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bizbat · 3 months

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your jason todd hcs are sooooo good omg!!! do you have any hcs specifically for when he has a crush on the reader, like how he might act, specifically if the reader is oblivious and really doesn’t think that she’s his type / thinks he’s joking if he says anything flirty?

When They're In Love - Jason Todd (Crush Edition)

🕸️Spiderverse Masterlist🕸️

🐼JJK Masterlist🐼

~ Fem terms + Pet names used for reader.

~ You can find part one of these hcs here, and part two here.

~ You can find more of my works here.

~ These can be read as a sort of part three/prequel kinda.

~Fic at the end.

~ Tw for : Blood, Knives, Needles, Vomit. (All slight)

~Thank you for asking! Hope you enjoy, sorry this took so long :(

You would never know that Jason has a crush on you.

For the most part, he wont talk to you any differently than he will anyone else.

Maybe he won't jokingly insult you, or be super sarcastic around you, but I think that's kind of as far as he'd go.

Unless you're a close friend or family member, you'd probably have no clue he had a crush based on the way he talks to you.

But the little actions and things he does for you are so obvious.

He's the type to hold open doors for you, all the while staring other people dead in the eye as it shuts in their face.

He somehow always just "randomly" has your favorite snack on hand, or a whole collection of books by your favorite author.

I think he'd be touchy, unless he knows you don't like being touched.

If you like or don't mind it, he'd have his arm constantly thrown over your shoulder, always be leaning against you, always resting a hand on your hip.

If you're shorter than him, he does that super annoying thing where he rests his elbow on your head.

He is so lame omg.

But bc he's kinda like this with everyone, no one would fault you for not understanding his hints.

He's like the opposite though.

You said hi to him this morning? You must be in love with him.

You smiled at him today instead of Dick? He's already planning the wedding.

What's that? You said he smells nice? Have his babies. (If you can/want to)

Our delusional king.

He doesn't think you don't get his flirting.

He'd think you're fully aware and are flirting back.

Again, our delusional king.

You probably won't get it until something really serious happens and he comes to you instead of Bruce or Roy.

He'd probably try to get into things you're interested in.

Listens to all your favorite songs, reads your favorite books, etc.

And he's not subtle about it bc he is in fact, a loser.

He'll recommend a song by your favorite artist and then be like "idk why but this just reminded me of you lol"

LOSER. Can you guys tell i'm a big believer in the "jason todd is secretly a massive loser" agenda? Cuz I am. :|

And then he listens when you go on rambles about how great the things you like are and how much they mean to you.

I said he'll do things just to hear you talk about them, and I think he'd do that when he has a crush on you too.

He just loves your voice and likes hearing you talk.

He smiles at you so softly when he thinks you aren't looking.

You could be bumming out and he'll look at you with heart eyes like yeah, future spouse right there.

I don't think he'd be a big user of social media, but if you were, he'd get a whole account just to like and comment of your pictures.

user94820860038466 commented: You look very pretty in this picture.

Comments like an old man bc he has very little understanding of the internet.

He'd probably help you take pictures and fight with other people in your comment section if they're too down bad or creepy.

He doesn't strike me as the jealous type bc once again, he's so delusional he pretty much already thinks you're dating.

Nicknames nicknames nicknames.

Calls you so, so many nicknames.

Angel, doll, sweetheart, maybe even babe.

He constantly talks about you when you aren't there.

Lian and Roy know so much about you before they even meet you.

He'd do anything for you.

The store is actually about a mile in the other direction, but yeah he can get you your favorite drink.

He does not like that food at all and the owner of the store despises him, but he will not return to you empty handed best believe.

He was actually going to wear that hoodie today, but it looks so much better on you you should keep it!

~ Drabble Starts Here. ~

It's just like every other night in Gotham City. It's cold, and wet, and it smells like smoke and garbage that's been left out in the sun.

The only barrier between you and the chilled, musty air outside is a single sheet of glass; the fire escape window of your fifth floor apartment. It's comforting. The glass is, of course, bulletproof, and the seal around the sill is tight, so no gases ever manage seep in. It pays to have a decent landlord, especially in Gotham.

It's funny, but you really never think about that window. You mostly keep it shut and locked, except in the summer, when you can smell your neighbor in the building next door cooking all types of delicious aromatic dishes, or when it's just too hot and you decide the risk of heatstroke is greater than the risk of airborne psychosis. It never occurs to you just how well it keeps you safe, just how well it keeps things out.

It occurs to Jason, though. In fact, it's the only thing on his mind as he's gripping his side, frantically trying to prevent too much blood from seeping out of his body.

He'll probably chastise himself later for not being more gentle or respectful, but he's lost too much blood to be thinking straight. With his free hand, he bangs on your window, praying that you're A) at home, and B) not listening to music. He's not too worried about the first one, he knows you never leave your lights on when you're away, but the second one, he's not too sure about.

He bangs, and bangs, and bangs on the glass, a loud, thunk thunk thunk thunk thunk that immediately rouses your from your sleep. You jump up from your spot on the couch, an open book falling from your lap as you dart into your room to grab the knife Jay gave you for protection, before returning to your living room, keeping your back to the wall.

You hold the blade in front of you, nervously gripping the hilt as you listen to the banging, making sure to stay just out of sight as you cautiously creep closer and closer to the noise. It isn't until the banging dies down that you finally get close enough to see the cause.

You gasp at the sight, dropping the knife and trying to tug the window open, before mentally yelling at yourself to unlock it. You drag the weakened behemoth of a man into your apartment, carefully placing his upper body on the floor in front of your window and removing his helmet. Your hand moves to his side, firmly pressing down on his wound, as you stare at him, mouth agape and eyes flooding with concern.

He laughs, a dry chuckle that just sounds like it hurts. "What took ya' doll?" You wanna smack him, but you can do that when he's not bleeding all over your hardwood floors. You tell him to wait, as if he could go anywhere in the state he's in, before rushing to grab the emergency kit he forced you to keep.

"Let-ngh- let me do it." He groans as he attempts to sit up, trying and failing to pull the tweezers from your hand. He doesn't even have the strength to sit back up when you gently push him back down. You clean his wound, all while he holds back winces and groans. You don't hold back, focusing on cutting and cleaning and stitching and wrapping, berating Jason for coming to you of all people.

"What d'ya mean? Of course I'd come to you?" Jason manages between harsh breaths. "Who else would I go to?" He seems genuinely confused, you're his girlfriend, you always come to him when you need help. Why wouldn't he come to you?

"Oh, I don't know, Jason, maybe Bruce, or Roy, or literally anyone else with training to handle this kind of thing!?" It comes out mean, but through his pain he can tell it's coming from a place of true care. You're worried. One of the strongest, most skilled people you know is bleeding out on your floor and you're panicking. Of course you are, you've never had to sew someone up, or dig a bullet out of someone, or try to hold down bile from the heavy smell of blood.

Your hands are shaking like crazy. This isn't a slight graze you can put a bandaid over and seal with a kiss, this is a life threatening wound on someone you care about, and all they've been doing since they came to you is make stupid fucking jokes and try to take things from your hands.

Jason can tell it's getting to you.

It should be the other way around, what with him bleeding out in your living room, but he quiets down, gripping your wrist with his non-blood covered hand. "Hey," He gently strokes your skin with his thumb, repeating himself when you don't move your eyes from his wound. "Hey, look at me Y/n." It's just stern enough to make you obey, without sounding like he's mad at you. "It'll be okay. I'm in good hands." Jason smiles at you, tired and reassuring. It calms your nerves just enough for you to finish sewing his wound shut.

You sit back when you're done, taking in your work once you wrap his stomach with gauze. Jason turns just enough to catch a glimpse, smiling up at you with his stupid, charming smirk. "Not bad, doll. Told ya you had it covered." He lays back, smiling up at you as he lays his head on his arm, the one on his non-injured side. Though he doesn't seem to bothered by the end of it all, you can't say the same.

He takes in your features, your tired, glossy eyes and your pouting lips. It makes his smile drop. You look away, your sad eyes not meeting his own. "I . . . what? What's wrong Y/n?" Jason winces, moving to rest on his elbows to get a better look at your face. "Was it the blood? Or the- was it the window? I'm sorry about that, by the way." You shake your head no at all of his suggestions, taking a breath before turning back to face him.

He can feel his heart hurt at the sight of unshed tears in your eyes. "I . . . I was scared Jay." He pushes himself all the way up when you take your lip into your mouth. He ignores the pain shooting through his side when he pulls you into his arms. "Hey, hey, hey, scared of what? I'm okay. You did good." Those tears finally spill when your arms wrap around his waist, loose as to not further irritate his wound.

"You could've died Jay, a-and I wouldn't be able to-to help you! I can't help you!" You sob into his shoulder. He holds you tightly, pressing his lips to your head as he rubs your back. "Please, please don't cry. I'm okay now, you helped me. I'm all better now." He rocks you both gently, trying to console you. "Sides, if I was gonna die, I'd be happy if it was with my girl."

What?

You freeze in his arms, and he knows he said something wrong. He just doesn't know what. His brain moves a mile a minute as he tries to figure out what it was before you get even more upset. Though, his brain completely shuts down when you stare up at him with those cute, confused eyes. The tears have slowed down, and he's at least thankful for that. "Your . . . girl?" Now he's confused too. "What-what do you mean by that?"

He has to do a double take. "What do you mean? You're my girl, like . . . girlfriend, you know?" Every second that passes only confuses the two of you more. "I'm your girlfriend?" "Ar-aren't you?" You blink at him. Were you? Are you? "Am I?" Somewhere there was cognitive dissonance, Jason just doesn't know for who. "Yeah, we're dating, I thought?" Though, he doesn't feel so confident about that now.

"Oh," You feel your ears grow warm, for the second time now your eyes don't meet his own. "I . . . I didn't know that." You wish you could hide right now, but he's still got his arms wrapped around you. "I mean, unless you don't want to, then-then I'm sorry-" Jason feels maybe even more embarrassed than you as he finally drops his arms, grabbing his helmet and moving to crawl back out the window he came in through. His bullet wound is completely forgotten by now.

He stops when you grip his jacket, shyly staring at the floor as you speak. "No! I w-want to." Your eyes darty up to his, before losing confidence and dropping back to the floor. "I want to be your girlfriend," It comes out a whisper, and when he's silent for a beat too long you worry he's suddenly changed his mind.

"Good. Great. Yeah." He drops back to the floor, sitting cross legged beside you. Internally, he's doing backflips in his mind. "Cool." Later on, he'll ask more questions, but for now, he's satisfied. "Yeah." You shyly play with your clothes, twiddling your thumbs as you sit in silence. You feel like a little girl who just admitted to her crush that she likes him. "Are you-" "I didn't-" You interrupt each other, both of you gesturing for the other to continue. It's a bit of a fight, but Jason makes you go first.

"I was gonna ask if you were hungry. I have some, um, pretzels and stuff. If you want." Jason nods. He follows you into your kitchen, where the two of you quietly and contently eat the iron rich foods you looked up. "What were you going to say, by the way?"

Jason looks up from his plate, the haphazardly prepared meal helping him feel better, though his heart feels pretty good right now anyways. "I didn't know that you didn't know. I thought," he laughs nervously. "I thought, we were dating this whole time." He laughs again when you shake your head. "I didn't know! I thought . . . I don't know, that I wasn't your type, or something."

That's probably the most surprising thing he's heard you say today. Okay it's not, but it's the thing that most catches him off guard.

"Of course you are! You're so sweet, and cute, and nice, and pretty, and you smell really good, and you're funny, and I like your voice, and the way you d-do things . . . and . . . other stuff." Jason stops himself before he can ramble for hours about every single things he loves about you. You wouldn't mind if he did, though. You hide your pleased expression with your hand.

"Me too." It's quiet, but no longer shy. "I like all that "stuff" about you too."

#bizbat #dc #jason todd x reader #jason todd headcanons #dc headcanon #red hood x reader #red hood #jason todd #dc x reader #lian harper #roy harper

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skylarkspinner · 2 months

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fiber art adventures in egypt

I recently got back from a trip to Egypt & finally got around to organizing some pictures to share. One of the things I was most excited about was seeing what I could find on fiber arts and textiles.

Dropping everything under a read more, 'cause this will be a long post haha

first visit: the National Museum of Egyptian Civilization (NMEC)

At the time of visiting, they had a special textiles exhibit. It covered Pharonic Egypt all the way up to modern times, although I only had time to check out the dynastic & a bit of the Coptic portion of the exhibit (which was what I was really hoping to see anyways)

Was super excited to see this diorama in person. I knew about it but had never seen good pictures of it. From the little I've seen of ancient Egyptian spinning, spinning with two spindles seems to be the norm rather than a master technique? It also shows up in tomb art, which the exhibit also shared:

They also used a different fiber preparation (splicing to create a rove of fiber, no traditional drafting to my understanding) so that probably made a difference? Regardless I really want to see if I can replicate the technique, especially because their spindles look so similar to modern spindles??

I took so many pictures of spindles, guys, and I fully intend to either have a few replicas made or to learn to make some myself. Also, although they were unlabeled... I'm pretty sure those are beaters for weaving? That was a bit of a trend with this trip, so much stuff was unlabeled :( I would've killed to at least get some date estimates for some of the stuff they had on display. I was nerding out in here though, and my family took a few pictures of how excited I was getting. A bit embarrassing, but eh haha

The exhibit also had a section on natural dyes used with a fun visual;

There was several diagrams specifically describing each dye source, but in the interest of not overloading on pictures I'll just list them out. For blues; woad, Yellows; turmeric, safflower, saffron, or yellow ochre; reds; madder, henna, pomegranate, and kermes. I originally thought kermes was another way to say cochineal, but it only seems to be distantly related.

next visit: Ramses Wissa Wassef Art Center

A small art center dedicated to hand-weaving wool and cotton tapestries. All of their work was museum quality & awe inspiring!!

Was even invited to their back rooms to watch a few of their weavers working; no I don't have room to put a room-sized loom anywhere but heck do I want one now

Our guide that took us through talked a bit about the natural dyes they use (all of their dyes are dyed in house with what they grow in their dye garden!!!) and got excited to hear I was also interested in natural dyes! He seemed a bit disappointed I'd never worked with indigo and. while indigo scares me, I'll take it as a sign that maybe I should try some time this year haha.

final visit; the Egyptian Museum

we really had to rush through this one which was a huge shame because it's packed full of artifacts. Also, the lighting in there is atrocious, so apologies for the not great pictures ahead.

They had a fascinating display of textile tools, more than what the NMEC had;

(Hand for size reference) I want all of these spindles! So badly! But a few of them look so much like a few of the spindles I own already?? A few of them had a spiraling notch, that's so cool? But also, what's going on with the one with two whorls? I have no idea. I'm fascinated.

Look at these whorls!! Although again, I'm a bit confused; the lack of labeling strikes again. Unsure why some of these "whorls" have two holes, or what the metal object with the wooden handle is. The display implies sewing needles, and some of them do look like it, but others.... really don't look like sewing needles. I'm absolutely enchanted by this little whorl though. I think it has birds on it?

More objects that I'm baffled by- the signage doesn't really indicate what some of this stuff is, if it's even known. Also confused by the object wrapped in white string in the right pic; it looks like a distaff but to the best of my knowledge the (ancient at least) Egyptians didn't use distaffs. It probably popped up in later times and was put in this display since it was still relevant, but I'm still not sure.

I have so many more pictures & thoughts but I'll save those for more specific future projects. I've been doing research outside this trip on ancient Egyptian spinning techniques and desperately want to go deeper into that, this trip just solidified how excited it makes me. If you made it all the way through this, many thanks for reading!

Bonus; look at this ancient linen 🥺

#hand spinning #archaeology #extant artifact #weaving #fiber arts #long post #letters from skylark #sorry for the overall low quality images in this post. Got a new camera and wasn't the best at using it this trip #also the raw image files were huge so I heavily downsized them to make sure this post wasn't a beast to load #would be happy to share the raw images if desired though

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seungkwansphd · 10 months

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bean me up, scotty

pairing: coffee roaster!seungcheol x cafe manager!YN word count: 2K synopsis: you see seungcheol often enough at work. helpful daytime seungcheol, you can handle. but nighttime, arms fully out seungcheol? that's a problem. themes: fluff, SFW, work crush/work acquaintances vibes. beefy seungcheol. SCOUPS RIZZ at the end, implied smut.

a/n: @wavelikewhat came up with this concept and we both had different ideas about how to approach it, so it was super fun to write and then read both versions! def check hers out here.

“Hey boss, Mr. Choi is here!” the voice of one of your baristas pulled your mind out of inventory suddenly.

“Hey I told you not to to call me mister, kid,” Seungcheol’s voice followed. You can practically hear the pout in his tone, which drew a smile to your lips.

“I’ll be right out,” you called back and tucked your pencil behind your ear.

You stepped out of the back room to greet Choi Seungcheol, head roaster at Brandywine Coffee Roasters.

“Hey Cheol,” you greeted him with a smile, “You can leave the delivery in the usual spot. I’ll put it up later.”

“You sure? I have time today, you’re my last delivery,” he raised an eyebrow at you, an offer to help.

“Well, I won’t say no, if you have the time. I’ll caffeinate you,” you shrugged. This was your typical offer and as usual he took you up on it.

“Okay,” he nodded and rolled his dolly into the back room.

Brandywine was the core coffee roaster that you used at your cafe. Seungcheol had been your point of contact for almost a year now, so he knew his way around without any direction. He set to work on replenishing your two pound bags of espresso blend and let you handle the retail, one pound single-origins.

“Oh? You found it?” your eyes widened as you read the label of the bag in your hands. “Restricted oxygen?”

You had mentioned this specific type of processing to Seungcheol a few months ago. The low oxygen processing conditions selected for a unique proportion of microorganisms, yielding an unusual flavor profile once roasted. It seemed quite niche, so you were surprised to be holding a bag in your own hands. You set one bag aside for your personal tasting needs before shelving the rest of the bags.

“Got time to try this with me?” you asked as you both left the back room. “I can set us up a French press.”

“Yeah,” Seungcheol nodded. “Let me just put this back in the truck.”

“Sure,” you smiled at him, setting about prepping. You were giddy with excitement as you ground the beans. The aroma was already quite striking.

“Are we doing a tasting?” your youngest barista, Chan, asked curiously.

