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cinnbar-bun · 1 year

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Unrefined

Pairing: P5 Protag x GN!Reader (Ren Amamiya is used as his name)

Summary: Ren is happy to see you again after being separated from you for many years since you two were children. However, he knows he's not exactly the best choice for a boyfriend. In order to look cool, he tries to approach you as Joker.

Of course, reality isn't always that easy and he learns that looking cool isn't the most important thing when it comes to love and friendships.

Rating: G

A/n: Ahhhh I'm loving P5R and I'm loving Ren very much!

Ren was many things growing up. He was rather lackadaisical, unsure of himself, and oftentimes, just plain messy. He was caring and sweet, but his airheadedness had, on multiple occasions, led to some awkward encounters with other people. It was mostly through growing up together that you had understood what he really meant, but not everyone was willing to make the time.

You two had been inseparable as kids, always doing everything with one another. You had seen each other at your most awkward and weirdest- like when you got braces or when he broke his arm trying to do cool moves on the jungle gym. You dressed up in matching costumes and outfits for all sorts of events. He even took you to the middle school dance when no one else bothered with you two. You shared your dreams, worst nightmares, struggles- everything.

Yet, that connection had to be strained when your parents were relocated to Tokyo for work.

His home just wasn’t the same without you. So you two tried to keep contact with each other every day. Texting, calling, sending emails or doing video calls together was such a normal part of his routine.

He told you about how your old home was doing, anything new that was going (there was rarely anything new, though) so a majority of it was spent discussing Tokyo.

“You’d never believe all the lights! It’s crazy bright over here.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I can. Sounds like a hassle, though. Aren’t all those people and lights annoying?”

You only laughed at his response- of course shy and withdrawn Ren would never love a city like this.

Years passed and you two did your best to continue talking, but slowly every day became every other day, to maybe once a week, to sporadically whenever. There was just a lot to deal with, and life at Shujin Academy was anything but easy. He just had to settle for brief text messages and possible calls and gifts for things like birthdays and holidays.

He was stressed after his hearing, so he broke his personal rule of trying to leave you some space to send a message.

Hey it’s kinda urgent do you have time to call?

“Hey, Ren, what’s u-,” you gasped. You looked at him like he was an alien from outer space, and he figured it must be because of how awful he looked right now.

“Something wrong? You just stopped talking,” he commented.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry. What’s up? You said it was urgent. Are you doing okay?” You sent a barrage of questions his way and Ren slid a hand through his hair.

“Want the good news or bad news first?” He responded, ignoring your questions.

“Um…” you rose an eyebrow at what he could have possibly done to warrant this question. “Bad first?”

“I’m on probation.”

“WHAT?” You screamed, yet Ren didn’t flinch. “What do you mean probation? What the hell did you do?”

“Some asshole framed me for assault when I was protecting a woman,” he casually answered, as if it was just a normal occurrence for him.

“Seriously? And you still got in trouble?”

“Yeah. It sucks, honestly,” he sighed.

“Jeez I’m…” You looked crestfallen at his explanation and he felt bad he made you feel so glum. “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault. Besides, there’s some good news.”

“What’s the good news? Please don’t give me another heart attack.”

“I’m moving to Tokyo. Some guy my parents are friends with is taking me in while I’m on probation. And I’m going to that Sunshine Academy you go to.”

“It’s Shujin, for one thing,” you corrected him. “But you’re really coming to Tokyo? Oh my gosh, it’s gonna be like the old times again! I have so many places to show you and take you! You’re gonna love it, I promise.”

“Eh, I dunno. I’m just gonna try and avoid those places. Sorry, I know you probably wanted it to be super fun and all, but I don’t wanna go to jail. It’s a miracle they even left me with only probation. I’m even donning a disguise.”

“A disguise? What do you mean?”

He pulled up a pair of black, thick-framed glasses.

You pinched the bridge of your nose and shook your head.

“That’s not a disguise. Come on, Ren, you can’t be serious.”

“I am. Look,” he put the glasses on and you stared at him deeply. You looked deep in thought and he wondered what was crossing your mind. “See? No one would punch a guy with glasses.”

“You’re hopeless,” you chuckled at his antics.

“But you still love me, right?” He whined, pouting like a child.

“Of course,” you said, the words slipping right out of you. A warm smile crept on your lips as you gazed at him. “So… when you come to Tokyo, I’ll make sure you have the best probation ever. You can even visit my house. It’s got a nice view of the city and we have a great diner nearby.”

He smiled for what felt like the first time in a while since this miserable incident.

“Thanks, (Y/n), I know I can always count on you.”

A few more pleasantries were exchanged and you two logged off, leaving him staring alone at his own reflection from his computer. He looked down at himself and frowned.

Great, he was going to see his best friend (and crush) for the first time in years, and it’s because he was accused of committing a crime. In some ways, though, he felt safe with you and could put his probation aside.

He hoped you would continue to be his friend in Tokyo. It was probably going to be a long year there, and he wasn’t looking forward to all the judgmental people. So much for being a guy you could depend on. Just like always, you were the one who would have to help him and accept him. He wished he was not this lame dude who couldn’t even handle a few rumors, but this isolation was killing him.

----

Ren always knew he wasn’t the most attractive guy ever. Or the smartest. Or the most courageous or confident. Barely had any talents or future aspirations beyond “just make it to the weekend”. He was pretty below-average, all things considered. And he was honest about that, like he was with pretty much everything else. He didn’t like beating around the bush or lying to others.

Sadly, his big mouth got him into this probation (he still didn’t regret it) but man, it was exhausting to try and bite his tongue back at every opportunity.

He couldn’t fight back or argue when the people made audacious claims about him. Couldn’t say a thing when people purposefully riled him up to get him to act out. Ren couldn’t even properly ask out the best friend he had loved since they were kids. Nor could he defend them whenever someone tried to spread rumors about them because of their association with him.

But, that was Ren.

Joker, however, was a completely different story. Joker was cool, suave, elegant- everything the clumsy second-year wasn’t. He could flirt with monsters and defeat evil while looking completely badass doing it.

But it’s not like he could be Joker all the time, not with the Phantom Thieves working in the shadows and him still being under the watchful eye of almost everyone in society. He had to keep it quiet.

Joker was Ren’s safe space to act out and be the man he wished to be. No one knew who he was, no one held any expectations for him- they just knew he was there to get the job done. And he did it, flawlessly, every time.

Which is why it was frustrating Ren would get so tongue-tied the minute he wished to talk to you.

The years were kind to you- very kind to you, actually- and he marveled at how you grew to be more confident and proud than when you were younger. You had a steady head on your shoulders, leading you to be the secretary of the student council and great in your club activities.

He wished he could spill everything to you, everything about the Phantom Thieves, the Metaverse, personas- it would be so much easier if you knew. But he knew that if he bothered, you would simply laugh and say he probably was pounding too many energy drinks. None of it was believable, even to his own self.

He hated lying to you, he despised it so much, but you were too understanding to call him out on his bullshit. You knew he was lying through his teeth about being ‘busy’, and he knew you were lying when you would smile and say you were ‘fine’ when he would miss out on another outing.

He didn’t know how to make it up to you or truly admit he was the Phantom Thief that had grown so popular.

He had brought this question up to his team members, and frankly, all of them were sending mixed signals.

“Do not reveal your identity to them! They could be a traitor and rat us all out! Or worse, they could try and use you!” Makoto would say.

“You should totally reveal it! And you love them a lot, right? Maybe you can make it up to them by taking them to an all-you-can-eat buffet with extra dessert!” Ann squealed.

“No, make it meat! They gotta love that, right?” Ryuji would add.

“I would say a buffet is not classy enough. You wish to showcase your heart’s true intentions to them, no? You should whisk them away to a beautiful resort and craft a gorgeous jewel that they can wear to remind them of you and-”

“Yusuke… you do recognize Ren is a poor high school kid, right?” Futaba raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think he even has a dollar to his name, right now.”

“I have twenty dollars to my name, thank you very much,” Ren corrected. “Wait- no- that’s not the point.”

And then he was back to square one. Sure, he read Reckless Casanova and The Art of Charm, and it did help as Joker, but he was helpless when it came to you.

There’s no way you’d like whimpering, pathetic Ren, especially when compared to the city boys of Tokyo, who were way flashier, energetic, and could treat you right. Unlike him, who couldn’t even say a word when people smeared your name.

That’s when a thought came to mind- he should confess to you as Joker! Joker was everything Ren was not, and you’d surely fall for him, right? All he’d have to do is play it cool as Joker, and you’d be swooning for him in no time!

He imagined the scenario in his head.

You were there, sitting in your dark room with your balcony window open. He would jump through the buildings and smoothly glide to your balcony. You would be breathless at the sight of this handsome phantom thief, who looked so similar to someone you knew, but unlike him, this man was cooler. Better. Smarter. He was the entire package.

You would be crying over that lame good-for-nothing boy who gave you nothing but trouble, and Joker would wipe your tears away.

Perhaps he’d say a really nice line in French to really hammer in the ‘phantom thief’ act. You’d embrace him and he’d confess your undying love to him, and you would accept it in a heartbeat.

Yeah, this plan had zero chance of failing.

----

Ren, donning his disguise and mask, descended upon your rooftop. He made sure to be as quiet as possible, hoping to fulfill the dream movie scenario he had planned up. It was foolproof, he’d smugly thought.

As he was preparing to jump down to your balcony, he noticed something shuffling near him.

Was it someone watching him? He turned back to see a group of rats in the darkness, watching him.

“Shoo! Go away!” He swatted at them. Some went scrambling and he thought he was in the clear. That was until he heard their chittering and squeaking. The group had ran back to him and were hissing at him, and he brought out his dagger. “Shit-!”

The rats lunged at him and he quickly jumped down on your balcony to avoid getting bitten by one of them. He crashed onto the floor and groaned in pain, cursing the rats and the concrete of the balcony.

He heard some shuffling and the balcony door swung open, revealing a very angry you with your cellphone at your side.

“Wonder what-” you screamed as you locked eyes with him, and slammed the door shut. “Who the hell are you?! Get the hell out of here or I’m calling the police!”

You typed something on your phone and Ren was panicking. Shit, he couldn’t mess up or get caught by the police. That would ruin his life and everyone else in the Phantom Thieves’s life.

“W-wait! S’il vous plait!” He screeched one of the few phrases of French he knew. He slapped himself internally at the fact he even used French when you were trying to call the cops.

Great job, brainiac.

You seemed taken aback by him until you put your phone down and raised a knowing eyebrow at him.

“Ren? What are you doing?” You asked.

Now he was in deep shit. He quickly stood up and posed by the balcony, as if he was just casually strolling by.

“I don’t know who-” Crap, I can’t use my voice. He cleared his throat and tried to make it deeper. “Uh, I mean, I don’t know who this ‘Ren’ person is.”

You looked unimpressed, and he knew his cover was blown.

“Ren, what’s with the get up and trying to break into my house?”

“I assure you, (Y/n), I was not trying to break into your house!” He answered in his fake, deep voice.

You strode over to him, and he leaned back into the balcony ledge, trying to avoid touching you.

Too close! Too fast! Shit! Abort! Abort! Abort mission! We’ll get them next time!

“So, mysterious stranger who is not Ren,” you sarcastically began, “what are you doing here?”

You stepped closer and he leaned closer against the edge. He peered down and saw how far below the sidewalk was and gulped.

“I-I am- gah!” He felt his body slip over the ledge after he tried to lean against it. He yelped and quickly brought out his grappling hook and shot it to your balcony, before slinging himself back up.

He sat on the ledge, crossing his leg over the other and running a hand through his hair as if he wasn’t about to fall to his death just seconds before.

“I couldn’t help but um, couldn’t help but be taken aback with your beauty, mon amour!” He dramatically stated, winking at you and handing you a (crumpled) rose he had picked out earlier for this very moment.

Unlike in the dream sequence he conjured up, you were not breathless or swooning- instead, you were laughing.

“Oh my gosh, Ren, what the hell is all this?” You said in between bouts of laughter.

Normally, he loved your laugh, but in this situation, he felt his pride crumble to dust.

“I… I, uh…” Not even Joker could save him. He could practically hear Arsene in the back of his head howling in laughter at the way he messed up.

Ren sighed and took off the mask.

“Yeah, okay, you figured it out, it’s me,” he said, defeated and exhausted. You wiped the tears out of your eyes and examined him.

“Wait, no way! You’re part of the Phantom Thieves-” you loudly exclaimed, and Ren shushed you quickly.

“You can’t reveal it out loud! I’m not even supposed to be here!”

“Sorry,” you complied, whispering to him. “You’re part of the Phantom Thieves?”

He nodded.

“Yes, you’re looking at the leader of them.”

“No way…” You stared, gobsmacked.

“Listen, I get it, it’s hard to believe and you may think I’m crazy but-”

“Huh? This explains everything!” You grinned. “I just… I just thought you were avoiding me and didn’t wanna see me again. You avoided me for so long and always hung out with the others, I assumed you got tired of me! But really, you were a part of the Ph-”

“Shhhh! Not so loud!” He whisper-shouted.

You fanned yourself and he noticed your eyes were becoming wet with tears. Your face was turning red and you were straining yourself to not cry.

“Crap, I didn’t mean to make you cry,” he apologized. “This wasn’t how I wanted this to go…”

“Well, you idiot, of course you make me cry. We were best friends and this whole time I thought you hated me. Why didn’t you just tell me sooner? Why didn’t you trust me? Did you think I would have told on you? And now you’re coming here randomly at night and pretending you’re not even you! Don’t you know how that looks to me?”

“I know, I know I…” he shamefully looked at the ground. “I know. I messed up. I messed up really bad but that’s why I came. I didn’t know who to trust, and I didn’t want you to get hurt because of me. And I see that I was the fool for not believing in you to begin with. You were always too good for me, (Y/n). So I wanted to be upfront with you and give you this.”

Ren extended his hand to show the broken rose again as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“I’m not perfect. I’m not as handsome, or as rich, or as cool as the other guys and I am a huge coward. I run at every opportunity. But I wanted to have you see me as… you know… someone better than me. Someone who could treat you right, defend you, and not have you always try to care for them. I know I’ve been an asshole, and I wanted to fix it. I wanted to just be someone you could rely on for a moment. Because you mean the world to me. Always have.”

You gasped and he looked at you to see your reaction. A few tears had fallen down your cheek and you covered your mouth in shock.

“Sorry, I know you’re probably upset so I’ll leave-” he began, putting a leg over the ledge to jump down when you grabbed him.

“D-don’t walk away, idiot! You didn’t even let me respond!” You shouted tearfully. He settled back onto the balcony and you threw your arms around him. “You’re really dense. You’re not a bother to me and I don’t want anyone but you. I don’t want this Joker guy, or those other people in our school. I just want you, Ren. Did you really think I would continue hoping for you to see me more if I didn’t care for you? Did you really think I would wait around for just about anybody?”

Now he felt his face heat up.

“Wait, you mean it? You like me too?” His gray eyes sparkled under the moonlight and his smile was wide. He must have looked so stupid, but he didn’t care at this moment. He was just happy you didn’t hate him and actually liked him!

“Yes, but if you wanna make it up to me, you have to promise something.” You pushed yourself off of him for a brief moment and had a serious look on your face.

“Anything.”

“No more lying to me like that. Please don’t hide things from me.”

“I promise.”

“Good. Don’t underestimate the both of us together. I rely on you just as much as you rely on me, silly. You don’t have to be anything other than you. I like how dorky and lame you are sometimes.”

Ren let out an offended gasp.

“I’m not dorky!” You smirked and pulled him down by the collar. He felt his heart race a mile a minute and he was curious what you were going to do next.

“Shut up and kiss me already, Ren,” you laughed, and he felt himself melt at the sound of your voice.

“Of course, my treasure,” he grinned as he tried to go through every tip those romantic books wrote in his head.

He pressed his lips against yours gently, almost unsure if he should even go through with it. You kissed him back and he felt himself slowly let go of his insecurities and enjoy your presence like this.

The need for air arose so he (unfortunately) separated himself from you. You laughed quietly as you stared into his eyes, and he wanted to memorize every detail about you.

“You kiss a bit too well, Ren, don’t tell me you practiced with someone else?” You teased.

“N-no I just… read a lot of books.” You snorted at his response and pressed a kiss to his nose.

“Gosh, you’re the best. Don’t tell me you also learned your terrible French from those books too?”

“Maybe…”

Sure he wasn’t perfect, but in this moment. There was nobody he’d rather be than himself in all his imperfect glory.

#persona 5 #persona 5 x reader #persona 5 protagonist #persona 5 protagonist x reader #ren amamiya x reader #ren amamiya #akira kurusu #akira kurusu x reader #my writing

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zodiakuroo · 3 years

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Un(holy) Trinity

Pairing: Dabi x Fem!Reader x Shigaraki

Content: 18+ dubcon/noncon, threesome, manhandling, rough sex, corruption, degradation, humiliation, breathplay, stepcest, breeding, blasphemy and sacrilege, elements of mindbreak and god complex (?)

Word count: 4.1k

Notes: my first threesome and idk how to feel about it but here it is! If it’s bad I can blame it on the fact that I just had my wisdom teeth extracted and am currently in a world of pain :) also i’m on bedrest and incredibly bored so if anyone has requests or thirsts or just wants to chat... yeah

also if this banner is shit i’m sorry i rushed and made it on my phone cause i just rly wanted to to post

This is part 2 to my other fic Love Thy Brother which you can read here

Now the serpent was more cunning than any beast of the field which the LORD God had made. And he said to the woman, “Has God indeed said, ‘You shall not eat of every tree of the garden’?” - Genesis 3:1

Twelve days.

Twelve days since you lost your virginity.

Twelve days since you lost your virginity to your step-brother, no less.

The night that it happened, you lay awake in your bed dreading the aftermath of the horrific incident. How could you face him again? How could you face your family? How could you face God?

You were too cowardly to face the rest of your household. The Todoroki family welcomed you into their home only for you betray them by sleeping with Touya. Ever since you were little, your mother would say she had a sort of sixth sense that meant God would always tell her when you’d been up to mischief. It sounds silly but there was no explanation for how she would always catch out in lie or know things that you never told her. You feared she would take one look at you and know the sin you committed. And so you chose to make yourself scarce, taking extra shifts at work and choosing to study at the campus library rather than at home. Your siblings seemed to notice how busy you suddenly were, often remarking how they missed you around the house. That just made you feel more ashamed.

As for God, you felt like you needed to do whatever necessary to prove your faith. You wanted Him to know the extent of your shame and remorse. You were weak in spirit, making you an easy target for someone as devious as Touya. You prayed and begged for forgiveness until your knees hurt but no matter what you did, the guilt was inescapable. You realized it was because, irrespective of the regret and remorse you felt, you couldn’t deny that you enjoyed what happened. You liked the way Dabi made you feel and you hated yourself for it. But no matter how much you liked it, something like that could never happen again. As penance, you banned yourself from bringing your hands anywhere near your groin. After all that temptation is what brought you to this point in the first place. But the thread of your self-control is thin and withered so at night when you’re certain everyone is asleep, you’re humping your pillow like an animal and biting down on your lip trying to keep from moaning his name. At least you weren’t touching right?

Dabi, by some God-given miracle, made himself scarce as well. It wasn’t uncommon for the noirette to disappear for days at a time doing heaven knows what only to arrive back at home like nothing happened; so no one really questioned his absence. Perhaps he felt the same way you did and was avoiding facing you and the other Todorokis.

Yeah right.

Shame? Todoroki Touya doesn’t know the meaning of the word.

In any case, you had become used to a Dabi-less house and so lulled into a false sense of safety, slowly but surely reverting back to normal. That’s why as you make your way downstairs, prepared to go to your church, the sound of gunfire and explosions from the living room doesn’t alarm you. Probably Natsuo or Shouto playing one of their video games, you thought. But when you get to the bottom of the stairs you’re met with unmistakable dark locks. Not just him. The back of another person’s head, one with pale blue, shoulder length hair. Before you can stop yourself, you let out a gasp. Neither of them react, seemingly too focused on their game. You don’t waste any time feeling relieved, choosing instead to make a silent escape.

You could only dream of being so lucky.

“Oi!” Your step-brother calls without turning around. He hasn’t seen you, you think. If you move quickly you can still get out of this. “I know you heard me, brat. Get over here before I drag you over here.” He still doesn’t bother to turn around but the sharpness in his tone lets you know that you’d be smart to listen. You take a second to steel your nerves and make your way over to the couch, trying your best to look as intimidating as possible. You scowl at both men but they are so engrossed in their video game, they don’t even acknowledge that you’re standing right there. “Aren’t you gonna say hi? We have company.”

We?

The company in question is Shigaraki Tomura. He’s been to the house before although he’s never even so much as glanced in your direction, too busy with his phone or playing games with Dabi. Despite your hard expression you can only manage a meek “Hello Shigaraki.”

He responds by finally looking at you, with a sleazy grin, a pair of crimson eyes, surrounded by creases meet your own. “Sup.”

Beer cans litter the coffee table, one of them being turned into a makeshift ashtray while both have smouldering cigarettes perched between their lips. “You’re not supposed to smoke in the house.”

“You’re not supposed to smoke in the house.” Dabi mocks you with a nasal voice.

You simply roll your eyes, not interested in continuing this interaction any further. “Whatever. I’m leaving now.” You state with as much firmness as you can muster. You spin on your heels but are kept in place by long, slender digits wrapped around your wrist.

“Where are you off to anyways?” The game paused, both boys now looking at you.

Out of habit, you answer truthfully. “Bible study.”

Shigaraki and Dabi burst into raucous laughter.

You should have lied.

“Nah you’re gonna hang out with me and Shigaraki for a bit.”

“Dabi, I have to leave.”

“You don’t have to do anything except what I tell you and I’m telling you to sit.”

Before you can protest you’re being hauled on to the couch, squeezed between the two of them.

“Nice necklace.” Tomura snorts, hand reaching out to grab at your crucifix but you swat it away. His gaze is unnerving. It makes you wonder if- no. He promised he wouldn’t.

Just like that, their game is resumed, as if you were never there. A few rounds pass, no words exchanged between either of them, only curses muttered under their breath. “Dabi, can I please go. I’m bored.”

Wrong choice of words.

“You hear that Tomura? The princess is bored.” His fingers are still moving rapidly over his controller.

“Really now? Come on then Todoroki, let’s show her a good time. I’ve seen how she likes to have fun.”

His comment on your necklace suddenly makes sense, but you still can’t believe it. “You didn’t…” you whip your head back to look at Dabi.

”Sorry doll, you made your Nii-san so proud, I just had to show you off.” Dabi smiles shamelessly, lighting himself another cigarette.

“You’re fucking sick Touya.” Tomura says, however his tone is not one of disgust but rather of admiration.

“You promised...” Your voice breaks. You’re humiliated beyond belief.

Both of them laugh at you again, discarding their controllers. “Told you, it’s adorable how stupid she is.” Dabi remarks to his friend, as if you’re not sitting right next to them.

You try to force your way off the couch but get pulled into Dabi’s lap, one of his arms hooking around both of yours, securing them behind your back. You squirm in his arms but he stills you with a hard slap on your inner thigh. “Be good okay? Don’t embarrass me.” He nuzzles into your neck.

Shigaraki flips up your dress exposing your white lace panties. He runs his thumb up and down your clothed slit, he fabric slowly becoming even more transparent. One severe jerk to the top of your dress and the straps are torn clean off, revealing the matching bra. “Yo, Touya. I thought she was a good girl.”

Dabi peers over your shoulder to get look. “Who’s all this for babe? You screwing the preacher or something? Or were you hoping I’d do something like this?” He tugs down your bra until your breasts are spilling over the top of it.

“Dabi…” Your choke on your plea when he sinks his teeth into your neck. He bites down so hard you’re positive he’s left a mark.

“Who?”

“T-Touya-nii.” You whimper.

“Better.”

Your destroyed dress is discarded somewhere across the room and you find yourself on your hands and knees with Shigaraki kneeling on the couch in front of you and Dabi behind you.

“Go easy on her alright Tomura. It’s her first time sucking cock.” He chuckles.

Your eyes go wide. “Wait...” you mewl but neither pay you any mind.

“And you.” Dabi yanks a fistful of your hair. “No teeth. No puke. Or I’ll let my boy ream your little ass as punishment.”

“Yeah. What he said.” Shigaraki mutters, pulling his semi out of his sweatpants, rubbing his tip against your lips. His is not as scary as your step-brother’s but him staring down at you like this, makes him seem every bit as intimidating.

Pre-cum dribbles from the swollen tip. You’re not entirely sure you want that in your mouth but you’re also not sure if you have a choice so you open up hesitantly.

Dabi’s right. It is your first time doing something like this. You don’t know what you’re supposed to do but as it turns out you don’t have to do much, not with the way Shigaraki starts thrusting his quickly hardening member into your mouth.

“Move your tongue slut.” The man in front of you grunts. You do your best despite the heavy intrusion to obey his command, moving from side to side, swirling around the head when he pulls out of your mouth. He looks down at you with cruel vermillion eyes, panting as he strokes himself in front of you, spreading your saliva across his shaft before sliding deep into your mouth again.

Behind you, Dabi spreads apart your cheeks, squeezing the flesh in his calloused hands. “Remember what I said. Be good and I’ll give you a reward.” He pulls your panties to the side and lets out a whistle at the sight of your dripping slit. “She’s enjoying it. Make her take it deeper.”

You can’t possibly fathom how much deeper he can go when his head is already nudging at your tonsils. You try to swallow the saliva building up in your mouth, making your cheeks hollow out around Shigaraki’s shaft. Seems like that was the right thing to do as his hand flies to the back of your head. “Shit. Shit. So good.”

Dabi’s breath wafts over your pussy. He spreads your lips apart and you feel his hot tongue lick up the juices leaking from your hole. You squeal around Tomura’s dick. You want to pull off but his spindly fingers hold your head in place.

“Told you angel. Good little sisters get rewards.” With that he takes your clit between his lips and suckles on it gently while one of his fingers circles your entrance. Knuckle by knuckle he slides into you, making you keen. You arch your back trying to shift your hips backwards against his hand, silently urging him to find that special spot he showed you last time. He establishes a loose rhythm. Hot wet muscle and cold metal of his piercing circles the sensitive bundle of nerves, before applying suction while his fingers work you open.

The sensation is overwhelming, a form of heavenly torture and your thighs quiver barely able to hold you up while you use your last bit of mental strength to focus on suppressing your gags. That mental strength all but evaporates when the digits inside you graze that rough patch embedded in your walls. It’s so pleasurable your reflex is to run from his fingers. Luckily for Shigaraki, that means you move forward, taking him further into your mouth.

“This where you want me? This your spot, angel?” Dabi taunts you. Shigaraki holds you in place while two of your step-brother’s fingers drill your cunt, hitting that spot over and over again. Garbled moans and cries leave your mouth and reverberate around Tomura’s cock, proving to be too much for him ultimately.

