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themaclean · 16 days

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We Don't Have To Be Friends (1/2) Characters: Cooper Howard/Lucy MacLean. Summary: 3,507 words, Post Season One -- character study that was meant to be PWP, but then ended up being entirely plot. Part two will be smut or I will krill myself. Warnings: Nothing you wouldn't see in the show. ( Ao3 ) > Part One | Part Two | Part Three <

Cooper never thought much about Hollywood anymore.

He had no reason to and no time either— but the thoughts bubbled up when he saw how the gold thread of his shirt dulled and familiar street signs melted into slack arches. Sometimes, he’d catch sight of a tattered newspaper with names he recognized or faces of people long since dead.

But nothing made him think of Hollywood the way Lucy did.

It hit him one afternoon with a nasty churn, that flash of the old world that locked his knees mid-stride. It was pathetic, really, when he thought about it now.

It was the flash of Lucy's Vault-Tec-sponsored smile over her shoulder, her thin hand with a necrotized finger pointing ahead of them at some landmark she’d heard of. With her head turned at just the right angle, and the sun was low as it caught the edges of her cheeks and lashes…

She had the sort of face girls in the movies had: clear skin, big eyes, and neat hair. Pretty — beautiful, actually, but not as a matter of compliment. Beautiful in the way she’d make a good price at any given market if he was inclined to sell her. Beautiful in the way people loved to exploit.

That’s the lifeblood of Hollywood—that churning mass of young talent desperate to prove they had what it takes. They’d sweet talk whoever they needed to, go to the parties, and chat his ear off about how amazing he’d been in whatever movie had come out lately, about the sponsorships they’d been offered, and about the dresses they got sent. They’d slip him their number and hold his bicep too long like they’d been taught to by managers and mothers alike.

Dozens of pretty women rushed to audition for the role of arm candy. They’d audition to play the mayor's daughter, the farmer's daughter, or so-and-so’s daughter. They’d always been the damsel. Then, whatever cowboy he’d been hired to play would toss the pretty woman onto the back of Sugarfoot and ride off into the sunset. The sort of girl who'd be gone by the next movie or end up married to a director, so she'd quit acting.

And, much like all the girls in Hollywood Cooper had spent time with, Lucy had changed. She had the same optimism, but it’d dulled; her marketable face now held tired, empty eyes. It was like she finally caught onto the world’s current: no sunset and no next movie.

Cooper couldn’t fault her. It's a strange journey to discover what to do to survive.

“Hey Cooper — is that it?” Lucy asked, repeating herself. The sprawl of buildings ahead was dotted with torches and candles.

Cooper nodded, his hand firm on Dogmeat’s collar.

A short strip of buildings stood out against the expanse of desert and dry shrubs. Each building leaned towards another, with sheet metal fastened with unskilled welding. Several turrets puttered away, seeking whatever wasn’t humanoid enough. Strips of fabric and tin cans garlands peppered the buildings' front. The smaller buildings on either side were your standard fare: a repair shop, a medic, a trader with a little diner area.

But the one Cooper was after stood out for its neon sign—Hell’s Oasis.

Hell’s Oasis served its purpose—it was a decent place to get information, and the people minded their business. They weren’t too bothered with ghouls or mutants as long as you had caps. The place often served as a meeting ground for bounty hunters and their contractors. It was also one of the more upscale places, as they wouldn’t harvest organs unless you died of natural causes.

And, if you couldn’t fight or forage for survival, you could fuck for it.

(Not that Cooper ever wasted caps on the whores who took residence within Hell’s Oasis. He’d sooner pay people to fuck off than spend the night with him.)

Cooper grabbed Lucy by the nape of her neck to yank her close and keep her firmly by his side. Most people he brought here, he left here — call it a force of habit to handle her so roughly.

“I can walk, y’know,” Lucy hissed.

“Stick close,” Cooper clicked his tongue at her, and a slight hiss followed. His grip flexed to further the message that she’d do well to follow his guidance.

They made their way through the hotel lobby, the moldy carpet slick against the floor with dirt and grease from the world outside. A few people chattered away in the attached bar, laughing at jokes Cooper couldn’t make out. Casino chips clattered on the table as they played made-up card games.