“Yes,” you nodded surely.

“Oh yay! Seungcheol whips up the coolest stuff. What is it today?”

“It’s a restricted oxygen process Ethiopia,” Seungcheol answered, appearing behind Dino. “Experimental processing, but cool. I’ll be interested to hear what you think, YN.”

“Whoa, that’s cool! Like leaning towards anaerobic, huh?”

“Yes, exactly that,” you grinned.

As the timer counted down, Chan helped a customer. Seungcheol stood with his arms crossed, watching you watch the timer.

“Missed you at the roaster showcase,” you commented as you depressed the French press plunger and poured the brew into cortado glasses.

“Eh, you know I don’t like that stuff. Sam is way better at those events. I heard it went well though, thanks again for letting us use the space.”

“Of course,” you chuckled, handing the glass to Seungcheol. It was hard to ignore the jolt you felt when his hands brushed over yours, but you liked to think you did your best. “Chan!” you beckoned during a lull in customers.

“Oh interesting!” Chan’s eyebrows raised with surprise, “It tastes almost like…peachy gummy rings? Fascinating!”

“Hmm,” you hummed thoughtfully as you tasted the liquid in your mouth. “I don’t know that I get peach gummy, but I see what you’re saying. There’s like fruit and sweetness, but it’s not very high, if that makes sense.”

“Yeah, I agree,” Seungcheol nodded before taking another aerated sip. “Really neat, thanks for the suggestion, YN,” he nudged you gently.

You smiled sheepishly at him and ignored Chan’s pointed look. You could already tell that once Seungcheol left, you were going to get yet another earful about how you and the roaster were dancing around each other and denying mutual chemistry. You were overcome by an unreasonable desire to keep Seungcheol here longer so that you could avoid that.

“Something for the road?” you asked instead, shaking that thought out of your mind. “I have a seasonal cherry syrup and we’re doing a cherry cola espresso tonic that’s kind of fun for the summer.”

“Huh. Caffeine and caffeine?” Seungcheol considered the drink with amusement. “Sure, I’ll try it.”

“I’m assuming you’ll want YN to make it, as usual?” Chan teased, stepping back from the bar.

The roaster placed his hands into his packers and shrugged with a soft smile, but didn’t deny it. You laughed and set about crafting his featured beverage.

“I really think you two like each other!” Chan started practically before the door had swung shut behind Seungcheol.

“I do like Seungcheol. And his coffee.”

“I mean in a non-professional way. Please note I didn’t say unprofessional, because I don’t think it would be unprofessional. I just think you think he’s hot and he thinks you’re hot. He’s always taking your coffee suggestions and he looks at you a lot when you’re not looking.”

“Chan,” you planted your hands on your hips.

You didn’t want to talk about this with him anymore. He didn’t need to know that the reason was fear of it pushing your delulu brain further than it already was with this workplace crush. You liked Seungcheol, but you also only saw him at work, so it didn’t need to go further than that.

Outside, Seungcheol was grateful that he worked alone. If he’d had a Chan, they most certainly would’ve called him on the inordinately pleased look that had crossed his face when he’d caught the start of your conversation as he left. While it was a guess on Chan’s part, it at least reassured Seungcheol that he wasn’t the only person who had picked up on a potential something between you. Not that he felt ready to do anything about it yet, but he could at least be comforted that it wasn’t totally fabricated on his end.

…

“Eee, staff outing, I’m so excited!” Naomi and Chan squealed excitedly as they skipped towards the bar.

You smiled, thoroughly entertained, as you watched them. You hadn’t had a chance to do much prying yet, but you had a sneaking suspicion that they had started dating recently.

“The answer is yes,” Seungkwan, one of your higher seniority staff, clicked his tongue judgmentally at the pair.

“Huh?” your head whipped around to look at him more directly.

“They are dating. Just last week.”

You had to burst out laughing. For someone who’s life occasionally got quite messy, he could be quite judgemental, but he was also incredibly reliable and responsible in ways that made you grateful he’d continued to work with you for so long.

“Thank you for the updates as usual,” you smiled before grabbing his arm to pull him into the bar.

You spotted Naomi and Chan whispering to each other at the end of the bar and you made your way towards them.

“Okay, let’s thank Father Chip for bankrolling our annual staff outing. Please drink wisely,” you smiled at him. It was a sorry excuse for a grand speech, but it would do well enough to kick the night off.

You looked over the menu as Chan and Naomi waited to catch the eye of a bartender. You heard some commentary about a ‘beefcake’ as you wondered just what exactly Cynar was made out of.

“Oh, he’s coming, he’s coming!” Naomi bounced on her heels excitedly, which meant you had to decide what you wanted and quickly.

“Hey folks, what can I get-,” the bartender greeted you. You were just in the middle of recognizing his voice when he recognized you first. “Oh hey Chan, Naomi, Seungkwan! Is YN out with you?”

“Seungcheol?” you lifted your head, slightly bewildered, to meet eyes with Brandywine’s own head roaster.

“Hey,” he nodded at you. It was a normal greeting, but something about the way his eyes flicked over you afterwards made you impossibly nervous.

“Do you work here?” Seungkwan asked on your behalf.

“Not usually,” Seungcheol brought his arm up to scratch the back of his neck, “Sammy owns this place too and occasionally he needs a hand.”

Sammy was Seungcheol’s business partner at Brandywine, so this made some sense, but your brain and eyes were busy processing Seungcheol’s arm. Daytime Seungcheol was typically clad in a flannel or a solid Carhartt t-shirt, effectively hiding his build. Nighttime Seungcheol, however, was wearing a cut off t-shirt which favored you with a gratuitous view of his muscles. This was a problem for you.

“So what are we drinking?” Seungcheol asked, “Happy to make recommendations too.”

He held your gaze for a moment.

“I’ll do the Coco Bop,” Seungkwan ordered. Dino and Naomi quickly followed suit and before you knew it, Seungcheol stood before you, arms fully out, waiting for your order.

“What does Cynar taste like?”

“Oh, I don’t know actually. You want to try?” he asked before turning to grab the bottle. He poured out a partial shot and took a sip before handing it to you. When you set down the glass, you were both making mirrored grimacing faces at each other.

“That is foul,” you inhaled sharply, face warm from the overwhelming taste of the liquor. “Thank you though. I will have a glass of white wine, please.”

“Oh we have a skin fermented wine, I think you’ll like that. It’s got a little bit of that funk, like the low oxygen process. How’s that sound?”

“I’m sure it’ll be good!” you nodded, self conscious at the crowd that had built up behind you, eagerly awaiting their turn to order.

“This one’s on me,” he smiled when he returned with the glass.

“Oh no-, I-.”

“You comp me all the time. Let me get this one for you.”

“Okay,” you nodded before seeking out the rest of your staff. You just knew you were going to be teased about this interaction too.

Despite your best efforts, you and Seungcheol continued to cross paths and meet eyes the rest of the evening. Whether you were returning glassware, barreling into him as you left the bathroom, or feeling his gaze on you as you watched the others dance, it all seemed to affect you. Unfortunately for your brain, you liked this version of Seungcheol too and it made you curious for more.

Seungcheol watched you try to avoid his gaze and he glanced at the clock impatiently. He’d only agreed to take on the opening shift, so he had a handful of minutes left. He hoped that you’d stick around until then.

“You can leave now,” Sammy appeared at his side.

“Huh?”

“I’m worried your eyes are going to fall out of your head if you look any harder at YN,” Sammy rolled his eyes. He’d had a sneaking suspicion about you since Seungcheol had brought up the idea of participating in the coffee roaster showcase at your cafe.

“Wish me luck,” Seungcheol chuckled before heading towards you.

“And then she said-,” Seungkwan’s words trailed off as his eyes widened at you.

“What did she say?!” you demanded. You were surprised and confused when all three of them shook their heads and pointed at something behind you. Someone, rather.

“Hey,” Seungcheol was standing behind you with his hands in his pockets. “Are you hungry? I just finished up.”

“...I could eat,” you answered, heat zipping up your spine again.

“Did you drive?”

“No.”

“I’ll give you a ride then,” he smiled. He waved at Chan, Naomi, and Seungkwan before leading you out the staff entrance to his car.

“Should I plan to drop you off at home tonight or tomorrow?” he asked as he backed out of his parking spot.

If you’d been holding something, you most certainly would have dropped it. You bit your lip and still failed to hold in your gobsmacked grin at this line.

“...tomorrow.”

Seungcheol glanced over, eyes flicking over you again, before he smiled smugly and drove out of the parking lot.

#scoups fanfic #scoups fluff #seungcheol fanfic #seungcheol fluff #svthub #seventeen fanfic #seventeen fluff #scoups x reader #scoups scenario #seungcheol x reader #seungcheol imagines #seungkwansphd:writes

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automaticllamacycle · 11 months

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the taste of your lips (is my idea of luxury)

Summary: You had never smoked weed before. A few puffs with your friend Matty couldn’t hurt, right?

Content: 18+, smoking, shotgunning, face sitting, fingering, unprotected sex, praise kink, spitting, slight dom/sub undertones if you squint, friends to lover but make it super speed

Word count: 5,451

You sit in his room watching one of his favorite documentaries, a typical Friday night for the two of you. Matty’s at his desk, leaning over it while he starts to roll a joint. He insists the weed helps him think more deeply about the documentary, no matter how many times you tell him that’s bullshit. You can’t help but linger on his fingers as he packs the joint, carefully working with the paper.

You and Matty have been friends for a few years now. Nothing had ever gone further than that, even though you’d like for it to. Painfully, in the friend-zone. So, you sit on his bed and watch his hands, wondering what they would feel like on you. On your body, squeezing your hips just right…

His curly brown locks are a mess, hanging in his face. You hope he can’t feel your eyes barring into him. Part of you wonders if he does know, by the way he grazes his tongue along the edge of the paper, slow and calculated in his movements. He lingers his tongue longer than usual. As soon as he finishes the task, your eyes jump back to the television, acting like you weren’t just staring at him.

“Matty, can I change this to something else? What even is this?”

“What? Don’t like my taste in documentaries?” he jokes with the joint hanging loosely from his lips. He stands up in the middle of his sentence, looking for a lighter in his bedside drawer.

“You know I don’t. This isn’t even true crime. Can I put it on Friends or something? Please?” The remote is already in your hand, ready to go. A wide grin spreads across your face as you try to convince him to comply with your request.

“Anything for you. I’ll be high anyway. Don’t really care what we watch.” He replies, now clutching the lighter in his hand. The words anything for you repeat in your head as he sits down next to you, making himself comfortable against the headboard. His shoulders press against you, not a space between the side of his body and yours.

“You know it’s a great show. A true classic.” you say as you put the show on. You turn your head to him and watch as he strikes the lighter and holds the flame to the joint. When he finally lights it, he responds.

“It’s a funny show, I’ll give you that much sweetheart.”

You turn your head back to the TV screen, attempting to ignore how close his body is to you. His every movement distracts you from the TV. Only a couple minutes into the episode, you look to him again, watching as he takes a drag. More specifically, watching as his lips wrap around the joint.

You haven’t smoked before. Not like you’re against it or anything, just never found a reason to, yet. Still though, you’re curious about it. “So…” you begin, “What does being high actually feel like?”

“Why, you finally interested after all these years?” he replies with his eyebrows raised. A small smirk lights up his face.

“Maybe.”

“Well, it feels… nice. You feel happy and relaxed, not a care in the world.”

“That does sound appealing.” Your eyes flicker between the joint in his hand and his eyes, trying to steer clear from staring at his lips. Maybe the high will distract you from your feelings. Distract you from how much you want him, right now.

“Why don’t you give it a try?” He straightens up from his position against the headboard and extends the joint out to your hand. You hesitantly take it from his fingers, before looking back at his face. Unsure of even how to hold the joint properly, you decide to hold it like a cigarette as you’ve seen him do so many times, between your pointer finger and middle finger. Your eyes meet his again, looking for some kind of guidance. His eyes are a bit red from the weed. It doesn’t look like there are too many thoughts going on in his head.

“Matty, I have no idea what I’m doing. I’ve never even smoked a cigarette.”

“I can tell,” he chuckles. “You just breathe it in I don’t know how else to instruct you. You’ve seen me do it enough times by now.” Before continuing his sentence, he plucks the joint from your fingers and places it between your thumb and index finger, signaling for you to pinch your fingers around it. “It’s between these fingers. Easier to pass back and forth this way. Go ahead and take a hit.”

“Alright, fine.” You feel your confidence leave your body as you bring the joint up to your lips. You attempt to properly inhale, but you fall into a raging coughing fit when the smoke hits your lungs.

“Well shit, you weren’t joking,” he said, laughing as his hand goes to rub your back gently while you cough.

“Yeah, I don’t think smoking weed like this is going to work out for me.”

There’s a slight pause. A lull in conversation before he talks again.

“Wait. I think I have an idea.” His eyes light up alongside his smile. You could tell by the look on his face this isn’t going to be a regular, normal idea.

“I feel like I should be worried.”

“Come here and sit on my lap.” He holds his arms out, waiting. You stare at him for a moment, confusion on your face.

“I think you’re a little too high right now, Matty.” He’s not serious, right?

“I’ve only smoked like half of this, now come here. Don’t you trust me?”

Begrudgingly, you straddle his hips, and his hands steady you at your waist. You have never been this close to him. The look in his eye is one you haven’t seen before, and you aren’t sure you can blame the weed for it. His breath starts getting heavier with you on his lap. You’re just glad he has a shirt on. You find a voice to speak.

“Okay, what is your bright idea before I chicken out?”

“It’s called shot gunning. Basically, I’m going to take a big hit, then breathe it into your mouth while you breathe in. Simple as that.” His voice is confident as he explains his bright idea.

“That seems sexually charged,” you say. You feel the blush flaming on your cheeks, and he hasn’t even done anything yet.

“Oh, shut up, our mouths don’t actually touch.” Bummer, you wish they would. Matty doesn’t need to know that, though. He continues, trying to defend his idea. “I just think it’ll be easier for you to get a full hit this way, since I don’t have a bong with me. Those are less harsh on the lungs.”

“Matty, you seem more nervous than I am.” That is a lie, straight through your teeth. The nervous energy is practically surging through your bones at the idea of his mouth almost touching your lips.

“I just haven’t done this with a girl I wasn’t currently dating at the time,” he says, biting his tongue afterwards. That is a bit of information he should have left out. Matty’s hands move up and down on your waist as he waits for your response. The heat of his hands burns through your shorts.

“Okay, it’s time for you to be quiet and get on with it. So, what exactly do I need to do?”

“You need to lean in a bit and get closer. I’ll handle the rest, just remember to breathe in when I breathe out, okay?”

“Alright.”

The hand that rests on your waist makes its way slowly up your back, cupping the back of your head and your neck. Out of reflex, you grip his arm, steadying yourself. His eye contact is magnetic as he lifts the joint up to his lips. Your breath isn’t coming as easy to you now, the air becoming thick around the both of you while you watch his lips wrap around the paper.

He breathes in deep, filling his mouth and lungs with smoke, but not blowing it out. He lowers your face down to meet his. Lips a fraction away from touching. Your lips part, waiting for him. Matty opens his mouth, nearly grazing your lips and blows the smoke out while you inhale. His actions are slow, like he’s savoring the moment. Like he won’t get the chance to be this close to you again. You take in the smoke without coughing up a lung this time, feeling the high start to hit, just a little bit.

You turn your head away from him to blow out the smoke, so it isn’t directly in his face. When you face back towards him, the intensity of his eyes almost melt you into a puddle. His eyes stare straight through you, like he can read your every thought.

“How was that?” he asks, breathless. He can’t stop looking at your mouth.

“It was better that time. Easier on the lungs, like you said.” Yeah sure, easier on the lungs, but not easier on your nerves.

“Do you want to try again?” He tries to maintain eye contact, but his gaze falls right back down to your lips. You impulsively lick them.

“Yeah, sure.” You maintain your composure, but as the minutes go on it becomes harder. The way you sit in his lap makes you nervous about moving your hips at all. Every inch of your body pressed into him.

He repeats the same actions, this time however, more intense. His hand on the back of your neck holds you close, keeping you millimeters away from his mouth. Your grip on his arm tightens in response. Oh, how badly you want to lean in. To taste his lips and feel his mouth on you. His eyes never leave your face as he takes another hit. This time, his hand at the back of your head moves to grasp your jaw instead. The hold spans to your neck. Surely, he can feel the rapid pace of your pulse underneath your skin, but you push that thought away.

He pulls your face to his and breathes the smoke into your mouth. Once he was finished, you blow it back out. However, this time, you brought your face back to the same closeness. Maybe the high is giving you a newfound confidence.

“That was nice,” you breathe.

“Yeah?” he questions with his hand still on your face. “Think you want to try to smoke it on your own again?” His facial expression disagrees with the words he says. He doesn’t want you to move at all.

You nod your head at his question, but you also have a different idea in mind. “Can I shot gun you instead?” you asked, timidly. You want to stay on his lap for as long as possible, savoring the impression of his hips against yours. His eyebrows raise, surprised at your question.

“Sure, love. If you think you’re that advanced.” He teases. He hands you back the joint while you attempt to conceal your shaky hands. He notices, though, despite your best efforts. “Start whenever you’re ready, or you can stop if you want. No pressure.” His hands return to your hips as his thumbs begin to rub in a circular motion on the bone, reassuring you.

You are in too deep, there’s no stopping now. You take a hit of the joint, and this time, you managed to fight off the cough. With a shaky hand, you cup his jaw as you lean in. His lips part, ready for you.

Your lips, ever so slightly, graze his before you blow the smoke into his mouth. Electricity runs through you at the brief contact. He exhales away from your face before turning back to you. One of his hands holds your cheek while the other remains on your waist.

“How was that?” you ask, hesitantly. For once, you found yourself not able to read the expression on his face.

“That was perfect. You did a good job.” His brown eyes are blown wide. They flicker to your mouth, to your eyes, then back to your mouth.

“Oh, fuck it,” he exclaims.

In a split second, his lips meet yours, drawing a gasp from your throat. There is desperation in his actions, in the way his hands grip your face and waist like he never wants to let go. He moves against your mouth with fervor, slipping his tongue past your lips. Your free hand combs through his curls, pulling tight as you roll your hips against his lap. Fire runs across your skin as he kisses you deeper before breaking the kiss. He’s quick to say the first word.