“Shit Stop!” Don’t wanna come yet.” He pulls out your mouth so that a string of your drool drips down to your breasts.

“God! Touya-nii!” You sputter out.

“Still with the God shit?” He uses your hair to force you to look at him, neck twisted at an awkward, uncomfortable angle. “God ever make you feel this good?” His fingers thrust into you harder. Your whole body feels like it’s on fire.

“Ngghh-N-no –oh! Oh!” is your incoherent answer.

Dabi forces you back down, shoving you face first into the cushions. “See? Fuck him. Give up on god. Give up on everyone except your big brother cause no one else can make you feel this good.”

You’re so pathetic. The way you’re rocking yourself in unison with the motions of his hands. The way your tongue hangs out of your mouth, impeding any sort of intelligible verbal response. The way you’re mindlessly nodding along to whatever filth is coming out of Dabi’s mouth.

“C’mon Touya. Turn her around. Wanna try out that sweet pussy you’ve been bragging about.” You’re reminded that you aren’t alone. No, your brother’s best friend is right there to witness exactly how pathetic you are.

“Yeah in a minute. I’m still having my fun.” Dabi answers, face pressed against your mons before working you with his mouth once again.

“Man! Come on!” Tomura whines.

“I said in a minute. Not my fault you can’t last.”

It’s amazing how they can bicker like this right now, as if you aren’t on your hands and knees for them, gummy walls still pulsing around his fingers. However, it’s not long before Dabi’s focus is back on you taking you to the brink of orgasm. He slows his fingers, keeping you balanced on that razor thin edge. “Should I make you cum angel?” His voice is dripping with fake concern. “Dunno… what’s in it for me?”

“Anything! Touya-nii please!”

“Anything? You gonna obey me? Do whatever I say like a good little angel? You gonna worship me?” You can’t tell if he’s being serious or if he’s mocking you.

Probably the latter. And you deserve it too.

Your faith was the thing you deemed more important than anything and anyone else but Dabi, all too easily, convinced you to disregard that. Made you lose all sense and give into lust by showing you mindblowing pleasure, only magnified by your awareness of how deeply sinful this all was. That’s the extent of the power he has over you. The story of Adam and Eve is one you know forwards and backwards and yet you were so easily tempted forbidden fruit and left completely corrupted. Yeah, he’s definitely mocking you.

“Any- fuck- anything” You’re wiggling your ass, goading Dabi into finishing you off

“Cum in my mouth. Angel, give it to me” That’s the final straw. You explode around his fingers. Despite your walls, clamping around him, he manages to piston into you, hitting that squishy spot with astounding accuracy. His unyielding stimulation makes it feel as though the high won’t end. You’re not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

Eventually, it does end though, his fingers drag out against the pull of your swollen pussy. He licks you clean making sure he gets every last drop of your cum, both inside and out, on his tongue. The ball of his piercing catches onto your rim making you yelp. He soothes the sting with gentle laps of his tongue.

“Tastes so sweet angel. So sweet knowing I’m the only one to ever fuck this pretty pussy.” He snickers before adding “So far.”

“Yeah, can I fuck her now?” Tomura was turned on before but seeing the way you fell apart at the hands of your brother? His minimal patience has run out. All he can think of now is being inside you.

“You heard him babe. Turn around.” He spanks your ass. You try to turn around but thanks to your shaky legs you nearly fall off the couch. Dabi catches you before that happens and he dutifully sets you up on all fours, held up by quivering limbs. You hear heavy breathing from behind you as Shigaraki taps his head against your puffy clit while you twitch in place.

“She wants this so bad. Had no idea your Christian little sister was such a whore.” Shigaraki mutters. He holds you still as he buries himself in you, breathing becoming more erratic with every inch until his hip bones are digging into your soft flesh. He’s so deep. You feel so full. You squeeze shut your eyelids, savouring the stretch.

Calloused fingers press into your jaw, making your eyes shoot open. “Pretty angel, did you forget about me?” Dabi looms over you, making a show of spitting in his palm and using it to stroke himself. He slips his thumb into your mouth, pad pressing down on the plush pillow of your tongue. “Gonna stuff you nice ‘n full angel.” All you can do is blink up at him with teary eyes, pupils blown wide with desire.

Shigaraki begins thrusting into you, hips moving at a brutal pace. Dabi isn’t far behind him, replacing his thumb with his cock and you don’t waste time waiting for him to tell you what to do. You close your lips around his shaft, engulfing him in the wet heat of your mouth.

Unlike his friend, Dabi starts off slow. His piercings drag across your tongue and you taste metal and the salt of his pre-cum. It takes some time for you to get used to taking him in your mouth, the jewellery an added obstacle.

You feel so full.

Shigaraki is bottoming out with every thrust, it’s so lewd the way it makes you squelch around him. Dabi’s shaft is rubbing your throat raw and still, you make an effort to take him deeper. He keeps one hand on the back of your head while he fucks you mouth.

He looks so ethereal, so euphoric, letting out little moans and whispered expletives. The sounds he makes are divine, so heavily contrasted by everything you know about him. It leaves you star struck. He recognizes the adoration in your eyes and responds in kind with a cocky smirk. He remembers how you looked at him when you first met. Disdain and judgment. Now you look at him like he’s your only salvation.

It’s sad actually. How you’re so desperate for someone to tell you how to live. And what a sweet, adoring little follower you are. Wasted on religion if you ask him. So soft and pliant, perfect for your big brother to mould and corrupt into his personal fuckangel.

“Angel, Nii-san’s gonna fill you up. And you’re gonna take it yeah?”

Your whole life you aspired to this holy standard of perfection in the hopes of escaping eternal damnation. But you’re beyond absolution now.

“All of it down your throat.”

It’s okay though.

If heaven doesn’t feel like this, you’re not sure it’s worth all the effort to get there.

He holds your necklace behind you like a leash, twisting it around his fingers. Between the way he’s basically strangling you and the way your swallowing muscles contract around his cock means that you’re not getting much air into your lungs. Your head is spinning, from being both oxygen deprived and cock drunk.

“Your God doesn’t want you anymore.” The clasp snaps and he dangles the charm in front of your face. The mould of Christ nailed to the cross taunts you. What was once a symbol of divine love and God’s boundless forgiveness and sacrifice is just a reminder of how far you’ve fallen into depravity, creaming around Shigaraki’s cock as he ruins your cunt while your Nii-san claims your throat “You’re filthy.” Touya sneers at you as he holds himself in your throat, watching you cry and choke around him. “Dirty fuckin angel.” He grunts as he floods your mouth with the taste of his cum. It’s not exactly pleasant but you try to swallow it all down. There’s just so much. That means he’s pleased with you right? You want him to be pleased. Good girls get rewards he said

“It’s okay.” He muses as he pulls out of your mouth. “You have me. I’m better than God and I Iove you when you’re nasty like this.” He empathizes his point by dragging his wet, softening cock across your face. “Nii-sans perfect little angel.”

It’s so pitiful how the small praise makes your heart bloom and makes your hole flutter.

You’re coughing up Touya’s cum while your body shakes with Shigaraki’s thrusts.

“What about me hm? I’m fucking you. What? You don’t like it?” Tomura’s going harder now, determined to get his fair share of your attention.

“Shig-Shigaraki – shit. Slow down!”

You’re ignored by both of them once again. If anything, Shigaraki starts fucking you harder

.”Yo’ dustpot. You better pull out. That hole still belongs to me.”

The warning falls on deaf ears, Tomura is too far gone. “So warm, she’s squeezin’ me. Fuck. Fuck.’’ No thoughts, just your tight cunt.

“Gonna do whatever I tell you?” Dabi’s talking to you now, cerulean eyes boring into yours.

You nod still staring at him with absolute devotion.

“Touya-nii’s will be done? Huh? Has a nice ring to it.”

When you don’t respond he grabs you by your cheeks forming an open mouthed pout. “Say it.”

“Touya-nii’shhh will be done.” The words come out distorted but he’s satisfied

“Oh yeah? Then be good angel slut and come on his cock for me.��

You’re pushed over the edge, coming for the second time. Your walls clamp down around him as you sob out both their names in the form of incoherent babbling. It hits you as hard as the first one. You’re so caught up in your high you barely register the vice grip on your hips, the frantic humping against your ass. “Tight. Fuckin tight! Gotta breed! Breed this fucking hole.”

His hot, sticky cum floods your walls with, your throbbing cunt milking him for everything he’s got. He ruts against you a couple more times before removing himself completely.

You hear the familiar click of a camera. He’s sorry (not really) but the sight of your fucked out hole leaking globs of your cream and his cum was too hot for Shigaraki to not add to his spankbank.

“Thanks for that little sis.” Dabi is resting on the couch, head thrown back smoking a cigarette.

“Yeah thanks sweetness.” Both men, tuck themselves back into their pants

Everything feels so surreal. You cautiously move you hand between your thighs. Feeling your sore abused cunt in an attempt to grasp the reality of what happened.

Wait a minute.

It’s too much, that too sticky to be just your arousal down there. The more you squeeze, contracting your pelvic floor, the more it seems to seep out of you.

“You… You came inside.” You murmur as your eyes well up with tears. Whatever daze you were in seems to be broken by this revelation. Instead it’s replaced by fear of what the consequences of this might be.

Dabi smacks his friend upside the head. “You fuckin’ dumbass. I told you not to.”

Judging by his grin, Shigaraki doesn’t register the insult. He’s too busy basking in the afterglow. “Aw, don’t cry babe. You were gripping me so tight, I thought you wanted it. ‘S’okay, your Nii-san will get you a plan B”

“Fuck no. That’s your jizz inside her.” He scowls, eyes focused on the cum that’s leaking out of your spent pussy.

“C’mon Dabi don’t be like that. I’m broke right now.” Shigaraki pleads.

Touya huffs and rolls his eyes. “You can get yourself a morning after pill right? Tomura will pay you back.”

“Yeah babe. I promise.” He gives you a dopey smile.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out he’s lying. Yeah, you know better now. You just nod as you pull up your panties, cringing at the sticky, wet sensation against your cunt.

“Me and Tomura are heading out. Make sure you clean all this up before anyone gets home.”

“B-but Touya-nii-“ you snivel.

“No buts. Clean up or you won’t be sitting comfy for a week. Are we clear?”

“Yes Touya-nii.” You reply defeated.

“And do it properly. Fuyumi has 3 brothers, she knows what a cumstain looks like and I don’t wanna have to do any explaining to her.”

You only nod, trying (and failing) to blink away tears.

Dabi rewards you with a chaste kiss to your cheek. “Best little sister in the world.” And he leaves you with that.

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cappymightwrite · 3 years

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What draws you to incest ?

*sighs* Ok, here we go. I'm a real card carrying Jonsa now aren't I?

Anon, listen. I know this is an anti question that gets bandied about a lot, aimed at provoking, etc, when we all know no Jonsa is out here being all you know what, it really is the incest, and the incest alone, that draws me in. I mean, come on now. Grow up.

If I was "drawn" to incest I'd be a fan of Cersei x Jaime, Lucrezia x Cesare, hell Oedipus x Jocasta etc... but I haven't displayed any interest in them now, have I? So, huh, it can't be that.

Frankly, it's a derivitive question that is really missing the mark. I'm not "drawn" to it, though yeah, it is an unavoidable element of Jonsa. The real question you should be asking though, is what draws GRRM to it? Because he obviously is drawn to it, specifically what is termed the "incest motif" in academic and literary scholarship. That is a far more worthwhile avenue of thinking and questioning, compared with asking me. Luckily for you though anon, I sort of anticipated getting this kind of question so had something in my drafts on standby...

You really don't have to look far, or that deeply, to be hit over the head by the connection between GRRM's literary influences and the incest motif. I mean, let's start with the big cheese himself, Tolkein:

Tolkein + Quenta Silmarillion

We know for definite that GRRM has been influenced by Tolkein, and in The Silmarillion you notably have a case of unintentional incest in Quenta Silmarillion, where Túrin Turambar, under the power of a curse, unwittingly murders his friend, as well as marries and impregnates his sister, Nienor Níniel, who herself had lost her memory due to an enchantment.

Mr Tolkein, "what draws you to incest?"

Old Norse + Völsunga saga

Tolkein, as a professor of Anglo-Saxon, was hugely influenced by Old English and Old Norse literature. The story of the ring Andvaranaut, told in Völsunga saga, is strongly thought to have been a key influence behind The Lord of the Rings. Also featured within this legendary saga is the relationship between the twins Signy and Sigmund — at one point in the saga, Signy tricks her brother into sleeping with her, which produces a son, Sinfjotli, of pure Völsung blood, raised with the singular purpose of enacting vengence.

Anonymous Norse saga writer, "what draws you to incest?"

Medieval Literature as a whole

A lot is made of how "true" to the storied past ASOIAF is, how reflective it is of medieval society (and earlier), its power structures, its ideals and martial values etc. ASOIAF, however, is not attempting historical accuracy, and should not be read as such. Yet it is clearly drawing from a version of the past, as depicted in medieval romances and pre-Christian mythology for instance, as well as dusty tomes on warfare strategy. As noted by Elizabeth Archibald in her article Incest in Medieval Literature and Society (1989):

Of course the Middle Ages inherited and retold a number of incest stories from the classical world. Through Statius they knew Oedipus, through Ovid they knew the stories of Canace, Byblis, Myrrha and Phaedra. All these stories end more or less tragically: the main characters either die or suffer metamorphosis. Medieval readers also knew the classical tradition of incest as a polemical accusation,* for instance the charges against Caligula and Nero. – p. 2

The word "polemic" is connected to controversy, to debate and dispute, therefore these classical texts were exploring the incest motif in order to create discussion on a controversial topic. In a way, your question of "what draws you to incest?" has a whiff of polemical accusation to it, but as I stated, you're missing the bigger question.

Moving back to the Middle Ages, however, it is interesting that we do see a trend of more incest stories appearing within new narratives between the 11th and 13th centuries, according to Archibald:

The texts I am thinking of include the legend of Judas, which makes him commit patricide and then incest before betraying Christ; the legend of Gregorius, product of sibling incest who marries his own mother, but after years of rigorous penance finally becomes a much respected pope; the legend of St Albanus, product of father-daughter incest, who marries his mother, does penance with both his parents but kills them when they relapse into sin, and after further penance dies a holy man; the exemplary stories about women who sleep with their sons, and bear children (whom they sometimes kill), but refuse to confess until the Virgin intervenes to save them; the legends of the incestuous begetting of Roland by Charlemagne and of Mordred by Arthur; and finally the Incestuous Father romances about calumniated wives, which resemble Chaucer's Man of Law's Tale except that the heroine's adventures begin when she runs away from home to escape her father's unwelcome advances. – p. 2

I mean... that last bit sounds eerily quite close to what we have going on with Petyr Baelish and Sansa Stark. But I digress. What I'm trying to say is that from a medieval and classical standpoint... GRRM is not unique in his exploration of the incest motif, far from it.

Sophocles, Ovid, Hartmann von Aue, Thomas Malory, etc., "what draws you to incest?"

Faulkner + The Sound and the Fury, and more!

Moving on to more modern influences though, when talking about the writing ethos at the heart of his work, GRRM has famously quoted William Faulker:

His mantra has always been William Faulkner’s comment in his Nobel prize acceptance speech, that only the “human heart in conflict with itself… is worth writing about”. [source]

I’ve never read any Faulker, so I did just a quick search on “Faulkner and incest” and I pulled up this article on JSTOR, called Faulkner and the Politics of Incest (1998). Apparently, Faulkner explores the incest motif in at least five novels, therefore it was enough of a distinctive theme in his work to warrant academic analysis. In this journal article, Karl F. Zender notes that:

[...] incest for Faulkner always remains tragic [...] – p. 746

Ah, we can see a bit of running theme here, can't we? But obviously, GRRM (one would hope) doesn’t just appreciate Faulkner’s writing for his extensive exploration of incest. This quote possibly sums up the potential artistic crossover between the two:

Beyond each level of achieved empathy in Faulkner's fiction stands a further level of exclusion and marginalization. – pp. 759–60

To me, the above parallels somewhat GRRM’s own interest in outcasts, in personal struggle (which incest also fits into):

I am attracted to bastards, cripples and broken things as is reflected in the book. Outcasts, second-class citizens for whatever reason. There’s more drama in characters like that, more to struggle with. [source]

Interestingly, however, this essay on Faulkner also connects his interest in the incest motif with the romantic poets, such as Percy Bysshe Shelley and Lord Byron:

As Peter Thorslev says in an important study of romantic representations of incest, " [p]arent-child incest is universally condemned in Romantic literature...; sibling incest, on the other hand, is invariably made sympathetic, is sometimes exonerated, and, in Byron's and Shelley's works, is definitely idealized.” – p. 741

Faulkner, "what draws you to incest?" ... I mean, that article gives some good explanations, actually.

Lord Byron, Manfred + The Bride of Abydos

Which brings us onto GRRM interest in the Romantics:

I was always intensely Romantic, even when I was too young to understand what that meant. But Romanticism has its dark side, as any Romantic soon discovers... which is where the melancholy comes in, I suppose. I don't know if this is a matter of artistic influences so much as it is of temperament. But there's always been something in a twilight that moves me, and a sunset speaks to me in a way that no sunrise ever has. [source]

I'm already in the process of writing a long meta about the influence of Lord Byron in ASOIAF, specifically examining this quote by GRRM:

The character I’m probably most like in real life is Samwell Tarly. Good old Sam. And the character I’d want to be? Well who wouldn’t want to be Jon Snow — the brooding, Byronic, romantic hero whom all the girls love. Theon [Greyjoy] is the one I’d fear becoming. Theon wants to be Jon Snow, but he can’t do it. He keeps making the wrong decisions. He keeps giving into his own selfish, worst impulses. [source]

Lord Byron, "what draws you to—", oh, um, right. Nevermind.

I'm not going to repeat myself here, but it's worth noting that there is a clear through line between GRRM and the Romantic writers, besides perhaps melancholic "temperament"... and it's incest.

But look, is choosing to explore the incest motif...well, a choice? Yeah, and an uncomfortable one at that, but it’s obvious that that is what GRRM is doing. I think it’s frankly a bit naive of some people to argue that GRRM would never do Jonsa because it’s pseudo-incest and therefore morally repugnant, no ifs, no buts. I’m sorry, as icky as it may be to our modern eyes, GRRM has set the president for it in his writing with the Targaryens and the Lannister twins.

The difference with them is that they knowingly commit incest, basing it in their own sense of exceptionalism, and there are/will be bad consequences — this arguably parallels the medieval narratives in which incest always ends badly, unless some kind of real penance is involved. For Jon and Sansa, however, the Jonsa argument is that they will choose not to commit incest, despite a confused attraction, and then will be rewarded in the narrative through the parentage reveal, a la Byron’s The Bride of Abydos. The Targaryens and Lannisters, in several ways excluding the incest (geez the amount of times I’ve written incest in this post), are foils for the Starks, and in particular, Jon and Sansa. Exploring the incest motif has been on the cards since the very beginning — just look at that infamous "original" outline — regardless of whether we personally consider that an interesting writing choice, or a morally inexcusable one.

Word of advice, or rather, warning... don't think you can catch me out with these kinds of questions. I have access to a university database, so if I feel like procrastinating my real academic work, I can and will pull out highly researched articles to school you, lmao.

But you know, thanks for the ask anyway, I guess.

#cappy's thoughts #I'm still on my break/hiatus #i just had some of this already written #jonsa #jon x sansa #anti bs #grrm and medieval literature #grrm and william faulkner #grrm and the romantics #grrm and tolkein #grrm and old norse literature #grrm and his literary influences #was this petty lmao?

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genshxn · 3 years

Text

@/datonecanadianartist asked:

A Zhongli x reader where the reader is a chaos magnet like Bennett, but unlike him they refuse to get any help and finally Zhongli tricks them to help them? Many thanks friend!

i hope this is something like what you had in mind :,D

it’s also a little long lmao-

【ｚｈｏｎｇｌｉ】

chaos magnet s/o refuses to get help until they get tricked (ft. Chongyun)

warnings ; haunting

There was only one other person you had heard of who had your level of bullshit, and it was some poor kid who lived in Mondstadt. Apparently the events that would follow you were on par with what he’d experience.

And more often than not, your partner Zhongli would get caught in the cross fire. Treasure hoarders would always know where you are. Zhongli would just send them flying with his monoliths, however. Or maybe you’d get hit in the head by an incoming bird, also knocking into Zhongli in the process. Either way, it’s always a little messy in the end.

He was more concerned for your safety than anything. You miraculously don’t get hurt amidst the chaos, but he isn’t sure how long this is going to last. The last thing he wants is for you to get hurt.

He’s tried to get you to do all sorts of things to try and get rid of this abysmal luck of yours. He’s bought about 30 different charms supposedly imbued with energy to repel bad luck. You refused to carry any.

Another time, you walked into your bedroom with him looking like he was about to start some kind of ritual, just waiting for you to arrive. You scrambled back out the door, not having a bar of it, and he had to chase you for a very long time before he finally caught you.

So those didn’t work.

Zhongli was wandering the streets of Liyue one day, simply wondering what else he could do to try and cure this ailment of yours, if it even was an ailment.

His mind wandered to something Hu Tao was prattling on about to do with mischievous ghosts causing trouble for people in their daily lives. He had overheard her talking about this in passing the other day. Perhaps this was something going on with you.

So he sought the help of an exorcist.

Except given his current track record, no way in hell was he going to be able to get you to sit down and stay still for the exorcist to do their work. So he’d have to come up with a plan to keep you in one place.

"My darling, tonight is a beautiful night in the harbour. Would you perchance go to dinner with me?" He asks you. He hopes he’s not being too suspicious to suddenly ask you to dinner out of the blue.

“Oh, yeah sure. I’ll go get ready.” You say, getting up to get changed into something a little nicer. Your hesitation likely would have come from the fact that he asked you so suddenly. He doesn’t blame you.

When you finally emerge from your room, you look lovely. He really wonders how you always look so good. But a little part inside him feels guilty because what he has planned may ruin your clothes slightly...

You make your way to Third Round Knockout where Zhongli had already made a reservation. The two of you sit and decide what you’ll order. He wants you to eat first before he potentially ruins your evening. Zhongli casts a glance beside him, where the young, blue haired exorcist was sitting eagerly. Zhongli previously told the exorcist his plan. The exorcist was to look like another customer for the time being until Zhongli gives the signal to begin the ritual. Zhongli would take care of keeping you in place so you don’t escape anywhere.

The two of you enjoy a lovely meal together, but you couldn’t help notice that Zhongli has been looking a little fidgety the entire time.

“Are you okay? You’ve been acting suspicious all evening.” You say, finishing your last mouthful of dessert.

Zhongli exhales and opens his eyes to meet yours. He looks very guilty. “I’m sorry for this, but it’s to help you.”

Before you could question what he meant by that, a stone structure had snapped around your waist and arms, keeping you in place. It wasn’t so tight that you couldn’t breath, but you certainly couldn’t go anywhere either.

“Zhongli, what?!”

“Chongyun,” He says. A blue haired youth in white attire jumps up from his chair and quickly summons six talismans in a hexagon, which then fly out towards you.

Everyone else in the surrounding area looks at you. There you were with a stone containment and talismans attached to your head.

“Evil spirit be purged!” The exorcist slams his fist onto his palm and the talismans all quickly dissipate. With a harrowing scream from an unknown source, a weight feels like it’s been lifted off your shoulders.

“Wow! That was my first proper exorcism!” The boy exclaims. An exorcism? You were being haunted?

“What?!” You suddenly cry out. People suddenly look over in your direction.

“Ah, so my theory was correct,” Zhongli says to himself. “It was a malicious spirit following you around.”

“A ghost?”

“Yes. It was quite a potent one too. It managed to resist my pure yang energy enough to not run off in my presence,” The exorcist happily explains. “I don’t know how it got attached to you, but that should be the end of whatever harm it was causing you. Very well, I’d best be on my way now. My services are free of charge!” He says as a final note and walks off, barely containing his excitement of his first proper exorcism.

“Oh thank the gods, I forgot to pay him,” Zhongli mutters under his breath.

“Can you let me go now?” You ask.

“Oh! Yes, right. My apologies.” With a wave of his hand, your rocky constraints dissolve back into the earth.

“Right... Now what the hell was that?”

“I suppose I do owe you an explanation. It wasn’t fair of me to do something without your knowledge, but I had enlisted that exorcist on the chance that there was a ghost causing your abhorrent luck. Such events simply aren’t natural... But it turns out it was true. I’m very sorry for doing all this behind your back. I just don’t want you to eventually get hurt one day. The circumstances you could find yourself in could be perilous, and I don’t want to see the one I love suffer so often. It feels selfish since you didn’t want to do anything, but—“

You cut off Zhongli by placing a finger on his lips. “You don’t need to apologize so much. Thank you for looking out for me. It means a lot to me.” You pull him into a hug. The poor guy looked sad from guilt, so you have to show him he’s not in trouble. “But I won’t be able to have anymore crazy stories.”

“I think you’ve had enough for a life time for now.” He replies.

#genshin #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #zhongli #zhongli x reader #zhongli imagines

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meichenxi · 3 years

Note

Ooh anything about linguistics and/or Chinese linguistics that interests you- what do you find most interesting?

Ooooo thank you! First let me apologise for the lack of rigour i.e. sources - I am ILL.

HMMMMM ok...let me talk a little bit about one thing I find fascinating - the idea of 'linguistic complexity'. It's an interesting topic that a) demonstrates the failures of linguistics that only takes Indo-European languages into account; b) demonstrates how a conflation of linguistic and moral judgements leads to absolute chaos; and c) proves that sometimes the purpose of all models and hypotheses is to be a useful aid in description, and not to be 100% accurate. Which means that multiple models can exist at the same time. Also, it shows just how cool Classical Chinese is.

I'm going to make this into two posts because I have been asked to wax lyrical on this stuff twice...this one will be a general overview of what linguistic complexity is and some of the issues around it, and the other post (@karolincki 's ask) will be an overview of these issues as pertaining to Modern and Classical Chinese.

Linguistic complexity: an introduction

What is linguistic complexity? Basically what it says on the tin: how 'simple' or 'complex' is one language in relation to another. If you automatically think that sounds dodgy - aren't all languages equally complex? what is a simple language? etc - just hold on. We'll get there.

A very important starting point: complexity here only refers to linguistic complexity. There are many ways to measure this, but broadly speaking it refers to the amount of stuff in a language a learner has to deal with. Are there genders? Well, that's more complex than not having any, because it's an extra thing to remember. Do you have to express whether the information you're conveying is something you personally experienced or hearsay? Again, more complex than not. Different tenses? Essentially, you can look at complexity like this: if you were describing this language or putting it into a computer program, what is the minimum length of description you would need? The longer the description, the more complex the language. In a standard understanding of complexity, a language like English is more complex than a language like Vietnamese (English has more tenses, moods, conjugations, irregularity...), and a language like Georgian is more complex than a language like English (Google a single verb table of Georgian and you will see what I mean).

