#it's a privilege to be stressed. yes. and a privilege to be able to say 'i cannot care about this right now' | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sinfulsalutations · 1 year

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𝕦𝕟𝕤𝕔𝕒𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕕 ⋆*･ﾟ𝕔𝕝𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕥𝕣𝕠𝕠𝕡𝕖𝕣 𝕔𝕣𝕠𝕤𝕤𝕙𝕒𝕚𝕣

➼ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ ☆ ᴄʀᴏꜱꜱʜᴀɪʀ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

➼ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ ☆ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄʀᴏꜱꜱʜᴀɪʀ'ꜱ ꜱᴛʀᴏɴɢ ꜱᴜɪᴛ. ʜᴏᴏᴋᴜᴘꜱ ᴀʀᴇ. ʜᴇ ɪɴɪᴛɪᴀʟʟʏ ᴛʜɪɴᴋꜱ ɪᴛ'ꜱ ᴀ ᴍɪꜱᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇʏ ꜰᴜᴄᴋ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ, ʙᴜᴛ ɪᴛ ᴍɪɢʜᴛ ʙᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇꜱᴛ ᴛʜɪɴɢ ʜᴇ'ꜱ ᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴅᴏɴᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ʜɪᴍꜱᴇʟꜰ.

➼ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ☆ ʜᴇᴀᴠʏ ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴇᴇʟꜱ, ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ᴇɴᴅɪɴɢ, ᴄʀᴏꜱꜱʜᴀɪʀ ɪꜱ ʙᴀᴅ ᴀᴛ ꜰᴇᴇʟɪɴɢꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀʟᴍᴏꜱᴛ ꜰᴜᴄᴋꜱ ᴜᴘ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴄᴇꜱꜱ, ꜱᴍᴜᴛ, ᴘ ɪɴ ᴠ ꜱᴇx, ʀᴏᴜɢʜ ꜱᴇx, ᴏʀᴀʟ ꜱᴇx (ᴍ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰ ʀᴇᴄᴇɪᴠɪɴɢ), ᴅᴏᴍ/ꜱᴜʙ ᴅʏɴᴀᴍɪᴄꜱ, ʜᴜʀᴛ/ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ, ꜰᴇᴇʟɪɴɢꜱ ʀᴇᴀʟɪᴢᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴀʟʟɪɴɢ ɪɴ ʟᴏᴠᴇ

➼ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ ☆ 7.7ᴋ

➼ ᴘᴏᴠ ☆ ᴛʜɪʀᴅ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴ

➼ ꜱᴏᴜɴᴅᴛʀᴀᴄᴋ ☆ ᴇᴍᴘɪʀᴇ ᴀɴᴛꜱ - ɢᴏʀɪʟʟᴀᴢ, ɪ ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ʜᴏᴡ ᴛᴏ ʟᴏᴠᴇ - ᴛʜᴇ ᴅʀᴜᴍꜱ, ɪᴄᴜ - ᴘʜᴏᴇʙᴇ ʙʀɪᴅɢᴇʀꜱ, ᴀ&ᴡ - ʟᴀɴᴀ ᴅᴇʟ ʀᴇʏ, ꜱᴡᴇᴀᴛᴇʀ ᴡᴇᴀᴛʜᴇʀ - ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇɪɢʜʙᴏᴜʀʜᴏᴏᴅ, ꜱᴏʀʀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ꜱᴏʀʀʏ - ᴛʏʟᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴏʀ, ᴄᴏᴏʟ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ɪᴛ - ʙᴏʏɢᴇɴɪᴜꜱ

⋆ ★ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴡᴀꜱ ꜱᴜᴄʜ ᴀɴ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ʀᴏʟʟᴇʀᴄᴏᴀꜱᴛᴇʀ ꜰᴏʀ ᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ. ɪ'ᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴄʀᴏꜱꜱʜᴀɪʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ɪɴ ɴᴜᴍᴇʀᴏᴜꜱ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱʜɪᴘꜱ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴍʏ ʟɪꜰᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀ ʟᴏᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴄᴀᴍᴇ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ɪᴛ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜰɪᴄ ɪꜱ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴᴀʟ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪᴅᴋ ɪꜰ ᴀɴʏᴏɴᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ʟɪᴋᴇ ɪᴛ ᴏʀ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴛᴏ ɪᴛ ᴀꜱ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ᴀꜱ ɪ ᴅᴏ, ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ᴀᴍ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴘʀᴏᴜᴅ ᴏꜰ ɪᴛ. ꜱᴏ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ꜱᴀɪᴅ, ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ

➼ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜰɪᴄ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀɪɴꜱ ɴꜱꜰᴡ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ. ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛ 18+ ᴅɴɪ

⋆ ★ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3 ⋆*･ﾟ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ ꜰᴏʀᴍ

Crosshair isn’t a man of many words.

He never will be;

it simply isn’t in his nature.

He expresses dislike with a scowl and dark stare, and amusement with a sly chuckle. If one were to ask, the sniper wouldn't be able to remember a time he’s smiled with a genuine feeling of happiness behind it. He is cold, he is closed off, and has always been that way. But to say that it benefits him more often than not would be a stretch.

Because of this, attachments are a rarity; his brothers in squad and blood will be there deep in his heart for evermore, an unmovable part of him that's been there since the beginning. Crosshair couldn't imagine a world without them. No one else has the privilege of making space in his life, in his mind, in his heart the same way they have.

Not until she comes along.

She is just a one-night stand, at least at the beginning. Another pretty face in the crowd that lets Crosshair take her to bed. Or, in this case, against a wall in a dingy alley beside 79's.

Her hands scramble for purchase as he steadily rocks his hard length into her, keening at every touch, every graze of his bare skin he oh-so-generously graces her with. He smirks, tucking a stray hair behind her ear rather gently, but staring down into her eyes as though she was his prey and he was soon to feast.

"Feel good, hellcat?" He asks, darkly grinning at his own teasing. For a moment, he gazes up again as his dick throbs inside of her, and her pussy clenches, his eyes fluttering closed, succumbing to the pleasure. He's still able to make out the noise of a hum, and opens his eyes to catch her approving nod, feels the way her thighs close harder around the cold plastoid of his armor to push him in deeper, bring him closer.

"Yes, yes, yes..." She whispers through parted lips and a tight throat, before encouraging him to keep going, please, ruin me. So he does. He leaves harsh bruises under the fabric of her clothes, chokes her out, growls when she misbehaves until she comes hard and with a guttural moan, making a mess all over his kit.

She’s a stress reliever, and judging by all of the scratches she's left over any bare skin she could reach, he is the same for her. It's soothing, it alleviates the tension building up in his joints, a good one-time pick-me-up.

There is nothing different about this night than any other hookup; she is like all of his nightly escapades. He doesn’t bother listening to what comes out of her mouth when she attempts to make small talk, or orders herself a drink at the bar, or when she tells him her name; it isn’t relevant if she moans the same, feels the same as any other pretty girl he could've chosen. Attachment and intimacy won't make a difference; the frantic, anonymous fucking Crosshair indulges himself in would quench his thirst all the same, he believes.

She is nothing special.

Until he makes a large mistake, in his opinion: fuck her a second time.

They see each other again. Months later at 79’s when the boys celebrate a successful run of missions with drinks. She’s there. The same booth as the first time they met, talking to a shiny young reg with bright eyes and a smug twist of his lips. For the first time, he takes in her smile; the eager grin she wears while talking to the trooper, nodding with ardor, fascinated at whatever osik he had to say.

Something inside of him, deep in his gut, twists at the sight. He places his drink down and stands up rather abruptly.

“Where are you going?” Hunter asks, but Crosshair only waves a dismissive hand and doesn’t bother looking behind him.

“I’ll be back,” He says before striding over to the booth. Standing taller than all the other troopers conversing and careening their bodies around him, he is a walking shadow; creates one when he leans menacingly over her and the reg, who, at closer inspection, is groping her knee with tanned and sinewy fingers. But his eyes don’t linger over the gut-twisting sight for too long; he looks back up into her eyes.

“Are you busy?” He hisses, and her mouth drops ever-so-slightly. When Crosshair sleeps with a pretty girl, he only registers just enough to remember the face if he so inconveniently bumps into them again. But when he looks at her at that moment, he takes in more of her; the shape of her cheeks, the way her eyebrows push together, the twinkle in her eye captured by strobing dance lights that illuminate the bar. The melodic rise and fall of her chest is a reminder that the gaping girl in front of him is a real person, not just a vessel for his sexual frustration. All the new information is stored in his mind for future use (if the time ever even comes, he reassures himself confidently).

“I’m…” She begins, before taking her bottom lip between her teeth and looking back at the reg, who watches Crosshair with distaste.

“I am,” She finishes with her eyes glued to the other clone.

But Crosshair won’t have it. A hand he's pressed on the booth table moves to curl around her chin, and he clicks it back to his face. She complies without hesitation, just as obedient as she was when they fucked. Crosshair smirks.

“Is he someone important?”

Her head barely shakes under his tight grip. She is able, however, to suck in a tight breath of air and exhale shakily as she answers him.

“No,” She trembles.

He huffs, looking back at the shiny with a sharp eye, and signals for him to leave. The reg scoffs and rolls his eyes.

“Asshole defects,” He says bitterly, outwardly disapproving even as he shimmies out and gives Crosshair access to join her instead. The moment makes him smugger than anything. He slides in beside her the second the reg is gone, eyes never leaving hers.

She blinks out of the trance he cast her in, but then does her mouth shut, and she quickly frees herself from his grasp on her chin and scowls.

“I was talking to him, you know,” She whines, ridiculing his actions, but he only hums and shrugs without a care.

“You didn’t seem to protest when I told him to leave,” He retorts.

Her mouth shuts promptly after that; Crosshair smirks.

The two fuck again after that. This time in an out-of-order `fresher at the back of 79’s.

“We could go back to my place,” She offers even as he guides her through the door. Crosshair shakes his head and brings her closer to his solid chest.

“Need you now, hellcat.”

It’s filthy. She drops to her knees at his request and lets him reach the back of her throat with his cock, steadily holding himself there until he felt satisfied and let her take some pleasure for herself. Then he fucks her on the sink, first facing each other so Crosshair can kiss and nip at her chest, before turning her around when she gets close to finishing and making her watch herself come undone in the mirror, Crosshair’s looming figure above rocking into her with deep and heavy strokes.

“Tell me,” He demands, eyes drifting to the way her knuckles go white as they clutch the bathroom sink tiles. “Who’s making you feel this good?”

“Y-” She begins, but the sentence ends with a whimpered moan and her head falls. Crosshair's hand comes to her scalp and grips the roots of her hair, pulling her head up so she can continue looking in the mirror. He shoves himself into her roughly, the pad of his index finger swiping over her clit, and her mouth falls with an unconfined moan.

“C’mon, you pretty little thing,” He continues, cruel and harsh and brutal.

She gulps hard and does her best to keep eye contact with his piercing stare. He notices more and more about her now the longer he looks, the longer he is in her; the little squeaks she makes, the path her tears tread when they fall down her face, the pattern of her breathing when his hand is curled around her neck, holding a thumb to feel her pulse. The little, particular fragments of her, the things that make her something special, begin to take space in his mind the second time he takes her.

“Y-You are,” She finally finishes her sentence and comes with a sweet, sugary sigh. Her eyes flutter close and she weakens under him, and Crosshair almost empathizes with the messy excuse of a woman under him. His grip on her hair loosens as he rocks into her once, twice, before finishing as well deep inside of her fluttering cunt.

He cleans her up with toilet paper wordlessly when he finally slips out. He’s surprisingly tender, careful when his hand slowly swipes over her used cunt, slow and tantalizing, perhaps teasing if he didn’t know any better. Her hands come to his shoulders to hold herself steady as she shakes with aftershocks, humming pleasantly when he swipes over her overstimulated clit.

“How long has it been?” She asks suddenly, her voice cutting through the tight, silent air that surrounds them. Crosshair looks up from his intense focus below and tilts his head, eyes squinting. She blinks obliviously. “Since the first time, y'know.” She tries to explain.

Crosshair’s face doesn’t change, and he looks back down as he finishes cleaning her up.

“A while,” He says lowly.

