hand to your face, caressing you gently in gratitude. You pull up to search his eyes and his expression says it all.

You are beautiful.

And, despite his nervousness, his timidness, when Richard next speaks, there is no hint of self-consciousness in his voice. Not an ounce, his kind eyes backlit with lust. With that now familiar, gentle, nuanced heat. “He said… Said that I should eat you out like a man starved.”

To your credit, you try to speak. You really do, your mouth opening and closing again wordlessly, but all of a sudden, you have lost language. You can barely breathe. Can barely form a coherent thought. Barely an incoherent one. Barely a -

“Would you like it? If I did that, bonita?”

You whimper. You actually whimper, as he sits there, coolly holding your face in his broad palm, caressing you with the pad of his thumb. Behaving as though he’s an innocent thing and yet making you feel like this.

“I would not be. Opposed to. That,” you muddle out, barely, your voice trembling with need. An insistent pulse between your legs, causing you to press them tightly up against one another, just for a morsel of relief. “But… you. Ohhh.” His thumb brushes over your cheek. Towards your mouth. “Y-you don’t have to. Um.” Skims your lower lip. “Ahhh. Do. Anything you. Uh. Don’t want. To.” The pad of his thumb pushes inside, just deep enough for the tip of your tongue to meet it as he grazes over you. “Uhhh.”

Richard nods in understanding, and when your tongue fleets out to taste the tip of him, his eyes darken deliciously, pupils lust-blown.

You, meanwhile, are vapour. Your breath is ragged. Your arousal is soaking through your dress. You can feel it. Feel your own slick, a mess on your thighs.

And yet, you can tell there is more he wants to say, so you encourage him to go on. “Richard?” you plead.

“I... I want it to be perfect for you. You’re so perfect. But I...” his moustache twitches as he sucks his own lips between his teeth. His hands drop dejectedly into his lap, and he can’t meet your eyes, fixing his gaze on a spot of carpet. “I want to. So much. I‘m aching for you.”

Then what? You search his beautiful big eyes, reaching up to gently tuck a cute, hanging strand of curls away from his eyes and urging him to go on.

He reaches behind his head, to self-consciously stroke the nape of his neck. “The last woman I was with... It wasn’t... She didn’t like the moustache. And she... she said I was... too big.”

Fuck.

Your hand drops from his face into your lap, and your jaw slackens in shock as you let his words sink in. Meanwhile, his face becomes tinged again with that undertone of crimson you’re becoming rather familiar with.

Too big?

“Fuck, Richard,” you breathe -or, rather, can barely breathe- as he looks up at you from beneath his lashes, nervously, humbly awaiting your reaction. He really has no idea what he’s doing to you, does he? How perfect he is? You can feel the heavy pulse of desire throbbing between your legs once more - even more so now. A slow-crawling heat under your skin.

Can he really be so... endowed?

Can he really be so shy and so hot at the same time? (Yes, apparently, he can.)

You gulp. You take in a breath to speak and then literally say nothing. You consider, so help you, burying your face in the mattress and silently screaming. But, somehow, you hold it together.

“That’s. Wow. Well, we can definitely figure that out. Together, Richard. Can work around… That,” you reassure, your blood rushing in your ears, your hand slowly trailing back up his thigh. “Will you… will you let me take care of you?”

Looking reassured, he nods. He smiles softly. His eyes ardent as he looks at you.

You reinstate your hand on to his sturdy thigh, and you begin your slow, languorous crawl up towards his crotch, following the seam of his pants like a trailing spark along a fuse line. As you inch further, his eyes flutter shut and he groans when you reach the junction of his legs, lightly ghosting your fingers along his straining zipper.

“Can I... see?” you purr. “Are you hard for me, sweet man? Can I take you out of your pants?”

“Yes,” he nods. “Yes. Please.”

You proceed when Richard eagerly shifts position for you, parting his thighs for you and leaning back on his hands so that you’re able to unbuckle his belt, and to slowly release his zipper.

You’re playing really well at having any shred of self-control left, for his sake, but in reality, you’re a trembling, wet mess, overtaken by a furious, barrelling need. You simply can’t take this. Shit, you wonder if you will actually, very literally, be able to take this. Take him. Still, you certainly don’t want to stop, and so, with Richard’s cooperation you tug his jeans and his boxers down on his hips, and, biting down on your lip, you release his proud length.

“Fuck,” you say, almost inaudibly as you drink the sight of him in.

He wasn’t exaggerating. He is big. He’s long, but perhaps not the longest you’ve ever had – a fact you are honestly thankful for. He certainly is thick too – especially thick, his contoured head ruddy and gleaming for you. Launched on an urgent breath, you ask if you can touch him, and when he encourages you, you wrap your fingers around his shaft, his length warm and heavy in your hand. He fills the circumference of you in such a pleasing way, hard and velvety and thickly veined. He eagerly strains against you; engorging even further against your touch.

“What do you think?” he asks shyly, intently watching your fingers tease and skim and squeeze him. “Can you work with this?”

“You’re perfect. Fuck, Richard. This is the most beautiful cock I’ve ever seen.”

“You mean it?” he asks, modest as ever.

“Every inch of you is perfect, sweet man.” You want to prove it to him. And you know exactly how. “D-do you… Do you want to feel how wet you’ve made me? How much I want you, Richard?”

“Please,” he begs hoarsely, his voice quaking, desire knotting his brows, and, you stretch out on the bed beside his already half-reclined form, the mattress dipping beneath you. Eagerly, you return his hand to your thigh, where his girthy fingers resume their slow path towards your core. This time though, Richard doesn’t stop. Positioning himself, propped on one elbow, he turns on to his side, his other hand travelling under your dress - inching, achingly slow, all the way up your thigh. He traces a warm, steady, torturously slow pressure along your clothed slit, over your aching nub, until he reaches the top hem of your panties -silly, silky little things- and then, he pushes the elastic hem aside, dipping his two, thick middle fingers down into your folds, gliding effortlessly through your slick until he curls towards your entrance.

You shudder from his touch, submitting an open-mouthed moan to him already as he skims through your wetness, his half-bared cock twitching against his soft, rounded stomach in response to the feel of you. The sound of you.

He pulses and swirls his fingers up and down over your heat, simply gathering and playing with your arousal, and you can imagine what he is feeling beneath his fingers. You can hear your own wetness, your sweet nectar aiming to sucker him in.

It works.

“Please. Can I taste you?” he asks, in that wrecked voice again- the one which ends you.

Your eyes traverse him, hungrily. His mouth tipped open, needy breaths circling beneath that flourishing facial hair. His forearm exposed and veins popping as he works his fingers against you. His cock. Fuck. His delicious cock looks so hard and ruddy, the head of him practically crimson -fit to burst already- and the man must need some relief, and yet all he can think of is sinking his mouth to you? Not that you’re complaining, mind you.

What most gets you though – still – are his eyes. Those gentle, heat-infused, heavy-lidded, lust-laden, adoring, cola-coloured eyes.

Still, you throw your head back, as his fingertips continue to haphazardly explore your folds, your hips bucking and writhing readily, messily against his fingers. “You… ohhhh. You don’t have to do what your buddy said, you know? Only if you want.”

“I want to. I want to taste you, please. Hermosa. Please.”

Fuck, those beautiful brown eyes.

You never imagined you would end the evening with this handsome man begging to eat you out, and you don’t have it in you to resist, not even for a moment. Instead, you nod eagerly, scrambling to spread your thighs for him and hitching your dress up over your hips, opening for him with slick and eager hinges. Richard’s exposed member gleams for you, peeking out from his jeans, and each item of his clothing now looks like it is an impediment; however, he wastes no time on that. Instead, he simply begins a slow, deliberate peel of your panties down to your ankles, and, as you expel a string of affirmatives and pleas into the air, he sinks his face towards your heat.

You weren’t ready for it. You weren’t ready for the feel of his supple, eager tongue writhing against you, nor the feel of his lips engulfing you, his moustache scraping your sensitive skin ever so slightly as he munches over your clit. You weren’t wrong either - he is definitely, unequivocally not afraid to make a mess of himself. At all. In fact, you wonder if he has forgotten this is for you, as he truly does seem intent on tasting you, drinking from you as though he’s slurping on a milkshake, or relishing a cherry sucker. You think he might drink you dry. Or, you would think so, except you are getting wetter, as his assured, quietly confident tongue laps and probes and licks at everywhere it counts.

“Unnng. Dulce. Como duraznos en almíbar,” he praises into your heat.

Sweet. Like peaches in syrup.

You mewl for him. You writhe yourself desperately, embarrassingly, but this man moans eagerly into your heat as if he’s gaining as much pleasure from this as you are. That can’t possibly be true, however. It can’t be true because you are positively alight with ecstasy. You are experiencing such an abundance of it that you can scarce handle it, pleasure both balling and knotting tightly at your centre, and zipping out to every extremity. Your body bows and bucks under the weight of it and at the same time soars, weightless, to another plane.

When you think you couldn’t possibly take any more, Richard’s thumb begins a slow circle of your entrance, tracing around you. Dipping in to you. When his thumb slips in to fully puncture your heat, your juices spill over him, like you truly are a ruined peach, your fists clenching wildly in the sheets. You are his fruit. His ruined, ravaged fruit, existing and perishing only on his tongue. Coming to life and ending when he tastes you.

“Fuck, Richard!” you exclaim, as your peak threatens to overtake you so soon, and you worry that the sound was too weak for him to hear it; however, the man is apparently attentive as ever, even when he’s lost in between your thighs. He stops immediately, lifting his pretty eyes to yours, running his hands up and down along your quivering legs, trailing his fingers reverently over your mound and your patch of hair.

“You’re shaking, bonita,” he says, sounding awed.

“F-feels too good. But I want you inside me. I need you. Please. Will you – W-will you undress and lie down for me?”

It’s all you want. He is all you want. And you can’t explain why, but when you do fall apart for him, you need it to be together. Perhaps, so that when you unravel, you can bind yourself to him. You will tie those knots so tightly, you think, that they will not come undone.

In response to your request, Richard looks positively wrecked with need -and still a little nervous- but he obliges you, and your eyes keenly watch him as he slowly relinquishes his clothes. First his lower half, jeans kicked off to the floor. Then his shirt. He hesitates, when it comes to his white undervest. He looks so appealing in it that you wouldn’t mind if he kept it on; and yet, you are endlessly pleased when he peels it over his head, revealing his smooth chest and stomach and arms to you, your hungry eyes wandering over his form.

“Mmm. Gorgeous man,” you praise, rolling onto all fours with a surging, tidal wave of desire, trailing kisses and skimming your hot, wet mouth all the way down his bared torso as he kneels on the bed. He tastes faintly of sweat; salt on your tongue.

“Tell me what you want, Richard.”

“I… I need to feel your skin. Feel all of you,” he pleads hoarsely, and so, you follow his lead, tugging your dress over your head, and, with a ravenous, seductive stare, slowly releasing yourself from your bra. Richard’s jaw actually goes slack as he takes in the sight of all of you, entirely bared for him, the word “wow” gently suspiring from the pillow of his lips.

You smile as you guide him on to his back, and, tucking your body into his side, propped on one elbow, your hand smooths over his chest as you kiss him deeply. You taste yourself on him, a sweet, heady musk lingering on his moustache; and then, your hand traverses his chest and soft stomach, inching closer to where you crave. His body shivers under your hand as your fingertips stroke him at a spot where he’s evidently a little ticklish. He half-giggles, but the sound transforms quickly into a stuttered moan as your reach his arousal, a single finger circling the head of him.

Your fingers have barely so much as grazed him there and his cock is twitching, his hips bucking in search of your hand and his shapely chin tilted up towards the sky.

“Fuck. Are you sensitive there, baby?” you purr, and, as your fingers curl gently around him again, he nods vigorously – desperately- his expression almost tortured and his arms pinned by his sides.

“Yes, Ma’am. It feels so good when you touch me. Please. Please don’t stop.”

He shivers again -in a whole new way- as your thumb swirls, gingerly, spreading the glistening pearl of precum around the head of him.

You believe the man – that you make him feel good. He expels a breathy, gasping moan, or a tortured half-chuckle every time you so much as brush him. His might even be the most sensitive cock you’ve had, you think, and you watch, enraptured, as his pleasure plays out over his face, his hands fisting into the sheets at his sides as his body writhes for you. Still, you want more. You are greedy for him. Want to feel him everywhere.

“Can I take you in my mouth, Richard?”

“Do you want to?” he asks, and you nod, slinking cat-like down the bed, until you are in position, your mouth settling over his cock.

“You look delicious,” you purr, and when he pleads with you, you dip your head, your tongue laving out to encircle him in a wet, writhing embrace. He’s moreish here too, and so, you sink your lips down around his straining mass. He’s big, and he stretches your capabilities. You can’t even take all of him right away, but you give it your best effort as he moans beneath you.

“Unngg. No-one has ever fit so much,” he praises in disbelief as you take him deeper, humming around him, your head bobbing languorously over his shaft. Richard bucks his hips up ever so gently into your mouth - very careful not to drive into you further than you can take him. His hands come to rest tenderly on your head too, and his fingers smooth so delicately over your hair - reverently even. He doesn’t make any move to grab you to push you down on him- even if you might like that, or he might like that, at a later stage. Right now, you are more than content with this rare, unparalleled gentleness. This delicate, tender joy.