“Shit. I’ve complicated things haven’t I? We can act like that never happened if you want to stay just friends.” He talks as though he is not already hard against you, aching for more contact.

“I don’t think I can just forget about this, Matty,” you reply, grinding against him. A groan leaves his lips as his fingers dig into your hips in a bruising grip. “Besides…” You lean down to his ear, breath hot as you speak. “I want you. I want you as more than a friend. Have for a while now.” He reacts to your word fast, grabbing the joint from your hand and putting it out on the ashtray laying on his nightstand. Before he continues, his eyes meet yours, still hesitant to continue.

“You sure?” He needs to make sure this is okay one last time before there is no going back to just friends.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.” His lips are on you again as soon as the words leave your mouth. The kiss is hot, passionate, needy. Both of your hands tangle through his brown curls, tugging to hear another groan leave his throat. Your tongue licks into his open mouth, wanting more from him.

Matty’s hands are ambitious, traveling under your shirt he grabs the shirt hem. Goosebumps erupted across your skin as he lifts the shirt off of you. For a moment, he stops to take in your body. The heat in your cheeks tints your face pink as he stares, completely awestruck. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”

His lips attach to the newly exposed skin of your chest, nipping and sucking at the skin not covered by your bra. You draw in a sharp breath at the sensation of his teeth and tongue on your skin. Red marks are left behind by his mouth. You feel one of his hands drift up your spine to undo your bra clasp, leaving your chest bare to him.

Matty’s mouth moves onto your exposed breasts, tongue flicking over your nipples before his teeth barely graze them. You can’t keep the moans back from your lips. “Shit, Matty—”

Before he can leave even more marks on your skin, you push him back against the headboard. A dazed look is in his eyes as your hands find their way under his shirt, fingernails delicately grazing his lower stomach. “It’s not fair for only my shirt to be off,” you say as you lift the fabric over his head. You look over him, eyes trailing over his muscles and tattoos. He has more muscle than you remember, firmer underneath your touch, like he could break you if he wanted to.

You move before he does, beginning to mouth at his neck. Groans leave his lips when you suck on his pulse point, sure to leave a bruise. His hands at your waist frantically press your hips into his erection. Your mouth travels down his neck to his chest, and you about to get off of his lap and on your knees before he stops you.

“Can I taste you?” He licks his lips as he watches your face, gauging your reaction. It wasn’t typical for a guy to want to go down on you first. It was the other way around, usually.

“If you want to…” you trail off, feeling flustered at the idea of him knowing you so intimately so quickly.

“I want to make you feel good,” he insists, fingers finding their way under your waist band to remove your underwear and shorts in one go. You start to get up, to move to the place beside him for better access before he stops you. “No. I want you to sit on my face.”

Your eyes go wide. Unsure of what even say. “You want me to… what?”

“Sit on my face.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t. Besides, it would be a good way to go out.”

“Matty!” you exclaim, lightly hitting his shoulder.

“I’m just being honest,” he pauses in between sentences to lay down flat on the bed. You now found yourself sitting on his lower stomach with no separation. The arousal between your thighs was obvious to him now, hands digging into your hips. “Now, C’mere.”

He drags you by your hips to hover over his face before he pulls you down roughly. Waves of pleasure flow through your body as his mouth makes contact. “Shit— Matty,” you choke out, darting one hand to the headboard to hold yourself up, knees buckling from the sensation. The other hand drops down to his hair, trying to keep yourself grounded. He licks at your cunt like a starved man. He takes his time to run his tongue along you in a broad stroke before he narrows in on your clit, wrapping his lips around the bud and sucking. Hard. You jolt in his grip as a whine leaves your throat.

Feeling overwhelmed at the sensation, you nearly lift yourself off his face, but his grip is unyielding. Fingers hold onto your thighs tight. Your hand tugs at his hair in response, and his eyes look up at you as a deep groan leaves his throat. His pupils are wide as he watches you on his tongue. Instead of sucking, he begins to lap at your folds, indulging at the taste of you. A mix of saliva and your arousal begin to run down his chin as he works his mouth against you.

“Fuck, if I’d known you tasted this sweet, I would have done this years ago,” he says after lifting your body off of his face for a moment before bringing you back down.

“Make up for lost time then. Show me what you can do with that mouth,” you challenge. Oh, he delivers. At your words, the speed of his tongue increases, switching between sucking and circling at your clit. One of his hands leaves your thighs, lining up to your center to collect your wetness before pushing two fingers in. Your hips roll against his face. For a moment, you worry you could hurt his neck, but that thought leaves when his strong arms firmly pull you to his mouth. Matty moans against you, the vibrations increasing your ecstasy. His name leaves your lips over and over, not knowing what else to say. All you can think is Matty. All you can feel is Matty. His fingers curl just so, hitting that spot inside you. Hips rut against his face haphazardly now, chasing your orgasm. The heat is growing in your stomach. You’re on fire and his tongue is fanning the flame. “Matty— Matty, fuck, I’m close. Please, I’m close.” You sound unlike yourself, desperate and needy. He obliges at your request, his fingers rubbing over that spot inside of you at a rapid pace while his tongue attaches to your clit. With the harsh suck of his lips on your clit, you come undone.

You feel like you’re floating, and the only thing keeping you grounded is your hand in his hair. The world is hazy around you as you become enveloped in the pleasure his mouth brings you. He doesn’t stop, either. His tongue works you through your high, and his hand encourages your hips to move against his face. Matty loves having you like this. He loves making you lose your senses on his tongue. He loves to watch your face fall apart in pleasure all because of him. He knows his only job right now is to make you feel good, to make you feel better than anyone ever has.

When you finally come down from the high, Matty is still going at it. His tongue is overwhelming, like jolts of electricity through your body. With both hands at his hair you start to push off of him. “Too sensitive,” you reason with him, before moving down to straddle his hips again.

His looks at you with a hunger on his face. Eyes dilated as stare back into yours. A sheen covers his chin and swollen lips. He takes one of his fingers to gather the wetness on his chin before sticking the finger in his mouth, licking it clean. Matty’s lips curl into a smirk when he speaks again.

“Well, did I make up for lost time? Seemed like you liked it from the way you were pulling my hair, darling.”

Pink flushes across your cheeks. “I don’t know that once is going to be enough to make up for it.” You lean in, connecting your lips briefly. The taste of you is prominent on his lips and tongue. “I want more than that right now though,” you add, grinding your hips down on him during your sentence.

“Fucking hell,” he groans. ‘You’re going to be the death of me if you keep doing that.”

“Get on with it then.” He quickly flips you over on the bed so you’re pinned beneath his body. His lips attach to your neck, teeth biting at the skin. He sucks hard, leaving red marks in the wake of his mouth. Every nip of his teeth sends shocks to your stomach. “Shit, Matty, stop teasing me.”

“Just wanted to mark you up a little bit. You’d look good with some purple on your neck.” He stands up to go through his bedside drawer again, grabbing a condom.

You interrupt his actions before he opens it. “You don’t have to use one if don’t want to. I have an IUD.” You try not to sound desperate, but you want to feel him. All of him.

“It seems like you’re the one who doesn’t want me to use it. I didn’t peg you as the type to be that dirty. But if you wanna feel me that much, don’t expect me to argue.” he chuckles, before taking off his boxers. His cock is hard and leaking as he pumps himself a few times. Bigger than you expected. He gets back on the bed, kneeling over you. He kisses you quickly. “You ready?” His hand teases the tip of his cock between your folds, intentionally bumping into your clit.

You nod eagerly. “Please.” He enters you slowly, stretching and filling you as a gasp leaves your throat. “Fuck,” you cry out. Your hands grip his back, nails digging into his skin as he continues to fill you up. Your entire body is in bliss as he bottoms out, adjusting to his size. His mouth falls open as small groans escape his throat. His eyes close shut as he feels you surround him.

He stills, deep inside of you as he kisses you deeply, tongue licking into your mouth. His hands are on your hips, squeezing hard enough to leave bruises. “Shit, you feel so good. So good for me.” You clench around him at the praise, feeling flush spread all over you. He notices the affect his words have on your body. “You like that too, huh? Want me to call you a good girl next?” he taunts. You draw in a shaky breath at his words, but you bounce back fast.

“Just start moving.” The words leave your mouth more as a whine than a demand. Your hips arch against him, seeking friction.

“A bit demanding. I’ll give you what you want for now.”

He draws almost completely out of you, before thrusting back in. You shudder at the quick pace he sets. “Matty— shit,” you whine. He straightens his body back up to admire you underneath him, still snapping his hips at a rhythmic pace. His eyes examine every part of you. He watches the way your face falls open in pleasure as you moan. How your hips follow the movement of his thrusts, and how your muscles tense underneath him.

With his new position, you take your time to admire his body as well. Your hands move to trace the tattoo on his lower stomach, feeling the strength of the muscles there as he rolls his hips into you. His arms grab your attention, too. As his hands grip your waist, his biceps flex. His arms are huge, like he could hold you down and keep you there for hours, using you however he wants.

“Hey.” He interrupts your staring. One of his hands slides up your body to grip your jaw, making your eyes meet his. “Keep looking at me, yeah? Want to see your eyes. Want to see how good I’m making you feel. Got it?” You nod at his request without a second though, wanting to please him.

“Atta girl,” he responds. He takes one of your legs and places it over his shoulder, letting him hit deeper inside you.

“God,” you cry out at the new depth of his cock, pleasure tingling through your skin every time he bottoms out. The feeling is overwhelming, melting you down into a puddle. You can’t stop your eyes from shutting closed at the sensation, slipping into euphoria. Instantly, he stops moving. Your eyes fly open, not sure what’s wrong, why he stopped.

“What did I just tell you?” he asks, voice firm. His hand is back on your jaw again, holding on tight. Your mind was hazy, both from the weed and the pleasure. You pulse around him, unsure what he wants you to say. There’s a short pause before he speaks again. “I told you to keep looking at me. I want to see the look in your eyes when I make you come.” His eyes are dark and lustful while he talks. “You understand?” You nod your head frantically, desperate for him to start moving again.

“I want words this time,” he adds, your head nodding not enough.

“Yes, Matty.” Your voice barely sounds like you. Broken and whiney.

“There we go, that’s what I wanted,” he murmurs. His thumb goes to brush over your lips. “Now, open your mouth.” You listen to his instructions, opening your mouth wide while he holds your chin. Without warning, he leans over you and spits in your mouth. Your eyes widen at his actions, shocked at the way it makes you feel inside. Butterflies forming in your stomach at his next words. “Swallow it.”

Gulping it down quickly, you open back up your mouth, showing him you obeyed. “That’s a good girl, listening to me so well,” he praises. “I think you deserve a reward; would you like that?”

“Please,” you beg, nails raking down his lower stomach lightly. He obliges, placing one hand beside your head to hover over you as he sets a relentless pace again. His hips rock into you roughly, hitting every spot inside of you to fill you with pleasure. You refuse to close your eyes, staring back deep into his own. His other hand urges you to wrap your legs around his hips, grasping tight around your hipbone. This time, he gasps at the feeling of being so deep inside of you. Your cunt squeezes around his cock, making him curse. “Fuck, love. God, you’re so good for me. So fucking good for me, shit.” He was losing himself fast, getting lost in you.

“Matty, please—” you cry out, not quite sure what you’re asking for. The heat was growing inside your stomach rapidly. Every thrust inside of you bringing you closer and closer to release. Only holding on by a thread as he speeds up his hips, hitting you deep and hard. His thumb moves from where it holds into your hip, circling your clit. “Oh, God,” you sob. It was all too much. His cock ruthlessly fucks into you. The feeling of his rough, calloused thumb rubbing your clit without ceasing. His eyes staring into you, overtaken with pleasure as groan after groan leaves his throat. The world blurs around you, and only the feeling of Matty remains. Your orgasm sneaks up on you fast.

“Matty, shit. I- I’m right there.” You hold on just a little bit longer, wanting his permission before you let go. No, needing his permission before you let go.

His thumb speeds up, rubbing tight circles on your clit. “Go on, love. Come around my cock for me,” he encourages. That’s all it takes for the tension building inside your stomach to snap. You come apart for him, waves of euphoria washing over your skin. Heats spreads through your veins as your back arches against the bed. Matty is the only word leaving your lips as he continues his thrusts through your high. His hands hold you together, keeping you from falling apart at the seams. You listen to his instructions, keeping your eyes locked with his throughout your climax, watching his face fall in awe of you. The look in his eyes is the only thing keeping you from drifting off completely.

Matty groans at the sight of you falling apart underneath him. The way you fluttered and pulsed around him only brings him closer to his high. His hips become sloppy against you, losing precision as he starts to reach his own climax. With a series of deep, hard thrusts, he moans out your name as he spills inside of you, hips stuttering. His breathe is labored as he rests his forehead against yours, collapsing on top of you. You stay there in his embrace while you catch your breath, holding him close before he opens his eyes to look at you.

“Shit,” he chuckles. “That was better than I could have ever imagined.” He has a genuine smile on his face, but you take the opportunity to tease him.

“Oh, so you’ve thought about me like this before?”

“Only about a million times,” he replies. Matty slowly pulls out of you, wincing at the sensitivity. As he gets up and walks to the bathroom, dread fills you, thinking that was it. That he was done and expecting you to leave. You sit up on the bed, feeling his cum drip down your thighs as you try find the nerve to stand up and collect your clothes. He comes back in the middle of your attempt to stand with a rag in his hand, wearing a new pair of boxers.

“Hey, hey. Where do you think you’re going?” he stops you. Voice soft.

“Oh. I was just going to get my clothes…” you trail off, not wanting to make things more awkward than they already are. A look of hurt marks his face at your words.

“You know me well enough to know I’m not a complete dickhead,” he sighs. “Now, lean back, let me clean you up.” His hand is gentle as it goes to your knee, signaling you to part your thighs for him. The warm rag in his hands wipes off your thighs before trailing up to your center, taking extra care around the sensitive skin. “I’ll be right back,” he says this time, reassuring you before taking the rag to the bathroom. When he returns, he walks over to his dresser, grabbing a t-shirt and another pair of boxers before returning to the side of the bed. “Arms up.”

“Matty, I can get dressed myself.”

“Sweetheart, let me take care of you. Please?” You lift your arms, complying with his request as he puts the shirt on you. The smell of him immediately engulfs you. He also insists to help you put the boxers on. Finally, he crawls up in the bed next to you, pulling you to rest your head on his chest. You’re safe in his arms. It’s warm and comfortable. The previous feeling of anxiety leaving you.

“I really like you. You know that, right?” he speaks, sounding unsure of himself.

“I really like you, too.”

“Then, let’s just leave it at that for now, yeah? Figure out the rest later.” He briefly kisses your forehead. All that mattered right now is that you’re here in his grasp.

#matty healy #matty healy smut #matty healy x reader #matty healy fanfiction #the 1975 #the 1975 fanfic #the 1975 smut #my writing #smut #writing #shotgunning one shot finished who cheered #cross posted to ao3 go give it a kudos ily

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starfleetshrimps · 1 year

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i love star trek bc it's actually a high school theater production most of the time. We focus a lot on the over-acting, theatricality of the actors and the directors, and that's all well and amazing, but /I/ want to focus on the /TECH/ bc ASHAijnjsdnbhgaARREghghhuuagjkshdmhbAHJBSSHJHIEJBnkjsdjhbsdhjBmahbsjshsbHkjnswkjshsn yea.

FIRST THE SETS?!? they're so silly and stupid? i know they get a lot of shit but the amount of work (not to mention styrofoam) that went into building individual sets for each planet they went to? like sure about 50% of the away missions take place in the california desert (the arena, *cough cough*, etc) but the rest of them have individually made sets that look PRETTY GOOD MAN. they get the point across, they're FUN, and innovative, and they really don't reuse planet sets all that often as well.

PLUS they used traditionally /theatrical/ cycloramas with painted backgrounds and classical cyc lighting (reminiscent of mariano fortuny's domed cyc! i WILL talk more about lighting) which look really cool and once again get shit for being unrealistic.

it's not supposed to look realistic it's supposed to look cool as shit. and it does. shut up. <3

if you view the sets as being modern TV sets then yeah, they're weird, and they look sorta bad, but THEYRE NOT modern TV sets: they're THEATRICAL SETS FROM THE 60-70S. AND I LOVE THEM.

SECONDLY, THE

lighting

while it's true that some shows in the 60s were developing new lighting styles specifically for TV, remember that in the year 1950 less that 10 percent of US homes had a television. this shit was new. COLOR tv was ESPECIALLY new. nobody knew how to light these things! and actually why would you need a new lighting style, we already KNEW how to light dramatic productions, why would we ever need to reinvent the wheel Stanley Mccandles, Mariano Fortuny, and Gene Rosenthall already invented says Gene Roddenberry and Jerry Finnerman (the head lighting designer). and oh my god i am so ridiculously glad. because the lighting. is so good.

i HAVE seen others talking about how good it is in the super early episodes (Charlie X and the conscious of the King, etc.) and i do agree! but i disagree that the quality goes down. i think it just got a tad bit more subtle as the show went on and it gets less in your face, harder to notice. but i noticed. because I'M the WORST (and also a lighting tech)

the impossibility of listing every example of amazing theater lighting choice they made is absolutely horrific and nasty so i'll just lost some my my favorites:

the cyc! i mentioned before but the cyc they used on away missions was only painted when they needed a specific scene in the background, otherwise? that bitch was LIT. and i LOVE IT.

any of the scenes where they light spock's face have green and half pink? or even just washing the walls behind him? i eat that shit UP. the METAPHOR. the CONFLICT. i will acquiesce that green and pink are (and were) pretty goddamn industry standard gels (color-films) to add to lights, for subtle contrast, but this is not subtle. it is LOUD. was it purposefully done from a storytelling perspective? no idea. is it cool as shit and interpret-able as hell? absolutely. also sometimes they do it with just green when they want to emphasize his vulcan-ness and other him a bit. like they do it a lot when he's in his room in amok time. anyway.

whenever they shutter a light so they can emphasize a character's (kirk, we're talking abt kirk here. and *sometimes* spock, and also Charlie in Charlie X but yeah mostly kirk) eyes when they say something #Deep, or just pre-commercial break closure worthy line. it's so SHJSDJBFEJNKN. to add onto this, they'll do a striking half-wash over half of their face sometimes in conjunction and it looks So Good

The GOBOS. sometimes, they'll just throw light through a gobo, or wall screen, or something, for /visual interest/ and it looks so silly i love it sm. does it make sense from a realism pov? nO. but star trek is a theater production actually and they lit everything using mainly naturalistic techniques! amazing!

honorable mentions: the glowing time donut, and the entirely random colors in the hallway.

there are so many other examples but this post is long enough lmao. notice the lights next time you watch tos!!,! please!!! <3

#star trek tos #james t kirk #tos spock #enterprise #star trek #set design #lighting #lighting design #theater tech #techies #leonard mccoy #iatse would love this i think #theater lighting

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cazzyf1 · 3 months

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Quotes about the 1982 Drivers Strike that I found funny/interesting (from a pdf of a book I accidentally downloaded)

So, if you haven't seen from my Twitter stream this morning when trying to research something about Niki Lauda for a friend, I came across a pdf link. Thinking it would just be a small article potentially with the answer I was looking for, I downloaded it. I did not notice the fact that it was 154 pages... to my surprise; it turned out to be a whole book about the 1982 season, specifically focusing on Keke Rosberg.