“Hundred rotations at least?” She queries. He nods. “Where have you been?” When she asks, Crosshair can tell that it isn’t malicious. She’s light and calm with her tone, despite the question feeling more critical than anything. She is genuinely curious.

It takes him a moment to come up with a response.

“My squad is on the road a lot,” Crosshair explains, and she hums. He turns away to expertly toss the towel into a wastebasket a few feet away and looks back at her. She still sits bare on the kitchen sink, level with his face thanks to the elevation.

“You’re not part of a normal battalion, are you?”

Crosshair shakes his head. The next words come out more of a hiss, like a snake trying to hold back its bite.

“Clone Force 99.”

She nods.

“I’ve heard about your squad.”

“From the regs?” He says adversely, and she nods again.

“You’re quite famous," She remarks.

Crosshair scoffs and turns away. He doesn't know how to approach this situation; it is all new territory. Now recalling all his previous hookups, he's suddenly unsure if he’d ever talked to one this long, this much after the deed. They'd usually tuck themselves in, say something along the lines of 'that was fun' or 'we should do this again' and go their separate ways, never seeing each other again. But not only has he slept with her a second time, but he'd disclosed more personal information than he has with all other partners combined.

“Not for good things,” He comments while he looks back; her eyes drift away, and she shrugs, taking in a deep breath.

“You’re respected.”

“Because we’re menacing,” He scoffs breathily. Her lips screw tight with ambivalence.

“I don’t find you very menacing,” She tells him, hands slowly beginning to fall from his shoulders. He backs up and lets her push herself off the sink and grab her discarded panties and skirt from the grimy fresher floor. She swiftly dresses again, and Crosshair tucks himself into his pants, eyes not leaving the other’s gaze once. The whole short moment of time is strangely coordinated and intense, oddly intimate despite their hands not feeling each other up. Crosshair's chest tightens under the pressure of her longing gaze, but he tries to ignore it; fighting back with his level head. His better thinking wins this time, but if the feeling gets stronger... he might have a problem on his hands.

Once they're both back in their clothes, she leans back on the sink, staring up at Crosshair with doe eyes. He looks back to the mirror quickly to take a glance at his own appearance. Not one piece of his armor besides his codpiece came off while they fucked. But there is still something unruly about his appearance; his hair, usually gelled to his scalp, is wildly tossed around, and a purple bruise-like mark has formed in the crook of his neck. They are both messes, but at least he is composed. She, covered in little love bites and marks with untamed hair and stretched clothes, isn’t in the slightest. She doesn’t care and doesn’t keep a close watch on her own undoing and vulnerability as Crosshair does.

“How long will you be off-duty?” She asks. He’s almost taken aback by the question, blinking rapidly at her with a strange twist of his lips. He can understand why she asks; logically and on the surface, at least. Crosshair knows he’s a good fuck. But he’s never been with a girl more than once to see the effects of their nights together.

“We’re going back to Kamino tomorrow,” He tells her, almost melancholic. Even he, so out of touch with his own feelings, can sense his shift in voice; it's bemusing. Her expression drops.

“Oh,” She mumbles, overtly louder than what she initially intended. He remains as neutral in his face as possible.

But suddenly, his hand, twitching with hesitance, reaches over to her arm, gripping her wrist tightly as his other hand fumbles for a pen. He finds one in a side pocket and quickly scribbles in capitalized, messy handwriting over her soft skin. She doesn’t protest; only watches wordlessly with her lips parted in a delicate manner.

He clicks the pen and puts it back in its spot and looks at her with a lift of his chin.

“My frequency.”

She blinks, still feigning doe eyes and innocence. It’s almost, almost (he has to repeat mentally to assure its truth) adorable. The moment is stored in his mind.

“Message me tonight. I’ll let you know when I’m back on Coruscant.”

She breaks out of her trance, quickly fumbling and looking down at the link, looking back up with a shaky exhale and a nod. Crosshair smirks, but if she isn't anything like him, she’d know it was far closer to a genuine smile.

He walks her out after that, a hand protectively hovering over the small of her back; they walk beside each other, but their eyes look anywhere else that isn’t back at them. And they only make it past a few booths before he begins to itch in his own skin.

There are just too many eyes, too many snides and comments and words being exchanged between gossipy and judgemental regs. He shifts the weight of his armor, but it just seems to make it feel heavier. But she is unfazed, doesn’t notice how uncomfortable he is with familiarity, with being recognized as being with someone.

“I have to go,” He says abruptly; she whips around. Her head tilts and but his face remains expressionless and inaccessible. All at once, he takes more of her in; the marks he left that are barely hidden by the neckline of her top, her red and swollen lips, and her chest rising and falling almost in sync with the pounding music that claps over his eardrums. The longer he looks at her, the longer he stays, she makes space in his memory. Perhaps that’s why he gave her his frequency. He’s got to make use of the knowledge, or else it would be just useless space taken up by a girl who didn’t mean anything, nothing to him.

“OK,” She answers, surprisingly compliant with his abrupt change in thought. But he can sense it; there’s something artificial about her expression.

But Crosshair doesn’t let himself dwell on it for too long. He spins on his heel and walks away and back to his brothers without another parting word.

* * *

“Tech, are you finished?” Hunter asks vexed, arms crossed as he leans across the Marauder and glares holes in the back of his brother's helmet. He turns to Hunter and nods.

“I’ll be done momentarily,” Tech assures him, and Crosshair grumbles, standing up from where he sits beside Wrecker on the ramp, twisting a toothpick between his teeth as he trudges into the ship with heavy steps. Once he is out of earshot from the rest of his squad, he leans against a wall and rubs his forehead with a groan. Perhaps he had a little too much whiskey the night before; though he can't even recall drinking more than a few sips before he saw her and stopped in his tracks completely. But this hangover is less physical. Is an emotional hangover even possible? Maybe he can ask Tech to research it.

That’s when he gets the message.

His helmet chimes from his bunk. If Crosshair were a different man and not a completely calm, completely collected sniper, he might’ve jumped or been startled. Instead, he glances at his helmet and `pad beside it laying on his unmade bed. They both blink rapidly with a clicking sound of an incoming message.

He walks over (faster than he would admit) and reads the new conversation at the top of his bar, sent by an unknown frequency.

729-NWS-47-K-6: Hi. It’s me.

His heart might’ve stopped. He isn’t sure. Maybe it didn’t, and might have if he was someone else entirely. Someone who didn’t refuse to feel much for anyone. But he can’t deny the new sensation, something bordering on a giddy excitement, that rushes through his lungs and leaps out of his throat.

She doesn’t give him the grace of her name that he so quickly forgot, so with a grumble, he saves it as the only thing he can think of. Then he types,

Crosshair: I told you to send me something last night.

It shows she’s seen his message, but she doesn't start typing for a short, but tedious moment.

Hellcat: I forgot to.

Another text immediately follows in succession.

Hellcat: I’m sorry.

Crosshair is only slightly dumbfounded; he almost sends one saying that she didn’t need to, and got to a few words before he deleted all of it and left the message box blank as he thinks of what to say. Why would she feel the need to apologize? Not unless he’d acted as though before, that she needed to apologize for every single action he didn't like. His stomach twists again, the same way it did when he saw her flirting with the reg, and Crosshair poignantly decides then that he does not like the feeling.

Crosshair: It’s fine.

Hellcat: Are you off of Coruscant already?

Crosshair: Soon.

Hellcat: Oh.

Hellcat: Let me know when you make it to Kamino. Stay safe.

He freezes in his tracks. The words, like the rest of her, crawl inconspicuously into his skull and places themself there. His mind wants to yell;

She cares! She actually cares!

He can almost feel it happen. For the first time, Crosshair can physically pinpoint how he tries, launches into something new; everything with her, from her smile to her body, the things she says and the way she says them, it’s slowly burrowing itself into his head; perhaps even his-

Quickly, he catches his breath silently and shakes the idea out of his head.

He quickly messages her back,

Crosshair: Ok.

closes his `pad, and shushes his thoughts before his brothers are able to walk in and ask him what he was doing.

After that day, it is ten weeks; fifty days before he is back on Coruscant.

Crosshair doesn’t allow himself time or space to think of her; despite his mind being stubborn on keeping the pieces of her he can vividly remember deep in the crook of his thoughts at all times. He doesn’t message her once, not to ask how she is or what she's doing. Though his data-pad glares at him vehemently from his bed as he cleans his rifle in the main quarters, disapproving and shaking its head for not being nicer to her. But his `pad should know damn well by now; Crosshair doesn’t do nice. Or feelings at all.

She's no exception.

At least that’s what he tells himself when he messages her almost the instant that their ship lands on Coruscant again.

She responds only a few minutes after; asks him to meet her at a cafe, somewhere in the heart of the city nearby where she works, she explains. He says 'OK' to her and ends it at that but panics at the prospect of having to deal with his brother's interrogation. It goes as well as he expects.

"What's the rush?" Hunter teases him when they finally get their ship on the ground and away from the main hangar. He snaps his head to his brother and glares. Hunter only smiles warmly. "We just got here."

Wrecker trudges up from behind and slaps his shoulder roughly, and Crosshair scowls and swats him away.

"Yeah, got some important business to attend to?" He asks.

Crosshair grumbles.

"I'd like to have some peace and quiet for once away from you all," He speaks spitefully, a mean eye squinting at the two. "I don't get enough of that around here."

Wrecker laughs.

"You sure don't!" He exclaims deep from his belly before walking away satisfied. Hunter takes a little longer to be convinced. He still stares at Crosshair with a suspicious side-eye.

"... just comm us if you get yourself into any trouble," He says, taking a few steps to softly pat Crosshair's shoulder. He accepts it, though grimaces internally at the contact.

"Yeah, got it," He responds, letting out a long breath of relief once Hunter leaves. The second the two join back with Tech and drift all their focus away from him and his business, Crosshair whips around and starts heading to the address she told him to go to.

He isn't eager. He isn't. His mind and his body doesn't absolutely itch to see her again. To feel the little dips and curves and crevices of her body again. Restore the fragments and pieces of her that he lost in the time away. No. That's not what this is at all.

It's just another hookup. With the same girl as before. In her apartment. Where she and her identity lives.

He practically strides through the door, pushing it open with one arm, and scans the place without any regard for others. The only thing that matters right now is her-

Not her. Not her. This is, has to be about him. His ache and his crutch and his pleasure. Right. If he keeps going around being concerned over her, he'll lose himself. He just knows it.

She stands up from where she sits tucked into a corner and waves him over. His head snaps to her and she smiles when they make eye contact; he stops himself from giving her the common decency of grinning back.

He walks over, chin dipped down and eyes closed in on her. Everything around him fades into the background and she takes center stage. She stands across from him, hands meeting at her front and she bites her lip.

"Hi," She says, rather simply, but it is enough. Crosshair's lips flatten into a line, his own way of greeting her, and she blinks and averts her gaze away again, almost shameful in the flutter of her lashes. His gut twists.

Fuck, he doesn't like this.

Caring for how she reacts and thinks of what he does.

"...Hey," He finally says, and she looks up. He can see her tongue sitting uncomfortably in her mouth, catching how her fingers quickly interlock and dispatch from each other in timorous movements. He thinks it's pity, the softness he then shows with the weakening of his posture and how he walks closer to her, but it is something else entirely that he hasn't caught onto yet.

“Why did you ask me here?” Crosshair asks coarsely. The glaring stares from other patrons tingle and itch where they train their eyes on him; the customers, all citizens of Coruscant really, should be used to seeing clones off-duty roaming the streets, but Crosshair is sure they’d never seen a trooper that looks quite like him in a cute, quaint cafe that radiates everything she is and he isn’t.

“I just got off work,” She says, glancing away for a moment nervously before looking back. “I was planning to grab my dinner here when you messaged me.”

Crosshair nods stiffly before sitting down across from her. His legs leisurely spread and he hangs an arm on the back of the chair, looking perfectly relaxed though everything inside him was strung tight as a weaved cloth. The back of his head, the one that controls his primal instincts, mutual respect and kindness, begs him to ask her what she does for work, but he stops himself, lest he wished for her to take up more space in his mind.

She finishes her food just before the sun sets and then she takes him to her apartment not far away. Guiding him by his wrist, Crosshair can feel the slight tremble in her actions, even as he just watches her swiftly careen through throngs of city-dwellers and slot her keys into the door. He’s [positively] still, carefully composed to ensure he did not look anything but.