Long dead plants clung to arid dirt, the sticks of old ferns wilting against one another. Metal crates were lashed together in each corner of the alcove where the front desk sat, providing a makeshift cage between the staff and the patrons. Several girls rushed past Cooper and Lucy, jeering and cackling as they approached the bar. They were clad in lacy nightgowns. He couldn’t tell if they knew they were lingerie rather than clothes or if they’d even care.

“It’s so lively here,” Lucy said, a pang of something in her face.

“It happens in pockets,” Cooper said with a shrug of his shoulder. Little uh… spots of life.”

“Must be why they call it an oasis.”

Cooper rolled his eyes as they reached the front desk. Magazines sat in thick stacks with information about local tours in the area and a guide to the national parks. An abandoned handbag was tucked against the desk, which Lucy eyed with curiosity.

Cooper slapped the front desk bell a few times, a gargling growl low in his throat.

They needed this break after a couple of weeks on the road together. Water was getting sparse, and he wanted to be ready to meet with whoever the fuck Hank had run off to. And in such an open desert, there’s no sense traveling at night, and all manner of dumb shit came up along the way.

It was always something. People needed help or some dumb cunt trying to pick a fight, resupplies, rest… He didn’t like helping people much, but Lucy argued with him whenever they tried to go on without at least trying. And whether the people lived or died, at least they tried. That was her argument.

But Lucy listened to him a little more now, and he was as patient as he could be with her.

Cooper rang the bell again. He wanted a room, and the chattering laughter in the bar was only making his aches worse.

Priscilla appeared from behind a moth-eaten velvet curtain. Her hairline was hidden beneath a thick headscarf with puffy blond curls bouncing beneath it. The last time he’d been here, her hair had begun to rot out of her skull. He guessed it’d only gotten worse. She’s still pretty, mirroring that old-world red lip with pin curls.

“Oh my God, is that you, Coop? I haven’t seen you in a long time,” Priscilla said in a slow, low voice. She had a rasp to it, always had, though he wasn’t sure if it was from the radiation or a smoking habit.

“Was underground,” Cooper said with a lazy smile. He wouldn’t mention that he’d been underground in a literal sense, trapped in a coffin.

“Well, it’s nice for you to come to see us and…” Priscilla’s gaze slid to Lucy, that usual surprise swelling up at the sight of a genuine Vault Dweller. They weren’t hard to spot. “Ah, you turning her in for a bounty?”

Lucy’s head snapped towards him, a mixture of shock and disgust.

“No,” Cooper shook his head, his grip firm on Lucy’s neck to turn her head away from him. His fingers tensed before they dropped away altogether, brushing across Lucy’s shoulder. “Tag-along. Helpin’ her uh…” He picked through the words that came to mind, cautious not to share too much. “Adjust to the surface.”

Priscilla’s jaw squared as she stared Lucy down.

“We’re just lookin’ for a room, some food,” Cooper said before she could pry further. “Usual fare.”

“Please,” Lucy said, like Cooper had forgotten, and it was important to say. “The usual fare, please.”

“She speaks,” Priscilla said in a purr.

Cooper had to give Lucy credit. She’d stayed quiet much longer than he’d expected.

“Oh, we’ll also need water,” Lucy said, looking up at Cooper. “For cleaning and drinking. I’m not sure if you separate it that way or if you reuse it unless you have showers.”

Priscilla narrowed her eyes. “Running water? We can get you a bucket of water, sweetness. That alright with you?”

“It works great for me. Big fan of buckets. They’re the backbone of agriculture and cleaning, really, if you think about it…” Lucy agreed, her smile as bright as the neon sign by the front window.

Priscilla looked at Cooper and then at Lucy, repeating the loop before she sauntered behind a moth-eaten velvet curtain strung up with zip ties. The distant hum of a generator underscored the silence as Cooper picked over the board of caricatures. Plenty of people were banned from the premises or with a bounty on their heads — no one stood out on the board, at least.

“She was giving us a weird look,” Lucy leaned closer to Cooper, feigning a swipe of her hand through her hair. The floor creaked as she shifted her weight closer to him. “Is it the bucket thing? I panicked.”

Cooper scoffed from the back of his throat.

“It is safe here, right? You trust her?”

“It’s safe,” Cooper bared his teeth at Lucy, begging her to return to the docile silence she’d thrived in.

“Then why — ”

Cooper hissed for her to shh through clenched teeth.

