Tumgik
#black people are just as deserving of these roles
hotvintagepoll · 1 day
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Propaganda
Deborah Kerr (Bonjour Tristesse, An Affair to Remember, The King and I)— For several decades she held the record for most Oscar nominations without a win (6 in total), and she was a prolific leading lady throughout the 40s and 50s. She's best known today for the romance An Affair to Remember with Cary Grant, and as the governess in The King and I. Many people have this erroneous perception of her as extremely prim, proper, and virginal, but this could not be further from the truth. When she first came to Hollywood under MGM she was typecast into boring decorative roles, but broke sexual boundaries for herself and Hollywood generally in From Here to Eternity, when she made out (horizontally!) with Burt Lancaster (on top of him!) in the famous Beach Scene. She went on to play many sexually conflicted women, a character type that would define most of her post- Eternity work. She continued to break Hays Code boundaries with Tea and Sympathy, which addresses homosexuality/homophobia head-on, and even did a topless scene in The Gypsy Moths 1969!! One of the only classic stars to do so. She deserves a more nuanced and frankly a hotter legacy than she currently has!!!
Hend Rostom (Cairo Station, Eshaat Hob)— Egyptian movie star called the "Marilyn Monroe of the East", need anyone say more
This is round 2 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.
[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]
Hend Rostrom:
Tumblr media
Deborah Kerr:
Tumblr media
I think she was one of my first crushes before I realised I was bi in The King and I when I watched it as a kid honestly. The kissing scene in From Here to Eternity is iconic for a reason. Actually tried to learn the accents for the characters she was playing if they weren't English which is more than pretty much anyone else was doing then. Played very restrained characters who frequently seemed to be desperate not to be so restrained. Did horror movies without venturing into hagsploitation tropes. Gave Marni Nixon the credit she deserved for her share of the singing in The King and I.
Anne Larsen is a peak late 1950s bisexual with big MILF energy. Have you seen the behind the scenes pics of her wearing a suit?? Have you????? Vote Deb as Anne Larsen.
Nominated for an Oscar six (6) times and never won, but besides her having actual talent (hot), and besides her looking Like That (very hot, also beautiful), she was always playing women who are, like, crazy repressed. Which makes it fun and easy for me to read these characters as queer. Icon!!!! You know what's hot? Playing ambiguously gay in vintage Hollywood.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Her face and talent and body, yes, ofc, duh. But also!!! Her HANDS!!!! I may be but a simple lesbian, but she is the best hactor (hand actor) that ever lived and that's HOT! For propriety's sake I feel I must redact a large portion of my commentary on this subject. Anyway. She's hot in her most famous roles (mentioned above), and also some of her sexiest hacting is on display in An Affair to Remember (her hand on the bannister when Cary Grant kisses her off-screen??? HELLO???), Tea and Sympathy (when she's trying to persuade Tom not to go out and she keeps flexing her hands like she wants to reach out to him but can't??? ALLY BEHAVIOR! WE STAN!), and The Innocents (which opens and closes with extended shots of her hands bc director Jack Clayton was also an ally and he did that for ME). Much of her appeal also lies in the fact that she often played deeply repressed characters and you know what's hot? When those uptight characters finally unravel. It's sexy. It's cathartic. It's erotic. Plus, she's beautiful to look at in both black & white and technicolor, and the more of her films you see, the more you can't help but fall in love!
Tumblr media
Literally is in thee most famously sexy scene of all time (or maybe just during the hays code era which is what we're talking about HELLO), which is the beach scene with Burt Lancaster in from here to eternity. To quote a tumblr post of a screen capture of a tweet of a video of joy behar on the view: "y'know, there used to be movies where they were kissing on the beach... From Here to Eternity. They're kissing-- Burt Lancaster and Deborah Kerr are Kissing on the Beach and then the WAVES crash!! You know exactly what they did!"
She might have a reputation of being chaste and virginal or whatever, but we all know it's the quiet ones who are certifiable FREAKS
Tumblr media
93 notes · View notes
alfalcone · 23 hours
Note
The hate and weird pushback online from people in regards to Zendaya role as chani is weird. I expect this from anti-black sexist white guys but for white girls to purposely exclude posting Chani, making aesthetic boards of the white women only, saying they don’t understand why Paul fell for Chani, even as go as far as saying Zendaya needed to be replaced. Critics and cast praises Zendayas performance (she was amazing and the highlight imo) Spielberg and Villeneuve had a whole conversation about her skills!!! She’s held to high regard and deserves it and they hate that.
the dune fandom is full of horrible white people, because it is a science fiction story, but i too was surprised to see how many women here are tumblr are calling for zendaya to be recast :/ they're angry that chani is not the devout little concubine she is in the novels, and they're clearly upset that zendaya doesn't fit their aesthetic standard for what this space princess should look like (idr how she's described in the books, it's been a long time since i read them through completely, but undoubtedly it's as 'white as blonde' because herbert was as racist as tolkien and every other classic sci-fi & fantasy author.) i don't particularly care for villeneuve, but he has a vision for the character that i think is an interesting update to the text. obviously it does expose his ... hubris ... to update such an integral part of a classic text, but since villeneuve made the fremen explicitly non-white in his adaption, a direct analog to the black and brown people of north africa, it makes sense that he wouldn't want this chani to become, basically, a fucking bedwench.
like, it shouldn't be difficult to understand why this choice was made, but that would involve having a thought beyond "but woman should be white pretty blonde pale tiny obedient quiet feminine sweet! 🥺" and yet ... we saw how they reacted to a black woman being pretty tiny obedient feminine sweet in the batman ... fandom literally rewrote her and penned think-pieces about how it was "racist" to depict a black woman as (checks notes) physically small. and we see how they react to black women who have those qualities irl, they mock them for "copying" white "culture" or whatever. in short, yes, they're just racist lunatics.
but yeah i have seen many neo-nazis and tradwives/tradcaths complaining endlessly about chani on here; the absolute horror of seeing them call zendaya coleman ugly, though, and comparing her unfavorably to florence pugh (whom i really like and respect as an actress) is insane. i've called a few of them out on it and they're so smug and don't give a shit, obviously ... it's unreal how no one challenges open white nationalists on this site, but they make 30-page lists of feminists who have committed crimes against thought 🙄
19 notes · View notes
claitea · 1 year
Text
thinking about anthea and concordia and how they knew n's time growing up in the castle was awful but they probably couldn't do much about it because they were also under ghetsis's "care"
134 notes · View notes
clueless1995 · 6 months
Text
i’m trying to treat chibnall’s era with the same grace i’d give to rtd’s era but some of the Moral Lessons are so beaten over your head it’s insane i feel like i’m watching Play School sometimes
3 notes · View notes
ocdhuacheng · 2 years
Text
im so excited for the percy jackson series all the kids look so cute and i like that rick riordan chose to not take appearance into account and just chose based off of their performance only. while i do think there is definitely a lot of merit limiting the selection pool to people of certain appearances/ethnicities for auditions in showmaking/filmmaking depending on the character/story, and any of the original characters in the book who are canonically characters of color should still stay that way in the show, in this case because pjo very much does not have any storylines where race/ethnicity is a big factor iirc (except maybe the di angelos because a big part of their background is being from wwii era italy? i cant remember if there were any other examples in the original pjo series), and because you can play with demigod’s appearances bc the gods’ lack of dna, and i think with child actors because of their inexperience it is a good thing to choose the best candidate based off of how well they portray the character, instead of worrying about appearance. (tho im still going to have to get used to a blond percy if theyre not going to dye his hair lol) but this isnt anything against the kid i think he’s adorable and i hope he does well and has fun. same for the annabeth and grover actors im already about to start defending them with a machine gun if i see anyone being racist towards them
6 notes · View notes
cardassiangoodreads · 9 months
Text
Some of you might remember a couple of years ago when Scarlett Johansson sued Disney because she was making significantly less money for Black Widow than was guaranteed in her contract because so many more people watched it on streaming than in theaters, how there was a massive misinformation campaign from Disney that a ton of people on this website (and Twitter and other social media) bought into: That she was a greedy bitch who didn't respect people who needed to stay at home during the pandemic (I believe the word "ableist" was thrown around with aplomb) as opposed to someone who just wanted to be paid what she was owed. What was literally in her contract!!! And where everyone who took more than a couple minutes to actually look into and think about the situation could figure out that her issue wasn't with streaming itself, but with how little streaming was allowed to get away with paying her and other actors. But of course, a lot of people just saw the chance to dunk on a rich woman, and didn't think about it beyond readying some snarky tags and hit reblog. And in doing so, threw their support behind a much wealthier, greedier studio head who is already using similar language to describe the current strike.
Anyway we're going to see a lot of that from studios now, especially now that actors have joined with the WGA and it's easier to sell them as rich and greedy than writers, because of this cultural stereotype we have of all Hollywood actors as celebrities. Don't fall for it. SAG-AFTRA represents people like Tom Cruise and ScarJo but it also represents the kind of people who played a Borg in two episodes of Star Trek: Voyager in 1997 or who had one line in The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel as an enthusiastic audience member. Most actors are not crazy wealthy, and in fact, if you're a big TV fan (especially older TV and genre TV) that likely includes some actor names that you know, who played supporting roles in your fav shows, or who were even a star in something but haven't done anything major since. The AFTRA side also represents people like radio broadcasters. But even beside that, all workers deserve to be fairly compensated for the work they do, and the threat of replacing them with AI, or real actors being required to sign contracts to allow their likenesses to be used by AI forever without paying them, is an existential threat to acting as a profession in general. The actors are in the right. The writers are in the right. The studios are in the wrong. The studios have exploited new technology to get away with horrifying labor practices for years and their feet need to be put to the fire. Circulate the articles about how poorly the Orange is the New Black cast was compensated for making one of the defining shows of the early streaming boom, and of the studios saying they want to force writers to starve and lose their homes. Don't get distracted by propaganda aping progressive-sounding language about “wealthy celebrities.” Focus on the real enemy, the truly greedy fat cats who care more about money than people and art: the studios.
46K notes · View notes
zarameraki · 3 months
Text
♡₊˚☀️・₊✧ 𝗻𝗮𝗻𝗮𝗺𝗶'𝘀 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘀𝗼 𝗹𝗼𝗻𝗴 & 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗱𝗶𝗱𝗻'𝘁 𝗸𝗻𝗼𝘄 ♡₊˚☀️・₊✧
: ̗̀➛ tropes: fem! reader 𖥔 he's obsessed to the max 𖥔 ceo x baker 𖥔 grumpy x sunshine 𖥔 she talks a lot x he listens a lot 𖥔 spoils the literal shit out of you 𖥔 mention of parental death 𖥔 major fluff 𖥔 sexual content in vague details 𖥔 alternate universe 𖥔 super soft nanami 𖥔 close proximity 𖥔 he loves kissing the fuck out of you
: ̗̀➛ words: 7.7k
: ̗̀➛ notes: you guys are so sweet for supporting my toji fanfic which is why i wanted to write another and this time its about my husband, the father of our children, the man who deserves every beautiful thing in this world. if you enjoy my work, please leave a comment, like, and reblog! thank you & ily. enjoy!
Tumblr media
Nanami Kento entered your bakery at exactly six o' clock.  
You carefully observed the moments he dedicated to perusing the array of pastries, the vibrant mountain of macaroons, and the freshly baked, warm casse-croûte that you unfailingly prepared for him when he clocked out. There was a tender quality to his countenance, noticeable in the slight release of tension between his brows as the soft, buttery flakes dissolved on his tongue in your presence. Without fail, he consistently left a generous tip in your travel jar, dedicated to a solo trip to Malaysia.
"Did you know they've got this thing about not wearing yellow in Malaysia?" you mentioned during your initial meeting, eyeing the distinctive black-dotted tie worn by the stoic salaryman. "Well, not that your tie would get you in trouble; it's not entirely yellow. In fact, I think it's perfect as it is, just like your hair, which also has a touch of yellow.” 
Please cut your tongue off. 
Anticipating a polite nod and perhaps a slightly regretful five-dollar tip left in the jar, you were taken aback when he queried, “Why is that?” 
“Oh, uh . . . a bunch of protesters wore the color during a demand for their prime minister to step down," you stumbled, feeling a twinge of embarrassment for veering off into an unintentional crash course. Dropping trivia about Malaysia wasn't exactly the same as flirting. "So, it's kind of become a symbolism for protest and, well, threat. I read it in a book once. I don't know if it's a legitimate law, though."
“Do you like reading?” he asked, still interested in conversing with you. “Most people would Google information.” 
“I like reading. It’s easier to retain information that way.” 
Nanami acknowledged your gesture with a nod of gratitude as he accepted the casse-croûte and exited your bakery. Anticipating that he might not return due to his reserved nature and your awkward attempts at compliment-flirting, you were surprised to find that he was, in fact, full of surprises.
Nanami became a regular visitor. Day after day, for the past year, he arrived at precisely six o' clock. He continued his routine, whether he purchased a box of pastries, a pair of bagged bread loaves, or simply a casse-croûte and a small cup of milk coffee. You always prepared his order five minutes ahead of time, just in case you were occupied with other customers.
"Enjoy!" you chirped, casting a warm smile at the customer you just served as the bakery slowly emptied, leaving only Nanami browsing the delightful array of small cakes. "Good evening, Mr. Nanami!"
Nanami raised his head in your direction. "Good evening." He finally settled on the black forest cake from the open freezer and brought it to the counter.
"Special occasion?" you inquired as you rang him out, sneakily not charging him for the casse-croûte and coffee. There was a special occasion of your own that you were eager to share, hanging from the tip of your tongue.
"An intern's birthday."
"Sounds fun!" You had been saving up for your birthday present since summer, and Nanami had played a significant role. "When's your birthday?"
"July third."
Your eyes widened with surprise. "No way! Mine is July sixth. We’re summer babies."
“Happy belated birthday,” he said, fishing for his wallet, gaze barely meeting yours. 
"Same to you." Offering the sandwich and coffee, you extended them towards him. "Consider it a belated birthday treat."
Nanami’s brows crinkled. “I cannot accept.” 
"Why not? It's a gift." You slid the items closer with a subtle nudge, leaving him little room to refuse. "And you've given me a priceless gift, Mr. Nanami." Your eyes hinted at the tip jar's location, which now lay empty. 
“Were you robbed?” he asked, concern evident in his voice. 
“What—? No! Oh my god. You’re so funny.” A chuckle escaped behind your fist, and he observed you momentarily before glancing away. "I'm heading to Malaysia next week!"
Nanami gave a subtle nod. Although his lack of a more animated response disappointed you, you understood that shortness was his nature. "Congratulations.”
"Thank you, Mr. Nanami. Your generous tips really made a difference. They covered half of our trip.”
“Our? It’s not a solo trip?”  
You let out a little nervous laugh. Should you really be telling Nanami about your crippling love life? Would he even be interested? Well, he seemed to listen carefully when you talk. Maybe he wouldn’t care, but you really needed someone to talk to about this. Unfortunately, all your friends were too busy with their marriages to care.
“Well?” Nanami prompted. 
"Right, sorry. It's just—I've actually been seeing someone. Funny enough, we met in a Facebook group for solo travelers. He lives in a nearby town.”
Unexpectedly, Nanami's first question caught you off guard. "Can you trust him?" His concern surfaced, causing you to pause. "I'm only asking because you met this man online. You can't trust strangers on the internet."
"Thank you, Mr. Nanami, but I’m capable enough to know about stranger danger," you said with a funny smile, dismissing his parental concern. "Besides, we’ve gone on a few dates over the past month."
Nanami's frown remained intact. "Correct me if I’m wrong, but are you paying for him, too?"
"Yes."
“Why?” Nanami asked, firmly placing his palms on the counter, making it clear he wasn't leaving until he was convinced you wouldn't get in trouble during your Malaysian adventure.
"What do you mean 'why'?"
His mouth opened but then closed into a thin line, his forehead lines deepening. "It’s not my place to tell you what’s right and what isn’t—"
"Yes, you’re right about that," you interrupted.
"—but this is bordering on recklessness. You cannot use your trip’s money to pay for a man you’ve known for a mere month. Why is he even in the traveler’s group if he cannot afford to pay for himself?"
"Mr. Nan—"
"You are being scammed." 
Your teeth clenched together. You rarely got impatient. Years in the hospitality industry and dealing with misogynistic tenants didn't break you. Even setting up your bakery and almost draining your savings didn't dim your optimism. 
But getting scolded by someone who barely spoke more than five sentences to you in a whole year of being a regular? That's pushing it.
He didn't know you or Toji, the guy you're seeing. He didn’t understand how much you appreciated him accompanying you. So what if you covered his share of the trip expenses? Toji promised to pay you back, and he's been paying the bills for your dates. They might not be fancy, but it's the gesture that matters.
Sure, Nanami chipped in some money, and you're thankful for that. But he has no right to question you. Other people also contributed to your travel fund; it's not like he single-handedly financed the whole trip. You appreciated his support, but he was not in a position to lecture you.
With a sigh, you managed to contain your frustration and said, "Have a great rest of your night, Mr. Nanami.”
Nanami's frustration was palpable as he stood firm, his gaze piercing through the windows of your soul. “I suggest you take my advice into serious consideration. It would greatly upset me if you had the chance to visit one of your favorite countries taken from you.” 
You didn't bother watching him go. Instead, your discovery awaited you at the counter—the money for the coffee and casse-croûte lay there, accompanied by a crumpled yellow note that had slipped to the floor. Moving around the counter, you picked it up and smoothed out its wrinkles.
What greeted you was your own name scrawled across the sticky note, repeated around fifty times, the letters overlapping in a chaotic dance. Some were hastily scratched out, while others were executed with perfect cursive precision. You didn’t know what to make of it.
During your confusion, a new customer walked in. Quickly, you pocketed the note, focused on carrying on with your day despite the lingering frustration that Nanami's cryptic message had left in its wake.
Toji never showed up.
You waited for him for two agonizing hours, extending the torture even more after your flight had taken off. It dawned on you that he likely didn't bother getting a ticket. He probably pocketed the money you sent him and vanished into thin air. Every attempt to reach him failed miserably—your calls were forwarded, and the fifth one hammered the heartbreaking truth that he had blocked your number. To compound your misery, you sent him a string of text messages that refused to deliver your pain. You didn't even know where he lived, as your encounters were always in the obscure locations of your budgeted dates.
The thought of reporting him to the police crossed your mind, accusing him of theft, but the lack of photographic evidence left you helpless. To make matters worse, he hated taking pictures, and you were uncertain if the name he provided was even real. All that remained was a flicker of hope that you might cross paths with the bastard and unleash your pent-up rage with a hard kick to his dick. 
With a heavy heart, you gathered your strength, brushed away the tears until not a single trace remained on your lashes, and lugged your suitcase and carry-on outside the airport, hoping to hail a cab.
The idea of facing the upcoming days at work felt agonizing, goading you to spend them in the isolation of your shabby apartment. You were engrossed in a depressing routine—microwaved dinners, aimless hours on the couch, and a marathon of old cable TV shows.
As hunger struck again, you contemplated your options. Baking seemed like a possibility, but motivation had abandoned you. Pasta could be an option, but the lack of noodles and tomato sauce made it impractical. So, you settled for the one thing that required no ingredients: crying.
At least that was free. 
Despite the inner turmoil, you mustered the strength to shoulder your overcoat, sporting your fleece pajamas printed with candy canes and well-worn second-hand boots. 
The short walk to the corner store felt longer than usual, the biting cold making you clutch your threadbare coat tighter. Your teeth chattered in protest as you entered, and the rush of warm air was a momentary relief against the chill. Fingers numb, you mindlessly reached for familiar comfort snacks—chips, chocolate milk, anything to dull the ache.
A hand much larger than yours beat you to the last packet of croissants.
“Ah, sorry.” You let it go. “All yours—” You choked as you looked up, and up, at Nanami staring at you wide-eyed, his hazel eyes flickering at a rapid speed as if he were hallucinating your presence. Your face flushed with embarrassment, and the weight of the past five days crammed upon you—his uncanny prediction, your own naivety, and the sting of being swindled. “Mr. Nanami . . . ”
“Aren’t you supposed to be in—”
“Good night.”