(this will be long)

What complexity does not mean is anything to do with the cognitive abilities of the people who speak it. It doesn't mean that people who speak English are unable to conceive of the difference between a dual and a plural (2 apples and 3 apples), just because the language doesn't mark it. It doesn't mean people who speak Chinese are unable to conceive of the past conditional ('I should have gone...') just because they don't have a separate tense for it. It doesn't mean Italian speakers don't know whether they experienced the thing themselves, or heard about it from someone else, just because they don't have a set verb ending for it. All linguistic complexity means is what the language requires you to express.

I'm putting this out there very clearly because this sort of thinking is bound up in a lot of racist ideas and ideology. You'll have heard of the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis? Unfortunately named, since they never really worked together, and Edward Sapir was actually a relatively cool dude for the time who argued against linguistic relativity - i.e. the language you speak determines how you think. Yes, in the 19th (and much of the 20th) century, when certain linguists referred to 'simple' and 'complex' languages that is what many of them meant: speakers of a simple language are 'simple', and a complex one are 'complex'. But there was a huge backlash against these racist ideas, and that backlash was hugely influential is shaping the direction of typology (the branch of linguistics which is broadly concerned with these sorts of questions). More on that later, but for now: please understand that when I say linguistic complexity, I am not implying a single thing about the people that speak it.

Back to complexity. Of course language, like any system, is made up of moving parts: you don't just need to consider how many parts it has, but also how interdependent they are, whether they interact with each other in a predictable way, how likely they are to change. You might also want to consider how easy the system is to learn for somebody who has never used it before. And then, of course, languages are more complex still because they are not machines, but ever-changing things: do you count a rule like the conditional inversion in English, which only applies to a total of three verbs? Is that less complex because fewer verbs use it - and therefore you need to think about it less - or does that make the system more complex because you need another, meta-rule to say when you need to use it and when not? What about irregularity? Is a language like English that doesn't have many rules but has a sizeable amount of 'irregular' verbs more or less complicated than a language like Swahili which has a lot more rules, but follows them assiduously? And what happens when some people use one rule and others don't - do you count those as the same language (lumping), which may render the grand overview less accurate, or do you count them as totally separate languages (splitting), in which case when do you stop?

Hmm. Complexity. Is. Complex.

Those are a lot of factors that need to be considered here. Even saying something is 'irregular' doesn't mean very much without further quantification. For example, if I say that the 'irregular' verb ring goes to ring, rang, rung in English, you can very easily find other verbs which conjugate similarly: sing, sang, sung etc. So is that really irregular? Or is it just another, less productive rule? But then if it's a rule, why do we say fling, flung, flung and not yesterday I flang the ball? What's going on???

And what about 'total' irregularity, so called 'suppletion', where (and this is a very scientific explanation) a random non-related word just seems to appear in a paradigm, like it's got lost on the way home? Like I go, I went; like to be, I am, he is, I were; like good, better, best. Ok, so is the irregularity in I go and I went somehow....more irregular than irregularity in I sing and I sang? Uhh. Ok. And then is the irregularity in bad, worse, worst somehow more irregular than better and best, because at least for better and best you can see the -er and -st endings?? Finally, what about a 'spoken' but very predictable irregularity, such as the way we have a reduced vowel in 'says'? Where do we count that? Is that more irregular, or less irregular? Is it maybe 33% irregular?

I think you get the point. And of course all of this becomes more complex when you start to consider the interaction of lots of different systems at once. What about tone? If you have regular tone like Chinese, most people would agree that it's more complex because it's an added thing. But tone probably only developed in part as a response to losing some really important sound contrasts that other languages have kept...and also there is no possibilities of 'irregularities' in tone the way there are in something like verb conjugation...you can't just have a random sixth tone. And then what about syntax? If you have lots of very complex word ordering rules, is that more or less complex than a language where you have to rely on the human being to use pragmatics to infer what the ever loving fuck is going on?

Yeah. This is sort of just one of those things where every year a new linguist comes up with a spicy new matrix to 'measure' complexity and then everyone shits on them in journals and then comes up with their own idea which is promptly shat on. I don't know either.

Ok, so how is this relevant to Chinese?

To answer that question we need to circle round a bit to the history of typology that I vaguely alluded to earlier. At various points - depending on how racist the linguist in question was - people in the 20th century were starting to realise that all of this stuff about 'complex language = complex civilisation / complex thought' wasn't quite as water-tight as they'd hoped. Perhaps it was their better judgement, but it's also likely to have been influenced by a lot of contact suddenly with Native American languages - many of which are vastly complex by literally any metric you could possibly imagine, but the people speaking them were not colonising other countries and building amphitheatres and all of those necessarily, comfortingly European ideas of 'civilisation'. This movement away from such racist ideology, even if it was fuelled in part by a different type of racism, meant that suddenly everyone was very wary about making statements about linguistic complexity at all. It smacked of all the things they were trying not to be associated with.

I'm going to quote some Edward Sapir here for no other reason than I think it's really unfortunate that he's most famous for something that has the potential for incredibly racist ideology that he literally never said:

'Intermingled with this scientific prejudice and largely anticipating it was another, a more human one. The vast majority of linguistic theorists themselves spoke languages of a certain type, of which the most fully developed varieties were the Latin and Greek that they had learned in their childhood. It was not difficult for them to be persuaded that these familiar languages represented the “highest” development that speech had yet attained and that all other types were but steps on the way to this beloved “inflective” type. Whatever conformed to the pattern of Sanskrit and Greek and Latin and German was accepted as expressive of the “highest,” whatever departed from it was frowned upon as a shortcoming or was at best an interesting aberration. Now any classification that starts with preconceived values or that works up to sentimental satisfactions is self-condemned as unscientific. A linguist that insists on talking about the Latin type of morphology as though it were necessarily the high-water mark of linguistic development is like the zoölogist that sees in the organic world a huge conspiracy to evolve the race-horse or the Jersey cow.'

People generally began to get the hang of it after this, and stepped away from linguistic classification at all. There was a broad consensus that that sort of thing was done with, a thing of the past. It's kind of funny, because of course people's unwillingness to look at the complexity of language because 'all people are the same' shows that they still think language and culture/cognition are intimately linked! It was done out of a desire to not be racist, but you can't even reach that conclusion unless you have a sneaky secret bit of bioessentialism going on in your sneaky little brain. Because if the complexity of language doesn't reflect the complexity of your thought, why would it matter whether some systems are bigger than others? That they had more parts?

It literally wouldn't matter at all..

So what happened next? Linguists started to revisit these old linguistic classifications and ideas of complexity, but in the hope of proving, instead, that actually all languages were equal. You can definitely see the theoretical aims here: not only is a good from an ideological point of view (again, if you still equate linguistic complexity to complexity of thought), but it's also quite handy if you believe that all human babies approach language learning with the same biological apparatus ('Universal Grammar', if you believe in that, and other cognitive principles). If all babies have the same built-in gear, you sort of want the task they are given to be of roughly the same magnitude. That's one of those things linguists like to call theoretically desirable - which just means it would be neat if it did.

We're getting to Chinese. I promise.

So how you could make systems so vastly different as English and Georgian and Chinese roughly the 'same' level of complexity? One answer is irregularity: languages with huuuuuge verb and noun declensions like Georgian tend to have very little irregularity, where languages with less extensive systems like English tend to keep it around for longer. There are lots of reasons for this I won't go into, but it's a general trend. Irregular systems are more work for the brain to remember, which, predictably, is more 'complex' for a learner to acquire. Compare a language like English and German: German may have more cases and declensions and rules, but once you learn them...that's it. Compare that to English, where you'll be learning phrasal verbs and prepositions as a second language learner until the day you die (and possibly beyond). It's a different type of 'complex', but it's still deserving of the title.

That obviously doesn't work for a language like Chinese. Chinese has no conjugations, and so can't possibly have any irregularity in the same way. But fear not: there are lots and lots and lots of ways in which languages often exhibit what might be called 'complexity tradeoffs': languages with complex tone, for example, almost always have simpler sound systems elsewhere, and many languages with complex case arrangements tend to have free word order. One thing is complex, another...simplex (a word unfortunately genuinely in use).

This seems nice. We like this. It means that the different parts of the same system may be differently sized, but the whole system in total is about the same as any of other language. There’s just one problem: this isn’t how languages seem to work.

For every example of a complexity trade-off you can find, there are other languages which don’t have any such ‘trade off’ at all. There are plenty of languages where grammar is complex and the sound system is complex; or languages like Icelandic and German where there are cases but fairly rigid and fixed word order; or other cases where there is a huge amount of irregularity but also crazy verb systems, and so on. A language like Abkhaz has supposedly 58 consonants in the literary dialect: but it also has insanely complicated grammar. No trade-off there. Finally, it has long been presumed that whilst verb morphology etc is simpler in languages like Chinese, syntax would be more complicated: recently, a number of studies have proved exactly the opposite. Both, in fact, are simpler.

In conclusion, where does this leave us? Whilst the idea behind complexity trade-offs is well-motivated but not totally sound, and whilst these do not always seem to be present in the way you might hope, what this does do is force us as linguists to question whether we have spent enough time considering the types of complexity that are present in languages like Chinese, and how we reconcile that with more ‘familiar’ complexity. It’s interesting to think about because it shows what happens when you fail to consider these things.

That’s all for the overview on linguistic complexity today!! I’ll talk specifically about complexity in Chinese in the next ask, because this is already very long. Be aware, I’m not going to give you any answers necessarily - these questions are way above my pay grade - but boy can I give you some thoughts.

#chinese #linguistics #langblr #lingblr #linguistic complexity #meichenxi manages #askies #oh my god I am so looking forward to writing the next one #it's so spicy #love remembering that I actually sometimes know things lmao #stop the false equivalence of Sapir = the Sapir-whorf hypothesis 2k21 #the dude was actually quite progressive for his time #sighhhhh *squints at actual linguistics* hope this doesn't awaken anything in me #like the desire to go and do a masters #I hope this makes sense and I hope no one yells at me #if you want any sources I'm happy to give I'm just lazy and ill #source = brain #no I really do have books I promise

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takerfoxx · 2 years

Text

And immediately following the new RD chapter, have yet another installment of the Walpurgis Nights girls watch The Rebellion Story! This time it'll take up Kyubey's explanation to Homura up through Homura fully turning into a witch.

Reminder:

G=Gretchen

H=Homulilly

Op=Ophelia

Ok=Oktavia

Ca=Candeloro/Mami

Ch=Charlotte

...

Ch: Well, we all good to continue?

H: I do not believe that word really qualifies, but I’m ready.

Ok: We are going to need so much therapy after all this is over.

G: It might be good in the long run. You know, help us appreciate what we have all the more.

Op: I was appreciating things plenty without this horror show.

H: I don’t see what you have to complain about. You actually seem to be doing quite well so far.

Op: True.

Ch: All right. Let’s go.

=Kyubey enters the scene=

H: I knew it! I knew it! He’s behind it all! He’s the one who did this to me!

Op: I mean, it was an easy bet.

H: I know, but now I have someone to blame!

Ca: I really wish I had shot him. Just once.

…

Op: My God, he sounds like a little kid. An insufferable little kid that I would very much like to strangle.

Ca: Pick a number. Stand in line.

Ok: I just realized that this is technically the first time I’ve ever actually heard an Incubator’s voice.

Ca: You aren’t missing out. I can’t believe I ever considered him a friend.

Op: He’s a con-rat, we’re the marks. Don’t be too hard on yourself.

Ch: At least we’re finally getting something in the way of exposition.

…

Ok: Okay, what the hell is that thing on that plate? Because that is disgusting.

Ch: It looks like someone took a bite out of some kind of root and found flesh!

Ok: I see ribs. There are ribs in that thing.

G: Was it really necessary to focus on it? Because I agree with Tavi. That’s gross.

H: Yes, you rat! Please answer those questions!

Ok: I know we’re about to learn some really important information but I’m still kind of fixated on the bleeding root that the camera decided to focus on for some inexplicable reason.

…

H: Oh, so that’s what’s going on? It’s all just an Incubator ploy? I’m just some kind of grand experiment for them?

Ca: You have to admit, it is consistent with their nature.

H: Well, it’s sick, but it is sort of a relief. At least now we have a definite villain, one that-Hold on, I told him about the witch system?!

Op: Looks like.

H: But why? If this Madoka sacrificed herself to end witches, why would I ever tell the Incubators about it? I had to have known that they would go after her!

Ch: Um…

H: What?

Ch: Maybe…Homura was unhappy with how things turned out, and was secretly hoping that they would do something like this? You know, if it meant bringing Madoka back.

H: …

G: …

Op: …

Ok: …

Ca: …

H: That…actually makes a disturbing amount of sense.

…

Ok: Question.

H: Ask.

Ok: I get why you brought all of us in there. But why Kyousuke and Hitomi? Did you even like them? Did you even know them?

H: Excellent question. I have no idea.

Op: No accounting for taste.

Ok: Hey, we saw Madoka’s parents, but what of mine? I mean, I had them, right?

Ca: Yes. But…I don’t recall Homura ever meeting them.

H: But I met Madoka’s.

Ca: Naturally.

Op: Man, you were down bad.

H: I literally reshaped the course of history for her. Of course I was. Still am, just in a more…healthy and less psychotic manner.

G: Yeah, I definitely prefer what we have to what they have.

Ok: Hey, does that mean that Ophelia and I have my house to ourselves?

Op: Oh, we must be so loud.

…

H: I suppose you were right. I wanted Madoka back, and they made it happen.

G: I doubt that you wanted it to happen like this.

H: It still happened. I got you ensnared in the Incubators’ machinations.

G: Lilly, again, it’s not really you. You didn’t do this.

H: I would have, had we not died.

G: But you didn’t. Please, stop beating yourself up over something that didn’t even happen.

H: Is it strange, though, to see an alternate version of myself, where things happened differently, and wish that I had died?

Op: But you did.

H: I mean, I wish that this Homura had died. That she had what I have and was spared all of this.

Op: I don’t find that strange at all. I mean, I feel bad for her, I think we all do.

…

H: Wait, is that an army? I have an army?

Op: Oh, I like where this is going!

Ch: I really appreciate how once you finally realized what was going on, you were like, “Fuck this!”

H: Yes. This is my labyrinth. And there are no rats allowed.

…

Op: YES! This is what we want! Fuck ‘em up, Homura!

Ok: Kill those rats! Get ‘em.

Ch: This must be so cathartic.

Ca: I don’t know. I mean, yes, but I have a very bad feeling about this.

…

Ok and Op: Fuck ‘em up, Homura! Fuck ‘em up!

…

G: Do witches ever attack Incubators?

Ca: Not that I remember. Probably a red flag I should have caught.

…

Op: This smug son of a bitch. Look at him, being all calm while he gets ripped apart.

Ca: I mean, it is a hivemind. He probably isn’t concerned about the fate of a few spare bodies.

Ok: Kind of puts a damper on all of this.

G: I don’t care! Wipe them all out!

Op: Whoa.

G: They hurt my girlfriend.

Op: Hey, not arguing! Just…whoa.

…

Ok: Oh, he is so infuriating! Of course she wouldn’t be happy, come on!

Ca: This is getting bad. She’s going too far.

Op: Or not far enough.

Ca: I mean for herself. She’s letting herself slip away completely.

Ok: Damn, even Kyubey’s starting to sound worried.

H: I do look rather terrifying.

G: Good.

…

G: Never mind, I take it back. Not good, not good!

H: Is this what happened when we became witches? Is this what it looked like?

Ch: I really doubt that it was that dramatic.

Ca: It’s true. When we all changed, it was…dramatic, yes. And horrible. And heartbreaking. But not quite to this extent.

Ch: Oh. Um, I’m sorry.

Ca: Don’t be. I’m over it, really.

…

Ok: Oh, shit! She just turned into Homulilly! That is definitely a skull!

Ca: I think I saw her eyes fall out!

H: Well. It was inevitable. And now I can really ruin that rodent’s day.

Op: Damn, look at them go! They’re ripping all those Kyubeys apart!

H: Not enough. No nearly-Wait, what’s going on?

G: That’s me! Why are we in a field? Why am I standing on chair?

Ok: T-Posing to assert dominance?

G: On Homura?

Ok: And now you’re falling! And-Okay, now you’re bubblegum. Okay.

Ch: This would be horrific if it wasn’t so weird.

Op: Those are some long-legged Homuras, and…Okay, now you just crushed yourself. Okay.

H: I mean, the self-loathing metaphor is evident, but now I’m mostly just confused, and…Oh. Now I’m finally a witch. Literally.

G: That…doesn’t look like you.

H: I suppose this version of Homulilly would appear different.

Ok: Is she a skeleton? I can’t tell.

H: I don’t know. Maybe.

Op: And…Okay, your little floating cup fortress is bleeding from the vag, you’ve got a bunch of birds flying, and-Oh! Oh, those are skeleton arms! That is definitely Homulilly!

H: Aaannnd the top part of my head just fell off. Why did the top part of my head fall off?

Ok: AND THERE’S THE SPIDER-LILY!

H: Well, I guess that is what I looked like.

Ch: You’re taking this part surprisingly well.

H: At least it’s familiar.

Op: She’s got some kind of horn coming out of your ass.

H: Yes she does.

Op: How come this you don’t have a horn coming out of your ass?

H: Well, I don’t know!

Ch: It’s called a phonograph. It’s like an old-fashioned music player.

Op: So your ass is literally playing music.

Ok: You know, despite everything that’s happened, the idea that this Homulilly had musical farts is somehow the weirdest.

Ca: Hush. You’re ruining the tragedy of the moment.

H: I’d actually prefer to have it ruined.

#wn rebellion mst

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the-widow-sisters · 3 years

Text

My Reason

Summary: When Natasha and Yelena are practicing knife-throwing, something goes wrong with Yelena. Natasha soon finds out that her sister is exceedingly touch-starved. What happens when Yelena finds out that Natasha craves affection just as much as Yelena?

Word Count: 2520

“Alright, poser, move out of the way and let the master show you how it’s done,” Yelena told her older sister, raising an eyebrow as she took some knives from Natasha. Natasha stepped back, giving her younger sister some room as she proudly watched Yelena.

The two of them had some time to themselves that day, and the two had decided to do a little bit of practice together to see if they could learn from one another. They were currently throwing knives, and Natasha had managed to land every one of them in the middle of the targets.

Now that it was Yelena’s turn, Natasha was excited to see how her younger sister would do.

“Aren’t you going to take the knives out of the targets?”

“That would be too easy. Don’t you want a real challenge?” Yelena questioned, her eyes full of mirth and playfulness as she eyed Natasha. Natasha smiled a little in reply, wondering how Yelena was going to land any shots in the middle of the targets when Natasha’s knives were already lodged in the centers of them.

Yelena stopped where Natasha had been standing. She eyed the target carefully before stepping to the side a bit and chucking her knife. She landed it perfectly in the middle, the blade squeezed in a tight fit directly next to Natasha’s knife.

She repeated this multiple times before finally emptying her supply of knives. She smirked proudly before heading forward and collecting the knives from the targets. Natasha had an enormous grin on her face just from watching her sister’s skills in action, and as Yelena returned, the blonde faked a few bows.

“That is how it’s done,” Yelena informed her before dumping all of the knives on the table except for one that she kept in her hand and was flipping around in a slight show. Natasha could see the way Yelena was looking at her. She had hope in her eyes, and she was looking at her with such pride, but there was also some anxiousness as she gazed at Natasha expectantly, presumably waiting on some sort of praise from the older woman.

“Wow… Awesome job,” Natasha complimented finally, a loving smile on her face as she reached out and squeezed the joint between Yelena’s shoulder and neck with her hand fondly before running it up her neck slightly to cup just under Yelena’s jaw.

Yelena automatically melted into the touch the moment that Natasha made contact. Natasha furrowed her brow, tilting her head slightly as she looked at the girl. Yelena immediately snapped to attention, realizing what she had done as she guiltily glanced in Natasha’s direction. She pulled away from the older woman, her walls surrounding her heart pulled back to their usual slightly more guarded position as she crossed her arms over her chest.

“Yeah,” Yelena cleared her throat, seemingly recollecting herself. Natasha just watched her carefully, her thoughts flitting about in an attempt to try to understand what exactly was wrong with the younger girl.

“Going to have to step up your game if you’re going to top that,” Yelena confidently spoke and pointed at the target in front of her, her eyebrow raised as some semblance of that signature irritatingly confident smirk came back to tug at her lips. However, Natasha could easily see the nervousness in her gaze since she could not quite meet the redhead’s eyes.

Natasha squinted just a tiny bit, trying to decipher the nervousness, and Yelena quickly caught onto the body language before stretching in a somewhat over-exaggerated manner.

“Well… It was fun kicking your rear and all, but I’m going to go get a shower so I don’t stink as bad as you,” Yelena insulted lightly, and Natasha smiled slightly since it was such a Yelena thing to say. Yelena reached over, offering the knife left over in her hand to Natasha. The older woman took it from her, her hand brushing Yelena’s, and the blonde quickly pulled her hand away before making her way out of the practice area. Natasha watched her leave and hesitantly let her gaze drop to the knife in her hand.

She sighed deeply, throwing the knife in the direction of the target without looking and landing it close to the middle of the target.

Later in the evening, Natasha and Yelena were reclined in the living room on the couch, the television running. However, Natasha was not really watching it, and her mind kept wandering to the girl that was sitting on the opposite side of the couch, curled away from Natasha a bit.

Natasha truly was not sure what was going on with the other girl. Ever since Natasha touched her earlier that day, Yelena had been keeping her distance and trying not to get too close. Natasha was really worried that she had overstepped some boundary or upset the girl by the affection.

However, she could not understand it. Yelena always seemed to be okay with shoulder bumps and casual things like that. And when they hugged toward the end of their adventure a while back, Yelena seemed perfectly fine with that and actually seemed as if she enjoyed it. Natasha herself had been terribly uncomfortable with touch at first, but once she realized how wonderful it was and how nice it felt, she began to treasure it. But since Yelena handled it so well so fast, Natasha had decided to try to make more contact with her, knowing that everyone reacted differently.

So why was the shoulder squeeze such an issue?

Natasha kept thinking it over, flashing glances in Yelena’s direction, and she finally found herself extremely worried about upsetting the girl and bringing back flashbacks or some sort of trauma that Natasha did not know about.

After a long moment, she finally reached over and grabbed the television remote, muting it quickly.

“Natalia! What are you doing?! How am I supposed to know who gets chopped now?!” Yelena whined, looking at Natasha desperately as she waved a hand in the direction of the television, and Natasha just returned her gaze with calm concern. Yelena suddenly seemed to catch onto what was going on, and she stiffened a bit, looking much more uncomfortable.

“I, um…. About earlier,” Natasha started, not sure how to begin the conversation. She was not too good at discussing feelings and things, and she was almost as uncomfortable as Yelena was at the moment. Yelena shook her head, shrugging her shoulders, and Natasha let her words die off as Yelena seemed to be taking initiative on speaking about it.

“It is nothing. You don’t need to worry about it,” Yelena spoke, and Natasha could see that there was more to it than that.

“You’ve been avoiding me, little one… Did I upset you? I didn’t mean to bring back memories or anything—”

“No, no, no, it is not that at all,” Yelena negated, and Natasha could see the sincerity in her dark green eyes. The redhead tilted her head, confused. She now had absolutely no idea what had caused the girl to be so uncomfortable.

“I just… In the Red Room, we had no contact. When we received it, it was a reward. The trainers and people there knew that a small touch went a long way. Many of us… We,” Yelena paused, looking away stubbornly as she settled her gaze on the television. Natasha could tell she was not really watching it and she was more just resting her eyes on a place as she thought through her words.

“A lot of us needed that, and it was punishable to hug or touch each other… But they used it as a sort of reward as long as it was coming from them,” Yelena spoke, and Natasha quietly listened and nodded softly. She knew that was the case. She personally had to face such hardships, but it saddened her to see that they kept such a system of training alive even during Yelena’s time in the Red Room.

“When you touched me today… It,” Yelena trailed off, obviously terribly awkward with this and quite uncomfortable as a whole. Natasha was honestly not completely at ease either, but she was trying to at least portray some semblance of it in order to coax the words from Yelena.

“Well, it was just really nice and I accidentally…

“I’m sorry, it’s just… This is hard to talk about,” Yelena swallowed, and Natasha just calmly eyed her.

“When you touch me, it’s so different. It’s long and it lasts and it’s not a reward for killing someone,” Yelena admitted, and Natasha felt pain stab at her heart at her sister’s struggle.

“And you don’t have any problem giving it so freely. It’s so different and so nice, and it was embarrassing,” Yelena spoke, and Natasha looked at her strangely, finding herself confused even after this lengthy explanation that Yelena was trying to get through and offer her.

Yelena sighed deeply, and Natasha heard a light curse roll off of her tongue quietly before she spoke.

“I enjoyed it too much and I was afraid that if you saw that, you wouldn’t want to,” Yelena let herself trail off, clamming up as she tried desperately to avoid looking at Natasha. The redhead just thought about this statement for a long moment, not sure what to say in response. Conversations with this many feelings involved were always hard for her.

However, after a long moment, she moved on the couch so that she was facing her sister a bit more and she opened her arms. In response to the movement, Yelena finally brought her gaze back to look at Natasha, and she eyed her as if she had lost her mind.

“Come here,” Natasha spoke, and Yelena looked between her open arms and her light green eyes staring the blonde down. Yelena furrowed her brow, at a loss as to precisely what the redhead meant.

“What?”

“Come here,” Natasha told her, moving one of her hands to wave Yelena in her direction. The blonde finally seemed to realize what she meant, and she slowly scooted forward, crawling nearer to her big sister. Natasha just nodded slightly in encouragement.

Yelena moved a bit closer so that she was in Natasha’s space a bit more, and Natasha snagged the opportunity, taking the younger woman in her arms. She pulled her close and hugged her to her chest.

To Natasha’s happiness, Yelena immediately let her weight settle heavily against the older woman and she wrapped her arms around her sister tightly, her cheek squished against Natasha’s shoulder and her legs stretched across the couch on top of Natasha’s. Natasha rubbed her back carefully, and she quickly noticed the happy sigh and groan combo that Yelena released as she just fully relaxed in it and even pushed herself a bit closer to the redhead.

“I enjoy it, too. Contact is not so new for me, but having it with you is, and it just… I really would just hug you all the time if I could.”

“Why can’t you?” Yelena questioned, her words muffled and her voice akin to a mumble from its place stuffed against Natasha. Natasha ran her hands up and down the girl’s back comfortingly, a chuckle resounding in her throat a little as she looked down at the blonde.