Priscilla pushed past the curtain. She gripped a little blue card with faded gold edges. A key with a golden ball chain was attached to the edge. It felt strangely archaic to be so formal about lodgings, but it was why he liked this place.

“I guess it makes sense,” Priscilla said as she slid the key to Cooper. She nodded to Lucy. “You wanting a girl who’s more… Old—world flavor. It reminds you of the golden years, hm?”

“Six, right?” Cooper ignored her question, his gaze fixed to the card.

“Six,” Priscilla repeated, her gaze on Lucy.

Cooper tossed a few caps onto the front desk, the clatter of metal their own punctuation. He notched his head towards the stairs, and Dogmeat and Lucy followed in stride. He was eager for the simple things — water, food, and a moment to let his bags rest.

“Wanting a girl…” Lucy smiled, mumbling more of Priscilla’s words under her breath.

After several flights of stairs and a few hours, Cooper felt all the better. He’d eaten his fill and enjoyed the peace of an enclosed room. He didn’t often allow himself such a luxury, as being in a settlement put a target on your back for any larger groups. But it’d been two weeks since they’d had proper rest out of the elements.

Tracking Hank wasn’t easy, either. That suit meant he could skip over all the pocked landscape and roaming threats. What would take him an hour to travel by air was a day for them sometimes, a fact that spurred Cooper on. But they couldn’t rush, as rushing would only get them killed.

One wrong step and you were deathclaw chow.

“God, more, please!”

And there went the silence. Cooper’s eye twitched; his lipless mouth sneered at the screeches.

Whoever had taken up residence in room five was making the most of their money — an hour straight of screams and moans, an hour straight of Lucy pretending to read. She’d picked up a holotape at the last outpost they’d stopped at; something about a sequel she’d always wanted to continue reading.

By the second hour, it wasn’t so much that room five stopped fucking. But they at least got a lot quieter about it. The occasional shriek or moan rattled through the air vents, but it was far and few between.

Lucy lay across the double bed, her boots discarded beside the door. Her vault suit hung from the defunct radiator. Her washing was all done, and she’d freshened up, the usual Lucy shit. She’d helped herself to the water and changed into some pajama set she’d pilfered from a house a few days back.

“I think it’s nice,” Lucy said into the open air of the hotel room.

Cooper looked up from his shotgun, teeth bared like he was trying to smile. “The quiet?”

“No,” Lucy smiled at the wall between them and room five. “That people can find love, even now.”

Cooper couldn’t stop himself from laughing at that. The cackles shook from low in his lungs and caught him so off-guard he hacked up some foul muck into his palm. He hissed through a wheezed breath as he fumbled with his RadAway puffer.

“I mean it! It’s not funny!”

“That ain’t love, Vaultie,” Cooper coughed out, his eyes narrowed as drool and tears mingled on his cheeks. He wiped his face, fine skin catching against the scarred, leathery mess. “That…” He pointed to the wall. “S’probably a whore and her John making the most of the caps.”

Lucy’s eyes darted as she picked apart what he’d said. “John..?”

“John’s a term for uh…” Cooper’s jaw strained against a smile, though it was far too cruel to be kind. “A guy who pays for sex.”

“Ah, wasteland slang,” she said with a solemn nod, as if it made sense she hadn’t caught on immediately.

“Old world slang,” Cooper corrected.

Lucy looked around the hotel room anew, like she’d finally caught on to what this place really was. She scooted to the edge of the bed, to sit with her legs angled towards him. “That woman at the front desk said you’d want a girl who’s old world — she thought I was a prostitute. ”

“Maybe.”

Lucy crossed her arms as if she had more to say on the matter. But then she remained quiet, uncharacteristically so.

“S’waste of caps.”

“Hiring me to have sex with you? Actually, I know all about sexual gratification, so I think it’d be a great use of money — caps.”

Cooper stared Lucy down as if he couldn’t parse what she’d just said. “Paying anyone money to fuck you is a waste.” Cooper tongued his lips apart. “Bullets. Meds. There’s shit worth paying for. Sex is — ”

“Important.”

“Sex ain’t worth much.”

“To you, maybe,” Lucy frowned. “It’s an act of love and intimacy, and… It’s how humanity continues, and it’s — fun if done well.”

“You wanna waste your caps on some cock?” Cooper snapped, his hand flapping at the door. “Be my guest.”