With a dismissive shake of your head, you left the basket on the counter, mumbled a quick apology, and retreated back into the biting cold. 
You’ve faced tons of humiliating moments—slipping in front of customers, your purse strap getting snagged in a door and dragging you back, and that one unforgettable instance when a little boy labeled your eyebrows as caterpillars in front of a line of onlookers. Yet, none of those incidents could hold a candle to the awkwardness of bumping into the very man who had warned you about the ill-fated choice of paying for a stranger's trip—stranger now—when it was supposed to be your trip. 
You felt a firm grip on your wrist, making your restless pacing suddenly stop.
Startled, you turned around to find a pair of expressionless hazel eyes and a slightly out-of-breath figure. Now is not the time to ogle Mr. Nanami’s broad shoulders, you idiot!
Releasing your wrist, he handed over a white, plastic bag. With a raised eyebrow, you peered inside to inspect its contents. It held everything from your shopping basket, including the last packet of croissants. Even more unexpected, he had paid for it all. 
“I’ll pay you back tomorrow,” you assured, your eyes already scanning for the nearest ATM, just in case you forgot. "But for now." You pulled out the packaged croissants and extended them toward him. Your body was shaking, not because of November but because of how you were scammed after being forewarned by Nanami. “Please. Take it.” 
He took your small hand in both of his, the warmth immediately melting the tension in your body. “So cold.” 
A soft giggle escaped you at the obvious observation, and you placed your free hand on top of his. "So warm." Sniffling, tears welled up in your eyes. "You know what else is warm? The sun. And it's yellow. It's so yellow."
“Factually speaking, it is white.” 
You wiped an arm across your nose. “What?” 
“The sun. It’s white. It’s only yellow in children's books.” 
You weren't about to argue with the guy who vindicated your slip-ups. Still, given the circumstances, you wished he'd soften the bluntness and let you bask in the illusion that the sun was a simple shade of yellow.
"I've always loved the color yellow," you mumbled. "Maybe getting scammed was a blessing. I'd probably get fined for wearing yellow otherwise. I couldn't afford to mess up on my trip. Besides, it all depends on the shade, right? Imagine how many fines I'd rack up just testing which shade of yellow suits me—"
Nanami tugged you close, capturing your lips with his.
A sharp intake of breath filled your lungs, eyes widening in surprise. Instinctively, your hands pushed him away, fingers grazing your tingling lips.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Fuck. I’m so sorry.” 
“No, it’s okay. Don’t—Don’t worry. About it.” You tucked your lips in and tasted chocolate and mint—two of your favorite combinations. Nanami always seemed like the kind of man who would hate both flavors independently and dependently. “You’re okay. I mean—You’re okay in general. You’re not okay with kissing. You’re probably great, I’m sure.” Your tongue traced the curve of your lower lip, and Nanami’s eyes followed the motion. “Oh, God. I’m so sorry.” 
You walked up to him, grabbed the lapels of his coat, and tugged him down a notch, your lips colliding with his. 
Nanami's touch was calculated, his hand sailing onto your cheek, feeding warmth to your cold ear before vanishing into the labyrinth of your hair. Simultaneously, the other serpentined to the small of your back, his magnetic energy drawing you snugly against his chest. His warm tongue delicately swept across your lower lip, an unspoken cue that encouraged you to part your lips in response.
Nanami deepened the kiss, your tongues stroking against one another feverishly as if it were your last kiss. Who knows? Maybe it could’ve been. But the way he kissed with such desperation, releasing soft moans, not allowing you a moment to catch your breath, made you think that maybe this was just the start.
And you kissed him back just as needy.
If your hands slightly released their hold on his lapels, you'd gently cup the sides of his neck, rising on your tiptoes. And if your calves protested, you'd draw him down, wrapping your arms around his neck, your fingers entwining in his pale, golden locks. The taste of mint chocolate lingered on your lips, and a smile curved on your mouth as he stole a quick peck, pulling back just to gaze into your eyes for a moment before kissing you again.
You’re not sure how long you two stood and kissed there. Nanami was the one who always took the lead, savoring the taste of your pink, tender tongue, kissing your chilly cheeks and dewy eyes. The desire for each other made it hard to break away, yet the need for a breath of air was undeniable.
Finally, you decided to be the one to step back, signalling the end of your first kiss with him.
Your bottom lip tingled as you pulled it in, jaw aching from the infectious smile that had taken over your face. You couldn't help stealing glances at the tall man before you, who returned your gaze with a soft, almost imperceptible grin. Yet, in his eyes, under the gentle glow of the streetlight, you could see the excitement and joy of kissing you, twinkling brightly.
“I'm gonna—”
“I should—”
Both of you sighed; you with a soft chuckle, and him with a discreet throat-clearing.
“I've already missed quite a few workdays,” you said. “Gotta earn that dough if I want to make next month’s rent.” Nanami didn’t quite catch your bakery pun, but he nodded in agreement.
“Right,” you murmured, subtly veering to the side, putting on a little show as you started to walk away. You admitted it—you were a hopeless romantic. You secretly hoped for him to steal a kiss on your cheek and watch until you safely disappeared around the corner. “I’m off now.”
“Goodnight,” Nanami replied, subtly licking his lips for the sixteenth time. Yes, you were keeping count. 
“Night-night.” 
Nanami strolled down his end of the sidewalk. You followed suit, turning down your street. 
Luck had only sometimes been on your side when it came to men and their romantic gestures. Oh well. At least you experienced a passionate kiss from one of your favorite customers. Asking for more seemed a bit too much—
A hand gently pressed against your back, and as you turned, it gracefully curved around your waist, drawing you in. Nanami caught your gasp and kissed you with an urgency that doubled, holding onto you as if his life depended on it, lifting you off your toes. Three sweet pecks later, he released you, both of your faces flushed.
"Get home safely," he whispered, walking away without a second glance.
That night, you couldn't help but giggle into your mascara-stained pillow.
The morning after, you were a whirlwind of joy and light, twirling through the bakery with trays of freshly baked pastries, replenishing boxes and take-out essentials. You greeted customers with an extra dose of sweetness, and to top it off, you even handed out a tray of delectable chocolate jam cookies. And you wore a yellow bow in your hair. 
The oven beeped as the casse-croûtes finished baking, signaling their readiness for Nanami's arrival in just five minutes. You took special care in preparing his milk coffee, indulging in a quiet chuckle at your undeniable favoritism. Though the neighborhood bakery wasn't bustling with a large customer base, your attention was solely dedicated to him—your only regular as everyone else buzzed in the distant city an hour away.
With his coffee prepared and two casse-croûtes packed, you added a chocolate-mint cookie to the bag. Then, you decided to rearrange the shelves of gift baskets to pass the time. 
Setting up the ladder, you ascended the shaky steps until you were eye to eye with the fifth shelf. Heights were never your forte, which, in hindsight, was another reason why flying to Malaysia was out of the question. The more you thought about being scammed, the more your heart wrenched from your lost trip. You’d again brought out your tip jar and prayed the odds were in your favor. Hell, maybe you’d ask Nanami to join you if you decided to take your relationship to the next level. 
As you secured the bow on the basket, your gaze landed on the clock—6:30 p.m., and Nanami was a no-show. 
Anxiety surged through you in an instant.
Did he leave you hanging? Maybe that kiss was a turnoff, and he chose to disappear rather than be upfront about finding you too overwhelming. Did your breath smell bad? Were you a terrible kisser? Or, worse, did something happen to him?
A torrent of worries flooded your mind, breaking through like a burst dam. Each imagined scenario seemed more nightmarish than the last, causing your head to spin. Recent events, like Toji's betrayal, fueled this self-doubt, made you question your intuition. While Nanami was clearly wealthy, consistently tipping a twenty each day, you found yourself questioning whether he had plans to use you for something else. As if that weren't enough, doubts crept in about your appearance and your optimistic, extroverted personality.
It started to make sense, didn't it? Nanami led a tranquil life, sticking to a routine of work and home, while you were a whirlwind of spontaneity—constantly buzzing with new ideas and discussions, unable to sit still or resist laughter at the silliest jokes. Everything seemed to fascinate you, yet nothing appeared to faze him. How could you have been so naive to entertain the thought—
“Good evening.” 
“Ah!” you yelped at the sudden baritone intruding into your thoughts. Your foot, betrayed by the unexpected intrusion, lost its balance on the step. Your arms flailed in a desperate attempt to find stability as you teetered backward, the impending hazard of a severe concussion and potential spinal cord injury looming.
But just as you were prepared to shake hands with God, Nanami's powerful arms swooped in at the last possible moment. With a secure hold, he cradled you in a bridal style, and you clung to him like a shaking puppy, arms looped around his neck.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his breath slightly labored.
You gingerly peeled one eye open to peek at him. His expression was one of calm disorientation; eyebrows knit together while his lips maintained a straight, tight line.
"Yes," you whispered, soothed by his timely intervention.
Nanami steadied you back onto your feet but maintained a firm grip on your elbows. “Look at me.” As you did, he inspected each eye closely while keeping his hand steady on your left cheek. He checked below your jaw, down to your dusty palms, which he cleaned with his silk handkerchief. He also patted down your tousled hair. "Are you sure you're okay?"
“Mm-hmm.” You could cry from how gentle he was with you. “A-Are you okay?” 
“I am now.” He took a composed breath and effortlessly retrieved his suitcase from the floor, brushing off invisible dust. “I apologize for being late. My . . . car broke down.” 
"What? Oh my god! Do you need me to give you my mechanic's number? I promise he's not as bad as the Google reviews say. He's actually quite a sweet man. And he gives me a friends and family discount because my father was close with him." You beamed, and Nanami squinted his eyes as if the brightness of your smile momentarily blinded him, but he tried his best to reciprocate.
“Do your parents live here?” 
You shook your head. “They passed away a while ago.” 
“I apologize.” 
"Don't be." You quickly switched subjects by fluttering towards the counter to pick up his items. “Tell me how your coffee tastes.” You turned around, adding, “I switched to a new brand of milk—”
Nanami pressed his lips against yours, momentarily freezing you. His seamless transition afterward could have fooled an onlooker into thinking you'd been married for years. "Thank you.” He took a sip and nodded thoughtfully. “It’s great. Everything you make is great.” 
“Thanks,” you mumbled, sudden shyness enveloping you. From the kiss? The compliment? Him? You didn’t know at all. “Do you still need me to give you the mechanic’s number?” 
“It’s all right. I had it fixed. Minor battery issue, that’s all.” 
“Ah, okay. See, that’s why I prefer to walk.” 
Nanami glanced elsewhere, nodding. “Then, would you like to walk with me after you’ve closed?” 
“Oh.” A subtle flicker of surprise crossed your features. Nonchalantly, you brushed a strand of hair behind your ear before smiling warmly. “Of course, yes. I’d love to go on a walk with you. Where are we going? There are lots of cafés in a nearby shopping district. I know all the best places to take you to.” A grave thought struck you just then. “Oh, actually. Hmm.” 
Curious, he tilted his head down, meeting your worried gaze. "What is it?"
"Well," you began, your thoughts taking a cautious turn, "you probably have a set time to be home unless you live nearby. In that case, we could spend the entire evening strolling around. Only if you're interested, of course."
Nanami’s lips twitched. “I live nearby.” 
“Where?” You weren’t ashamed to have been so upfront. It was more of a precautionary measure. 
And he didn't seem bothered, quickly revealing the familiar neighborhood you instantly recognized. It was a fifteen-minute walk from your own place.
"May I step out momentarily to make a call?" Nanami asked, pulling out his phone. It was the latest model you noticed—one that came out last week and mocked your own that was five versions older. “It will be quick.” 
“By all means.” You had to fix your hair and make-up anyway. 
Nanami nodded and exited the shop, leaving you to flee behind the counter. As you crouched down to check yourself in the small mirror tucked away in the lower drawer, you couldn't help but feel a warmth on your face from the unexpected collapse, the sweet, brief kiss, and his impeccable navy blue suit decorated with yellow cufflinks. Maybe a café was too casual for him; a restaurant might have been a more suitable choice. An expensive choice. However, you were adamant about not letting Nanami cover the entire cost.
Upon his return, five minutes later, you both settled at one of the three round tables in your bakery (he even pulled out your chair for you). Sipping on your coffees and enjoying the casse-croûtes and chocolate pastries, the conversation seemed somewhat one-sided. Yet, Nanami's aloof demeanor never made you feel inferior for dominating the dialogue. He listened to every word and vowel with his undivided attention, nodding alongside and adding in short sentences when he could relate to your childhood shenanigans. 
"Wait," he interrupted, causing you to halt in your tracks. The sun cast a warm glow on his face, making his eyes narrow into slits, but God did he look handsome. He extended his hand and brushed a thumb near your lips, discovering a small chocolate smudge. Swiftly, he licked it clean and tidied up the area around your lips with a napkin. "Beautiful."
“What?” 
Nanami was a deer in headlights. He sunk his head, beating himself up from murmuring his thoughts aloud—at least, that’s what you concluded. "You look beautiful," he declared with more assurance, his gaze on your face. "You are beautiful, Y/N."
Oh, my. 
Your heart was going to claw itself out of your chest. You could cook an egg on your face from how heated it had gotten. In fact, you were burning hotter than the sun, which continuously made him squint and blink. “Thank you.” 
He nodded twice, finishing the remnants of his coffee. Rising, he disposed of the cups and wrappers in the garbage bin, then extended a hand to help you stand. "I'll wait outside while you close up."
At a lightning pace, you ensured that everything in the bakery was safely unplugged and shut off. Grabbing your purse, you gave yourself a quick once-over in the mirror, adjusting your face and hair. Stepping outside, you meticulously locked the door and gates.
Without a word, Nanami entwined his fingers with yours, causing you to smile like an idiot at him. He maintained a straight, vigilant gaze, seemingly unresponsive as you wrapped yourself around his arm. A subtle smirk tugged at your lips when you felt his muscles flex.
You walked for hours, café-hopping and trying pastries, baked goods, and sweet drinks. Every time Nanami attempted to cover the expenses with his cash, you scolded him, insisting that since you had suggested the place, you should be the one to pay. It was a rule you had read about online, and all your friends stuck to it religiously. The thought of Nanami spending his hard-earned money on your interests made you feel incredibly guilty.
As a matter of fact, you were feeling guilty about tons of things. He told you he worked at an investment firm, which meant it was a nine-to-five, likely sporting a migraine he kept hidden, and now he was being dragged around the shopping district by you, forced to listen to you because he was a man who didn’t complain, wouldn’t complain, and long, story short, you wanted to die. 
“Kento,” you muttered, removing your hand from his, goosebumps rippling on your skin. 
“Yes, darling?” 
Your chest felt like it was being clenched in a fist. “I'm . . . I’m sorry.” 
“For what?” 
“For making you do all this. For making you pay for everything. For dragging you around when you're probably on the verge of exhaustion." Avoiding his gaze, you fixed your eyes on the concrete beneath you. “I know I can be too much sometimes—well, all the time.” A self-deprecating chuckle escaped your lips. "Exes in my past relationships have made it clear. I get overly excited easily, crave attention like one needs oxygen, trust people too easily to the point of getting scammed, and, well, I don't bring anything particularly special to the table. I'm sorry, Kento. Maybe it's best if we just stay friends?”
Nanami’s soft fingers lifted your chin up. Your words absolutely shattered his face, leaving you to feel worse than before. His lips were parted into a frown, his brows were scrunched up, brown irises flickering like he couldn’t believe you said that. This was the most reaction he had given you in the year that you’ve known him. 
“No,” he said. 
You blinked the tears gathered at your waterline. “No?” 
“No.” Nanami took a calming breath, closing his eyes. His forehead gently pressed against yours. “Please, let me be selfish for this once. For you. I can’t let you go—I won’t let you go."
"Kento—"
"I want to do this, Y/N. I want to pay for everything. I want you to drag me around because I’ll never be too tired for you.” Nanami drew back and cradled your sobbing face in his large hands. “I know I fail to show it, darling, but I love your excitement. I love paying attention to every detail of you because you’ve become my oxygen source. You’re a good, kindhearted woman, and anyone would be lucky to be seen by you. And you don’t have to bring anything to the table because there isn’t one dividing us, keeping us lengths apart.” His lips brushed your forehead, imprinting his words into your mind. "I want us to be more than just friends. I want us to be best friends. Lovers. In this life and the ones that follow."
You could explode. 
Your arms instinctively wrapped around his neck, seeking support as if the ground beneath you was about to crumble. Yet, you knew he would catch you, just as before. He was so real, embracing you wholly, both of you breathing in each other's scents to confirm a human like this could exist. How grateful you were he stumbled into your bakery that one rainy night, and how grateful he was that you offered him free coffee and a casse-croûte while he was freezing and trembling. His presence brought life to your bakery, gave you something to look forward to when you were at your lowest, and you gave him . . . everything. You were his everything since the first day. 
As the shared silence lingered, Nanami's phone shattered the moment, its noisy ring cutting through the haze. You instinctively stepped back, but he clung to your hand as if afraid you might slip away.
Never, Nanami Kento. You’re stuck with me. 
When he took out his phone, you caught a glimpse of the contact name: Satoru (assistant). 
Before you could process the fact Nanami had an assistant, he swiped right. “Yeah?” 
The voice on the other end resonated with loud cheerfulness in the quiet alleyway. Nanami half-rolled his eyes, letting out an exasperated sigh. “Very well. Leave it there. I’ll be there when I want to.” 
The assistant chuckled and sang his goodbye, the cheerful tone abruptly cutting off as Nanami ended the call and slid his phone back into his pocket.
“Do all stockbrokers have assistants?” 
He tilted his head. “I’m not a stockbroker.” 
“Oh? I’m sorry. I assumed because you worked at an investment firm.” 
“Yes, I was a stockbroker.” He nodded, warming your hand in his, then casually added, “But I own a firm now.” 
Your brows hit your hairline. “That’s amazing!” 
“Thank you. We have several locations around the country. Kento Investments. Have you heard of it?” 
Heard of it? You were a client some time ago when you were starting your bakery. All you encountered were glowing reviews about their ethical practices, a refreshing leave from the scheming ways of most investment firms that had previously taken advantage of you. It stood out as the industry leader in your research, and the team was lovely in guiding you through the process, so much so that you even invited them to your grand opening.
"Ah, you have." Nanami grinned, gently tilting your chin upward and closing your gaping mouth. "Therefore, my darling, don't feel guilty about me covering the expenses. I'm quite secure in my position to support both of us for centuries."
All you could manage was a disbelieving chuckle as you rested your forehead against his chest. Taking it as an invitation, he embraced you, crowning you with kisses. 
Lifting your head, you said, "There's something I want to get for you."
"What is it?"
Hand-in-hand, you pulled him back toward the bustling district, the sound of his deep laughter echoing in the air. Your own laughter naturally joined in.
As you strolled past a vendor selling accessories, your attention was drawn to an item you had briefly noticed earlier in your walk. Although you planned to purchase it the following day and surprise him in the afternoon, tonight felt like the perfect moment.
Politely approaching the elderly vendor, you asked, "Could I please try those on?" He handed you a pair of round sunglasses with a green tint to the lenses. Standing on your toes, you carefully placed the glasses on Nanami's nose, adjusting them to sit perfectly on the bridge. The sides of the spectacles featured a stylish steampunk design that complemented his narrow, sharp features. "Handsome.”
"I'll take it.” Nanami reached for his wallet. However, you were one step ahead, swiftly bringing out the spare change you had set aside in your coat pocket. You had already calculated the price, ready to outsmart him in this little game of charity.
“Y/N.” 
“Thank you,” you said to the shop vendor, ignoring Nanami’s stare. 
“Y/N.” 
“Yes, darling?" You looped around his arm and began your stroll down the sidewalk. “Oh, come on. Let me be selfish and treat you once in a while.” You cut off his protests with a kiss. 
He surrendered instantly. 