“Well… I was afraid that you wouldn’t be comfortable with it.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Yelena immediately responded without any hesitation whatsoever, her voice suddenly quite clear despite her position. Natasha could hear the intense disapproval in the words.

“Would you be embarrassed?” Natasha asked somewhat worriedly.

“Would you?” Yelena challenged, her voice now filled with way too much affection and fondness to be too serious. Natasha quickly noted that Yelena had somehow managed to worm her way further up Natasha and was now laying there with her head shoved underneath Natasha’s chin.

“No… I haven’t really thought about it before,” Natasha admitted, and Yelena huffed a little in response. A tiny smile tugged at Natasha’s lips, the sudden puff of air feeling strange but not unpleasant against her neck.

“I’d like to try… Y’know… To touch more,” Natasha admitted somewhat awkwardly, and Yelena froze a little, but Natasha could feel the grin breaking out across the blonde’s face as she just snuggled closer to the older woman. Natasha’s smile grew on her face, and she reveled in the contact of the person that she loved the most in the world.

“We should be careful. We’re starting to sound like those girls on that movie Chilly.”

“What?” Natasha asked in complete confusion, trying to understand what her sister was trying to communicate. She could tell that Yelena was trying to tease, but she could not exactly get what was so funny because she did not completely understand what Yelena was talking about.

“You know… Chilly. That movie.”

“Umm… No, I don’t actually.”

“Chilly! The animated movie. The one where the sister had powers and was blonde and awesome and shot stuff out of her hands,” Yelena tried to explain, and it suddenly occurred to Natasha precisely what the younger girl was talking about.

“Frozen?” Natasha questioned, barely holding back laughter.

“Yes!” Yelena exclaimed, and Natasha chuckled heartily.

“Hey! Don’t laugh! I was serious!” Yelena whined, and Natasha moved her head over to the side to press a gentle kiss to the Yelena’s forehead. Yelena stilled for a moment but sighed out of her nose in something that sounded like contentment.

“I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing with you.”

“I was not laughing,” Yelena told her, completely and deadly serious, and Natasha started to laugh once again, the sound heartier and fuller this time. Yelena actually started chuckling with her at this point.

“I made you laugh,” Yelena proudly pointed out, her voice relaxed and calm as could be. Once Natasha finally got ahold of her mirth in response to her sister, Natasha smiled wider than she had in weeks as she ran her hand up to touch the back of Yelena’s hair. Yelena sighed happily, a slight shiver running through her as Natasha ran her fingers through the blonde tresses.

“You make it sound like I never laugh,” Natasha chuckled just a bit, and Yelena shrugged sluggishly.

“You don’t laugh much.”

“Maybe I never had a reason to,” Natasha countered, and Yelena huffed.

“So you’re saying I’m your reason? That’s pretty sappy,” Yelena somewhat sleepily told her, her voice slurring just a bit as she shut her eyes tightly in pure enjoyment of her sister’s attentions.

“I learned it all from you,” Natasha teased, and Yelena just hummed, unimpressed but too comfortable to grace the statement with an articulated response.

Yelena was slowly nestling herself even closer to Natasha, her breathing growing deeper and more spaced out as she got comfortable, and Natasha smiled lovingly, a warmth radiating through her.

“Ya tebya lyublyu,” Natasha muttered under her breath, kissing Yelena’s head as she closed her eyes, enjoying her sister’s proximity. Yelena stirred just a little, barely coherent words on her lips as she replied.

“Ya tozhe tebya lyublyu…”

#natasha romanoff #yelena belova #natasha romanov #black widow #marvel #widow sisters #platonic #fanfic #fic #marvel fanfic #marvel fic #black widow fanfic #black widow fic #touch starved #sisters #best friends #fluff #angst

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mobagehelllocal · 4 years

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“i can hold the world in my hands”

A/N: I had this idea and I wanted to write it for all the Dorm Leaders! I tried to pour a lot of love into these, so I hope that comes across properly! Here we go~ Please enjoy!

Edit--additional pieces: ver i (this), ver ii (deuce, leech twins, silver),ver iii (jamil), ver iv (ruggie, rook, lilia), ver v (trey), ver vi (ace, jack, epel, sebek)

It was during another one of Heartslabyul’s Unbirthday Parties. You were sat right next to Riddle, as you stirred a teaspoon in your tea. You giggled at the way Ace and Grimm messed around, while Deuce tried to stop them--only to be pulled into it. Cater laughed happily, the way he held his phone could only mean he probably filmed everything. Trey sat across you, a familiar smirk crawling up his lips as everyone enjoyed themselves.

You decided to take a peak at Riddle, only to notice that he had a terrible scowl on his face. You frowned, in turn, ‘I wonder what happened?’ His face was steadily becoming red, ‘Uh-oh’ you frantically thought of a way to distract him before everyone else caught onto his bad mood, and you had a little ‘Aha!’ moment as you realized one thing you could do. “Riddle~” His sharp gray eyes barely glanced your way, his gaze still focused on the chaos caused by Ace, Deuce and Grimm. “What is it?” He asked, his brow twitched, his grip on his staff tightened. “Did you know? I know how to hold the world in my hands.” “Ohoh?” Riddle scoffed, “As far as I know, the world is too big to do that. That is impossible even with mag--” as he turned to face you, you quickly reached towards him, and placed both of your hands on either of his cheeks. Riddle paused as he met your gaze. “See? I’m holding the world in my hands.” You smiled, all cheeky. Riddle stared at you, his expressions told you his emotions. The furrowed brows meant he was confused, the way his eyes squinted told you he was trying to recall something--and the way his eyes jolted wide told you he understood what you were trying to say. You smiled, and he flushed a pretty shade of red. ‘That’s better!’ “You--what--how--” he sputtered in response.

You gently pressed against his cheeks, and he raised one of his own, to twine your fingers. ‘My world’ you tried to convey this with your eyes, with your touch. His eyes softened very quickly, and you were ready to claim victory when--

“Awww! How cute!” You hear Cater’s happy voice, “I got that live!” “Ewww! What was that?” Grimm’s disgusted voice reached you too, while Ace laughed and Deuce bawled over how cute it was. You turned your head, only to meet Trey’s gaze. His smirk widened, and your cheeks flush red at the realization that the whole of Heartslabyul was paying attention. In your hands, Riddle began trembling. You turned your head back to him quickly, only to notice that he was no longer a pretty shade of red. He was a furious shade of red. “Oh... oh dear...” “[OFF WITH YOUR HEAD]!” Riddle leapt up, and pointed his staff at Cater, who yelped and hid behind Deuce--which led him to get hit with the spell instead. “Senior Cater!” Deuce shrieked, and the whole party descended into madness--as Cater, Ace and Grimm rapidly retreated behind other members, or behind the tables. “Ah... I wasn’t off much help...” you laughed nervously, “in the end he didn’t calm down.” “Nonsense.” Across you, Trey rested his chin on the back of his hand, and shot you a friendly smirk. “He’s in a much better mood.” You looked forward to see the way Riddle had caught Cater, Ace, Deuce and Grimm. They were all kneeling in front of him as he began a sermon.

‘T-that’s a better mood?’ you couldn’t help but wonder, as sweat dripped down your temple. Riddle glanced at you over his shoulder, and the way he quickly averted his gaze told you everything.

You laughed softly. “I guess it is~”

It was rare for Leona to be in a good mood. In fact, you figured he’s probably never in a good mood. Whatever he was feeling--it was always between very bad mood to just lazy bad mood--with lazy bad mood being the best time to approach him about anything. You were pretty good at figuring out where he was on the scale of bad moods, and you often coordinated with Ruggie on updating his “Leona’s Bad Mood Scale”. So, the moment you caught sight of how his ears and whole face twitched, the grip he had on his biceps, and how his tail was thumping in a certain beat--your eyes immediately darted around the Garden, in search for possible explanations for his mood. ‘No sign of anything that could’ve upset him.’ Now normally, whenever he was upset, you tried to cheer him up--sometimes with lame jokes, or ear scratches--he’ll deny it, but it always calms him down. However, he looked to be in a very very bad mood. The ear scratches won’t work. ‘He’s likely to scratch me first.’ You think wryly.

This seemed to be a level that doesn’t currently exist on the “Leona’s Bad Mood Scale”. ‘Huh... I guess it’s time to update that again.’ You make a mental note to tell Ruggie, before you bounced right over into Leona’s line of sight. When he caught sight of you, you noticed how thin his pupils were. His lips pulled back to reveal his teeth as he snarled. “I’m not in the mood herbivore.”

“but Leona, you never are.” you pointed out not-so-innocently, and his scowl became even more severe. ‘Ah... he really looks like a grumpy cat.’ You fixed your expression quickly before he realized you were thinking about how much he looked like your pet cat-- ‘Now, what can I say--?’

“Hey Leona~ I learnt how to do something today~” you bent down, your arms rested on top of your knees as you balanced yourself on the balls of your feet. “I said I’m not interested.” “I learnt how to hold the world in my hands~” you hummed, and his eyes narrowed. “Haah? Are you an idiot? You can’t hold the world in your hands” he snorted in response, that is, until he feels your hands cup his cheeks. “There.” Your eyes shined with genuine affection, as you brushed you hands across his cheeks. “I’m holding the world in my hands.” The way your eyes met his own without fear, but just... concern... and--could he say it?... no he couldn’t even think of it. Your actions--so filled with care--unknotted his tense shoulders, and loosened his tight grip on his arms. “You--” damned herbivore. He sighed very deeply, his eyes sliding shut. Somehow--you always managed to make him lose all the anger brewing just beneath his skin. For some reason--the way you looked at him made nothing else matter. For some reason--you were still looking at him--you were still seeing him. His ears dipped down, and his tail slowed, then relaxed. His whole expression smoothened, and you noticed just the slightest flush of red on his cheeks ‘Aha! Success!’ Then his eyes flashed open. “Eep!” You blinked wearily at the bright light coming from the midday sun, until Leona’s figure covered it up. He had one hand snake up your leg, and you feel your face flush. “Leona!” you squeaked as you tried to grab his hand with your hand, only for him to easily grab yours in turn, and press them above your head. He raised the wrist of his other hand to his face, and used his mouth to tug the button open. “You don’t say things like that and expect nothing coming from me, herbivore.” he chuckled, and gave you a smirk that made you breathless, “be prepared~”

“Oya.” you’re greeted by the sweetly smiling Leech brother, Jade. “If it isn’t the Prefect. Here to visit Azul?” You flushed at how quickly he figured you out, but Jade’s smile only widened into a knowing one. “Yes please. Where is he?” “He’s in the VIP Room.” He quickly noticed the look on your face, so Jade added “Don’t worry. He’s not meeting with a client, he’s just sorting out some paperwork. You can go right ahead.” “Jade... are you sure you’re not a mind reader?” You exhaled, and Jade chuckled softly. “Oh my... I am simply one hell of an assistant.” He pressed a gloved hand over his chest, “well then, do go on. I doubt you’ll make it to Azul if Floyd spots you first.” “Thank you Jade!~” you skipped off, as you easily ducked past Octavinelle students on your way to the VIP room. When you get there, you knocked on the door, only to hear a disgruntled noise from the other side. When you peek into the room, your eyes meet with Azul’s, from behind a stack of paperwork. He blinked once in surprise, before a pleasant smile curled up his lips. “I didn’t think you’d be visiting.” He motioned for you to come in, which you did after firmly shutting the door. “Yeah well, you’ve been busy so I thought I should just drop in and... get a few minutes with you?” your voice trailed off uncertainly as his smile dropped, and his gaze shifted back to his paperwork. “I’d like to finish this.” he decided, “give me a moment?” “Sure.” was barely out of your mouth, before Azul tuned you out and refocused on the papers. Knowing that when Azul said a moment, he actually meant longer, you thought you should just make yourself comfortable across the couches. You sat down, and instantly grabbed a sea salt chocolate from the platter before you. Normally this wasn’t here, but it was something Jade would put whenever he knew you would be coming to visit Azul. Knowing how easily distracted Azul was by his paperwork, you’ve spent a lot of time just sitting here and doing--mostly nothing--until Floyd comes in to kidnap you.

However, you didn’t really want to leave Azul. You crossed your legs, placed your elbow on your thigh as you leant forward, and cupped your own cheek with your hand. You watched as Azul quietly got absorbed into his work. Just watching him made your heart fill with love, he was beautiful. He always was, but there was just... something about him, when he worked... when he was most confident--and at peace--he was truly something to look at. ‘And aren’t I just the luckiest, to call him, mine?’ you think to yourself, giddy--as a goofy smile spread across your lips. You might’ve started dating some time ago, but this was the love story of your dreams--nothing could compare, and you’re sure that every moment you share together will be heartrending. ‘I wonder...’

Your fingers twitch against your cheek, and you blink in realization. Azul’s eyes scanned through the document as fast as he could. While he wasn’t aware enough to realize you were staring at him rather mischievously--he was distinctly aware of your presence, and how close you were to him. You had both been extremely busy. The Headmaster had asked you to look into some matter, while he had got a flood of paperwork regarding Mostro Lounge’s new products. He could feel his heart pound the closer he got to finishing his work. Every paper added to the finished pile, was a second closer to spending time with you. “Azul~” he yelped as he felt you whisper into his ear, your breath tickled him, and made him flinch. He looked up at you with a beet red face. “Don’t surprise me like that!” He frantically looked away, as he pretended to be concerned about his paperwork--but really, he could feel the warmth on his cheeks, and he wanted to calm down. He wanted to be cool and collected around you after all. Curse this human body! He had such a difficult time controlling his emotions-- “I don’t really want to spend anymore time on this--” “Azul~ Did you know, I can hold the world in my hands?” “Eh? Did you have such an ability?” He turned to look up at you, interested in what you had to say, that is until--he felt your warm hands cup his cheeks gently. “Like this~ I can hold the world when I do this.” Your eyes crinkled, and your smile was bright and Azul very much wanted to immortalize this moment. That is until your words finally sunk in and any work he tried to think up of, to cool down, didn’t help. Azul’s face turned bright red, and you would normally be very happy at the fact that he looked pretty pleased too--that is until he blinked rapidly, his eyes getting wet behind his glasses, and the tears began to slide down-- “Oh no, Azul!” you leant down to press a kiss against his tears, and apparently Azul couldn’t handle it anymore. One moment, he was seated in front of you--and in the next moment he disappeared. “Wait, Azul?” you turned your head in confusion, only to see a large, black pot in the corner of the office that you swear wasn’t there before. It was shaking intensely, and you could see tentacles retreating into it. ‘No way...’ with your mouth falling agape, you also couldn’t help but think ‘how cute! Azul is the cutest!’ “Azul! Is this your octopus pot? It’s so cute! You’re so cute!” “Stop it!” The pot shook as Azul wailed from inside, “stop it! I can’t calm down!” “No! It really is cute! Azul! You’re so amazing!” He let out a high pitched sound, but unfortunately for him, you just kept throwing praises despite his desperate begging for you to stop. This is how the Leech twins find you and Azul. Floyd laughed and Jade smirked when you sheepishly explained what happened to their esteemed leader, which led to another whole round of gentle teasing, with Azul yelling that “I’m never leaving this pot!”

The three of you take another whole hour to coax your beloved octopus out of the pot and into your arms again.

"That was amazing Kalim!” you clapped your hands at another successful parade. Kalim beamed at you brightly. “Right? I’m glad you enjoyed it!” Kalim laughed heartily, and you could feel yourself warm at the brilliance of his smile.

‘Kalim... you know you...’

If there was someone who has genuinely helped you smile throughout your time in Twisted Wonderland--it would be no one other than Kalim. He was just so... vibrant. Around him--it was easy to forget how worried you were about your family, friends, your own situation. All of that falls away when faced with Kalim’s genuine good cheer and positivity.

‘That’s why... if I could do something...’

“Hey, Kalim?”

“Hrm?” He looked at you, and you felt your heart melt when you see the way his cheeks puffed up from the food he had eaten (and an idea shapes in your mind at seeing his cheeks). He swallowed, tilting his head, and blinking his bright red eyes at you. ‘Hohhhh my god he’s so adorable...’ “What is it?”

“You know...” you smiled at him, heart pounding at the thought of what you were about to do. “I can hold the world in my hands.” His eyes sparkled in interest.

“Oooh! Can you? Can you really? Can you do it right now?” “Sure I can show you.” With that Kalim focused on you, and you couldn’t help giggle when you noticed a single crumb of bread on his cheek. You reached forward, cupped his face, while gently brushing the crumb of bread off of his cheek. He blinked at you in response.

“Ah... weren’t you going to show me how to hold the world?”

“Yeah.” your eyes automatically softened at that. “I’m doing it right now.” It takes a second for it to sink in--and you know when it does because the most dazzling smile appears on Kalim’s face. “Awww...” He places his hands above yours, and laces your fingers together. He briefly squeezes your fingers in his own palm, before just as quickly as he held your hands--he reached forward and cupped your cheeks as well.

“Now, I’m holding my world too.” He says, in that sweet, cheerful way he does--unaware of how quickly your heart raced at his action. You feel the heat rise to your cheeks, and your hands slip off his face, only to cover your own.

“Ah? Is something wrong?”

“You’re so unfair Kalim...” you squeaked, “you weren’t supposed to respond like that!”

“What? Why?” he frowned, as he tried to peer at your face. “Why can’t I tell you the truth? That you are my world as well?”

“That’s because I wanted to do something for you! Not the other way around!” you groaned.

“Ahaha! But you did make me happy!” Kalim clutched your hands, and pulled it from your face so that you could see the sincerity in his eyes. “It makes me even happier that I can tell you--being here, right now... it’s the most wondrous place for you and me.”

You flushed, pleased.

EXTRA:

“Disgusting.” Jamil declared, his face twisted as he watched the adoring couple from several steps away. He couldn’t hold it for long however, and his lips curled as he watched how happy they were.

Vil was used to praise.

He was a model after all. You’d seen the way he reacted to praise. When he’s told how beautiful or handsome he is--he would huff, pleased, with his head tilted back slightly, and then he’d say in a ‘tell-me-something-I-don’t-know’ tone “Yes I am.”

So here you were, figuring out the best way to convey how much you loved him.

He wasn’t a very physically affectionate person, not even in private. He was just used to looking super amazing all the time--that physical affection can sometimes get in the way of that. Out of respect for his craft, you tried not to be too handsy.

Through the mirror, Vil meets your gaze underneath long, pale lashes. His lips curl in a delighted smile.

‘Beautiful.’ You think, ‘And I am so very lucky.’ “Dear one, I know I am beautiful, but you have been staring for quite awhile.” He raised a fine brow. “Is something on your mind?”

“Oh it’s nothing.” You said, a little absentmindedly.

“Ohoh? And I’d think if I was on your mind... I wouldn’t be nothing.” He turned his head to look at you, his blonde-lavender hair brushing his shoulders elegantly at his sudden movement.

“I’m just trying to figure something out.” you murmured softly, as you come closer. Vil turns back to the mirror in response, as he gently begins to fix his hair. You study the way he delicately braids his hair around the crown.

“I’m all ears, dear one.” he said softly, as he studied himself in the mirror. “What do you think?”

“Beautiful as ever, of course.” you said, and he shot you a winning smile--the same sort of smile he’d give a fan. ‘What can I say to him I wonder?’

“Hey Vil.”

“Mhm?”

“Did you know, that you can hold the world in your hands?” He peers up at you curiously.

“Are we looking at this metaphorically or literally?” He arched a brow, “because--for example, I can say I hold the world in my hands because of my job as a model.”

“I mean, I guess you can look at it like that!” You giggle softly, “but no, I mean--literally.” He looks at you curiously.

“Oh? Do tell.” He was about to return to looking at himself in the mirror, when he felt your hands brush his fringe back, and your fingers tremble gently against his jawline. He meets your gaze again, and there’s a certain raw... emotion there that makes him pause.

“See Vil?” you whisper oh so gently. “I’m holding the world in my hands.”

His eyes widened briefly at that, before they slide shut, and he tilts his head to press it against your warm hands. Your hands flinch briefly, and his heart flutters--you truly did understand him--you understood how important his job was to him. You didn’t dismiss it as an extreme form of vanity. You saw it as a part of him, and peacefully just accepted it.

“Is that what you were thinking about?” He turned his head to press a kiss onto your wrist--where he can feel your pulse rise, his lipstick leaving a stain behind.

“Yeah. I just really wanted you to know how important you were to me.” You smiled, and he squeezes your hand in turn.

“Well dear one, I want you to know one thing.” He reaches forward, and strokes your cheek. “You’re very important to me too, so much more than my make up. So I won’t mind this--” he presses your hand against his cheek again. “from time to time, alright?” Your eyes glitter, and he smiles because he nailed exactly what you wanted to get from this.

“Mhm!”

You pouted as you stared at Idia, who was busy coding a new virtual world program. You had gone to the Ignihyde Dorm in the hopes of spending time with your beau, but instead he was distracted by another virtual world.

I mean--no doubt, he was the cutest, especially when he was super fired up doing something. You once saw him doing his idol dance--and it was just so cute. Even if he desperately begged you to forget it, you kept it as treasured memory.

“It’s almost done! I can almost hold it in my hands!” he huffed underneath his breath as his tapping intensifies.

‘World... hands...’ An idea comes to mind, and you can’t help the grin that spreads across your face.

“You know Idia, I can hold the world in my hands.”

“That’s nice.” He said, absolutely not hearing you at all. You huffed, before moving closer.

“Idia.” His rapid tapping continues on, and so does his muttering. So you do the only thing you can do. With great effort, you slink your way under one arm, and pop right in between his arms.

“Gah! You--! You were here?” Idia gaped up at you, and you sweat dropped in response.

‘Unbelievable. He was the one who told me to come in when I knocked earlier, and he didn’t even realize it was me?’ You pouted for a second before, you shook your head. Meanwhile, Idia’s face turned pink when he realized how close you were, so he rolled his chair backwards to make more space in between you two.

“That’s right. I’m here. You’ve been ignoring me Idia.” Idia squawked in surprise.

“I--uh! I didn’t mean too? I’m sorry?” Idia shifted his head from side to side. “But wait--I need to finish this thing-! I’m almost done! I can physically feel this new world in my hands! It’s going to be e p i c!”

“Listen to me first! This will only take a moment!” Idia blinked warily, before he nodded.

“I can hold the world in my hands.” Idia squinted at your hands in response. Not seeing anything, he assumes you mean you can code too? His eyes widened at that and he rapidly looked up to your face.

“Wait, you can code too?” Then he yelped when your hands cupped his face. You couldn’t help but giggle at his completely gobsmacked expression.

“Tada!~ I’m holding the world in my hands~”

Idia stared at you, frozen, as your words replayed in his head.

“Idia?”

‘I’m holding the world in my hands’

“Um... hello? Babe are you there?”

‘holding the world in my hands’

“Idia? Hey...”

‘the world in my hands’

“Hey--you’re worrying me?”

‘So I just unlock a super important scene wherein the absolute waibando* character just confessed to the mc?’

“Hello? Idia.exe?”

‘Hang on Idia, this wasn’t just any waibando character to an mc.’

‘Ah. That’s right. They said it to me’ Idia thought, ‘Which means they’re directly telling me that I’m their world.’ Idia nodded to himself, ‘GG. Cool I figured it out.’

Then it finally, actually dawned on Idia and he promptly combusted into brilliant pink flames.

“Oh no! Idia!” You yelled, at which point Ortho comes running into the room.

“What happened--oh no!” at the sight of his brother on fire, Ortho adjusted his hand, and blasted his brother with his fire extinguisher function.

“Luckily brother installed this system to me.” Ortho says, in a very bright tone, and you only sweat dropped in response as Idia yells about “critical hits.”

[*] waibando - a term created by my friend, Val, that combines waifu and husbando which she uses to refer to her favourite characters. because i wanted to maintain gender neutrality, i decided to use waibando instead of specifically waifu or husbando. this can be used interchangeably with husbaifu. credits to my friend, haha, I asked her for permission to use it here~

“Woah! So you can do all of that, Bright Eyes?”

Malleus hummed in response, “Indeed I can, little one.”

The two of you were taking one of your nightly walks around the Ramshackle Dorm, your arm linked around one of his. (Let it be known, that unknown to you--Sebek, Silver and Lilia were actually stalking you several bushes away. It was only Malleus’s occasional dark glare in their direction that kept Sebek away.)

“Is there anything you can’t do?” You tilt your head as you look at your incredibly tall companion.

“With magic? Nothing. I have long mastered every single spell.” He shrugged his shoulders in disinterest. Magic was... far from impressive. He didn’t really see it as extraordinary. The only reason he was still speaking about it, was because of that glitter of interest in your eyes. He finds that spark in your eyes fascinating, and he had no qualms in teaching you more. After all, who else is better suited to such a task?

“Well... there has to be something...” you put a finger to your lip in deep thought, and he finds it amusing that you thought such a thing could exist. (In the bushes, Sebek staggers upright to yell a ‘HOW DARE--’ but he’s quickly dragged back, out of sight by Silver and Lilia when they see Malleus’s shoulder twitch in response). When you snap your fingers, Malleus turns his gaze back to you, as you pull away from him briefly.

“I figured it out! The one thing you can’t do~”

“Ohoh? Pray tell what is it?” Malleus tilted his head, and you’re briefly distracted by how pretty he is under moonshine and starlight. “Little one?”

“Ah yeah! Sorry!” you laugh, and he arched his brow, having a very good idea as to what had gotten you distracted. You were never never very quiet with what you thought--it was fascinating, how much he could read from your expressions.

“You can’t hold the world.” This time, when Malleus raised a brow, it’s in bemusement.

“I am certain nobody can do that, little one.”

“Ah-ah-ah~” You move your finger from side to side, like a metronome. “But I can.” you cupped your hands together. “Take a look... I will hold the world in one... two...” you look up to notice he was still standing completely upright.

‘Well... that won’t do... Can’t reach him.’

“Come on Bright Eyes!” you laugh. “You won’t see it if you’re so far away.” You gesture for him to draw closer. He obliges, patiently, as he leans forward to inspect your palms.

“I will hold the world in one... two...” Malleus blinked, “and three~”

Your hands are gently cupping his face, as you grin up at him.

‘Ah.’ Malleus realized what you were trying to say, and he chuckled softly.

“Aren’t you simply... amazing.” he murmured gently, as he reached down to pat you on the head. “You continue to surprise me, little one. To think I thought nothing else could do so.”

“Hehe...” you blushed at his praise, and as you drew your hands back, he grasped onto one, and pressed a kiss against the back of your hands. Your blush brightened at the gesture and he smiled fondly.

‘Little do you know...’ Malleus mused, as you tugged him to continue walking. ‘Someone who holds as much power as I... can destroy the world.’ He glanced at your bright smile, and happy countenance--having not a single ounce of fear for him, despite knowing who he was. ‘Perhaps you do hold the fate of the world in your hands, little one.’

Extra:

“Sebek... are you okay?”