“No,” Lucy shook her head. “I don’t want to, but I’m saying that I… I think killing people is probably worse than sleeping with people for caps. If it’s to survive, I think it makes sense. Morally speaking.”

“Don’t,” Cooper snarled.

Cooper didn’t like how Lucy spoke to him most days, but this was a new, worse permutation. Her Vault-addled morality was sickening enough on its own, as she embodied whatever bullshit had been drip-fed to her by the company who’d bought her vault. Not that he was without sin, given the shit he’d done to survive this long.

But sex and love and all that shit was not front of mind. He needed to find his family and to know what happened to them. He didn’t need a two-cap blowjob from a stranger in the dim light of some bar. Though, in all honesty, his drug habit mixed with the amount of alcohol he’d drowned himself in, some nights got hazy.

There’s that animalistic, self-destructive part of him that won on his worst nights. The same part of him that kept him alive, the same part that let him do all the miserable shit he needed to do to survive.

But it’s certainly never been love. Not since Barb.

Never again, he’d wager.

"I had sex once," Lucy said this like it was a point of pride, now on her feet. She idled beside the bed, her gaze settled onto the empty space she’d been lying. "With my husband, but…" Her face twisted with this delayed amusement. She turned towards him, closing the gap between them.

Lucy’s eyes remained unfocused as she stared at the marked table between them, where his shotgun lay across a dirty cloth. "Does that make us both widows..? You said you have a family, right? So, you were probably married and had at least one kid. Not trying to presume, so tell me if I’m wrong, but… You said that in the observatory. That’s what you’re after."

Cooper parted his lips, a nasty tilt to his hairless brow.

Lucy gave a tight smile. "I was married. Only for a few hours, but… It was an arranged marriage, I didn’t meet him until the wedding. It turned out he was a raider from the surface posing as my match from Vault 32 and…" At this point, Lucy caught herself. “I feel for you, if you lost someone. That’s all.”

“You ain’t a widow.”

“Technically — ”

Cooper stood up, unable to stay seated. “You say you’re a widow like it’s a fact outta some book. The shit you went through — you’re an experiment gone wrong, not a damn widow,” Cooper said, his voice flat.

Lucy’s face twitched at his words as if she struggled to keep her smile. “Well, guess what? We’re all an experiment gone wrong, whether you’re in a vault or not.”

Cooper’s eyes twitched, narrowing in the dark of their hotel room. Room five was quiet, which made this moment all the worse. He didn’t like how she spoke about him, as if she knew what was happening in his mind. He wasn’t some wounded man looking for sympathy.

He wasn’t anything.

“Go back to your holotapes,” Cooper said with a jut of his chin. “You’ve been up here a few weeks, acting like you know how it is.”

“Well, I know we’ve all been screwed over by people hundreds of years ago, and I’m sorry if I’m not as beaten down by it as you, but — I’m just trying to share things with you, to…” Lucy struggled through her words, her arms crossed protectively over her chest. “We don’t have to be friends, but we have to be — something.”

The couple in room five screeched. Cooper tensed out of habit but relaxed again when he reasoned what the noise was. It didn’t solve the fierce look on Lucy’s face as she stared him down, her fists clenched by her pajama-clad thighs.

“I don’t want to fight with you,” Lucy said, shaking her damp hair out of her face. She stood idle by the table as if she had just realized she had stepped towards him in their argument. There was a bird-like shake to her chest, her heart and lungs quick beneath bone.

It was moments like this that made his nature crystalline to him — that thin line she couldn’t perceive of how easy it’d be to string her up by the ankles and bleed her dry. Of how easy it’d be to slide into that ache for warm flesh between his teeth and blood down his throat.

Ghouls aren’t welcome in most settlements for a reason, and Lucy is too damn optimistic to learn that lesson.

Cooper tongued the inside of his cheek, and his teeth gnashed at the frayed edge of his lip. “We have to be something, huh?”

Lucy’s brow twitched, and her jaw strained as she tried to stand taller. She nodded as something like hope softened her stern expression.

It wasn’t hard to close the gap. It was even easier to grab that ponytail she always wore and yank her head close, fist tight in her hair as he brought her close. Her hand scrabbled against the table, and nails dug into the wood as their eyes met.

“Don’t you ever talk about my family again,” Cooper said, his voice level. “We clear?”