Over the next four weeks, you didn’t realize how quickly you’d become comfortable with Nanami. Like clockwork, he would arrive at your bakery, patiently occupying a table until your duties with customers or decorating displays finished. Now resembling a vibrant florist shop, the bakery owed its transformation to Nanami's thoughtful gestures—bouquets of flowers in every shade of yellow, orange, and white became an amusing routine. As you arranged them in vases, you would burst into fits of giggles like a maniac. 
You and him were like a Venn diagram, overlapping in unexpected places. He enjoyed non-fiction, classics, and history books; you immersed yourself in the world of romance and mystery novels. TV nights were a compromise between his love for documentaries and your penchant for anything sappy on Netflix, occasionally spicing things up with a true-crime documentary. His fascination with astronomy met your fixation with astrology, and surprisingly, he didn't scoff when you read the lines on his palms. Instead, he appreciated it just as much as you cherished his nightly photos of the moon and his ability to name the stars above.
At least, you were both Team Cats.
Nanami introduced you to his friends, including his quirky assistant Gojo, who had a habit of shamelessly flirting with you, seemingly just to get under Nanami's skin. However, your boyfriend was secure enough not to let it bother him. Yet, a trace of possessiveness would emerge during sex—when the two of you were entwined in bed, bodies bared and bathed in the aftermath of shared sweat.
Exiting the restaurant after a delightful dinner date, Nanami turned to you and suggested, "I'd like to invite you to my home tonight."
Finally, you thought, resisting the urge to dip your toes into the topic of visiting his home, especially considering he had been a frequent guest at yours.
The fact that he lived nearby had always puzzled you; he mentioned it casually yet never extended an invitation for a simple coffee or a chat on his welcome mat. Weekends saw him working from your living room, staying overnight, but on weekdays, he'd only spend a brief hour or two with you before heading home, a practice that seemed counterintuitive given his closeness. Despite the confusion, you hesitated to jeopardize your relationship by fishing too deeply.
So far, Nanami hadn't given you any reason to doubt him.
"Are you sure?" you asked cautiously.
"Absolutely, darling.” Nanami took your hand and planted a small kiss on the back of it. "I apologize for the delay. I've been having it . . ." He casually flicked up his sunglasses that had slipped. ". . . renovated."
“Oh, I see. Well, in that case, I’d love to!” 
Nanami nodded and leaned down to kiss your cheek. “Thank you for being so patient. I know it was eating you alive. You're not exactly the master of hiding your emotions.” He gave you a small smile and kissed your cheek again. 
You responded with a smile that crinkled your nose. "Just a bit anxious, that's all."
"Understandable.” He guided you toward his neighbourhood, exchanging a warm smile as you nestled against his arm. Observing the goosebumps on your skin and the faint shivers, he realized you had forgotten your cardigan. Without hesitation, he removed his blazer and draped it around your shoulders, helping you slip your arms through the sleeves and buttoning it up.
You took a deep breath, inhaling the pleasant scent from the collars. "You always smell so good."
Nanami bent down, kissing the side of your neck right above your racing pulse. "As do you," he murmured against your skin. "Always."
“Gosh, you're so flirty,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around his midsection and burying your face in his chest.
“Come on now.” 
You walked for another ten minutes, taking a five-minute pit stop to pet a stray cat before stopping in front of a towering residence building. It was one of those extravagant ones boasting a fountain in the lobby and a vigilant security guard who greeted Nanami with a two-finger salute.
Hand on your back, Nanami guided you toward the elevator with mirrors on all sides.
He exuded an air of sophistication in his neatly rolled-up black dress shirt, complemented by beige pants. His pale, blond hair was slicked back, a Rolex clasped his wrist, and veins corded his well-defined forearms. The sunglasses you had given him rested atop his head. 
As Nanami caught your eyes on the reflective surfaces, a sudden blush warmed your cheeks. “What is it?” 
“Nothing,” you whispered, fingers idly playing with the golden butterfly bracelet he had given you on the night he asked you to be his girlfriend. “I was just . . . God, you’re so beautiful. Sometimes, I think I’m dreaming of you. And I don’t want to wake up from it.” 
Nanami released his grip on your hand, wrapping his arm around your waist. He tilted your chin upward and planted a lecherous kiss on your lips. As you stumbled backward, your back met the cool surface of a mirror, and you clung to his biceps. He continued kissing your jaw and nibbling at your neck.
“Ken—Wait, there’s a camera!” 
“I own the building.” 
Without allowing you to react, he kissed you fervently, his hands framing your face and his knee pressing between your legs. Your hips ground against the muscled surface, creating a heated friction that drew a moan from him.
The elevator dinged, signaling its arrival, but Nanami was undeterred. He refused to break the kiss. Lifting you effortlessly, he cradled you with a single forearm beneath your backside and your arms encircling his neck. Laughter echoed as you entered directly into the main corridor of his penthouse.
“Your front door is an elevator?” You marveled with an open jaw. 
“Yes, it seems so.”
Oh, how you loved his monotonous replies. 
Nanami gently placed you onto the expansive white surface of his couch, smoothly moving over your body to continue. 
“I knew you were a clean freak,” you said between his kisses, “but your penthouse looks like it was bought this morning.” 
“Two weeks ago.” He kisses down your neck, sideways toward your left shoulder. “That’s why I waited to invite you. Gojo was having the place decorated. I've installed a library for you, too. We can go book-shopping this weekend.” 
"Wait, what?" You pushed him back by his chest, incredulous. "Hold on, hold on, hold on. You mean to tell me you moved in just two weeks ago?"
"Yes," he answered, tilting his head slightly perplexedly. "When you asked about my residence, I panicked and couldn't come up with a proper answer, fearing you might decline my invitation for a walk. So, I bought this building from the previous owner on the spot. There are also commercial benefits. Quite a strategic move, if you ask me." With that, Nanami resumed his attention, focusing on kissing your collarbones and skillfully lowering your dress, exposing your chest to him.
But you were still stuck on the subject like a pesky fruit fly. “But you don’t live here?” 
“I don’t.” His mouth brushed over the mound of your left breast. “I live in Shibuya.” 
“Shibuya? Kento, that’s an hour and a half away!"
"Hmm." He glanced up, mouth sucking at your nipple.
"You've been faithfully coming to my city every single day, all the way from Shibuya, for a whole year? You've been burning all that gas just to be with me?"
He broke away to say, "Gojo drives me occasionally," and switched to your right breast.
"Nanami Kento, are you out of your mind?"
Finally, he released you and sighed. "I fail to see the issue here." He appeared so innocent, with his moist lips, tousled hair, and a crumpled dress shirt. 
You hurriedly sat up, readjusting your dress, which seemed to displease him. "I'm at a loss for words." Your gaze caught the weariness etched on his face, the bags under his eyes, the slow, heavy blinks signaling his desperate need for sleep. "You haven't actually been living here, have you?"
Upon hearing that, Nanami let out a weary sigh. "I do it when I'm too drained to make the drive back on weekdays."
As the details of his schedule fell into place, you flinched inwardly. He would rise at the crack of dawn, dedicate endless hours to handling clients at the office, and then endure a lengthy drive to your city, only to spend his evenings with you before leaving around midnight to return to Shibuya. The only time he would stay overnight at your place was on Saturdays, and he would depart early on Sundays for work. And all this time, you had believed he had an office in your city.
Oh, God. 
You loved him. 
You loved him so much.
Tears welled up in your eyes at the realization of just how much he loved you. The man had gone so far as to purchase an entire building in your city just to be closer to you. He showered you with affection at every opportunity, devoted his alone time to you with undivided attention and mind-blowing orgasms, and his bank transactions were probably dedicated to you. 
“I don’t deserve your kindness,” you whispered. 
“Neither did I the night when we met.” Nanami’s words always had a comforting effect on you. He gently pulled you onto his lap, and you curled up like a fetus, planting a kiss on his cheekbone. “I’ve loved you for a very long time, Y/N. I love . . . God, I love you so much. I didn't realize I was capable of feeling this much love for another human until I met you. It was all locked up inside me, and you held the key all along, darling." Leaning forward, he smoothly swept his blazer and delved into the pocket, revealing a small yellow box. With trembling hands, you accepted it and opened it to find a petite, golden key inside. “Our front door is an elevator.” 
Your breath hitched. “What?” 
“Move in with me.” 
“Kento—”
“I know. I know it's quite early to discuss this, and I want to give you the space and time to consider it. As you mentioned, your lease ends next month, and I'll officially be transitioning to remote work with a few business trips every other week. It would mean a lot to me if you decided to join me on those trips." He gently placed the key in your hand, kissing your fist. "I'm scheduled to travel to Malaysia next month."
Overpowered with emotion, you choked out a sob and immediately lunged at him with a hug, causing both of you to stumble backward as he wrapped his arms around your waist. He loved you. He wanted you to move in with him. He wanted to travel with you, starting with Malaysia. Suddenly, the tips he left in your jar took on a deeper significance, backing the idea that you weren't meant to journey alone, why you weren’t meant to go with that swindling bastard. As Nanami's gestures of kindness and service became increasingly evident, your tears welled up, choking him in a tight embrace that eventually had him laughing.
Last November, Nanami Kento had stepped into your small bakery, raindrops clinging to him, unknowingly marking his permanent presence in your life.
6K notes · View notes
drdemonprince · 1 month
Note
I don't think I have it in me to be an abolitionist because I read that horrible story about the trans teen murdered in South Carolina and my knee jerk reaction is, those people should rot in jail, ideally forever, or worse. No matter how I look at it I can't make myself okay with the idea that you should be allowed to steal someone's life in such a horrible way and then just go back to enjoying your life. Some stuff is just too over the top evil.
You can have whatever emotions you want about that person's murderous actions, but the reality is that the carceral justice system is one of the largest sources of physical, emotional, and sexual torment for transgender people on this planet.
Transgender people are ten times more likely to be assaulted by a fellow inmate and five times more likely to be assaulted by a corrections officer, according to a National Center for Transgender Equality Report.
Within the prison system, transgender people are frequently denied gender-affirming medical care, and housed in populations that do not match their identity, which increases their odds of being beaten and sexually assaulted.
The alternative to being incorrectly housed with the wrong gendered population is that transgender people are also frequently held in solitary confinement instead, often for far longer periods on average than their non-transgender peers, contributing to them experiencing suicide ideation, self harm, acute physiological distress, a shrunk hippocampus, muscculoskeletal pain, chronic condition flare-ups, heart disease, reduced muscle tone, and numerous other proven effects of solitary confinement.
The prison system is also one of the largest sites of completely unmitigated COVID spread, among other illnesses, with over 640,000 cases being directly linked to prison exposure, according to the COVID prison project.
We know that number is rampantly under-estimated because prisoners, especially trans ones, are frequently denied medical care. And even basic, essential physical care. Just last year a 27-year-old Black man named Lason Butler was found dead in his cell, having perished of dehydration. He had been kept in a cell without running water for two weeks, where he rapidly lost 40 pounds before perishing. His body was covered in rat bites.
This kind of treatment is unacceptable for anyone, no matter who they are and what they have done, and I shouldn't have to explicitly connect the dots for you, but I will. One in six transgender people has been to prison, according to Lambda Legal. One in every TWO Black transgender people has been to prison. One in five Black men go to prison in America.
THIS is the fate you are consigning all these people to when you say that prisons must exist because there are really really bad people out in the world. We should all know by not that this is not how the carceral justice system works. Hate crime laws are under-utilized, according to Pro Publica, and result in few convictions. The people who commit transphobic acts of violence tend to be given softer sentences than the prisoners who resemble their victims.
We must always remember that the violent tools of the prison system will be used not against the people that we personally consider to be the most "deserving" of punishment, but rather against whomever the state considers to be its enemy or to be a disposable person.
You are not in control of the prison system and you cannot ensure it will be benevolent. You are not the police, the judge, the jury, or the corrections officers. By and large, the people who are in these roles are racist, transphobic, ableist, and victim-blaming, and they will use the power and violence of the system to terrorize people in poverty, Black people, trans people, "mad" people, intellectually disabled people, women, and everyone else that you might wish to protect from harm with a system of "punishment." Nevermind that incaraceration doesn't prevent future harm anyway.
You can't argue for incarceration as the tool of your revenge fantasies, you have to argue for it as the tool that it actually is. The purpose of a system is what it does. And the prison system's purpose has never been to protect or avenge vulnerable trans people. It has always been to beat them, sexually assault them, forcibly detransition them, render them unemployable, disconnect them from all community, neglect them, and unperson them.
778 notes · View notes
myfictionaldreams · 5 months
Text
Day 24: Role Reversal - Mafia!Stucky
Tumblr media
Summary: For once, you were the one shouting at the enemy, demanding that they leave your office. Steve and Bucky were in awe, so you tried to keep up this confidence and burn off some energy with them.
Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, threesome (f/m/m), protective, arguing, dom/sub, switch, praise kink, oral (f and m receiving), restraints, multiple orgasms, hair pulling, creampie, rough sex
masterlist 📚 
kinktober masterlist😈 
AO3 Link
Tumblr media
It was a highly anticipated meeting. Tension was so thick in the office that all weapons were in hands, shoulders rolled back, and eyes glared in all directions, monitoring every little movement.
This had been happening for hours, and you were split between falling asleep or losing your patience and leaving. It wasn’t like you to be in these kinds of moods either. Usually, at the start of the meeting, you’d be a trembling, anxious mess and wish to leave because the tension was too much, knowing it would end in violence or shouting. However, today, you were not in the mood for an entirely different reason; knowing who was coming to the meeting already had your blood boiling.
A gentle nudge of your foot drew your attention to the man sitting opposite you. Bucky smiled from across the table, nodding slightly to check in and make sure you were okay, which you gave him a reassuring nod and smile in return. Steve sat between you both at the head of the table, where he naturally deserved to sit, considering he was the gang's leader. Your eyes flicked to the blonde, admiring the natural look of authority that he held, his eyes staring daggers at the man opposite him, and the muscles of his shoulders bulging in the white shirt that was decorated with various harnesses to display the weapons that he knew how to use expertly, intimidating the guest.
Even though he looked dangerous, the hand holding yours on his lap was so soothing and tender that it almost made you break the facade and smile. Steve had prioritised holding your hand, hoping the touch would calm your nerves, which it did. His fingers were rough from his training and littered with various scars from his years of dangerous work, but it was familiar to you as you mixed between playing with his fingers and his reassuringly squeezing your palm. He’d even refused to shake the other man’s hand when he entered the meeting to continue to hold yours, even though it further infuriated the man who commented how unprofessional it was not to shake an opponent's hand.
Baron Strucker was as boisterous and aggravated as they come. Hot-headed and preferred to shout rather than talk as he demanded his shares of the Rogers mafia, claiming that some of the equipment he’d bought was now being sold on the black market by Steve’s gang without the financial profit being shared. The two guards that had arrived with Baron were just as aggressive, weapons out, standing tall and looking ready to fight the numerous people in the room. 
As angry as Steve was beneath the skin, he remained calm, choosing not to lose his level-headed thinking and stay in control of the situation, proving his superiority as a leader over Baron. Bucky, his right-hand man, was similar with his calmness, but with the muscle ticking in his jaw, you knew he was struggling to remain in his seat, especially the tone that was being used towards his boss, boyfriend and best friend Steve, he was slowly losing his patience. 
During these moments with the gang, you were truly reminded of just how dangerous they both were and the line of work they both were involved in and now, so were you. It was hard to compare the men you’d woken up to this morning, adoring and making your life wholly fulfilled with love and affection, were the same that were probably contemplating murdering the man across the table.
You were squeezing Steve’s hand as you reminisced about the morning, using the moment to distract from the shouting in the room that you were now blankly staring at. Steve returned the affection but dragged the pad of his thumb against the back of your hand, which helped to settle the butterflies swirling in your stomach.
Someone shifting their weight behind you also caught your attention, reminding you that Sam Wilson, your best friend and bodyguard, was standing behind your chair. You were surrounded by protection as to your right sat Natasha, her eyes unblinking as she stared viciously at the enemy, her fingers twitching in her lap to throw the knife strapped to her leg.
“We had a deal. I’ve held my end of it, give you everything I have, and I’ve had nothing from you! How the fuck is that fair? That’s not what I signed up for”. Baron’s shout rang in your ears, causing you to close your eyes to try not to flinch from the piercing sound.
Steve leaned forward in his chair, calm yet authoritative as ever, as the room watched him closely. With a lot of restraint, he began to list all the ways in which the Rogers mafia has provided Stucker with their ends of the deal with financial benefits, customers and more.
You pondered over everything Steve was stating, but he failed to mention one thing that you had contemplated and something that Baron had just so happened not to talk about either. Your eyes flicked between Bucky and Steve to see if they might have remembered it, possibly hinting that you had something to say without cutting off Steve, but neither looked in your direction for once. You thought about speaking up, but everyone's attention on you had your insides twisting with sickness.
They were hyper-focused on the pacing man at the other end of the table, who was more furious with each passing second. The longer Baron Strucker ranted, not taking any accountability and blaming everything on Steve, the more your blood began to boil. Your face and chest warmed, eyebrows furrowing as your jaw clenched with as much fiercness as Bucky’s. You wanted to scream in his face, shake him for missing out on the crucial detail that he seemed to be dancing around, and you couldn’t take it anymore, the anger giving you the confidence and anger to intervene in his shouts finally.
“You’re thieves! A scam of a gang. I don’t understand how you’ve managed to reach the level of fame that you have here in Brooklyn. You’re all going down the drain. No one is going to trust you again because as soon as I get out of this office, I’m going to tell everyone what a bunch of shit you all are-”
“What about your container of goods by the coast?” Your voice was firm and louder than you’d expected it to be. You were so riled up that you’d removed your hand from Steve’s, needing to clench your fists in your lap as you stared at the man without fear, even though you could feel everyone’s eyes now on you.
“What?” Strucker snaps his head towards you like he had forgotten you were in the room. His beady little eyes devoured your body as if he was sizing you up. Still, with a simple scoff, you knew he deemed you no threat. The look had Steve and Bucky adjusting in their seats and the other gang members in the room who prepared their stances to match those of their leader, Steve and his second-in-command.
For once, you were braced, not letting his scoff throw your confidence. “The shipment by the coast? You’ve not mentioned it, and wasn’t that the whole reason for this deal in the first place?  Why haven’t you discussed it today? What happened to the goods you were supposed to provide us with?”
Baron stopped midstep, swallowing thickly, giving himself a second to adjust his frame before the aggression came back, directing it towards you instead as he pointed his meaty finger in your direction. “I see your little game, trying to change the subject from your mistakes. I’m not falling for it, and you have to deal with the consequences of your actions. This good-for-nothing gang-”
“No!” you once more cut off his rambling, “I think it’s you who is changing the subject. Answer me now: where are the goods?” Your eyes were burning with how hard you were staring at him, with all your spite and anger, a slight tremor settling in your body as you struggled to keep your emotions to a minimum.
“You don’t get to talk to me like that!”
It was your turn to scoff at the atrocities coming out of Baron’s mouth as you began to calm your voice so that you weren’t shouting and instead reigned in the power of authority. “Yes, I do. I am as high up in this gang as Bucky. You’re in my building with my gang. I can speak to you however the fuck I like. Now, answer my question or get the fuck out. Where is this shipment?”
His silence was your answer enough, so you decided to put the final nail in his coffin. “So you’ve sold them to someone else, and you think you can come here and threaten us? You’re lucky you aren’t dead right now, so here’s what will happen. You’ll collect your dirt shit friends here, turn around and walk out of this building. And you know what? I’ll throw you a bone, we won’t say a word about your failed partnership, but if we hear even a whisper that you’ve talked shit about my gang, there will be nowhere you can hide on this planet that’ll stop us from getting to you and everyone you love. Now get the fuck out!”
You don’t look away from him, you don’t back down, you continue to hold his gaze and watch as he opens his mouth repeatedly like a fish, and when he looks like he’s found his words, they’re swiftly cut off as the woman next to you was out of her seat in a blink of an eye, holding her knife to his neck. “You heard the boss; it’s time for you to go”, Natasha instructs with her silky voice.