I've read through the chapter about the driver's strike and taken down some quotes that I found interesting. There isn't a lot of detail into what they all got up to that isn't already known, but there is a lot of useful information. Hope you enjoy :)

'You might imagine all this was just like every season, but 1982 was already very different. The Rat, you see, had smelt a rat.'

'Herr Andres Nikolaus Lauda of Vienna had furtive eyes which didn't miss much and a suspicious mind. On 24th December 1981, he sniffed the form from Paris the postman had just delivered and didn't like it at all.'

'The form was the product of events in 1981 when Prost, making his debut in Grand Prix racing with Mclaren, became convinced the car was not safe and refused to drive for the team again regardless of the fact he had a contract to do so. Prost told Teddy Mayer that, if necessary, he would simply walk away from motor sport altogether. Renault approached Prost, he joined them, and Mayer (by training a lawyer) discovered how problematic the law was if you tried to prevent someone from gaining their livelihood. The super licence form represented an attempt to prevent such situation recurring.'

'Lauda claims Pironi made phone calls and was able to prevent 'most of the other drivers' from signing, but in fact 24 did, leaving six refuseniks: Pironi himself, Lauda of course, Villeneuve - who had seen something similar in Canadian ice hockey and didn't like it - Arnoux, Giacomelli, and de Cesaris'

'I was just listening because Didier Pironi did all the talking,' Lauda would say. 'Didier completely unemotional. The important thing was to keep on talking.'

'At 7:00 on the Thursday morning a bus, arranged by GPDA secretary Trevor Rowe, drew up not far from the paddock entrance with Pironi and Lauda in it. Most of the drivers stayed at the nearby Kyalami Ranch Hotel and they'd be arriving early for a GPDA meeting before the hour-long practice session at 10:20. As each arrived they were invited to park their cars and get onto the bus. Mass didn't show up (He's always late' someone said) and Ickx refused. In fact, Mass had been staying with friends of his South African-born wife and so had been out of touch. He knew nothing about the bus but it wouldn't have made any difference.'

'The drivers were, as Lauda recounts is, going for a drive. With Lauda hanging out of the back waving, the bus set off, but as it left the bottom gate of the circuit John McDonald of the March team tried to block it. Laffite and some other drivers got out and pushed McDonald's car clear. Then the bus proceeded to the scenic route to Johannesburg some 15 miles away pursued by 'a whole convoy' of TV cameras, journalists and photographers. The bus went to the Sunnyside Park Hotel in the suburbs. It offered full amenities including a swimming pool.'

'At 10:19 the track opened for practice. The race organisers threatened to impound the cars if the race didn't happen and Ecclestone threatened the drivers that they would be sued for recompense if the cars were impounded. Throughout, Ecclestone adopted a hard line and at one point, in a remarkable interview questioned the value of drivers, "Nobody came up to me at Kyalami and asked where Jones or Andretti were. Already they're not missed. Why should any of the rest of them be missed? If it had suited Carlos not to come back, he wouldn't have given a stuff about F1 now, or whether the crowds came now or didn't. He couldn't give a dam if it suited him not to turn up. In the same way it suited Niki to walk out in the middle of a race. I think he said at the time 'I'm leaving because of policies, I just want to be a racing driver.' If you analyse it, the drivers just don't make any sense."'

'Pironi arrived from the circuit and explained that if they didn't return and drive immediately, they faced life bans. There seems to have been a distinctive mood at the hotel with very real concerns about what they were doing 'camouflaged by high jinks and laughter.' Lauda knew that the older drivers understood what the consequences might be. Ecclestone had already fired Piquet and Patrese. Lauda realised how difficult it was for the young drivers, facing the reaction of their sponsors. Lauda concluded that maintaining solidarity was crucial. Each driver had a great deal to lose.'

'At the Kyalami Ranch, during dinner, drivers' wives and girlfriends threw bread rolls and plates at Balestre.'

'The drivers in Hannesburg inhabited the conference room. "We ended up barricaded in it" Warwick says, "You know what was fantastic? I got to know my colleagues for the first time because, being a non-qualifier at the back of the grid, you don't get a chance to speak to the guys at the front. That was good. The other things that were massive when we were in that compound - we were there for 24 hours - was Bruno Giacomelli standing with a chart and dissecting an AK47 machine gun. He drew these magnificent drawings of how to take the gun to bits and so on. It was very, very funny because in the normal Bruno Giacomelli way he was very, very funny anyway. I think it was a big shock for everybody in authority because they thought they could control the drivers but, to be quite honest, I don't know that half of them in the room knew what we were striking for." Lauda kept their spirits up by telling jokes and, a piano brought, Villeneuve played light music and de Angelis classical pieces. "What really blew me away," Warwick says, "was that we had a piano in the room and Elio de Angelis started playing it. Apparently, he could have been a concert pianist and it astonished me - the other talents that some of these guys had. Then Gilles played Scott Joplin.'

'Many remember the performance by de Angelis. "Believe it or not," Derek Daly says, "the most vivid memory I have of being stuck in the hotel was Elio de Angelis playing the piano like a concert pianist. Remarkable. Definitely, definitely that was a gift, a talent of his.' Jarier points out that "it was a big room and Elio de Angelis played classical music and Gilles played. Very sympa. In that era virtually all the drivers stayed in the same hotels - Kyalami Ranch in South America, the Glen Motorhome in Watkins Glen and so on. A formula one team was 15, 20 people. There were far few journalists, far fewer television people and everybody knew each other." In other words, many of the drivers in the big room were not strangers to each other, however much those at the back of the grid had to be. Alex Hawkridge arrived to try and reach Fabi and Warwick. Fabi was easy to reach because, as it seems, he was already staying in the hotel and had his own room. "Teo we didn't threaten as such, we told him he was contracted to drive. He came out and I was able to speak to him. We reminded him he had signed a contract to drive, and the idea of solidarity wouldn't help him if he was without a drive and think where his best interest lay. Elio was playing the piano - astonishing - and I could hear him. He was a proper concert pianist.'

'The room was barricaded. An associate of mine pushed the door open and shouted their names, "Come and talk to us and we'll resolve this" Of course, as happens when you do that, someone pushed the other way and there was a bit of a pushing and shoving session - by a friend of mine called Douglas Norden, who is known to be a little aggressive when challenged. He was nothing to do with the team, just a friend along trying to help and it turned into a bit of a scuffle, the the door shut." Niki and the others saw it as a further restriction on the drivers' power and they wanted to stop it, and that is always the difficulty with change, isn't it? We were to have another example at Imola when the FOCA went on strike against the FIA. Through the history of human struggle there have been instances involving union. Lauda made sure the piano blocked the door so there would be no further scuffles, giving the police reason to enter. Mo Nunn at the Ensign tried to get Guerrero to come out by taking his girlfriend. When they saw each other they dissolved into tears and Lauda allowed him out to see her providing he - Lauda - came too. Jean Sage of Renault tried to get Prost and Arnoux but was beaten off.'

'The drivers ordered a room big enough to put 30 mattresses onto the carpet - that provoked prolonged ribaldry. At 11:00 pm they moved from the conference room to this dormitory and settled down for the night, having worked out an elaborate way of getting to the toilet across the hallway. It was conducted on the honour system with a key on a plate in the middle of the room. Lauda would remember, "I was sharing a bed with Patrese, someone next to Rosberg was snoring until Villeneuve put a blanket over him in the middle of the night, but all the time we stood together." Warwick would remember, "The drivers spent time with me and we spent a lot of time together - I was sleeping with them, exactly, yes! I haven't slept on the same mattress as Carlos Reutemann ever since, mind you..." To which Derek Daly says, "The funny thing is think I was on the other side because I have a picture of me beside Reutemann. I don't know if he snored. I do think he was still dressed in his driver's suit." Pironi said at the time, "We will see it through, FISA had too much to lose to let the Grand Prix be called off. I'm confident they will relent." "We'd had a lot of pressure because you had people like Jackie Oliver and Alex Hawkridge coming to the hotel," Warwick says, "We were threatened with our jobs if you don't get back there and that, of course, if why Fabi crawled out of the toilet window. He was the only one who broke ranks. He did the dirty on me. Everybody said they understood if I had to go back, I was explaining to people like Lauda, 'It's okay for you guys, you're going to have a job , you're some of the best drivers around but I'm the new kid on the block, my team mate's just jumped ship and I am very vulnerable' and every one of them said, 'We guarantee you will not be fired' In other words, if one is fired everyone goes. That gave me a little bit more confidence to stay there."'

'"It wasn't the strike which made me say, I don't want Formula One," Tambay says, "I enjoyed the strike! It was the best time I ever had with all my friends, although it was a very costly reunion with them. WHat I didn't like was Teo Fabi sneaking out behind our backs to try and get back into the car, and what I didn't like was that I knew we had been screwed - they (Balestre & co) had said "Come back out to the circuit and everything's going to be all right" and I knew we were all screwed"'

'And there, grinning broadly (he usually did), stood the strong, square figure of Brian Henton - available for selection as of this second, Jackie Oliver gave Henton the Tambay drive, but that morning, Henton became embroiled in a tug-of-war between the arrows management and Herr Lauda. Arrows 'were bollocking me saying "Get in the car" and all the rest of it' Henton remembers, 'And I am just about to go out for practice and they needed my signature on their petition. I'd got the team shouting in one ear "Get in that car and get out there" and, just as I am sitting Niki Lauda - who been massaging me all the time and I'd been saying "No, no, no" - rushes up with this petition, he 'hit' me at the right time, "Just sign this, sign it, sign it" I thought I only want to get out onto the track.'

'Lauda records how, throughout the weekend, there had been rumours that once the drivers reached the airport to fly home they would be arrested, although on what grounds it is difficult to say, what happened was quite different. During the race the stewards issued a statement given to each team, saying the drivers Super Licences were being suspended. Three drivers, Fabi, Mass and Henton - were spared: Fabi because he'd gone to the track prepared to drive, Mass because he had driven, and Henton because he got the Arrows drive after Tambay withdrew following the strike. Francis Tucker, steward of the South African Grand Prix, said, "For the purpose of running a race, a temporary truce, was called in the disagreement between the drivers and the officials. The truce lasted until the end of the race. At the end of the race, the truce agreement position was terminated. This means that the position which existed prior to the agreement is effectively reinstated.' The drivers were suspended immediately and each paid 300 Rand to appeal the decision. Fisa said they supported the suspensions and Executive Committee would meet in Paris on the following Thursday, January 27.'

And that is all that I took down about the Driver's Strike of 1982. I hope that it was an enjoyable read for everyone!

I feel a bit bad that I accidentally got a free copy of this book, given that the author I've read other books from and it one that I like a lot, and that when looking the book up, it is rather expensive. But these things accidentally happen, and anyone could accidentally look up this exact search on google: Niki Lauda "snored" - and then see the first link that is a pdf of 154 pages titled 1982, which then they could click and get the full copy of the book. These accidents happen. And it is always good to have a virus scanner to check any file you download just in case, my phone seems safe but it's better safe than sorry.

Enjoy :)

#classic f1 #f1 #formula one #formula 1 #vintage f1 #1982 drivers strike

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elkian · 5 months

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Rereading The Murderbot Diaries now that I have System Collapse and once again struck by how Murderbot reads expression.

As an ND person myself who sees a lot of overlap with it at times, it's very interesting to me. I've repeatedly had issues where the expressions I was making or interpreting did not match other people's ideas, and my mother has never in my whole life correctly deduced my tone of voice. Not once. I think one reason I'm drawn (haha) to animated and stylized mediums is because stylistic representations of people have to have expressions that scan immediately to as much of the audience as possible.

(Thinking about that bit where Murderbot comments on humans not knowing what they're trying to express when they're in Real Life and not actors on a soap opera set.)

Anyways, it makes sense that Murderbot might have some skill at interpreting expressions and microexpressions and so on. Those are viable and valuable security skills, after all. But it strikes me how accurate it seems to be at doing so. Since the series is almost entirely in Murderbot's perspective, it's less likely to mention being wrong, but it regularly confidently refers to expressions by the emotion it inferred from them.

As someone who is not good at this, it's very interesting to me when I have a lot of traits overlapping with MB. (It's also worth discussing how ND folk, and specifically autistic people, are often pigeonholed to the point that expressing Uncommon Autistic Traits makes people believe you aren't autistic.) Murderbot talks a lot about not liking people or being interested in strange humans, but it often contradicts itself without realizing. I think one reason it claims not to care about humans is because it's often been in positions where its clients could be harmed incidentally or intentionally and it would not be allowed to intercede due to Capitalism Hell, or malice/indifference from the top.

It says it has to do what humans tell it, and that's technically true, but there's a further power dynamic within groups; the boss has all the power and, presumably, the highest level of management in a group has the authority to order SecUnits to do things against their actual design - fighting other SecUnits, ignoring safety protocol in order to save money, and leaving bleeding humans unattended to go pick up equipment are all canonical examples that Murderbot provides us. I wouldn't be at all surprised if killing or harming less influential members of the group in question were totally common and viable.

This is all to mean that it isn't emotionally safe to care about humans, because even if it does its tasks completely successfully, they might be at risk due to the negligence inherent in the system. But Murderbot spends half a dozen books trying and failing Not To Care, so it just refuses to acknowledge that it does care for a long time.

Anyways, I don't have any pithy conclusions, I just find it super interesting that MB talks about having a hard time understanding humans, and ART canonically has difficulty processing human emotional contexts when not familiar with the relevant situations, and yet Murderbot, canonically, is often successful at reading emotion in the expressions of the people around it and itself in recordings. It's not a trait given to many ND characters, particularly autistic or autistic-analogue ones, and it adds some fun texture to the storytelling.

#elk text #tmd #the murderbot diaries #murderbot #secunit #do not clown on this post

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prettyboykatsuki · 1 year

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solanum dulcamara | r. itoshi

★ tags ; aged-up characters (rin and reader are in their 20's), age-gap (reader is older but there's no specifics), sub!itoshi rin, fem + afab!dom!reader, dacryphilia, established relationships and dom/sub dynamics, edging, overstimulation, subspace (rin falls head first), mommy kink, praise, teasing (reader is a bit mean), petnames for rin (spoiled little boy, sweet boy, good boy, sweetie etc.), riding, unprotected sex, face-sitting, cum-eating aftercare, 18+

★ wc ; 5.7k (frowns)

★ a/n ; ive done something bad to my brain </3 he is so baby boy.... i've gone and made myself sick just thinking about it.

i just want to clarify that this version of rin is only really accessible thru a lot of established trust and persistence. reader is incredibly attentive to him and they have a very establish bond both romantically and in a d/s dynamic. im not super confident abt his characterization but i tried to still make it feel like Him.

★ synopsis ; rin is so pretty when he cries.

The T.V. is on in the background. It's the interview you filmed a month ago, per the request of your boyfriends P.R.

"Another question from our viewers, what's your usual type in men?"

"Ah, is that okay to ask?" You reply sheepish. The interviewer waves his hand in dismissal of your concern.

"Asking when I'm already taken, so cruel. Mm, I like men who cry easily."

"Ehh? You're going to make your boyfriend sad!"

"It's fine, it's fine. He's special so it's okay."

Before Rin can watch anymore, you pick the remote up and click it off. You've just come out of a shower, towel hanging off the back of your neck. Water drips down your skin despite having dried off. The vague scent of fruit hits him as he blinks back at you. You bend forward in front of him.

"Hi." You greet, smiling. Your eyes have a particular shine to them that sends a signal of warning through RIn's body. It's been there since before you started dating. It's persisted all throughout your relationship. He never gets used to it.

He stares back at you "Hi."

You cock your head then laugh.

"Why'd you turn the T.V. off?" He asks. You shrug, sitting next to him with your feet up on the coffee table, stretching slightly.

"Hearing my own voice feels weird."

You scrunch your nose in displeasure. When Rin sees you like this - cozy and comfortable, he can't help but be extra conscious of the air you seem to hold. Innocent isn't the right word. Simplistic might be better. There's nothing malicious about you, usually.

Even knowing that, heat curls into his body. The hairs stand on his neck. He knows almost intuitively what's coming.

"Aw, did you wanna watch my interview, Rinnie? How sweet."

He scowls at the name of endearment, then lies through his teeth.

"No." He says simply. You coo under your breath like you would a misbehaving cat. Before he can move away, your hand reaches the opposite side of his face, fingers trailing his jaw until he faces towards you.

"Liar." You say, and it's there again and Rin can feel it. It takes effort not to turn away. Not to stand to his feet and go run laps.

Rin knows, objectively, he's so much faster than you. But, some part of him is convinced he could never outrun you. You'd pin him down somehow, he's sure of it. Swift and easy. You'd wait till he was tired out and strike after—smile down at him in satisfaction towards the end.

That's just how you are. Rin doesn't dislike it.

Your fingers splay to cup his face, your thumb rubbing against his lower lip. Familiar gestures and touches don't ease his nerves. You admire him openly. Rin feels like the Earth is going to swallow him whole. He's not unused to being fawned at. He got confessed to all the time in high school but it never caught his interest.