And once they make it to the threshold, he backs her up into the wall and takes her just like that. She tells him the bedroom is just down the hall, but he positively tells her again that he needs her now. The cool chalk of the wall paint felt less personal than fucking her in her own bed.

Steady and determined, she pushes herself up onto her tiptoes and kisses him hard and good, gripping the collar of his shirt hard as his hands hover over her waist. She swipes her tongue over his bottom lip, begging for more control, but Crosshair pulls away. When she whines, he only clicks his tongue melodically, like a disappointed teacher, and grasps her wrists, pinning them together above her head. She yelps, but he swallows the sound with his tongue, forcing itself into her mouth roughly and without much coordination.

It’s only after he breaks away to catch his breath that he berates her in a throaty voice,

“Who told you that you can do that?”

She whimpers and her chin quivers. He coos, his other hand coming up to cup her jaw and lifting it to get a better look at her face.

“I’m in charge here, hellcat.”

He presses his hips into her, and his warm bulge presses against her lower stomach, and they simultaneously groan at the feeling. Slowly, he rocks himself against her, tantalizing and oh-so-sweet; he bites his lip and looks away to try and come across as if this is only torture for her.

“Don’t you forget it," he grits out.

The sex is catastrophically good.

It’s what Crosshair tries to convince himself is the reason he keeps coming back to her and her only.

He doesn’t think she’s seeing (or interested in for that matter) someone else, at least he hopes, but he tries to come off as though she doesn’t have such a hold on him. Stiffly wrapping an arm around her torso when he falls asleep beside her. Not giving a goodbye kiss when he leaves the morning preceding. Messaging her with the most boring, dry conversation starters.

But the façade starts to melt away more than he wishes.

She’s able to make him smile, actually smile, at her messages.

Hellcat: I think you might be a rare subspecies of loth-cat.

Crosshair: ?

Hellcat: One came in today with tooka pox. Little guy was a menace. Territorial, moody, and would lash out if he felt threatened. More importantly, their breeds’ natural fur color is gray.

Crosshair: …Are you saying I am a loth-cat?

Hellcat: Just that this one is your reincarnation. You can’t prove me wrong.

Crosshair: Touché.

He’s learned more about her than he’d ever bargained for. She’s a veterinarian at a nearby hospital and likes to bring some of her patients home and give them more comfortable conditions than the poor quarters in the clinic. He’s visited her apartment numerous times, welcomed by a feline rubbing itself against his leg with a purr or a bird squawking incessantly if he gets too close.

He lets her hold him, even when he won't speak.

The first time it happens it's when he returns from a long string of long and exhausting missions. He barges in without any warning to her. When she jumps from the kitchen, he quickly sprints over to her and grips her waist, making sure she sees him, sees his eyes, and they both are calm.

"`t's just me," He says lowly, hands softly moving up and down her waist.

She sighs, chest heaving down before her nose scrunches and she slaps his shoulder roughly, sending him backward. He gawks.

"What was that for?!"

"Don't fucking do that!" She whisper-yells, waving a hand in his general area. "At least message me first before you come running in. Or comm. I thought you were a murderer!"

He glares, but she doesn't stand down. When she crosses her arms and raises her eyebrows, he finally lets up with a scoff, softer and more apologetic than he intended.

"You're right," He says, bringing a hand to try and knead at the knot in his forehead. "I got worked up."

Hesitantly, her arms drop and she takes a step toward Crosshair, arms coming to his shoulders. When he looks back at her gaze, he immediately gets stuck in the intense atmosphere she creates with just her stare.

"What are you worked up about?" She asks, gently and carefully, as though she was an animal tamer trying to trap a wild lion in her cage. Crosshair bites his lip, letting it go quickly with aimless worry before he answers her with his lips.

She squeals ever-so-slightly, but he swallows the sound; his body takes hers and quickly presses her against the counter of her kitchen. His hands drift lower until they softly take the backs of her thighs and lift her to sit atop and have better access to his face. The moment allows her to break away from him quickly, eyes widening as he tries to dip in for another, but she pushes him back with her hands.

"You didn't answer my question."

Crosshair grumbles, dipping his head down. Surprisingly, she takes matters into her own hands and grips his chin between two shaky fingers, lifting it back up to look at her.

"I'm gonna kick you out of my apartment and not let you back in if you don't talk to me. I'm not kidding."

He huffs and keeps his head in place, but his eyes drift away.

"Past few rotations..." He begins aimlessly, with no real direction to where the sentence is heading. He clicks his tongue and looks back up at her, who's patiently listening with such attentive eyes he almost feels undeserving of her time and energy. "...they've been rough."

She nods.

"That's okay," She assures him, hands softly acting as a pillow for his face. He gratefully takes the spot to rest but acts as though the touch doesn't have such an effect. "That's all you have to say. `It's enough for me."

Crosshair bites the inside of his cheek, muttering a quick 'good' before he seizes her parted lips and takes her to the bedroom, fucking her rough and hard in her own bed.

She knows far too much about him. Even if that sentence is all he's ever disclosed of mental turmoils, his body language, the grace of memorizing his curves and special unique parts of him is more than he's ever shown to anyone. Crosshair is unsure if she even realizes it.

He notices small things about her, little mannerisms that piece together her identity. The way she always stops when she sees a street performer and tips them any extra credits she has in her pocket. How she always manages to find some humor in his dry comments. The books that line her walls and little crevices of her apartment.

Slowly, the longer he stays, the more she becomes something special. The more she makes space in his mind– and his heart.

And it is terrifying.

She can feel it. Crosshair just knows it. Her touch lingers ever so slightly longer than before when he leaves her in the mornings; she holds back the urge to reach out and leave him with a kiss permanently etched into his skin. She can feel something different. For the first time, they are both on the same page; they're holding each other back, and it is all his fault.

It isn't her responsibility to make him open up. But perhaps she feels that obligation; why else would she give him such control and power over her body? At this point, after becoming such consistent parts of each other's lives, it couldn't just be a sexual dynamic. No matter what he does to her.

"Please, please, why-" She whispers one night as he goes down on her. The last word catches his ear, and he briefly looks up at her face. She scrunches her nose, tears forming in the corners of her shut eyes and catching in her eyelashes, letting out heavy pants between such small mumbles it's practically impossible to fully hear.

"Why, why..."

The pity in his eyes is a weakness, he thinks. He leaves one last lingering, messy kiss over her soaked cunt then flips her around to her stomach, and fucks her from behind as impersonal and brutally as he can. It's for the both of them, he fails to realize; they're both caught up in their own minds to even see what might truly be happening to them.

He is catching feelings, and he knows if he were to leave now, it wouldn't be unscathed.

“When you first gave me your frequency…” She begins one night after he comes home to her, still tangled in sheets and panting with exertion. He perks up from where half his head is buried in a pillow, an eyebrow raised. She looks at him with thoughtful eyes, barely illuminated by the pale moonlight. “You never messaged me once.”

Crosshair looks at her, almost perplexed, but he isn’t confused at all. He rather doesn’t know what to say.

“Neither did you,” He manages to rebuke. She blinks at him, mouth slightly agape, and she shrugs with no real point. When she slumps her head back onto the pillow beside him, still looking into his eyes with a look of misplaced longing, the gut feeling twists, pokes and prods at his insides harder than it did before. She reaches out and hangs an arm lazily over his shoulder, and everything inside of him wants to flee, retreat with a white flag all the way back into his comfort zone. But he stays. The soft look on her face is a treasure even the deepest and most fortified parts of him wish to keep.

“Crosshair?” She speaks softly.

“Yes?” He answers.

“Have you been…” She pauses, carefully treading over her next words. “Seeing anyone else?” She says the word seeing so unsure, so frail and worried he holds back the shakiness of his limbs begging him to just hold her.

“Are you seeing anyone else?” He snaps back, automatically and without much thought. But when he sees the shift in his eyes, his gut ties a knot in his stomach.

She frowns.

“Please don’t answer my questions with questions,” She tells him.

He bites his lip, gazing away for a long moment. The world pauses; his body is on fire lying down and listening and clawing at the grasp of any survival. Any salvation that this isn’t an attachment.

“I’m not…” He mutters so quietly and tenderly to intentionally assure that she doesn’t hear. But she does and she perks up, eyes wide despite the tire he can sense in his body. Without any thought of what it might be interpreted as, what she might think of it, he crawls into her closer, mouth hovering over hers. She's able to feel the quivering of his lips as he speaks. “I’m not as long as you aren’t.”

With the moonlight peaking through gray curtains, he can see the sweet grin she wears at his admittance.

“I’m not either,” She tells him. He exhales through his mouth, head dipping down to look away and his body shakes. Fucking shakes, at her words. Her hand grips his shoulder, grounding him in his place, but his mind still spins in his skull. It's overwhelming, just those three words. Suddenly, everything about her is so present; her touch and her breathing, her body against his. He feels, feels so fucking much for the first time, and doesn't know what to do with it. Instead, it spills out raw and without any of his macho overcoating, and he decides to let his body speak for him as he reaches out to kiss her; for the first time, it’s soft.

She squirms ever-so-slightly, as if a ghost hadn’t walked through her and instead enveloped them in their arms, but slowly melts into it as he continues so persistent. He adjusts their positioning, pulling her by the waistband of her panties and holding her thigh with a calloused hand. He hikes it up, asking her, begging her with his touches to do anything, fucking anything to let him know that she is here and she is present and everything is okay.

So she does. She tentatively crawls on top of Crosshair, her legs wrapping around his slim waist and he groans once they part, hands slowly slipping under her panties and holding her with such need, so much yearning it physically pains him.

His chest seizes and he gasps against her when she rocks her core against his crotch abruptly, feeling himself grow under her. She looks down at him, hands on either side of his face, eyes blown wide, surprised at her own sudden movement.

"Is-" She begins, ending the sentence with a short, honey-coated whimper when he takes two large handfuls of her ass and pushes her down on him. He smiles crookedly, but she quickly catches her bearings. "Is this okay?"

The question seems silly, but it's important that she asks; he can't recall a time that he'd let her have even an ounce of control during sex. Resolve weakening under her kind, lustful stare, he gulps and nods, Adam's apple bobbing.

"Yeah, yeah," He grits out, groaning breathily when she rocks her hips again. "Just... keep going. Please?"

She looks at him timorously, but he gives her an encouraging thrust with his own hands still on her ass. She sighs, leaning down and pecking his lips softly.

"Okay," she mumbles, almost to herself more than him, and kisses him again.

A hand softly drifts down to his bicep, squeezing it while the other sinks into his scalp, fingers slipping into his hair, her legs tightening around his thighs with every slow wave up and down his hardening cock. She moves languidly, comfortably until she finds a suitable rhythm, one that has him keening into her mouth once she finally reaches down into his boxers and wraps her hand around his cock.

"Fuck," He swears, gritting his teeth. She looks up from where she gazes down and her eyes widen.

"Am I doing fine?" She asks tentatively, slowly twisting her hand over his length. He sighs.

"You're doing fine," He assures before his head falls against his pillow and his eyes shutter close. It feels so good, so much better than any other time she'd been teased with this much power. He'd like to say he doesn't know why, but they both know the real reason. "Kriff, you're doing perfect."

He can feel the smile that plays on her lips against his skin. She reaches up and connects their lips once again. It is the only thing about the moment, the movement of their bodies that exudes such innocence in it, pure admiration. It's so much. He quickly breaks away when he feels himself getting lightheaded.

Crosshair exhales raggedly against her lips, and she opens her eyes, tilting her head with a questioning gaze.

"I..." He begins, eyes burning with the intense gaze they hold. "I promised... fuck." He genuinely cusses himself out at his struggle to just get even the simplest words out. But could she blame him? When has he never been this upfront about his emotions in his life? "I promised myself I wouldn't- allow myself this."

Her lips part and her eyebrows furrowed. They close again and she asks before he can continue.

"Allow yourself... to be taken care of?"

"Yes," He answers quickly. "But, no, that's not what I meant."

She blinks twice consecutively but doesn't say a thing. So he continues.

"I promised myself I wouldn't allow... an attachment." The menacing, cobra-like persona inside of him emerges with the final words; he hisses them as if they were a curse he was casting on an unsuspecting victim. Or a taboo word he uses with such indictment no one could gasp in surprise at the use. "Promised myself I wouldn't fall in love." He rewords.