His mouth shuts as he backs away, still glaring but not having the guts to say what he wants as the other crew members follow him out. A few of the Rogers mafia escorted them out of the property.
Sam speaks first as he rests his hands on your shoulders, still taunted with tension. “Please mind my language when I say, holy fucking shit. I didn’t think you had it in you, Boss Lady; that was badass!”
Finally releasing the pent-up energy, you shout in rage, rubbing your hands down your face before pushing the chair back, thankful that Sam quickly stepped out of your way as you began to do your pacing. “He’s such an asshole! I don’t even know why we agreed to do any sort of work with him in the first place!” Your red stiletto heels click against the floor dramatically as you try to shake your hands to dispel the anger still raging inside your body.
From the corner of your eye, you saw that Steve silently nodded his head towards the door, indicating for everyone else to leave, which they did without hesitation, leaving you, Steve and Bucky alone.
The brunette was the first to stand, the clip of his expensive shoes just as loud on the ceramic flooring as Bucky unbuttons his suit jacket. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever fucking seen, Hot Mama”.
You stop walking abruptly, turning to him with a quizzical look, but your eyes are drawn to the evidence of his obvious arousal, the thick outline of his erection down his left pant leg. Your body is warming for a different reason now; as you state, “I have so much energy right now, I feel like I could run a marathon. I understand why you both fuck so hard when you’re in a mood”.
Bucky’s knowing smirk captures your attention now, the heat spiking in your core with a noticeable throb. Steve stands, his chair scrapping along the floor with his sudden movement.
Steve’s looking at you the same way Bucky is. As if they knew you were thinking something you weren’t entirely sure what, as the only thing on your mind right now was getting rid of the pent-up energy you held whilst also trying not to slip into the submissive ways that you always did, especially seeing how turned on both your boyfriends were from seeing you in this dominant, headstrong persona. 
Steve stands tall, his hands lazily in his pockets as he admires you slowly up and down with his crystal blue eyes. “We tell you all the time to use us, so use us. Get that energy out. Tell us what you want us to do. If it’s going for a run, we can do that. If you want a hard fuck, you know we can do that too.”
No amount of money would make you pick going for a run right now as you stared between Steve and Bucky. Two powerful men, ready to do whatever you wished so you rolled your shoulders back, straightened your posture and demanded, “Strip. Take off your clothes”.
Bucky bites his lips seductively as he prepares to slowly remove his clothes, beginning with his jacket and the endless weapons attached to himself. Steve, on the other hand, started by removing his black tie, which you promptly held your hand out for, deciding you could use this later. 
Watching them both doing exactly as you’d instructed was exhilarating, even if it was a simple act. Only moments ago, the room was full of influential people, a fight potentially about to begin, and now you’re watching each beautiful body part of two of the most dangerous men in Brooklyn strip naked.
You were hardly breathing by the time they stood before you, their impressive bodies on display as they waited for their next instructions with their hands behind their backs and cocks proudly hard. You couldn’t help yourself as you touched the tip of Steve’s and admired how it throbbed as his abs flexed and he tensed.
“Did it really make you that turned on to see me like that?” you asked, needing to hear him say it.
Steve’s eyes admired you with a tantalizingly slow look up and down, “You have no fucking idea”.
Even though your insides seemed to somersault with excitement, you tried to remain in control of the situation. Holding up the black tie in front of Bucky, you asked him, “Tie up Steve’s hands behind his back and make sure that he can’t get out”.
Bucky did as instructed without questioning and worked his magic, ensuring the knot was secure enough that Steve wouldn’t be able to easily wriggle out of the restraint unless he ripped the material in half. Seeing Steve standing there, with his arms behind his back and both following instructions to perfection, made you feel powerful.
Your eyes observed Bucky, who had stood next to Steve, waiting patiently for whatever you had to say. “Can I trust you to keep your hands behind your back?” Bucky grins, showing his straight teeth as he nods his head in answer, moving his hands behind his back and circling the metal fingers around his flesh wrist, keeping it locked in place.
“Good boy”, you say without thinking and wishing to praise him in some way and to your delight, his cock visibly throbbed as the Adam’s apple of his throat bobbed with his moan. The corner of your lip tilted upwards with excitement at this fact as you stepped towards him, stroking the tips of your fingers down his firm chest. “Do you like it when I call you that?”
“I think I do”, he responds with an edge of gruffness to his voice, like the arousal coursing through him had affected him so much already.
There were so many things that you could do with both of them right now. The first that came to mind was dropping to your knees and servicing them both, but you were enjoying the power too much and seeing the lust in their eyes; you were ready to use this to your advantage.
Taking a step away from them both, you crept over to the seat at the head of the table, trying to use the confidence to glide through your body still and maintain the dominant persona, at least for as long as you could. You eyed up Steve’s seat, easing it away from the table before sitting in it and spreading your legs so the dress hiked up your thighs until they both had a view of naked cunt, for once thankful you’d gone without any underwear today. “Well, why don’t you both be good boys and come and eat me out?”.
With impressive speed, Steve and Bucky were dropping to their knees in front of the seat, the colour of their eyes impressively darkened with hunger, tongues wetting their lips in anticipation. Gripping the back of your thighs, your legs spread wider for them, trying to make room for both of their faces.
It was difficult with the lack of space and their hulking shoulders shoving against each other so they could both have their feast. This only made you feel more powerful, to see them quietly arguing with each other to try and pleasure you, which only made their licks and sucks more enthusiastic. They were sloppy, saliva and pussy juice coating their faces and your thighs as they each tried to push their tongues into your cunt. Everything was warm, wet and pleasurable, especially as Steve lapped at your clit as Bucky tongued your hole.
You couldn’t keep your eyes off them, hungry for both of them, knowing that you could ask for possibly anything and they would be willing to do it, even in the middle of the office. Having both of them on you simultaneously was also very overstimulating, as they seemed to be touching you everywhere at the same time. You were clenching and withering beneath them before you could even think to moan either of Steve or Bucky’s names, the orgasm stealing your breath away.
Steve sucked as Bucky licked through your orgasm until you had to release the bruising grip on your thigh so that you could close your legs, pushing them back. Trying to catch your breath, you stared between them. Both their handsome faces were flushed, chins and cheeks drenched and glistening, eyes glazed with hunger and arousal, still sitting on their knees with hands behind their backs.
You were surprised they’d not yet freed their restrained hands and taken over. The two of them were dominant down to their very bones, so for them to not switch things around and bend you over the table and fuck you until you’d orgasmed multiple times, it was a surprise they were still going along with you being in control.
“Bucky”, standing from your chair, you cupped the chin of the boyfriend you’re addressing, “sit in this chair”. He does as instructed as you walk behind him and the chair, your fingers massaging his shoulders and chest as you dip to kiss the column of his neck. Looking over your body, you admired the thick cock that was begging to be touched, and then there was Steve, who also was admiring Bucky’s dick.
“You’ve both been so good for me, following my instructions. Here’s what is going to happen. I want Stevie to suck Bucky off until I tell him to stop. Does that sound good with you, Buckaroo?”
The face you were kissing nodded quickly and enthusiastically. Bucky’s eyes were wide with anticipation and awe as he watched his boss and superior, especially in the workplace, on his knees and ready to pleasure him.
Bucky sucks in a deep breath through his nose as Steve begins to lick up his shaft, holding intense eye contact before taking him fully into his mouth.
You walk around the two of them, making sure your heels are unnecessarily loud with the steps so they are aware of where you are at all times; even when Bucky’s eyes are closed, his head turns ever so slightly with your actions, like he was monitoring where you were.
Every so often, you’d run your fingers over their shoulders or through their hair. The touches caused shivers to run through their beefy bodies, and you tried not to grin at the little reactions you could easily pull from them.
“Doing so good, Steve, I can tell Bucky’s getting close. Keep going. I don’t think I’m ready for you to stop just yet”.
“Ah, fuck!” Bucky grunted, hips thrusting up as his head tipped back, falling into the depths of his pleasure and the skills of Steve’s beautiful mouth.
Only when you could see Bucky’s breaths coming fast, his mouth dropping open with no restraints for his moans, did you decide to intervene, knowing he was close to cumming. Scraping your nails through Steve’s hair, you grabbed a hand full and tugged, forcing Steve’s mouth off the cock.
Bucky whimpered from the loss of the tongue and sucking. “Now, now, Bucky. You’ve had your share, don’t be so selfish.” Lowering your mouth to Steve’s ear, you whispered, “Sit back, Steve”.
With an easy roll, Steve is sitting on his arse on the cold floor, and you are instantly on him, straddling over his thick thighs, hands cupping his cheeks and kissing him hungrily. You moaned at the taste of Bucky’s cock on his lips and the noise of Steve’s tie straining from where Steve was pulling on it but stopping himself from ripping it apart.
You still had so much energy you needed to get out, and Steve had been so good for you that he deserved a reward. Rolling your hips, your cunt pulsed with desire as his cock slipped between your folds and nudged your clit. Slipping a hand between your bodies and lifting onto your knees, you lined Steve up and slowly sat down his length.
“You always fill me up so good”, you praise him, returning to cupping his cheeks as you kiss him passionately, rolling your hips and down with heavy slaps. He was so deep and stretched your walls to perfection.
Your knees were aching, and maybe you were used to being the one without the control, but this position was hard to fuck with the full potential. You wanted to hold control but didn’t want to do any of the work, so with a sly smile and biting Steve’s bottom lip, you decided to switch it up.
“If I undo your hands, I’m still in control. Only for today, do you understand?” you asked, mind grinding your hips.
Steve moaned and desperately nodded his head, “Yes! Fuck yes, you’re in charge, baby”.
“Good. I want you to pick me up and fuck me on the desk”. Whilst still trying to fuck him, you reached around him and pulled on the end of the tie, thankful that Bucky had managed to tie it in such a way that it was easy to undo. The material loosened around Steve’s wrists, and within a blink of an eye, his strong arms were under your hips as he lifted the two of you from the floor.
The table’s cool surface made you gasp, but then he was fucking you, his face hiding in your neck as your hands gripped his back for support, nails digging in and leaving crescent-shaped indents.
“Ah! Yes!” you shouted as Steve fucked with nothing holding him back, and even though he was the one on top of you, you could still feel the powerful of telling him what to do, knowing that if you asked him to sit on the floor and wait, he would do precisely that.
Every stroke of his cock, pounded into your cunt with a wet gush of your fluids, helping to soften the sensation. He felt so intense you were sure if you put your hand on your lower belly, you’d be able to feel the tip of his cock prodding deep within.
You were already sensitive from their mouths so you came after only a couple of minutes, the fire burning and pulsing so thoroughly throughout your body that you were sure everyone in the building could hear your pleasured screams.
Steve didn’t stop because you hadn’t ordered him to do anything other than fuck you. “That’s it, keep going, don’t stop!” You were being selfish, but you didn’t care one little bit.
Turning your head away from Steve, you looked at Bucky, who looked like he would combust on the spot. A thick dribble of precum was stringing from his thigh to his tip, and the veins in his temple were bulging as he kept himself sitting on the brink of an orgasm whilst still sitting in the chair.
“Bucky, as soon as Steve finishes, I want you to come over and fuck me”.
Hearing the next instruction, Steve’s hands held onto your thighs for more leverage and fucked you hard until cumming with an ultimate groan that vibrated deep through his chest. You sighed at the warmth soaking your hole, but you didn’t have time to process this as Bucky pushed away Steve, and your other boyfriend was filling you.
Bucky’s hands were on you, one on your hip and the other on your chest, holding you down as he fucked into you relentlessly. You didn’t have the energy to tell him off or order him to do anything different. Not when he was fucking you so hard that you were thankful for the table being drilled to the floor so you were sure it would have toppled over by now.
“That’s it, Bucky, you’ve been so good for me, just like that”. The praise seemed to trigger something in him as he goes crazy. Your body was trembling and aching with the efforts of keeping up with his thrusts. You came again, gushing and moaning as all you could do was hold onto his shoulders.
“Doll- I’m gonna cum- so deep-!” Bucky cried out as he smacked his cock in as deep as it would go, his body shaking as his cock emptied his cum, making in with the remaining of Steve’s. Bucky collapsed onto your chest, both trying to catch your breath.
Your eyes were closed as Steve began to speak next to your head. He’d walked around the table, so he was looking down at you and Bucky from above as he caressed the side of your cheek. “Could you do me a favour? Firstly, please can you shout at assholes more often. And two, please tell us what to do because I could have come just from you telling me to take my clothes off”.
With all the energy drained from your body, you quickly slipped into the submissive state you were usually in, wishing to hide your face into Bucky’s neck but keeping a mental note as to how you could use this to your advantage in the future.
1K notes · View notes
fatecantstopme · 1 year
Text
Fake It Til You Make It
Tumblr media
Pairing: Chris Evans x reader
Summary: You’d just broken up with your boyfriend of 2 years after he cheated on you. Chris Evans, your best friend since childhood, suggests pretending to be your boyfriend to get back at your ex. You execute the plan flawlessly, but it has unintended consequences that threaten to change everything.
Warnings: RPF. Cursing. Fluff, angst, SMUT! Oral (F receiving), unprotected sex (P in V), dirty talk, over-stimulation.
"There is absolutely no way I'm going to this damn party."
"Aw, come on, (Y/N/N)," Chris chided. "It's Saturday night. What else are you gonna do?"
You sighed. "Sit in my pjs on the couch, watching a serial killer documentary, obviously."
Chris laughed and threw a dish towel at you. "As fantastic as that sounds, you're single now! You have to actually go outside and meet people."
You tossed the towel into the washer and grumbled, "What if I don't want to meet people?"
He rolled his eyes. "If you don't come, then I'll have no one to gossip with."
"As if I'm your only friend."
"You're my best friend, and as such, you have a very special role to fill. It's required."
You groaned, back leaning against the front of the washer. "Chris, I have nothing to wear." He was about to respond, but you continued. "Besides, he'll be there."
Chris's expression changed, anger darkening his features. "Who cares about him? He was never good enough for you anyway."
You crossed your arms over your chest. "You literally introduced us."
He threw up his hands. "Mistakes were made."
"I know it's been a couple months, but it's just...I don't know. I don't wanna see him. Especially if he's with one of the girls he cheated on me with."
"Even if he's there with an entire brothel, you can't let it bother you. You deserve so much more than that."
You sighed. "I know, I know. I just don't wanna go alone."
"You'll be with me!" he insisted.
You laughed. "Not exactly what I meant, Chris."
"Oh. So you'd rather go with some lesser man?" he teased.
"Oh stop," you said with a chuckle. "But seriously, he's gonna be there with a girl and I just don't wanna be the loser ex who shows up without a man on her arm."
"Since when do you care what other people think?"
"I don't...I just--" you sigh. "I wanna make him jealous."
Chris raised his eyebrows. "Well then...I have the perfect plan."
"Oh?"
"We go together."
"Yes, you already said that."
"No, you misunderstand," he said with a quick shake of his head. "You and I go together...make everyone believe we're dating. He'll be out of his mind with jealousy."
Normally you wouldn't have considered his suggestion...the deception just wasn't your style. But your ex had really fucked you over and you couldn't deny that getting back at him was very appealing. Especially using Chris...your ex always thought you and Chris were too close, that something was actually going on between the two of you.
"So we just pretend to be dating to piss him off?" you asked.
Chris nodded.
"Okay," you say. "Against my better judgment, I'm in."
He grinned ear to ear. "I'm brilliant, aren't I?"
You rolled your eyes. "Shut up and help me find something to wear."
He laughed and followed you to your bedroom closet. "There's gotta be something in here you can wear."
Your closet was packed with clothing, but you didn't really see anything that appealed to you. "Nothing looks good."
He rolled his eyes and grabbed a dress off the rack. "How 'bout this one?"
"Too trampy."
"This one?" he asked, pulling out a different dress.
"Too formal."
"Maybe this?"
"Doesn't fit right."
He groaned. "Then why do you have it?"
"Because it's cute and I'll get it altered at some point."
"Women are so weird," he grumbled as he dug through several more dresses before pulling out what he deemed to be the perfect one. "This has to be it."
You cocked your head to the side as you looked at the dress. It was cut just above the knee, jet black, form-fitting, and all around beautiful. Plus it did accentuate all of your assets. "Hmm. That might actually work," you said thoughtfully. "I'll throw it on, you go find shoes that'll go with it."
You walked back into your bedroom to change as Chris dug through your massive shoe collection in an attempt to find the perfect pair.
"Heels, right?" he called.
"Obviously," you yelled back.
"Black?"
"Just pick something sexy, Christopher! We're trying to make someone jealous here."
You heard him laugh and mumble something you couldn't quite make out. You shook your head as you started changing. Chris had been your best friend since you were little kids...you'd known each other so long neither of you actually remembered meeting. Even after he became a famous actor, who he was never changed. He never pulled away from you or made you feel inferior. He never stopped being the person you loved, your best friend in the world, your solid rock. You were more thankful for him than you would ever admit to his face...mostly because he would tease you relentlessly for it for the rest of your lives.
You'd managed to get the dress on, but you needed help with the zipper, so you called for Chris to come help you.
"Whatcha need?"
"Zip this for me?" you asked, turning your back to him.
He froze for a moment, but recovered quickly, thankful you hadn't seen his reaction. He quickly crossed the room and slowly zipped your dress up, trying very hard to not linger against your skin.
"Thanks," you said warmly, completely oblivious to the change in his demeanor. "Did you find a pair of shoes?"
The question brought him back to the present, eyes shifting back towards the closet. "I found two that could work."
You picked one of the pairs of shoes and finished getting ready. Chris needed to change his clothes before heading to the party, so he drove both of you back to his place so you could arrive together. He was quick to change into a laidback black suit with a white button up, top buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up. Even you had to admit he looked damn good.
"Ready, buttercup?" he asked teasingly.
"Oh god, please come up with a different pet name."
He slipped his arm through yours and dragged you towards the door. "How 'bout 'snookums'?"
The look on your face told him exactly what you thought about that particular name.
"Okay, okay. Maybe 'peach'?"
"I'm not a fruit, Christopher."
"Oh come on, that one's sweet!"
"Was that a pun?" you teased.
"Wait, I've got it. Sweets?"
You paused for a moment, mulling it over. "That one can stay."
"Brilliant. But fair warning, I'm totally gonna squeeze a "googely bear" in there at least once."
"Isn't that from Monster's Inc.?"
He grinned. "Yup and I have no shame, smoochie poo."
You groaned. "God, you're the worst."
He gave you the biggest shit-eating-grin you'd ever seen. "You love me and you know it."
You laughed. "Yeah, yeah."
Chris opened the car door for you and helped you into the vehicle. As he was walking around to the other side, you thought about what you were about to do. You knew this could end very badly in more ways than one, but for some reason, you were positive it was worth it.
**********
When you arrived at the party, people immediately took notice that the two of you arrived together. Most people made the obvious assumption: you were best friends and both single...so why not just go together?
But some people's gazes lingered longer, whispers passed amongst each other, the gossip mill already flowing.
"Damn they move quickly," you mumbled.
Chris chuckled. "Welcome to Hollywood."
You knew he wasn't wrong. While you weren't famous, you'd been dating a celebrity for the past two years. Plus, Chris was always dragging you to movie premieres and red carpet events, so people knew who you were by association. As such, you were no stranger to the rumors and the gossipmongers.
Chris spoke softly, leaning into you so only you could hear. "How far do you wanna take this?"
"What do you mean?" you whispered back.
"Do I make out with you in a corner or just hold your hand like high schoolers?"
You laughed lightly. "Let's just play it by ear, you weirdo."
He grinned. "So that's a yes to the make out?"
You smacked his arm affectionately.
"I think that's considered domestic abuse."
You were about to respond to his joke, but a deep voice from behind you sent a chill down your spine, silencing you instantly.
"(Y/N), Evans. Surprised to see you here."