With relish, you continue. He makes such pretty sounds when you have him under your tongue, and yet, for how sensitive he is you are certainly impressed with his stamina. After a particularly deep bob down on to him, you surge off his length, using your hand to rub your slick into him as you look up at him, finding you have him transfixed.

“Need you inside of me, Richard. Can I get on top of you?”

This ache between your legs is becoming untenable.

“Unngg. Want to be inside of you so badly, bonita. Are you ready for me?”

Indicating your readiness, you shift yourself to straddle his hips, your core practically dripping over him as you settle your arousal over his. You writhe him along your folds, coating him in your juices, before rising up on your knees. You have to rise a little higher than you’re used to, to reach the tip of him, and eagerly you settle the blunt pressure of his ruddy, gleaming head at your entrance. You can barely steady yourself in position as your thighs and core tremble for him, in mere anticipation of him filling you. You are grateful when Richard’s hands come to lightly grip the meat of your hips -steadying you, supporting you a little- thumbs caressing your soft spots.

You tug in a breath as you prepare to spear yourself on him, the air faltering in your lungs as you pause where you are, just for a moment, Richard looking up adoringly from under you.

“Soñé contigo por tanto tiempo,” Richard whispers, barely audible. I have dreamed of you for so long. You’re not sure whether it is his sincere, heartfelt words igniting this pleasure within you or the slow inch and drag of your wet heat down his thick, veined shaft. Likely both, but either way, you know you want more.

“Uhhh. Slow. Slow, bonita,” he groans, as you begin to sink all the way down on him, his steady hands guiding you, now cupping your ass, staccato breaths escaping his parted lips as you engulf him. You take him, slowly, gradually, feeling him inch by inch as his girth and his length stretch you open. As you take him to his base, all the way, the full weight of you settling on his hips, Richard’s eyes practically roll back into his head. “God, it feels so good inside you. Can you take me like this?”

Your teeth clamp down on your bottom lip and you nod, stilling as you adjust to his size. He’s a lot, but it’s a pleasant kind of pressure as he strains against your walls and all your sweet spots. “Can you… take a little bit more, hermosa?” Fuck, how does he have even more to give?

“Say stop if it’s too much,” Richard pleads. “Promise?” When you nod, Richard slowly plants his hands on your hips and pulls you down on to him, just a little, as he bucks his hips up, ever so gently. You cry out, your face contorting in disbelief and your head arcing to the sky as Richard fills you to your limit. Meanwhile, Richard is studying your face with gentle concern, feeling it out, checking you are comfortable, letting you slowly reconfigure your insides to the shape of his girth and length. He’d never hurt you. He’d simply never.

And, even though he has filled you all the way up, it feels so good.

Richard stills under you, until you are ready. His fingers trail tenderly over your thighs and belly and breasts. Over the mound of you. Your legs are shaking, folded and clamped down around his hips, and you’re not sure that your weakened limbs have the strength to allow you to rise on his length. But damn it, you will give it a valiant try.

“I need to move,” you beg, even though you are in the position of control, and Richard looks up at you with big pretty eyes, and God, he’s buried in you that you can feel him all the way in your guts. You gasp, whimper, as, gingerly, you rise up, feeling the fullness and drag of him against your walls as you start working and undulating against him, feeling out all the angles which feel best and…

Fuck there are no bad angles.

As you melt, become molten, Richard is your stiffness and he gives form to your boneless, bodiless flesh. You are full, all the way up. You are so full and it could feel urgent and dirty, having his cock deep in you like this, but it… doesn’t. It feels… Fuck. It just feels…. right. You can only describe it as a caress, as he comes to be held safely and tightly inside you, and you begin to move slowly, wanting -somehow- to imbue each drag of him over your walls with the care and affection you feel for him. The adoration you feel so deeply; as deeply as he’s buried in you. Deeper.

“Richard,” you plead, and you hinge forward at the hips, until your chest sinks down to his, your lips on to his lips, and as you undulate on his body you cling to him. Bury your face and your tongue and your hopes and your dreams in him, as though, if you plant them deep enough you can take root and call him home. As if you are a fruit and you need his ground to grow.

In turn, he holds you, arms wrapped around you, fingers caressing your back, moustache scraping against your cheek, your lips, your neck as speaks honey into your skin, nourishing you with sweet, wholesome praises. And, when he’s content that you can take him, when you’ve shown him how you can, Richard starts moving too, working in tandem with you as your bodies roll and heave together.

You show him not only that you can, but how much you enjoy taking him. There are sounds of pulverised fruit, leaking over him, his cock pushing your juices out of you, as though there is no room inside you for anything else but him. And, as your tightness surrounds him, his arms surrounding you in turn, he bestows you with simple yet jewelled praises, calling you all the beautiful names under the sun in both of his tongues.

It’s sweet, and it’s slow, and you both embody tenderness, all caressing fingers and lips and sugary, grateful noises. Clutching hands and arms, drawing the other closer, deeper into this tangle. As he stokes you, you can barely stand these sensations. You can barely comprehend something so pure and so perfect.

He glides into you now, your slick everywhere, your sex increasingly loud and obscene as his beautiful cock is suckered into your wet, liquid heat. As you quicken your pace, Richard’s mouth settles over your shoulder, teeth lightly gripping your flesh as he stifles a moan into your skin. Then, his breaths are billowing gusts fanning over you, and you can guess that he is trying to bring his approaching release under control.

By this stage, you are overwhelmed, your legs spent and tremoring, and you can barely rise and sink on his length anymore for shaking. You have become weak for him, practically liquid from this slow, torturous build. You need Richard to be your stiffness and your joints. You need to be a fluid thing beneath him, or else, you think, you will perish.

“Lie down for me, bonita?” Richard whispers sweetly, so attuned to you, and, seeing, as you flounder with need, your full weight almost limp on top of him, that a change of position is in order.

He draws out of you with a shudder and rolls you, carefully, his own body following and chasing yours. Richard’s weight settles pleasantly on top of you this time, and, as you fumble into position you spread your legs for him, wrapping your thighs and arms tightly around him. You hold him close to you, your hands cradling his head, fumbling through his grizzled curls, now mussed wild tendrils falling around his face. Then, ever so gently, dipping to kiss you sweetly with that assured tongue, Richard re-sheaths himself, sliding easily inside you now with a divine caress of skin. He feels overwhelmingly good. He feels like heaven reaching inside you to kiss your soul and you pray out loud, your moans greeting his kiss.

The angle and the pressure like this is something else, the press of Richard’s soft stomach and hips and the driving of his cock pushing you pleasantly down into the mattress, your body given a little bounce from the springs which helps you set a perfect rhythm together. You are moments away from unravelling, already, as Richard pistons in and out of you, over and over, a glorious pressure building as you are wrapped up safely in the warmth and scent and sound of your sweet, perfect man. You are lost in the feel of him, both of you clammy and breathy and sheening with sweat as you writhe and combine; and fuck, you want to unravel. You need to.

You want to unravel so you can bind yourself to him with more than this ephemeral tangle of limbs. You want to get lost in him, in a way that makes you feel found.

“I’m going to lose it for you, Richard. It feels too good. I... can’t take it. I… It’s too much. I’m… Harder. Deeper. Please.”

Richard is spurred on by your praises, his pace becoming quickened, his thrusts slightly harder. He sinks into you with vigour, though not with any need to dominate or take from you, you think. Simply as an expression of the overwhelming need to be closer. Deeper. More held by you. To hold you in return. It’s not close enough, even as you hold him tightly in your arms. You are so greedy for him that you don’t think you could ever get enough, even as it’s all too much.

You moan. You moan like a sob. Like a plea. Like a prayer. And he shushes you. Soothes you. He shushes you while he’s buried so deep in you -burying himself so deep in you- that you are fucked wide open. There’s something so pure and yet so wicked about the contradiction of his gentleness and this huge, undeniable force in your centre. You feel that he has crawled so deep up in you that he can never leave; and you want it that way.

“Can you take a little more, hermosa?

Fuck. No. Can you? But, yes. Please, yes. God yes.

“Yes. Please, Richard. Give me everything. I want all of you inside me. Need you.”

He thrusts his hips forward. He’s been holding out on you.

“Ohhhh, just like that,” you plead, voice ragged and your moans escalating, both your bodies slick with sweat now as you tangle together. “Right there. Don’t stop. Don’t stop, Richard! I need. Unnggg. Fuck. Need you deep inside me, just like that. Please don’t stop. Don’t stop!” You plead desperately with him -as if you even need to bargain- your teeth clamping down on your bottom lip and your hands reaching for him, tugging him closer to you as he drives his length into you over and over, pressing you harder into the mattress as you sucker him into your tightness.

His lips sink to the column of your neck, that moustache grazing you there, his own rich sounds of pleasure reverberating against your skin, his voice humming so close it sinks into your bones.

“N-never want to stop,” he gushes hoarsely into your skin. “Always want to be inside you- feel you wrapped around me, preciosa.”

His words are sincere. Earnest. And, with his words, and the repeated drag of his perfect cock, and his warmth enveloping you, you finally cry out, omitting a wracked, disbelieving moan as your pleasure pulses through you; toes curling, head thrown back, body jerking and spasming beneath him. This is an orgasm which keeps on giving, deep and strong; waves of bliss rolling through you whole body. A star bursting out from your centre. A flood. Quite literally a flood, intense and urgent and everywhere, and you look down at yourself. This is something else. Something more. A bigger heaven. You hear a new sound even, and you look down, realising that Richard’s cock has you squirting all over him, your release gushing and sloshing wet between your bodies as he continues to thrust into you, coaxing you through your peak and deepening your earth-shaking orgasm with every single movement.

“Ohhhh fuck... Richard-” you cry out, in what can only be described as awe, almost sobbing with ecstasy, your legs violently twitching and trembling as they wrap more tightly around him “-no-one’s ever made me do that before!”

Despite his gentleness, his control, this flood seems to overcome Richard too, and his thrusts become sloppy, as though he can barely stave off his release long enough to keep going, his body going near limp over you for a moment. You even swear he gets harder and bigger and deeper -if that was even possible- when he realises exactly what he made you do. When he realises that you soaked him. Flooded him. Your liquid and your juices shining on his stomach and coursing down his sturdy thighs.

You worry for a moment- you wonder whether he minds or if he likes it, as your release coats his skin and the tangle of sheets, but you needn’t worry for anything more than a moment. In response to your deluge, Richard looks at you as though you are a divine being, and, if you thought he seemed dishevelled with need earlier, this is something else. He’s undeniably into it. Indeed, as he takes in the sight of you below him, bared and writhing in ecstasy amidst a tangle of wet sheets, he stutters moans into the air, his thrusts become more determined, his cock pumping into you with refreshed vigour.

“N- never done that b-before?”

“No, Richard. Fuck. You made me-”

“-I’m going to make you do it again,” he purrs, and it is not a command at all. He never loses his characteristic gentleness. It is half a plea and half a promise, his sincere as ever. “Do it for me again, Bonita,” he coaxes, and he sounds thoroughly levelled by you. He sounds like he can’t get enough of you.

Fuck. You don’t know if you can...

“You can do it, baby. Please. Soak me again.”

You don’t think you can, until Richard is talking to you like that, with profuse, sugared pleas, and until he is hitting you exactly where you need, how you need, all over again.

You practically scream with it, weep with it, curse with it, sending a hoarse, high-pitched crescendo into the air, the keen punctuated by quickened, spent grunts Richard expels into the air with each deep, thick, purposeful thrust into you. You don’t think you’ve ever felt a more assured cock.

You don’t think you can, until-

When you gush over him a second time you are more prepared for it. Prepared enough to watch as you spill over him. Prepared enough to catch the positively awed, sunken expression which spreads over Richard’s face. To appreciate the sound of your release squirting over him and sloshing, wet in-between your bodies, liquid slapping against the roundness of his soft stomach as he thrusts into you faster; more urgently. This time -how can he help it- Richard comes undone with you; and, suddenly it seems everything is liquid, like a flood.

You can feel him fill you up, can feel his hot seed pulsing all the way from the base of him and coating your walls with thick ropes of cum as his hips stutter, burying his length into your heat as deep as he can go. He goes practically limp on top of you, hips collapsing into yours, and you feel him filling you -once again- to your limit, as the motion drives him just a little deeper, just a little closer. Meanwhile, you twitch and shudder and writhe and clench through your aftershocks with Richard still balls deep inside of you, barely able to comprehend the new heights of pleasure you have reached together. Awed, by the way your bodies are speaking like they’ve known each other for years too - despite that this is their first encounter.

There’s this wetness. This wetness everywhere; inside you, on you, under you, and for several moments you feel you too could be liquid, melting and pooling and coursing from the bed. Becoming vapour and evaporating from his hot, sweat-slickened skin. You might, if it wasn’t for Richard - his weight settled on top of you in a pleasing crush. His head settling in the crook of your neck, his length still inside you, his tongue laving to bury itself in your mouth too in a desperate, haphazard motion. He means to bury himself in all ways he can, you think, and you let him. You let him become your stone heart, as you are nothing but boneless, bodiless flesh; an oiled thing beneath him like pulverised, spent fruit - all your juices squeezed out.