The face she flashes is one he's seen before, in the eyes of many other girls, and for a brief moment he wonders what makes it so much better in her eyes than the others. What if he'd never seen her again after that first night? What if he'd never allowed himself a second, third, or fourth night with her? He wouldn't have this at all. He's giving her so much that he didn't even realize he needed it until it finally came out, whether like this or with his body.

How could he have ever thought falling in love with her was a mistake?

"Are you still promising yourself that?" She finally asks softly against his lips, starting to pick up rhythm again. Her hand loosens over his cock and her lips part over his, resting just where he could easily sink back into his kiss. But she waits for him to respond before she keeps going.

He trembles out a shaky breath into her mouth when he talks.

"As-As long as you don't break," He stammers, so strangely insecure in his own voice and how it sounds. But she doesn't seem to care. He takes in a deep breath, steadying the erratic rise and fall of his chest before he continues.

"As long as you don't break my heart," He says. She nods thoughtfully, hand slowly drifting up from his cock and resting on the space right above it as she listens.

"I promise," She says before taking both of her hands, cupping his face between them, and kissing him hard with fervor. He lights up under her, one hand holding the one she has on his face and the other keeping her on top of him as he adjusts to sit up, back against the headboard, giving them both more access. Once they're in the position, she adjusts again, leg lifting up so she can slowly peel her panties off. His hand drifts down to her core and she sighs.

"I promise," She repeats. He grins, but it's more genuine than smug. Her lungs skip a breath and she hiccups with a squeak at the sight.

"I heard you the first time, hellcat," He says, parting her folds softly and softly moving his fingers back and forth as he talks. Her eyes flutter and she softens against him. "I believe you."

She smiles and surges forward, tangling herself into him. One hand drifts down his chest, softly trailing over the waves of his muscles and scars, like a soft blanket of heaven, and the other holds the back of his head, gripping his hair as a rock while she grabs his length. And he lets her. Lets her have control. Is perfectly fine sitting back, letting her decide his movements for once. It's another form of liberating.

Lining him up with her entrance, she looks up at him while sinking down, steady and kind and sweet. He'd never seen eyes so perfect in his life. And when she's fully seated, he lets out a guttural cry and groans,

"Thank you."

She smirks, slowly squirming in his lap to get comfortable, trying to find the ropes to being on top of him like this.

"Why are you thanking me?" She asks, half cheekily and half genuine.

The little minx, he wants to think, but a part of him has to admire her for being the one getting him worked up instead of the other way around.

"For this," He gestures to her body, but they both know he means more. He means that he's thanking her for the space in her bed, the place in her cunt for him to let out his frustration, the space to speak about things he keeps to himself if he wishes to, the genuine smiles she elicits at her silly jokes and the little quirks he's so devotedly memorized.

He means thank you for everything.

Thank you for your love.

She nods but doesn't answer, only kisses him again before she starts moving, finding a pace above him with a hand placed over his stomach, pushing him down further, encouraging him to relax, let her do this. He does, happily pinching her hips softly and rocking his hands with her movements while they both sweetly, languidly take in each other.

And when they both finish, almost exactly at the same time, she finally answers.

"It's my pleasure."

He looks up at her with a long, intense stare, not one hidden behind masks and forts of hardness, but one unfiltered and filled with so much emotion, it's almost overwhelming for both of them.

But it's safe for him to drown if he wishes.

For once, Crosshair is okay diving headfirst into something new.

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hyukabean · 2 years

Text

hwang hyunjin as your bf (headcanons)

req – for my youth pastor simp <3 @yejiimg

nana's notes – speed wrote this cause inspo <3 all my other wips are… eh not happy with them yet

warning(s) – does jealousy count??

unedited.

how you met .｡.:*☆

i feel like you’d meet through lily, hear me out

nmixx is still a rookie group, and the budget is definitely a lot lower than some of the big names under jype

they can’t really afford to always pay staff full time, so they decided to hire a bunch of interns, for much less pay ofc

being a college student though, you don’t mind, and decide to take the job!

being able to speak english with lily would definitely make her feel more at ease when she’s stressed and so on

with time, y’all become besties~

you’ll wait for her after she’s done working, and sooner rather than later, you become a known face

felix invites her out for boba one day, and she takes you with her cause why not?

a few months in, i can also see you getting close to the skz aussie line, even if you don’t constantly hang out (cause jypapi’s got chan in his dungeon-)

hyunjin needed inspo for his new painting, and so felix is, “hey, meet my friend, they’re kinda cool”

and hyunjin’s like?????? no???????????

but ofc he end up saying yes anyways

ngl bby would be hella awkward and shy. but not like the stuttering mess, more like the o-o, i’m watching you

lily would just laugh awkwardly, and continue speaking to you

trying to “ignore” him, you do the same

but then he’s like !! woah. they’re kinda pretty… and look at their shiny eyes… oh and the lines when they smile

jinnie would def start drawing without even noticing.

by the end of it, you all just kind of part ways, not having gotten much closer

he’d ask felix for your number though, and send you the sketch with a lil, ‘sry about last time… but, can i draw u again?’

ofc you’re super flattered and agree *cue felix and lily evil chuckling*

it would take a long time for him to trust, and get close to you, but after your there, you’re in

it would genuinely just be friendship at first, but when your birthday rolls around and he sticks a letter and a painting of you in your hands before leaving?

yeah, you’re definitely in-in now. (that’s what she said-)

pros .｡.:*☆

okay, 100% the pet name privileges

he’s not suuuper affectionate with the other members, save for felix, so when he starts doing little things like: calling you princess, feeding you, actually texting you back, no one knows how to respond

hyunjin is definitely a secret hopeless romantic, and so it’s no surprise that he draws inspiration from romantic things, aka, you <3

def has lil sketches of you laying around

constantly takes secret candid pictures of you, and re-drawing them, knowing full well he’ll never be able to encapsulate all of your beauty

free dance lessons. he would offer to teach you anything.

loves seeing you have fun <3 loves seeing you (full stop)

tbh he’d cringe a bit if you’re awkward, but would also lovingly guide you, recounting all the steps for you~

by far the #1 hyunjin bf privilege is getting to back hug him and getting forehead kisses as a thank you

no matter who’s around, how tall you are, how much you weigh, if you’ve got acne or not, none of it matters.

tldr. bby’s a major simp for you <3

last but not least, you get all of his hoodies. it gets to a point where, if you’re not wearing something matching, he straight up just makes you wear his clothes, no questions asked

but don’t you dare tease him about it, he’ll ignore you for a solid 3 hours straight

affection gets it’s own section muahahah

cons .｡.:*☆

jealousy. though it’s not allllways a bad thing. it can get pretty rough. essentially, there’s two types:

1) the ‘cute’ jealous

hyunjin’s english is pretty good, but his confidence isn’t always the highest (which it definitely should be wtf-)

so he does get a bit :< seeing you and felix, or lily talk so freely with each other

and though, again, he understands, he can’t always respond

so, whenever he’s put in that situation, he sulks and goes to his room

which in itself isn’t reeeaally an issue, but communication definitely something he needs to work on in a relationship

anyways, you sneak after him one day, and find him studying english using text books:(

ofc you confront him and you’re like ??? why didn’t you ask me:(( and he’s like :(((((( sry bby

2) the ‘not so cute’ jealous

as mature as i think hyunjin is, he’s not always open to talking about what bothers him

this would often lead to petty arguments, empty but hurtful words, or just radio silence.

often the members would try and help, but controlling his jealousy when he sees you with someone else, or doing something, whatever it may be, is something he should fix

and he’s well aware of it.

this wouldn’t be a problem too too often

but once it’s there, it’s there

once you reassure him over and over and over again, and he realizes it’s really his insecurities that fuel this arguments, he’d better himself

getting there takes a while though

affection .｡.:*☆

as for affection..:

i think it’s goes one of two ways

either his s/o is also a ‘tsundere’, or they’re super affectionate

if they’re the former, he’d would 100% get along with them

they’d get the feeling of not wanting to be touched 24/7 but not minding it from time to time

though if they’re equally as prideful as his is, you’ll need to compromise on who asks first

overall though 10/10 would love someone similar to him

if they’re suuuper affectionate… they’ll need to tread on eggshells for a while

not because he doesn’t love them, but just because he’s someone who doesn’t feel the need to be touchy all the time

when he’s in that mood, he’s 1000000% going at it, kisses hugs everything

but when he’s not, he needs space (back it up bestie)

again, you’ll need to compromise

either way, you’ve seen him around felix, he wouldn’t ever leave you touch starved;)

habits / miscellaneous .｡.:*☆

playing w/ your fingers cause they’re pretty

giving you head pats cause he likes telling you you’ve done well without actually having to say it

would give you a promise ring <3

hyunjin would love having you sleep over

it’s here the affection side of him would come out the most

he’d leech on to you, and just mwahmwahmwah in his sleep

also would watch you sleep if he woke up first (…that sounded a lot less weird in my head-)

over all, 10/10 would recommend to a friend;)

#[📁] – nana’s files #skz headcanons #stray kids headcanons #hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin #Hyunjin headcanons #stray kids x reader #bf headcanons #skz x reader #headcanons #kpop headcanons #lee felix #lily #nmixx #fluff #angst #stray kids fluff #stray kids angst

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heliza24 · 11 months

Text

The Radical Act of Quitting (and Wilhelm)

This is a little more personal than my Young Royals metas normally are. It’s really one-half personal essay, one-half show analysis. It’s something of a spiritual successor to my post about radical acceptance and Simon’s arc in season 2. And it’s also about the reasons why I want Wilhelm to renounce the crown by the end of season 3. (I am stating that early, because I know many people disagree. Feel free to engage but please do so with kindness; a lot of this is quite vulnerable for me.)

I’m disabled. Specifically, I have a chronic condition that began in my early twenties, and slowly got worse and worse until I was finally diagnosed at 28. I’m 31 now, and I’ve had to grieve the person I once was many times over. I used to be a dancer, I used to be an adventurous eater, I used to love to travel. My chronic pain and restrictive medical diet have taken those things away from me, piece by piece. But the thing I mainly want to talk about right now is quitting my job. At the time of my diagnosis, I had worked at my job full time for three years. For a few years after my diagnosis, I tried to remain at my job part-time, because I loved it. I worked in the music industry, and I had the best team of coworkers. I had a great work/life balance, I was never stressed about work. I looked forward to each day in the office. When I went to events and had to introduce myself during an ice-breaker, I would usually include a fact about my job. I found a lot of my identity there. All of my work directly supported musicians, which was something I was very proud of.

So I tried very, very hard to hang on to my job. My company gave out these ridiculously heavy plaques for employees who had been at the company for 5 years, and I was determined to get one. But it was really hard. I could no longer type sitting up for more than a few minutes, so I did every day from my lap desk in bed. (This is still where I write all of my fic and meta!) I struggled to talk to customers on the phone while I was in pain. The office was closed because of the pandemic, but I would have had to work from home regardless because I couldn’t handle the commute. Every day was a slog. And my pain and fatigue weren’t getting better. In fact they were continuing to get worse as time went on. Finally, my five-year work anniversary arrived. I made it, but I felt like a runner barely stumbling over the finish line. It was the end of 2021. I talked with my friends and my therapist and my disability benefits lawyer. “I don’t think I can keep working,” I would say. And then I would cry, because the thought of letting go of this last part of my identity, when my illness had already taken so much, was so horrible.

After several months of deliberating and grieving, I quit. My boss begged me to reconsider (God bless him, honestly). Was there anything he could do to better accommodate my needs? Could I work a different schedule to let me sleep more? Could I work freelance on specific projects they really needed me on? I wanted to say yes so badly. But I knew. The longer I held on, the more I fought, the worse my health would become. And the worse my health would become, the more I would struggle with work. The joy I had felt during my first three years in that office had already drained away. I was fighting just to get through each day, and I didn’t want to fight anymore.

I recognize that having the resources and disability benefits to even consider quitting is a huge privilege. There are a lot of disabled and chronically ill folks who struggle through work at great detriment to their health because they can’t afford not to keep working. So I recognize how lucky I was to be able to quit. I am so grateful for that option, even as I mourn all the things I have lost.