Lucy’s breathing redoubled, but she nodded. Her nostrils flared as he let her go with a firm shove. There was a real sense of satisfaction as he felt her perception of him shift as if she’d forgotten she was dealing with a monster rather than a man. As if the rotted skin and exposed tensions, or the gaping hole where his nose had once been, weren’t enough warning.

Pretty girls in Hollywood were overlooked as much in his time — all in the name of survival in a race that no one really won. You took your part and played it until the work dried up. Then, you prayed for sponsorships, deals, and other things to spare you from the real world.

He watched it with co-stars, time and again. It wasn’t much different now, just less rhinestones and more rads.

#cooper howard #lucy maclean #fallout spoilers #fallout #vaultghoul #cooper x lucy #my writing

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heartfullofleeches · 5 months

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everytime i see the name v you can be assured that i am going to butt in.

honestly, v is definitely the type to hire a hitman just because he got in an argument with someone. sure, he could deal with it by himself — but he is a lazy bum and has his... "priorities".

v meeting up with the hitman and immediately his jaw falls off. the most he was expecting is a bald man in shades and a suit, not an incarnate of a divine being!

v watching hitman aim their sniper on the victim — he can't help but observe the focus in your eyes and the steadiness and precision of your hand near the trigger. he praises the beauty of your hands, and unfortunately, his mind got to wandering. thinking about how your hands would feel on his cock — would you focus on his cock like you focus the aim on your targets? would you stroke his cock with absolute precision?

he's put out of his state when he hears a 'bang!' and flinches.

"the job is done, mr. vince."

"could you... do me next?"

"..."

This is bullshit.

If he knew he had to go outside to have that bastard killed, he would've just done it himself.

V drums his fingers against the dinner table - eyes scanning the venue for anyone that might fit his imagined description of the person he's looking for. Rugged, shaven head, nice suit and tie - maybe a few visible scars from their line of work. While there a number of suits in a fine establishment, they were just the run of the mill rich assholes he'd grown accusation to through his life.

Sweat beading down his neck, V pulls at his collar. He hadn't even dressed up for his grandmother's funeral a year ago and now here he was in a nice button up and slacks for a complete stranger - and it isn't even for a date. If the waitress came by again to check if he was ready to order his tie would be an easy ticket out of here without the embarrassment of walking out looking like a dateless loser. He can already hear them laughing whichever way this goes. Frustrated, V folds his arms, shutting his eyes as tries to blend with the background of the uncomfortable booth he sat in. Maybe if he keeps them closed long enough when they open he'll be back at home - or dead. Either is an acceptable option at this point.

"Excuse me-"

V shoots up from his seat as warm breath fans his ear. The voice, no louder than a whisper, sends a chill down his spine as it flows from the lips of its speaker like smooth honey. A far cry from the unpleasantly sweet tone that waitress threw on to hide her thinly veiled annoyance at seeing V still hogging an empty table. He looks up at the looming figure at his table side - jaw slack as his eyes adjust to the light that envelopes them.

"I don't mean to interrupt whatever it is you are doing, but would you happen to be a Mr. Vincent Carbone?"

V's mouth opens like the jaws of a dying animal fighting for its final breath. The person before him was dressed in date casual clothing. He stares at their exposed collar from the lower cut of their shirt and toned muscles from their sleeves. He rubs at his eyes. This... couldn't be them. He had to be looking at a model. V's standards were pretty low his own admission, but from the way they carried themselves down to their physical attributes proved they were way out of his league.

"Yes... um, that's me... Just Vince is fine."

They tighten their lips with a small nod. V makes a note of how soft they look compared to his own chapped skin. He follows their every move as they sit down in their seat across from him - wasting no time as they pull a black folder from the brief case brought with them. He watches as their calloused fingertips turn each page - pondering what they might feel like around his-

"So - are you this guys secretary or....."

V flinches as their eyes snap up at him - emotionless face plagued by a hint of annoyance at his query. "I can assure you I do all of my work by myself, Mr. Carbone.... From the information you've given me, it appears you have had a fued with this person for quite some time despite numerous attempts to block and/or have them removed from the group of individuals you play games with, and wish to escalate matters further."

Breathing through their teeth, they shut the folder - placing it flat on the table. "Had I not done my research into your person, I'd consider this whole thing."

V feels tightness in the crotch of his slacks at the use of that word. Mr. Carbone. He's been referred to as such before, but the way it rolls off their tongue- V picks up his glass of water and fits it to his lips, trembling hands spilling the cool liquid all over his white shirt.