You turned around slowly, Chris directly beside you. "Andrew," you said, trying desperately to sound normal.
"Why so surprised?" Chris asked in his best 'fuck off' voice.
"Well, (Y/N) hasn't exactly been a socialite in the last few months. I assumed she wouldn't want to show up to a party like this."
"I'm literally right here, Andrew," you said, annoyed.
"Yes, I see you, (Y/N)," he replied, turning his attention back to Chris. "How'd she coerce you into bringing her?"
Chris looked surprised, but his expression quickly changed to anger. "She's my best friend. She'd never have to coerce me." He turned to you with a smile. "Besides, we're together now, so you'll see us out together a lot more often."
You returned his smile and stood on your tip toes to place a soft kiss to his lips, which he returned in kind.
You could feel the annoyance and anger rolling off your ex in thick waves. "You were fucking him behind my back weren't you? I fucking knew it, you slut," he hissed.
You felt Chris's body tense and knew he was about to take a swing, so you grabbed his arm and did your best to cut the fight off before it started. "No, Andrew. Unlike you, I know how to keep it in my pants."
A couple people had gathered close to the three of you to eavesdrop on your conversation. Several "Ooo"s and an "oh damn" came from the group.
Andrew's jaw tightened and he clearly wanted to say more, but thought better of it when he noticed the group of onlookers quickly enlarging.
Chris, however, wasn't quite finished with the conversation. He leaned forward, face a mask of unreadable emotion, and said firmly, "If you ever call my girl a slut again, I promise you'll regret it."
Even if you hadn't known the man your entire life, you would have known he was deadly serious. Every single one of his words dripped with animosity and his eyes burned with an intensity you had rarely seen. To your surprise, the way he called you his girl had your body reacting in a way you didn't expect.
You gently pulled on Chris's arm, dragging him with you and away from the conversation, no longer wanting to talk to the man you used to love. "Let it go, Chris," you said softly. "He's not worth it."
"You're right," he murmured, eyes still burning like the sun.
You managed to get him to follow you into another room before turning to him to inspect his expression. He was fiercely protective by nature, but you didn't want him to feel like he needed to protect you. You could still feel the remnants of his temper festering beneath his skin, so you gently pressed your hand to his chest, bringing his attention back to you.
"As much as I appreciate you defending my honor, you don't have to," you said gently.
"Of course I do."
You smiled softly. "You and I both know that's not true, but I appreciate it nonetheless. There's no need to hold onto your anger, though."
He realized you were right, your hand pressed firmly against his chest somehow grounding him. He took a deep breath and placed his hand on top of yours, giving it a little squeeze. "You're right," he admitted. "Thanks for keeping me from punching him right in his smug face."
You chuckled. "As much as I would have loved to see that, I figured it wouldn't be good with so many witnesses."
"Smart," he said with a wink. "Now that we've made it clear we're together, I think we'll need to up our acting a bit...ensure he knows how badly he fucked up by losing you."
"And how exactly do you propose we do that?"
He grinned. "I've got some ideas." He grabbed your hand and started to pull you towards the main room of the party. "Step one, we dance."
You groaned as he dragged you onto the dance floor. "You know I can't dance."
"That's not true. You have excellent rhythm. You just need to get out of your head for a second and let the music guide you."
You stared at him in silence, but finally succumbed to his silent pleas. "Fine. You can put the puppy dog eyes away now," you teased.
He shot you another wink. "Works every time."
"I hate you," you grumbled as you allowed him to pull you closer.
"No you don't." He started to move to the music, hands traveling down to sit on your hips.
Your cheeks burned and your body reacted to his touch in a way it hadn't in a long time. You'd thought those feelings were long-since buried, but the way he was looking at you brought everything you'd ever felt for him back with a vengeance.
"You're right, I don't," you whispered.
"I know, baby girl," he said softly. "Now, dance with me."
You tried to ignore the feeling in your stomach when he called you 'baby girl', choosing instead to focus on the beat of the music. Your hips started to move, his hands helping to guide you in time with his own movements.
"See? I told you you could dance."
The song ended and switched to something a lot more sensual and your body immediately froze. "Not to this I can't," you insisted.
Chris laughed and quickly spun you around before pulling you against his chest. "I'll teach you," he murmured against the skin of your shoulder.
You didn't know if it was the song, his voice, or the way his arms wrapped around you, but your body responded to him instantly. Your breath caught in your chest and wetness pooled between your thighs as Chris moved behind you in a shockingly sexual manner. Your normally stiff body loosened up in his grasp, moving to the rhythm he set.
"Perfect," he whispered breathily.
You moved with him, body acting of its own accord. You looked up, gaze landing on Andrew, who stood fuming on the other side of the room.
Chris seemed to notice him at the same time. "You see how angry he is, sweets?" he said softly.
"Mhmm," you hummed.
"Keep staring directly at him, okay? Keep your eyes on him as you move."
You did as he said, eyes never leaving your ex's, even as Chris's hands began to wander, moving around your body in the way only a lover's would. His lips placed soft kisses to your shoulder, neck, and ear, hot breath leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake.
You couldn't help the reaction you had to his touch, it was as if your body was no longer your own. It was obvious to anyone who bothered to pay attention that you were aroused, and Andrew was definitely paying attention. You could see his anger from across the room, but more importantly, you could see jealousy in his eyes.
You'd gotten what you wanted. You'd made him jealous. For some reason, however, you couldn't find it in yourself to care. The plan had succeeded, but it had also had unintended consequences. You didn't give a shit about Andrew...all you wanted was Chris.
The only problem was, Chris was an actor. Every single tiny thing he was doing was an act designed specifically to elicit a reaction from Andrew. He didn't want you, he never had. You'd always known that, so you had always been careful to hide your feelings from him, pushing them down so deep inside of you that you'd almost forgotten they'd existed...almost.
With that painful realization, your brain overpowered your body, allowing you to pull away from Chris. You turned to him without making eye contact and mumbled a quick excuse about having to use the restroom before bolting from the dance floor.
Chris was very surprised by your sudden escape and he quickly chased after you, calling your name.
You found the nearest bathroom and rushed into it, slamming the door behind you with force. Your preoccupied mind neglected to remind you to lock the damn door, so Chris came barging through moments later. His brain, on the other hand, appeared to be functioning just fine as he locked the door behind him.
"Why'd you run off?" he asked gently.
You shook your head, eyes looking anywhere but at him. The bathroom was small...there was nowhere to go, no escape. You were trapped in this tiny room with the man you'd loved your entire life and you suddenly felt like you couldn't breathe. The walls began to move in, within moments they would crush you to death and this pain would be over.
In the same way you knew Chris like the back of your hand, he knew you, so he could see the distress you were in. He grabbed your hand and squeezed it tightly, a reminder that he was there. "(Y/N), you need to breathe."
This wasn't the first panic attack he'd witnessed you have, but it had been several years since you'd had one this bad. "(Y/N/N), breathe for me. Come on," he said again, voice gentle but firm. "In, 2, 3, 4. Out, 2, 3, 4."
He continued breathing and counting as you began to breathe with him, heart rate slowly coming back down, body relaxing, his warm hands grounding you to him.
"That's it. Good." He took another deep breath. "I've got you, (Y/N/N). You're okay."
You took a shaky breath and closed your eyes, the panic subsiding. "I'm sorry," you whispered.
"Hey," he said softly, reaching up to tuck a hair behind your ear. "You don't have to apologize. I just wanna know what caused it."
You didn't want to tell him the truth, so you said the first lie you could think of, "Andrew."
He looked taken aback, almost hurt, by your statement. "Andrew?"
You realized that may have been a big mistake, but it was too late now. "Yeah, I just--it's hard to see him."
Chris looked crestfallen. "You still love him, don't you." It was a statement, not a question.
In truth, you didn't love him. Perhaps you never really had, but that didn't matter now. What mattered is whether or not you were going to choose to break your own heart. "Chris, I--"
"Never mind," he said, cutting you off. "I don't wanna know." He spun around and unlocked the door, storming out before you could say another word.
"Chris, wait," you called as you chased after him.
He moved through the crowd quickly, cutting through the throngs of people like he was parting the red sea. He moved so fast that you actually stopped and took off your heels so you could run to catch up with him.
He made it outside before you finally caught up. "Chris, wait! Please!"
He stopped and turned towards you. You caught a glimpse of a mixture of anger and pain etched onto his face for just a split second before an emotionless mask slid into place, his acting instincts taking over. "What, (Y/N)?"
The coldness in his voice stopped you in your tracks. It was almost enough to make you stay silent, maybe even walk away, but you'd made a decision in that bathroom and you'd be damned if you backed out now. "You didn't let me finish."
"Finish?"
"Answering your question."
He couldn't help the look of intrigue that crossed his face even if he'd wanted to. "Go on, then."
"When we were in high school, I--I made a decision--a choice--to protect myself."
"How is this an answer to my question?"
"Would you just shut up and listen to me?" you snapped.
Surprise lit up his handsome face, along with the ghost of a smirk. He always loved it when you stood up for yourself, even if it was against him. "Okay, I'll be quiet."
"Thank you," you exhaled slowly. "I wanted to protect myself from pain, or heartache, or whatever you wanna call it. I pushed every emotion, every feeling, so deep down inside of me that, for a time, I forgot they were there. It was safer that way. I could go on pretending, and we could go on being best friends. It was worth the pain."
You could see the confusion on his face, and realized you needed to be more straightforward. Before you could, he interjected again. "I don't understand. What were you pretending?"
You closed your eyes for a moment, picturing the girl you were at 16 when you realized you were in love with your best friend. You knew it had been the right choice for you at the time, but it hadn't been easy. You opened your eyes again, gaze falling on that same man, now all grown up. You couldn't help the tears that welled in your eyes nor the ache that blossomed in your chest, the years of bottling up your emotions finally taking its toll.
"I pretended I didn't love you, and I've been pretending ever since."
Whatever he thought you were going to say, it sure as hell wasn't that. His jaw went slack and his eyes widened, body completely frozen in place. He recovered quickly, but the shock of your words was still evident on his face. "You--you love me?"
You nodded. "Since I was old enough to understand the concept."
He ran his hand through his hair. "Why the hell didn't you tell me?"
You were surprised by the annoyance in his voice. "Well, I--I umm...I didn't want to lose you."
He looked exasperated. "(Y/N), you're telling me we could have been together for years, but you didn't want to tell me how you felt because you thought I would leave you?"
You were stunned silent, so he kept going.
"I've had to watch you date so many men that weren't good enough for you--for years--because I thought you didn't feel the way I do. You never once let on that you wanted more--not once."
"So..." you began, trying to find the right words. "Are you saying that you love me too?"
Chris seemed to realize what he'd essentially just admitted, and immediately calmed down, eyes softening significantly. "Yeah, sweets. I've loved you my entire life."
For a moment, the world stood still. The two of you stood there in silence, staring at each other, the shock of your admissions still sinking in.
Then, just as quickly, you both came alive, bodies coming together, lips colliding in a passionate, searing kiss that would live on in your memories forever.
When you separated, breathless, your brain finally caught up with what was happening. You held onto his neck, almost afraid to let go.
As if he sensed what you were thinking, he pulled you even closer. "I'm not going anywhere, baby."
You looked up at him, eyes swimming with emotion that matched his own. "Will you take me home?"
"That depends...whose home are we going to?"
"We?" you asked in a teasing tone. "Isn't that a little presumptuous of you?"
"We just admitted we've been in love with each other since we were kids. I'm pretty sure that means we have a solid 15 years of missed sex to make up for."
You laughed lightly. "As crass as that was, I actually agree with you." You pulled him down for another kiss. "Your place is nicer than mine."
He grinned. "You've got it sweets."
He practically dragged you back to his car, body in overdrive, the need for you so overwhelming he could barely think. Your own desire was so intense you were quite certain you were going to die if he didn't touch you immediately.
Your friendship had always been an open one...which meant both of you had shared your fantasies (most of them, anyway), as well as your sexual escapades. You both knew what the other person liked...so you were both confident the sex you were about to have was going to be mind-blowing...and boy, were you right.
**********
"Chris!" you gasped loudly.
The man in question simply moaned in response, not moving from his position between your thighs, tongue and fingers assaulting your pussy in the most pleasurable way possible.
Your fingers dug into his thick locks, tugging slightly as the pleasure continued to build within you. You weren't surprised by his skill, but you were surprised at how he played your body like an instrument he'd been playing all his life. Every touch, every movement, every sound, sent waves of passionate fire flying through your veins.
When you came for the second time, you tugged at his hair with more force, body squirming from sensitivity. "Too much," you whispered.
Chris finally relented, lifting his head up to look at you, grin etched on his handsome face. His beard was coated with your slick and he licked his lips with a moan. "Sorry, baby. You just taste so damn good."
You laughed lightly, breathing still heavy from the intensity of your orgasms. "If you're a good boy, I'll let you taste me again later," you teased.
Chris laughed and crawled up your body, pressing his lips to yours in an adoring kiss. Whether he intended to or not, as he leaned forward his cock pressed against the entrance to your core, eliciting a gasp from each of you.
"Fuck," Chris groaned. "Baby, I don't think I can wait much longer."
You reached up and pushed his hair back, the tousled locks having fallen onto his forehead. "Who said anything about waiting?"
His lips fell against your neck as he started to push into you. You gasped at the feeling, his large cock already stretching you more than you'd ever been stretched. Your nails dug into his shoulders and he groaned against your skin.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I know it hurts."
"It's fine," you murmured. "Please don't stop."
He raised his head to look into your eyes, worried that you didn't mean it. When he saw no reservations and nothing but lust, he continued to press into you, moving a little more quickly this time.
Once he was fully seated within you, he gave you a moment to acclimate to his size. You swore you could feel him everywhere, every part of your body was completely filled with him. The sensation quickly turned to a burning need and you begged him to fuck you.
"Anything for you, baby girl," he murmured as he began to move.
If his neighbors hadn't already been awoken by the sounds of your moans, they would be now. You'd never felt so good in your life, the way his body meshed with yours was as if they'd been created for this specific purpose.
"That's it, baby. Let me hear those pretty moans."
"Chris--it--it feels so good," you moaned loudly.
He moaned as your pussy clenched around him. "Fuck, sweets. This sweet little pussy was made for me. So tight and warm."
He leaned back, tilting your hips up to give himself a better angle. He began hitting your g-spot with each thrust, and you cried out in pleasure, fingers digging into his biceps. "Chris!"
He placed his hand on your lower belly and pressed gently. "You feel that baby? You feel how deep inside you I am?"
You whimpered in response, voice reduced to nothing but sounds.
"Aww, is my sweet girl too cock drunk to talk?" He began circling your clit with his thumb as he taunted you. "Pretty little thing turned dumb by a big cock."
"Please," you begged, not sure what you were begging for exactly.
Chris smiled, movements never faltering. "Yeah baby? What you begging for?"
You didn't respond--couldn't--whimpering moans and heavy pants all you could manage.
"I know what you need, sweets," he whispered, thumb speeding up against your clit, keeping time with the rhythm of his hips. "You need to come, don't you?"
You nodded vigorously and you dug your nails more deeply into his biceps.
He groaned at the sensation, his own orgasm mere moments away. "Then come for me, pretty girl. Soak my cock."
As if all your body was waiting for was his command, you came with a cry of his name. Your hips jerked up, body spasming beneath him as he helped you ride out your high.
Your pussy was pulsating, clenching and releasing his cock rapidly, quickly pulling him towards the edge. "Fuck, baby, I'm close," he gasped.
He was thrusting more quickly now, chasing his high. He wanted to fill you up, needed it more than he'd ever needed anything.
You knew him better than you knew yourself, so you knew exactly what he needed to get him over the edge. "Chris," you murmured. "I need you to fill me up." You clenched your pussy as tightly as you could to punctuate your words.
Chris came with a shout, hips jerking wildly as he spilled inside of you. "(Y/N)," he gasped, hips faltering, and slowly coming to a stop as he pulled out of you, collapsing beside you with a groan.
"Holy shit," he whispered.
You laughed loudly. "My thoughts exactly."
He grinned. "I always could read your mind."
You turned your head to look at him, taking in his love drunk appearance. Somehow, he was even sexier like this, completely fucked out and satiated. You could have stared at him for hours.
"You're staring. It's kinda creepy," he teased.
You laughed. "Oh shut up. It's not my fault you're so pretty."
He groaned. "Did you just call me pretty?"
"I did and I will not take it back."
He rolled on top of you, covering your body with his. "You better take it back," he warned.
"Or what?" you challenged.
He didn't say a word, choosing instead to kiss your neck, mouth sucking and biting at your most sensitive spot. He knew exactly what it would do to you and he wasn't disappointed.
"Chris," you whispered.
He grinned against your skin, ignoring your warning tone. "Are you gonna take it back?"
"Nope."
He moved with the speed and agility of a panther, settling between your legs before you could even register what was happening. His lips were mere inches from your core, his hot breath making your body shiver.
"What are you doing?"
"Giving you one last chance to take it back."
"And if I don't?"
He grinned like a Cheshire cat. "If you don't, then I'll make you come until you cry. The choice is yours."
Your eyes widened in surprise, and maybe a little bit of desire. You weighed your options, but you were too damn stubborn to take it back. "Try me," you challenged again.
"Oh, baby...you're gonna regret that."
He dove into your pussy with the hunger of a wild animal, completely unleashed, unable to stop himself from enjoying your delicious taste. He didn't stop until he saw tears sliding down your pretty face, and even then, he made you give him one more orgasm.
Once he was done with your 'punishment', he carried you to the shower where he gently washed you before taking you back to his bed and laying you down beneath the covers.
He crawled in beside you and pulled you close, lips pressing soft kisses to any skin he could see.
"Thanks for tonight," you said softly.
"For what?"
"Ya know...for everything."
He understood what you were trying to say, a small smile playing on his lips. "I love you, (Y/N)," he whispered.
Those four words said so much more than just 'I love you'. There were promises, hopes, and dreams all wrapped up in a beautiful bow. There were years of things left unsaid, feelings and emotions hidden beneath the surface. And of course, there was the true meaning of the word 'love', a word neither of you had really understood before this moment.
"I love you too, Chris," you whispered back, your own words laced with the promise of tomorrow and forever.
3K notes · View notes
Text
I love how inclusivity is handled in The Dragon Prince, here's why.
In most shows, as much as it bothers me to admit so, some people are right, inclusivity does feel forced sometimes. But it's not the characters' fault, it's not because of them being part of the lgbtq+ community, or being disabled, or being POC, or being strong women who do not conform to patriarchal standards.
It's not that.
It's that the show they are part of is a straight, white, abled parade - and notice, most of said shows won't even pass the Bechdel test.
So yes, in a show written by and aimed to straight, white, abled people, even I, a gay, non-binary, chronically ill person feel weird seeing charcters that are there just for the sake of inclusivity, albeit 'inorganic'.
In a show with the premise of "straight, white, abled men are the indiscussed MCs", seeing that one side-character that stands out and is often ridiculed and/or reduced to a single trait of their 'personality', such as 'the gay one', 'the asian one', 'the disabled one' (etc) is upsetting and feels uncomfortable as hell.
But TDP is different.
They immediately introduced powerful women, people of color, characters that are openly part of the lgbtq+ community, disabled characters etc. And not one of them per 'category', no. For the lgbtq+ community we have Amaya, Janai, Runaan, Ethari, Terry, Kazi. For the disabled community, we have Amaya again, Villads, and even a disabled wolf Ava. For the POC community, we have literally half of the cast, starting from King Harrow, then Ezran, every sunfire elf, Terry as well, etc. Same goes for women, who take up on roles that are rarely considered 'for women', like Opeli being the main member of the High Council, Amaya being the General, Rayla being the main Dragon Guard, Claudia being one of the main antagonists, etc.
Both main and side-characters are part of the communities, everything is so much more organic, enjoyable, thrilling.
We do not come in 'minor quantity'.