You coil your limbs fluidly around him, and you engulf his sturdy form with your softness, holding him at the centre of you. Still buried -softening too- in your centre. Held in this intimate circle of your arms. Becoming the centre of your universe.

You bind yourself to him. You become his. His fruit.

Still panting, spent, hot, Richard rolls off you then, his stiffness gone and his body boneless now too, his stomach and his thighs sheening with a concoction of wetness. His smooth, hairless chest slick with sweat. He collapses beside you, but he immediately reaches for your hand and presses his body to your side. Immediately checks that you’re alright, as you truly become corporeal again, flitting down from heaven and into his arms; a conduit of heaven too, you think.

Now, what the… hold up a damn second. What did this sweet man just-

You gush. You gush for him in words now that the old relic of language and (almost) coherent thought has returned to you, your voice still breathy and discombobulated. “Richard. Richard? Richard! Fuck me. That was... I need you to know that was... Fuck. Phenomenal. I’ve never. In my life. I’ve never done that before. I’ve never... Oh my God. I can’t feel my face. Was that... good for you? Was it...? Fuck. Sweet man.”

Richard chuckles fondly at your near-incoherent babble of words, drawing you into his chest and cradling you like you are a precious thing – the most precious thing.

“It was perfect,” he whispers, satin soft, through a disbelieving breath, and his words make your heart flutter and your stomach tumble pleasantly. Richard’s soft sounds continue, as he whispers sweet names and gentle praises into your hair, kissing everywhere he can reach to punctuate his words, and smoothing his fingers in nonsense shapes over your skin. Hermosa. Bonita. Preciosa. “Everything was perfect. You’re so perfect. I’ve never... I’ve never had someone take care of me so well, princesa. Thank you.”

You can hear it - the flood of emotion in his voice, and, at his admission, his praises, the rush, tears pool in your eyes. It seems he has yet more water to drain from you as a patter of tears course over the bridge of your nose and settle in the hollow of his chest. However, it is not sadness, but joy, you realise. You are thoroughly overwhelmed by how held you feel. By how happy you feel. However, when your eyes brim over and you sniffle, Richard cranes his head down towards you, pulling you up from him so your eyes can meet his.

He looks momentarily devastated. “What’s wrong? Please tell me I didn’t hurt you.”

“No, sweet man. Not at all. It was perfect for me too,” you are quick to reassure, and, as you shuffle on to your stomach, propping yourself up to gaze into his eyes, Richard runs a solitary thumb across your cheek. You ache with the tenderness of his touch. “Just... I’ve never had anyone take care of me like that either,” you admit, and his eyes shine gently at you, misting over with pure, unadulterated adoration. “I’ve never felt so-”

Loved.

Loved, you realise you want to say, but that would be ridiculous, right? This is your first date.

Who said anything about love?

Still, you realise that is the truth of things. That is exactly how he made you feel. Richard was so tender with you, so present, so sensual, so connected. So… right. Had you made him feel this way too? Will he let you take care of him again?

You want to. You so desperately want to. Want to protect him, care for him, laugh with him. Rest your head on the soft pillow of his stomach as he holds you close to him.

He has taken care of you so well, and you don’t want him to stop.

Please. Don’t stop.

Still, as you silently contemplate all of this, Richard simply bundles you firmly into his chest. if you are unable to find the right words, at least he is able to find the gesture. And so, the need to clean up forgotten, the cloying wetness of your skin and the sheets seemingly not bothering him, you languish against him, safe and warm and held.

“Did it feel good?” he asks, after a few moments of comfortable silence. “When you… um…?”

“Squirted all over your cock? Hell yes.” You interject, able to find the words for that at least, filling in the blank for him and laughing gently against his skin. You weren’t able to turn the act into poetry, not yet, your words clumsy and crude, but you didn’t exactly need to. The whole act felt like poetry already. Poetry written on your bones. Etched into your heart.

When he flooded you.

“Maybe you can write about it,” he suggests, and you can hear the cheeky, playful smile dancing on his lips.

“Richard Alonso Muñoz,” you scold, teasingly, your fingers dancing equally playfully over his smooth chest. “Is that what you want me for? You want to be immortalised in poetry? I don’t think you’re as innocent as you let on, are you?”

“I’m not?” he chuckles warmly.

“You read erotic poetry and trashy romance novels… and you fuck like that.”

Make love, like that.

You still cannot move beyond crude words, but in your heart, he makes the words come easily.

“Truthfully, it’s... not always like that,” Richard admits. “It’s… only like that with you.”

Once again, his sincerity has you speechless, and it is all you can do to hold him close to you, as tightly as you can, your eyes squeezing closed and a soft smile tipping your lips. He holds you in return. Holds you in this perfect moment.

“It really did feel good though. It was… I can’t even describe it. My body feels likes a… fucking… limp, wet noodle.”

The laugh he emits at your words is music. “Wet noodle? Aren’t you supposed to be a poet, darling?” Oh, he’s teasing you now? This sweet man is teasing you?

You gasp, mock affronted, and jab him playfully in the stomach with your finger, in the spots you remember he is ticklish. “Rude!” you exclaim, and he jiggles joyously against you. When the laugh dissipates, leaving only smiling, appled cheeks, silence once again enfolds you like a warm, comfortable blanket.

“I was thinking,” he begins softly, after a few moments of laying together. “We could go to the farmer’s market tomorrow. The one with the cider donuts. We could take Lady.”

You can’t answer right away, can’t find the words, and it is all you can do to tug in a slow breath. Your hesitation evidently has Richard worrying again, and he rushes to fill in the blank space with his own insecurities. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice brittle. “I assumed... because I want to, but... but maybe you’re not thinking that you want to see me again...”

You pull back. Urgently moving so that you are face-to-face with him on the pillow, his body following yours on to his side too, like a magnet. You cup his face again, with your tender, open hand. You look him in the eyes. Those sweet, expressive, cola-coloured eyes. Your heart is shining for him, and it feels rubbed until it gleams.

You examine his tentatively hopeful expression. You get the sense that this man falls hard. Falls quickly. He’s in love with love, after all. You, on the other hand, love slow. And so, even as it breaks your heart that you can’t yet say the words aloud, you deflect. “You want to know what I’m thinking, Richard?” He nods. “I’m still thinking about how you turned me into a wet noodle. You should be the smuggest Adonis this side of Midtown - how on earth are you playing that one so cool?”

Richard’s face pinches a little, his gaze dropping from yours, lashes fluttering.

“It was perfect,” he agrees, in a small voice. “But, I guess, I’m not as… surprised as you are.” You shake your head slightly, in mild confusion. Wanting him to elaborate. “I always imagined you would be perfect.” He blinks shyly, and attempts a masking smile. “I don’t know if you thought the same way about me.”

A terrible lump swells in your throat. Your chest tightens.

It’s time to speak. To make your words a little more like poetry.

But it’s scary. It’s hard. You know that now.

“That’s not quite it, sweet man,” you begin. Realisation sinking heavily through you, drawing your brow down with it. Richard searches your face, encouraging you to go on, expression open; pretty eyes big. And, although the words are hard to say, they are easier. The words are easier around him. “Honestly, Richard? I think, you’ve always been perfect. I just didn’t want to realise it. I didn’t want to notice you,” you confess, your voice cracking with emotion.

“Why?” Richard encourages, a knot in his brow now too as he smooths his thumb earnestly over your cheek, breath bated. His touch is like the path of a match against its counterpart box; it is a little thing, which threatens to ignite something far larger.

“I…” you sigh out some of your tension and nerves with a billowing exhale. “I suppose… because I knew. That as soon as I saw you, there would be no going back. I must have known deep-down, that if I saw you, that I… I could love you so quickly.”

Richard swallows. “Is that… not something you want? Love?”

“It didn’t used to be. I… didn’t used to believe I deserved it,” you reveal, tears balling in your eyes as all of your deepest fears and secrets loosen and rattle inside your chest, gradually being shed and needing to find their exit.

“And now, preciosa?” Richard asks, gingerly smoothing a hand over the crown of your head, dipping a moustached kiss to the centre of your forehead. “What do you believe?”

Now? Now, it is different, and a cautious smile slowly claims your lips - even as your cheeks are wet by tears.

“I’m thinking, Richard Alonso Muñoz, that… That nothing would give me greater pleasure than accompanying you to the farmer’s market.”

Your words sound flippant, perhaps insignificant, but you can tell, from the way Richard’s eyes pool with a subtle, brewing joy, that your true meaning is abundantly clear to him. So, in mutual celebration your lips press together in a crush, smile lines radiating across his face. When he pulls back though, a gentle, playful heat seemingly overtakes him. “Are you sure about that, bonita?” he asks in a fond, teasing tone. As his chest shakes in a rich, gleeful chuckle, you perfectly catch his meaning too.

“Okay, okay,” you concede, with a giggle, as he slants his hips forward, pressing his already hardening length against your thigh. “Maybe there is one thing that could give me more pleasure.” You tick-up a suggestive eyebrow. “Want to remind me?”

“Please,” he purrs, just as broken with need as before. “My beautiful, wet little noodle.”

At his ridiculous new pet name -which you only have yourself to blame for, honestly- you squeal brightly, expelling musical peals of laughter into his open-mouth as he surges to kiss you, the act imbued with deep affection. He kisses you until the laughter pleasantly dissipates, your bodies suffusing with a resurgent heat, as you tangle together all over again.

As Richard holds you, every so tenderly, you are overcome. Your loneliness? It has never felt so far away. You hadn’t realised how much you needed somebody to love. You hadn’t realised that someone was him. You hadn’t wanted to admit it. But, oh, you are realising it now. And, you are never going to forget it.

“Kiss me again,” you plead into the air.

“Where?”

“Everywhere.”

Everywhere.

“Yes, Ma’am,” he responds, affirmatively, and with relish, you feel his moustache graze the column of your neck. Somehow, you don’t think you’ll ever tire of that feeling.

As his lips crush to your again, you note how he tastes. A combination of your sweet, nectar-like juices, and the subtle tang of sweat he has kissed from your sex-flushed skin. He tastes like a salted peach. He is pure poetry, you think. You’ve never tasted anything quite as sweet, and you’ve never experienced such a flood. And, now that your deluge of joy is through -your happiness instead streaming steadily- it no longer feels heavy. It no longer weighs you down.

You want to love him, and be loved; and, you will.

What’s more. You deserve every bit of it.

It’s the little things. One by one. And then, suddenly, there it is. There’s everything; in your arms.

#Richard Alonso Muñoz #richard alonso munoz x reader #the letter room #Richard Alonso Muñoz x reader #Oscar Isaac

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jungshook69 · 3 years

Text

Love is a myth :: 01

DISCLAIMER: This doesn’t represent the members’ actions or the army’s actions in any manner it’s pure fiction. This is an original work, do not copy. The taglist is open if you want. Taglist is now closed.

WORD COUNT: 4.1K words

MAIN PAIRING: musician! Yoongi X waitress! female reader

SIDE PAIRING/S: Jungkook X female reader ; Taehyung X female reader

GENRE: FWB! au ; Strangers to lovers! au

WARNINGS: Implied smut (Forgive me cuz I suck at writing it, no puns intended) ; Mentions of alcohol and smoking (I do not condone smoking) ; Profanity ; Mentions of infidelity ; Heavy angst ; Self loathing (Namjoon’s about to wack me in the head with his slipper) ; I apologize in advance if there’s any spelling errors.

SUMMARY: "You covered your bare form with the silk sheets beneath you, as you watched him walk out your door without a word." // "Love is a myth. All that existed between you two was pure lust." // "The last rule was if anyone of the two of you caught feelings for the other, the deal would be off."

SERIES MASTERLIST: Trailer » Meet the cast » Chapter #1 » Chapter #2 » Chapter #3 » Chapter #4

STATUS: Complete

You lay on your bed, chest panting, as you tried to catch your breath. Your hooded eyes fluttered open to meet the familiar sight of a white ceiling fan rotating at a painfully slow speed. Your forehead and bare chest were lined with beads of sweat as you felt the mattress dip beside you. You turned your attention to his presence, as you were met with the sight of his bare back sitting upright, his hands working hard to put his white t-shirt back on. You watched as he pulled on his boxers, followed by his jeans and walked over to your side of the bed.

You covered your bare form with the soft silk sheets underneath you as you watched him come closer to you. No, he did not lean in for a passionate good bye kiss. No, he did not bend over and embrace your petite form against his warm chest, and run his calloused fingers along your naked back. None of that was part of what you both had come to terms with. Your curious eyes followed his movements as he bent down to grab his beanie off of the floor next to your side of the bed.

He slipped on his beanie and his jacket which was strewn across your chair, not moments ago. Without a word, you watch as the man’s dark figure retreated from the shadows of your bedroom. You let out a deep breath you weren’t aware you were holding, as soon as you heard the front door click. Being too tired to get up and wash up, you let your tired eyes take control, as you drifted into a deep slumber.

You awoke to the sound of a woman’s high pitched voice yelling, contrary to most people waking up to the sound of a disturbingly loud alarm. You immediately recognized the voice to be the sound of your neighbors engaged in a routinely loud domestic argument. Maybe this time her husband accidently burned an egg on the stove, or maybe this time her toddler broke a vase, the possibilities were endless. In your time living in your apartment, you had heard your neighbors engage in a variety of arguments. The daily bickering of your neighbors, your parents’ marriage, and a certain someone from your past, were the exact reasons why your take on love was the way it is now.