“Hnggh!” Sebek bit the handkerchief, and tugged. ‘I wish I could’ve told Lord Malleus he was my world first!’

“Ignore him Silver.”

“Ah...”

#aiwrites #aiscenarios #twisted wonderland #twst #twst scenarios #twst riddle #twst leona #twst azul #twst kalim #twst vil #twst idia #twst malleus #ai twst hold series

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khaotic-kitsunes · 3 years

Text

Jealousy

I got tired of the randomiser being a total Tamaki / Taishiro simp, so for now, I just sort of picked a character to write for? I dunno, this is what we’ve got. Anyways, another old request, but a fun one! Writing for Dabi is something I don’t do a lot but something I do enjoy doing on the odd occasion. Funnily enough, I was once told by a fellow fanfic writer that I don’t write Dabi’s character well...so now I write for him, because why the fuck not. I have fun, that’s important.

Anyways, I hope you all enjoy the scenario and feel free to let me know what you think!

Oh yeah...uh, don’t read this if you don’t enjoy derogative dirty talk.

🥃 AO3 🥃 || ✉️My Askbox✉️ || 💬Discord💬

Cheeky Kitsune 🦊💋

You whimpered out in surprise when Dabi pinned you down onto your stomach on the kitchen table, his low, angry snarl filling the room and making you go completely limp beneath him; you had no idea how long it had been since Dabi had been this worked up, but you did know what had gotten him so upset.

If you weren’t so turned on by his anger, you might have tried to explain the situation to your snarling alpha, but the problem was that you loved the way he dominated you when he lost his temper; which meant that there was no desire, nor a reason to calm him down.

The only thing you had to do was submit to him and enjoy the ride.

“Look at you…fucking look at you! Do you bend over for all the Alphas like this? Little slut!”

You gasped out loudly when you felt Dabi tear away your panties from beneath your dress, calloused fingers pressing up against your already dripping folds roughly, dragging a desperate whimper from your lips. Though you didn’t dare move, not even to move into his touch, not with the mood he was in; right now, Dabi was nothing but anger and jealousy.

You knew better than to push him any further than he had already been pushed. There was a limit between good, angry sex and bad.

“Answer. Me.” He demanded an answer from you as he buried his fingers deep inside of you, making you bite your lip in an attempt not to moan so early on in the encounter; you knew that you needed to answer him and soon too, but he made it hard to think with how he touched you.

“N-No! I don’t Alpha. Only…I only bend over for you” You mumbled out your answer, whining when he removed his fingers from your warmth, jolting seconds later when that same hand slapped against your arse harshly, tugging a yelp of discomfort as your body rocked forwards.

Dabi was angrier than you had thought if he was spanking you. Usually, he would only do that when he was in a rut, or headed towards one.

“Are you lying to me bitch? Trying to settle my anger?”

You stayed quiet as Dabi growled out his frustrations at you, grinding his still clothed dick up against your arse firmly; the moment that you had been waiting for. What you so desperately wanted, no, needed from your angry Alpha.

“If I ever catch those mutts around you again, I’ll slaughter them all. Do you hear me (Name)? You’re my Omega. Mine to fuck. You’re fucking mind, damn it!” He snapped out the words harshly as he bit over your exposed neck before stepping away from you, most likely to strip himself of his clothes. However, you didn’t dare move, you stayed exactly as he had left you; exactly how he wanted you.

You didn’t worry about what he was saying too much, it didn’t matter to you; Dabi didn’t understand the situation or what you had actually been doing and you weren’t about to explain it to him either. That would ruin the fun you were about to experience and you weren’t going to let that happen over a silly little misunderstanding that was working out for you in the best way; why should you mess with something that would be so enjoyable.

Dabi’s hand tangled in your hair as he pressed up against you, going back to teasing you with his throbbing cock until you were unable to resist grinding yourself back against him, a soft, almost inaudible whine spilling from your throat.

“What’s that? You want something from me? Do you even deserve my cock after today?” He growled out the questions while a hand dropped down to your hip, almost scorching it from the heat that radiated off of his scarred skin; despite the fact that you still wore your dress. His temper, instead of simmering down as it would normally begin to, was only growing; so much so, that you almost thought that he was about to go into a rut.

You opened your mouth to say answer his question, but was given absolutely no chance to do so as Dabi buried every inch he had to offer inside of you, grinding up against your spot while his pulsing knot rubbed teasingly against your folds; making you choke out his name in a cry of pleasure.

“What’s wrong? Can’t talk when you’re getting your fill of cock? You like it that much?” Dabi frowned as he leaned down to bite at the sensitive flesh of your ear harshly, moving his hips at an unforgiving pace; leaving you unable to do anything more than moan and push your hips back against his own needily. Desperate for more.

Dabi was right in a way though, you couldn’t talk when he was fucking you like he was, the way he thrust up into you, constantly pounding away at your spot; it turned you into a moaning mess of an Omega and he knew it. If you thought about it, it made sense in a strange way; Dabi didn’t want you to talk. He didn’t want your answers or your explanations.

All he wanted at the moment, was to break you. To turn you into a broken, whimpering mess that was dependant on his knot.

“Fuck…look at you! Acting like a true Omega, taking my cock so eagerly!”

Dabi’s thrusts grew faster and harder with each word he spoke until you were practically bouncing back onto his pulsing cock, your orgasm fast approaching. Much faster than you had anticipated and more importantly; faster than you were ready for. At this rate, you would only be able to handle the one round with your agitated Alpha.

“That’s it you little slut…cum for me. You’re close, aren’t you? I can feel you squeezing down on my cock…” Dabi trailed off into a low groan as he continued to fuck you against the kitchen table with no mercy, pressing your head down against the hard surface as your walls clenched around him tightly; your orgasm rocking through your body and making you scream out his name over and over again, right up until your lungs burned with the need for oxygen.

“That’s right slut, scream my fucking name! I want everyone to know that you belong to me!”

Dabi grinned savagely above you, using his grip on your hair to turn your head to look at him despite how uncomfortable it might have been for you, your blissed-filled expression making his knot ache to be inside of you while his hips moved harder.

“Fucking…I haven’t even knotted you and you’re like this” He paused, leaning down close to bite along your jawline possessively, his sharp teeth leaving behind noticeable marks that wouldn’t fade for a long time to come; just what he wanted.

“And I won’t either. I won’t fucking knot you until you’ve learnt your lesson. Until you beg me for forgiveness and my knot!”

#dabi #touya todoroki #dabi x reader #touya x reader #todoroki x reader #bnha x reader #reader x dabi #reader x touya #reader x todoroki #omegaverse #alpha!dabi #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #scenario #smut #requests #cheeky kitsune

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a-dragons-journal · 3 years

Note

Hello again. This is the 5-part anon from earlier. I wrote a long response to your post and I think it’d be more convenient to dump the text in a pastebin than split it into asks. The link is going to expire in a few months, so I recommend copying the contents into its own post rather than posting the link: pastebin. com / 2r49iein

I had, sorry; you've just caught me in the lead-up to and midst of finals week, so I haven't been answering asks as quickly as usual, especially ones that will take a significant amount of time and energy xD (No worries about checking in, though, Tumblr does have a horrible habit of eating asks and it's good to check! And also my ADHD no-object-permanence ass will see an ask, go "I'll respond to that later," and then forget it exists sometimes with no Tumblr interference necessary, so good to check for that reason too xD)

Hello again. This is the 5-part anon from earlier. Thank you for your thoughtful answer. First off, I want to apologize to anyone who may have been hurt by my words on the topic of otherheartedness, copinglink, etc. I did not mean to in any way minimize the importance of these identities for others. Because I felt I didn’t have the "right" to claim a "full" otherkin identity, I felt like I had to settle for something that simply didn’t fit my experience, which led to my frustrated, generalized words.

With that out of the way, I’ve been giving what you said some thought. I have to admit I never really participated in otherkin communities, only watching from afar. It’s good to know that I "qualify" as otherkin, but I wonder if it’s such a good idea for me to identify that way. I have so few experiences in common with most otherkin that I would probably feel *more* alienated by calling myself that, not *less*. In my experience, forcing myself into an identifier that is technically correct but feels wrong/bad is not the way to go. At any rate, I’ll describe my feelings in more detail, just because I’m really curious to know if you’ve ever heard of anyone similar, or if this reminds you of anything. I apologize if some of it is repetitive or if it jumps from topic to topic without making much sense.

Some parts of otherkin… culture, I guess? Baffle me. For example, needing to narrow down one’s exact species or the cause/origin of one’s identification as nonhuman. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying it’s not valid; just that I don’t personally see the point? All the rules about who gets to call themself otherkin feel constraining to me, because I guess there’s not really any other term that fits, but even that one doesn’t fit that well, so I’m kinda stuck between a rock and a hard place.

So I’m more inclined to just say, yeah, I’m a bird. Do I behave like a bird? Do I have bird instincts? Not really, but I’m still a bird. Adopting an otherkin identity throws a wrench in that, making me feel like a failed nonhuman, because it’s *hard* not to feel invalid when everyone else seems completely different from you. If anything, I feel more valid doing my own thing! I didn’t come to this bird identity because I felt like I was Different somehow and needed to find an explanation for it (been there, done that with the autism, lol). Instead I came to it because it felt good, and right, and it made me happy.

You say since I don’t know if I chose this or not, it’s unlikely to be voluntary. I guess I just… feel weird about this? I don’t really have words to describe it. Maybe it boils down to "does it matter?". And I know when it comes to the term "otherkin", it *does* matter, which is kind of one of my problems with it.

I looked at that daemonism post you reblogged and found myself relating to the way Rook described Tukuxa: "She lacks a shark’s instincts, fears and drives - but her core is still shark." I wouldn’t say I *lack* these things, just that I simply don’t have them. Do I have a human mind in a human brain? Sure, but that doesn’t mean I have to be a human, nor does it make me any less of a bird. It makes me happy to conceptualize myself as a bird, to design my own appearance as a bird with qualities that can’t physically exist in this world, to daydream of flight. Is that such an uncommon experience?

I have a headmate who is a dragon. She was born as a dragon, she looks like a dragon, she simply Is A Dragon. She’s not dragonkin, she’s not based on any fictional dragon, she just… is. (Not to say that dragonkin folks aren’t dragons, just that she doesn’t identify as dragonkin.) But she doesn’t have any of the typical dragon traits you might expect; like me she has a "human mind" in a "human brain", and yet she’s just a dragon. I guess it’s sorta the same with me.

I just feel like it’s better for me to say "I’m [X]" and keep the specifics to myself. Despite these asks, I have no intention of holding my identities up to the scrutiny of others. If I say I’m a thing, I could mean it in a number of ways. Total or partial identification as/with, or even just a passing attachment. Ultimately, it’s my business, and trying to define it beyond just "I am this thing" or "I relate to this thing" or "This thing is me" feels sort of obnoxious? (For context, I do have nonhuman identities other than a bird, I just used that one as an example/shorthand.)

I guess that about covers everything. What do you think? If your followers/anyone who sees this wants to chime in, I’ll be looking at the notes. Thanks again!

(Regarding the 'hearted/'linker stuff, I figured that wasn't what you meant in your previous asks; I just wanted to bring it up because it's a conflation that gets made a lot, accidentally or on purpose.)

Honestly, these are all incredibly valid points, and if you just want to call yourself nonhuman or bird but not otherkin/therian then that's entirely up to you. If the label doesn't work for you, then it doesn't work for you! You are not obligated to use every label that you technically fit under (gods know I don't), and I didn't mean to imply so - just to make it clear that it's available to you if you do want it. I can see now that I probably kind of missed the point in that response.

And you're right that frankly, even though there is a wide range of experiences under the otherkin umbrella, there's also a set of common experiences that almost everyone seems to share at least a few of, and when you don't share those I can imagine it makes it kind of hard to connect with others in the community. Unfortunately, like I said, I don't know that there's a way around that other than trying to host a platform for those atypical experiences to speak, which is a good idea but probably not very effective in practice because of the sheer numbers game.

So you've decided you're probably better off not trying to make the "otherkin" label or community fit, and that's entirely valid - I guess the question is, what now? If you're wanting to find others with similar experiences to you, you still need somewhere to look, and it seems like this isn't it.

You might want to look into other nonhuman terms - "nonhuman" and "transspecies" come to mind, and while neither of these might fit you, they do collect different subcultures that might be less alienating for you or easier to find others with similar experiences within. The broader "alterhuman" label may also be useful, though that can be a bit like trying to find a needle in a haystack just because of how many things are included in "alterhuman" and I don't know that you'd have any better luck than with "otherkin".

Or you might want to try older platforms, if you haven't already - forums, IRCs if they still exist. The community wasn't always as focused on some of the things you noted as it is now (pinning down a specific species, voluntary vs involuntary, etc.), and platforms with a population that trends toward people who've been around longer sometimes still have more of that culture than Tumblr and Discord tend to, though they come with their own problems of course.

Ultimately, if "I'm a bird" is the easiest way to communicate your experiences, then that's that on that. These words only exist because people find them useful - if you don't find them useful, don't feel like you have to use 'em. As far as finding community when so much of the otherkin community feels alienating to you, I'm afraid that's all I've got - y'all got anything for anon?

#otherkin #alterhuman #nonhuman #transspecies #rani talks #community talk #asked and answered #anonymous

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phlox238 · 3 years

Text

i wrote a pretty long rymin fic and half of it is min being anxious and getting advice from a lesbian at a gay bar,,, it sucks but here it is anyway

2.5k words this is the most ive ever written

"So," The girl began, gesturing wildly with her hands. "You think you're in love with your best friend, who you've known since you were born, and you're in a band and traveling across Canada and the USA with. What did you say your name is?"

"Oh, fuck." Min-gi sighed, letting his head rest in his hands. "This is weird, isn't it? I barely know you."

"Nah, I just thought that, if we're going to have a slightly drunk chat in the back of a gay bar, then we should know each other's names. I'm Eryn, and you?" Eryn stuck out her hand, the many bracelets she wore on her wrist clanking together.

Min chuckled a little, then took her hand and shook it. Her dark skin was warm, which was surprising, since this part of the bar was near freezing. "Min-gi. But you can call me Min."

"Awesome. So, tell me about it, Min." Eryn tightened her ponytail, leaning forward on her arms.

"Tell you what about it? There's so many things that I could say." He was so caught up in this gay crisis stuff that he hadn't even considered stopping for a moment to really think about it.

Eryn shrugged. "Whatever you want to say. Get stuff off your chest, just let it out, if you want to. There's like, nobody else back here. Doesn't really matter, right? I'm not judgy."

"Okay...well, he has a girlfriend, first of all; has had many of them. So he's not into dudes." Min crossed his arms.

"Hey, he could still be. Just because he dates women doesn't mean he's straight. Could still be into guys. Don't give up hope just yet, okay?" Eryn laced her fingers together, as if she was planning something. The dark lighting of the bar didn't help anything.

“Damn,” Min rubbed his eyes. “I didn’t know you could like both.”

Not without laughing at him first, Eryn started to explain. "Oh, wow, you really are new to this, huh?" She chuckled a little more, shaking her head. “That’s okay. There’s a lot of different ways to love people, you just gotta figure out what works for you. Oh, also; it isn’t just both. There’s the genderqueer people, too, don’t forget about them!” She smiled.

Min didn’t quite know what genderqueer meant, but he figured he could find out later. He was asking too many questions already. "Damn...how do you know all of this? I only realized I was, er, gay, like six months ago." Min marveled at her, the same way a nerd at school would marvel at the 'cool kids.' And honestly, she really looked like one, with her ponytail and undercut, her yellow, patched leather jacket, even the flashy jewelry she wore.

It made Min want to start dressing differently. Dressing cooler, like Ryan, like Eryn. Maybe he could.

Eryn grinned wider. "Oh, you know. It's just things you pick up along the way. I've known that I'm lesbian for a long time, since I was like 11. And I'm 21 now, so that's a long time. Lots of experience." She shuffled a little in her seat, taking another drink of beer. "Anyway. We're getting off track, aren't we? Keep talking, man."

Min laughed, a real laugh. "Okay, okay. A year ago, we, er…" He reached desperately for an explanation for the train, but decided that, just maybe, he could tell her. Really, the worst that she could think of him is that he's a drug user. "Can I tell you something? It's going to sound absolutely insane, probably, but I just. Need to tell someone."

She looked concerned, her dark brown eyes wide, but nodded anyway. "That's real ominous. But sure, go for it."

"Okay. So. Stick with me, here. A year ago, him and I got on a train, right? But then, there was another train door within the train. We just...went into the door. Well, the bastard threw my keys into it and then ran in, so how could I not follow?" Eryn was looking at him intently like she understood. Min could tell he was pretty drunk by now; he'd never be able to open up to someone this much sober. But that's okay. More than okay, really.

"It gets even weirder from then on. Ryan- that's his name, by the way- and I woke up on a giant, infinie train in the middle of nowhere. Gotta be pretty unbelievable, though. You probably think I'm on drugs." Min sighed.

Eryn was silent for a moment, but it was obvious she was getting ready to explode. "Dude, no fucking way!" Yep, there it was. "I got on that train! When I was eleven. I was super conflicted on my sexuality, had a shit ton of internalized homophobia as a result of having homophobic family. I felt like a disgusting person. So I got on the train, and it actually helped me through it." She'd completely lit up when Min mentioned the train. Looked like she was going to grab him by the shoulders and shake him.

For a moment, Min was speechless. Soon, though, he regained his voice. "You're kidding," was all he could muster.

"Nope." Eryn's grin nearly reached her ears. "Did you have someone to help you along, too? There was a white cat named Samantha for me. She was French, for some reason. But I miss her."

"Oh! Yeah, Ryan and I had a floating, talking bell named Kez. Weird, right?. I miss her, too. Wonder how she's doing." Min thought for a second, completely and utterly relieved to have met someone else to share an experience with. Then something clicked. "Hold on...I might have met this cat you speak of. Yellow eyes? Uh, blonde...hair?"

"Blonde hair? Well, she didn't have that. But yeah, yellow eyes, French accent." Eryn nodded. They were silent for a moment.

Min chuckled, suddenly getting the urge to continue on with their story. Telling someone about the train would feel wonderful. "We had a lot of...issues...regarding our friendship, at the time. That's why the train picked us up in the first place." He fiddled with the hem of his shirt. "The train did help us. But we had a lot of weirdly intimate moments on it, and that's where my sexuality crisis started. Like, there was a car where we had to perform a song with each other to get out of it, and of course I got stage fright right before it. I left him alone on stage. Again." Min paused, the guilt almost making him feel like he was living through that moment again.

Eryn nudged him. "And? That doesn't sound intimate. What happened next?"

"I hid in the bathroom. So he came in, and at first he was angry, but I was having a full on anxiety attack. We sat in the bathtub, hip to hip, knee to knee. It was weird, but nice. He helped me calm down. And like...in our last year of Highschool, I gave him a shirt with our band name on it. In that bath tub, he had it with him. He kept it. Said he'd never done a show without it." Min laughed, but there wasn't much humor about it. "Man, I wanted to kiss him so bad right then and there. But I didn't."

Eryn had a soft look in her eyes. "I dunno about you, but that sounds pretty damn gay to me. Maybe he's just dating other people to distract himself from his crush on you, who knows! All I'm trying to say is, don't give up on this, Min. You two have something going on, I don't know what, but it could blossom into a relationship." She patted him on the shoulder, then took another drink of her beer.

Min did the same. "What if he's not gay?" His voice was small. "Worse, what if he's homophobic? I don't know...fuck, it's terrifying. I could lose him because I'm gay."

"Well," Eryn paused for a moment, "you could try and subtly bring it into conversation. Maybe, like, bring up a celebrity who's gay. See his reaction." She gestured with her hands a lot, Min noticed.

Min nodded. It seemed simple in theory, but he knew he'd manage to fuck it up somehow. The logical part of his brain knew Ryan wouldn't leave him for being gay, but at the same time, there was this voice in the back of his head. Irrational thoughts, irrational fears; that's all it spoke of.

"Thank you. Really. It's been nice to talk about this, especially with someone who's been on the train. That thing is...a freak of nature. Maybe not even nature, I don't know. I'll try that with him, too." Min said finally, after some silence. Eryn laughed.

"Yeah, it absolutely is." She smiled widely. Eryn glanced around, her eyes finally landing on the only visible clock in this part of the bar. Her eyes widened. "Shit, I should really get going! Sorry. I told my girlfriend I'd be back around now." She, out of nowhere, gave Min a hug. It'd been a while since he'd hugged anyone, he realized, and it felt nice. Although, very unexpected.

Min hugged her back, sort of awkwardly. They separated soon after.

"That's okay. Again...thank you, so much. I should get young too." By now, it was almost 11 pm, and he figured he should leave as well. Ryan should be back at their apartment soon enough.

Min was about to turn and leave, but Eryn stopped him.

"Hey! How about we exchange phone numbers? This was a good chat, eh? I'd like to stay in contact." Eryn searched her pockets for a pen and some paper, but only found a marker. "Can I, like, write it on your arm and you can do the same?"

Min knew Ryan would tease him over it, but oh, well, he made a new friend. "Yeah, that's fine." He laughed, offering her his arm. She quickly scribbled her number on it, and honestly, it was barely legible. But he could read it, somewhat.

He then wrote his number on her arm, they exchanged goodbyes, and were on their way. Min dreaded returning to Ryan, who would definitely start to go on and on about his girlfriend, and just prove to make Min feel worse about his stupid crush.

But maybe, just maybe, Eryn was right. Maybe things would finally go his way for once.

•••

Min's walk home was quiet (as quiet as New York can be at night) and cold, it being the middle of November. Snow was just beginning to fall. Being outside Eryn's words stuck in his head like glue. Talk to him. As if he could do that. The idea of even just mentioning anything close to being gay made anxiety rise in his throat like bile.

He couldn't. Probably.

Before he could think much more on it, he was home. Home. Back to the decent one bedroom apartment they'd scraped up all of the money in their pockets to buy. Back to the scent of cigarette smoke in the air, back to the strange stains on the carpet in the hallway. Most importantly, back to Ryan. No matter how much resentment Min-gi might hold to him for having a girlfriend, Ryan usually made things better.

He walked up the stairs and down the hall to apartment number 202, ironically. Unlocked and opened the door to find it dark inside save for a single lamp. Min walked in, curious, just to find Ryan curled up in the fetal position on the sofa. That really made him anxious.

"Hey...Ryan? You good, man?" Min sat on the empty portion of the sofa, near his head.

Ryan stirred, rolling over onto his back. His head was resting a bit on Min's thigh, and it felt kind of nice.

"I dunno…" He mumbled. "She broke up with me."

"What?" Min looked down at Ryan, surprised. "Lisa? You're kidding."

"Nope, not kidding." Ryan laced his fingers together over his stomach. "The thing is...I'm like, kind of relieved that she did it? How fucked up is that?"

Min tilted his head in confusion. He really wanted to run his hand through Ryan's hair, but that was a really inappropriate thought for the moment.

"She, uh...said some things. When she broke up with me." He sighed. "Called me a fag." Ryan laughed, like he found it funny. Min didn't.

"Dude, what? Why?" Min's voice was a little shaky, for no other reason than that they were talking about gay people.

Ryan sighed. "Take a good look at us, Min." He brought his forearm up to cover his eyes. "We're two dudes, living in a one bedroom apartment together. We do everything together. Of course she's gonna think there's something going on."

Min felt like he was going to fucking disintegrate. "U-Uh...and that's a bad thing?"

"I mean...no. It just kind of clicked that...maybe she's right. Maybe I am gay." Ryan sat up, his back facing towards Min. He didn't look back. " I always assumed that I'd be straight, but this...it makes sense. None of my relationships have ever worked out. With women."

Min reached out and gently touched his shoulder. "Ryan...it's okay."

Ryan looked back, now, and his eyes were watery. Min frowned.

“How could it be okay?” His voice cracked as he spoke. “It’s just another reason for people to hate me. For my parents to hate me. Hell, maybe even you.” By the time that he finished talking, his voice was almost inaudible.

"No!" Min almost shouted, jolting forward. "No. Ryan, I could never hate you." Fuck, how was he supposed to tell Ryan he's gay now? Part of him wanted to shout it out impulsively, but the other part, it just wanted to keep hiding. Because what if something goes wrong? What if Ryan's in love with someone else? All what ifs. He really needed to stop.

Min inhaled deeply. Here goes. "This is gonna sound really coincidental, but...I'm gay too."

Quickly, Ryan turned around to face Min. His eyes were wide behind his glasses.

"What? No fucking way. You're kidding." Ryan was leaning forward, using his fists to prop him up.

Min shook his head. "No...I'm not. I was gonna tell you soon anyway, but now seemed like a good time." He scratched his head awkwardly.

Then, Ryan launched at him, hugging him. Arms wrapped around his neck, knees touching Min's thighs, the whole package. Min was sure he'd die with how flushed his face was; but thankfully, he didn't.

After what felt like a while, Ryan finally spoke.

"I love you." He mumbled into Min's shoulder.

Min paused. "In a gay way, or…?"

Ryan laughed. "Yeah, you idiot." He shook his head in amusement.

"Good. That's...great." He hugged Ryan tighter, finally letting himself run his fingers through his hair. It was soft, just like he expected. "I love you too."

#rymin #infinity train #infinity train book 4 #ryan akagi #min gi park #infinity train season 4

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gallavictorious · 3 years

Text

Gallavich Week Day 5: Fix-It / Rewrite

Right, so fix-its aren’t so much my jam, but there is this one weird, weird, weird thing that I’ve (so far) been unable to meta into any sort of sense. Namely, Mickey looking like that in season 11 while apparently not working out. It’s just… uh… he… what? At one point I hypothesized that he’s been bitten by a radioactive spider or the like, leaving him magically super buff, and to be honest, that’s still the most reasonable explanation I can think of, soooo…

Today I'm back at my nonsense to bring you, everyone and especially our dear @gallavichthings, 2,711 Very Serious words about Mickey being a secret superhero. Well. Except for the hero bit.

Read it below or on AO3.

---

In Which Mickey Milkovich Does Not Save the World

Afterwards, he would always refer to it as the radioactive motherfucker bug from hell, but the truth is that Mickey never saw the thing that got him.

He was going about his business (namely poking around the Gallagher basement for any forgotten shit he could sell for beer money now that all the cash from the wedding had been surreptitiously replaced with I.O.U:s) when he felt a sudden, sharp pain just above his ankle. Cursing up a storm, he desperately waved his foot around and lost his balance and stumbled straight into one of the many piles of boxes that littered the basement. By the time he was back on his feet whatever creature that had dug its nasty little teeth/pincers/claws into his tender flesh had scurried off, leaving Mickey with a throbbing ache and a halfway impressive puncture wound on his left leg.