In my meta about Simon, I talked about radical acceptance and how it has been my guiding light as a disabled person. Embracing radical acceptance means that I have done my best to accept what I can and cannot do, and what I can and cannot control, without judgment. I accepted that I needed to walk away from my job. But how was I supposed to define myself without it?

Capitalism defines most peoples’ self-identity, whether they realize it or not. We identify with our jobs, or with the “grind” culture, or with the moral goodness associated with working hard. But here I was, without a job. And I had my whole adult life ahead of me. I had to find a way to make a new identity outside of work.

Around this time, I started to gravitate towards stories where characters are faced with similar decisions, even if I didn’t realize it yet. And let me tell you, there aren’t many of them.

@bluedalahorse and I talk about this a lot. In our ultra-franchised world, the point of stories, even those that are supposedly about rebellions, is often to return characters to the status quo, so that the next movie/comic/episode can pick back up where the last one left off. And when there is a significant change in the status quo, it is usually because the characters worked, and pushed, and struggled to achieve that change. It’s very rare to see a story about someone who walked away from something that was harming them. It’s rarer still to find something that deals with the aftermath, as characters work to re-establish themselves.

I’ve found a lot of comfort in true stories of people leaving cults and high demand religions, and of queer people forced to leave their conservative families behind. In all of these cases, people are consciously abandoning a predominant belief system that is harming them, and have to start over as they craft their new sense of identity. (I am also queer, which adds an additional level of connection). Often people in these situations come to rely on their found family, a thing I have also found to be true in my own life.

I quit my job in between seasons 1 and 2 of Young Royals, and I don’t think I realized how many themes connected my experience to Wilhelm’s until I was watching season 2. Wilhelm is the protagonist of Young Royals, and his central dramatic question has always been: will he fulfill his duty as a royal? Or will he quit, and discover who he is beyond the system he was raised in? Simon is a huge part of this decision, obviously, but the question has never been strictly about Simon.

While I have no personal experience with the monarchy, I do know what it’s like to consider walking away from a role that you assumed you would fill for the rest of your life. I know what it’s like to think about quitting your job.

There’s so much pressure on Wilhelm to assume the role of perfect Crown Prince. He’s told constantly—by Kristina, by Jan-Olof, by the court-- that he can’t let his family or his country down by deviating from this role in any way.

This is a pretty common experience for people who are trying to quit something. They are told that they will let down those around them if they leave. People who are leaving high demand religions are told that they will not be able to enter heaven. Queer people in conservative families are told they can’t come out because “it would break [elderly relative]’s heart and kill them.” When I quit my job, I thought a lot about how I’d be letting down my coworkers and everyone who knew me as a hyper-competent career-driven person.(This included some of my doctors by the way, who expressed their disappointment in my failure to adhere to their idea of a “worthy” disabled person, i.e. someone who soldiered through the pain and continued to work. Some withdrew care because of this and honestly I will never forgive them). And maybe I was letting people down, and maybe ex-Mormons really will spend the afterlife in outer darkness, and maybe all the grandmas of queer people will be so upset that they kick the bucket when their grandkids come out. But ultimately, if your happiness or safety or well being depends on leaving, it doesn’t really matter. You have to do it anyway. You have to abandon the things that you can no longer carry. You have to discover who you are on the other side of religion, of the closet, of capitalism.

I think about this every time people in the fandom talk about how Wilhelm leaving the line of succession will create a constitutional crisis, or impact all of Sweden negatively. I am personally pretty anti-monarchist, but I honestly can’t even tell you if I think that Wilhelm removing himself from the line of succession would bring about the end of the Swedish monarchy or not. Honestly, I don’t really care. I care about Wilhelm. I want him to seek happiness, to search for the future that must live on the other side of this oppressive system he finds himself in. A constitutional crisis? That’s Kristina’s problem, that’s Jan-Olof’s problem, that’s the government’s problem. Radical acceptance means focusing on the things you can control, and Wilhelm can only control his own happiness.

When this issue gets debated, I often see people argue that Wilhelm is too young to make the decision to give up the throne. But the reality is that we ask teenagers to make decisions about their futures all the time. @bluedalahorse wrote a great piece of meta about that here. I love what she said so much I’m going to quote it directly:

Nonetheless, we ask teenagers of Sara and Wilhelm’s ages to think about decisions that affect their future all the time. We ask them to consider what career they’ll pursue or what university to attend. Teenagers who grow up in various denominations of Christianity consider whether they’re going to go through with Confirmation or sometimes Baptism. Other religions (ones where I can’t speak from as much personal experience) have various other rites of passage around this age, and various cultures have coming of age rituals. For some teens, they do these things willingly and with their whole heart, whereas for others, they do it to please their parents or families or for the social norms of it all.

And if Wilhelm is too young to decide to give up the throne, how can he be old enough to decide to keep it? Surely the decision to take on the governance of a country, even in a symbolic way, requires as much, if not more, maturity than the decision to pursue a less high-powered career elsewhere.

When people in the fandom claim that Wilhelm is too young to make this decision, I hear Kristina telling Wilhelm to wait until he’s 18 to come out, because only then will he be responsible enough to deal with the consequences. That’s a delaying tactic, and nothing more. People who don’t want you to leave will ask you to delay your decision over and over again, because they think that if they can kick the can down the road just a little farther, they’ll never have to lose you.

I also see people argue that Wilhelm isn’t qualified to make a decision because he doesn’t know enough about the “real world” to know what he is choosing. To be honest I don’t think most teenagers know much about the “real world”. I definitely didn’t. But we ask them to make decisions that will affect their futures anyway. And here’s another way to look at this: Wilhelm has plenty of places he can look to for examples of how “ordinary” people live. He can find out what it’s like to be from a noble but non-royal family from the students at Hillerska. He can talk to Simon and Linda about what their lives are like. He can read the millions of books, or watch the thousands of movies and TV shows that feature non-royal protagonists and were created by non-royal artists. But only Wilhelm knows what it is like to be Crown Prince. No one else has had that experience. So I would argue that actually, Wilhelm is the only one qualified to make this call.

Ultimately, the agency and mental capacity of people who are quitting is often doubted, usually by the people who have the most to gain by keeping them in place.

So many people have so much invested in maintaining the status quo. And as soon as you invest in a system, someone daring to leave puts your world view into question. Why are you dealing with so many oppressive rules if someone else can just leave? We see this a lot with high demand religions and cults; if someone threatens to break free, the members often join ranks and work together to pressure them to stay. What has your sacrifice as a woman in a patriarchal religion meant, for example, if another woman can decide to simply walk away? Does Kristina’s grim life of duty and sacrifice matter, if Wilhelm can just opt out and seek happiness instead?

Then of course, there are all the benefits that an oppressive system confers on its most privileged members. Those benefits are in danger of disappearing if enough people quit, so high ranking people will work to keep others in line. Think about all the people who benefit from the monarchy: all the staff who work for the royal family, all the nobles who get their reputation by proximity to the monarch, and everyone in Sweden who in general benefits from the image that a long-standing institution of white, straight, conservative power projects.

And those aren’t people Wilhelm needs to be responsible for (or should be concerned with placating, to be honest). If the monarchy fails because Wilhelm leaves, it’s because there’s always been a fault in the system. Those relying on this outdated system have signed their own fate.

No one knows fully what life will be like after they quit. That’s the radical acceptance part of quitting. You have to make a blind leap, and discover a whole new world once you land. Wilhelm is no more sheltered than anyone before they take this leap. Everyone who quits—a religion, a cult, a job—has to go through this process of rediscovery. You have to learn by doing. People do that successfully all the time, and I believe that Wilhelm can too.

When I was talking about this meta with @bluedalahorse, we talked a lot about Plato’s allegory of the cave. That story goes something like this:

Several prisoners have been kept inside a cave their entire life. They are chained to the spot, and cannot move. They are facing the back wall of the cave. Behind them is a fire, and in between them and the fire, their captors walk back and forth, casting shadows on the wall. Because the prisoners have been kept in the cave their entire life and have only ever seen shadows, they think the shadows are real. They think the only thing that exists in the world is shadows. Until one day, one of the prisoners is set free. He goes outside for the first time, where he is blinded by the sun and overwhelmed by stimulus. But he discovers the real world. He now knows that the shadows he was used to are pale imitations of the real things. He’s so excited that he goes back to tell his fellow prisoners what he has learned. But the prisoners get angry at him for challenging their world view. They don’t believe him, no matter what he says.

There are a lot of ways you can interpret this story. Some people think that Plato is talking about the role of philosophers in society. Some people use it to explain a philosophical concept he writes about elsewhere called “forms”. But I think one thing is clear. Plato didn’t write the allegory of the cave (and it didn’t stick around in human imagination for thousands of years) because he thought you should stay in the cave. Leaving the cave is hard. You will be met with resistance. But discovering the real world, when you were only seeing shadows before, is worth it.

I want Wilhelm to leave to be happy, to see the real world instead of shadows. But I also believe it’s what the story demands. It’s the only answer that makes asking the dramatic question—should Wilhelm conform or rebel?—worthwhile to me.

To be king, but to be the first gay king, would be such an unsatisfactory ending for me. It reminds me of how hard I tried to keep my job—by working from bed, by reducing my hours. My boss could do the best he could to be accommodating, but ultimately working was harming me. You can’t adapt the monarchy enough to make it a non-damaging space for Wilhelm, because there will always be people pressuring him to conform to its straight, stoic ideals. Those ideals have been around for hundreds of years, and to put all of the burden of reforming them on Wilhelm is unfair and unrealistic. If he does stay, I see him struggling to change a system that is not designed for him. Even if he does make small victories for representation or inclusion in that context, it will come at an enormous emotional cost. I just don’t think it’s worth it. Not when there’s a whole world where Wilhelm could be doing good, important work– in whatever arena he chooses– that won’t also come along with inherent emotional trauma.

Believe me, there’s a whole world to be discovered after you walk away from something that’s damaging you. You grieve, yes, but you also grow. Since quitting I’ve been able to love my friends harder, to treat myself better, to give back to the disabled community. I think if you talk to most people who have committed a similar act of radical quitting they’ll say the same thing. I want this future for Wilhelm, but I also want this kind of story to exist for all of us. I want there to be a story that represents those of us who have had to make these kinds of decisions. I want there to be a story that can encourage people who are currently wrestling with their desire to leave and the pressure to stay. And I want there to be a story that shows the hope, the bravery, and the self-belief that is required to walk away and seek a brighter future.

#young royals #prince wilhelm #wilhelm young royals #my meta #my crip media reviews #this turned out to be very long thank you if you read it all

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lilly-chou-chou · 9 months

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Barbie: An essay. Accepting Hyperfeminity

A Film Beyond Feminism

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧

Yesterday I had the biggest privilege to watch Barbie and it really got me thinking that I do indeed have a lot of things to say about it. This purely how I feel and all of my emotions that I am pouring into the screen, some may agree some may not and that is okay.

Phase one : Feminism, Love & War

The theme of the film is indeed feminism but what a lot of people are not talking enough about or overlooking is the fact what a huge impact being girly had been over the years, since the 90's to 2000's the whole plot of girly being associated with being a bimbo really made a lot of women hate or look down upon being a girly girl. To this day even after the release of the film I do feel sorry to say but there are still a lot of people especially women who feel uncomfortable to be girly, they are afraid of being judged for being not smart enough or not being able to be taken seriously.

This whole hate has extended even towards disney princessess. So many parenting books, videos and even women themselves hating on disney princess just because a man saved them when as a matter of fact disney characters go way beyond man saviour. Cinderella just wanted to go to ball and enjoy, despite being in an abusive household she still loved and appreciated people around her she didn't let bad things influence her, if someone says this is toxic positivity then I have to disagree because she genuinely didn't seem delusional. She was smart, witty, cracked jokes, used sarcasm and found peace in talking to animals. This to me at least is mentally strong not toxic positivity. Ariel just wanted to see the human world but she just happened to fall in love along the way, Belle loved the beast because she taught him how to be free from his own demons, she saw, she taught, she gave him the warmth and love he was lacking.