Was love overrated according to you? Nope, that wasn’t the case. You just didn’t believe love existed at all. You believed that love is a myth.

You had higher priorities in life, like maintaining a proper work ethic, to earn for a living. You were one of the lucky ones whose day didn’t start at 6 in the morning. Instead your job required for you to be present quite later, at around 11 in the morning. But, to be fair, your job extended further into the next day, as far as 2 or 3 in the morning sometimes. But you did prefer your current work schedule better, as you were kind of a night owl.

You freshened up, and had a hearty breakfast composed of a buttered toast and some chai tea. Yes, unlike the people around you, you were one to prefer tea over coffee. You couldn’t count the number of times you’ve had this discussion with your colleagues. You soon got dressed in your uniform consisting of a tight white blouse, a black pencil skirt that hugged your curves, paired with classic black pumps. You didn’t forget to put on your silver ring with a black J carved into it, the one you’d taken off the night before, when you were engaged in a scandalous activity with a certain someone. You grabbed your purse and your warm grey winter coat, as you stepped out the door, ready to start your day.

The bus ride wasn’t too bad, although you wish you had enough strength to pull the window which was stuck, close, to stop the cold winter breeze from grazing your bare calves. But as soon as you entered the warm ambience of your workplace, your coat long forgotten, your mind focused on getting the job done. You walked across the rows and rows of empty tables and chairs, your heels making minimal noise against the rich carpet, as you made your way through a pair of steel doors, tying your apron around your waist. You grabbed a checklist attached onto a clipboard, and detained your responsibilities as the senior head waitress.

“Okay, do we have the 5 kilograms of sundried tomatoes from Tony’s farm?” you’re sharp voice rings through the hustling and bustling of your colleagues. “Yes ma’am!” you here a response over the ruckus of boxes being unloaded. Doing inventory was a hassle, but you were determined to complete the responsibility laid on your shoulders. About an hour of screaming later, you were wiping off the sweat that had accumulated across your forehead. “Good job today guys, we did inventory, 30 minutes early.” You said, a small smile tracing your thin lips. Although you were stern, you knew how to appreciate your colleagues work. They all gave you small smiles as they headed off to freshen themselves up, to get ready for opening up for business in 30 minutes.

You were in the washroom, touching up your deep wine lipstick, when the door flew open, followed by the click of heels against the marble floor. You caught her reflection in the mirror as you turned around and greeted her. “Hey Maria…” you said, not a trace of enthusiasm in your voice. If there was one person who you could stand the least in your workplace, it was Maria. Contrary to you, she was born with a silver spoon. She was the restaurant manager’s niece, and had been given a job here, despite her inexperience. You never had a problem with that, but it’s when she ran against you for the post of senior head waitress, you grew envious. But fortunately, the manager saw beyond just blood relations, and fairly granted you the promotion, as a result of all the blood and sweat you had put into it.

“Hey…” she mumbled, plainly as courtesy, and no real kind intention, as she walked towards the mirror and began brushing through the strands of her short black bob. Unbothered by her presence, you began to tie your long brown locks into a low braided bun and brushed your outfit free from any existing wrinkles. Your eyes drifted to the adjacent female’s form and you couldn’t help but feel a twinge of envy. You were pretty proud of how you looked. It’s just that you failed to be confident about your body, unlike her, who flawlessly flaunted her curves. Before you could overthink you left the washroom.

10 minutes left to opening time, you were setting folded napkins down by the pristine glassware and silverware on a table, when you heard the small bell chime, alerting you of someone entering the restaurant. You look up and immediately lock eyes with a man with deep brown feline eyes, his hair a pale mint green, contrasting with his all-black attire. Min Yoongi. The same man who was hovering over you last night, the same man whose throat was voicing your name out loud, the same man whose teeth had left evident marks on your body, multiple times in the last 2 months. You shifted your gaze onto the butter knife in your hand, and all you could think about was stabbing the man in front of you senseless, and then stabbing yourself, for doing what you did. But then again, lust was a dangerous greed in your mind.

You walked away to a table farther away from the entrance, while your eyes carefully watched as he uncovered his guitar from the case, and began setting up a mic on the center stage, right under the spotlight. “Hey, do you need help setting up?” you heard Maria ask him. You caught from the corner of your eyes, her figure bending over to his seated one on the chair, her hand landing on his shoulder. You were pretty sure his unwavering gaze was fixed down her shirt. “No I’m good.” He huffs and gets back to working on the speaker settings for his performance. You let whatever feeling was building up in the pit of your stomach subside as you left the two, making your way back into the kitchen.

Before you knew it, the whole day had gone by with you running in between tables, jotting down orders on your little notepad, and running back and forth between the loud and chaotic kitchen and the quiet and luxurious ambience of the seating region. This was your life, maintaining a calm composure, fit for a classy 5-star restaurant accompanied by casting several missed glances at a certain musician playing a beautiful rhythm.

You placed a martini at a table with a family of 4. You observed the man to be wearing a rich tuxedo finished with a neatly tucked pocket square, the woman was adorned with elegant pearls and dressed in a midnight blue gown, a small girl, embezzled in what appeared to be her mother’s gold jewelry and dressed in an obnoxious pink frilled dress. A small boy of around the age of 5, who was seated right next to where you were standing, cast you a nasty glance as you watched his hand topple the glass, spilling all the contents onto your skirt. You audibly gasped, but remembered to lower your voice and not make a scene, luckily your skirt was black. The woman at the table said nothing, her eyes fixated upon her rich manicure, while the man glanced your way and muttered a small “sorry”.

You were used to being treated this way. You were used to seeing families like this, all adorned with a picture perfect image on the outside, while you knew that their souls were writhing on the inside. You whispered a small “its okay sir” and worked on cleaning up the mess at the table. The small girl reached out to pick up a napkin and just as she was about to hand it to you, probably to help dry your skirt off, you felt her mother’s cold glare harden on her daughter, as the small child dropped the napkin and sheepishly returned her gaze back onto her lap. You sympathized with this little girl you barely knew, because you too were once in her place.

Your parents were just like the many families you had encountered at your job over the years. They maintained a perfect image on the outside while no one knew the hell they put you and themselves through inside the doors of your home. You remembered every time your mom had scoffed at you for helping someone with a lower status than yours. You remembered those endless nights of bickering when your mom and dad had lectured you on how you couldn’t let your proper image waver when you had told them that you wanted to pursue your true passion of playing the piano. You remembered the night that you watched your father slap your mother across her face in his study, the talk of divorce ensuing. You remembered being frightened and packing your bag, stuffing a roll of cash in it, and jumping out the window and escaping.

You were jolted back to reality as you felt a pair of hands grab your shoulders. Maria’s disgusted face appeared as she whisper-shouted in your ear, “What do you think you’re doing? Stop day dreaming and get back inside the kitchen, I’ll take their order!” You were about to correct her for the manner in which she talked to you, her superior, but decided to do yourself a favor, and leave the room before any more humiliation could follow. Although you remained unaware of a certain pair of eyes sharply watching your movements.

You entered the bathroom and worked on getting the stain off of your skirt. As soon as you were done, you looked at your reflection in the mirror. Your attire still remained remarkably presentable, but the dark circles etched below your eyes, were beginning to uncover from underneath the heavy concealer. Your eyes drifted towards the empty bathroom stall behind you, and you couldn’t help but form a tiny smile. You remembered the time, a week ago, when you and Yoongi had occupied the stall in a very risky endeavor in between his 10 minute break, and had almost been caught by the head chef, who had come in there looking for you.

You knew what you and Yoongi had was toxic, but so was your whole take on love. Everyone from your parents to your neighbors and just about everything in your life had convinced you, that true love didn’t exist. You only believed that a greed called lust existed. And all you thought was that you needed relief for the same. About 2 months ago, when you were getting drunk off your ass for getting promoted, you had run into Yoongi. He had been playing at the restaurant, alternating between piano and guitar, for just as long as you had been working there. He had always caught your eye, and if you were being brutally honest, you loved watching him do something that you couldn’t do, play piano.

No sooner had the words “Wanna get outta here?” been spoken, you had ended up, about 20 minutes later, squirming underneath him, grasping his shoulders and moaning shamelessly, your cries contained inside the walls of his bedroom. What was commendable though was that you both had managed to keep your word so far. You both had devised a set of rules, no cuddling, no sweet goodbye kisses after doing the deed (making out before doing the dirty wasn’t counted), no going on dates, consent was always necessary, no leverage, meaning you both were free to engage in personal affairs with other men/women as long as you promised to remain safe, and the last impending rule being, if anyone of the two of you caught feelings for the other, the deal would be off. You knew these rules sounded ridiculous, like you were writing your own constitution, but it was necessary for a relationship, where you both were doing this purely for relief, for lust.

You shook off your smile, and headed out of the washroom. You continued doing your chores, till it was finally closing time. The rest of the hour until midnight passed by as you and your colleagues worked on going through the gigantic pile of dishes. Of course it wasn’t part of your job but you’d rather spend time here with your colleagues than sit alone in the darkness of your humble abode. You also didn’t want to deal with any sort of unnecessary feelings arising, when you saw Yoongi leaving the room, Maria clinging by his side.

“Hey wanna join us for a beer?” said Mark. He was one of the few kind friends you’d made at this job, along with his girlfriend Jackie, and another girl Maya. “Sure what have I got to lose?” you say, grabbing your coat. Before you knew it, your 3rd beer bottle was hooked to your lips, as you gulped the liquid down, drowning your worries.

“Man, Maria’s a bitch huh?” Jackie spoke up. You loved her spunky personality, and she was straight forward like you. “Yeah lol” you say.

“Don’t be so mean Jackie…” Maya speaks up, only halfway through her first beer bottle. She was shy and timid, contrary to Jackie, but she was too pure for this cruel world.

“You’re just saying that because she’s never been mean to you.” Jackie stated matter-of-factly. “Amen” her boyfriend Mark said clinking his bottle with her’s.

“I never saw her be rude to you though” Maya says innocently. “Does her shoving her chest into my boyfriend’s face on purpose in front of me count?” Jackie says rolling her eyes and scoffing.

“I swear I was so freaked out.” Mark said laughing. “If it weren’t for Jackie ‘accidently’ shoving her face into the cake, I don’t know how far she would’ve gone to seduce me.”

“That was the best day of my life.” I said laughing. “Guys don’t be so loud, she’s right there” Maya whisper-yelled.

Everyone’s eyes turned to follow Maya’s line of sight and the image before you made your heart clench involuntarily. You watched with disgust, as you saw Yoongi’s tongue literally down Maria’s throat, his hands running up and down her form.

“She won’t be able to hear us bitching about her over the loud music anyways so it doesn’t matter…” Jackie said breaking your gaze away from the pair. “By the way, guitar guy is hot innit?”

“Yeah he’s pretty cool, he has good taste in music based off of the songs he plays” Mark says. You were not surprised to see that Mark didn’t get jealous over his girlfriend calling another man hot. You only wish you were so secure about your relationships.

After a moment of silence excluding the loud club music you spoke up, “I think I’m gonna head home now guys” you said looking at your watch. “It’s 2, holy shit!”

“Yeah we should get going too actually…” Mark said, getting ready to lift Jackie up. “Maya how’re you gonna get home?” you ask, genuinely concerned.

“Oh actually… my boyfriend is gonna pick me up…” she said timidly. “You have a boyfriend?” Jackie yelped.

“Yeah… see you guys…” she said rushing out of the place before any questions could follow. You bid Mark and Jackie goodbye, not wanting to wait for the war of tongues that was yet to ensue. You glanced over once again only to find a certain pair missing. You tried to suppress the unbeknownst feeling bubbling inside you, as you headed home with a heavy heart.

You weren’t too drunk as you had a high tolerance for beer. You decided since your apartment was only a few blocks away, you would walk. You were used to walking on the streets alone at night, as your job required for you to stay back quite frequently.

Along with the familiar click of your heels on the concrete, you heard a periodic scruff of shoes on the concrete behind you. You turned around to see a man, head hung low, hood covering his face walking at a pace similar to yours. To be honest, you weren’t afraid of things like these. At least that’s what you told yourself to brace your inner coward self. But living alone all these years, basically living with just scraps from when you were 16 years old and had escaped, had prepared you for a lot of conditions for the best. You decided to walk faster, the streetlights casting a warm yellow light across the two of you, highlighting the game of cat and mouse you were playing.

About a minute later, the steps of your apartment came into view, which gave you some new found confidence. You halted and turned around swiftly and yelled, “You gonna follow me up to my apartment or are you gonna make your move any time soon?”

The man walked a few steps forward and uncovered his hood, revealing his pale face under the moonlight, his shocking green hair catching your eyes. “Min Yoongi…” you said rolling your eyes.

You ignored the man and went up to the steps leading up to your building and took a seat. You watched the man linger not far behind you and finally make it to you, as he stood beside you, laying an arm on the rails. “Why were you following me?” you said, obvious annoyance laced in your voice.

“It’s 2 in the morning… I felt like taking a walk…” he said nonchalantly.