Muttering darkly about fucking Gallaghers being so used Frank they didn’t know how to keep goddamned monster vermin out of their shitty house Mickey limped up the stairs to pour some Jamison on the wound, and then pour some down his throat because he had the bottle out already so he might as well. He borrowed one of Franny’s colourful pirate-patterned band-aids, and when his nosy as fuck ex-EMT of a husband asked about it later that evening Mickey said he’d dropped a can on his foot, it’s just a scratch, man, no you don’t need to take a look at it, just put your fingers back in my ass, please.

Mickey didn’t make a habit of lying to Ian, but he figured that telling the truth would lead to all sorts of questions about why he was in the basement and having to come up with plausible explanation for that when he should just be focusing on getting railed wasn’t part of his plans for the evening. Besides, it wouldn’t be fair to Ian, who’d been getting so worked up over money lately, to distract him with that sort of unimportant stuff while they were banging. Mickey was a considerate spouse.

Thankfully, Ian dropped the subject and proceeded to do his husbandly duty. Mickey went to sleep deeply satisfied.

He was almost as satisfied the next morning when he woke up to realize that the pain in his leg was gone, as were all traces of the wound itself. Mickey had always healed pretty fast, but this was quick enough to have him questioning whether or not he’d really been bitten/stung/whatever at all. Maybe he’d had more beers than he thought and imagined the whole thing… ?

It didn’t really matter, and if that had been the whole of it Mickey was likely to soon have forgotten all about the radioactive motherfucker bug from hell. However, in the next few weeks he started noticing stuff, weird stuff. For instance, it wasn’t just the (possibly imagined) bite/sting that healed far more quickly than normal; it was all the little cuts and scrapes he tended to acquire. A big bruise from running into the table while playing with Franny; faded to nothing the next morning. A cut from the razor; gone within the hour. For the first time he could remember, Mickey looked at his naked body in the mirror and saw not one single wound (though there were still scars aplenty). It wasn’t a bad thing, per se, but it was weird.

Then there was that thing with his muscles. Mickey had been in decent shape for most of his life and whenever he got locked up for extended periods of time he made a habit of hitting the gym on the regular. Really wasn’t much else to do in the joint, and having a decent bulk reminded the other inmates that you weren’t someone they could push around; letting people know that you could beat the shit out of them often meant you didn’t have to actually do it, which saved everyone a lot of time and energy and trips to the prison quack. But on the outside, exercise wasn’t very high on Mickey’s list of priorities, meaning he tended to slim down a bit after a while in freedom.

Not now, though. Almost a year after being out of prison, and he was still as built as ever; if anything he seemed to be developing more muscles, in spite rarely engaging in anything more taxing than vigorous fucking. (Okay, so there was a lot of vigorous fucking, but still. If anyone ought to be building their biceps from the sex they were having, it should be Ian.)

Mickey didn’t mind being inexplicably ripped, though. He felt great, looked great – and Ian seemed to be pretty into it, too. Then again, Ian seemed to be pretty into Mickey whether he wore dirty clothes, sported a beard, sported a dress, or hadn’t showered in a week, so maybe that wasn’t saying a lot.

But even given all that, maybe Mickey still wouldn’t have thought too much about it (he was, after all, very busy being on his honeymoon, which required lots of determined sleep-ins, dedicated beer-drinking, and – obviously – lots and lots of banging) if there hadn’t one day come a knock on the front door. At first he ignored itm in the hopes that someone else would get it, but when it became apparent that a, he was alone in the house, and b, whoever was at the door wasn’t giving up anytime soon, he grabbed the family baseball bat (even big soft ass Larry would react to Mickey opening the door with an extremely illegal gun in hand) and went to answer the insistent knocking.

Outside stood two women, looking an unsettling mix of sober and apprehensive and eager. One of them reminded him vaguely of Angie Zago; the other was taller and darker and quite possibly brooding.

“Can I help you?” he demanded, not quite as rudely as he might have. He didn’t think they were social workers, but one never knew; they’d been checking up on Debbie and Franny ever since Debbie pleaded guilty to statutory rape.

“Mr. Mikhailo Aleksandr Milkovich?” Not-Angie inquired in a polite sort of tremble.

“Who’s asking?” Mickey demanded, feeling a little thrown by the use of his full name. The only people who pulled that out was law enforcement, and neither of these ladies had that feel about them. Especially since they seemed to be… excited to meet him, which wasn’t a reaction Mickey was used to getting. Particularly not from ladies looking like they ought to be out collecting for the fucking Red Cross.

They better not be asking for donations for the Red Cross.

“I’m Tania and this is Dreamweaver,” Not-Angie said. “Can we come in? It’s really best if we talk in private.”

Mickey didn’t move. “Dreamweaver? You kick your mama too many times in the kidneys before you were born or something?”

The women glanced uncertainly at each other. “Mr. Milkovich,” the one improbably called Dreamweaver began, but Mickey cut her off:

“You with the police?”

They quickly shook their heads. “No, we— “

“You here to give me money?”

“No, you see, it’s— “

“Okay, thank you, bye.” But as he moved to close the door, Tania – displaying more spunk than he’d have given her credit for – took a step forward and blocked the entrance.

“Have you been experiencing any strange body phenomena lately, Mr. Milkovich?” she blurted. “Wounds healing very quickly, perhaps, or increased muscle mass?”

Mickey stilled, eyes darting between the two women. Small, small smiles on their faces now, as if they knew they had him. There was a hint of hunger to those smiles, making Mickey feel uncharacteristically uncomfortable. The urge to push Tania back and slam the door shut was strong, but…

“Fine,” he said at long last. “Come on in.”

They better not be fucking cannibals either.

---

They called themselves The Guardians, and they wanted him to save the world.

Mickey asked what numbers they were talking and, after getting bored of their uncomprehending stares, clarified: “How much is it gonna pay? What’s my cut?”

Dreamweaver frowned. “You mean… money? As in a… salary?”

“Yeah, sure. What’s my salary?”

“Mr. Milkovich, saving the world is a higher calling and a duty, it’s not something that– “

“Uh-huh. So, just to be clear, you’re not gonna pay me?”

They weren’t. Mickey laughed in their faces, stood from the couch, and told them bye and good luck with that and don’t let the door hit ya on the way out.

They reasoned with him. They pleaded. They explained, again and again, that after the evil society USCH destroyed The Guardian’s headquarters in a devastating attack, the two of them–and Mickey–was the only thing standing between the world and utter destruction. Surely, he must understand that it was nothing less than Fate that had brought the one remaining Bestower Bot into the Gallagher basement and his path? Admittedly, injecting Mickey with the bio enhancer might have been the result of a malfunction – Tania and Dreamweaver had found the bot dead down the street a couple of nights ago – but didn’t he see that he had been called to serve as a warrior in the fight against evil?

“Yeah, no thanks,” Mickey told them, and then he picked up the bat and waved it around until they took the hint and left.

When Ian returned home a few hours later, Mickey carefully didn’t mention the curious visit or any of what Tania and Dreamweaver had told him. Ian was pretty into saving people and had all these lame ideas about service and honor, and Mickey found it more likely than not that his husband would both be upset that Mickey, rather than Ian himself, had been called as a warrior (it’d be Lip and West Point all over again, Mickey just knew it), and demand that Mickey answer the call and run off like some loon to get himself killed by evil technomancers.

Mickey didn’t particularly feel like dying and he didn’t like the idea of hurting his husband’s feelings either, so he kept his mouth shut and skillfully derailed all of Ian’s attempts at asking about his day by giving him a blow job, teasing him about being a grunt, and allowing himself to be wrestled to the floor when Ian decided he’d had enough of teasing. It was a good evening.

As he lay in bed that night, back against Ian’s chest and with those strong arms wrapped around him, Mickey wondered if it would be worth risking Ian’s reaction by going public. Okay, Tania and Dreamweaver had mentioned how he’d probably gotten a pretty small dose of the bio-whatever-the-fuck, lending him nothing more exciting than enduring muscle mass and enhanced healing, but that should probably be enough to turn him into a cut above the rest, right? He could hire himself out to the highest bidder and make a fortune doing private security or collections or stuff like that. Fuck, he’d even consider taking on jobs for The Guardians, if they just agreed to pay him.

It was a fun thought to play with, but in the end a long life in the shadows made Mickey wary of putting himself out there like that. Besides, he’d seen enough movies to know that it’d probably wouldn’t be long before he mysteriously disappeared to some secret government facility to be experimented on. He’d had enough of the state’s hospitality to last him a lifetime, so thanks, but no fucking thanks.

And that could have been it. Should have been it, but of course Tania and Dreamweaver wouldn’t leave well enough alone. They started showing up at the Gallagher house at all hours, whenever they knew they could get Mickey alone. They accosted him on the way to the Alibi, they sat down next to him on the L, and they left him pictures of puppies with little notes saying stuff like “Only YOU can SAVE him from BURNING. Have a HEART”.

It was exhausting. Fearing the retribution of the cartel hadn’t anything on fearing seeing Tania and Dreamweaver’s disappointed-yet-still-somehow-hopeful-and-terribly-determined faces appear in a crowd, or round a corner, or on the porch when he went out for his evening smoke.

Mickey began to lose sleep. He’d spend the nights tossing and turning, which led to him staying in bed half the day to catch up on much needed rest, and he was often so tired he couldn’t bring himself to put on proper clothes or go outside the door the whole day.

Ian was on his ass about getting a job; he didn’t get that Mickey had a job, and that job was not getting lured into sacrificing his life for the greater good. If Ian didn’t like the prospects of being a prison widow, how offensive wouldn’t he find the prospect of being an actual widower, after his husband got blown to bits by some big bad villain?

It got to the point of Ian initiating a sex strike to force Mickey to get “a real job”, which struck Mickey as really fucking unfair, considering how all he was trying to do was make sure Ian even had a husband to refuse to fuck.

Enough was enough. Something had to be done. Fortunately for Mickey – and unfortunately for Tania and Dreamweaver – Mickey had a guy for everything. As annoying as The Guardians were, Mickey didn’t have the heart to see them killed, but he figured that having them kidnapped and shipped off to some sweatshop on the other side of the world would serve the same purpose. He felt a little bad about it, sure, but he had given them plenty of chances to fuck off. Not his fault they couldn’t respect a fucking boundary.

Mickey called Johnny, told him the score, and a few night later Johnny called Mickey to tell him it was done.

It was done. Over. Mickey would finally be able go about his life in peace again, giving all his attention to his husband and doing his outmost to make him the happiest man alive every single day, even when Ian was annoying as hell and started asking pointless fucking questions about how Mickey was in such great shape even though he never did as much as one single curl up.

I see. So… you’re telling me that you have secret superpowers.

Yeah. Except, not actually secret anymore. ‘Cause, you know, you told me we shouldn’t have secrets.

… yeah, that was three months ago.

Guess it must have slipped my mind, huh.

Must have. But let me get this straight: you couldn’t get a real job because you were busy dodging secret agents, and your muscles are the result of you getting bitten by some magic robot—

Radioactive motherfucker bug from hell.

—and not you sneaking down to the basement to do weights and cardio almost every day?

… oh.

Yeah, oh. Carl told me about it, asshole. He noticed you using some of the stuff down there. Don’t get why you’d wanna keep that a secret though?

…

Mick. We have to be honest with each other, remember?

Jesus Christ, I don’t know, okay? I don’t know.

Okay.

Guess the first time was back when you had that dip a couple of months after the wedding. Few times after that, if we had a fight or whatever and I needed to let off some steam. Then you started working and sometimes I got bored watching TV all day but you were all mopey about your shitty job and me not having any and you have this thing about your body—

I don’t have a thing about my body.

—so I didn’t really wanna rub your face in me having all that time to work out when you could barely squeeze in dozen push-ups in the evening. And I guess I didn’t really want anyone to know that I… cared, or whatever.

Cared? About what? Being healthy? Looking good? Being strong?

Whatever, man, I told I don’t fucking know. Anyway, it doesn’t matter, ‘cause it was a radioactive motherfucker bug from hell that did it.

Of course it was. Come here. Show me what that bio enhanced body of yours can do.

---

Ahahahahahaha, would you look at that. I tried to meta it anyway. 😭😭😭

You might reasonably ask about Mickey’s visit to Kev Fit – how does that fit? WELL, I rather imagine that whatever Mickey does in that basement is enough to keep him fit but still not SUPER hardcore? So when he starts worrying about Ian thinking him weaker than, he decides to take it up a notch and do it properly in a real(ish) gym? And his comment about “not remembering how much working out sucks” is part of the whole “not wanting anyone to know this is something I care to do on the regular”… Yeah, it’s pretty weak. All in all, I’d say the radioactive motherfucker bug from hell is still our best bet. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

This is probably the last time I have one of them tell the other a story this week, but I make no promises. These little ficlets don’t tend to go as planned. (Ha! She said, as if there was a plan to begin with. Oh, well. I guess it’s working out so far.)

#gallavich #gallavich week 2021 #gw2021 #ficlet #my stuff

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yeojaa · 4 years

Text

finders keep hers, iii.

read parts one and two! the long awaited conclusion! i’m sorry it turned into a friggin’ novel. i hope it does the first two parts justice, though. these kids are... idiots. i love them and you (and also the best beta reader @hobi-gif)! 💖

pairing. jjk x named f!reader. rating. explicit, ofc. tags. this is... really soft at certain parts. and then really raunchy at others. oops? but fr - mainly fluff with some smut at the end. you might need a filling. wc. 5.4k.

You’re buzzed into the building without a moment’s hesitation, the kind concierge with the gummy smile and greying temples beaming at you as you enter. “Nice to see you, Miss Lee.”

“You too, Mr. Choi.” A grin of your own is offered, gym bag hiked higher over your shoulder as you pause to chat. You’re in no rush. “Is he home?”

“I don’t believe so.” The sudden look of disapproval that colours the older gentleman’s features is almost comical, reminiscent of a disparaging parent. It’s the same expression you’re greeted with nearly every time you visit. “He left in a town car yesterday afternoon and I don’t think he’s been back since. That boy’s going to get himself in trouble one day.” As if Jungkook didn’t already - as if it didn’t follow him around, glued to the bottoms of his Italian leather shoes.

“Tell me about it.”

“You know…” There’s that twinkle in Mr. Choi’s eyes again - the one that tells you he’s about to repeat the same words he always does when he catches you alone. “A nice girl like you could get him to settle down.”

Your response is what it always is - a scoff and a laugh rolled into one. It careens off your tongue, ringing in the spacious lobby. “I don’t think anyone will ever get him to settle down.”

How true that is, you’re not sure. For your sake, you try not to think about it too much.

The old man is undeterred though, shrugging his narrow shoulders beneath the neat uniform he wears. It’s a little loose in the chest but immaculate otherwise, tie knotted in a classic Windsor and collar ironed perfectly. He levels you with that shrewd stare of his but says nothing further, simply engaging you in an unspoken staring contest.

Sometimes, you wonder how much he sees. How much he knows .

You break before he does, tearing your gaze away and blinking rapidly. He laughs, full bellied and deep from the chest. “Get on upstairs, Miss Lee.” You aren’t offended by the dismissal. “It’s always nice chatting with you.”

You remind yourself to bring him chocolates the next time you’re by. The ones with hazelnuts, because those are his favourite. A fact you only know because you’ve helped your best friend pick up a box for him every Christmas, writing the card and having him sign it right before it gets left behind the desk.

Actually, you helped Jungkook with a lot of things. Always had. It was simply the nature of your friendship - passed down by your parents and forged stronger by childhood playdates, your fair share of teenage squabbling, and college hangovers so bad they’d created an unbreakable bond.

Whenever he would need you, you’d be there - whether that meant picking him up at 4 AM from the airport because he wanted “some shitty fast food and to see you” or helping him pick gifts for Mother’s Day. There was no task too small, no moment too inconsequential.

Unconditional love, they called it.

It’s why you have no problem swanning into his apartment with the extra key you’ve had since he moved in, kicking off your trainers and tucking them neatly alongside the rows of black leather and expensive sneakers.

You do so much for him that you take where you can, indulging in all of the luxuries you’ve never been afforded. Unparalleled view, stupidly expensive toiletries, a damn jacuzzi tub .

You pull your sweater over your head - truthfully, one of Jungkook’s from college that you’d never felt inclined to give back - and toss it over the back of a barstool on your way into the guest suite. Your bag follows shortly after, deposited at the foot of the bed that exists as a rotating welcome mat to your and Jungkook’s circle of friends.

The rest of your clothes - sports bra, shorts, thong, socks - are stripped, folded, and tucked into the laundry bag you keep handy. You know you could leave them here and Jungkook’s housekeeper would take care of it, but you’ve never been too comfortable with that. Different upbringings.

The spray is like sweet relief the moment you step beneath the rainforest shower. It’s the perfect temperature and pressure, melting the sweat and tension from your bones.

But it isn't why you’re here, so you make quick work in the glass enclosure, scrubbing your body bare and lathering and conditioning your hair into a squeaky clean mess. Any other time, you’d just spend a good half hour standing beneath the head but you’re feeling particularly indulgent today.

Call it a spa day, courtesy of one Jeon Jungkook.

You don’t bother to dry off, water splashing across the floor as you step from the shower and sink into the spacious tub that overlooks the heart of Seoul. Diptyque bath oil encapsulates the room in a bubble of sweet almond, similarly branded candle burning on the ledge. The jets release a steady stream against your tired back and legs, massaging your limbs into jelly.

You can’t help the sigh of utter relaxation that rolls off your tongue, sinking into water in the same instance your shoulders do.

This is what dreams are made of. Anyone who says differently is an idiot and a liar.

“When are you going to tell her?”

You’re not expecting the voice and it breaks the silence like a thousand pound weight, shattering the calm and nearly startling you enough for you to knock your head on the edge of the tub.

There’s no reason for you to be surprised. Not really. This isn’t your home, after all. You aren’t entitled to any sort of privacy.

It doesn’t matter, though. The discomfort in your chest is unfolding regardless, lodging rocks in your throat.

Because it’s a female voice. Lilting, soft, draped in familiarity. Not someone brand new.

Your heart stutters at the realisation. The rush of blood against your eardrums is so loud you momentarily wonder whether they can hear it all the way in the living room. They must be able to - it’s practically deafening. You can’t even hear the rest of their conversation.

Their conversation .

Which seems to have ended, leaving only silence.

You suddenly remember your shoes, your sweater. Traces of you littered throughout the apartment that isn’t yours. God, you’re an idiot. He was going to kill you - or she was. You’re not sure which is worse.

You’re reaching for the fluffy white towel on the rack when you’re scared near half to death yet again. This time, by your best friend who cuts an imposing figure in the doorway, broad form resting casually against the frame. He looks surprisingly unbothered, curls pushed back from his forehead by a pair of sunglasses and arms folded over his chest.

“Jesus!” The shriek comes four octaves higher than it normally would, pitching into the open so loudly you wince. “You scared me!”

You can’t help the way you peek past his shoulder for a sign of the girl he’d brought home.

“Enjoying yourself?” There’s something amused dancing in the darks of his eyes, his mouth curving around the same emotion as he steps into the bathroom. You’d be bothered if he were anyone else, unnecessarily long legs carrying him to you in three strides.

“I didn’t know you were home.” You can’t quite meet his stare, still far too distracted by the mystery woman. Had he left her on the couch? Maybe his bedroom as he snuck you out? What excuse could he come up with?

“Didn’t know you were home either.”

He’s made himself comfortable right on the ledge of the tub, marked fingers dragging lazily through the still-scalding water. He doesn’t seem terribly in a rush. That puts you on edge.

Was he going to hide you in here?

“I wanted to relax after my run.” You don’t owe him an explanation - not really - but you offer it anyway. You figure you need to, when you might’ve ruined his Sunday morning romp session. You can’t bring yourself to address it, though. The words just won’t come, sitting on the tip of your tongue like thorns. It hurts to swallow.

Jungkook doesn’t further the conversation - a first for him. He’s normally a chatterbox.

The silence stretches on. Suffocating.

You force yourself to speak, staring down at your hands that are slowly pruning beneath the water. “Should I… go?” The way it comes is feeble, soft, uncertain. You hate it.

By the look of surprise on his face, he does, too. He cackles suddenly, like a goddamn witch. “Why?”

Heat floods across your cheeks. You wish you could blame it on the bath or the steam that still collects on the mirrors. It pulls high over your ears, colouring them tomato red and embarrassed. Surely, he knows why.

When he repeats himself, it’s harder, without any of the laughter from before.

Rather than answer, you wave a hand through the air, fingers wiggling. The universal sign for you know . It should be enough - you hope it’s enough. Your ego won’t let you verbalise it.

“Suddenly mute, baby?”

It isn’t quite mocking - teasing, maybe - but it stokes the fire that burns in the pit of your stomach and licks uncomfortably at the organ in your chest. You don’t even look at him as you nearly spit the words, petulant and far more bothered than you should be. “You’ve got a girl here.”

A laugh that isn’t quite a laugh comes, swathed in velvet and coloured blue. The effort you make to not shoot him a glare is herculean.

He’s still snickering when he speaks. “You mean my sister?”

“Your sister?” It’s more surprise at yourself that has you whipping to look at him, bewilderment tossing all other emotion out the window. Because his sister was practically your sister. How had you not recognised her voice? You feel silly all at once, the embarrassment from earlier fading into reticence.

“Yeah. I spent the night babysitting the twins.”

You sometimes forget how much Jungkook loves children - especially his sisters’. It’s hard to reconcile the family man he effortlessly transforms into when he spends most of his waking hours playing the perfect part of unaffected bachelor.

“How are they?” You ask because you care - you adore Minseo and Minhyuk - but also so you can move the conversation along. The last thing you want to do is dwell on your mistake.

“They’re good. Getting big.” He’s got that smile on his face - the one that’s softer than any other, with deep lines at the corners of his eyes. Reserved especially for the people he cares about most. Your favourite sight. “You can come with me next time. Minnie asked about you, anyway.”

Warmth blossoms in your chest.

Being liked by peers? Great. Being respected by your superiors? Rewarding. But being loved by children? It was in a league all its own - better than ice cream on a hot day.

“Sure.” You can’t keep the grin away.

That is, until he speaks again, circling the conversation back. “So, were you jealous?” His ability to piss you off is uncanny. It’s like it’s written into his genetic code, each molecule of his body tasked with ruining your day.

“No.” It’s meant to be a scoff. It’s not very believable.

“You sure, princess?” The fingers on your chin are wholly unnecessary - he’s got you caught in his stare, locked in place with nowhere to go.

“Yes, Bunny .” You know how much he hates the nickname, only tolerating it because it’s you. You can’t deny the pleasure that comes at the sight of his jaw tensing, muscle jumping in agitation. Just as he’s your weakness, you’re his, too. “Now let me finish—”

He cuts you off, sharp and unrelenting: “Get out.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Get out of the tub or I’m pulling you out myself.” Risen to his full height, he’s an imposing figure. Even worse, there’s something you can’t read in his expression - something that has your nerves firing wildly. Your heart rattles around in your chest, uncertain.

He leaves you without another word.

You scramble out of the bath as quickly as your confused limbs allow you, knotting the towel beneath your arms. You’re not quite sure what to do next, caught between pulling your clean clothes out of your workout bag and demanding an answer from your sphinx of a best friend.

What the hell was his problem?

Your impatience wins out as you’re tugging a brush through your hair, fumbling uncharacteristically through knots until you’re too frustrated to continue. You’re ready to tear into him when you storm out of the guestroom; you’ve got a barrage of insults on your tongue, proverbial gun cocked and ready to unload.

They melt away when you spy him on the couch, neatly wrapped bouquet laid across the coffee table.

“Come here.” It’s not a request so much as a demand - commanding and soft all at once. A small part of you wants to fire off a rebuttal; that part dies when he repeats himself, louder this time.

The seat you take beside him is begrudging, a good foot of space held between your bodies. You fiddle with the hem of your towel, turning a loose thread over and over your index finger.

“What?” It’s snippy, discontent - kerosene on the fire that burns beneath Jungkook’s skin.

“Watch it,” he retorts, though there’s no acid to his words. Frankly, he sounds more frustrated than angry, more exasperated than pissed off.

That makes one of you.

Only he can bring out this side of you - brusque and biting. “ You watch it, Bunny.”

Fingers find the bridge of his nose, a gesture you don’t see very often. Guilt blooms behind your ribcage as he rubs at the tension between his eyes. For someone who has it all, he looks like he’s a moment away from losing it.

“You’re a brat, you know that?”

��Takes one to know one,” you retort, not unkindly.

“You’re making this really hard,” he snaps in the same instant he all but throws the overwhelming bunch of flowers at you.

You nearly drop them you’re so surprised.

“What are these for?”

“You.”

“Me?”

“Did I stutter?”

If you weren’t so busy studying the arrangement of florals, you’d have some witty comeback. As it stands, you’re preoccupied by the pretty bunch of peonies and tulips. You wonder what he’s done wrong - why he’s found it necessary to soften the blow with your favourite flowers.

Your thoughts drift back to his sister’s words: when are you going to tell her?

All at once, you want nothing more than to leave. You don’t want whatever heartbreak is about to come. You’re not ready for it.

“Listen—”

He cuts you off, again. “I love you.”

You’re not sure how your face looks. You imagine you could look up flabbergasted in the dictionary and you’d find a photo of your expression right now. “What?”

Jungkook won’t quite look at you, intently focused on an indiscernible point against the far wall. When he speaks the words again, they’re full of uncertainty - but not in the way you expect. The confession is as believable as any you’ve ever heard - he really does sound like he loves you - but somehow, it’s draped in dread and held aloft by hummingbird wings. “I love you.”

He’s nervous, you realise in amazement.

“Come again?”

He meets your stare then, brow knitting with unease. He doesn’t say it again, though.

“Are you messing around with me?” You don’t mean it how it comes - a little accusatory.

“I’m not an asshole.” Except both of you know he certainly can be. You don’t call him on it, though, opting instead to peer curiously at him, hands fisted around the bouquet in your lap. “I talked to my sister. She…” He shrugs once, an almost helpless roll of his shoulders. “She told me I was an idiot.”

You’re not surprised by that. Lina had always been the one to give it to him straight.

“She said I would lose you if I didn’t get my shit together.” There’s a bit of childish petulance that works its way into each syllable - he hates being told what to do. “Said I needed to tell you or I’d regret it. Which is stupid, because we’ve been best friends forever and she’s younger than me so what does she know—” He must realise he’s rambling, something he never does. “But—”

“But?” Quiet, hopeful, coaxing.

There’s a warmth in your chest - illuminating and golden and so bright it hurts to think about. It grows with each moment that passes, spurred on by the look in his eyes and how they find yours.

Hesitation pulls the silence a beat too long. The light wanes. You wonder if the moment has passed.

And then he continues, a little more earnestly. “Was she right? Am I going to lose you?”

You’re not entirely sure what he’s asking. You don’t think he even knows what he’s asking. You try to answer anyway, as honest as you can without pinning your heart directly on your sleeve. “You’ll never lose me.”