Other thing is people always look down upon love, my question is why shouldn't there be love? One can be independent and yet still be in love. One can dream and still be in love. People these days are so heartbroken and bitter they have shut themselves off of the whole love scene but might I say that love is more than just romantic feelings, love can be between parents and a kid, love can be between you and your dreams/passion/goals, love can be between you and your pet, love can be between you and the stuffed animal toy you have had since you were a baby, love can even be with knowing when you come home everything is same as it was and it can even be when it comes to changes.

I do believe and hope that after the impact of this film people especially women aren't afraid to be girly because a woman who is girly, love shopping, getting nails done, lives for colour pink, does makeup is just as much of a feminist as a woman who opposes the girly girl spectrum.

Phase two: I Kennot even

Ken was one of the most well written second lead character, I cannot stress on this enough. How I see the film is that in the beginning Barbie land was actually never really equal per say because the playout of it was so co dependent, yes, I understand that was the intention but I would love to dive deeper. Barbie land is the opposite of real world so just like in the real world the power disbalance was so real. I was really reminded of those days when all men did was work and women weren't allowed to do anything so they just longed for their husbands ro return from work. They dresses up for them, made plans for them and practically lived for them. I loved this scene so much because it really showed that Greta knows about feminism because indeed feminism means women and men are equal and either disbalance can really cause a huge harm and we saw that when kens were constantly fighting for all barbie's approvals and lived life through their partners.

When ken went to real world, he was exposed to patriarchy and for once when he saw men being valued he ran with it, the whole reason he even did patriarchy to Barbie land was just to get Barbie's attention when he said "it doesn't feel nice does it" and "when I came to know patriarchy wasn't about horses I instantly lost all interest" shows that he did all of that just so Barbie notices him.

In a way, well like my opinion I see both Barbie and Ken as victims.

Barbie has been shammed by extremist over the years because people think Barbie has unreleastic body but no one see the fact that barbies were created to give girls hope, Barbie has all the careers and can be huge inspiration to little girls everywhere that a girl can be beauty and brains. Barbie was never about making little girls feel bad they were meant to see as "bad" all because of extremists.

Ken was indeed just created to be Barbie's boyfriend and indeed lives up to the name "just Ken" but this film really made us feel his importance too! Towards the end when kens finally have a job assigned by president they have somewhere to start and have their own identity. They will be more than just kens and partners.

Phase three: Conclusion

Both of them had their own journey of self discovery, both of them also had break downs, gave up and kens made bad decisions but they didn't know any better but along the way they really grew up and mentally became mature.

Greta really knows what she did and really captured the prefect ambiance of what needs to be showed. She really gave both characters such depth and love, she really is very talented and I love her for making a film that goes beyond feminism, it is much more than women empowerment. This film not only showed us strong woman power but also showed that patriarchy is taught never learned, people don't know any better, power of influence and accepting women for wanting traditional life as well as accepting who opposes.

I will forever be in favour for this brilliant film. Much love to Greta, cast and behind the scenes cast and of course the colour pink.

#barbie #barbie movie #margot robbie #ryan gosling #ken #greta gerwig #cinephile #sanrio #kpop #jpop #film recommendations #film #movies #cinema #feminist #feminism #disney #Cinderella #ariel #belle

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underfaller · 9 months

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Chapter 8: η

Pairing: dottore x angel!reader

Summary: You are a Heavenly Messenger from Celestia that’s been captured by a mysterious Doctor

CW: cockwarming

Word count: 3.9k

A/N: Update came early. Still getting used to new posting schedule.

You’re back in the main lab. It’s honestly a bit of a relief;you were starting to go stir crazy stuck in that bed for so long. You feel better now-- much more than last week. Dottore notes that your wings are healing properly. You can tell. You no longer wince in pain when you move. Plus, you’re no longer ridden with that awful fever that made it difficult to even think. Yes, things are back to normal.

Well, close to normal.

You began teaching Dottore the language of Khaenri'ah almost immediately, just as promised. It is more difficult than you initially thought. Knowing something is one thing, but conceptualizing it and teaching it to someone-- especially when that someone is like the Doctor-- is insanely stressful and a bit tedious. Still, you try your best. It was all you could do with such limited teaching skills and resources. The Doctor insists you give him a lesson every night, no matter how busy you two are. Dottore is surprisingly eager to learn. Such resolve makes him slightly more open to your lessons-- a relief considering how unbearably arrogant and stubborn the man usually is.

When you aren’t pulling your hair out trying to teach your enemy a dead language or cleaning the ever messy lab (When you first returned, it was absolutely filthy as if he’d waited for you to do all his cleaning. That bastard.), you were translating the journal.

The journal. Despite your self loathing, you know you are quite intelligent. You are certainly well read considering how you spent all those years alone in Celestia’s libraries. So even if it takes you a bit, you understand what you’re inscribing. With that, the more you translate, the more uneasy you become. These ancient pages are stained with blasphemy. To create life is a privilege solely bestowed upon the gods, yet here you are, the secrets of such powers on the table in front of you. A mere mortal knowing such information is irresponsible at best and catastrophic at worst. The author of this journal certainly knew that. Their delight in such a revelation is apparent in between passages and intricate diagrams. Whoever this Rhinedottir was… they were certainly a threat to the gods. Perhaps even Celestia itself.

Though you can’t help but notice such similar personalities between this mysterious author and the Doctor you now served.

Even with your apprehension, you translate the old book dutifully. You know that giving such knowledge to Dottore is unwise, but you still do your job. You shift in your seat, feeling the bandages in your feathers press against your wings.

Yes, a little bit of blasphemy was better than a whole lot of pain.

But there is something else. Perhaps you did not want to admit it, but you can not help but feel a bit curious about the words you read. You are a bit ashamed that such forbidden knowledge is even a bit tantalizing to you, but you’ve always been interested in mortals. Even now, after such horrific experiences with one, you can’t help but still have a morbid desire to learn more about this mortal realm.

And to be able to create a mortal being… Well, it was difficult to not be a little interested.

“Khaenri'ah was absolutely magnificent. Such a shame such scientific geniuses were struck down by Celestia.”

Dottore is standing over you, no doubt reading your latest translations over your shoulder. He did so often. The Doctor doesn’t even hide his eagerness to read whatever you copy. You glance at his surprisingly clean gloves. You are fortunate. Usually, Dottore’s experiments are much more visceral; however, today, it seems you will not have to clean the back of your chair that he grips of bloodstains. You raise an eyebrow, looking at Dottore.

“That is not what I read,” You say, doubtfully. “Under my impression, Khaenri'ah destroyed itself with forbidden knowledge. The gods had nothing to do with its destruction.”

Dottore tilts his head, interested. “And where did you get that information?”

“In Celestia. It is mentioned in their history books.”

“Is that so?” Dottore contemplates. His tone is genuinely curious, but a mocking smile twitches on his lips. “That is quite ludicrous. You cannot believe everything you read. Especially when it is so obviously disinformation.”

You furrow your brows, setting your pen down. You swivel in your chair, facing him.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, long ago, an entire kingdom vanished into nothingness,” Dottore waves his hand, gesticulating as he explains to you. “Their technology, their history, everything they had built over centuries… Poof! Wiped away by Celestia. An entire country cursed by the gods. Their only fault was that they didn't receive divine approval. Not only did they create the most advanced tech of their time, they did so without the frivolous gods' help. It's no surprise that such a civilization succeeds even the most advanced modern cities of Teyvat. People nowadays are much too fearful to innovate.”

You are silent. This is not the history you knew. You were taught that Khaenri'ah was a lowly country, one that did not warrant such accolations. However, they’d foolishly tapped into forbidden knowledge, corrupting themselves and threatening to spread such a disease to the neighboring countries of Teyvat. It was only then that Celestia had no choice but to destroy Khaenri'ah. This is the cautionary tale that you learned when you were young. This is what you’ve trusted to be correct.

So why is the Doctor’s version of events so different?

Dottore smirks at you. Your confusion and inner turmoil is apparent on your face. He continues.

“Therefore, you are very incorrect, darling. It wasn’t knowledge that killed Khaenri'ah but the arrogance of the gods. The same ones that made you.”

You hang your head, deep in thought as you ponder this news but you soon raise your chin again, judging the Doctor with skepticism as you cross your arms.

“But why should I believe you? You are certainly not an honest man. For all I know, you could simply be making all this up.”

That is always a possibility. This Doctor is a liar.

Dottore scoffs, shaking his head.

“You’re right. However, being part of the Fatui is proof in itself. After all, Khaenri'ah’s destruction was the catalyst for the creation of the Fatui.” He states. “Plus, I have no reason to lie to you.”

Dottore grins darkly as he adds.

“Your gods, on the other hand, they have quite the motivation to. It’s no surprise they would teach such blatant propaganda. If their dear messengers knew the truth of their beloved deities, they would most certainly cut ties with such tyrants.”

You accepted Celestia’s version of history because that was your only truth. Now it is being disputed and you did not know who to believe. Your head pounds as you take in this new information. Despite your initial doubt, you are more inclined to trust Dottore’s version. When you think back to your past readings, you realize there were quite a few gaping holes, as if what was written were half-baked lies.

“Wouldn’t you have gone against Celestia sooner if you knew how much they hid from you?” Dottore prods.

“I…” You say, looking uneasy. “I don’t know.”

Would I have? If I knew the extent of their lies would I have forsaken my creators so easily? What about my comrades?

What about Rider?

Dottore shrugs.

“I suppose there is no use pondering over such hypotheticals,” Dottore says before pointing to the text you are translating. “Also you mistranslated this part. It says that serum must be injected into the vessel’s iris, not pupil.”

You twirl back around, reading where his finger rests before giving Dottore an incredulous look.

“That is… incorrect, Doctor. The character for ‘pupil’ is this,” You delicately write it on the edge of the paper. “I explained before that many words have characters for them instead of being spelled out and a lot are extremely similar to one another. This is one of them.”

Dottore is silent before a scowling. “Well I wouldn’t know that if I wasn’t taught that particular character, would I?”

“Actually I did teach that,” You narrow your eyes, unamused by his accusatory tone. “You were very adamant about learning the characters and spellings of body and medical terminology right off the bat. I even wrote them out for you for future reference and studying.”

Dottore shrugs once more, trying to play off his error with nonchalance. You can tell, however, that he was a bit annoyed. He didn’t like being wrong.

“Hmph, if I did make such a simple mistake, then you are a dismal teacher.”

You take offense to that.

“Actually, it is you who is an awful student. Always acting as if you know everything when you know nothing!” You snap, rubbing your temples. “Simple mistake? Perhaps this language is simply too difficult for you.”

Dottore stiffens. A stark silence fills the lab and you instantly realize your very, very poor choice of words. You immediately try to backpedal.

“I apo-”

Dottore doesn’t even give you a chance to finish your apology, scooping you up in swift motion.

“Hey! What are you-”

“Quiet.”

Dottore carries you to his own desk, your translated journal in hand. Wordlessly, he throws the book onto the wooden surface and places you on the ground. You stand with your back towards him. Dottore sits on the office chair. Your breathing quicklens as you hear him unbuckling his belt.

At first, you’re nervous the Doctor is going to fuck you right there in the lab as a punishment, but he doesn’t. Dottore slips your panties from under your dress. The thin piece of clothing is abandoned on the cold floor as he lifts you up once more. You make a small noise of protest which he ignores. Instead, Dottore rests you on his exposed lap. As your cunt envelopes his half hard cock, you give a surprised squeak at the sudden penetration. It does not hurt, but sitting like this, your legs wrapped around the Doctor’s waist, bent over the arms of the chair was nothing short of uncomfortable. As he presses your chest against his, you can’t help but feel the blood rush to your cheeks.

“Doctor, what are you doing?” You look up at him quizzically, but he instantly pushes your head down, back against his chest. He picks up the journal while shuffling through some papers on his desk. You realize they are the notes you wrote for him to study.

“I’m studying since I am such an awful student.”

“You know I am not talking about that! I meant this,” You wiggle your legs, struggling futilely to escape.

“I’m punishing you.”

“For what?” You shoot, glaring back at him.

Dottore looks down at you, his mask’s sharp beak almost poking your face because of your proximity.

“Because you simply cannot shut your mouth. I am simply reminding you of your place-”

“My place?” You interrupt, anger lining your words.