You huffed and fished out a cigarette and a lighter out from your purse. Lighting it, you brought it up to your lips and took in a huff of smoke. You leaned your head back, letting out the puff of smoke into the night sky, your head feeling light. “Seriously why’re you here? Do you want sex?” you said rolling your eyes.

“Not everything is about sex Y/N…” Yoongi spoke up, his deep raspy voice sending an untimely shiver down your spine.

“Between us it is…” you say softly.

“It doesn’t have to be…” Yoongi replies almost too immediately.

“We made the contract mutually you dumb fuck” you say huffing in another breath from the cigarette in your hand.

He walked around you and took a seat next to you on the cold steps his hand extending forward. “Who said we can’t talk like normal friends?” he says as you knowingly pass your cigarette into his willing hand, watching him, as he took a puff too, before crushing it underneath his boot.

“Sure” you say sarcastically rolling your eyes. “I’m sure you have your hands full with a certain friend already” you scoff.

He raised his eyebrow at you only to have you roll your eyes again. “Maria seems like a pretty good friend… ya know how she lets you shove your tongue down her throat, anytime you want.”

“Ahhh… So you were at the bar huh?” he says, although you remain suspicious of the fact that he knew of your presence beforehand.

“Yeah, and I for a fact know, that no one can be friends, without any pure intentions of lust hidden behind it.” You state.

“Then what about Mark?” he says looking at the empty street before you both.

“Yeah he’s the only male friend of mine, without any intentions.” You scoff.

“You never know…” Yoongi murmurs.

“He’s dating Jackie for Christ’s sake!” you say annoyed, clearly understanding his tactic.

“Oh…” he says an unnoticeable trace of guilt hidden in his voice.

“Were you seriously trying to make me jealous by hooking up with Maria in front of me, just because you thought me and Mark had something going on between us?” you ask in disbelief.

His silence confirms your suspicions. “Oh lord! Were you dreaming when Jackie and Mark got caught making out in the store room?”

“Hey, I don’t know what the hell goes on beyond those steel doors okay? I get in, play music, and get out… I don’t have a social life at my job like you do!” he huffs out.

“I’m sorry…” you say, although it hurts your pride.

“I’m sorry too, for the whole Maria thing… call it even?” he says giving you a small smile.

“You don’t have to be sorry… it’s part of the deal… you can engage in personal affairs with anyone else, it’s your choice… I have no say in your life…” you say staring at the ground.

“Well I’m sorry for following you like a creepy stalker… I was just making sure you got home alright… call it even now?” he says a small giggle leaving his throat.

You didn’t try to question why he was worried about you walking home, because you knew that argument wouldn’t lead anywhere sensible. “Call it even.” You respond looking into his eyes, returning his smile.

The gaze grew uncomfortably long before you spoke up, “I should get going…” You stood up brushing your skirt. You didn’t know whose cursed soul possessed you, but your heart took control of your actions before your head could stop you, and your hand landed on his shoulder before you pulled him in for a short kiss. You backed away to meet his wide eyes, which was expected as you, the strict rule enforcer, had gone back on the rule, ‘no sweet goodbye kisses’.

“I-I’m sorry I’m drunk…” you blabbered.

“No it’s okay… I didn’t mind…” he mumbled out the last part, too soft to hear.

You panicked and immediately tried to draw attention away from your actions. “Eeeww I just indirectly kissed Maria.” You whined.

Yoongi broke into a loud laugh “Ayy I made sure to rinse my mouth off before I followed you here”.

“Oh… were you expecting to sleep with me?” you ask confused.

“N-No not at all… I know you’re tired tonight.” Yoongi said rubbing his neck and backing away. “Well I should get going… friend” he said smirking.

“Alright, see ya… friend” you said returning his devious smile with a smirk of your own. With that you went up to your apartment and went to bed with a not as heavy of a heart as you expected.

«Previous :: Masterlist :: Next»

A/N: Don’t forget to follow @jungshook69 for more content:) You can check out more works of mine here. Have a great day:)

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rebellconquerer · 3 years

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Hi :)

A friend of mine recently shared your story, music theory, with me. I really liked it and I ended up reading the entire series over the week! It was really good and I thoroughly enjoyed it. It was so warm! Even in the instances of angst, it felt real, like watching an actual telly series. I hope you don’t mind me asking, but I always love picking through an author’s brain about their creative process and how they’ve approached their characters.

I guess my first question is, what part of this series was the hardest to write and if you could change anything about it, what would it be?

Second, where do you think your approach to Bucky and how he relates with those around him and close to him, differs from how marvel has approached his character in the past and present?

Another thing that really stood out to me about this series and your approach to Bucky and Sarah’s relationship was how you handled their personal conflicts. I often find that when written in fan-fiction, fights between lovers can feel shallow, unrealistic, or even subdue characterization. However, the way you handled these conflicts really added depth to their characters for me. It was intriguing and it had me wanting more. Not necessarily more of them fighting, but rather their domestic life and how they handle living together.

I am also curious on how you think they would navigate conflict if Sarah was the one at fault. The main conflicts of the series revolved around Bucky and his internal issues and past life. I’m curious to know how Bucky conflict with Sarah if she was the guilty party.

Sorry this was a lot, but your story really had me thinking about these characters. Thank you <3

Hello friend!

First of all thank you for all your kind words!! You put a smile on my face this morning.

This is long but I love it! I'm gonna work through it in parts. Tell me if I miss anything.

Part 1: what was the hardest and what would I change with a side note of how the fights seem realistic.

In The Woods Somewhere was the hardest for multiple reasons. It was the longest and it had plot which is hard to write. Of that story, the two fights between Bucky and Sarah were especially hard to write. I think a lot of time arguments or fights are hard to get right cause the writer agrees with one party and therefore only one side makes sense. So you are reading/watching thinking this is dumb, why are they even fighting. To fix this I kinda had to make both sides of each fight reasonable which means a lot of nitpicking. Also I'm very aware that as a woc there can be a tendency to write an angry Sarah as an angry black woman(tm) and I hate that, so I was even more aware of making her reactions realistic. I actually re read this story like 2 days ago and didn't cringe as much as I expected, which was nice, but i would re write the first fight and sex scene. I thought it was ok when I wrote it, now I think it's pretty bad. The pacing is all wrong.

Part 2: my Bucky vs MCU Bucky.

I actually think my version of him is very similar to the MCU version just a little more fleshed out. His relationship to the Wakandans is hinted at on screen (at least to me) in a few blink and you miss it moments. For example: when T'Challa comes to give him the arm in Infinity War, he says Bucky may be tired of war, but he's rested long enough. Not that he's tired of being used or being a weapon, tired of war in general. That to me implies a certain amount of personal knowledge of how Bucky is/has been feeling. T'Challa looks sad giving the arm to Bucky, like he knows what he's asking of him, and Bucky immediately asks where's the fight. Doesn't ask why they are fighting or for what, is just immediately ready to go fight for this man solely because he asked him, that is trust. Then again when Bucky and Ayo are fighting in TFATWS, he never seems afraid of her, just exasperated, like he truly believes he could get her to listen to him meanwhile she is pissed. The kinda pissed I maintain only someone who you care about could make you.

As for his responses, Bucky canonically runs from people who trigger emotion in him. Steve and Sam. Which is believable for someone who had been on his own for so long. His character flaw remained the same.

Marvel/ Sebastian Stan gave us a very 3d character, just in the margins. I just ran with it.

Part 3: Sarah in the wrong

You know I didn't even notice until you pointed it out that all the fights are about Bucky not Sarah. Now I kinda want to write that.

I think Bucky would internalize whatever Sarah did to anger him for a while before it came up because he's so used to his wants and needs not being a priority which would lead to even more arguments. I don't think their fighting style would change depending on who was in the wrong necessarily, because they both try to be so honest with each other, but I think Sarah messing up is a great plot bunny.

#asks #long post #im tagging this #meta #because im calling it meta #in the woods somewhere #writing asks

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sanoiro · 4 years

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Lucifer 5x07 - Our Mojo - Spoilers & Speculation

Warning! There is always the possibility that certain scenes might have been mixed up under their non-respective episodes.

Written By: Julia Fontana

Directed By: Nathan Hope

Julia Fontana has written/co-written the episodes:

2x10 - Quid Pro Ho

2x15 - Deceptive Little Parasite

3x08 - Chloe Does Lucifer

3x16 - Infernal Guinea Pig

5x07 - Our Mojo

Cast: Tom Ellis as Lucifer, Lauren German as Chloe, DB Woodside as Amenadiel, Lesley-Ann Brandt as Maze, Kevin Alejandro as Dan, Scarlett Estevez as Trixie, Rachael Harris as Linda Martin and Aimee Garcia as Ella.

Season 5 Recurring Characters: None Officially Announced Guest Cast:

Giovanni Bejarano...Mario Canales

Nancy De Mayo...Nina

Glenn Fernandez...Danilo

David Figlioli...Les Klumpsky

Cara Koh...Madison Evans

Behind The Scenes

youtube

As we get close to the Midseason Finale S&S do remember the past seasons Midseason and Season Finales. There were never standalone. You see there is always a pattern to be followed and this will happen with 5x07 and 5x08. The two episodes 5x07 and 5x08 act both as a Finale but also as a medium to the story to move forward and for P2 to bring elements from P1.

Going back we should remember how the following episodes intertwined thus a recap is needed.

1x12 - #TeamLucifer & 1x13 - Take Me Back to Hell were based on three elements. One Lucifer’s vulnerability, Malcolm and the Pentecostal Coin. A bargain was made there which moved us to S2 and the introduction of Mum.

2x11 - Stewardess Interruptus, 2x12- Love Handles and 2x13 - A Good Day to Die built up to the point of where the supernatural aspects of Lucifer’s mythos are explored with Chloe being revealed to be a Miracle while Dr Carlisle acted as a serial killer poisoning his victims and Chloe. What we also tend to forget here is that early in S2 Uriel’s threat was almost materialized as Chloe would have died if Lucifer had not gone to Hell and thus broke the balance of time and effect Dr Carlisle had started. It is also why in that season we had to focus on Mum and the blade.

2x17 - Sympathy for the Goddess and 2x18 The Good, the Bad and the Crispy used the blade and Mum was set as yet another problem while Lucifer regained his wings. Again we needed two to three episodes if you add 2x16 - God Johnson into this, to build up the story.

In S3 3x09 - Sinnerman and 3x10 - The Sin Bin led to the Mid Season finale which foretold Marcus way of dying by a blade which Lucifer had struck. The end of S3 actually started from 3x19 and was led to the very end but again episodes 3x23 - Quintessential Deckerstar and 3x24 - A Devil of my Word delivered the conclusion of S3 and led to the issues of S4.

Now S4 actually help us structure S5. There were Kinley and the vial, in 4x04 - All About Eve we get Eve and the conclusion happens between the episodes 4x09 - Save Lucifer and 4x10 - Who’s Da New King of Hell. Also, certain episodes were connected like 4x06 - Orgy Pants To Work and 4x07 - Devil Is As Devil Does where Julian becomes the connection between the story as it involves

With all the above in mind, we see what the writers like to use but also how they pace their seasons and what is included.

In S5 up to 5x10 you will see this as far as I understand.

First 5x01 will set in motion an issue that needs to be resolved so Lucifer ascends but a new factor is introduced and that way the episode will end with a question of how things will move from there while the promise of Lucifer staying on Earth will not be that clear.

In 5x02 we get the realization that something is amiss and that action needs to be taken but that connects us to 5x03 so 5x02 and 5x03 connect through the lingering issue from 5x01, Lucifer’s desire to stay on earth or perhaps the insistence of others to keep him away from Hell. Hell you see is like a drug and it acts slowly so at some point we will get a cold turkey Lucifer in 5x02 with 5x03 acting as his re-introduction to society and his old life.

Amidst all that we get the consequence of Lucifer’s actions probably from 5x01 which I suspect will affect Dan and a more permanent solution will be sought which leads us to 5x04. 5x04 offers us a lot of answers but also questions and that is why it is tied so well with 5x05. Lucifer is not the same nothing is but a solution has been found as maintenance does not fix a hole in a sinking ship.

Along with all the above, we also have Deckerstar and revelations which are bound to be set in these episodes and which will lead to the rocky episode of 5x06. Fear not though as 5x06 opens the door to the last two episodes of P1. In these two episodes actions will be made that will turn the tables first to how our characters act but also what they expect from the future. It is also where we will understand why in 5x04 the title was “It never ends well for the Chicken”.

Divine solutions do not come without collateral and thus a sacrifice will be made yet to what extent and what that will mean for our leads it remains to be seen as we only have scattered pieces which hint that Chloe will take the blow but not in the conventional sense the fandom loves to lament over. Chloe dying is overplayed and in my opinion to fan fiction like to be put forward in the mid-season finale. No here we are talking about more revelations on Lucifer’s past but also Chloe’s which may date back to the Pre-Fall era.

So let’s try to go through 5x07 episode first as we connect it lightly to 5x08.

First of all, we know that we have a Serial Killer played by David Figlioli* in these two episodes so I would expect to see a plot similar to Dr Carlisle’s. That means that in one of the two episodes either the effect of the character will set in motion an unavoidable plot that will affect all the leads pr that past actions are bound to fade the immediate future.

*If you do not want to know who that is please do not look him up and think twice before spoiling that element to people who do not like spoilers or like the procedural subplot of the series. I do not add his bts here for that reason.