“You know what I mean.”

Did you? “You’ll never lose me.” You’re the one repeating yourself this time, just that bit harder.

“Then say it.” Again, not a request. A prayer, perhaps. Ardent and needy - a world away from the Jeon Jungkook you know.

You don’t hesitate. “I love you.”

He doesn’t either - upon you so quickly you don’t have time to blink or think.

How he kisses you now feels different. More . It’s like being consumed entirely - changed from the inside out in ways you never thought possible. Where he touches, sparks fly, filling you like stars in the night sky. Lava rolls over every inch, dragging heat and want and need from the soles of your feet to the tip of your nose. You’re gasping rather than breathing, clawing against the front of his shirt and twining your fingers into the strands that curl over his nape.

“You never told me you could kiss like that.” It’s lacking coherence, made by a partial inhale and wild, wondrous eyes.

His response is a laugh and another kiss, forceful and adoring and utterly devastating. “Shut up,” he mouths against your lips, tongue licking over your teeth and gums like he’s trying to memorise every inch of you. Hands follow in the same amorous motions, tugging and pulling and aching for you closer; the tips of his fingers sear white hot heat over your hips, the small of your waist, the delicate bones of your ribcage.

“I’m serious...” You really are - far more than you should be. You’d been missing out on this ? It’s incomprehensible.

The sound he makes is more of a growl, playful and resounding in the cavern of his chest. It rattles your own, sending your heart on a downward spiral into the pit of your stomach. His nose traces the column of your throat, soft lips guiding him further until he’s mouthing hotly over the bare skin of your shoulder. Tongue teases, delves ever so gently into the dip of your collarbone, and swipes back up, laving over the maroon that peeks around the edge of his teeth. You can’t help but keen, holding him so closely you wonder if you’re suffocating him.

“So am I.” Each syllable is punctuated by another nip, another nibble. It seems like his goal is to bloom roses across your skin - a wreath to welcome him home, made by his own touch.

You don’t mind.

“Say it again,” he demands, hopeful and unashamed from his place against your neck.

The admission comes easily, as if it’s always lived on the tip of your tongue. “I love you.”

“Again.” You’re not ready for the way he stares at you - like he’s never done before. Like he’s seeing you for the first time and he’s awestruck. “Say it again.”

“I love you.” Hands find the familiar contours of his face, thumbs brushing over the hollows of his eyes, over the beauty mark that sits front and centre beneath his lip. Each graze follows a repetition of the confession, as if you might burn the three simple words beneath his skin - write it into his DNA like he’s written into yours. “I love you. I love you. I love you, Bunny .”

He holds you close - so tightly it feels almost as if he’ll crush you - and captures your mouth again. It’s more gentle but just as lovesick. A thousand unspoken words spill from his tongue to yours, swallowed whole with greed you don’t bother to hide.

“I need you.” It’s whiny, framed by a pout that could end wars and paired with doe eyes so wide and innocent you almost want to roll your own.

“You have me.”

“Do I?” There’s a very deliberate roll of his hips, denim of his jeans rough against the exposed softness of your inner thighs, hands manoeuvring over the partially covered swell of your hips. The press of his fingers is purposeful, digging tension into every inch. As if he might transfer some of the unadulterated need that thrums through his veins, turning his heart to jelly and brain to mush.

“Since when do you ask?” You have a point.

“You’re right,” his grin is almost lazy, drawing over his mouth in a measured crawl. “Good girls just do what they’re told, right?” His grips tightens almost imperceptibly, holding you to him almost effortlessly. You’ve been in this position a hundred times before but it’s never been this easy - like breathing.

The gasp you offer is all mock affront, hand laid palm-down across your chest. You don’t miss the way his gaze follows it before ticking lower, unabashed in its admiration. “Are you saying I’m not?”

“Don’t know, baby.” The war on your neck has resumed, teeth traded seamlessly for the softer promise of his tongue, the dry brush of his lips. It’s almost sinful, garnering sighs of affection and need from somewhere low in your throat. “Want to be a good girl for me?”

You’re not quite used to this version of him - playful and needy and not nearly as demanding as usual. A part of you wants to draw out the side of him you know is there, hidden just beneath the surface; the other wants to bask in this, all feather soft and cotton candy sweet.

“Always,” you return, with a coquettish smile and fluttering lashes.

“Always,” he murmurs, tasting it for the first time. He sounds almost giddy when he repeats it once, then twice, then a third time for good measure. You think it’ll come again, laughter rolling off your tongue as you stare into the eyes of the boy you love. Instead, he speaks in a voice full of gravel and grit, all traces of your sunshine boy suddenly swallowed whole by the darks of his pupils. “Fuck - I can’t wait to have you.”

“Then what’re you waiting for?” You don’t need to push him. You like to do it anyway. It feels right .

“You’re the worst.” What Jungkook means is you’re the best and I love you and I’m going to fuck you six ways into next week . What he means is this is the scariest thing he’s ever done but it’s all right because he has you. What he means is thank you - and how he shows it is through worship.

On the way to the bedroom, he crowds every inch of you, holding you so closely you wonder if he’s trying to carve himself into your bones. He’s firm and unrelenting, balancing you against his chest as he smothers every available inch of your shoulders in sweet, sloppy kisses. He revels in the way you cling to him like you’ve never needed anything else.

In his bed, he lays you out and strips you bare. He offers devotion with every pass of his fingers, every trail of his tongue. He wants you so badly it’s hard to focus on giving you everything you deserve, but he tries anyway. He sucks love into your neck and over your breasts, pinching your nipples between his fingers until you’re panting and he’s aching for the same treatment.

On his knees, he prays at the altar of your body, taking his time to map the constellations on your skin, the memories written into each scar and dot. His tongue follows the raised flesh that sits across your hip - an unfortunate mishap from a schoolyard dare. You whine and he nearly cries, soothing over the sensitive spot with hands and lips and tenderness. He lays kisses on each freckle, each irregular mark. From your navel to your knee and everywhere in between, he caresses and comforts, turning those blemishes into stars.

He also teases - subtly, quietly, with wandering hands and focused breaths. You don’t realise it until it’s too late, your insides molten, your pulse a thunderclap in your ears.

“Jungkook.” It sounds more like begging than anything. Exactly what he wants.

“What’s up, princess?” Spoken so casually, as if he isn’t between your legs, long fingers tracing through the slick that coats your thighs. He gazes up from behind too long strands, all wide-eyed and terribly sweet - until he pops a digit into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks around the taste of you. “Something wrong?”

“Stop teasing.” You hear yourself whine but it doesn’t quite sound like you, higher pitched and needier than you’ve ever been.

“I thought you were going to be good for me,” he returns with a tut and a push of that same finger deep into your cunt. He flexes it experimentally, beaming up at you when you clench around the intrusion that’s too much and not even close to being enough all at once. “You’re so wet, baby. I just slide right in.”

As if to drive his point home, he drives another finger in, scissoring them languidly to stretch you open. It’s such a pretty sight, messy and inviting. He can’t resist a taste, dragging the flat of his tongue over and around the fingers that continue to fuck into you at a faster pace.

“ Jungkook! ” You’re shrieking, bucking against the onslaught of sensations. A shapely arm immediately cages you against the bed, palm splayed across your hips.

“Stay still.” It’s a growl, teeth bared against the sensitive pearl between your legs. Words are punctuated with the softest pressure - a silent threat that goes no further. You wonder what he’ll do if he has to repeat himself. “Good girls listen, remember?”

You’re fumbling across his shoulders, nails digging crescents everywhere you can reach. You need him so badly it hurts . “Please.”

“Please what?” That patented, stupid smirk cradles his mouth, tongue peeking out as he stares at you expectantly. “If you’re going to be so demanding, at least use your words.” He watches the way your eyes roll back into your head when he slots another finger in with the others and curls them against that particular spot that has you seeing stars. The bastard has the audacity to coo at you. “What’s wrong, baby? Can’t speak?”

You’re near wailing, gasping and whining around words that sound like his name. Angry red lines sprout across his shoulders, his arms - demands carved into flesh.

He makes a sound, wistful and resigned. You think - try to think, beyond the pleasure that’s building steadily in the pit of your stomach - that he’s finally going to give you what you need. You’re almost crying for it, moisture crowding your lashes and threatening to spill over.

Then he withdraws, all at once.

You could scream. In fact, you do, red in the face and chest heaving. “I hate you!”

“No.” He’s upon you in an instant, insistent and terribly smug. There’s a playground in his smile, childish laughter spilling into the spaces between you. “You actually love me.” He noses at your neck, the heat of his palm searing against your side as he sighs almost dreamily. “Say it again.”

You answer him with something more than love - frustration and annoyance and so much devotion you can’t keep it out no matter how hard you try. “No.”

It’s a challenge more than anything. He knows it; you know it.

He accepts it readily, just as you expect him to.

“Say it.” Enamel presses steady, heavy, into the sensitive spot right beneath your ear. He mouths over the skin that blows out red and inviting beneath his ministrations, the firm press of his fingers gripping you without hesitation. You can feel the entire weight of him against you, length nestled comfortably against your core. He repeats himself as he rocks against you, dragging the swollen, leaking head of his cock through your folds with an agonising slowness that has you clenching around nothing. “Come on, baby.”

You’re keening, adjusting your hips and grinding against him. You still won’t say it, hoping to find a rhythm in the quiet that’s punctuated by your laboured breaths and his occasional laughter.

“Just say it and I’ll give you what you want. I’ll give you everything. Promise, sweetheart.”

Framed against the late morning sun, hair spilling across his forehead in curls of india ink, he’s so handsome your heart leaps into your throat. “I love you.” It’s a wet confession, carried by a wave of emotion you don’t expect.

“I love you,” he echoes, sinking into you so gradually you feel like you’re caught in slow motion, all of your focus balanced on the tip of a needle.

It’s never been like this before. Each inch is a delicious stretch, filling you and claiming you. The drag is incredible, your walls fluttering around the intrusion and aching for more. You bite back a sob, digging into the wide expanse of his back with your nails as your mouth seeks purchase anywhere it can - over his jaw, up his neck, across his shoulders. He soothes you as he presses deeper, reassurances whispered against your temple.

“I’ve got you, baby. Let me make you feel good.” When he bottoms out, you demand more - somehow, somehow - locking your ankles against the small of his waist. He doesn’t miss the way you clench, so tight around him it almost hurts , when he says those three words once again. “I love you.”

His lips find yours and he brushes them over and over - a salve for the burn he ignites beneath your skin. It doesn’t matter that he’s both the calm and the chaos. Jungkook’s always been everything to you.

The rhythm he sets is unhurried and perfect. Each snap of his hips has his cock dragging against your walls, filling and stretching you so well; everywhere his skin brushes yours, you’re alive. There are a million nerve endings going haywire beneath your skin, flashing bright as holiday lights.

That’s what it’s like - Christmas morning . Picture perfect and filled with wonder.

He’s completely smitten when he draws back just enough to see the entirety of you - your fucked-out expression, the rose-wreath he’s wrought around your neck, the sweat that beads between your tits and tempts him to duck his head. “I love you.” It’s almost hypnotising - watching you take him, pussy dripping and needy around his cock.

“I love you,” you parrot back - or try to. It’s not very coherent, driven to a point of nonsense when his hips begin to stutter and he makes up for the loss of rhythm by slipping his fingers over your clit in circle eights.

You’re at your breaking point. He knows - can read you like the back of his hand - and holds you there, back bowing to kiss you breathless, pressure unrelenting against the bundle of nerves.

“That’s it, princess. Right there.”

The coil snaps at the third pass and there are hot tears streaming down your cheeks, his name spilling off your tongue in tandem with the erratic thudding of your heart. White spots your vision, entire body electrified as you crash headlong into an abyss of bliss. You hear him join you with a hoarse whine, a mix of your cum slipping out of you as he rides out his own high with shallow thrusts, mouth open and panting against your shoulder.

The comedown is hazy, dusted in exhaustion and a thin sheen of sweat. When he slips from you, he doesn’t go far, tugging you comfortably against his side like you’re not both a little gross. It’s not the first time you’ve fucked but it feels different.

“I love you, baby.”

“I love you, Bunny.”

You realise - it feels exactly like that. Making love.

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ithebookhoarder · 3 years

Text

‘Holding everything in doesn’t help, you know’: Part 2 (Javier Peña x F!Reader)

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

Description: After the night in your apartment together, things between you and Javi have been... well... awkward, to say the least. If you didn't know any better you’d say he was actually avoiding you, which isn’t ideal considering you’ve now been partnered together for a raid in the jungle. What could possibly go wrong?

A/N: So, ok. I did NOT expect such a lovely and overwhelming response to the one shot I did for this prompt. I was so touched that basically I couldn't resist giving in to @delorena‘s request for a part 2... and a soon to be released part 3, as this baby was getting long XD Sorry!

Warnings: Alcohol, swearing, canon-typical violence, reference to death, references to drugs, threat, my poor ass attempts at translating Spanish, Javi being an idiot (let me know if I missed anything)

Masterlist:

It had been a month since that night in your apartment: the night that had seen you waking up next to your partner, Javier Peña.

Yeah.

Even now, it felt like some kind of surreal dream to think about. It probably didn’t help that neither of you had actually spoken about it since then, simply heading out the door the next morning, off to work like nothing had happened.

Then again, what had happened? Other than you making a drunken ass of yourself in front of the guy who was both your colleague, but also your crush. It wasn’t like you’d kissed or slept with each other, in the usual sense of the word. Instead, you’d actually just slept. Fully clothed. With Javier Peña.

If anything, that fact alone should have been enough to tell you not only had nothing happened, it most likely never would. This was the Javier Peña, after all. He normally slept with anything with a pulse. So, despite his confession that night about his recent lack of companions, you were surprised to say the least that he hadn’t made some kind of move. Not then, and not in any of the days since.

Maybe he didn’t see you as attractive? God. Wouldn’t that be the fucking kick in the teeth you didn’t need. Or, maybe he was just trying to preserve your working relationship? After all, you did spend almost every minute of your waking lives together, watching each other’s backs out in the field and the treacherous world Escobar had created. You couldn’t afford distractions. Distractions could get you killed.

But even if that was the case, why did it do nothing to soothe the hurt you felt in your gut? A hurt that had been impossible to shift since the moment Javi had woken you that fateful morning and hurriedly shot you a ‘goodbye’ as he ran out the door without you.

“This way Steve won’t see me leaving your apartment,” he’d explained casually, pulling on his shoes as you watched from the doorway.

You’d only been awake for two minutes before noticing that the bed had been empty next to you. Not only that, but it was cold to touch, as if no one had slept on it in some time. The thought had made your stomach turn, and you knew you couldn’t entirely blame your hangover for the sudden urge to hurl as you hurried out of bed and found yourself here.

Needless to say, you were more than surprised to see Javi fully dressed, and almost creeping out the front door like some guilty one night stand.

A one night stand who’d made pancakes? God. Could this have got any stranger?

“Y/N. You’re up?”

If you didn’t know better, you’d have said he sounded disappointed by that fact. Like, he’d been planning on being gone well before you woke up. That would explain the stack of pancakes and glass of OJ on the side, and the hastily scrawled post-it note beside it.

- Eat these and drink some water. You’ll feel better.

That was all he’d been planning to give you after last night?

Not even a goodbye?

Just some home cooked food and a crappy note?

You felt like you had to still be drunk. There was no other explanation for this bizarre scenario, not considering the genuine vulnerability Javi had shown you the night before. Had you dreamt half of the things he’d said and done the night before? After all, for someone who had kissed your forehead and called you ‘querida’ he seemed pretty keen to be rid of you.

Had he just been pandering to your drunken state? Had he simply not meant it in any other way than friendly? Had you read more into it, hoping for what wasn’t really there in some kind of grief fuelled haze?

If so, you’d really fucked up and had no one but yourself to blame. It would take more than one good night to prove Javier Peña - the manwhore of Bogotá - had changed. To think otherwise had been foolish and naive, and most likely due to the amount of alcohol in your system.

“You not eating? Why make it if you’re not gonna eat any of it?”

“I already ate,” Javi explained hastily, “I hope you don’t mind. I should get going and I didn’t want to wake you yet. I figured you could use the rest after...”

“Yeah, of course,” you’d stammered, blearily trying to make it make sense as you noticed the freshly washed frying pan beside the sink. How long had he been awake? Had he even slept at all? “You uh, you want some coffee before you go?”

“No, thanks. I’ll grab some at work. This way, I can get back to mine and shower before I leave.”

“You can use the shower here, if you want?”

“No, thanks,” he’d repeated, rubbing the back of his neck and hauling on his jacket. If he sensed the sharpness to his tone, he didn’t address it. Instead, he just scoffed as if this whole thing was just some cosmic joke between the pair of you. “Last thing we need is for Steve or Connie to see me coming out of here and start making assumptions about last night, am I right?”

You’d frozen.

Would that have been so bad? Bad enough to make Javi look like he was trying to escape from sicarios, and not you?

You didn’t trust yourself to do much more than fake a laugh back and nod in agreement. Burying your hurt was for the best as you thanked him one last time for his help the night before. “I’ll see you in a couple hours, then?”

“Sure thing, Y/N. See ya in a bit.”

With that, he’d shut the door and left you staring after him, just as confused as you were now, a whole month later.

It just didn’t make any sense, no matter how many times you’d played that night over and over in your head - which was quite a lot, if you were being honest. The sudden lack of leads from Escobar’s men had seen to that, forcing you, Steve, and Javi, to spend a hell of a lot of time stuck at your desks at the embassy, sorting paperwork and trying to find ways to keep yours minds from wandering.

It was easier said than done.

No matter how many extras files you offered to handle, you still couldn’t get Javi out of your mind. Not when he was always sat opposite you, smoking away or making conversation with Steve… and occasionally you, but only when he had to - something you’d noticed early on.

Even Steve had noticed Javi’s sudden aversion to being left alone with you. It was beyond odd, and had lead to him staring at the pair of you with a baffled look on his face as Javi seemed to always find somewhere else to be just as he was about to leave you two alone.

It was like your own version of hell.

At this point, you’d almost pay one of Escobar’s men to give you an excuse to get out of the embassy and away from the suffocating tension that lingered between you.

“What the hell is going on between you?” Connie had pried, barging into your apartment as soon as Steve had filled her in on the latest situation between you and Javi. One look at her determined expression had warned you she wasn’t leaving without answers. “Did something happen the other night? When he walked you home after the bar?”

With a sigh, you’d told her everything from first to last, hoping she’d be able to make some sort of sense out of it.

“I just don’t get it, Con. I mean… he made fucking pancakes and slept in my bed. Then the next day, it’s like he can’t even look at me.”

“Did he say anything about it?”

You groaned, busying yourself with opening the bottle of wine Connie had brought with her. It was easier than letting her see the guilt on your face as you replayed your failed attempts to confront the man.

“I… I haven’t actually asked him about it,” you whispered.

“Y/N!”

“I know Connie-“

“Are you kidding me?”

“No,” you protested, ripping off the cork and emptying a worrying amount of the wine into your glass. Once you’d deemed your glass full enough for this conversation, you passed the bottle back and tried to ignore her disapproving glare. She looked scarily like your fourth grade teacher when she did that. “I know how it sounds, ok? I just can’t! I chicken out whenever I try and, I have tried! It’s like trying to wrestle an eel trying to get him alone with me for more than thirty seconds.”

It was Connie’s turn to sigh, running a hand through her hair as she leant back into the couch. “So Steve tells me.”

“Oh? What else has Stevie been saying?”

“Just that he’s worried about you two,” Connie continued, smirking at the outraged expression on your face. “I’m his wife, Y/N. He’s gonna tell me stuff, and by the sounds of it, you two aren’t exactly being subtle about the whole thing. It’s been driving Steve mad. I had to talk him out of locking you both in a closet until you two worked this out.”

You paused. Oh, Steve was gonna get it next time you saw him.

And he called Connie dramatic? Locking you in a closet? What was this? Some cheesy telenovela?

“For a DEA agent, he can be an idiot sometimes. As if that was gonna work.”

“Who knows,” Connie laughed, shrugging her shoulders. “But at least it might have got you two talking again, even if only about how much you both hated Steve. It would have been a start.”

Sure, but the start of what?

You weren’t sure anymore of where your life was headed, or even where you wanted it to be headed. Your relationship - or non-existent one - with Javi, was just one more murky variable you had yet to decide on.

Did you even want to fix things? He had been the one to cut you off after all. Why should you go running after someone who clearly didn’t want you, or value you? You were better than that. You were worth more than that.

Whatever his problem was, it wasn’t on you to fix it.

“A start of a court case after we murder each other, you mean?” you grumbled, taking another desperate gulp of wine. However, you did your best not to spit it out a second later as Connie said something you’d never thought you’d hear… not outside of your dreams, anyway.

“Or, the start of a relationship? I mean, honestly, Y/N? I think he likes you.”

“What?”

“I mean it,” Connie hummed thoughtfully. “Why else would he spook like this? I saw how he was looking at you that night, gazing at you in the rearview the whole way home. He likes you and knowing him, he probably doesn’t do feelings very often. He’s probably scared to feel like that about someone. Especially, someone he works with.”

You snorted at the absurdity of it. Did Connie hear herself? She was talking bullshit. Sure, Javi had said that he hadn’t been seeing his informants in his usual sense any more, but he could have been lying. Or, he could have found some other source of comfort. Either way, it wasn’t proof he had feelings for you. Not real feelings. Not feelings that would warrant this level of panic.

“Holy shit. You sound like my Mom.”

“What?”

“She used to tell me crap like, if a boy’s mean to you it’s because he likes you,” you sniggered, trying to ignore the brief flicker of hope that lingered, even now. ”But he doesn’t. If he’s mean, he’s mean and you should shove him on his ass.”

Connie smirked. “You wanna shove Javi on his ass?”

“Yes, no, I mean…” you babbled, caught off by her logic. “I’m just saying, he doesn’t like me. I thought he did, Con, but he doesn’t. End of story. He made it perfectly clear when he ran out my apartment like I’d given him a disease. This is Javi, we’re talking about, Connie. You know him as well as I do. He slept next to me and didn’t make a single move the whole night. What does that tell you about how he sees me?”

“I think it says a lot,” Connie sighed. “And that he has enough of a conscience not to make a move on an upset, drunk, grieving woman.”

“Be that as it may, he doesn’t get a medal for being a good person.”

“No, but it does tell you a lot about him and how much he cares about you. Why else would he do all that? And, not tell anyone about it either? It’s not like he did it for the good-guy points.”

You hated how right she was. You also hated how this conversation wasn’t making anything clearer at all. If anything, it had just got more complicated.

It was official: things had been much simpler before Javier Peña had come into your life.

——

As with most things in your life, there was a certain inevitability about things. Like, no matter how hard you tried to avoid something - or someone - they nearly always ended up catching up with you eventually. Honestly, you didn’t know why you were surprised to find Javi was one of those things.

Clearly, the universe was done with letting you two try and work things out by yourselves. Fate had got bored and decided to step in and intervene, or so you grumbled quietly, listening to the Ambassador’s orders with horror: You were off on an assignment.

Not just any assignment either, but a raid. A big raid at that, hoping to bust one of Escobar’s labs located out in the jungle. The intel had come via one of Javi’s informants and had somehow been proven as true enough to act on. But of course, things were never simple.

Not only were you going on a raid, but you were partnered off in teams with individual areas to take charge of once you hit the ground. It was standard procedure and nothing to throw you off your game, but it was who your teammate was that concerned you.

None other than Javier Peña himself - a fact that made you wonder if there was any way you could beg Steve into swapping with you. You’d much prefer teaming up with Carillo instead. Even if he was a little cold towards you, at least he didn’t treat you like a nameless nobody. His nonchalance came from professional courtesy, not personal disgust.

However, you’d never even had the chance to ask. Not when the Ambassador had ordered you all off there and then, piling you into a chopper and dumping your asses on the ground with barely enough time to strap yourselves into tactical gear, let alone negotiate the particulars of the operation.

At least being out in the field meant Javi had to talk to you. There wasn’t really a way he could avoid it, or even you, given that you were supposed to be keeping each other alive long enough to shut down the operation being run out here.

One look at the tents and workstations dotted around the surrounding jungle told you this wasn’t going to be easy. There were a lot of workers, and even more weapons between them. Weapons as big and as powerful as your own.

“Close in on your positions,” a voice ordered, crackling into life over the radio you had hooked up to you. One look at Javi, crouched in the brush beside you, told you’d he’d heard loud and clear. The well-rehearsed signal his hand made, followed by a slow nod, also told you he was ready to move in on the specific area your pair had been told to target.

“Stay close,” he whispered, almost as if it was an after thought.

You wanted to roll your eyes, and had you not been about to entire a life threatening situation, you probably would have. Instead, the best you could do was repeat his words back mockingly.

“You stay close.”

Javi looked surprised by the venom in your voice.

Thankfully, he was spared the chance to reply as a shout echoed throughout the clearing, sending men charging in all directions, gunfire quick to follow.

“Go, go, go!”

The command was clear.

You gripped your gun tightly, raising it and hurrying out of your hiding spot to join the others. Without even looking you could tell Javi was following alongside you, opening fire on the sicarios who were firing back at you.

You were quick to pick off the immediate threats, choosing your targets and pulling the trigger with a familiar ease that - to this day - made you worry for your soul. Still, as Javi had once told you, it was you or them. When it came down to it, pulling the trigger wasn’t a choice but a necessity.

You hated the fact his words brought you comfort as you turned and fired a shot at a passing assailant with surprising speed. If only all problems could be removed as easily.

“Y/N! 9 o’clock!”

You turned, firing again before registering it had been Javi that had warned you.

So, he did remember your name after all.

You didn’t know if that made things better or worse between you considering he’d just been choosing not to use it. Either way, you knew the aggression as you stormed through the tarp flaps of the tent wasn’t entirely due to the men you knew would be inside.

“¡Detener!” you bellowed, watching as Javi mirrored you. “Deje el arma y levante las manos donde pueda verlas.” (*Stop! Put down the gun and put your hands up where I can see them)

“Estas bajo arresto!” (*You’re under arrest!)

Your voice was loud, even if your Spanish was still a little rough despite being in Colombia for almost eight months. It wasn’t like you had Javi to teach you while you worked anymore, but you knew enough by this point to get by.

You also knew a remarkable amount of insults and swears - words that were quickly thrown at you by the men in front of you, hands raised and cocaine powder staining their hands from their nearby work stations.

“Maldita perra americana,” one spat, as if not caring you had a gun pointed at his head. (*Damn American Bitch)

“Puede que sea una perra, pero soy el que tiene la pistola, pendejo,” you warned, reminding yourself that you couldn’t kill the bastards for simply annoying you. They were unarmed and workers, even if people like these had been behind your sister’s OD. It was their cocaine, shipped in to the US, in packages like the ones surrounding you, that had lead to your sister’s demise.