We are everywhere, among others, living our lives, doing our best, existing, thriving, proud. It's not just one or two of us among thousands. Surprise, 'categories' can mix! Just like I, a real human being, can be gay, enby as well as chronically ill, we can have characters like that as well! Amaya being lesbian and disabled, Terry being black and trans, Janai being black and lesbian, etc. And, another surprise, 'categories' don't define us. We don't 'shove it' in anyone's face like they say we do, we're just being us and cishets are upset because we don't conform to their sick standards.
Inclusivity is organic in TDP because nobody in that universe questions anyone else's color, gender, orientation, etc. And it's organic because we didn't have to wait half a season to see a black character, or a disabled character, or a gay character.
The key to inclusivity is to realise that we aren't just 'bonuses'. Fill shows and comics with lgbtq+, POC, disabled, and female characters. Not just one every 15, 20 characters. Everywhere.
We are everywhere! We are proud! We deserve to be seen! We deserve to be depicted as the normal people we are, without diminishing our traits but without making them our whole personality either. Treat us like human beings, be considerate like you should be with everyone on the planet of course, but treat us like humans.
Antagonising people who are 'different' (in the mind of straight, white, abled people) will not suppress us. We will keep insisting until you hear us. It's literally one of the main messages, one of the main teachings of TDP and it's so damn important.
Every single person on Earth should watch it. Every single kid should be introduced to TDP at an early age. Every old bigot should watch it, as well. Everybody. Even if it's considered a y7 (y10 for s4 and s5 apparently) show, everyone, no matter their age, should give it a try and watch it thoroughly.
Lots of love to the creators and everyone, literelly everyone involved in the production of one the best, most entertaining, most exciting, most formative shows ever. Please, keep it up! And thank you so much!
741 notes · View notes
humanpurposes · 6 months
Text
De Facto
Tumblr media
She can't afford to fantasize over Aemond Targaryen, he's her boss and the Prime Minister... but stopping is easier said than done // Main Masterlist
PM!Aemond x unnamed female character
Warnings: 18+, smut, mentions of SA, questionable power dynamics, politics (putting my degree to good use), unnecessary world building
Words: 7700
A/n: Thanks for the inspo @ewanmitchellcrumbs, sorry it's not Dishy Rishi tho :(
Tumblr media
Throughout the whole train journey into Central King’s Landing, she’s sure she’s dreaming. Her body feels strangely light, her hands are restless and her heart is beating steadily in her chest. 
She flows effortlessly with the stream of commuters, along the platform, through the station’s glass atrium, then left towards Conquest Street. She knows her way around this part of the city already, and though she’s never been inside, she’s walked past Hightower House countless times.
This time is different. Now she walks up to the iron gates, pressing her thumbnail into her index finger, because the armed guards are making her nervous. 
She tells them her name and one of them mutters into a radio.
Her eyes run along the gold crest that marks the gate, a shield divided into seven, a sun for Dorne, a rose for The Reach, a stag for The Stormlands, a Trout for The Riverlands, a Falcon for The Vale, a Kraken for The Iron Islands, a wolf for The North, and at its heart is the symbol that unites them, the three headed dragon (although strictly speaking, Westeros abolished its monarchy centuries ago).
Suddenly one of the guards catches her attention. He opens the gate for her, and says she’ll be given a security pass and instructions to use the staff entrance following her official induction.
Hightower House stands proudly before her, an ornate facade of balustrades and columns, order and symmetry, an obvious juxtaposition of the medieval majesty of the Red Keep, just down the road.
It all feels very daunting, but the last five years have led her to this moment, the entirety of her adult life. She keeps telling herself that she deserves to be here, after all, she was the one who made it through the first round of applications, who made it to the shortlist and the final interviews, and she was the only one of hundreds of applicants who received the phone call, offering her a position as a personal advisor to the Prime Minister.
The contract only lasts two years, but it is the most effective stepping stone into a career in politics that she could ever ask for.
The entire morning is spent working out formalities. First she meets the deputy chief of staff, a handsome man named Criston Cole, who she’ll directly report to. He shows her through mountains of paperwork and gives her a brief overview of her role. Essentially, she is to assist the Prime Minister on whatever he deems necessary, policy aims, speeches, media coverage, political rhetoric, public image. 
“You’re a glorified assistant,” Cole says as she reads and signs page after page of her employment contract, “but with a salary to reflect it, so don’t feel discouraged. There will be some admin work which can get tedious, but you’ve been selected for your expertise and your passion for the party.”
That’s the crucial part of the job. Everything she does will be to benefit Mr Targayren as head of the Green Party, still running off the high of their victory at the last general election, just under a year ago. 
She signs her last signature triumphantly, despite the ache in her wrist, and hands the pen back to Cole with a smile. “All done?” she asks hopefully.
Cole grimaces sympathetically. “Not quite.”
There are four people to meet before she’s officially in. She takes a deep breath to soothe herself. It’s all just more formalities, which she can understand, given the weight of this job.
The first is the Prime Minister's private secretary, a glamorous woman with black hair and piercing green eyes, named Alys Rivers. She greets her warmly, having already spoken over the phone with her several times. She also knows her CV off by heart. It’s a little strange having someone know almost everything about her education and employment history when her face is unfamiliar.
The next is a young woman named Maris, the other of Mr Targaryen’s personal advisors. She has dark hair and a look of determination in her grey eyes. She explains that there are always two personal advisors, but hired on alternating years. She was hired at the start of Mr Targaryen’s premiership, and has a year left of her contract.
There are a thousand questions she wants to ask Maris, but before she can even scratch the surface, Cole’s checking his watch and dragging her off to another office.
Otto Hightower is the chief of staff. He’s thin and wiry, but incredibly intimidating. He has tired, sunken eyes that seem to glare right through her, and a passive but severe expression on his face, as though he’s scrutinising, having already decided she’s a waste of his time.
It’s not a great feeling, being looked at like that by a man she’s idolised for years. She knows his career timeline by heart. He earned his bachelors in Politics and Economics from Oldtown, before doing a masters in International Relations at King’s Landing, where he met and befriended Viserys Targaryen. He worked his way to becoming an MP and soon into Viserys’ cabinet when be became Prime Minister.
But things changed when Otto’s daughter married Viserys. No one really knows the whole truth, but Otto resigned from the Black Party, and took over from his own brother as leader of the opposition.
Now he works in the background, the mastermind behind his grandson’s remarkable successes.
Cole explains that Mr Hightower had the final say in the shortlist and determining which applicant would be given the final job offer.
“You had an impressive application,” he says, briefly looking up from a document. “I’m sure you’ll do well with us.”
“Thank you, Mr Hightower,” she says through the slight tremble in her jaw.
Other than that, the interaction is brief, and soon Cole is ushering her out of the room, back to Alys’ office, as richly decorated as the rest of the building. Maris is sitting at another desk, typing away furiously on a laptop.
“Tea? Coffee? Water?” Cole offers her, gesturing for her to take a seat on a green leather sofa.
“Water would be lovely,” she says.
“Maris,” he calls.
She glares up from her laptop. “That’s not my job.”
“No, but it’s courtesy,” he says.
Alys’ slight smirk doesn’t escape her attention.
Maris purses her lips, but she closes her laptop, pointedly slams her hands against the arms of her chair, and marches out of the room, her shiny black heels clicking against the dark wood floor.
“She’s nice really,” Cole says, “just a bit… direct at times.”
“Direct,” Alys groans to herself. 
She feels her brow flicker into a frown but stops herself.
“She’s good at her job,” Criston says like he might say something else, but he doesn’t.
When Maris returns, she seems a little less on edge.
She takes the glass of water with a cautious hand, Maris’ eyes lingering on her maroon painted nails. 
“I like your top,” Maris says.
She glances down. It’s nothing special, black and long-sleeved, to go with her long blue and green patterned skirt.
“Thank you,” she says.
Maris hums to herself before she goes back to her desk.
“Do you often work in here?” she asks.
Maris shrugs. “It depends.” She doesn’t care to explain further.
Alys is smirking again.
“Mr Targaryen was in a meeting with the cabinet this morning,” Cole says, then checks his watch. “He has a few phone calls to make, but he should be ready to see you at about 4pm. Maris?”
“Yes?” 
“Will you show her in around then?”
“Yeah,” she says, flatly, “of course.”
Cole shakes her hand before he leaves. “Alys will show you out when you leave. I’ll see you on Monday morning.”
She continues to wait on the sofa, restless in the silence that follows once the door has shut. Alys and Maris are both typing, their nails clicking against their keyboards. She starts to bounce her leg and stops herself.
Her mind is racing. The day seems to have gone well so far, but what if she meets Mr Targaryen and it all falls apart? What if he decides he doesn’t like her and sends her packing? 
She’s too lost in her own head to notice the flash of Alys’ emerald green dress as she stands in front of her. That is, until she’s leaning down and waving a bar of chocolate in front of her. “Get a bit of sugar in you,” she says, “and breathe slowly.”
She smiles as she takes the bar and places a single cube on her tongue. She lets it melt, savouring the sweetness and the slight bitterness of its taste.
You can do this, she thinks to herself with every inhale. And then she exhales. You are here for a reason.
The phone on Alys’ desk rings. She checks her own phone. It’s exactly 3:59.
“Yes, sir, Maris will show her in now.”
Aemond Targaryen is on the other end of the line. Her heart drops at the thought.
As the second son of Viserys, it seems like he was always destined for the family business. He differs from his father and grandfather in that he did Politics and Philosophy at Sunspear, before going on to do his masters in History at Oldtown, and then another masters in International Relations at King’s Landing. By all accounts, he is fiercely intelligent, mature beyond his years, with the right balance of intimidating and charismatic to command the support he needed to get in as MP for Rosby, then as party leader.
In fact, it had been his first campaign that inspired her to apply for a degree in politics in the first place. She loved how he spoke, how he managed to strike a balance between grace and passion, and how deeply he cared for his policies. He was poised and perfect, but driven by a genuine want for improvement.
He perfected his craft within a matter of years. With the mess Rhaenyra Targaryen had made of the country, it was all too easy for him to win a majority with a few winning speeches, a hand running through his silver hair, that lazy half-smirk and the intense look in his eyes that just made you want to fall at his feet. And people do. The press adore him, his party worships him, foreign dignitaries often remark on his charm but also his capabilities as a negotiator and a leader.
Maris leads her out of the office, along a quiet corridor. She stops outside a door with gold lettering: Office of A. Targaryen, Prime Minister
Seeing it in front of her, strangely, seems to subdue her nerves. Her chest flutters, but the anxiety is more manageable than before.
Maris taps her knuckles against the door three times.
From the other side of the door she hears a gentle but chilling voice. “Enter.”
She follows Maris inside.
He’s perched against his desk, his long, silver hair falling around his shoulders as he looks over a few pieces of paper. He wears a white shirt, rolled up at the sleeves, black slacks and brown leather shoes.
He looks up slowly, the light of the early Autumn evening beaming through the windows, over the sharp features of his face, his cheeks, his nose, his jaw, his neck.
His eyes find hers, unashamed and curious.
Suddenly she can feel her heart in her throat.
Maris introduces her. “I’m sure Alys already debriefed you, but she’s here for her induction. Cole said you wanted to meet her as a formality and–”
It feels awfully like she’s talking for the sake of it.
“That will be all, Maris,” Mr Targaryen says softly. She can’t help but watch the way his lips move when he speaks.
“Oh, are you sure, sir?” she asks. Her face is twisted into a slight frown but her eyes are wide. “I just thought, for her sake, it might be useful if I’m here to explain everything.”
“I’m sure, thank you.”
She stands with her hands clasped in front of her skirt as she listens to Maris’ footsteps move towards the door. It opens and closes, and now all she can hear are her own breaths, gently flowing through her nose.
She doesn’t know where to look. At the patterned carpet on the floor? No, it would be rude of her to hang her head. At the portraits that line the wall? At the bookshelves? At the desk? No, that all seems too intrusive. Out the window? No, that might seem like she’s not paying attention.
So her eyes settle on him.
He hasn’t moved from his position, but he’s placed the paper on the desk behind him, leaning with his palms at the edge. His eyes glance over her once, up and down.
Fuck, he’s so much better looking in person.
Then he stands to his full height, and picks up a clipboard from the desk. He flicks through a few of the pages and hums softly to himself.
“You had an impressive application,” he says.
She swallows through the slightly dry feeling in her throat. “Thank you, sir.”
“And an excellently written cover letter.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“You did your masters in Comparative Politics at Sunspear. Oberyen Martell is still head of faculty there, isn’t he?”
“Yes, sir. He taught one of my modules, Security Studies.”
“He’s an interesting character,” he muses, smiling to himself. “He was my supervisor for my undergrad dissertation.”
She already knew that. Dr Martell loved to go on about his star student. She would too if she taught the future Prime Minister.
He flicks to another page. She watches as his eyes skim over the words in front of him. “And you came with glowing reviews from Tyland Lannister.”
She’s not sure how she’s supposed to respond to that– it makes her sound more like a product than a person– so she just smiles, as delicately as she can, making sure not to squint her eyes too much. 
She had spent the last year as Mr Lannister’s Parliamentary Assistant, at his office in the Red Keep, starting just as he had been appointed as Foreign Secretary. 
“How was he as a boss?” Mr Targayren asks.
Straightforward, she thinks. He took his job seriously and was decidedly not a fan of smalltalk. His office often worked in silence, and even when he was stressed he was efficient.
“No complaints,” she says.
“I’m sure you were all kept busy, cleaning up Corlys Velaryon’s mess after the Stepstones.”
A minor military excursion to defend a few key trading routes, or at least that’s how it had started. Within a matter of months the Stepstones had spiralled beyond control, costing Corlys Velaryon his seat and the Blacks their majority in Parliament.
“If I remember right, it was Daemon Targaryen pushing that particular policy,” she says.
The corner of his mouth curls upward. It could be a smile but she’s not entirely sure. 
“Sir,” she adds, hoping to soften the blow of her unintentional insult; what idiot tries to correct the Prime Minister on their first day on the job? She does, clearly.
He doesn’t seem irritated or angry, more amused. A cryptic “hmm” sounds in his throat as he flicks back to the first document. “And before that you were a campaign manager for the party, yes?”
“Yes,” she says brightly, grateful for the change of subject. “I was working in the Stormlands in the lead up to the general election.” The region was formerly a Black stronghold, but turned Green thanks in part to her efforts.
“Excellent work,” he says.
The smooth, seductive tone of his voice seems to come so naturally to him. She bites her tongue at the image it prompts in her head, of his lips brushing over her ear, his hands resting on her waist, she can almost feel it–
No. That’s wrong. So wrong.
Fantasising about the Prime Minister of Westeros is not a habit she can afford to keep up, not when she’s supposed to be working with him in such close proximity.
But that’s easier said than done.
Tumblr media
Cole enters his office, bright and early on Monday morning, before the rest of Hightower House is awake.
Aemond’s routine is the same every day. Up at 5am, run a few laps of the expansive gardens or spend an hour going through his meticulously planned gym routine. He showers, shaves, applies his skincare and haircare products, dabs some perfume on his wrists, dresses, and takes breakfast and a black coffee in his office. By 7:30am he’s ready to work.
He needs the routines and the outlets. They help keep him sane.
He’d seen how this position twisted his father into a tired, irritable and irrational man, how it got to Rhaenyra’s head until she became a liability to herself. He won’t be like them. He has a reputation to uphold, a legacy to claim.
Cole places a folder on his desk. “The background check you ordered, sir.”
He thanks him, quietly and sincerely, and waits until he’s left the room to open the folder.
His new personal advisor intrigues him. He’d made the request for the background check as soon as their meeting had ended on Friday. 
She has no criminal record, which is unsurprising, that definitely would have come up sooner if she had one.
He browses through her education history, a star student at Storm’s End Grammar School, a bachelor’s in history from Rainwood, a masters from Suspear, where she was head of Debate Soc and Amnesty International, while working various internships and retail jobs in between.
The next page is full of articles from student publications, The Importance of Integrity in Politics for the Rainwood Student Journal, Sovereignty in the Stepstones for Red Sun Rising. He reads through them both. Her writing is immaculate, concise and convincing.
The final page is more personal, social media profiles. It’s nothing scandalous, but she clearly has a certain image she wants to project. Her Instagram is full of art and history museums, coffee shops and preppy outfits. She has a few pictures on her LinkedIn of her at the Green Party conference last year, pictured with a group of girls her age and a caption that talks about the importance of representation in politics, with links to various charities and initiatives. In the photo she’s wearing a white silk shirt, open just enough to show off a dainty gold necklace and a hint of the swell of her chest.
She seems perfect. Too perfect for his own good.
The first months go smoothly enough. 
Maris is a practical person. She’s good with numbers, good for bouncing off ideas for economic policies and analysing data for him, even if she is a little overbearing at times.
But she fills the gaps perfectly. He secretly looks forward to their meetings and debriefings, when he asks her to write or edit speeches for him, or run through questions with him before a press conference. Politics is never easy, but she has a remarkable talent for keeping a level head. He likes that she’s always calm and composed. He likes her soft, reassuring smiles and the sharp look in her eyes. 
They just click. She’s always switched on, always knows the right things to say and do, always knows what he needs.
Every moment they are alone feels monumental; the settled quiet of his office when she first walks in and takes a seat on the other side of his desk; when they make an exchange, debriefing papers for an empty coffee cup, and their fingers will brush over each other; when he stands over her shoulder to read the document she’s working on, close enough to smell her perfume and feel a heat simmering under his skin. It’s starting to become unbearable, and yet he craves that feeling.
And then, one morning, he gets a phone call from the Crownlands Messenger. They’re about to publish a story. His brother has been accused of inappropriate conduct by no less than three women.
Fucking Aegon.
The entire country is in an uproar. How can anyone trust their Parliamentary representatives when they do shit like this? Is Aegon an outlier or is this just scratching the surface? What will his punishment be? What else are the Greens hiding? 
There are hundreds of emergency meetings with his grandfather, tense phone calls, bearating headlines, and onslaughts of outrage online. There’s no question about it, Aegon has to resign as an MP, but the damage is done. The polls are turning Black instead of Green. People don’t trust the ruling party, or its leader.
It’s late. Aemond paces his office while a headache pulses in his head. He’s long ditched the coffee for whisky, swirling it about in his glass. He sent Maris home hours ago. He doesn’t have the patience for anyone at the moment. Except for the woman leaning against his desk, flicking through news articles and the pages of notes she’s prepared for him.
Tomorrow is PMQs. No doubt there’s only one topic the Blacks will be asking about. He can already see Rhaenyra and Daemon’s smug faces, the delight they’ll take in watching him fall apart. There’s just no way he’s getting out of this easily.
He feels so restless. His hands are trembling and his lips won’t seem to stop moving, so he places himself against the wall, mindlessly tapping his fingers against his glass as he takes another generous sip.
From the desk he hears a heavy sigh that hums slightly in her throat. “Is there anything else you want to go over, sir?” she asks.
“No, I think we’ve exhausted the hypotheticals,” he says, running his free hand through his hair. He resists the urge to pull at the roots, to take his frustration out on something. “It’s just– fuck’s sake, I’ve been saying Aegon’s a liability for years. But no, Otto always wanted to keep pushing for him. Said it was good for the family’s image.”
She places her phone and the document behind her, and takes a few steps towards him.
He glances down at her, at the way the low light of the lamps and the fireplace glows against her skin, the contented sort of look in her eyes. 
Her eyes flicker down at his now empty glass. “Refill, sir?” Her lips stay slightly parted once she stops speaking.
Then he realises he’s staring.
“No, thank you,” he mutters, tapping his finger against the glass. “I should probably stop now.”
She takes the glass from him with her middle finger and thumb, avoiding touching his hand before she takes it away. Maybe it’s the alcohol getting to his head but his heart sinks at the lack of contact.
What is he doing? It must be after 9pm now and he’s still keeping her here without a real reason. 
She’s standing by the drinks cabinet, carefully placing the crystal bottle of whisky away and setting the empty glass out for housekeeping to clean up in the morning.
Instead of thinking about her, the way her hair looks, the way her skirt hugs her waist and the curve of her backside and thighs, he tries to think about how much he hates Aegon. This only makes him more agitated.