Dating seemed pointless. Lukewarm. The first time Rin told this to you, instead of a hurt reaction like he'd gotten from other girls interested in him, you laughed. Quietly to yourself, remaining impassive.

Amused. A mirth to your eyes. Like you've stumbled upon a puzzle yet to solve. A predator with interesting prey.

("Being lukewarm is better than freezing." )

Itoshi Rin thinks you are a strange, strange person. He thinks you have strange tastes. He thinks you are strange company and that your smile is too disarming. He thinks it's strange that everyone is convinced you're nice and well-meaning when he knows you are. You are but you're not.

You are nice. Kind is a better word. Warm and forgiving and tender. You're like that even like this, when being around you feels like being thrown into the snakes den. If Rin doesn't pay attention, he's sure he'll get eaten completely.

But he lowers his guard anyway. Being devoured and being desired are the same sensation, he finds.

"Rin," You offer, an inch away from kissing him. He swallows a thick sensation in the back of his throat. He feels jumpy. "Did I make you sad, hm?"

'No." He insists.

"Really?" You grin at him. You smell sweet "But it's true, you know? I like when men cry in front of me."

A shiver wracks through him.

"Don't talk about other men in front of me." He says lamely. It's all he can say. You laugh, kissing the corner of his mouth.

"Sorry, sorry. Then what should I say instead?" You look thoughtful as you kiss him. Rin lets you. He trusts you enough to let you kiss his face all over in this overly doting way "Rin, when was the last time you cried?"

"I don't remember." He says. It's a lie. Probably after Sae came back, he should answer.

"Liar. Bad boy, you shouldn't lie to your girlfriend. Are you embarrassed about crying?"

"No."

"Lie again, and I'll punish you." You tsk, then kiss him slow. On the lips this time. In that deep mesmerizing way that makes the insides of Rin's stomach feel like honey over flame. He gets jealous thinking about where you learned it all from. He knows your older and more experienced and that you love him despite all that, but he's jealous anyways.

If you could hear it, you'd call Rin spoiled with that same amusement you always regard him with.

"Rin," There's a little more urgency in your voice this time. It satisifes a part of Rin he doesn't know intimately. He didn't think it was there before he met you "I want to make you cry."

"Why?"

"I like seeing you like that." You tell him honestly "I like it so much when you look like that. Of course I feel bad too, but."

"Why the hell would you like that?" He asks, voice raspy with less anger than he would hope for. You invite yourself into his lap. Rin doesn't stop you. Your arms around his neck feel like a choker but there's something so comforting about the feeling of being suffocated.

You let your hands cup the nape of his neck, the other hand brushing his skin. Knuckles along his cheek with nothing but affection. You smile.

"When you look helpless and needy like that, I want you to depend on me." You say sweetly, so saccharine it makes Rin nauseous. "When you look sad and lonely, I want to comfort you so I can keep you all to myself."

"...Were you like this with your other boyfriends?"

"Mm, would you be sad if I said yes? But I didn't like any of them, y'know? They just came onto me because they liked being bullied."

He gives you a look of displeasure that makes you laugh.

"I only like you," You assure, your tone shifting again. Still familiar. The kind, gentle version of you seeping in through the cracks "I love you most of all. Only you."

"Stop that." He tucks his chin because he can't look up at you. You grin widely "You're weird."

You pull him towards you, hugging him tight.

"My Rin is the best in the world, hm?"

He thinks you're bad for him, in some ways. Good in more ways too. This kind of feeling, he isn't sure where it falls on the scale. It feels good, at least. Makes his head feel heavy with something even though all of his hairs stand on end. There's resistance before there's desire to succumb.

"Weird." He mutters, unable to stop himself from slipping into you.

"I wanna make you cry so I can wipe your tears off your face. I'll bet you're so pretty."

"You say stuff like that so easily it scares me."

"Don't be scared. It's all because I love you, okay? I love you sooo much."

He clicks his teeth "You're pushing it."

"Because I know you'll forgive me. Now, take off your clothes and tell me your colors."

"Red for stop, green for go, yellow for slow down." Rin says on automatic before blushing.

"There you go." You reply, pleased with yourself.

Ultimately, Rin listens. You're right in your assessment. He'll always forgive you no matter the circumstance. Despite himself and all the warnings - he'll listen to you obediently. You help Rin take off his clothes. Manicured fingers drag up the sides of his body, along the anterior muscles of his abdomen.

His shirt comes first. When it's off , you stare at him long and hard. Tilting his head back, you press a kiss to his Adam's apple before your fingers tug on his nipples. He lets out a sharp noise that makes you hum against his skin, throaty and pleased. He can feel your teeth on his neck and the warmth of your cunt against his jeans even through all the thick layers of fabric.

"They're always so sensitive," You say, running your thumb over them "Such a pretty color."

"Stop talking." He hisses, throwing his head back. You giggle at him.

His cock twitches at the sharp sensation. You latch yourself to the column of his throat - a familiar bruising throb making his whole body ache. Kissing and licking and biting every visible inch of his body while your free hand plays with his chest.

The roles should be reversed here, he's sure, but he can't remember a time they ever were. At least properly, with Rin initiating of his own volition. Not just being permitted by you to do so, but actually doing it all on his own.

He stifles a groan, hand cupped over his mouth as you pleasure his body. You play him like a well-tuned machine. A practiced handler for all of his more delicate parts and functions.

The blood rushing to his cock makes him light headed. The motions are well-practiced ones. You know just the right way to tease the hardened buds under the pads of your fingers, how to pinch with the tips of your nails until it's unbearable . The soft drags of your fingers, nails scratching the skin until it's red and raised. He's always been pale. White, milky skin that blooms into different shades of bruise. Colors you like, anyway.

You make a show of undoing his belt buckle. The noise is so audible, the soft clack of metal echoes as it gets undone. Unzipping his jeans, you cup your palm around his semi-hard cock and squeeze tight like you're holding his hand. He shudders, only saved by the thin material of his boxers.

You let your thumb trace under the head, still through the black cotton. You press it into the sticky tip, rubbing small circles with a gleeful giggle. He huffs. Making the mistake of looking at you directly sends him into a frenzy. Your expression is vulgar when you peer at him - lips tucked between your teeth and eyes full of hot white desire. Rin can feel how much you want this. How much you want him. You express it openly.

(He wants it just as bad. Maybe worse.)

You hook your finger into the edge of his boxers, peeking inside.

"Your cock is so pretty," Your sincerity sends electricity through his spine. He chokes "So cute."

"Don't talk about it like that."

"It's cute to me though?" You say, a horrifyingly genuine assessment as you push the fabric down enough to sit under his balls - leaving him exposed and stood up to attention. You wrap a hand around the shaft, leaning in to bite his earlobe "It's cute when it gets red like that. Your ears get red like that too."

Rin watches you with his eyes blown wide as you lift your fingers to your mouth, dragging your tongue along the middle and ring. You fuck them into your mouth slowly, until saliva drips down on them and the act is so salacious he thinks his heart is going to give. When they're nice and wet, you wrap them around the base.

The sensation makes his body clench. A suddenly warm and slick feeling surrounds him. You're good with your hands. Too good, actually. The exact pressure and speed without having to try - this isn't the first time you've touched Rin like this so he knows it all too well.

But there's something about this time that makes it different. You're slower as you work your palm against his cock, pushing the curve up against his tip and circling it without touching it long enough. He stares down at you as you do it. Your other hand fondles his balls, thumb teasing the seam as you squeeze them.

"Did you touch yourself without me, Rin?"

"No," He admits. This time it's not a lie. You smile.

"What a good boy."

Fuck. He shivers.

"My good boy. My Rin, all mine forever right?" You say, not expecting him to respond. But it's not babble, not pointless chatter. It's what he wants to hear.

Possession. Yes, he thinks. All yours forever.

Of course he doesn't say it. Not there yet, and unsure if he ever will be but it feels good to hear anyway. Rin has always been humiliated by his own desire. Before you, he thinks he did a good job of keeping it a secret. He didn't explore his sexuality in a way that was meaningful for good reason, avoiding it all together.

You changed that. He wanted you. And you wanted him, always, with such intensity that Rin found it hard to stop thinking about. Rin has always been weak to you.

And you're like this. Straightforward and open and so attractive it makes him feel like he's going to sink. To be wanted in this way that wraps him up in reassurance, to be taken care of. You want all of him. Even his tears. Even though he resists because it’s not something he knows how to cope with even now.

Would anyone dislike that if they got it as easily as he does?

You keep doing the same hand motions, stroking his cock at this slow pace that drives him up a wall. His chest heaves as you switch the pace. Fast, fast, slow. Over and over until he's at the edge. His whole body tenses, though his hands remained tucked at his sides.

Then you stop. Completely. Leaving your hands up, you peek at him through your lashes as he lets out a ragged breath. A look of irritation on his expression, quickly washed out by fear at the amusement on your face.

"Cry for me, baby." You say satisfied with yourself, thumb pressing into his slit "I'll let you cum after."

"You're," He swears under his breath as you start again, cock sensitive now "You're..."

"I'm what, baby? I'm mean? Weird?"

He shivers as you lean forward, hugging your arm around his shoulders, hand reaching down to drag your nails lightly up his spine. The sensations all feel mixed together and with your body all pressed to him, he can feel every outline of you. Every curve. The scent of you tickles the back of his throat again. You wrap around him like a vine, curled around his wrists and ankles and throat. Trapped, suspended by the presence of you.

He wants to cum, but the first time you deny it like this isn't so bad.

"Look at you holding it in so well," You start, though Rin can feel how much more is at the end of your sentence "Can you keep touching yourself for me, then? Slow like this."

Rin nods, though he isn't sure there's much of a choice. You kiss him in reward, standing back up on your feet. He watches you as you turn around. You pull your pants down the curve of your ass, leaving a pair of panties plainly in view and Rin feels his dick twitch in his hands. Fuck. You're so wet it's dripping down your leg. Knowing he did that to you is enough to make him groan.

Plus your bare skin, soft and smooth from being showered and lotioned is too much for him to try and endure.

You repeat the action with your shirt, but there's nothing underneath. When you're almost naked, you make a show of bending over to take your panties off. There's a noise as the thin cotton unsticks from your soaked cunt, material roll down your legs. It's just enough to get an eyeful of your pussy.

Soft and hot and so fucking wet. He feels restless. His hand isn't doing the job. He wants to be inside. Closer to you. You're all naked when you turn around and Rin is still mostly clothed. You crawl in his lap and move his hands away when you're straddling him again.

Cruel and unrelenting, you grab his cock again but this time you pull it against you. Grind yourself against his shaft, rubbing his tip against your clit deliberately. The sensation is making him bite down on his cheek hard enough that he might bleed. Soaking pussy, sticky and welcoming.

"You're trying so hard today," You say, half-way between sincere and condescending. His head is starting to get mushy, like his tongue doesn't fit in his mouth. "You don't have too, yknow?"

"What a-are you…?"

It's too fucking much. Too many senses stimulated. Too many feelings pouring out of him as he listens to you talk.

You're throbbing. He can feel you as you slide his cock between your folds with your hands, a slow and controlled pace that sends him teetering over the edge with each pass. It's so slick that it's noisy, and you have to be careful not to slip. Your fingers are covered in arousal just like his cock—so fucking messy, and it's dripping down his shaft in beads. It's wearing down his will. The one he's currently using to maintain his pride.

For Rin, loss always has to come at ultimate defeat. He hates things that are half-assed. Neck in neck, close to winning but not quite. That kind of thing is too frustrating. It has to be all encompassing. Rin wants to give in only when he can longer bear the weight of losing. Loss so utterly undeniable he can do nothing but be pinned underneath.

When you tell Rin he's trying too hard, the condescension is not for nothing. Because you know just as well as he does that you can take him apart easily. Crushing defeat through actions and patience. That's been your M.O. from the start. This is you giving him lee way. It's not like you'll make fun of him if he gives in.

Because you are sweet and you are kind and if Rin had even an ounce less of shame - you'd spoil him without thinking twice. He's only managed to do it once before and it was probably the best he's ever felt. But he can't default to it. Despite how much he wants too, he can’t just let go. Doing this much is complicated. Listening is complicated and his brain is so full of self-doubt he’s starting to shake.

But then, there’s you. The sound of your voice that makes it all stop.

"Can't just let go, can you sweetie?" And Rin trembles at the slight edge, just barely there "I think it's cute, though. You're so cute, aren't you, Rin?"

"I'm not—"

"I mean, look at how you're tensing your muscles trying not to fuck up into me, huh? Guess you're not any different from other guys. When you see somethin' soft and wet for you to fuck you lose all your common sense."

He chokes on a moan so loud he can't believe it's coming from him.

"Shouldn't resist it so hard. You can be my spoiled little boy. That's what Rin likes best, right?"

Normally, Rin admires your smooth talk. He doesn't have it in him to mimic it, sentences too awkward and too clumsy to sound good. You talk to him like this like it's so easy. Conversational. Rin doesn't hate it about you, but right now it's the worst thing he could hear.

He's slipping into it slowly. Like he's hanging onto the edge of a cliff and you're pulling his fingers off one-by-one. Your pussy is so wet and he's so fucking hard. Nothing makes any sense anymore. He can’t tell left from right and he wants to run away. But he can’t. He doesn’t want to stop but he wants to run away.

"You're drooling," You coo, free hand wiping the corner of his mouth. He burns with embarrassment "How sweet."

He can feel himself, the edge again - this time so close he can practically taste it. And the second the knot gets close to being untied, you stop all over again. Rin curses so loud he practically yells, his whole body lurching forward to hump into something before you push him all the way back down.

Officially overstimulated, he looks up at you desperately. You look so absolutely delighted he almost wants to shove you away.

"There it is. Look at you, baby, Just a little more."

He doesn't know how long he can keep up. This part of this is a trust fall. Rin could probably cry right now. Being pushed to this extent, till his head and his body are all out of sorts. Till there's too many thoughts jumbled up and tangled to fight. It makes Rin want to cry. It makes him want to seethe. To curl into himself and abandon everything.

He’s scared, admittedly. But there’s you, again. And so he breathes and watches you and doesn’t want to stop.

You keep your pace, rubbing his cock relentlessly against your pussy. So much of the same thing, but you're focused on nothing but him. Even when it feels good for you, when you moan or sigh, your eyes are glued to watching. Watching his cock twitch erratically, little dribbles of precum spilling out but never being able to come through completely. That you swipe up with your fingers and add to the mess you're making.

It'd feel so good right now. You're so wet, fuck — you might even push him out if he puts it in. Rin wants and wants and wants. The magnitude of it is truly, truly terrifying.

But you take him through it slowly. Then the words fall out of your lips slowly - gently, almost a secret.

"Mommy's pretty boy," You rasp, so low that it's barely there but it makes the entire world stop at once. He shudders, his whole body trembles. He can feel himself falling completely and the sudden desperation has him clutching your hips. The emotion is so overwhelming. Only you could ever do this to him. You're the only person allowed. A bittersweetness to all of it that makes Rin yield despite his efforts. "My sweet boy."

The praise makes him feel like he's melting. Mommy makes it okay. He doesn't know who he is currently. It's not his job too. He just looks up at you and hopes that everything carries over.

You cup your hands on his face, sticky and messy and look up at him. He stares at you as you smile, eyes blown wide and floaty.

"There you are," You say, so sweet Rin wants to sink "Mommy's here. 's okay."

He's lost himself in it completely. He's not drowning, but he's submerged in water with no room to look for light. Just you, only you.

"Hi," He says, staring at you. Relief fills him "I love you."

You smile, kissing his forehead "I love you more, Rinnie. It's oka—oh. Oh, there it is."

He blinks and suddenly his visions blurred. Then there's tears, though it's not a sob. They're hot and wet and make his eyes sting. You wipe them with the driest part of your hand.

"You're so pretty when you cry." You tell him. He's needy. He leans against your shoulder, mumbling.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, baby. Lemme see. C'mere?"

He listens, lets you stare at him as hot wet tears roll down his face. He's sure when he's more cognizant he'll be ashamed. Right now he doesn't care.

"Fuck, that's it," You lean forward, licking a stripe up the side of his cheek that sends shivers up his spine, swallowing his tears "So, so pretty. You did well. What should I give you, hm?"

"Inside," He rasps, voice shot completely as he holds your hips "Please."

"Be more specific, my love."

"Please let me cum inside." He can hear his own voice echo in the back of his head, the words coming out so slurred.

"Good boy," You purr. He shakes. Like you read his mind, you pet the back of his hair soothing him "You can hug me, sweetheart. I don't mind."

So he does. Picks his arms up and wraps them around your bare middle and holds you close. He buries his face into your neck, cheek pressed against your shoulder. You pat his head, scratching your nails against his scalp. He sits still like that for a minute, nudging his nose across your skin, leaning you back so he can get a mouth around your tits.

He sucks gently, drunk off of it. You laugh airily, repositioning slightly (carefully) so he doesn't have to pull away. He can feel the head of his cock against your entrance and he moans.

He can't help but moan as soon as you even get close. The sensation is so unreal. So dripping wet that it's hard for you to get it in completely, slippery silken walls that make it hard for him to push in. When he feels the tip enter, he groans. His whole body gives like a rope on it’s last thread, teeth gritted as he ruts his hips to fuck into you. It doesn't even take any effort to push. You sink down on it slowly, soothing him and telling him to hold it until he bottoms out.

He does, impatiently. He waits until he's all the way at the bottom before looking up at you again.

"Good boy. Easy does it. It'll feel better to cum since you're all the way inside, right? I can do whatever you want, but if you cum before me - you'll have to make up for it. Okay? Still with me?"

He nods.

"And your color?"

"'s green."

"Good job. That's it, baby. How do you want it?"

"Can I..?"

"You wanna fuck me?"

He nods, hazed. You smile at him.

"To your heart's content. Go ahead. Hold me here, 'kay?"

Rin listens, no longer trying to fight off the urge to listen. He holds you by your hips, latching his mouth to your chest again before fucking into you slow. Your pussy is a vice grip on his cock, and he's so overstimulated as is - he knows he doesn't have much of a will to hold it in. He tries though, quivering with each thrust as he holds you up in his arms.

You mumble to him, the praise is short but sweet and each word makes his brain feels like it's gonna melt out of his ears. He feels good, a pleasant buzzing numbness all over his body that has him reeling. You work as an anchor for him, stroking and petting and kissing him as he works himself into a frenzy.