Now our Serial Killer has been described as “Nerdy and Creepy” which fits the description from the locations they were used.

At this point please remember that we usually LOVE to speculate only on Lucifer and Chloe but in reality their story is supported and the plot moves forward through the events on every single character’s life. So certain points might be considered from all angles meaning from every character’s point of view on 5x07 and 5x08. That is practically impossible as we have no idea what has happened to most of them during S5P1, we can only guess so let’s see.

Dan - We expect him to have a health issue that ties him to Lucifer for the most part of the season. As we have said Dan’s arc is very similar to Charlotte’s and also after 5x08 the bracelet disappears but that’s for the S&S of 5x08. So notice that Kevin Alejandro did not appear in the bts of 5x07 and 5x08 while the actor had some other engagement during the shooting of 5x07 and he directed 5x08. Of course, bts are not reliable on how much screen time a character has but is nonetheless suspicious.

Amenadiel - It seems that Amenadiel according to his garments has decided run LUX early in S5 but in some bts there were some hints of boxing yet I cannot tie them to an episode so I’m just mentioning that here. We also know from the photos at Linda’s fridge is you look closely that he has a calm domestic life but here is the twist we do not know if he is romantically involved with Linda or if in S5 the usual working pair Maze and Amenadiel move from where they left things in S1-S2. Whatever happens, what we know is that Amenadiel is deeply involved in this seasons plot so keep an eye on him.

Maze - You have seen her in different clothes and it does not seem like she has left her demonic character attitudes and choice of wardrobe behind in S5. On the contrary, her relationship with humans like Ella and Linda seem to now be better and I do not think she will be bitter towards Lucifer although who knows, as he left her when he went back to Hell. In short, she seems to be coping well but there are a lot of fights which I’m not sure whether she acts out in S5 towards Lucifer and Amenadiel or tries to fend off whatever attacks them. Do not go to oh the demons have ascended scenario just yet…

Linda - Linda seems to be in a very good place we know she has her son, Charlie is growing and all the baby proof wrapper is still on so you never know when wings or powers might come forward in her life. We do know that she continues to have a close relationship with Chloe and Maze and also an amicable one with Amenadiel. Finally, we know that she resumes her sessions with Lucifer.

Charlie - Charlie is a bit of an enigma and he may be one of the contributing factors of these two episodes. For all, we know the kid finally gets some powers and do expect him to surprise you.

Ella - You just don’t know with this character as all of Aimee’s bts are vague at best yet I do not believe she has found out yet about Lucifer but P2 might be her time to do so. She does not seem to occupy much of S5’s plot but I would keep an eye on her on the second part of the season and especially on 5x10.

Trixie - Trixie’s role is doubtful to be elevated to something more in this part but she has some great moments with Lucifer. At the moment I cannot really speculate about her as whatever happens in the stages rarely gets out so we have very few appearances of Scarlet at the lot…

Lucifer - Lucifer seems to be getting a bit different, you see a different side of him one that the perhaps wanted to forget as his past comes knocking throughout the season. His evolution through the series is interesting but the supernatural elements worrisome. Again the fact alone he is willing to help Dan says a lot.

Chloe - As you saw I was very brief with Lucifer as I wanted to focus a bit more on Chloe. Aside from her relationship to Lucifer in S5 we get to see that every person has two sides even if for some they were unaware it existed. That’s not a good and bad side kind scenario but I’m talking more about Chloe being more than a miracle. Before you speculate and ask I would just say that her being a Miracle is not where S5 will step on so look for clues while you watch because all lead to 5x08. I may be right I may be wrong but I’ll spend some more time explaining this in the S&S of 5x08.

So let’s start with 5x07’s case. It’s the easy way to figure out what is going on or at least put in order the scenes. Here we have two plots and we do not know if the Serial Killer’s victim/s is the case of the week. We do know that the Serial Killer, for the most part, was in the lot so I do not think he was on location much. The reason for this is because we have two locations at the backlot where 5x07 was mainly shot.

The first one is a flower shop which if I can guess is connected to the Serial Killer perhaps. He might be this kind of peaceful guys who run a flower shop and who you would never suspect on killing people in their free time. It adds up a bit but I cannot be sure.

The second one is a house that was used as a crime scene location. In the heart of the WB lot they setup a house that exhibited a lot of wealth and eclectic taste. It’s only normal as this case is also connected to an opera?** performer or at least someone who is seen to be performing at the Los Angeles Theater a wonderful old Cinema and grand landmark in DTLA.

**We cannot know for sure of the genre he performs but the taste of his house shows he is into classical pieces so...

(See the BTS video there I always include bts that I have not posted before and are all Lucifer related)

^The police car and the coronary’s car outside the lot house location.

First, we need to remember that during a quick ext the cast and crew had to do from the Stages there was also an actress that played a human body. She wore a lot of grey and blue makeup and we can assume she was part of this story. I cannot tell if in 5x07 a body of that kind will make it to our screens but a cemetery will.

The cemetery most probably is though related to the season’s supernatural plot. They filmed at the Rosedale cemetery with several stunts and from the videos you can see that Lesley Ann had a lot of action scenes in this episode. At the same time, DB had twitted to have a lot of scenes with her in that episode. According to what DB revealed the two characters are working together. I would predict that this has to do with whatever Amenadiel is searching for since 5x05.

^In general D.B. has been thrilled with the final season and that pleases me a lot!

The Rosedale cemetery has several wonderful tombs and crypts which some of them could be used to a similar theme that was used early in the season. Confusing I know but let’s say that in P1 it seems like they are trying to find something, an object perhaps and I wouldn't be surprised if it was either hidden in a cemetery or simply that the object that they are looking for is connected to the serial killer somehow… I mean remember Azrael’s blade… I doubt they will use the same scenario but the divine influence on mortals never ends well.

Now the second location which I mentioned before is the Los Angeles Theater. I do not know if Ellis and German were also in the cemetery but they will be at the Theater along with the opera? singer. There is also some stunts involved so I would keep an eye on someone escaping or at least putting a fight. For all we know this case might also be a bit similar to 3x17 one with Axara.

^The stand-ins taking notes for the scene

^We expect some to happen to that grand staircase oh and there were again a lot of stunts there so :D

As you can tell the majority of 5x07 as an episode eludes us and there are bts we cannot really explain but we can only speculate about.

For example why Lucifer wears a budge and has a gun? Why now? Is he threatened or Chloe has decided that enough is enough. Perhaps even in order to not endanger her Lucifer might have taken her badge and gun. The possibilities are so many yet a definite answer cannot be given. If we take into account that the title is Our Mojo it can be a million different things. Like the opera? singer has the same captivating effect as Lucifer’s mojo for some reason but not a divine gift. It might have to do something with Charlie or it can be taken completely out of context. All we know is that Lucifer has to be armed so I would speculate this.

I admit I was not the one to notice that but my dear Amy was :P I just did the visuals a bit clearer.

Let’s assume that Lucifer’s connection to Dan is weakened him and it goes both ways hence why we do not see Dan as much in 5x07 and a permanent solution becomes more urgent. His strength, mojo and overall his capacity to protect himself. Or perhaps he has to pose as Dan but that wouldn’t explain the protection of authority and a gun full of bullets. So we know things are dangerous when Chloe? caves in and hands Lucifer a gun to protect himself or if Lucifer has decided that in order to keep himself safe he has to play with human toys.

What we also cannot totally explain is the green screen *around* the penthouse. After discussing this with some friends we have agreed that it should be a large scale event or something. We do not know when or if Lucifer and Chloe get intimate, if that’s why that green screen is there or if there is a divine consequence that has to be shown through VFX. All we know is that there is something big coming. The last time they had used such a big screen well it was smaller actually was for the Fall nightmare scene of 3x15.

Additional Info

The stunts were rehearsing a fight at the stages but that’s normal for when they have to perform on location.

Something seems to happen at the precinct and mainly in episode 5x08. Something like a fight

^Naughty Woman? Perhaps I’m wrong...

The director posted this as a lucifer bts but here is the thing little Charlie as far as the babies used go cannot operate that but with CGI everything is possible. Also, the babies used were shooting for a different show at that time.

#lucifer spoilers #lucifer speculation #lucifer 5x07 #Lucifer 5x07 - Our Mojo #Sanoiro S&S

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stusbunker · 6 years

Text

Questions: What If?

A Supernatural Fan-fiction

Featuring: Sam Winchester x Female Reader

Setting: Season 10

Entry: Erica’s 30th Fluffy Birthday Challenge

Prompt: #16. If Tomorrow Never Comes- Garth Brooks

Chapter 4 of my Questions Series

A/N: Happy Birthday Erica @ericaprice2008! Thanks for letting a new SPN blog in on the fun. This developed into a series because there isn't enough fluff in the Winchesters' lives and I am now a sap. I think it is readable as a stand alone fic if you don’t want to read it all. This segment includes regular show violence, swearing, and monsters. Lyrics in italics. xoxo Stu

The case had taken its toll on her and Dean, leaving Sam to drive the Impala back to the Bunker. The passing headlights grew fewer as the late night hours bled into the early morning mists. Something had broken open inside him when Y/N was taunting the witch, the way she refused to back down. Her words ran through his mind like a bad radio jingle.

“I’ve no one left to lose, Elphaba. Give me your best shot!”

She couldn’t have meant it? After everything they had endured together, breaking free of Gadreel, losing Dean to the demon inside him and getting him cured and home. Hadn’t that made her one of them? Weren’t they hers to lose? Wasn’t she his? No, thought Sam. She wasn’t and he’d been a fool to pretend she felt more than friendship towards him. If her words meant anything, it was that he was, somehow, still naive.

He tucked the keys in his jeans pocket and bent over to open the passenger side door. The very few times Dean let him drive; she sat shotgun. Her face scrunching in the dim lights of the garage.

“Hmmm, don’t wanna move,” she whined, Sam couldn’t help but smile at her childlike pout.

“Come on Sleepy, your bed’s waiting,” Sam draped her arm around his shoulders, scooping her up at the knees.

“Yessss, score,” Y/N murmured into his neck without even opening an eye. He knew he was only carrying her for selfish reasons, but if both parties benefited it couldn’t be a total loss, right? She smelled of incense and her body lotion, the smoke lingering on her hair. He breathed her in before setting her casually on to her unmade bed.

“Thanks, Samwise,” she whispered before wrestling out of her jacket.

“‘Night, doll,” he replied too low for her to hear. Switching off her light as he gently closed the bedroom door.

The next day Sam found Y/N dancing around the kitchen, doing something that appeared to be cooking but bordered on chaos. She was blaring an old country song and two stepping as she fried potatoes. He waited against the door frame, not wanting to break her revelry. His stomach growled with the cooking oil in the air, his chest tightening with each easy sway of her head as she hollered along to the music.

“Oh, I’ve got friends- in looooooooow, places!” She finished, spinning to dump the first batch on some paper towels.

Sam tried to bite back his laughter, giving her a snarky slow clap as she realized he was there.

“Har-har, Winchester. Don’t act like it’s not true.” She stuck her tongue out at him and plopped the plate of potatoes on to the table. There was something baking in the oven and just as the second set of potatoes hit the fryer, she started to slice up a cantaloupe.

“Do I smell breakfast?!” Dean sauntered in, running his hand over his bed head. “Y/N? No, wait, scratch that, I’m not even going to ask.” Dean downplayed his surprise and grabbed his designated coffee mug.

The hunters quickly settled in for a shared meal, not eating over their laptops with research, not grabbing whatever fast food they could find. It was easy domesticity and Sam couldn’t help but savor it. Dean killed the mood when he began teasing Y/N on her pick of radio station, but she held her ground arguing that in the kitchen, “Chef picks the music and the rest should be chewing with their mouths closed.”

The day went on like any other, taking turns scrolling for cases, squabbling over the general chores that kept the bunker livable and occasional bantering. It was a rare good day. Y/N called it an early night, claiming she had a show she wanted to catch up on.

Dean gave her a salute-like wave as she slinked back down the hall in her pajama pants and slippers. Sam had mumbled a good night, trying to keep his eyes from following every move she made.

“Dude, what is with you?!” Dean tossed a bottle cap across the table at his painfully obvious brother.

“Nothing,” Sam stared back at the screen with his brow pinched.

Dean’s eyebrows shot up, he shook his head and went back to reading. He drained his beer and turned in for the night. Leaving Sam to stew over his longing ache in solitude.

Two days later

Y/N loaded their bags into the trunk as Dean checked the oil. Sam was the last one out of the Bunker, hands full of coffees for the road. They had a half day’s drive ahead and were working out their strategy for interviews.

“Why don’t we take the parents while Dean goes and talks to the coroner?” Y/N asked leaning over the back seat to see Sam’s phone and the map of the town.

“Uh, why don’t I go to the coroner? Dean could probably sucker a pastry out of the vic’s mother.”

Dean looked over at Sam confused, yet impressed. “Look at you having my back.”

Sam shrugged, “Just don’t want to deal with hangry Dean later if this takes awhile.”

She shifted back into her seat, missing Dean’s gaze in the rear view mirror. He did not need this, whatever this was that was going on between Sammy and her. He held his tongue, worked the case and got some cheesecake. All in all not a bad day on the road. He didn’t like being the levelheaded one, but Sam was leaving him no option.