He closes his eyes and throws his head against the wall. His heart is racing and there’s a hollow feeling in his chest. He’s craving something, not another drink, not a smoke (he quit once he was first elected as an MP). He wants something else, something dangerous and damning. 
The heels of her shoes tap softly against the floor, until she’s standing in front of him.
He opens his eyes.
She frowns slightly before lifting her hand and delicately placing it on his shoulder. “You need to relax, sir,” she says.
He lets out a low “hmm,” as he weighs out his options. This seems like a bad idea. A really, really bad idea.
“That’s not going to happen with you here,” he says.
Her calm, somewhat smug expression falls. She looks so innocent now, so sweet. “What does that mean?” she says.
He leans in closer to her, until the tip of his nose barely brushes against hers. “I think you know what it means, darling.”
She hesitates, before her mouth spreads into an eager smile that shows off her teeth.
Her hands find his, ensnaring him under a soft but commanding grip. She leads him away from the wall, to the sofa by the fireplace. 
He settles on it, leaning against the arm as she comes to her knees before him, spreading his legs apart to make room for herself.
She palms her hand over the hardness that’s been straining painfully against his trousers for hours now. She feels along his clothed cock, pressing her cheek against it and gazing up at him with a look of teasing innocence.
Aemond knows he is done for, jaw slack, chest rising and falling as he breathes. He would have never presumed he would find himself in this kind of position, not after all the work’s he’s had to do cleaning up the mess of Aegon’s fuck ups, not after working this hard to get where he is, and least of all because he believes himself to be a decent man. 
But he doesn’t stop her as her fingers undo the button and the zip on his trousers, and he doesn’t make any kind of protest as she takes his freed cock in her hand and teasingly strokes along it. 
He keeps his hands firmly on the sofa, digging his fingertips and his nails into the leather, as if he hasn’t been dreaming of having her like this for weeks, as if he hasn’t fucked his own hand countless times pretending it was her.
He doesn’t have to pretend anymore. He looks down, his jaw slack, barely containing his strained breaths, and there she is, doe-eyed and eager as she places a delicate kiss to his flushed tip. Her lips barely brush against him before she pulls away, keeping a hold at the base.
His arousal stains her mouth and she fucking grins.
“Enjoying yourself?” he says through gritted teeth.
“Yes, sir,” she says, sweetly, earnestly.
He runs his hand against her hair, gently, as if trying to soothe her. It seems to take her by surprise which only serves to excite him further.
She leans into his touch, lips parting, her eyes half-lidded and dreamy.
Until he grips his fist and pulls. He tilts her head up. It shouldn’t hurt, but it’s enough to bring her attention back to him.
He decides he won’t tell her what to do, not directly, but she’s a smart girl, she knows what he wants. 
With her eyes wide again, she opens her mouth and inches his cock past her lips. The tightness in his gut starts to burn as she works up and down his length, slowly– excruciatingly slowly. It’s not in anyway relaxing, he thinks, but it’s a nice kind of torture.
He loses himself to the warmth and the wetness of her mouth, her tongue running over the underside of his cock, her lips teasing over the tip before she moves back down, using her hands where her mouth can’t reach.
He chokes out a throaty “fuck,” knowing there’s a security guard outside the door, and probably a few of the staff still lingering about. 
But she looks so beautiful like this, her brow furrowed in determination as she tries to take him deeper and deeper, desperate to please him, happy to make him suffer for it. And the little noises she makes, the gags and the moans. He imagines that she likes this, that she’s been wanting this for as long as he has, and if he pulled her onto his lap and slid his fingers under her skirt, he’d find her drenched.
She starts to up the pace until he brings his hand to the side of her face again, his hand large enough that he can rest his palm against her cheek and tease his fingers through her hair. Her eyes dart up to his, wide and teary. 
“Good girl,” he whispers, “nice and slow, just like that.”
She whimpers around him, breathing desperately through her nose.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he coos, “you started this, didn’t you? Wanted to taste me? Wanted to feel my cock in your mouth?”
She hums in agreement.
“Just fucking take it then,” he says with a clenched jaw, gripping her hair to bob her head up and down, keeping that torturous pace.
The pleasure builds slowly, running hotly through his body, but he fights the urge to clamp both hands around her head and buck his hips up to fuck her throat.
He comes harder than he thinks he ever has before, keeping himself sheathed within her as he paints the inside of her mouth, and pulls her head away to see the last few drops spill against her lips.
She gazes up at him with dazed and glassy eyes. She’s panting, trying to catch her breath. Her forehead glistens with sweat, mascara runs down her face and his spend drips over her chin.
He wipes some of the mess away with his thumbs, cradling her face in his hands. “Swallow,” he orders.
Her mouth closes and her throat bobs. He can already feel the tension in his gut tightening again.
If only he could keep her like this forever.
Tumblr media
She makes it to Hightower House at the usual time of 8am, despite leaving work so late last night. Despite the hours she spent consumed by thoughts of Aemond Targaryen as she rode the train and dragged herself into her bed. Despite the aching arousal that went unfulfilled. Despite the marks on her knees and the stiffness in her jaw.
When she walks into Alys’ office to sign in, she’s already there, perfectly poised and typing away on her laptop. 
“Morning,” she says brightly.
Alys looks up from the screen. The white light shining from below makes her face look a little eerie. “Morning,” she says with a smug look on her face.
She ignores it, scrawling down the time and her signature beside her name.
“You were working rather late last night,” Alys says.
“Yeah, I was,” she mutters, placing the pen down and straightening her spine.
Alys is staring at her. Her eyes are unnervingly bright. “He never asks Maris to work late.”
Her heart drops.
It’s like she can feel the weight of him in her mouth, the taste of him on her tongue.
“I bet he’s just realised I’m more of a people pleaser,” she says.
Alys hums and smiles. “Yeah?”
She doesn’t have time for this. She hangs up her coat and her bag, and picks up two black coffees from the coffee machine in the kitchenette down the hall.
Aemond is in his office, leaning back in his chair with his mobile pressed to his ear. He doesn’t react much when he sees her, he just watches her as she sets one of the cups in front of him. He raises his eyebrows in thanks and brings it to his lips.
She imagines the person on the other end of the call is starting to bore him.
“Yeah… yeah… I know… well there’s not much to be done now but get it over with.”
She takes a few sips from her own cup, wiping the corners of her mouth. Aemond follows her fingers as she does.
“I’ll speak to you after. Yes, thank you, grandfather.” He hangs up the phone and tosses it onto a stack of papers on the desk. “Seven fucking Hells.”
“How did that go?” she asks.
Aemond rolls his eyes and huffs a tired laugh. “He wants to talk through candidates for the by-election in Duskendale. I said I’ll think about it if I survive PMQs.”
She sets her coffee cup down. “What are you most worried about? You’ve prepared for this. What’s worrying you?”
Aemond taps his fingers against the desk. She tries not to ignore the thrill it sends through her belly.
“I’ve never had to deal with something like this. I’ve never been this worried about the party’s image, but that’s usually because I do everything right.”
The whole Aegon situation is beyond his control, and yet he’ll be getting the scrutiny for it.
“People need to be able to trust you,” she says.
Aemond looks up at her expectantly.
“Is Aegon still a party member?” she asks.
Aemond’s expression darkens. “That was discussed. Otto wants him to remain an official member.”
“You’re the Prime Minister. Put your foot down.”
“I can’t,” he says, standing and fixing the rolled up sleeves and undone buttons on his shirt before he reaches for his tie.
“You can’t afford not to. If you go easy on Aegon, Rhaenyra’s going to play to some kind of ‘the Greens are anti woman card.’ Your voters need to know you’re taking this seriously.”
“And throw my own brother under the bus?” he says, sternly.
But she can tell he’s still nervous. His hands are shaking as he ties the tie around his neck.
She pauses, wondering where the line is here. Aegon Targaryen will be fine. He’ll be put under investigation and keep getting bad press for a while, but he can live off daddy’s money in the meantime, and in a few years the whole scandal will be forgotten.
She takes a few steps towards him and comes close enough to smell the dark, boozy smell of his perfume, and shoos his hands away.
“What would be better for the country,” she asks, tilting her head and keeping her eyes focused as she fastens his tie, “presenting yourself as a leader who is committed to integrity and respect, or leaving yourself open to further criticism?”
She pushes the knot up tightly against his collar for emphasis.
Aemond just smirks. “You’re very persuasive,” he says.
“That’s my job, sir.”
She gasps as his hand grabs her hip and pulls her against him. His breath runs hotly over her face as he tilts her chin up to look at him. His throat hums as he breathes.
She could fall apart then and there.
Until a knock on the door has her practically shoving him away.
Aemond chuckles and shrugs on his suit jacket. “Enter,” he calls.
She turns her back to the door to hide the flustered look on her face, pretending to look through a bookshelf that she’s never really looked at properly before.
“Car for you, sir,” Alys says from the doorway.
Aemond calls for her by her surname. Fuck– she was supposed to pack his briefcase before he left. She takes a breath and goes about collecting all the pages of notes and briefings he’ll need. 
She brings it to him, and notices Maris standing in the hallway behind Alys. Maris usually goes with him to the Red Keep for PMQs, but today he requests that she accompany him. She supposes it makes sense, she’s been the one helping him prepare after all.
Maris’ face is a storm. Alys looks down at her feet and tries to stifle a giggle.
The next few hours are a blur. She trails after Aemond through the ornate corridors, keeping her eyes on his silver hair, flowing down the back of his black suit jacket. Somewhere along the way, Cole and the head of security, a man Aemond greets as “Mr Westerling”, joins them.
They leave through the front entrance, into the sharp September air and into a black car. The hum of the engine and the smell of leather makes her nauseous, but they’re only in the car for a matter of minutes before the door swings open and she’s been ushered towards the Red Keep.
Once a seat of Kings, now the red stone castle seems a little out of place with the rest of the city. This is where Parliament gathers.
As they walk through its halls, Aemond tells her to throw a few questions at him. She has them all memorised in her head, able to recite a few without really thinking about it. Aemond mutters the answers they’ve rehearsed under his breath, smiling politely and waving as they pass by civil servants, MPs, Green and Black party members alike. They even pass Cregan Stark, leader of the Northern Independence party. He whispers all of their names in her ear.
There’s a small room where Aemond waits in before he enters the Great Hall. She can hear the noise and the chatter on the other side of the double doors, engraved with the same crest that marks the gates to Hightower House.
He won’t stop moving, adjusting his tie and his cuffs, tutting and pursing his lips.
She makes sure Cole and Westerling are muttering to each other before she leans into Aemond, putting her hand on his shoulder. “You’ll be fine,” she whispers, “don’t see it as a chance for them to criticise you, see it as an opportunity for you to reassure everyone else of how brilliant you are.”
Aemond turns his head towards her. He’s not touching her but she feels the proximity.
“That’s an interesting way to look at it,” he says.
She smiles. “It’s all perspective.”
Before Aemond is called into the hall, Cole directs her to the gallery, above the benches where the MPs sit.
She and Aemond meet eyes before she leaves. She stops herself from reaching for him, not wanting to leave his side.
“Good luck,” she says.
As if he needs it. She watches everything unfold from the gallery, the MPs sat below her like she’s watching a play in a theatre.
Aemond starts off with an amazing opening speech which, at her recommendation, doesn’t shy away from the issue of the whole Aegon scandal. He affirms his commitment to ensuring that central government is a safe and inclusive working environment, which is when he announces Aegon’s resignation as an MP, as well as his removal from the Green Party.
The chamber in an uproar. A few members of the Green Party make a bit of a fuss, but mostly Aemond’s announcement is applauded, even by a good number of Black Party members.
Rhaenyra, Aemond’s sister and predecessor, is at a loss for words, as is her deputy, Daemon.
Aemond seems to get a boost of confidence from this and takes every question in his stride, using elements from the answers she had rehearsed with him and even throwing in a few one liners which has half the room cheering him.
And he’s fucking hot when he’s cocky.
While he speaks all she can think of is how he sounded while she was between his legs. “Good girl… just fucking take it…” she has to clench her fists and her jaw at the wave of arousal that rises within her.
Afterwards she walks with him to the car. A whole host of Green Party members crowd him as they walk through the hallways, praising him, commending him. He smiles graciously, looking over his shoulder every so often to look at her, to make sure she’s not fallen behind.
The silence of the car is unbearable with Cole and Westerling in the front, and Aemond beside her, drumming his fingers against his thigh and running his other hand through his hair.
She presses her thighs at the obvious arousal pooling at her centre.
Seven hells, she’s acting like she’s in heat.
She follows Aemond back through Hightower House, past Alys’ office, to his own office. When he closes the door behind them, he locks it.
She leans against the desk, keeping her hands on the wood behind her.
Aemond turns back to her with a ravenous look in his pale blue eyes. He reaches into his pocket, effortlessly pulling his hair into a low bun, as he usually does in informal company.
She can’t take her eye off him as he tosses his jacket over the sofa, and begins to roll up the sleeves of his shirt. Then he stalks towards her, his chin tilted down and his lips in a tight line, until he’s close enough to paw at her waist. 
“I suppose I should thank you for your help,” he says, eyes fixed on his hands as they tease over the fabric of the red mini skirt she had picked out this morning, the way she squirms underneath him.
“Oh,” she breathes. One of his hands trails up, untucking her blouse from her skirt and brushing his fingertips against the bare skin underneath. “Just… doing my job, sir.”
He hums to himself as his hand works its way round to her backside, squeezing gently. “Do you like calling me ‘sir’?”
She can’t help but nod, dazed at the feeling of his hands tracing the shape of her body.
“Yeah, I think you do,” he says, leaning in to press a slow, firm kiss to her neck.
Her resolve is shattered. She throws her hands around his neck, pulling herself into him, desperate to feel him against her, to stay close to him.
She almost whines when he moves away, much to his amusement, feeling her mouth fall into a pout.
“Don’t tell me I’ve got a brat,” he says, taking her chin in his hand. “Are you going to be good for me, pet?”
“Yes, sir,” she utters.
“See? You don’t even need to be told,” he says with a smile. “You’re going to turn around and lean over the desk.”
She follows his instructions without missing a beat, bracing herself on her forearms, against the surface. She feels her skirt being pushed up over her hips, her tights and panties pulled down in one go, fingertips trailing over her thighs. Then she feels his breath against the wetness of her bare pussy. 
She can’t help but let out a quiet moan, pressing her nails into the wood in anticipation.
“Haven’t even fucking touched you yet, are you that desperate for me?”
“Yes, sir,” she whimpers, trying to look over her shoulder.
Aemond’s hand finds its way against her head, pressing her down. And he doesn’t let go.
His fingers drag through her folds, teasing her entrance and her clit before he slides in a single digit. It feels so different from her own, longer and thicker, pressing into her at an unfamiliar angle. She feels utterly weightless, the obscene sound of him moving in and out of her only adding to her arousal.
Aemond’s voice is dark and husky, as it was last night. “Good girl,” he coos, “that feels good, doesn’t it?”
When she doesn’t reply, he withdraws and lands a stinging slap against her cheek, before he pushes into her again. “Answer me,” he says, clearly and firmly.
“Yes, sir,” she says, frantically trying to nod against his hold of her head. “Feels so fucking good.”
He increases his speed, pumping in and out of her until her climax washes over her. It happens gradually, building and building before a pleasant numbness washes through her, to every corner of her body. 
While she comes down from her high, her attention is caught by the sound of a belt buckle and rustling fabric.
The tip of his cock presses into her without warning. He inches further and further in until he bottoms out, the material of his trousers pressing against her skin– the cunt hasn’t even bothered to take off his clothes.
He finally relents his hold of her head, grabbing at her waist as he ruts into her. It’s fast and primal, adrenaline pumping through her blood, Aemond’s fingers digging into her flesh, her breath coming out in moans, his belt buckle hitting the desk with every harsh thrust.
“Knew you were a little slut,” he grits out, grabbing at her cheeks and spreading them out to watch his cock moving in and out of her. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”
She covers her mouth with her hand to hold back the wanton noises threatening to slip past her lips. 
Suddenly a hand comes to her shoulder, pulling her up against his chest. One hand kneads at her breasts through her blouse and her bra, while the other slips between her legs, tracing quick circles over her clit.
“I wanna feel you come,” he rasps into her ear, “wanna feel my good girl clench around my cock.”
She doesn’t know what to do with herself. She clings to his arms and digs her teeth into her bottom lip. She can feel herself hurtling towards her climax, if only he would move his fingers a little faster.
“Please,” she whispers.
“What was that, pet?” Aemond asks, brushing his lips over her cheek. “Tell me what you want.”
“I want to come!” she whines. “Fuck– please… please, I just want to come, sir.”
She feels him smiling against her as his fingers rub faster over her clit. She can feel how deep he is inside her, how his cock bullies against that sensitive spot, over and over again, until her orgasm tears through her.
She tries to keep her mouth shut but she can’t help the pleading groan that hums in her throat. Aemond holds her as she falls apart, fucking her thoroughly through it all.
Until finally, he reaches his end, hissing through his teeth and pulling out to spill himself onto her pussy. She feels the warmth, how it drips through her folds, for now uncaring of the mess they’ve surely made.
Aemond keeps holding her against his chest. His forehead falls against the back of her head and his hot breath echoes over her neck. “I really appreciate the work you’ve done for me,” he says breathlessly. “I think you and I make quite a pair, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Yes, sir,” she mewls, letting her head fall against his arm.
Aemond hums a laugh to himself, it rumbles in his chest and against her back. “So pretty and polite,” he coos, “how did I ever manage without you until now, pet?”
Tumblr media
General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya @dreamsofoldvalyria @targaryenrealnessdarling
A/n: I might do a part 2 to this so let me know if you would liked to be tagged :)
495 notes · View notes
thelibrarian1895 · 14 days
Text
Bruce is the restraining bolt
Let's say that Bruce "dies" again. Tim, of course, figures it's another temporary thing and bonus he doesn't need to risk another organ to prove it this time. That being said, Bruce isn't around to stop them now. Dick doesn't feel the need to be the dad this time since Bruce will be back. He's the big brother, the babysitter at best. Jason has never felt the need to step up into a parental role for any of his sibs before and he's not going to stop now. Cass won't kill, that is her line, beyond that, she's not anyone's parent either. Tim is one bad day away from being a supervillain, he seriously needs a vacation but at the same time he needs something that will keep him busy or he will get paranoid (thanks B for the trauma) and so he's not going to stop anyone, Duke doesn't have the experience to know when or if he should stop any of his sibs, steph and barbara are staying out of it as while they are family they consider themselves cousins at best no matter what B says, and no one is going to let Damian boss them around.
That being established, B is gone, Alfred is fretting but not inclined to stop anyone anyway, the kids decide that while the bat is away...
When Bruce returns, Alfred is just returning from a spa trip his beloved grandchildren insisted that he go on since he deserved a nice break and they even investigated to make sure the spa wasn't a scam or front! While Alfred was gone and Bruce was "dead", all Black Mask's warehouses had been mysteriously destroyed with large explosions that Bruce had previously forbidden because he was worried about collateral damage since some of those warehouses were sandwiched by other storage facilities and places where people squatted. (Steph and Jason, both very affronted because they are professionals B! And yes, there were also glitter bombs involved, it made the fire extra pretty with the different colors).
Furthermore, Lex Luthor is no longer the majority shareholder of his own company anymore, that would be Tim now, and all of Lex's employees are rejoicing since they're all getting a pay raise that brings them from the legal bare minimum to not just a living wage but twice that plus benefits even for those who aren't full timers (which is basically everyone, lex never wanted to get benefits for anyone). Lex is also being investigated for embezzling, money laundering, domestic and international terrorism, and the trafficking of minors (kon). Lex chose a very bad time to make Kon sad and Tim took that personally.