He can barely get the words out of his mouth as he feels the pressure inside of him start to build. The knot coiled so tightly is unraveling quicker than he can piece it back together. He can't hold it, he can't, he can't, he can't. His thrusts are erratic, too sloppy. Chasing his own high as he fucks into you hard and fast.

"Gonna cum for me? Mommy's sweet boy, gonna fill me up all nice?"

He croaks out the words "Y-yeah. Yeah, fuck."

"There you go. That's it."

Rin cums so hard he sees white, specks like stars in his vision. The sensation borders unbearable. It's such an intense wave of emotion he can't do anything but groan, gripping you hard and bottoming out completely before painting your insides stark white. Thick, hot spurts of cum that he keeps fucking into, overstimulating himself. It just feels so good. So good and so perfect and his mouth is agape - gasping for air as his body goes limp. You kiss him as it happens, swallowing the moans out of his mouth with a delighted smile.

He's ragged by the time it's all out, more coming in a second wave with less intensity. The wave of euphoria that washes over him doesn't bring him back down like he thought it would. He still looks at you, head blank as you smile down at him. You kiss his hairline.

"You with me? Think I should call it quits tonight."

"No. Want you to—you can sit, 'm fine."

It's like you can read his mind.

"You want me to sit on your face even though you just came in me? Think you're up for that?"

"'s fine." He says one more time, too embarrassed to do anything more. Maybe you're feeling merciful because you don't make him say please. Just laugh, sliding his soft cock out of you slowly.

"Think you're gonna be okay? Wanna lay down?"

"I can sit on the floor. If it's okay."

He can feel how small his voice sounds, a feeling of shame overwhelming him. You rub his cheek affectionately.

"If you say so. Don't need to do anything but stick your tongue out and listen, but my sweet boy is good at listening, isn't he?"

He flushes. "Hn."

You give him a delighted smile, a proud one that makes him reel. Before he can pull away, you tell him to get down on the floor. He listens, back against it with his head laid back on the cushions. He can see his cum starting to drip out of you as you stand, his heart hammering in your ears.

The couch creak under the weight of your knees as you hover yourself over Rin's face. You thread your fingers through his hair and he sticks his tongue out without thinking twice. He can feel all the mess, your cum and his in his mouth - bitter and tangy as he lets his hand grip on your hips. Your clit is hard to attention as you grind against his tongue. He feels good as you groan with pleasure over him.

"I'm so worked up ‘cause of you. My pretty boy," You praise, before rocking your hips against his face. The feeling of you is suffocating, your thighs locked around his head. He can only breathe in the warm air surrounding you. You taste so fucking good. His nose is bumped against your pelvis as you tug harder and start an easy rhythm.

You rut back and forth and Rin suctions to give you a little more friction. You praise him for it.

"Fuck, Rin. I'm gonna—gonna c-cum."

Rin moans against you in approval and that seems to be enough to set you on edge. You hold hard onto the roots of his hair, your thighs clenching as you cum hard on his face after fucking it. He can feel your walls spasm, pushing the mess into his mouth. He swallows it obediently anyways, content to let you ride out your high until you're no longer able too.

When you sit up, you swipe Rin's lower lip with your thumb with a warm smile, putting your thumb in his mouth.

"Let's go clean up, baby."

For Rin, the process of aftercare usually tends to be a lot of grounding. A bath, usually, with the two of you talking about nothing in the process. You wash Rin’s hair for him and wash-up together and then eat something. Rin’s spoiled, really, so you usually cook for him when he asks.

Afterwards, the emotional exhaustion sets in. You retire yourself both to bed with snacks. Rin gets to pick (a thriller movie, you’ve let him have today) and he lays there in a hoodie with his face tucked into your side as you play with his hair. It’s vulnerable. A thing he can only access with you, after all this coaxing and trust. He tries not to think too hard about what this all means. That you have sex like this, and Rin submits to you willingly. He doesn’t want to know what it says about himself.

It’s hard for him to wrap his head around it entirely. Why it feels so good to leave it all to you. Why being doted on like that is so soothing. Despite all the time it takes to unravel him enough to give in, you always execute flawlessly and Rin is… happy at the end of it. Even though he can only admit that begrudgingly.

Rin leans into the warmth of your body as you gently stroke his hair. He looks up at you as you scroll on your phone, a silent plea for attention. You glance down and give him a laugh.

“Hi, my love”

“What are you looking at?” He asks, masking the petulance in his voice just barely. You giggle.

“Twitter. People are asking if you cry a lot because of my interview.”

“You’re such an idiot. Did you even mean that?” He says, leaning up to be closer to you. He headbutts you lightly, pressing a kiss to your cheek right after.

“Sorta. It was mostly a plot to bully you about it. I am an idiot, and you love me so much about it.”

“Unfortunately.” He says, rolling his eyes. He can feel the barest smile on his face and goes to look away as he hugs you close to him. You give a stare full of warmth that he wants to shy away from but can’t bring himself too. You press a tender kiss to his head.

“Mommy loves you so much, yeah? More than anything in the whole wide world.”

“I told you I was fine earlier. I don’t feel bad or anything.” He says when you use the title. He thinks you’re reassuring him because you’re concerned, but you just shrug.

“I just wanted to tell you that.”

He frowns “...I love you too. I guess.”

You snort. Rin smiles as you turn to face him and hug him close.

“Thanks for telling me, baby.”

#itoshi rin x reader #itoshi rin smut #bllk x reader #bllk smut #writing tag #a.dr #mommy kink cw #bangs my head against the wall

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senorabond · 7 months

Text

Rumor Has It: Chapter 2 (Peña x f!reader x Pike)

Pairings: Javier Pena x f!reader; Marcus Pike x f!reader; future Pena x f!reader x Pike

Chapter 2 Summary: You’re reviewing the case file Javi gave you when a memory of your last night in D.C. distracts you. After a bit of a brainstorm, you decide it’s finally time to call Marcus back and get his opinion. He always has the right words.

Rating: 18+ (Minors DNI), Explicit sexual content, additional warnings may be added for future chapters

Chapter Warnings: masturbation (f!reader), flashback, thigh riding, oral sex (f receiving), semi-public/workplace sex (evidence locker after hours), hand on throat for control, Dom/sub dynamic, soft Dom!Marcus, praise kink, you are such a good girl

Reader/Character notes: Reader is fem/afab. Marcus is strong enough to lift Reader up onto the edge of a table (no mention of Reader’s body size, shape, composition, or skin color), Reader has hair long enough for Marcus to brush away from face, Marcus is super thoughtful and thorough when planning for sexy times

Words: ~4.5k

Author's Notes: A huge thank you again to @kilamonster for being my wonderful beta, talking me through my fear of posting dirty talk, and letting me bounce random porny ideas off her. <3

Again, there’s no specific time/setting, I just really wanted to get both Javi and Marcus together in the same story. In my mind, Javi is post-s3 of Narcos, and Marcus is somewhere around/after s7ep1 of The Mentalist.

I learned basically everything I know about the court system from true crime TV and podcasts, so the legalese here is purposefully vague. I have no idea what it would take to prosecute a federal case, lol. However, I did find some interesting information while researching art fraud/money laundering! I’m happy to share links to my sources if anybody is interested.

Masterlist || Previous Chapter

Chapter 2

Later that night, you sit cross-legged on your bed, the various photos and documents from Peña spread out around you. You can see why he was so adamant about Customs involvement – there was enough circumstantial evidence in front of you for some lower-level courts to convict. Peña doesn’t strike you as the type to take chances though, not at this point in his career. If he’s making an arrest, he wants a case airtight, no room for technicalities or sympathetic juries. He’ll have worked with enough federal prosecutors to know what he needs to put bastards away and keep them there.

You think back to your conversation with Peña for what must be the twelfth time since that afternoon. It’s still difficult to reconcile the reputation with the man. Javier Peña, the senior DEA agent, was by reputation a force of nature; women and men alike wanted him and wanted to be him. He is unapologetically brash, arrogant, and always gets his way. If he believes something is worth getting, he’ll do whatever it takes, even if he has to use less than savory channels.

Javier Peña, the man, is intense, focused, driven, and has some of the saddest, most beautiful, big brown eyes you’d ever seen. He has a level of self-awareness you hadn’t expected. He struggles with asking for help, even if he can recognize his own limitations.

With a sigh, you take the wire transcript in hand and lean back against the pillows propped up against the headboard. The conversation had thankfully already been translated from Spanish with the original attached for reference. You had basic Spanish under your belt from high school and learned some choice slang from friends and exes, but you didn’t know nearly enough to comprehend the entire conversation on paper in front of you.

The men were discussing various works of art and their estimated values at auction and on the black market. One of the men, Castano, was insisting he could simply forge a copy of a famous painting since it was “just a bunch of splattered paint” that “didn’t look like anything anyway.” You chuckled to yourself.

You used to think the same thing about the abstract expressionism paintings you’d seen until somebody actually took the time to explain the meaning behind the movement. Agent Marcus Pike knew a lot about art – it was his job, after all, as head of the FBI’s art crimes unit in D.C. You worked closely with Pike and his squad to close a major case before you put in for the transfer to Texas. The two of you had spent a lot of time together and grown close, developing a mutual professional respect before things had ever gotten personal.

Your thoughts travel back to the last time Pike taught you something about art. It’s a bittersweet thought, since that was also your last night in D.C., and the last time you saw him. You’d come so close to saying more than you were ready to admit, and certainly more than you were ready to hear in return.

With a sigh, you drop the transcript on the bed and fall back onto your pillows. That last night in D.C. was also the last time you experienced an orgasm you didn’t give yourself. More than one, actually.

Your mind floods with images and sensations from that night and, rather unconsciously, your hands begin to retrace the parts of your body Marcus had touched. Fingertips ghost over the crook of your neck and across your collarbone to the collar of your worn t-shirt. Marcus’ t-shirt, actually. You’d stolen it unapologetically when he’d forgotten it at your place and told him it looked better on you anyway. Marcus had agreed, and then shown just how much better he liked it on you.

While your one hand is occupied at your breast, the other busies itself at the waistband of your panties. Eyes closed, you slide a finger over your dampening slit, remembering the path Marcus’ tongue traveled as your breath hitches. God, that man could use his mouth. And he loved to use it on you. You let the memory of that night wash over you…

Washington, D.C. 6 months ago

“There is one thing I need right now.” You feel a bit giddy at your recklessness, but any nerves you might have are quelled when Marcus runs the tip of his nose up your jawline to your ear.

“And what’s that? Hm?” He inhales your scent and hums with pleasure. Before you can stop yourself, you shift the hand at Marcus’ hip to his crotch. When you feel how hard he already is you release a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

Marcus inhales sharply through his nose at your touch, then lets out a groan in your ear at your gentle squeeze. “Tell me what you need.” His five o’clock shadow rasps against your sensitive skin as he sucks your earlobe into his mouth.