She swung at the shifter with Sam’s face. Her shorter arms forced her closer to the monster than she would have liked. Its eyes danced as it easily dodged her blade. Its lips curled viciously as it saw her tire, “running out of adrenaline there little huntress?”

“Why? Need a break?” She huffed and flipped the knife between her fingers.

“Sam’s going to be so devastated when he sees what I do to you,” the creature taunted.

“Yeah, well, if I were you; I would be worrying more about what I am going to do to you,” she wasn’t taking the bate.

The face she knew like the back of her hand made a look of mock revelation, “Oh, you don’t know do you?” It kept her circling in the condemned house, the furniture littering their paths as they each tried to get the upper hand.

“Yeah, Sam is fairly private, isn’t he?” The shifter tossed over a desk, forcing her to lose her balance. She hopped out of the way only to topple over the dingy sofa. It sprang above her, pinning her against the faded cushions.

“He thinks about you, like this, squirming underneath him, out of breath and eyes burst open with want.” She recoiled as the beast trailed Sam’s perfect nose up her jaw.

“Shut up, mutant!” She spat into its face, giving her the opening she needed, she rolled hard against the shifter, freeing her knife hand and slashing at its cheek. It growled in pain and outrage. She tried to scramble away as voices called from the back of the house.

“Sam!” She cried, the shifter stood, pulling her to its chest, holding her head at a neck snapping angle between Sam’s strong arms.

“Sam!” It mocked back. “Save me! Oh, princess, this is going to be a gruesome ending to your little ‘will they, won’t they’ saga.”

“Let her go, Sparky!” Dean’s icy voice barked as he aimed his gun at his brother’s face.

Sam’s face pinched as he saw her being held in such a way by his hands. “It’s going to be alright, Y/N.”

“Sam, I’m scared,” she played it up, giving the monster the dramatics it obviously craved.

“I know you are, I’m right here.”

“Seriously? One minute you’re threatening me and then lover boy shows up and you turn in to a sniveling mess! Woman up!” The shifter complained. “And you, Dean, mister tough guy, if you were going to shoot me you--” The shot rang out across the room. One silver bullet to the head from Sam’s gun.

“I hate when they bestow their judgement upon us, fucking monologues,” Y/N stretched her neck and stepped away from the corpse.

“Alright?” Dean asked, checking that the monster stayed down with an extra stab of his knife to its heart.

“Yeah, took you long enough.”

Sam approached her nervously, not sure how much she would want to be near him after someone with his face had just man-handled her. “Sorry, got a little tied up,” he held up his wrists to show her the chaffing from his bindings.

“Always knew you were a kinky bastard,” Dean muttered. “Let’s torch the imposter before we have to explain another one of your dead bodies.”

Dean dragged the body by the feet as Y/N and Sam cleared a path through the creaking house. “Are you hurt?” Sam’s voice dropped as she rubbed her lower back.

“Nothing a hot bath won’t fix.” she shrugged. “Also, you suck.”

Sam laughed, thinking she was referring to shifter-him. When her face remained serious, panic crept up his back. “What did he say?”

“I’m pretty sure it was a ‘she’, but anyway let’s just say I don’t like being lied to Winchester.” Her face was a stone mask, her eyes burning into him as the sourness of guilt flooded his stomach.

“Guys! Let’s go!” Dean called from the back lot. The moment was broken, she looked away and Sam swallowed all explanation.

The ride home was one of utter silence, broken only by the radio or Dean complaining about the lack of stations. Sam stared out into the night and Y/N curled up with her earbuds and her latest podcast. Dean was going to have to say something, but he was not in the mood tonight. He’d let Baby bring them home in one piece first, give everyone some space.

The next day

When she wasn’t hiding in her room with the door locked, Y/N had been short with each of them all day. Dean coaxed her out with coffee and a grocery run, letting the fresh air ease the mood before poking the bear.

“That shifter got under you skin, huh? It’s always tough when they look like somebody you care about.” Dean asked as he pulled into the parking space. She looked at him like he had something on his face, amused yet trying to politely listen.

“What?”

“Are you trying to have a heart-to-heart with me?” she sighed, rolling her eyes as Dean huffed.

“Whatever,” he slammed the driver door and let her push the cart. She kept him in check in the bakery, only letting him buy two pies for the week. They picked over the produce, knowing Sam would bitch if they got the wrong stuff. They approached the check out line joking with each other, the old cashier beaming at them.

“Aren’t you two sweet?” The lady’s tag read Francine.

“Thanks, Franny, but she’s my sister.” Dean continued to flirt with the clerk as Y/N got the bags back into the cart.

“You two drive safe!” The smitten lady waved, Dean having made her day.

“Sister, huh?” Y/N bumped Dean with her shoulder as they fitted the bags carefully on the floor of the backseat, not wanting to pop the trunk in a busy parking lot.

“Yeah, I mean, would you prefer sister-in-law?” Dean gave her a look.

“Don’t, Dean. Just, not right now,” her voice fell and he knew he had hit a nerve.

“That’s what this is about? What the hell did that shifter say?!” Dean refused to start the car until she gave the unsavory details, his knuckles white against the wheel at times. She couldn’t look him in the eye, but her voice gave her away.

“So you’re pissed because Sam hasn’t told you how he feels?” Dean guessed, half certain he was keeping up.

“Is that how he feels?” Y/N challenged, watching Dean’s face as he realized he had walked right into that.

“You’re going to have to ask him that.” Dean exhaled as she accepted his complete bullshit response. “But, and this is a big but, would it be a bad thing if he did?”

Y/N mulled over that question, just giving Dean a tortured look as he finally pulled back into traffic.

She helped Dean sort the groceries, before snagging a bag of Krunchers and disappearing back into her room for the night. Dean approached Sam with a beer and a stern look.

“You have got to talk to her, man. Whatever is going on between you two? I’m done. I had my Dr. Phil moment and now it’s on you.” Dean raised his bottle in a toasting motion and slumped into his usual spot at the library table.

“What’d she say?” Sam asked, lips tightening and leaning forward.

“Nuh-uh, man,” Dean gave his brother an incredulous look. “I like my parts where they are thank you very much.”

After a few minutes of heavy silence, Dean broke, “Come on! You don’t pansy out like this, go tell her.” Dean scrolled on his computer, trying to move past the awkwardness.

“Tell her what?” Sam asked, tisking, failing horribly at hiding his emotions.

Dean cleared his throat and looked Sam straight in the eye. “You’ve been trying to lie to me since you were four, Sam. You’re still terrible at it. Especially when it comes to this crap.”

Dean wasn’t having it, not anymore. Sam’s mouth curled down with his embarrassment, he scratched the back of his head in chagrin.

“I don’t know, man. I just keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.” Sam sighed, leaning back in his chair.

“Look, I’m not Mister-Happy-Endings-- But if I’ve learned ANYTHING is that you take the good things as they come. Guys like us, it doesn’t happen too often.” Dean’s hand was palm up like it was an offer, eyes wide, hoping that Sam would stop overthinking for once.

Sam’s lips were tight, listening to Dean as if in conflict. He should have made an argument, but wanted Dean to be right. Sam needed her in his life, for however long she would stay. Could he risk losing her by admitting how he felt?

An hour later

Sam lingered outside of her bedroom door, his chest rising with calming breaths that weren’t helping. She was blasting her music again, but something like a sob resonated below the melody. Sam’s worry overtook his fear and he knocked.

“Go away!” she snapped.

“Y/N? Everything alright?” Sam’s voice was rougher than he meant it, but he had to nearly scream to make it over the song.

“Just leave me alone,” she growled back.

“Not gonna happen.” Sam tucked his hair behind his ears and pressed his head to the door.

“Stubborn sonofabitch,” he heard her say, soon the door swung open, causing him to catch himself on the door jam. “What?!” Her eyes were red and her hair was matted, and Sam couldn’t stop staring at her.

And the thought crosses my mind If I never wake up in the morning Would she ever doubt the way I feel About her in my heart

If tomorrow never comes-

She just glared at him, shaking the door with the hand she didn’t have balled on her hip. “I love you.”

“What?!” She shouted, his voice lost in the old Garth Brooks’ song. She spun to turn the dial to a conversational level. Sam scrunched his nose and cleared his throat as she turned back around, the loose sides of her robe swaying with the motion. “Sorry, what did you say?”

Her features had turned curious, her arms crossed over her chest. He ducked his head down and stepped closer to her. “I love you.”

“What?” She asked again, eyes glistening as her head tilted to see him better.

He chuckled, “Third times a charm, huh? I love you, Y/N. I just thought you should know. I don’t know what that shifter said was running through my head, but I shouldn’t have hid this from you, for so long.”

Sam smiled shyly down at her now. His eyes hooded in anticipation and an inkling of hope. She reached up and brushed his hair back, a soft smile curling her luscious lips. He closed his eyes at the softness of her palm, relishing in the closeness. “I love you, too, Sam.” Her voice cracked, but the richness returned as she finished, “but you still suck.”

He outright laughed now, a deep chortle, as his hands snaked around her waist. “May I?” he asked as he angled his face just above hers. She answered by diving in, taking his waiting lips in a hungry kiss. He melted against her and forgot everything that had been keeping him from this bliss.

Next Chapter: Where?

@dontshootmespence @madlu45 @because-imma-lady-assface

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workrockin · 5 years

Text

Asia’s Digital Millineals Demand a physical internet

Recently the economist released a report,commissioned by Singapore Economic Development Board, titled Asia’s Digital Millennials Opportunities for business (https://eiuperspectives.economist.com/sites/default/files/asias_digital_millennials_opportunities_for_businesses.pdf)

In the report they published their research that explored what Asia’s rapid digitization meant for businesses looking to expand into the Asian market. A recurring theme in the report was having a complimentary physical presence to mobile.

Digital is not a substitute for real world interaction. Building a frictionless, localized, digital payment experience makes consumers willing to trust and spend on a brand.

The report further advised that growth is possible by partnerships with other businesses in complimentary areas even if they may be competitors.

[A recent news of Sony’s and Microsoft’s partnership in online gaming comes to mind as an example. They may be bitter rivals in home console market but they have decided to put their differences aside and collaborate in online gaming ]

Individually any idea, presented in the report, if executed well, is capable of transforming a business in a foreign or for that matter domestic economy. But together they act as force multiplier. Giving exponential benefits and disproportional rewards as organizations execute them.

Technology that bridges the gap between the digital and the physical

We can write a book full of success stories of mobile applications across all sectors. Telecommunication, eCommerce, digital payments,advertisement, travel. There is no industry in which mobile has not made its presence felt. In my very humble opinion mobile is a perfect case study of an impeccable execution of technological application in the real world.

However, even as mobile continues to grow, we can feel the need for a new kind of technology that can help us bridge the divide between the digital and the physical world. Now this is not some science fiction “I want my pizza to be 3D printed” fantasy, but rather a fact that confronts us today.

As big of a success as mobile and internet have been it is an astonishing truth that nearly half of the worlds population remains unconnected or marginally connected [1]. It is astonishing because all of this growth and wealth has been created from a market that has not even been fully capitalized .

While it is true that messaging and social media applications have done a lot to simplify commerce we can’t turn away form the simple fact softly murmuring in the background that the benefits of digitization are yet to reach nearly half of the world’s population. The glow of our success is somewhat dulled by the thought of immense task that is incomplete. A thought that leads us to the realization that our job is not yet finished. Time has not yet come to hang the boots and go to sleep. It is an indescribable sensation that feels like a gentle pat on the back urging us to keep moving. A warm light that clears our mind, removes all confusion and shows us the path to meet the challenges that future has in store for us.

The rise of “experiential commerce”

“We believe ‘gamification’ can make shopping fun”

Every challenge brings along with it the gift of new opportunities. Our experiments and our efforts in implementing the services on global scale have taught us how people like to shop. And one of the most incredible insight that has resulted from our effort to apply technology has been that more than shopping people love playing games. On computer as much as in the real world. Who could have imagined? Take what example you will. Of sports like football, hockey and cricket. Of digital games like Mario, pokemon, PUBG. Games are and essential part of our life.

Many brands have been quick to recognize this opportunity and have already signed up deals in the major leagues. However this level of excitement has not yet manifested in the digital games. For reasons I know not, too few retail shops use games a tool for engaging people. Even though the word gamification pops up ever so often in reports.

Does gamification come only in the form of earning points for shopping? Perhaps there’s a better, more direct way to use games as drivers of people into shops. Games are for entertainment. And they are best used as such. Malls have been quite skillful at allotting a fixed area for arcades. Letting parents leave their kids to have some fun. Or encouraging them to have a go at it themselves. For a few brief moments when people can sit back and play like they used to. Once upon a time in a not so distant past. It is a step in the right direction,however we can do much more.

Consider the partnership of pokemon and startbucks where the famed coffee shop hosted Poke gyms and Poke Stops for the fans. As many as 7000 of them [2]. It was one of the most successful electronic gaming/retail outlet partnership that had ever been. Tying digital entertainment with retail shops is one of the easiest ways to make your shopping franchise more appealing to the buyers.