“Yes. I will not tolerate such insolence from my own assistant.” Dottore states. That obnoxious smirk is still etched on his face. Despite his obvious displeasure, he is calm. He knows he’s in control, after all. “Don’t worry. I’ll let you go as soon as I’m finished studying. If you’re as good a teacher as you believe, then it won’t take me long to understand this, hm?”

You can feel your face flush bright red now.

“Augh! You…! You are-”

“Careful darling. Your words only seem to get you into more trouble,” Dottore warns. “Now, shush. You’re distracting me.”

You have no choice but to sit there, stewing in your indignation. You can feel his cock hardening in you. You clench your teeth, realizing this sadist is getting off to your discomfort and anger.

That pervert.

Though you were initially relieved that he would not be fucking you over his own desk, you soon realize this is much more tortuous than sex. As your cunt hugs his member, your juices slowly slick the walls as you become more aroused. The experience is much more pleasurable for you than you cared to admit. You can feel every throb and twitch as it reverberates throughout your hole. However, the lack of movement leaves you feeling frustrated as your nether regions yearn for him to thrust in and out of you.

You blush once again realizing how turned on this was making you.

How shameful. How am I being aroused by something this debauched?

You once again regret another outburst towards Dottore. You simply couldn’t help it. The man is insufferable. He knows how to get on your nerves and purposely did so.

You have to wonder if he does so simply to have an excuse to punish you like this.

You try to distract yourself. Your mind drifts back to the topic of Khaenri'ah. You wonder what else in the recesses of your mind is incorrect. If the Doctor was truly correct, then it is certainly a slap in the face to be so brazenly lied to. You once again feel a twinge of bitterness towards the divine. You always prided yourself in being well informed. Now, you aren’t even sure you can say that.

It’s then that you, against your better judgment, open your mouth again to speak. Though, this time, no insults are hurled.

“I would like to make a deal with you, Doctor.”

Dottore lets out a small laugh.

“You are hardly in a position for such things, my little birdie.”

“Perhaps. But will you at least hear me out?”

“Hmm… I suppose.”

His cock twitches in you, sending a shiver up your spine. You whine softly against the crook of his neck, shifting yourself to perhaps gain a little bit of friction. Dottore instantly grabs a hold of your waist, keeping you firmly in place.

“Oh no you don’t,” Dottore chuckles.

You take a shaky breath.

“I would like you to teach me in return for my own tutorings.”

Dottore looks down at you. A curious smile plays on his lips as he sets down the journal.

“Interesting. That is quite a different request than I thought you’d have. And what could you possibly want to learn about?”

You clench your hands around Dottore’s shoulders, trying not to let out a pathetic mewl as he leans back, the motion causing his cock to press further into you.

Focus. Stop thinking of such things and focus.

“Everything. Everything about this mortal realm.”

Dottore laughs, tilting his head once more.

“My darling, are you perhaps more curious about my work than you let on?”

“No… it’s not that. I despise what you do and your… methods of discovery. But after what you told me of Khaenri'ah, I probably know less about this world than I think. I want to know the truth of things, that is all.”

He clicks his tongue.

“Come now, dear. You must admit that my methods are much more effective than others-- especially in regards to your goal of verity,” Dottore muses. “You couldn’t handle the truth anyways. Someone with as faint of heart as yours would simply shatter.”

Is that what he believes? That I am too weak for knowledge? That I’m only good for cleaning his messes and being used like a toy? Does he only see me as a fool?

But I am a fool. A gullible fool, at that.

But I do not want to be an ignorant one.

You clench your fists.

“Then so be it. However, I will not continue to parrot Celestia’s lies. I want to know the truth of this world. No matter the cost.”

Dottore is a bit taken aback by your conviction, so much so that he lifts you up and sets you back down upon the floor. You feel your heart sink to your aching cunt as you bite back another noise of protest-- this time because you wanted to stay on his lap. You don’t dare say anything, instead straightening your dress as you stand. Your legs are a bit shaky from sitting in such an awkward position.

Dottore gives you a toothy grin.

“Really? Heh, heh. I suppose I can take you up on such a deal then.”

He continues.

“You’ve actually amused me, little birdie. I’ll end your punishment early because of it,” Dottore returns back to the papers on his desk. “You’re dismissed. Get some rest. Tomorrow, I will explain more ‘truths’ to you.”

“Wait, you’re not going to…” You ask, slightly confused. You were under the impression that he would fuck you after such foreplay. You could feel an almost unbearable knot in your lower stomach as your body yearned for a release.

Dottore glances at you, smirking.

“To what, my dear birdie?”

That son of a bitch.

This is the actual punishment.

You huff, shaking your head.

“Nothing,” You mutter. You put your panties back on with a defeated sigh. You see the corners of his mouth twitch. He knows he’s triumphant this time… as usual.

As you walk to your room, you feel a bit uneasy about your deal with the Doctor.

Did I make the correct choice?

After all, wasn’t it curiosity that killed the cat?

But you cannot die. So you might as well live with the truth.

You are awoken by loud footsteps outside your door. As you sleepily rub your eyes and sit up a bit, you make out fragments of a conversation.

“My matters are mine alone. You should learn not to stick your wings in other’s business,” The Doctor chides.

“My Dear Second,” An unfamiliar, yet serene voice says. “It is my business considering who is beyond that door.”

“Do not-”

The door swings open, revealing a stranger and a rather irate Dottore. He lets out an exasperated groan, shaking his head.

The stranger pays him no mind, instead focusing wholly on you.

“So it is true. You are one of the ten,” Her voice is a lovely dulcet. “Hello darling.”

The woman wears a large cloak over a simple white dress. Her eyes are covered by a criss cross satin bow that matches her dress. Out of her pinkish streaked hair peeks tiny, snowy wings. She gazes at you through her makeshift mask, a small smile growing on her lips as she takes you in.

She approaches you. Her movements are graceful, yet succinct. As you gaze into her purple eyes, you notice they are dotted with golden specks as if the entire night sky is encapsulated in those irises. Your eyes widen as your heart skips a beat. Your memory is fuzzy, but you know this woman from over a hundred years ago.

After all, she was there when you were created.

“You…you are the first Messenger.”

The winged woman giggles.

“I am surprised you remember me, especially in this form, but that title died with my former name. You may now call me Columbina. The Damslette. The Third Harbinger.”

She is like the Doctor.

How could a messenger join the ranks of the Fatui and become a Harbinger no less? You do not remember much of the first Messenger. You were much too young. You only know that she left fairly quickly after your creation with the Second and was not seen again.

You have so many questions but as you open your mouth, she presses a single finger over your lips, shushing you instantly. Columbina turns towards Dottore.

“Tell me, what will Pierro say when he learns you’ve decided to keep one of our enemies as a pet?”

Dottore crosses his arms.

“Go ahead and tell him. It cannot be worse than letting one join our highest ranks,” Dottore looks pointedly at the Damslette. She laughs aloud. It is the exact opposite of the Doctor’s laugh, resonating in your ears like a string of silver bells dangling in the wind.

“Touché. Though I thought he specifically said for you to get rid of it.”

Dottore scoffs. It is clear that he dislikes Columbina. However, he seems to respect her enough to hold a conversation with her.

“The Jester merely said to intercept Celestia’s message. That was the Tsaritsa’s orders-- and that is what I did.”

Columbina’s wings flutter slightly. She responds in a lofty voice.

“Hmph. I suppose that is one way of comprehending such words. You’ve grown soft, Doctor.”

“Your jokes never seem to improve, Columbina,” Dottore responds. “Besides, you of all individuals should know that someone like her cannot be killed.”

Columbina’s smile widens. “I suppose that is correct for a mere mortal like yourself, but she knows that she can , in fact, perish.”

Columbina turns towards you. You tilt your head, confused as your mind races. What did she mean that you can perish? For all you know, you are doomed to walk this mortal realm for eternity. That is the curse of immortality. That is the curse of being one from Celestia.

She quickly realizes your cluelessness and looks at you with sympathy.

“My, my. You really don’t know? Celestia must have learned to not give secrets to its little pawns so easily, then,” Columbina giggles as she twirls her hair.

Another lie from Celestia?

“Well, little one, I will explain to you what your creators did not. We as beings of the immortal realm are infallible to death by all means except one…And that one is by the hands of another being of Celestia.”

Columbina leans closer, her eyes boring into the very recesses of your soul.

“And do you know what that means?”

You continue to gaze at her, but quickly look away. Her eyes are much too intense, it’s unnerving. You shake your head.

“It means,” Columbina whispers in your ear. “That I am a threat to you. And you to me.”

You flinch, moving away from the former messenger. Her smile seems much less friendly as she utters these words. It’s then that you notice the small dagger sheathed at her waist. It is almost identical to the one you departed Celestia with. The same one you fought Dottore with that first, fateful meeting in the snow. The only difference is the handle, which is a soft white instead of gray. Your eyes move from the weapon back to Columbina.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to kill me, then?” You ask, shakily.

Did you want to die that badly?

You cannot answer that.

Columbina is shocked at your bluntness. However, that shock is quickly hidden by another melodic laugh. She pats your head, ruffling your hair a bit.

“It would. But I’d prefer not to get my hands dirty.”

Columbina smiles once more.

“So we should be friends, no?”

With that, the Damslette gets up, whirling on her heels as she walks away. The Doctor is standing beside the open door, eager for the Harbinger to leave. However, before she does, you ask the one question that weighs heavily on your chest.

“Were you also abandoned by Celestia?”

Columbina turns around, pursuing her lips as she ponders such a ridiculous question.

“Abandoned? They wouldn’t dream of abandoning me,” Columbina states, her purple eyes twinkling. “No, I cut ties with Celestia on my own accord. After all, you’d be a fool not to.”

The two leave. You sit in bed alone in the dark. You grip your bedsheets, inhaling deeply.

I made the correct choice. Past chapters here

#dottore #genshin fanfic #dottore x fem!reader #genshin impact #dead dove do not eat #cross posted on ao3 #ao3 update #fic: dead doves do not mourn

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wishful-seeker · 6 months

Text

I will soon be the only person in my close family to not finish college because illness forced me to leave, and thats a strange feeling. Im not sure how i feel about it.

I feel a little alienated because of it, but even though i LOVE learning and i enjoyed college classes, i didn't enjoy college itself.

Even in high school i was the "sick kid" and missed a year there, so feeling like i don't belong isn't new.

But i really thought I'd meet people like me in college, but all i found was snobby rich kids that ignored my existence. I genuinely tried making friends but college students are not my type of people.

I don't know if this is because i wore braces on my knees, or because they could tell i was poor, not sure but college kids always gave me bad vibes.

Im sad that the things im truly passionate about isn't taught in college, and i miss the classes i did have, but i don't think a fancy college was ever my scene. Maybe i would've fit better at a community college. But im probably too disabled to ever find out.

Idk i guess it feels strange because i was heavily encouraged to go to college, and now i can't even if i wanted to. Its weird that i could probably guess the view outsiders have of my life, how they'd feel bad for me, or laugh at what I've become.

And i think of that a lot: how outsiders may view my life. "Oh so sad, look how far she's fallen." Ya know

But im happy

I LIKE my life, sure i got all As and Bs in college, sure i won a writing contest in my class, and yes i also completed a triathlon before all this. So many medals saying "look how hard i worked, look what i accomplished" but when i was accomplishing those trival things i was really lost and alone on the inside, those medals were to convince myself i was better than the years before this one, a lie that i was becoming my best self.

But now all that shit is gone, dead, useless to me. Eventually i was left alone, with NO distractions, only my mind and a body i couldn't move in. Only a bed, in a room, no where else to go. Everything i thought that mattered, everything i connected my worth with, suddenly didn't mean anything anymore, because all that was was my chronic pain, and what i did with it. All that mattered now was fighting for a better life, for freedom from a bed, for freedom within my head.

I had to rebuild myself from nothing, i had to literally rewire my brain. I studied neuroplasticity and my only goal was to train my brain to be able to live with this pain. And i had to change a LOT. I can tell you my mind and the internal dialog in my head is completely different from 2 years ago, and also much a much kinder, and safer place.

So no, i won't finish college, im gonna be poor forever, i wont work, but i am much happier.

I finally feel like the best version of myself. The challenges i face in my life are no longer overwhelming, but a cycle ive grown rather fond of. Im so secure with myself that i can say "this next hardship will be good for me." And i don't think many people have the privilege of being that optimistic when faced with stressful situations.