“I need you to show me that evidence locker you haven’t shut up about since we met.”

~~~

Pike stands behind you in the elevator in case you happen upon anybody else working late at the office. The odds are low, except for the contracted private security officers, but you didn’t think they’d want to see Pike’s hardon either. He’s so close, he’s almost pressed against your back while caressing a palm over your ass. You try to keep a straight face, but are practically panting through parted lips.

“You’ve been wanting this for a long time, haven’t you?” Marcus asks, his voice low in your ear as he leans over to push the button for the correct floor. His tone is almost conversational, but you can feel the thread of excitement pulling taut between your bodies. He’d been teasing you with the idea of fucking you in the art squad’s evidence locker for months now, going into great detail about what he was going to do to you – you only had to ask.

You nod silently in response as the elevator doors close, and Pike grips your waist, grinding his erection into your lower back. “Yes,” your breath huffs out. He likes you to use your words, and strokes your arm with an approving hum.

“Are you going to be a good girl for me?” Your nipples harden at his words and your breath comes out shakily.

Marcus was the first person you’d ever been with to call you a good girl. You never thought you’d be into the kind of gentle dominance and steady stream of praise Marcus employed with you, but it made all the right synapses fire in your brain and took the experience to an entirely different level.

You nod again, playing the game, knowing what he wants to hear.

Marcus’ hand splays across your lower belly, the other sweeping gently across your throat and brushing your hair away from your face. He’s pressing into you, the energy coming off him in waves, leaving you feeling heady.

“Say it for me.” It’s spoken softly, coaxing, but still an unmistakable command.

“I’ll be a good girl for you.” Your voice has the slightest waver, but ends strong.

Marcus’ hand on your belly inches lower and heat radiates between your thighs. “I know you will.”

The doors of the elevator open with a ding that makes you jump, and Marcus moves back with a reassuring squeeze on your shoulder. Gently, he guides you with a hand between your shoulder blades. You’re on one of the underground levels, where the low ceilings and fluorescent lights are stark reminders that you’re both still in a government building and cameras are watching your every move.

A security guard rounds a corner and Marcus clears his throat, then moves to button his suit jacket, presumably to hide his erection. How he manages to walk with that thing when it’s hard, you’ll never know.

The guard waves amiably. “Good evening, Agent Pike. What’re you still doing here so late?” Of course Pike knows the guard; probably knows his kids’ names too.

“Just had something to finish off first.” Biting your tongue to keep from laughing, the two of you pass the guard. “Oh yeah, tell Rosie good luck at her big match this weekend.” You nearly snort. The men share a brief handshake and you and Marcus round the corner, the door to the evidence lockup just ahead.

The two of you share a heated look and Marcus smirks. He swipes his badge and the door unlocks with a small snick. You’re guided inside a dark room that could be the size of a storage closet for all you can see. Marcus flips one of the light switches, and sturdy floor-to-ceiling shelving units are illuminated on either side, hedging you in like a maze. So far, it looks like any other evidence room, except with mood lighting.

“I don’t know what I was expecting,” you mutter, and Marcus chuckles. As he leads you along the shelves towards some unknown destination, long shadows from the meager overhead light throw the long rows and corners into darkness.

He takes your hand and explains, “The lighting, temperature, and humidity are all controlled by a central system. Same kind as in the National Gallery.” You nod, genuinely impressed.

“You don’t keep all your evidence here, right?” The room was large, but most of the shelving space was taken up by various sized crates and archival boxes. Marcus shakes his head.

“Just the very valuable pieces that need to be kept under special conditions. Any other evidence is kept in a regular lockup.” Marcus stops and you come up short, nearly colliding with his broad back. “Oh,” you breathe, peering around him and knowing this is what he wanted to show you.

The maze of shelving units opens up onto what looks like a miniature museum exhibit. Paintings are hung on the walls or staged on easels and covered with drop cloths. Sculptures are on pedestals in glass cases along one wall, and to your right are a few chairs next to an expansive table.

Marcus approaches the paintings and proceeds to carefully remove the drop cloths from each work of art. They vary in style, color, expression, and movement. Some of them are encased in elaborate frames, while others are plain, or bare. Now this is what you’d hoped for after all these months hearing Marcus speak of this place in near reverent tones. This evidence lockup could rival most well-funded galleries and museums.

“Are these all forgeries?” You take a step closer to the nearest painting and inspect it – for what, you’re not sure. “Stolen?”

“A bit of both.” Marcus sidles up behind you. Your voices remain hushed, private, intimate.

Hands casually in his pockets, he takes you on a tour of the evidence on display, telling you a bit about each piece – what made the art valuable enough to forge or steal, and a few particulars about each case. He is in his element here, the picture of quiet confidence. Passion laces his every word and brings a spark to his eyes that you’d only seen a few times before when you were about to crack a case.

You have never felt more attracted to him.

Coming up to the last painting, you cock your head to the side and give it a quizzical stare. It’s abstract, composed of a muted yet warm palette. The paint is blended with no discernable lines or shapes.

“What is it?” you ask, looking up in time to see Marcus’ dimple appear next to his gentle smile.

“What do you see?” Marcus steps behind you again, and runs the tips of his fingers up and down your arms.

“I… I’m not sure. What am I supposed to see?” The texture of the paint is layered in some spaces, and there’s almost an ethereal glow emanating from its contrast of light and dark. You feel a bit embarrassed and uncultured. Maybe if you squint or let your vision blur, like it’s one of those magic eye puzzles that give you headaches.

“What I love about abstract art is that there’s no right or wrong answer. I hated it until we studied it in school. I always thought I was missing something, and got frustrated that I couldn’t see what was right in front of me.”

You let out a soft hmm of agreement, but are distracted by Marcus’ voice, hot on your ear, lips close enough to graze the sensitive shell. “It was this quote by an artist, Arshile Gorky, that helped me appreciate it more. To paraphrase, abstraction frees the mind and allows it to explore the unknown. Whatever you see is what you’re meant to see.”

You let your mind rest on his words, buzzing from the energy between you. With a smirk, you say, “I bet you got laid a lot in school.”

Marcus gives a surprised chuckle. “I did alright,” he admits, and you hear the grin in his voice.

Turning to face him, you run your hands up his chest and under the lapels of his jacket to his shoulders. Marcus sighs, placing his hands on your waist and pulling you closer. That spark in his eye is trained on you now, his pupils blown while they skate over your face under hooded lids.

“What’s next on the tour?” Your voice comes out a bit hoarse, his gaze almost overwhelming in its intensity.

Marcus smiles, somewhat mischievously. “Just one more thing. C’mon,” he takes your hand and starts leading you to the large table and chairs. “I think you’re going to like this part.”

Leaving you at the edge of the table, Marcus goes to one of the nearby shelves and pulls out a large cardboard envelope from a box, nearly the size of one of the paintings. With the flip of a switch, the entire surface of the table illuminates, humming gently from the internal fan. He pulls out what looks to be a sheet of dark plastic film and lays it on top of the table, revealing an x-ray image.

Marcus’ face is like a kid’s on Christmas morning. “This is an x-ray of that painting over here,” he points to the abstract work you’d been standing at a moment before. The x-ray on the table is a ghostly, black-and-white rendering of the muted swaths of paint. “And here,” he lays a second image down on the table, “is another x-ray taken of the same painting at different settings.”

You nearly gasp. It’s virtually a different image entirely. The abstract painting has been reduced to a haze, overlaying a distinct pastoral landscape. Leaning over the table for a closer look, you feel a pleasantly warm glow on your face from the lit surface. “What the…” Your eyes snap back to Marcus’ face, which is lit up with what you can only describe as glee.

“So you like it?” His eyes are sparkling and that dimple you love so much has reappeared. “‘Like it?’” You scoff. “I love it, Marcus, this is incredible. But…” you gesture at the images, “What exactly does that mean in terms of evidence?” Marcus comes around to your side of the table.

“The first one is a radiographic image of that painting we looked at, which could have told us if there were any traces of minerals or other elements within the paint used. Modern paint pigments are synthetic,” Marcus pulls the first image closer and gestures to the different shades of gray. “But–” he slides the second image next to the first, with its outlines of rolling hills and fluffy clouds, “Historically, heavy metals were frequently used, like lead and cobalt.”

Nodding along with the lesson, you put two and two together. “So the heavy metals in old paint would show through on an x-ray, even if somebody has painted over it.” Marcus is beaming at you, clearly happy that you made the connection.

“Exactly. And then the synthetic paint could be removed later.” Turning to face you, he rests a hip on the edge of the table. The surface light casts dramatic shadows across the contours of his jaw and nose. You mirror his body language and reach out to poke him playfully in the chest.

“No fair; the FBI gets all the fun toys.” The cool satin of his tie slips deftly between your fingers, and you give it a gentle tug. His gaze is alert and hungry as he takes a step closer, and you can feel your body responding to his proximity once again. Marcus trails a finger across your clavicle that sends a chill down your spine and tingles straight to your nipples.

“Yeah, but if you ask nicely, maybe I’ll share.” Threading his fingers into the hair at the base of your skull, he pulls gently but purposefully until your head tilts back and you’re forced to meet his eyes. A shuddering breath escapes your parted lips. Marcus leans in and grazes his lips against yours, barely a whisper of a kiss. His tongue traces the sensitive inner edge of your top lip and you nearly let out a whimper.

“Go on, then. Ask me.” He nips at your bottom lip. “Nicely.”

“Please,” you breathe. Marcus’ arm encircles your waist, while the hand in your hair grips a bit tighter. He uses a tight hold on your ass to grind you against the firm thigh he places between your own. Your hands grasp desperately onto his shoulders as your knees feel like they’re about to buckle from the delicious pressure.

“‘Please’ what?” Marcus prompts gently. You’re pressing back against his thigh now, too lost in the sensation to respond. He withdraws it suddenly and you’re left clenching, all too aware of how badly you need that pressure back.

“‘Please’ what?” He repeats, more firmly this time.

“Please, Sir.” You correct yourself quickly, and are rewarded with Marcus’ lips against yours and the blessed return of his thigh. He’s a man possessed, and you whimper into his mouth as his tongue licks inside. The next thing you know, he’s got you sandwiched between the table and his thigh now, your skirt hiked up, juices leaking through your panties as you ride the firm muscles of his leg.

“Look at you, just beautiful. You’re so hot like this, I love seeing you lose yourself. Does that feel good? Hm?” Marcus presses his hard cock into your hip and groans. “Jesus, I can feel how fucking wet you are through my pants. Are you going to leave your pussy juices on me, so anybody we walk past can see what a good girl you are for me?”

Your eyes are squeezed shut tight, arms gripping to Marcus for dear life as you continue rutting against him, breath becoming ragged. The friction and pressure are almost too much, you’ll practically give yourself rug burn at this rate. But the onslaught of Marcus’ filthy praise in your ear, his hot, steamy breath against your neck, his tongue on your pulse point – you’re already careening out of control and he knows it.

“Are you going to cum for me, baby?” Nodding, wordless, you scramble to hold onto him as Marcus scoops up one of your thighs and hooks it over his hip with a grunt. “Then you better ask first.”

“P-please,” you gasp out, “Please, Sir. Please can I cum?” You’re on the precipice, Marcus’ cock almost painfully hard in your hip.

You gasp when he pulls his thigh away, eyes flying open in shock. “Not yet, sweet girl, hold on for me just a little bit longer. You’re going to cum on my tongue first.” Before you have a chance to protest, Marcus hoists you up fully onto the edge of the light table and pulls up a chair to feast on you.

You’re immediately aware of the warmth the lit surface of the table infuses into every part of your body it’s touching. The table itself feels sturdy and solid beneath you, but you can’t fight an initial moment of panic. “Um, Marcus…I don’t know if–” It’s a struggle to concentrate as Marcus noses at your clothed pussy. A gentle double tap to the crown of his head is all the signal he needs to check in.

“You okay? Do you want to stop?” Marcus’ face is flushed, but his eyes are clear and laser focused on you.

“Is this, uh…safe?” You rap gently on the table with a forced air of nonchalance.

Marcus smiles and strokes the outside of your hip and thigh with his hand. “Totally safe. I triple-checked the specs and tested it out already.”

You lift an amused eyebrow at that. “Tested it out?”

Marcus’ eyes go round at the implication, his dominant persona dropped. “Not like that! I mean I stacked a shitload of evidence boxes on it and did a– well, ah– a simulation, I guess you could call it.” His self-effacing chuckle is endearing. He always knows how to make you feel safe and secure during your more adventurous times together. You smile and stroke his hair as he rubs his cheek against your inner thigh, the rasp of his five o’clock shadow sending shockwaves to your pussy.

“I’m very interested in finding out more about this simulation…Sir.” His honorific on your lips is your signal that you’re ready to continue and his grin turns wolfish. With a playful, smacking kiss to the tender flesh of your inner thigh, Marcus slips his fingers into the waistband of your panties. Bracing your calves on his broad shoulders, you lift your ass a little to help Marcus slide the panties the rest of the way off.

“Open up for me, sweetheart.” Gently, he applies pressure to your knees until you’re completely spread out before him. You might be a little embarrassed being on display if you didn’t know how much he loved you like this: open, vulnerable, and completely at his mercy. The expression on Marcus’ face is practically one of reverence.

“This is exactly why I wanted to bring you here,” Marcus places open-mouthed kisses up your thighs, sucking and nibbling his way to your center. It’s difficult not to squirm, he’s got you feeling antsy and impatient. “I wanted to see you lit up and on exhibit for me, like the work of art you are.”

You must be quite a sight to behold with the bright light of the table shining from beneath you. To drive his point home, Marcus dips his tongue to your core and collects your gathering slick on his tongue, spreading it and his saliva up to your clit in a broad swipe. Riding his thigh earlier has left you swollen and sensitive; your back arches off the table and you gasp at the sudden contact.

Marcus holds you open with one hand so his tongue can more freely explore the full length of your slit, while the other alternates between massaging your breasts and rolling a peaked nipple through your blouse. Desperate for more, you unbutton your top enough to pull the cups of your bra down and leave yourself exposed to Marcus’ roaming fingers.

Your whimpers and shuddering breaths combine with the sounds of Marcus lapping at your seeping cunt. His nose bumps against your engorged clit and you gasp, hips spasming. The hand on your breast disappears, and a finger gently nudges your entrance.

“I’m going to get you ready for my cock, baby. Are you ready?” You nod wordlessly, and Marcus eases a digit inside you, watching your expression. “Oh, pretty girl, you’re so good, so wet. So tight, fuck.”

Marcus laves his tongue over your clit and you clench around his finger. “Mmm, you’re going to take me so good, aren’t you?” Soon, he adds a second, working it rhythmically in and out, sucking and flicking his tongue against your clit until you’re panting.

The wet noises made by Marcus’ fingers inside you are practically obscene. When he crooks them at just the right spot, you lose all sense and writhe against him. You can hear a question in his inflection, but the twist and pull of his fingers are distracting, to say the least. He’s leaning over you now, the heel of his palm applying pressure over your clit to replace his mouth.

“You’re doing so well, I know you can do it. You just need to ask me first.” His fingers inside you are relentless, and you can feel the pressure building inside, pulling taut like a rubber band about to snap. Marcus can tell how close you are and stops with his two fingers buried deep inside and applies his other hand to each side of your neck with just enough pressure to get your attention.

“C’mon, sweetheart, focus for me, otherwise I’ll have to stop.” His fingers are barely moving inside of you, just enough to keep you right on the edge. “You know what to do.”

A sob practically escapes your throat. “Please, Sir. I need to cum. Please can I? I want to be good for you.” It’s impossible to keep the pleading from your tone, you’re so close. Your hips are gyrating of their own accord, feebly fucking yourself on his fingers.

Marcus moves his hand off your throat to cup the side of your face and tangle his fingers in your hair. “Mm, do it. Be my good girl and cum.” Marcus leans down for a final taste where you’re stretched around his curling fingers, then settles his lips around your clit. With a cry, you break and see stars behind your eyelids as your orgasm crashes over you.

“Fuck yes, that’s my good girl. So beautiful like this, so perfect. I can feel you dripping into my hand, baby, you’re so wet. Did that feel good? Is that what you needed?” Marcus praises you through it all, stroking your neck, your breasts, peppering kisses over your mound and belly. His fingers retreat, leaving you fluttering in aftershocks, and you watch him lick your cum from his palm and fingers.

“Thank you for being such a good girl for me, sweetheart. I had to taste you at least one more time before you leave...” Reality falls over the room like a weighted blanket, and you let your engaged muscles go slack against the lit surface of the table, suddenly harsh and blinding. You feel exposed instead of exhibited and you squeeze your thighs together as the final flutters of your orgasm subside.

“Hey, come back to me,” you hear Marcus murmur, and feel him turn your face to meet his. He kisses you slowly and deeply, and you taste your tang on his plump bottom lip. He presses his forehead against yours and you share a couple of breaths.

“I’m not done with you yet.”

Additional Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading! There is plenty more to come (had to). I'd love to know what you thought -- any and all feedback is welcome! I just want to become a better writer. :)

Chapter 3 || SeñoraBond's Masterlist

#pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfic #javier peña #marcus pike #javier pena x reader #marcus pike x reader #javier pena fanfiction #marcus pike fanfiction #senorabond writes #rumor has it fic

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textfromthelookout · 1 year

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just read ur entire essay about vegeta and like.. goddamn you just gave me a whole new perspective on that funky little man. i love the way it was written and organized

ALSO ALSO i read this bit and am begging u to expand on this concept it sounds so interesting /gen

Oh you would, would you. I am delighted to oblige.

So. Super Saiyan. A transformation available to Saiyans past certain power thresholds that, while more or less freely accessible after first awakening to it, needs a trigger to become accessible in the first place. Over the course of Z in its many adaptations, we see the first awakenings of Goku, Vegeta, Future Trunks, and Gohan onscreen. Goten, Trunks, and Future Gohan are also Super Saiyans, but we don’t know for sure how that came about. Goten and Trunks in particular are why I say that Super Saiyan (more specifically, the first time you access Super Saiyan) can be read as a trauma response, because there’s no real evidence this is the case on their parts. You can make an argument for them, but in general I choose to believe they’re exceptions to this take, so I won’t be discussing them.

Oh and as for Cabba, Caulifla, and Kale…… they’re literally from an alternate universe. Super Saiyan just has different rules there. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

Getting back on track. Goku’s the obvious place to start, so let’s look at him first. In the entirety of Dragon Ball (that I’ve seen), not counting the comedic needle bit in that one episode of GT, Goku has only ever been seen crying three times. Once was his reunion with Grandpa Gohan in early Dragon Ball. Once was in the anime’s version of the Tournament of Power, after Roshi’s near-death incident.

Once was at the beginning of King Piccolo, when he finds Krillin dead. King Piccolo saga is a little infamous for the sudden tonal whiplash—yeah, Tien breaks Yamcha’s leg in the tournament just prior, but they make up about it and it’s not as dire as someone dying. What’s really striking to me about it is Goku’s reaction. He’s more upset than we’ve ever seen him. And he loses worse than we ever see him lose because of it. Sure, in the end everything is put right, but.

But, the thing about trauma is that it makes time go weird. Fast forward about ten years. It’s suddenly happening again. His best friend is dead. He couldn’t do anything to stop it. He doesn’t know that Porunga can revive people who have already died once. As far as Goku knows, Krillin’s gone for good this time. And he watched it happen and watched Freeza laugh about it.

And he reacts essentially the same way. Only this time, he’s orders of magnitude stronger than he was when he was 15, and he has the experience and the wherewithal to control himself somewhat better. Emphasis on somewhat, because it’s very clear that he’s worried about going completely off the deep end in the grips of this power. And he’s right to be! I’m willing to bet money that in Gohan’s whole life, Goku has never pulled the ‘I’m your father, don’t talk back to me’ card on him, and that’s one of the smallest ways this power changes him. When he’s fighting Freeza, he’s a lot more like Vegeta, down to the way he smirks. He’s condescending. He’s brutal. I’ve seen comments to the effect of ‘Freeza’s not fighting Goku anymore—now, Freeza’s fighting Kakarot’ and that’s truly what it feels like.

I could go on, but the particulars of the Namek fight aren’t the important part. The important part is that Goku recognizes how badly that whole thing fucked him up and stays on Yardrat for a year explicitly to get a handle on Super Saiyan before returning home. He knows that if he loses control like that again, there’s a very real possibility he’ll end up hurting someone he cares about, or worse, becoming someone he really doesn’t want to be. (Call it a reach, it definitely is one, but I like to believe Goku picked up Instant Transmission while he was there so he’ll never be too late or too far away to help ever again.)

Vegeta’s case is less… visible? So, much of this is going to be purely my extrapolation. If you take him at his word, Vegeta triggered Super Saiyan with the sheer amount of hatred he felt toward himself for his inadequacy and like. Hello. That’s already a giveaway. I don’t believe he’s outright lying, but I also believe he’s simplifying matters a little. Or a lot. Per My Last Long-Winded Essay, he only gets that far because he leaves Earth entirely for areas uninhabited, which is good for him in some respects and bad for him in others.

The sweet irony of it is that it was Vegeta’s own efforts that locked him out of Super Saiyan. He tried to brute-force his way into it singlemindedly, in the belief that he was simply not strong enough, but Super Saiyan’s trigger is raw, overwhelming emotion. It can be one very clear emotion, or several different ones mixed up, but it’s emotion. It doesn’t answer to logic by its very nature, and frankly, neither does trauma. So Vegeta’s removed all the distractions to his training, yes, but in doing so he’s also removed all the distractions from everything else. Without anybody else around, he doesn’t have anything to get himself out of his own head, so now he’s got a whole universe of space for two and a half decades’ worth of repressed shit to come raging out. Funny how the minute he lets himself feel actual emotions other than the ones he wants everyone to see, the transformation explicitly tied to and powered by emotion rears its head, huh.

Vegeta makes several really dumb decisions once he gets back on Earth, in sharp contrast to the way he handles himself on Namek before he’s face-to-face with Freeza. On Namek, he’s careful to fly under the radar whenever he can, which is why I love the fit he launches into when he realizes Gohan played him, because that’s his control slipping. He’s opportunistic and sneaky and it’s clear he’s doing his damnedest to get what he wants without having to fight people who can kill him. He doesn’t hear the Ginyu Force is coming and rush off to challenge them, he’s like ‘oh shit’ and immediately fucks off elsewhere. I can only make sense of the way he acts during the androids/Cell as a symptom of his need to prove himself.