Bruce also discovered that Tim's childhood home, aka the drake's old place next door for the given value of next door, has been demolished and that whole area is now a botanical garden and registered wildlife sanctuary. (Damian with assistance and permission from Tim since technically the land was in Tim's name, Damian persuaded Poison Ivy to help while also monitoring to ensure she didn't slip in anything detrimental and also breaking up the exotic animal smuggling ring that B had been trying to keep from him to prevent this very thing. Tim, in the meantime, just happened to have a number of people on hand more than happy to work in a botanical garden/wildlife sanctuary and no, none of those people were ever formerly ninja who answered to Ra's before realizing that Red Robin was a far better employer, why would you ever think they were?)
And of course, the Joker is dead. None of his kids are fessing up to this. If pressed, they will cry, even Jason, and say that they thought Joker killed their dad and they wished it had been them because they missed him so much! (It was Dick and Barbara, Babs faked the paperwork for Dick to go in as an orderly, Dick, in disguise, gave the Joker altered medication via injection and made sure to get some air bubbles in for good measure, official COD was a totally natural brain aneurysm, so sad, no autopsy needed, burn the body)
Duke was a bit of a wild card and ended up hanging out with Selina, picking up a few extra skills, and using those skills to break into various mansions and apartments of the filthy rich to steal back stolen art and artifacts and return them to museums in their country of origin so they can be enjoyed by everyone (he watched indiana jones recently and the "it belongs in a museum" popped into his head a lot, he did wear a particular hat while he was committing his heists) It was nice potential step mother and step son bonding time
And finally, Cass causes Ra's Al Ghul to lose a particular appendage, one that the lazarus pit hasn't been able to grow back for him thanks to a little consultation with Constantine beforehand. She then went to hang out at Themyscira and got some very pretty bracelets.
Bruce is thinking very hard about just turning around. He takes a nap instead and then he lectures his beloved nutcases about personal safety, the law, respecting what is essentially dibs on certain super villains, and all the other boring stuff he's tried to impose on them over the years.
184 notes · View notes
eurofox · 2 years
Text
That quote 'women are unaware how much men hate them' and it's pretty apt right now.
Over the last few years I've spent time looking in manosphere circles and this stuff has been brewing the last few years.
There are compilation videos on YouTube by MGTOW (men going there on way) of women that they hate. Mostly tiktoks about dating and feminism. The comments are full of men who talk about how much they hate 'modern women', they hate that were in the workforce, they hate that women have 'high standards' for dating, the gate childless women, they hate career women, they hate single mothers, they hate religious women 'chameleons' they call them, they hate slutty women and they hate that we can divorce now. A lot of them hate their own female relatives.
It's a real visceral hatred. One comment was a guy saying he only spoke to women when he imagined them as an inferior being. Another said all he imagines when women speak was whether or not his dick fits in her mouth. They discuss rolling back the clock on women's rights or talk about women causing the downfall of the west.
They lament the lack of pure women, saying even 18 year olds are 'ran through', used up, smashed, have '1000 cock stare', unable to pair bond, hypergamous whores. Women over 30 are dried up hags who are hysterical, bitter Karen's destined to either die with cats and wine or divorce rape a beta.
When you look at their profiles a lot seem to normal guys. You wouldn't spot them in the wild. And there is a lot of them. People obsess about white male republicans but a lot of them aren't. A lot of these manosphere channels are run by black men. A lot of comments are left by Indian men who complain about Indian women getting 'tainted' by Western feminism. Stuff like fresh and fit is a starting point but these guys get crazier the more you follow the algorithm. Some are religious but a lot aren't. I saw a lot of 'i hate Muslims but Islam is right about women'.
There's a black manosphere guy who films foreign women in his Uber and asks them 'why aren't American women feminine anymore?' and puts up the videos despite them saying they're uncomfortable
They share tips on getting a young, untainted wife from poorer countries. A lot share videos of their trips to South America or Asia surrounded by young women (sometimes VERY young).
You also have the tradmen, who claim to care for women but also believe they are inferior and illogical, best kept at home to serve and raise babies. They will say they value women's natural role', but it's telling that this role requires financial dependence and an inability to leave no matter what (these guys get angriest about divorce). These are the ones who feel most cheated that an income is no longer all a man really needs to land himself the attractive 20 something he feels he deserves.
Then you have guys really angry about the dating market, whine about Chad and Stacey, the 80/20 rule, height standards and hypergamy. They talk about living for the day women 'hit the wall' and they can laugh at their teenage crush getting older and less attractive. I've seen comments where they hope women ask them out, so they can have the satisfaction of turning them down cruelly.
They can't be normal about anything. One Brit talked about going for a walk, and said all the 30 something women he encountered looked miserable. A woman posts a video of her dog and they assume she's fucking it (dogpill they call it, pornrot more like). A woman posts a video for women about life over 30 and they swarm the comments to say how unattractive she is and that women expire.
There are lots of alpha male type accounts on twitter, usually fronted as fitness advice for men. But there are a lot of posts about women being illogical, childlike, simple minded and often just evil. Lot of younger guys follow these and again, chat about how to bring women to heel.
I know as a woman that being aware of this is very straining for mental health. But I don't think pretending these guys are a handful of gross yet mostly harmless trolls is a good idea. And they aren't just cis white men in their mums basement either. The subway shooter was deep in this manosphere stuff, as was the Toronto van killer, yoga shooter and more I'm sure.
A lot talk about wanting sons, but also how they'd never ever want a daughter. The hate is that deep rooted. The she's someone's daughter' isn't going to help them see women's humanity.
Keeping women dependent is what a lot of these guys want. And some don't even want a wife out of it, just putting women back 'in their place' is enough to make them happy. They love watching videos of women being upset, revel in it.
Removing the right to abortion is one step, they are already talking about repealing women's right to vote and a lot want women out of the workplace.
Like idk what the solution is, but these guys are out there and would like to get more extreme.
6K notes · View notes
idkwhatimd0ingatall · 2 months
Text
Victors First Birthday Story Translation
Big thank you to @valnyte!
Tumblr media
// is an alternate translation ----- are breaks i created to pace myself T/N- first time adding pics so ignore how bad it might seem hopefully the translation was good enough! ALSO storyteller/fairytale writer are the same in this story. i just forgot to change it. sorry about the repeat sentences, was rushing this
Tumblr media
The dark night was my friend, and death was myself.
I will walk, walk and walk in the dark again today.
And suddenly, I look back.
See, there lies a blood-soaked, happy face of death.
Kate: Victor, Harrison lent me a book the other day. So.........
I handle my responsibilities/job, while Kate takes on the role of a storyteller.
Listening to Kate's stories while working together in the office is becoming a part of my daily routine.
(......You look like you’re having fun. Kate has become a full-fledged member of the Crown, hasn't she?)
Kate: Yes, that's right. It's about Marianne, the maid we discussed the other day.
Victor: Oh, in that case, give her some time off. It's important for her to meet her lover who is far away.
When I conveyed that the matter we discussed has been resolved, she blinked her eyes in surprise.
Kate: Victor, when do you sleep…?
Victor: When?
Kate: I understand you have an overwhelming amount of work. It seems like something I could never handle.
Kate: Even so, you promptly addressed the matter I consulted you about...
Victor: Oh~ Could it be that you're complimenting me? Well, that makes me happy!
Victor: But, unfortunately, even I need to sleep, and as a human, there's a limit to time.
//But unfortunately I sleep, and as long as I'm human, my time is limited.
Victor: Your consultation held an exceptionally high priority, you know.
Kate: …..Thank you, Victor.
Victor: The feeling is mutual. Thank you, Kate, for looking out for the kids working here.
Kate: And... if I'm misunderstanding/wrong, please disregard it.
Victor: ...Huh?
Kate: Victor, was there something that seemed to be bothering you?
Kate: Things that could cloud Victor's heart...
(This one/child truly has a keen eye for people, doesn’t she?)
Honest eyes deserve honest answers.
Victor: Tonight, William and I are embarking on a mission, but it's not a particularly pleasant one, I must say.
There's a story going around about a group that worships Her Majesty the Queen, essentially treating her as a deity.
(People are free to believe in what they want. We, as the Crown, have no right to condemn that. However..)
It appears that this organization kidnaps and imprisons women as idols, and if they are not considered worthy vessels for Her Majesty, they are killed.
//The group is said to kidnap and imprison women as idols and kill them if they are not worthy of Her Majesty.
Victor:  Tonight, we will proceed with the investigation, and if they are found guilty, we will deliver judgment in the name of evil.
//Tonight, we'll intensify the investigation. If they are guilty, we'll bring judgment in the darkness.
Kate: ...Committing murder in the name of their worship.
Victor: Kate, there's a possibility that this mission might not be pleasant for you either. So--
Before I could finish my sentence, Kate responded with a determined look in her eyes.
Kate: Victor, would you allow me to accompany you as a storyteller?
Believing that above all, we should respect her will, that night, we infiltrated the organization's stronghold.
William: Belongings of the missing, bloodstains, and then a body was discovered. There's no way to deny it.
Kate: This case is... deserving of condemnation, isn't it?
//This case is... in black, isn't it?
Tumblr media
(Tommy Yeager, a noble. Leah Rodriguez, a legislator. Kevin Nicholson...)
(Quite a lineup/assemblage of influential figures, isn't it?)
In times of insatiable greed, those in power liken the queen to a deity and seem to have wishes they want her to fulfill.
William: Tonight, I can speculate that the ritual is taking place in two locations. Either on the upper floor of this mansion or in the basement.
Victor: I'll go to the basement with Kate. Let's head there immediately to prevent further victims.
Kate: Yes...
William: Victor, how much mercy tonight?
Victor: None needed. Their actions deserve condemnation. Loyalty to your wickedness, William.
Kate, I didn't want to show her too much of the horrific scene, praying that this wasn't the 'right' place…
(Ah, I see. It seems like the basement is the 'right' place.)
In the basement, there was an altar-like structure with flickering candlelight. People wearing masquerade-like masks surrounded the altar, and at its center lay a young girl who seemed barely of age.
(So, that's the 'replacement' for the queen. ...Truly grotesque.)
I noticed a man attempting to lower a candle onto the girl's arm, and without hesitation, I took a step forward.
However, Kate moved before me.
Kate: ............no, stop!
The red-haired man with a mask: W-who is this girl! Let go, let go...
Kate: Please stay away from her!... Kyaa!
It happened in an instant, and Kate, who was pushed away, collided with the altar and collapsed on the spot.
Victor: Kate...? Kate...?
(It's okay, she's breathing. She just passed out...)
---In the moment of her collapse, something seemed to have rolled and fallen near Kate.
(...Ah, this is...)
*******FLASHBACK*****************
Victor: Kate, tonight you were supposed to accompany Elbert and Roger on a mission.
Kate: Yes, I'm not used to it yet, so I hope I won't be a hindrance.
Victor: I see. Then, take this.
Kate: A cameo hairpin?
Victor: May it protect you from danger.
Kate: Hehe, it feels reassuring that you've always been there to protect me.
Kate: Thank you, Victor! I'll be going now.
*******FLASHBACK ENDS********************
(...The thing I gave you when you first came to the Crown, isn't it?)
With closed eyes, Kate and the girl lying on the altar, and those who had died, the reasons for not holding back tonight were ample.
Red-haired masked man: Hah, because you disturbed our sacred ritual!
Black-haired masked man: Hey, wait... This gentleman...
Black-haired masked man: Isn't that Lord Victor?
Freckled masked man: Really! Why is His Excellency, the right hand of the queen, here?
While looking at the eerie individuals with masks, focus is on one of them.
Victor: You're the one who pushed this girl, aren't you?
Red-haired masked man: Y-yes... It was me, Lord Victor.
Tumblr media
Victor: As I command you. Pledge your allegiance to evil.
//Let it be commanded in the name of death. Now, it's time for death to come for you.
The man's eyes gaze into the void, and his expression becomes euphoric.
Red-haired masked man: Ah... It feels so wonderful. I... I...
The man reaches for his own neck and tightens it, ending his life.
Black-haired masked man: He's... dead...? Why did he... commit suicide...?
Looking at the bewildered men, I focus on one.
Victor: ...Starting from the right, say your names.
Black-haired masked man: Tommy Jaeger... Ugh...
Another death command.
Freckled masked man: Leah Rodriguez. Ah, I... Ah!
Another death command.
Finally, what remained was silence and the serene faces of those who died, as if having beautiful dreams.
Tumblr media
William: Is it settled? It seems I won't have a chance to step in.
Victor: Yes, Will. The 'target' was here.
//Yes, Will. The correct location was here.
William: As always, they seem happy in death. As if invited by a god.
(A god, huh?)
As if emphasizing that "Queen Majesty" is not a god.
Victor: ......Humans can never become gods.
William: If you say so, it must be true.
William quietly smiles and lifts the girl on the altar.
William: This girl is mine. I'll leave Kate to you.
William: Considering your anger, it seems Kate is involved.
Returning to the castle, Kate was examined by Roger, and he mentioned that she would wake up soon.
Gently placing the unconscious Kate on her bed.
(Kate. I'm truly relieved that nothing happened to you.)
While looking at Katel's face, I recall the night we first met.
I suggested the position of a fairytale writer to her, partly on a whim,
and partly because I expected it to bring change to the Crown.
Although they are different types, all the Crown members are strong.
That's why I believe that "change brought on by others" is necessary.
People become stronger with the presence of others.
(That change will guide those children to even more beautiful evil/wickedness, I thought.)
I watched Kate from a distance, or at least that was the plan,
(You, without me realizing it, seemed to have brought change to me as well.)
As William said, when Kate was hurt, anger surged within me.
Vividly, truly... human-like emotions
(When you're around, I feel like I'm pulled from being a spectator to being involved.)
(But)
Gently placing the cameo hairpin back in Kate's hair
Tumblr media
(No matter how cute you are, I must remain "Assistant to the Queen Victor," by your side as a guardian)
(Beyond that or less than that is not allowed)
//(Not more, not less)
Because if not, my darkness, death, would engulf/swallow her.
I give her hair a gentlemanly kiss.
Tumblr media
Victor: Consider it a bad dream of one night and forget everything. Nightmares and death won't chase after you because of me.
Victor: ...Goodnight, Kate.
The next day, when Kate woke up, she rushed to apologize to me.
Kate: I'm sorry, Victor. It's because I rushed out without thinking...
(Don't worry, even if I say not to, you'll still worry.)
//(Don't worry, even if you say that, you'll still be concerned.)
(Oh, that's right. If that's the case,)
Victor: Kate, why don't we have lunch together?
Tumblr media
Victor: Ah, today was a lonely lunchtime for me, so I'm glad you're here.
Kate: Is this to make up for last night?
Victor: Of course. Sharing a delicious meal with someone is one of my joys.
Kate: Hehe, then I'm relieved.
(Oh, finally your wonderful smile is back.)
--Suddenly, a fine rain starts to fall above us.
Victor: It's just a passing shower. Kate, come here. Let's go to that gazebo over there.
Kate: Y-yes...
(Well, that surprised me. London's rain is so unpredictable.)
Victor: Kate, are you okay—
Before I could ask, Kate wiped my cheeks with her own palm.
Kate: I'm fine. Besides, Victor...
Victor: ............
Kate's palm, which is more concerned about me getting wet than herself, is incredibly gentle.
It's like rain falling softly from a clear sky, and it once again brings change to my heart.
Kate: Besides, Victor...
Kate: There's something Liam wanted to give you. He was searching, saying he had to give it to you yesterday.
(Oh...)
Victor: Yesterday was my birthday.
Kate: ......Eh?
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Kate: Eh!?
She seems to be the most surprised she's ever been since we met, making me laugh.
(It was just going to make her worry, so I didn't plan on revealing it myself.)
Kate: I'm sorry. I didn't know, and I didn't prepare any presents...
Victor: Haha, it's okay. I already bought it, Kate.
Kate: ?
Victor: Yesterday, you spent the entire day with me.
Victor: I wanted to respect your will, but deep down, I may have also wanted the childish desire for you to be with me on my birthday.
Victor: ...So, thank you, Kate.
Kate smiles and looks up at the sky, where the rain has stopped.
Kate: ...Hey, Victor. I'll become stronger, more and more.
Victor: Why is that?
Kate: I'm sure you'll protect me from something again. But... even if I'm weak...
Kate mutters that there are many things in this world that she doesn't need to know.
And she adds, "But, if it's you, Victor, I want to know everything. And..."
Kate: When you're going through a tough time, I don't want to just laugh and pretend I didn't know anything.
She laughs and looks at me, captivating me with those words.
Crown and I were changed, not just because of the changes she brought.
Kate herself is changing, becoming more beautiful with every blink.
(...She's like a spring storm)
I wonder if, one day, I'll be caught up in this storm and reveal the truth to her.
(But, for now)
Victor: Don't hurry too much to become strong, Kate. I might get lonely.
Tumblr media
(Just a little longer, like this)
136 notes · View notes
thewayuarent · 5 months
Text
Boston and Ray deserve each other
In a very positive way
I have a theory that if we’ll think about this friend group in a long-term perspective, Boston and Ray have the best chances to keep their relationship and grow up to an actual friendship. Let me explain.
Boston and Ray, while being very different, have a lot of common traits. And what differ them from the other two in this friend group, is that both Ton and Ray are people who constantly judged by their surroundings (and society) for their behavior - Boston is a slut, which is bad for some reason, and Ray is a suicidal alcoholic, which makes him a burden in everyone’s eyes.
And that makes them outcasts from their perfect, level-headed, proper friends Mew and Cheum (seriously fuck them both I’m so sorry I tried my best). So I believe they have at least some level of mutual understanding. It’s not coincidence that Boston was the one who was responsible for taking drunk Ray home. It’s not coincidence that Ray was the one who listened about all Boston’s who’s and how’s. They may not be very much supportive of each other, but they know they don’t have a right to judge the other also.
The thing with these two, in my opinion, is that while they don’t necessarily judge other’s behavior, they know very well what’s other weak spots are. And they know how and when bring it to the table. Boston outed Ray in frond of Sand? Ray does the same shit with Boston in frond of Nick! Do I believe that Ray actually judges Boston for his sex adventures? No. But I know, and Ray knows, how it will look like in other’s eyes.
And don’t get me wrong, those two love seeing each other miserable. Boston fucked up Ray’s attempt to get a new start with Sand just because he was feeling like this. Because Ray in his eyes is, well, pathetic with his whole being in love with Mew situation. And did my boy enjoyed it.
Tumblr media
Same way Ray is very much enjoys the view of Boston being screamed at by Cheum. He’s absolutely having fun.
Tumblr media
But. But they still have a level they won’t step over. The bar is very low, but it’s here.
Because when Ray is on his lowest point, crushed by cops while Cheum screams at him (about the same thing Boston previously laughed at), Boston doesn’t have fun anymore.
Tumblr media
Because when Cheum (why is it always her) tells Boston he’s cut off his friends and the project that will cost him his future, Ray doesn’t have fun anymore.
Tumblr media
They don’t do anything to help or support each other, obviously, but they are worried. Cheum is angry, Mew is either black out or having the best time of his life, but those two are actually concerned. And I know it’s not much, and it’s absolutely not what you expect from friends, but this is Boston and Ray we’re talking about.
Both of them, very differently, have no idea how to love properly. Because both of them have no idea how to be loved either. They both know their roles - a slut or a burden - they know how people see them and they are used to it. This is why we get constant parallels between BostonNick and SandRay dynamics.
Because when was the last time someone - including themselves - saw them as something more than a number of dirty toxic unhealthy traits?
When was the last time anyone appreciated how talented of a photographer Boston is?
Tumblr media
When was the last time anyone told Ray he has good taste in music?
Tumblr media
Was anyone there before to not just love them, cause sometimes it’s the easiest part, but to see them, forgive them, be there for them again, and again, and again?
Tumblr media Tumblr media
I honestly don’t think so.
And yes, for now they are absolutely not there, but I do believe that they will grow - they’re doing it already. They will learn how to care about others the same way they will learn to accept someone’s love and care.
And for now it’s Nick and Sand, but - baby steps - while they’ll continue their journeys, they will learn to give it for other people. And I would bet on them finding each other again. In a way more healthier place.
199 notes · View notes