It would have taken me my whole life to get to this point if i was still focusing on things like grades.

Im happy, and im more proud of myself than when i beat a triathlon, or won art contests.

#yes im romanticizing my pain because its how i cope #im not diminishing it #im not trying to be a “good cripple”#im just being honest #cripple punk #CRPS #disability #chronic illness

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csuitebitches · 1 year

Note

Family money/access to wealth seems like the #1 determinant of success.

Yes and no. I’ve seen spoiled brats grow up and suffer because their parents didn’t teach them things properly and they couldn’t handle the family wealth, which either led to the family company being led by professionals or bankrupt. I’ve seen grounded rich kids grow up and expand their family’s empire. It’s all a part of your calibre to have ambition.

A boy worked as a security guard at a prestigious conglomerate. He didn’t speak a word of English, he only spoke his native language. He hailed from a small village in an Asian country, and provided for his family.

However, his boss, the main security head, had a feeling that he was smart. And when a prestigious financial company came knocking on the company’s door for some hiring purpose (my memory fails me exactly why they’d visited the conglomerate), the head security took the opportunity to talk to HR. He asked him if the boy could give the exam that the financial company gave for hiring candidates.

HR thought that the security head had lost his mind.

“Are you insane? He can’t even speak English!” argued the HR.

“Sir, please, if you just give the boy a chance, just to give the exam… I’m sure he’ll do well,” pleaded the security head.

The HR thought for a second.

“Very well,” he decided. “The boy may give the exam. Let’s see if he’s as smart as you say so.”

The exam had two components to it. One was a theoretical test and another, a spoken interview.

The boy aced the theoretical test and was only one of two people from all the candidates to do so. But his lack of English failed him in the spoken interview.

Still, he had impressed the financial company’s panel. They told him that they would hire him, under various conditions - one of them being learning English in a mere four months.

For four months, the boy toiled and toiled, until he grasped English. The company was ready to pay for the English tuition expenses. And in four months, when they were satisfied with his level of fluency, he joined the company.

•

When I was 16, I began working. One of my first internships was at an education firm. A very kindly man mentored me and I learned a lot under him. He was passionate about education, especially educating backward, rural communities and previously had worked in a prestigious financial company. I was surprised to hear that he had left such a big job at the finance company to come and work in education. He said that the stress, burn out and lack of empathy wasn’t worth it. He told me how he would have to fire people in the most unsympathetic way possible - the company would provide him with a script, he would have to recite just that and watch the other person’s face fall. He couldn’t take the pressure that his job had anymore and felt stuck in his life. He wanted to create impact on people.

I learned plenty under him, and he was always ready to take me to business meetings and trips. He didn’t treat me like a child or as a teenager with unbalanced ideas - he would listen to my suggestions as a whole and give me genuinely honest feedback on it. I grew as a person under him.

My father later told me about my mentor’s backstory. You should have seen my face. There isn’t a single thing that gives away that he came from humble origins - his English impeccable, his knowledge vast, the way he dresses and carries himself with confidence - everything screamed “privileged upbringing” to me. I would have never guessed that he came from a challenged background and had to literally work his way up.

My former mentor now does social work. Him and his brother have created a project where they provide rural children who struggle to feed themselves with food.

The more calamities that exist, the more opportunities will come up. To survive in today’s world, you need to be able to solve problems. In an economy where we can see tiny start ups disrupting massive family business legacies, and with so much access to information and the net - if you don’t take advantage of every single thing you have to climb up, then you don’t really want what you truly want.

#q/a #success

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oillydiya · 3 months

Text

Things Between Us | Cillian Murphy x OC

Chapter 4 : Visit the Performance

Summary: Sansa, a 26-year-old graduate student, who unexpectedly encounters a twist of fate when she comes across an actor she never knew before!

A group of five people, who had just met moments ago, left the restaurant and proceeded straight to the apartment of strange the young woman.

“My apartment is not far away. Walk three blocks, and you’re there,” Sansa informed them.

“Okay.”

“May I ask? You seem very close to the owner of that shop,” Stephen inquired.

“Yes. My parents always took me to eat here when I was a child,” Sansa gestured to him to measure her height.

“Ever since your guys passed away, I haven’t been able to do much. I come back to this shop often, so each time I come, Mr. Louis is especially kind to me. Sounds like I have some special privileges like that.” She laughed, half-guilty.

Cillian was shocked by what he heard. He felt sad and wanted to express his condolences to her.

“We are sorry. About your parents,” he turned to express his condolences.

“Thank you. I can come to terms with it now.” The woman’s eyes softened, but her face still wore a smile.

“I heard you say, are you majoring in art?” Finn asked curiously.

“Actually, I studied for two master’s degrees. majoring in psychology, I just finished the course a month ago. And an art major that is about to be graduated.”

“Wow, you’re really great,” Finn praised.

“It’s worth studying hard like this,” Joe added.

“For me, it’s not that heavy. But it’s quite stressful. I think a master’s degree is a lot more relaxed than a bachelor’s degree.”

“Really?! And what did you study before?” Finn asked.

“Ah… don’t think I’m crazy,” the girl said amusedly. If they knew what she had studied, that might make them look at her differently.

“Oh, of course not,” they replied in unison.

“I’m studying for three bachelor’s degrees at the same time,” she revealed.

“Ha!” they shocked.

“First I studied architecture, second I studied history, and last I studied law,” Instantly, she observed the expressions on each person’s face. They all opened their eyes wide, their mouths agape, expressing complete surprise.

Cillian turned his head and looked at the woman for a moment. It’s true that she seems intelligent. But studying for three degrees, and I’m finishing two more. That made him quite surprised. With a beautiful woman who studies a lot like this.

“That’s a lot,” Cillian looked at her in surprise.

“Yes, it is very tiring and heavy. It took me five years to complete the entire course. And damn! I feel like I’m going to hell.” The girl cursed and complained at the end. She turned around and made a crumpled face, showing the four of them how terrible it was at that time.

“You’re really cool. I’ve never met anyone who studied as many classes at once and graduated as quickly as you. How did you do it?” Stephen praised.

“Ah… It’s quite complicated. I think I was lucky to make it through.”

“No, you’re very good,”

Sansa nodded in thanks in response to the compliment. She felt like they were looking at her like she was some kind of freak. The young woman was not at all surprised by their attitude. She just felt nervous about being watched. The reason why she chose to study so many things at once like that? The reason was that she wanted to avoid the pain of losing her parents altogether!

“We’re here. My apartment.”

The woman picked up the key card and opened the door, leading them inside her apartment, or you can call it a penthouse because the entire floor was just her room. Located in the heart of London in the most expensive area here.

The exterior looked simple and elegant in the old English style, undoubtedly expensive. But because the young woman wanted a room according to her imagination and it had to be in the heart of the city, paying over twenty million pounds was no problem for her at all.

Sansa decorated her apartment in loft style with an old English twist. Her room was over 3800 square meters and 20 meters high because it was connected to the roof of the apartment. It was like a small factory hall. The top was wide open with windows allowing light to shine throughout the room from both the top of the building and the side windows, making it look classic and elegant at the same time. The elevator was connected specifically to her room. Walking into the first zone, you would find the kitchen on the right-hand side, a kitchen, dining table, and cocktail bar in the hallway. On the left-hand side, in the same zone, was a dressing room and bathroom. Next to the kitchen was a large living area with English-style bookshelves on the walls, housing more than two thousand books collected by the young woman. It was like a small library. Sansa really liked to read, so she designed it that way.

Inside her apartment were figures, models, and toys from various famous movies, such as Star Wars ships and Narsil’s sword from The Lord of the Rings, including Harry’s Nimbus 2000 broom, arranged in a groove in the middle of the bookshelf. Hanging decorations paired with the TV made her living area outstanding and very eye-catching.

In front of the bookshelf, there was a large sofa on a brightly colored carpet in the style of the Victorian era. Next to the window was a music corner with a large, classic black piano prominently displayed, and four basses placed in front of the piano. On that wall hung a violin and a guitar, with pictures of various memories of her and her family decorating the area.

Next to the bathroom, there was a snooker table. Further into the deep corner, various artwork tables could be found. The girl's bedroom was raised to the second floor, a small room not very large, supported by three pillars. The area of those pillars would be decorated or hung with sports equipment that interested her, such as fencing sets, basketball hoops, and archery targets. As for the hall, the window corner area on the bedroom side, next to the stairs, was a storage area for artworks and a drawing area. The walls in that area were full of her artwork, making it a corner that would fascinate anyone who saw it.

“You may come in.”

“Oh, wow, wow, wow!” someone shouted.

“Your apartment is very beautiful and spacious,” Joe said.

“This is incredible. How did you find such a big and spacious room in this area? And damn, you must be a billionaire,” Stephen said while laughing.

“It’s actually quite rare and cost a lot of money. I had to do quite a lot of renovations. I have to buy the whole floor, break down some walls, and open up the top. I wanted it to be an open, comfortable hall like this.”

"That bookshelf is incredible. This is clearly a library. You must really like reading,” Cillian asked.

“You can call it crazy. I really love reading and researching,” she smiled back at him.

“Did you design it all yourself?” Stephen asked.

“Yes, I designed and supervised all the work myself. Well, I’m a designer, so that’s one more thing I can save on. And got what I wanted the most.”

“This is great,” they said in unison.

“What would you like? Wine? Drinking wine while viewing art will enhance your emotional enjoyment.”

“Alright. It’s wonderful.”

Sansa gestured towards the corner of the staircase where her work was displayed for them to see. It was filled with many of her artworks, but three pieces stood out, making it very interesting to walk and visit in that area.

“That’s three of my works. You guys can go ahead and take a look. I’ll bring the wine for you.”

Cillian and his screenwriter friend stopped in front of the drawings. It was full of beauty, and he could feel that the three pictures gave a completely different mood. It’s subtle and not boring, Cillian thought. Sansa has a very good artistic sense, which he admires.

“Here,” the woman handed each of them a glass of wine. Before stopping and standing between Cillian and Stephen.

“Your work is excellent. There is depth and different feelings in the three pictures,” Cillian praised her.

“You understood correctly. I painted these three pictures in different moods.”

She pointed to the first picture. “I painted this picture when I was feeling sad and nostalgic. On the anniversary of my parents’ passing.”

“This picture was drawn when I was feeling lonely and alone,” the woman told Cillian with a glance. He stared at her in response, as if trying to get into her thoughts.

“As for this picture, I drew it when I was the happiest. After I ate the best fish and chips in England.”

She laughed and told them in a funny way. Cillian and his friends laughed at her words.

“That would be really delicious fish and chips. Because the pictures you paint are really beautiful,” Fin said.

“Yes, that fish and chips. Make me powerful. It was so delicious that I had to draw a picture to express my happiness,” she replied cheerfully.

“Your work is really great. The professor or the people who saw it must have liked it.” Cillian continued to admire her without stopping.

“I hope so. Unfortunately, right now I can’t find a gallery showing them. They’re very rare.”

She replied to him like a hopeless person. Cillian thought about something.

“I think I can help you with this. I have friends who have good galleries. Some in London.”

He offered to help the young woman. I don’t know why he offered to help this strange woman as well. Maybe it was because he wanted to get to know this beautiful woman even more. She was too interesting to him to ignore.

“Really?!.... This is really good. Today I decided to go to Ms. Louis’ shop and meet you guys.” Sansa’s eyes widened and she jumped up and down with joy like a little child.

“Your work deserves to be seen. We are happy to help,” said Stephen. The young woman began to search for business cards. To hand to Cillian. It will be easier for her and him to communicate about the gallery.

“Here, my business card. If you find the gallery, you can call and inform me. I’ll contact you back to the gallery.”

She said, handing him a business card. Cillian took the business card. 'Sansa Elizabeth Arthur,' he muttered her name. He turned and smiled at the girl.

“I’ll contact you back.”

“Thank you very much.”

“But…you guys will stay. Let’s drink the entire bottle of wine first, shall we? Or will we go back?”

She asked the four big boys, while pointing to the large sofa area.

“This wine is very good. If you don’t mind, shall we talk while drinking wine?” Stephen, the eldest man in the group, replied.

#cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy x oc #cillian murphy #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy fanfic

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