And make no mistake—it is a need, not a want. The power’s meaningless without people to witness and acknowledge it, the same way the authority of royalty is. His chosen course of action, though, is sort of like painting over rotten wood, if that makes any sense. Letting himself get high off the power, pretending that everything went exactly the way it should have gone from the start, refusing to acknowledge all of his Issues more than passingly. Furthermore, his victory must be complete and unquestionable: that’s why he lets Cell take Android 18. He can’t just… not lose, he has to win. Anything less is anathema to him. You see, he hasn’t yet figured out that he can survive without it.

Okay sorry that got a little in the weeds but I hope you get what I was driving at there. Vegeta’s a mess and talking about him makes me Unstable. Let’s move on.

Of the main four Saiyans, I think Future Trunks’ awakening is the simplest to understand: his trigger is that moment of pure, crushing grief when he finds Gohan dead in the rain. And it’s no wonder. Aside from Gohan and his mother, who does Trunks even talk to in that timeline? We never see him with friends, not until Super. Trunks’ ‘You were everything to me’ in the dub version of the special might be only debatably canon but it’s hardly an exaggeration. Friend. Teacher. Comrade. Brother. Perhaps even a father figure, in some ways. Certainly the only other one of his kind—half-human, half-alien from a long-dead warrior race. There was literally nobody else in the world who could come close to understanding him to the degree that Gohan could have. Gohan dies and Trunks is effectively all alone, the terminarch of one species left to shoulder the fate of another.

It’s a staggering loss for anybody, let alone for a boy of 12 or 13.

Speaking of. Gohan. I think Gohan’s a strange case—not powered by grief or anger, but something different. In the moments before he unlocks Super Saiyan, he’s thinking ‘I have to do it’ before flashing abruptly to all the different times where he was ‘too weak or too scared’ to fight. I personally believe that it’s less determination or ‘the power coming in response to a need’, as Goku puts it, that tips him over the edge. Fear, I think—while not being the whole reason, there’s surely some self-directed anger or disappointment involved—is probably the biggest factor. That’s Gohan’s whole thing—he’s scared of fighting, and to some degree of his own power. If I laid out all the specific examples we’d be here for another thousand words, so I’ll just say that he’s been Through It. We all know this.

This sort of has a continuation in the iconic Super Saiyan 2 transformation against Cell. It’s all on him and it’s not until Cell actually kills someone in front of Gohan that it really twigs that it’s do or die for him. And as much as he’s angry at Cell, the realization that Cell means business, that he really will kill them all? It scares him. Fight or flight takes over. The only real difference is that he chooses fight. The change in how Gohan handles Cell is what really convinces me that emotionally he’s going through something similar to Goku and Vegeta—because it’s almost to the letter exactly what happens with Goku against Freeza. The cruelty, the condescension. I’d argue Gohan leans into the mean demeanor, subconsciously or not, to keep from feeling the fear. And it costs him. But the Gohan discussion is a whole other discussion.

As for Future Gohan, I’m putting a disclaimer here now that none of what I’m about to say is really provable—just really really interesting to think about.

Future Gohan’s life is maybe the worst-case scenario. Like the future timeline sucks specifically for Gohan because he doesn’t like to fight and he has to anyway because what other choice does he have? Let everyone on Earth die without at least trying? He couldn’t, not in good conscience. And it’s not like he’ll have a normal life so long as the androids are around anyway. So in the middle of grieving basically everybody he’s ever known and felt affection for (sans his mother and grandfather, it’s more implied that he’s estranged from them, or at least intentionally distancing himself from them to keep them out of harm’s way), he's also making himself channel anger he hates feeling so he has a shot of even surviving these killers that only exist because of something his father did at least ten years ago. This shouldn’t be his fight, and yet.

Here’s my personal theory. Gohan goes into that final fight with the androids fully intending to die. Not just expecting to, but hoping to. He knows that if he was only barely scraping through those fights with both arms, there’s no way in hell he’ll kill them both when he only has one. He’s not an idiot, but you know what he is? Exhausted. Twelve years of this, being the only resistance to this threat and failing each and every time. He knows what will unlock Super Saiyan for Trunks. He knows there’s someone to carry on the torch and lift the burden. And it’s cruel and selfish of him to put all of that on Trunks and throw himself to the wolves, but it was cruel that he had to carry that all by himself for so long.

He’s fucking tired.

Anyways. That’s my TEDtalk on Super Saiyan. If you read it all the way to the end you’re a real one. Thanks for this ask, you two!

#son goku #son gohan #future trunks #mirai trunks #vegeta #goku #trunks #gohan #dragonball z #dragon ball z #dbz #'jojo it's not that deep don't put more thought into it than toriyama did'#Make Me.#text from the mod

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temnurus · 6 months

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More Wangxian Faves: Post-Canon & Canon Divergent

This list was made to honor the request in the notes on my WWX recs post from @100percentserenity for some more fics featuring Wei Ying set in canon or canon divergent fics. Now, not all of these are strictly from his POV, but they all feature him at his quick-witted, charming, & hopelessly oblivious best. Canon divergent can be a pretty wide category, so do keep that in mind if you see a rec & think, "This isn't very canonical.." Haha. There are two repeats from my first Wangxian rec list, but they fit the ask & are both excellent & worth mentioning twice! Now, in no particular order, may I recommend:

Far Away You Are by cqlorphan (E, 17,358)

Thoughts: I absolutely loved the idea of the esteemed Hanguan-jun being this not-so-secret purveyor of comfort hugs & heartache advice. Wei Ying’s shock upon finding this out was so funny I couldn’t help but laugh, & my amusement only intensified when he made the scary Yiling Laozu face while asking who broke Lan Zhan’s heart, only to be told it was him who’d done so. I wanted to hug all the Juniors myself. They’re all so very precious. This was a lovely story where very little hurt in the end, & sometimes that’s just nice after the gut punch that canon gives us.

my age has never made me wise by idrilka (E, 63,439)

Thoughts: I absolutely loved this. It was pretty CQL (The Untamed) compliant & told the post-canon story of Wei Ying wandering alone as a rogue cultivator after the events of the show. Of course he was pining after his zhiji the entire time, so when he heard gossip that the Chief Cultivator might be married by summer's end it nearly undid him. The angst was excruciating, but One Brain Cell WWX Strikes Again fics somehow always manage to be fun at the same time. I've read several post-canon, wandering Wei Ying stories, & this one was particularly good.

Not What We May Be by brooklinegirl (E, 29,222)

Thoughts: I love Wei Ying’s cleverness in this. He’s his usual irreverent, chaotic, charming self, & I never get tired of how wonderfully his mind works. The odd phenomenon occurring in the town he’s staying in was an interesting mystery to solve, & I had to laugh when Lan Zhan arrived with the usual Lan Juniors ensemble in tow. Watching them all work together to figure out how to fix the issue while also dealing with the healthy side helping of oblivious Wei Ying & searing sexual tension between him & Lan Zhan was a fun treat.

All Caught Up by brooklinegirl (E, 36,934)

Thoughts: Wei Ying proposing to Lan Zhan to get him out of an arranged marriage he didn’t want is so something he’d do. There is no character more quintessentially chaotic good than Wei Ying. You can’t change my mind. The practice kissing was a lovely regular feature from this author, & my particular favorite thing in this fic was Nie Huaisang’s cameo as their pseudo wedding planner with his classic meddling while insisting he’s useless shenanigans. This was super cute. I liked it a lot.

love, in fire and blood by cicer (E, 360,042)

Thoughts: This was an example of a cool MDZS-specific trope I hadn't seen before, & in it Wei Ying, the infamous Yiling Patriarch, was a cultivator who had achieved immortality (aka, he's OP as fuck but in a fun way). The great sects enlisted his help to win the Sunshot Campaign, & what did he demand in return? Lan Zhan's hand in marriage, of course! It was a fantastic slow burn in which poor Lan Zhan suffered the mortifying ordeal of falling in love with his own husband. An amazing & complex plot, chock-full of angsty goodness.

Birthday Party by waffles_4_breakfast (E, 100,123)

Thoughts: I loved the idea that Wei Ying would actually get to attend Jin Ling's one month celebration, but I was, of course, still concerned about the continued danger he'd be in. This fic nicely showcased Wei Ying's sharp wit, charm, & ever-present sass. I also loved his dramatics when it came to his interactions with Lan Zhan (and in general, of course, haha), but their sweetness together was ultimately my favorite thing about them. The continued threat to Wei Ying's life & all the plotting surrounding it was interesting, but the best things about this fic were the characters & their bonds with each other.

Fentao-laoshi's Guide to Cut-Sleeve Pleasures by occultings (E, 31,775)

Thoughts: This was set during the Cloud Recesses Study Arc, & it was so, so good. The sexual tension between them was just simmering the entire time, & the idea of them “practicing for marriage” on each other was fucking hilarious. Their banter was top notch, & I absolutely loved Lan Zhan’s nearly overwhelming desperation for Wei Ying, not to mention Wei Ying’s bullshit getting him in over his head (as usual, but this time in a fun way, haha). The feelings were actually very sweet, too. I enjoyed this a lot.

wide enough and wild by impossibletruths (E, 64,120)

Thoughts: I love the tag “Noping Out Of Society With Your Boyfriend And Your 50 Wen Refugees: The Novel”. It made me laugh before I’d even started the fic. While this was set during the time period in which Wei Ying frees the Wen refugees, they didn’t end up in Yiling this time. I won’t get too specific, but they still ended up rebuilding their own little settlement & farming to survive, basically. Lan Zhan found them & decided to stay. The slow burn was so good, & I loved the pining in particular. I cried a couple of times in this. It really was just that good.

your problem as a mountain. by cupofwater (E, 30,989)

Thoughts: It was so cute to see the difference between Wei Ying’s & Nie Huaisang’s fantasies, & Wei Ying’s turning out to be more vanilla & romantic in nature absolutely cracked me up. I nearly hurt myself laughing when Nie Mingjue sent Lan Zhan some of the letters by mistake, & I was delighted by Lan Zhan’s reaction. I won’t spoil it, but the smut was lovely & despite the misunderstanding our boys definitely both got their happy ending, haha.

The Vermilion Ribbon by Unforth (E, 233,368)

Thoughts: This sat on my Marked For Later list on AO3 for the longest time, & I really did myself a disservice by not reading it sooner. It was absolutely fantastic. The world-building, pacing, & intricate plot were all brilliantly done, & Wei Ying being in the Wen clan was nothing like I imagined it was going to be in this. Instead of his core family being the Jiangs, we get Wen Qing in Jiang Yanli’s role & Wen Ning in Jiang Cheng’s. Now I’ll warn you that this got super heavy in some places, so mind those tags & take care of yourselves. Nothing was graphic enough that I had to stop reading, but it didn’t shy away from the serious subject matter it covered either. The whole fic was a real emotional roller coaster, & I can’t recommend it highly enough.

#mdzs #the untamed #wangxian #lan zhan #wei ying #lan wangji #wei wuxian #wangxian fic rec #Temnurus rec list #i'm so flattered by this request #here's to all my wangxian obsessed fam #i like them a normal amount ok #ok maybe slightly more than normal #leave me & my mdzs brainrot alone kthx bai

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where-i-overanalyze · 1 year

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the significant lack of parents in Soul Eater and how the DWMA combats that

obviously, there are some parents present throughout the entirety of Soul Eater, but they truly are not amongst the greatest: Medusa, Spirit, Lord Death (he's okay in comparison to everyone else, but still not dad of the year). i started this just wanting to talk about how there are almost no parents and then ended up realizing some sorta nice things about the DWMA by the end of it. manga spoilers, so beware.

characters who have living parents

let's start with Maka since she's the only one who has one parent present and one parent mentioned in somewhat detail. Spirit certainly is quite the character; he has almost no redeemable qualities except for the fact that he does actually love and support his child. that's all good, and yet he cannot correct his behavior to actually make himself a person that his daughter will respect. he cares so much and yet he does nothing to try and be a better father for her and what she actually needs from a parent.

but then we have Maka's "wonderful" unnamed mother. great mom, great meister, never given an example as to what this woman could really be like. i haven't been into Soul Eater for super long and i'm sure there are definitely people who have been shitting on Maka's mom, but it's interesting to me purely because even though there aren't many parents in Soul Eater to begin with, there is an even more extreme lack of mothers. i'm going to get nebulous with the definition throughout this post, but it really just seems like the "idea" of a good mother is all the characters get. Maka only gets memories of how great her mother was, maybe because she truly wasn't that great in the first place. a meister who made a death scythe is never to be seen throughout the greatest threat of all time within the past 800 years, not even to check on her one daughter? maybe she's busy? sure. idc what she's doing, but that's a strike out for me.

moving away from Maka's dubious parents, let's look at Kid and Lord Death. in truth, he's not nearly as bad as the other parents in terms of actual parenting, but he is clearly much different in relation to the other parents. he's not human, he's in charge of seemingly their entire world, and Kid is essentially just a chunk of Lord Death that was given sentience. with that, we have to think of exactly what is it that death gods even need in order to be raised. since Asura was a failed attempt, Kid was specifically "born with a childish nature so he [could] learn fear, much like humans" (DTK Soul Eater Wiki page). am i really citing a source in my Tumblr post, is this who i am. SO, thinking about what death gods are meant to do with their power and the fact that they are meant to keep balance in the world, i'd say that Lord Death did a pretty good job of getting Kid to become the best death god he could be. when it comes to actual "normal" parenting standards, idek if we can hold Lord Death up to those since they both are very much not normal. keeping Kid in the dark about some insanely important details about the academy (the Kishin in the basement) and letting Kid know that Lord Death would die when he awoke his true powers, maybe not the best choice, but i'll admit that i'm an extremist when it comes to people keeping important secrets that could have saved everyone a lot of time and trouble.

actually, i take some of my positive statements back when thinking about how Lord Death handled Asura. i know Asura was all powerful and just sort of super insane, but given the fact that Asura was a failed attempt of a fragment and Kid was Lord Death's way of trying again, it feels kind of wrong to give him a title of Decent Dad when his first attempt at making a young death god ended up so so so messed up. also, making a second one just in the hopes of solving your first mess up, kinda fucked up.

anyways, Tsubaki! she's honestly very interesting because we know that both of her parents are alive, but we see almost NOTHING about them. the only time we actually see her dad is in chapter 49 and that's basically it. her mom is mentioned, but we never even get to see her or get her name, so once again there is just no mother present at all and just the "idea" of her. given the fact that they pretty much neglected their other child to the point that he became a serial killer because he wasn't treated the same as Tsubaki, i can't give them much credit for good parenting. maybe Tsubaki came out okay and mild-mannered, but Masamune straight up just got neglected and went bonkers because of it.

and now we reach the grand finale of horrible present parents, Crona and Medusa. debated about putting her in the "dead parents" category, but Medusa is alive for the majority of Soul Eater, so she can stay here. obviously, Medusa's the absolute worst. she literally never has any good intentions for anything she does with Crona, she's extremely manipulative, blatantly abusive, etc. she literally dangles the concept of being a good mother in front of Crona to get them to obey her and in the end that gets her killed (and yet that STILL was part of her plan. she's literally insane). she also tricks other people into helping her by pretending she's worried about Crona. she contributes the mother "idea" again, though this time she is very present, just not as a good mother. i won't go into all the shit that Medusa did, we all know she was horrible. i go into more of Medusa's manipulation in this post.

characters who have dead parents

Black☆Star, i think, is the only character of the main cast that has confirmed dead parents. he never knew any of his clan and sort of renounces them (maybe renounce isn't the right word, but his whole character arc about choosing his own path and defeating Mifune makes it somewhat clear that he doesn't want to end up like his parents). we know about his father, White☆Star, but once again, the mother is never mentioned. from what we're shown . . . yeah, the Star clan sucked and were obsessed with power and whatnot. it's an interesting contrast with Tsubaki: they both come from very well known family lines with very different connotations surrounding them. to an outsider who knows about both of their families, it probably seems a bit sacrilegious for Black☆Star to be partnered with her in the first place.

characters whose parents are MIA

Liz and Patty at least have an "unnamed woman" shown as their mother for a single panel in chapter 78. the "prettiest prostitute in New York" obviously didn't do much to raise them since they were the Brooklyn Devils for a while. no mention of a father and an evidently absent mother, we are once again hit with the "idea" of a mother that isn't there. Liz literally says she hates her mother, thanks her for bringing her and Patty into existence, and nothing else is said about her. it's only after they get sorta "drafted" by Kid that they get to live a pleasant life. there's obviously also some things to say about economic status and being dealt a bad hand in life and whatnot, but i can get into that another time i think.

now, Soul. homie has got NO PARENTS EVER MENTIONED. the closest we get is Wes and unnamed grandma who is never shown. he's literally the only character we don't get shit for who his parents are, where they are, if they're even living and i think that speaks volumes. going off of assumptions, the fact that Soul literally renounced his family name, ran away to go to weapon school, and didn't play the piano for years until he was able to do it, sort of, on his own terms most likely means that his parents were some kind of horrible. also, being forced to play into a family legacy has got to be unhealthy. always feeling overshadowed by your older sibling who, obviously, has more experience is upsetting, but the fact that Soul was seemingly never reassured about his skills is dubious at best. i have strong feelings about forcing children into family legacies, maybe that can be its own post some day as well, and if your kid feels like they actually have to run away to escape it, well then i don't think it works out very well. it's incredibly important that we don't get any parental information from Soul and that we never hear anything about anyone from his family looking for him. maybe he told them he was leaving, but maybe he just slipped away and nobody bothered to look for him.

actual parental figures

while writing this, i realized that everyone in this category is a DWMA professor. DWMA as a whole seems to provide all of the main cast with a place to be that was much better than where they came from. Black☆Star and Maka sort of grew up in and around the DWMA, Soul, Liz, and Patty all came from much worse places before enrolling, Tsubaki and Kid kinda seem like they were chilling tbh, and of course Crona literally experiences positive emotions for the first time during their short time there. schools, ideally, should give their students the opportunity to grow in their skills and find a community with the students and teachers so that they can have an overall positive experience.

Marie is definitely the best example of this and despite the fact that she isn't even a mother (i refuse to acknowledge the unborn baby in chapter 113, most of that chapter is a black stain in my memory that even bleach couldn't remove), she is easily the healthiest mother figure in the entire series. she actually cares about the students even though she was initially reluctant to be a teacher. she worries about their wellbeing, she talks to them about their problems, and overall she is the closest to that "idea" of a mother that keeps showing up. i think part of this is because she sort of realizes that she has this power of being a teacher and a death scythe, but also there are points where she realizes she can't be reckless because she has to be there for the students (thinking specifically about the tempest and how she knows she can't go back in there to save them). she leaves an impression on Crona and she's one of the few people they actually remember Medusa's second wave of experiments she does on them. Crona saw her as a good, supportive person and it continually haunts them that they betrayed her. it's the exact opposite relationship they have with Medusa; Marie is only kind and understanding to Crona when they expect betrayal and hatred, and Medusa is only cruel when all Crona needed was some sort of . . . well, anything healthy.

Stein is interesting to me because he's more of a fun uncle than a "father" in my eyes. he doesn't coddle his students and sometimes he's a bit harsh with them, but this is purely because he knows they can achieve things they don't realize they're capable of. by the end of the manga, he fully acknowledges that, wow, these kids are pretty good at all of this!!! and i taught them this shit!!! go kids!!! now, all of this being said, i do not think he could be a real, healthy father unless someone sucked out all the madness in his brain out with a straw. even with no madness, i doubt he'd want kids because he's got all these spunky students to supervise. this is also why i refuse to acknowledge the chapter 113 unborn baby, i think Stein would know he couldn't be a father and gave himself a vasectomy.

finally, i want to talk a bit about Sid. i wish so badly that the manga went into some more detail about him practically raising Black☆Star after the DWMA eliminated the Star clan. they don't treat each other like father and son, but it's clear that Sid at least cared enough to make sure he was raised and trained well. it makes the mission where Sid and Naigus go into the Arachnophobia lab to destroy the machine and Black☆Star shows up kind of more interesting since Sid's like "Whoever that student is, thank god they're here" and then he's like "Wait a damn minute, that's MY student." it's also nice to see when Sid's proud of him and whatnot. i just like this dynamic they have where it's like not fully familial, but they're more than just a mentor and mentee.

in an attempt to come to a final point, i that the DWMA really gives something to all these characters that they needed and lacked in their familial situations. sounds cheesy and it is, but i find it so nice that such a pleasant and supportive school structure is found in a universe in which people turn into weapons and fight horrors and the school is training all these kids to fight horrors. Maka gets to chase after these legendary stories she's heard about her mother, and becomes arguably more successful than her mother. Soul gets the chance to make his own path outside of the family name he's abandoned and also gets to reclaim his music along the way. Black☆Star and Tsubaki get to be this duo that allows them to kind of get out of these super old expectations of their bloodlines and by working together they get to subvert these expectations and prove people wrong about the type of people they want to be. Liz and Patty got to escape the shitty holes they'd been born into and actually be people they were proud of. Kid was able to actually understand other people, to an extent, and it made him capable of becoming the next death god. The actual human kindness that Crona was shown there is eventually what lets them sacrifice themself for everyone else since they know that it will bring good in the end. the students in Soul Eater may have some real shit parents, but the DWMA is apparently there to fill in the void of those parents.

thank you for joining me for another long af Soul Eater post. i think my next endeavor will be tackling how the manga timeline works, b/c it's pretty fucked up imo

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