Including opportunities for social interaction, Internet in the physical world

“Companies must create friction-free customer experiences by incorporating local preferences for payments platforms into their online services”

Open source technologies exist that unify hundreds of payment platforms into a single reusable library that can be embedded into any software that retail outlets already use. Active merchant [3] and OmniPay[4] being two of the most popular ones. However thus far their use has been limited only to large multinational eCommerce stores. Imagine a free to use, open source tools being underutilized as a quick and easy fix for payment localization! An immense opportunity exists here waiting for companies who would want to serve foreign customers.

Payment localization need not be dependent on cloud servers any more. Internet itself is taking a new shape. As it is being ported into the physical world it is enabling all sorts of devices to be connected to the global network. You can have small purpose built machines that only exist to simplify commerce for users.

When we talk about a new physical internet we mean not only a device that can connect to the internet but also a device that can act as a network provider by itself.

Not simply an internet of things. But internet on things. No longer being dependent on the global connectivity to deliver local information. A touch on the phone to get the route table of the subway train, or a restaurant’s menu , the room price or historical facts about a place.

Access and provision for Local Hyper Connectivity, Consolidation of networks via standards and interoperability

The technology that has delivered connectivity for hundreds of millions of users may not be economical enough to deliver connectivity for the billions that are left. Edges where adoption is low need new technologies for access. Technologies that require minimal infrastructural changes. Technologies that can be provisioned on demand. That is cheap, quick, efficient and specific. It may not be enough to simply deliver internet. But a new kind of internet that provides services not just a medium.

These services must be open, standardized and inter operable. At present most mobile telecommunication networks have legacy systems that make them difficult to work with each other. Every operator provides a type of service that is incompatible or costly to work with other providers. And since networks have value only when taken as a whole this leads to consumer paying hefty fees when they move away from the network of their service provider and into the network of another service provider.

Rural population will not be able to afford these kind of prices. And hence they need a solution that is global, works everywhere without any boundaries or limits. On a phone, or a laptop. As well as on one service providers infrastructure as on other. Open source standards and implementations exist that can help us to provide a programmable opensource telephony infrastructure for rural connectivity.

What digital companies need today is a new value proposition. That appeals to people who are undeserved. People who are not tied to a notion of what technology is and how it should operate. People who want a reliable service more than an ever changing experience. This is a risky proposition. As it requires companies to move away from their target demographic and explore new customers. And what is new has no rules. And what has no rules has no previous studies. Much of this will be experimental, not experiential. Experiments can fail sometimes. But when they succeed they have the potential to find a near unlimited new source of growth and prosperity. But who will take the risk?

Workrock Wireless provides open source, standardized and programmable, wireless networking solution for local internet service providers and small enterprises to help them build infrastructure for the physical web. Our technology can be used in financial, retail, hospitality and entertainment sectors.

[email protected]

References and Footnotes

[1] As reported by internet society in the report titled Digital Divide https://future.internetsociety.org/2017/introduction-drivers-of-change-areas-of-impact/areas-of-impact/digital-divides/

[2] https://techcrunch.com/2016/12/08/pokemon-go-is-officially-teaming-with-starbucks-for-7800-new-gyms-and-pokestops/

[3] https://github.com/activemerchant/active_merchant

[4] https://github.com/thephpleague/omnipay

#internet #wifi #tech

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goshiyachi · 7 years

Text

Right there

Fandom: Haikyuu!! Pairing: Matsukawa Issei/ Oikawa Tooru Summary: Given the circumstances, Oikawa and Matsukawa would do everything again in a heartbeat. Prompts Used: Tastes, Habits, Over the years from @matsuoiweek A/N: Inspired by @ui536’s art.

Or read in Ao3.

Their meetings were drastically different when they were alone. It was a simple truth. The way they continued to organize while maintain a strict line from their rendezvous. They had rules placed, people to disillusion and stumble into a reality that barely cared about their whims. Oikawa wasn’t sure when their games turned into something deeper. Or when Matsukawa began to brush his tears in tender strokes. All Oikawa knew was that when they first started to experiment with each other there was this edge between them. Cutting them off from all the proper outlets and instead pushing them to mingle with their highs and scatter before anything good went too deep. Back then, either teen just continued faltering without much present remorse. Pure adolescence was toxic enough the way society has given them pre-models to finish constructing in a preexisted form.

Oikawa already knew since middle school that he was average in most realms. Having discovered who influenced his foolish habits only made him aware of possible downfalls that could lead him astray. Power and fame didn’t suite him like most assumed. He enjoyed snippets of it like another local teen hot throb; but for the most part Oikawa felt like he could cut that aspect out and still function alright. It wasn’t like he was aiming to be saint in public and privately (not after catching Matsukawa’s voice). But at least a decent guy living with a pure passion for his career but without sacrificing everything completely. He was greedy that way. Which was why when high school came along and he laid eyes on, Matsukawa Issei, something hit him. Harder than Iwaizumi’s punches but sneakier that when his siblings ate his desserts before he came home from late volleyball practice.

It wasn’t like the time he liked a girl in elementary school and got to hold her hold that same afternoon. Rather stronger and far more dangerous. Alone in his own thoughts Oikawa became aware of the heat that radiated throughout his body. It was animalistic and foreign. There was shame that crawled his throat when he woke up countless of nights when he remembered how Matsukawa tasted like the sweets he ate during lunch breaks. But that was just it; when Matsukawa casually called out to him Oikawa felt something hovering them clashed and remerge into something far more enclosed and secretive; more alluring than it should have been in the first place. It meant that there was something wrong with him.

Matsukawa was probably the same the way he always knew which empty classrooms to go to when he needed to be close to him. Oikawa couldn’t ever complain the way he was memorized the way Matsukawa could push his buttons with only a little time frame. It was awful the way they grew better to lie in front of others for the sake of keeping their meetings hushed. Yet what Oikawa couldn’t ignore was the fact that he had a bigger fan club than expected; a club that was far clingier than what he wanted. He appreciated their support; how he could not. But when they cut off his already limited time with Matsukawa it made him almost reevaluate his life choices.

Still, neither could deny that what connected them was smaller hitches of habits. Snippets of envy, greed and unwanted attention forced them to back away from each other. With school and peer pressure itching their skins there was more than enough clips of their meetings that melted them with desire to step away from the world and only focus of each other and their thoughts. Incoherent gasps and rabid touches were all Oikawa needed to distract himself from losing his mind. Matsukawa was a perfect distraction for those occasions. It wasn’t like the habit that they created since their first year could be undone at this point.

Not when they couldn’t discount their interest with each other and the way their little adventures had caused the habit in the first place. Curiosity and pleasure were never the best options for the young and naïve; it caused hapless mistakes that could have been avoided. Matsukawa was the first to see it happen the way he eyed Oikawa in front of Iwaizumi’s scrutiny. He was already aware of the closeness Oikawa shared with Iwaizumi back then when he was introduced to them. But when he caught Oikawa’s best friend scowling at him disapprovingly and angrily, Matsukawa almost backed away from the intensity from it. And it probably had to do with the fact that Matsukawa could have sworn that one-time Iwaizumi almost (or had) caught him making Oikawa moan out his name out in board day light behind their gym. Either way, both scenarios reinforced the fact that Matsukawa and Oikawa were becoming sloppier with their mishaps.

But it wasn’t like Matsukawa would ever stop his impulses. He recognized the fact that couldn’t get enough of Oikawa; he was too addicted to even picture himself from stopping. It was practically a part of his life now, to call out his name, to entice the other to spend a few minutes or an hour (if he was lucky) with him. In his arms, within his reach and, sigh into a fictional paradise that resided deep into his soul. He was a lost cause; he was a believer that was he was fucked the moment he kissed Oikawa and learned that heaven was a fixed and false dream. He would live in hell instead, where he would have to be forced to recall all those sensations of watching Oikawa making a clear wall between them. He agreed back them for a fail safety to fall into in case something held him back. It didn’t work; or rather he underestimated his heart scrapping his rib cage when he tasted infatuation.

Oikawa bloomed in high school. Matsukawa could testify it the way he enamored him quickly. The fire that burned his skin expanded all the way to his toes and fingertips. They ached when the both them sought each other. To kiss all the exposed skin lingering between them, to cling to each other's limbs that draped one after another. It burned the oxygen around them the way they were always out of breath when they finished. Ushering into secluded corners without making a rucks or imprint into other people’s memories were always tricky; but it was always rewarded when they were alone and able to feel one’s lips.

Oikawa was more selfish, Matsukawa noticed over the years fooling around with him. He would always bite a little harder; but the difference was how Matsukawa was more mindful with his strokes, how he was able bring Oikawa down slow and merciful. He would always pride in himself for gaining the right tone for his voice to murmur the dirtiest syllables under Oikawa’s neck making the heat vibrating through them pass far more memorably and enjoyably. He just couldn’t get enough of being the reason why someone breathtaking such as Oikawa to beg, gasp, and moan under his command and touch. Which was why it wasn’t a surprise when he never denied himself of playfully flaunting his ego to Oikawa when they finished. Not when Oikawa’s cheeks were still flushed and eyes eye rolling with the same tease from earlier as if he was insinuating for another round.

Matsukawa had thought it would only be volleyball that would catch his eye. Or at least have a string of girls and a boy or two to deviate from boredom and curiosity. He never got a girlfriend or ever found himself lip-locking with one. Instead he found his lips kissing only Oikawa. He watched Oikawa try to and occasional date others (although there were too many rabid fangirls in the mix for his liking). They never lasted which prompted him to seek Matsukawa who was always more willingly to waste his free hours with him. In the back of his mind Matsukawa never wanted to admit everything that was tattooed into his heart. After all, what was between them was something flimsy. There were no pillars to support them since the beginning.

They had prompted a promise that if whatever they had would end, there would be no hard feelings among them afterwards. But that was the problem right there. Lusting over someone was far easier to admit then coming into terms of falling in love with someone that was just supposed to be a causal fling and friend. Flings were detachable strings. Though Matsukawa was long gone since getting the okay to fool around with Oikawa. It was turmoil to harbor everything and explode when Oikawa asked for him. He didn’t know how the other felt; but he was sure that when high school would be over neither of them would ever see each other like did now. They would be framed as experiential obsessions. Nothing healthy rang into their affairs; Matsukawa could see the truth of it.

Still when he had Oikawa right next to him he was sure that something crumbled inside him. And he was sure Oikawa would eventually see what was behind his words later in life. But for now, all Matsukawa wanted to be was right there, in the present.

Whispering for a lost prayer was not something Oikawa would have pictured himself of doing when their school lost their last game. Or when a few weeks melted into their winter break. The hours were long and unforgiving as Oikawa sluggishly went through his mundane tasks. The volleyball court was still his second home, but lately all he ever wanted to do was to just lay on his bed and listen to Matsukawa’s heartbeat in sync with his. There was this domesticity that wanted to claim his thoughts. An old dream from watching his parents happily together was ringing his ears. He called Iwaizumi when his thoughts were too much but, by then he didn’t need for his best friend to understand what was happening to him.

All one look said enough: he was in love.

Oikawa Tooru was madly in fucking love to a boy he been fucking for too long. And now he was fearfully treading into reality of having to tell the world where he stood besides volleyball. He didn’t text Matsukawa right away. He didn’t stop Iwaizumi from giving him a lecture of being a dumbass. (He was already aware that he was one since the first time he called him one.) Mid-break he caught his silhouette passing a random park. The streets were semi-empty; his shoulders immediately went rigid when his voice cracked as he yelled out his name by habit. He turned around and caught his pathetic wave, nonetheless they ended up walking around the neighborhood while cracking jokes. It wasn’t until they made it to Oikawa’s home when he pulled him into his bedroom.

They didn’t do anything right away. Oikawa suddenly was the one that placed the borderlines around them making him wonder why suddenly did he wanted to keep distance he suddenly wanted to evaporate the other day ago. Matsukawa didn’t complain but held his gaze, watching him carefully as if he was waiting for Oikawa to tell him that they should end everything. But he didn’t. He took a deep breath though to calm his nerves when he motioned Matsukawa to lay his head on the bed. When he did, Oikawa mimicked him as looked straight at him. Under Matsukawa’s gaze was always trip; even when the silence was stretching for too long to be comfortable.

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Matsukawa’s face didn’t change drastically the first ten seconds. It took the next ten. His eyes widen, his mouth hung a little before he bit it. He nodded in his sigh that turned into a quick small smile. “Oh…wow.” He looked carefully at Oikawa who was starting to back away. “That’s umm some really heavy and unexpected news there.”

He reached out to one of Oikawa’s arms before he was too far away from him, “But umm…Is it okay then to call you my boyfriend now?”

He didn’t hear any words from Oikawa the way he was roughly pushed up to Oikawa’s level; he didn’t mind it anyways the way he crashed his lips with him in confirmation. And while Matsukawa eventually told Oikawa how he felt since day one they both realized that eventually their little adventures mingled into the current present. Where it was accustomed to touch each other with ease. When it was finally time to stop the lies and finally sigh into each other embraces. And how they could finally sink into the right phases of their lives with wholehearted smiles (and a few more love bites in between).

#matsuoiweek #matsuoi #Matsukawa Issei #Oikawa Tooru #Haikyuu!!#Rt: Right there #lee attempts to write #shit i didn't plan for this one to get a little long #guess i had more ideas and words to write about these two #i love writing rare pairs #they're fun to explore many characters and their interactions with others

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