(*I might be a bitch but I'm the one with the gun, asshole)

“Sigues siendo una perra-” (*You’re still a bitch)

“Want to say that again? Huh?” Javi barked, surging towards the one who had spoken and grabbing his sweat-stained wife-beater in his fist. With surprising ferocity, he slammed the man back against the wooden pillar in the centre of the tent and pressed his gun into his cheek. “¿Quieres decirme eso a la cara? O eres un bastardo muy valiente o muy estúpido.”

(*Do you want to say that to my face? Either you are a very brave bastard or a very stupid)

“Javi!” you scolded, eyes wide at your partner. Sure, this wasn’t the first time Javi had been a little unorthodox with his methods, but he’d never been so openly violent or unhinged in front of you. He normally left that to Carillo, or at least waited until you weren’t watching. He knew how you hated it. “Javi! Let him go! Just cuff him already.”

“Oh, I don’t know. What’s one more dead asshole?”

The man had the decency to finally look terrified as he whimpered, squirming under Javi as he looked at you, as if begging for you to rein in your partner.

“I could pull the trigger, here and now. No one would care.”

“No! NO! Por favor. Lo siento.” (*Please. I’m sorry)

“Javi,” you snapped. “Fucking stop, already! What is wrong with you? Jesus!”

Your horror must have finally got through to him as Javi tensed, throwing the man to the floor before looking at you with guilt in his eyes.

This man was just a puzzle wrapped in an enigma. You could never work him out. Never. After all, this man was the man who’d been treating you like you had the plague, but now? Now he was seconds away from losing it over one sicario insulting you?

It wasn’t like you weren’t used to it. You’d been called a lot worse by a lot more terrible people.

What was wrong with him? It couldn’t just be because you were his partner. You were Steve’s partner and it took more than the odd asshole calling you a bitch to rile him up.

Speaking of your partner, you were pleased to hear his voice interrupting over the radio, speaking to you from his position the other side of the site. It was like he knew something was wrong between them. “Come in, Peña? L/N? Can you hear me?”

“Yes, Steve. We hear you,” you replied swiftly, unable to look at Javi as he finally cuffed the guy, beginning to hand him and the other workers off to the soldiers that were now joining you. “This side is secured.”

“Good. We’re headed over to you guys now. We’re just processing how much damn product there is. My bet is it’s worth at least a couple million. Carillo says closer to ten million.”

You scoffed. Typical. You’d been in a war zone a matter of minutes ago, and your colleagues were already placing bets like this was just some game?

“Put me down. $10 says it’s five million.“

Steve laughed. “You got it. Escobar is gonna lose his shit. Peña?”

Javi was slow to respond, taking a deep breath as he ran a hand through his hair. You knew he was trying to look like he was thinking it over, but his eyes gave him away. Even behind his signature yellow aviators. He was too busy staring between you and the floor to be paying all that much attention.

Suddenly, the tent seemed all the more stifling and it wasn’t because of the humidity of the Colombian jungle.

“Uh… seven, put me down for seven.”

“You got it! Hurry your asses up and meet us at the rendezvous. We need to fucking celebrate.”

You were quick to follow his instruction, turning and hurrying out of the tent before you could pass out. Unfortunately, the sound of footsteps behind you told you Javi had done the same. Perhaps it was Steve’s promise of celebrating that had him moving with surprising speed as you began to make your way back to the centre of the site, where Carillo would be co-ordinating the effort to wrap this operation up.

It would take a while, if not the rest of the day, to catalogue everything and start moving the detainees somewhere for interrogation. Even if they were just grunt workers, you knew someone likely knew something that could give you a lead towards catching Escobar.

That was why you were here, after all. To catch the bastard behind all of this. Not to make friends, or have an adventure, or all the other bullshit you’d been telling yourself since you’d moved down here. This was just a job. One that you’d be glad to finish, sooner rather than later, especially if it meant you didn’t have to deal with the agent walking behind you.

You could feel his eyes boring into the back of your head as you marched across the clearing. It was like he was just waiting to say something but couldn’t bring himself to spit it out.

That was a first. A speechless Javier?

“You want to tell me what happened back there?”

Your words hung in the air, the offer clear even without you looking at the agitated agent behind you. All you could hear in response was the undergrowth crunching beneath his boots as he took a breath, as if debating whether to answer.

“Nothing happened.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes, really.”

“So you don’t want to explain to me why you almost went ape shit back there?”

“I did not,” he huffed, sounding oddly bored by the conversation. “I was merely apprehending a possible threat. He was disrespecting you but also the DEA. You’re not going to make me explain defending a colleague, are you?”

“Like how Steve’s cat was DEA?” you scoffed, disbelief evident as you stopped dead in your tracks and whirled to face him. God. Even through your hate you couldn’t help but admire the way he looked, with his sinful dark green button down clinging to him in the heat. Even with his tactical vest still on, you could see that the top two buttons were undone, which didn’t help matters at all. “All he did was throw a few nasty words my way, Peña. I’m a big girl. I can handle it.”

Javi looked stunned you’d even suggest otherwise. “I never said you couldn’t.”

“Then why did you-?”

You never got the chance to finish the question.

You’d barely even opened your mouth to start before you were interrupted by the sudden chorus of startled shouts, echoing across the clearing. Panic was almost tangible in the air as your head turned, staring towards the structure nearest you as a shout of “¡Bomba! ¡Hay una bomba! ¡Todos se mueven! Es una trampa. Va a explotar. Carrera” rang out.

You weren’t fluent in Spanish, but as you said before, you knew enough words to get by. The words ‘bomb’, ‘trap’ and ‘run’ were definitely clear enough for your heart to race and your eyes to widen in shock.

Before you could even move, you felt arms wrap around your body, hauling you to the ground as an earth shattering explosion sent the world turning.

The entire world felt like it shook as dirt and debris erupted overhead, causing you to curl in on yourself tightly. You could only hear ringing in your ears as you struggled to make sense of what had just happened.

A bomb.

There had been a bomb.

Fuck. Escobar had likely left it as a fail safe in case the place was raided as it had been today. Someone had likely set it to explode the moment your team and Search Bloc had come running out of the trees.

Oh god.

A weight was pressed against you, arms holding you close to someone as your world began to righten itself. Only as your vision stopped spinning were you able to realise someone was holding you, shielding your body beneath theirs as they’d thrown you both to the ground.

The sudden smell of cigarettes, whiskey and cologne told you exactly who it was on top of you. The feel of his hands around you was also a pretty big clue, given how you’d memorised their feel a month ago, when he’d held you similar to this… in a bed… soothing you as you’d drifted to sleep, safe and sound.

“Y/N?”

Javi’s voice was soft in your ear as he repeated your name over and over until you seemed to acknowledge him. It must have been shock that kept you still for so long, unresponsive as he sat up, releasing you and checking you over with pure unadulterated terror on his face.

“Y/N? Can you hear me? Are you hurt?”

“Javi?” you whispered.

You had to be concussed. Maybe you’d hit the ground harder than you’d thought? There was no way Javi would be looking down at you with such kindness and relief, an expression all too similar to the one he’d worn as he’d put you to bed before.

The old Javi? Maybe. But this new Javi, the one who had appeared in old-Javi’s place, recently? No. He could barely give you the time of day, let alone do something as monumentally stupid as this. Risking his life to save yours without even hesitating?

It was enough to make your eyes water.

“I… I’m fine,” you croaked, pulling away all-too quickly and scrambling to your feet again. The world swayed dangerously, but you weren’t about to give Javi the satisfaction of holding on to him for support. You were fine, all things considered. “You good?”

Javi nodded, also getting to his feet. “Yeah. Yeah I am.”

You’d been lucky. A quick glance behind you told you the explosion’s epicentre had been close enough to you both to knock you down, but far enough away to avoid any real damage. Hopefully, no one had been injured… or worse.

Suddenly, it all became too real, too fast, as you realised what had almost happened. You stared at Javi, trying to prove to yourself that you were both ok.

He wasn’t bleeding.

He wasn’t wounded.

He was simply coated in dirt and sweat, and still looking unfairly handsome for it.

It wasn’t fair. Not by a long shot, and considering the hellish day you’d had, it was no surprise your temper finally seemed to snap, terror quickly gave way to relief, which quickly gave way to something else… Rage.

“You asshole!” you seethed, slapping Javi’s arm as hard as you could. The yelp he gave wasn’t nearly as satisfying as you’d hoped for, but his surprise was. He looked at you like you’d lost your damn mind. Maybe you had? Who knew anymore? “You utter asshole, Javi! What were you thinking? Actually, you clearly weren’t thinking else you’d never have been so stupid as to pull a stunt like that back there-”

“Stupid? I was looking out for you!”

“I didn’t ask you to, Peña,” you snarled, pointing at him. “Why would you even care if I got a bit of shrapnel in me? It would do you a favour, actually, if I ended up in the hospital for a few days. Give you a break from me and trying to avoid me.”

“What?” he choked, looking genuinely horrified by your declaration. So much so that it took him a minute to realise you’d started to march away from him, intending on getting back to the others and the hell out of here. “Y/N. Stop. Don’t be ridiculous.”

His hand was warm as it touched your arm, turning you to face him as he had that night in the hallway. Yet again, you were forced to recoil, growling at the pity you found staring back at you.

“Do NOT touch me!”

“What-?“

“You can’t even look at me for a whole month, Peña, and suddenly you’re willing to be some hero? Taking a damn hit for me? Throwing yourself on top of me like that? How dare you!” you hissed, pure rage and hurt coursing through you as the adrenaline wore off. “I am as capable an agent as you are. I know you don’t think all that highly of people without pricks between their legs, but I don’t need you protecting me. I don’t need anything from you. Not when we both know you don’t care. You made that pretty clear last time.”

Javi blinked, hands on his hips, as if trying to process what the hell was happening. Even through your outrage, you hated knowing that the pain in his eyes was your fault. “Last time? Now wait a fucking minute, if you’re talking about the night Xiomara died-”

“What other fucking night would I be talking about, asshole?”

“I don’t know! Stop yelling at me and calm down!”

“I AM CALM!” you screamed, hating the irony of the moment. At least Steve and Carillo weren’t there to witness it. As it was, you could feel the eyes of several officers staring at you as you gave them a show you didn’t need. “Now, why don’t you just do us both a favour and fuck off. You’ve done your hero thing. It worked well last time. Your job is done. Completed. Finished. Wouldn’t want me to think you actually cared about me.”

“Y/N-”

“No, Javi!”

“Y/N,” he snarled, rooting you to the spot as something cold ran down your spine. The feel of his hand loosely gripping your arm was enough to make your heart stop all over again. “Just… let me explain, ok? Please?”

You’d hardly ever heard Javi say that word: please. Let alone so desperately, so brokenly, as if afraid you’d say no. That you’d walk away and leave him standing there.

On one hand, it would have served him right given he’d all but done the same thing to you. However, you didn’t have it in you to be petty, and it would have been petty to carry on this feud just to spite him. To cause him pain. To make him feel how he’d made you feel.

Was it wrong to want that?

Was it wrong to not want that? To replace this rage with something better? Something else entirely that would make the ache inside of you go away and allow you to get back on with living your life.

Then again, how could you? How could you go back to how things had been before, with your shared jokes and hidden smiles? With his habit of bringing you coffee from the place you both liked on the corner, every morning? With his kind words and ability to put a smile on your face even after the darkest of days?

To go back to that also meant going back to him seeing you as a friend and nothing more. To acting as if the private conversations, and the vulnerability he’d gifted you with in your apartment, hadn’t ever happened. To watching as he drank, smoked, and fucked away any real emotion he had.

Be that as it may, despite it all, he’d at least acknowledged your existence…

A minute passed before you took a breath and mustered the courage to look back at him.

“Ok.”

Javi’s body instantly relaxed as he realised what you’d said. “Thank you,” he sighed, gesturing to the waiting helicopter further down the hill. The invitation was clear. “But… just not here, ok? We can talk back at the embassy or at your place, or mine, just… somewhere private.”

You nodded. You had a feeling you’d both need it for the conversation awaiting you both.

“Ok. We can talk back at mine. Let’s just get the hell out of here first.”

You didn’t have to ask him twice.

#ithebookhoarder #javier peña x reader #javier pena #javier pena x you #javier peña #javier peña x you #javier pena x reader #narcos #steve murphy #connie murphy #prompt #request #part 2 #pedro pascal #narcos imagine #narcos headcanons #narcos x reader

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csykora · 3 years

Text

A thought about meaningful change

I don’t want to distract from the most recent thing Benn did. I’m going to be talking about several different things, and some might seem smaller than others: I know. I’m not saying that the newest thing isn’t important enough on its own or that everything’s on the same level. But I think patterns can be useful.

(I have also made myself sick with nerves a couple times so I’m posting this as is: sorry for typos, and while I’ll stand behind my ideas there may be some sentences that are a little long or awkwardly worded).

Back in 2015, Jame Benn and Tyler Seguin were doing a radio interview.

Some of you might be thinking, “You want to talk about THIS, AGAIN?” Yes. More of you are probably thinking, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Yeah, that’s what I want to talk about.

cw for discussions of sexual harassment, incest, homophobia, bullying, misogyny and transmisogyny, transphobia

So during this interview, one of the radio hosts asked Benn if he and his brother were ever road roommates. Benn said no, and the host commented that Henrik and Daniel Sedin probably roomed together.

“Well yeah…that’s the Sedins,” Seguin said.

“Who knows what else they do together?" Benn said. Everyone laughed.

“Seriously,” Seguin said.

"Dude, it's creepy," the radio hosts said, "In fact, it's a good example to future brothers in the NHL on how not to do things." Then they reassured Benn, “In no way am I implying that you have a Sedin-type vibe going about you.”

Benn and Seguin laughed. The conversation continued, calling the Sedins creepy for wearing similar facial hair, leaving nearby and spending too much time together.

When asked pointblank, “Are the Sedins weird?” Benn answered, “I don’t know. I can’t say.”

To finish the sentence he didn’t: he was implying that the Sedin brothers fuck each other.

Now, these were shock jockeys. They were almost certainly hoping Benn and Seguin would say something homophobic. That said, even shock jockeys pre-screen an interview. They’re not going to invite just anyone on the air and try this with them, because all it takes is someone saying, “I don’t know what you mean,” or “No, I actually respect Dan and Henke a lot as my colleagues” to ruin that set up. If a shock jockey thinks you’re a mark, you’ve probably said something off-air that made them think you’re a mark. And if they dug a pit in front of him, Benn is still the one who decided to stick his dick in it and make things overtly sexual.

After, the Stars stated that Benn had “reached out” the Sedins to apologize. Seguin did not reach out but was “included” in whatever Benn wrote or said. Neither of them gave a public explanation or apology. As far as I can tell the Sedins never commented on whether they received that message, what sort of apology it was, or whether they accepted it. Henrik Sedin’s only comment was, “I think it says more about them than it does about us.”

Ways that homophobia is working here:

-the idea that two men having any degree of physical or emotional closeness, even family members, is suspicious.

-Benn roomed with his brother. Course he did. The hosts spell out what he was afraid of: that the other men in the room might think he had the wrong vibe. He was so afraid of them thinking he had unmanly vulnerabilities like liking his own brother that he misrepresented the situation and pushed someone else forward.

-the idea that a man having any relationship to another man’s physical body or appearance, is suspicious.

Dressing or looking too similar to another man—which means you’ve paid attention to how another man’s body looks in order to copy him, like you’re trying to take ownership of his body, which = fucking him—is a really common accusation. Gay men are seen as lusting after and trying to copy other men’s real masculinity for themselves (but of course never quite succeeding). A man thinking that another man who he knows or suspects to be gay looks too similar to him, and so must have been watching and ‘copying’ him, is a common spark for homophobic attacks.

-the idea that any of this could have been a joke depends on the idea that two men having sex is wacky and unrealistic. Imagine if that happened, wouldn’t that be weird.

Now, someone might say, “It’s not that gay sex is wacky, it’s that the incest that is!” First, incest accounts for a lot of childhood sexual abuse, so I wouldn’t say it’s wacky either. And while it’s true that people can say awful things to different gender twins as well out of a combination of gender prejudices, in this case there were also homophobic ideas about men and masculinity at play.

Ways that power is working here:

-People forgot this fast. It was treated as settled because the Stars said it was settled. People gave “kudos” to Benn “doing the right thing” afterward, or for seeming to realize what was happening and not saying yes to the final question.

I would argue that “I don’t know, I can’t say” is somehow a worse answer to a yes-or-no question, because it means that either you want to say yes but you’re scared of the consequences, or you sincerely don’t know what to say. All he had to do was say “No.” After he said “I don’t know,” Seguin continued and said, “They are weird.” If Benn had said, “No, actually they’ve been professional when I’ve worked with them and I won’t comment any more on their personal life,” Sequin might have noticed, and Benn might have encouraged him to change his behavior. Not saying “no” was a direct, demonstrable failure to show any kind of leadership.

-This counts as workplace sexual harassment. I’m not saying a case should have been pursued: that should have been at least partly up to the Sedins (although there should also be workplace rules about what is and isn’t acceptable without the victims having to ask for it). But that’s a word we can use for this, this could have been counted as that. Sexual harassment are actions based on a person’s gender, assigned sex, sexual activity, or other qualities related to sex, not just sexual attraction. I worry that often, conflicted feelings about putting people into the category of “Sexual Harasser” lead people to think that actions “aren’t bad enough” to be sexual harassment when they definitionally can be. In other lines of work, if you talk about your coworkers fucking their twins in the office, there are rules about that: at the very least, you’ll be getting a bunch of trainings and be moved to a part of the office where you won’t see them again.

In the NHL, it seems frighteningly clear that people don’t have recourse for sexual harassment. This was discussed and handled as a “childish insult”, not harassment against two coworkers/employees. Often, there’s a logic that something is just an insult, not a ‘real’ threat, because the person who did it couldn’t possibly be sexually attracted to the person they did it to.

-In 2015 Eric and Jordan Staal were living in identical houses outside Raleigh and ‘playing’ together every night. Seems super suspicious. Unless beefy Canadian boys’ behavior is normal, and European masculinity always has to be questioned as being softer-spoken, slimmer, more intellectual, scared of heavy hitting. There are a lot of reasons you might not call Eric Staal gay—maybe you know he’s bigger than you, more successful on Team Canada than you, more popular with the other Team Canada guys than you. Or maybe you just don’t look at him and think he could be gay. Or both. Eric is positioned so you’d have to punch up at him: Benn tried to position himself closer to that kind of social standing, by pushing someone else who already doesn’t quite fit in further out. This isn’t directly in the words, so I’m not all-out accusing them of xenophobia: what I mean is that it’s always worth asking if and how and why feminization is applied to Those Other People.

There’s the eating out thing. Which he sent to teammate Jason Demers, commenting “I feel like your (sic) the kind of guy who would”.

How misogyny is working here:

-the idea that this could have been funny or interesting or worth saying at all depends on the idea that vulvas are weird. Imagine if someone willing touched a cis woman with anything but their dick. Gosh.

-There’s no good explanation for what ‘the kind of guy who would’ was meant to mean. No one says, ‘Hey, do you do this widely mocked sex act? I don’t, but I think you would, and that’s cool and doesn’t affect your masculinity at all, bro, life is a rich tapestry.’

How power is working here:

-This counts as sexual harassment again. Even if asking a coworker (or really more like someone you shift-manage or who reports to you) ‘how do you fuck your partner?’ wasn’t, saying ‘you seem like you would do ___’ is. Again, I’m not saying that Demers has to feel that way about it, but he should have had options.

-Demers was also in a new relationship at the time, so this could be harassment to both him and his partner, who had no recourse when someone her partner has to work with/for comments on her body.

-I don’t think it was intended as sexual harassment. But there’s not really a nice explanation of what he meant to say. It seems like it was intended as an insult or a ‘warning’: ‘this is the way men are allowed and no allowed to be in our group, do you know your place?’

Around that time, the Stars shared a video of Benn, Seguin, and Valeri Nichushkin. Each were supposed to say a couple lines, including their name. Valeri pronounced his nickname ‘Vall’, with a native Russian accent, more like “Wall” in English. Each time Benn and Seguin laughed and questions him and the producer cut. After a couple takes Benn said, “I thought your name was ‘Val.’”

Sequin physically turned away from Nichushkin and laughed. Nichushkin, not understanding the comment, and not laughing, turned to Benn for an explanation, but Benn only turned toward Seguin, both continuing to laugh.

It was part of a pattern of comments from observers: “If Tyler Seguin and Jamie Benn are having a laugh in the locker room, Nichushkin can only guess what’s so funny.” They themselves commented on how “His English is really not good at all…A lot of times we find him just sitting there.” “(In) normal conversations, he doesn’t really know what’s going on.”

I’ll give them credit—they said they felt pity and “try to help” too. I just can’t find any examples of them doing it, compared to teammates like Sharp or Spezza who can more concretely describe spending time with him.

Nichushkin chose to burn contract time in the KHL rather than Dallas before being bought out, expressing that he no longer felt like he “belonged in the NHL.” He felt that the Stars didn’t “trust” in him, was “nervous” in the locker room, and said his family worried for his mental health because of the culture.

“There is a bit of it because I want to be part of the conversation when someone says something,” Nichushkin said. “But I don’t have enough words I know so I can join in.”

-Is it the worst xenophobia in the world? Nah. It’s not free from xenophobia, when the only joke is that someone speaks differently than you. It’s not Benn joking about his own misunderstanding to invite Nichushkin in. I often point to Tripp Tracy, who asks players to teach him words in their language and then sets up jokes about his accent so they can deliver the punchline and laugh with him.

-Is it bullying? It kind of came off like it, to make a joke about someone you know can’t understand. At least it was unnecessary, and unkind. It’s just reminding someone they don’t belong.

-It’s unimpressive. It’s deflecting. Oh, he doesn’t know what’s going on? What did you do to tell to him? My family communicate through a mix of finger-signing, Scrabble tiles, and interpretive dance: I guarantee you, if you can’t communicate concepts like “we’re going to get dinner now, you’re welcome here, we’re having fun!”, you’re not trying. Which is fine, I guess, you don’t have to talk to people, unless it’s like, your job to work with your teammates.

Wanting to ban trans*feminine athletes from competition is based on a complete misunderstanding of math, medicine, and athletics; it’s unnecessary, unethical, and unkind.

It’s an unsurprising continuation of the ideas that there’s a line between men and women and transgressing it is suspicious, that women are gross, that people who are different are shocking and funny, that social pressure can and should be used to remind people who are different that they don’t belong.

It’s a fascist use of power, which I don’t say to mean that “He is A Fascist in every sense,” but that those beliesf express a desire and a comfort with using power to control other people’s bodies, and which bodies have access to certain spaces, to maintain “purity”.

I’m not saying that anyone should have looked at any of these things and easily decided in that moment, “That’s it, he’s shouldn’t have a platform or power over other players, he’s irredeemable.” You might look at a couple of them and think, “That’s not even a problem at all.” I’ll agree to disagree on some of them, but my point is about a pattern of how this dude uses the power he’s given.

I have a phrase, or more a series of words I sometimes yell when I’m talking about subjects like this—“STRUCK A TIM HORTONS.” I shout this in commemoration of the time that Ryan O’Reilly got drunk and drove his pickup into the wall of a small town Ontario Timmies.

“Struck a Tim Hortons” is a very good phrase to read in a police report. And, also, I’m an ACoA. I’ve experienced impaired driving, I’m terrified to shaking of it, and I know that other people have experienced much worse consequences. This isn’t a perfect metaphor (it’s not an example of prejudice or violence against a class of people, etc) but my point is that I try to hold it in my heart because that’s one case where I know what it’s like to really, really want something to just be NBD. Where part of me wants to just think it was a funny mistake so I don’t have to really think about the serious implications of it, and part of me super doesn’t. I have an instinct to resolve those feelings, to come down and decide that it’s either insignificant enough that I don’t have to think about it, or significant enough that I can hate him and then also stop thinking about it, and then I can have the relief of feeling just one feeling at a time.

I don’t think it’s bad to feel conflicted learning something about someone. I think it’s important.

But the problem is that if one thing isn’t significant enough, and we decide to keep thinking someone is fundamentally Good, we often toss that thing out. So when another thing happens, we only look at the new thing, trying to decide: is this enough? And that next thing might not be enough either. So we can go on and on, until you add up to a lot of things that have each done some harm, but none of them have been enough to change how we see and talk about someone.

Now I, personally, decided that the Timmies wasn’t so bad that ROR couldn’t ever make it up to me. But I didn’t decide to feel fine about it: I tried to just put a pin in how conflicted I felt. It’s been years, and over the years I think his actions have showed meaningful change. He hasn’t struck a Starbucks, a Dunkin, or even a Caribou. There’s a pattern.

I think a lot of people who don’t really like the things Benn says or does or believes have given him a lot of chances to make up for them, because they don’t want him to really mean those things. By which I really mean that I know there are a lot of women and queer fans who liked the guy. I get it (I don’t actually get it get it, but I mean I can try to understand people coming from a very different place than I do about him).

I’ve read a lot of ways that people who are themselves vulnerable in our society try to empathize with him by imagining him as vulnerable too--he’s also experienced fatphobia, homophobia, he wasn’t expected to succeed, etc! I think that’s a wonderfully human instinct. But often I think people have more empathy for those experiences than he expresses for himself--he agrees that it was Bad to be fat and he’s Worked Hard to fit into the masculine norm, he agrees that it’s Bad to be close with another man and works to avoid it--and certainly more than he has showed in his actions toward others. If you’re going to say I hate him for saying that, I don’t--I want him and everyone in our society not to feel and do this shit!

I see a lot of people starting from the idea he is a good leader trying really hard to spin his choices as a smart strategy when he plays dumb with media, when he doesn’t give specific action plans or give public statements or apologies. (I actually agree with the first one, I think it is a strategy for him to avoid transparency and not do a part of his job that he doesn’t want to do.) It just…it seems like a lot of work to reach a pre-determined goal. It’s okay to like someone and for them to still not be good at their jobs! When I say I think a guy’s not a good leader, that’s not always the same as saying he’s a bad person. And if we keep on promoting a guy as a good leader because we like them regardless of their demonstrated leadership skills…that’s how we end up with a lot of shitty policies in the NHL.

Over the years he has consistently avoided stepping up to his captaincy and using his personal power to say things like, “No,” “Tyler, cut it out,” “This is what I’m going to do to fix a problem,” or “I believe in…” anything, really.

I really, really want to ask people to be mad as hell and advocate for the NHL to improve its code of conduct and harassment processes. I do. But I’m also tired. I don’t think, if I did ask you that, it would work. I don’t have an argument for why you should be mad at someone who’s mad at my existence. I’m not trying. I just want to encourage you, if you’re feeling the tug of feelings and just want to be able to simplify someone’s behavior and love them in simple terms, to put a pin in the more complicated parts, and remember them the next time, and look for patterns.

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