"R....research... You... know about me?"

"Yes. It's common for me to look into the backgrounds of all my clients. Make sure they have the funds to pay for my services and take note of what I can take as collateral if anything comes up. I know for certain you've got the cash, but the rest is still up in the air."

V swallows hard. "I already had the records of our conversation scrubbed and it's not like we talked much anyway... I don't trust cops much either."

Amused, the hitman's expression shifts from its blank slate for the first time as they offer him a small smile. "Good boy...."

V slaps a hand over his mouth to stiffle the whimper that almost slips out. The hitman retrieves a small flip phone from their briefcase and slides it across the table.

"From now on you will contact me from this device only. We will discuss how what methods you prefer in due time. Do you remember what else we talked about when we spoke over the phone?"

"Yea.... Half up front, half went it's done." V pulls a crumbled envelope from his pocket and hands it to them - savoring the brief moment of contact between his sweaty hands and the heat of their skin through their gloves. They count the bills briefly before sliding it into their back pocket. What V wouldn't do to be that piece of paper.

"I look forward to working with you, Sir. Something tells me we'll be hearing a lot from each other in the future."

".....you promise?"

#yandere #yandere x you #yandere headcanons #yandere imagines #yandere insert #yandere blurb #yandere x reader #yandere scenarios #yandere oc #male yandere #V my oc #yandere drabble

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tangibletechnomancy · 4 months

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The (Personal) Is (Political)

~7 hours, Dall-E 3 via Bing Image Creator, generated under the Code of Ethics of Are We Art Yet?

Or, Dear Microsoft and OpenAI: Your Filters Can't Stop Me From Saying Things: An interactive exercise in why all art is political and game of Spot The Symbols

A rare piece I consider Fully Finished simply as a jpeg, though I may do something physical with it regardless. "Director commentary" below, but I strongly encourage you to go over this and analyze it yourself before clicking through, then see how much your reading aligns with my intent.

Elements I told the model to add and a brief (...or at least inexhaustive) overview of why:

Anime style and character figures - Frequently associated with commercial "low" art and consumer culture, in East Asia and the English-speaking world alike, albeit in different ways - justly or otherwise. There is frequently an element of racism to the denigration of anime styles in the west; nearly any American artist who has taken formal illustration classes can tell you a story of being told that anime style will only hinder them, that no one will hire them if they see anime, or even being graded more harshly and scrutinized for potential anime-esque elements if they like anime or imply that they may like anime - including just by being Asian and young. On the other hand, it is true that there is a commercial strategy of "slap an anime girl on it and it will sell". The passion fans feel for these characters is genuine - and it is very, very exploitable. In fact, this commercialization puts anime styles in particular in a very contentious position when it comes to AI discussions!

Dark-skinned boy with platinum and pink [and blue] hair - Racism and colorism! They're a thing, no matter how much the worst people in the world want you to think they're long over and "critical race theory" is the work of evil anti-American terrorists! I chose his appearance because I knew that unless I was incredibly lucky, I would have to fight with this model for multiple hours to get satisfactory results on this point in particular - and indeed I did. It was an interesting experience - what didn't surprise me was how much work it took me to get a skin color darker than medium-dark tan; what did surprise me was that the hair color was very difficult to get right. In anime art, for dark skin to be matched with light hair and eyes is common enough to be...pretty problematic. Bing Image Creator/Dall-E, on the other hand, swings completely in the opposite direction and struggles with the concept of giving dark-skinned characters any hair color OTHER than black, demanding pretty specific phrasing to get it right even 70% of the time. (I might cynically call this yet another illustration against the pervasive copy-paste myth...) There is also much to say about the hair texture and facial features - while I was pleased to see that more results than I expected gave me textured hair and/or box braids without me asking for it, those were still very much in the minority, and I never saw any deviation from the typical anime facial structures meant to illustrate Asian and white characters. Not even once!

Pink and blue color palette - Our subject is transgender. Bias self-check time: did you make that association as quickly as you would with a light-skinned character, or even Sylveon?

Long hair, cute clothes, lots of accessories - Styling while transmasc is a damned-if-you-do, damned-if-you-don't situation, doubly so if you're not white. In many locations, the medical establishment and mainstream attitude demands total conformity to the dominant culture's standard conventional masculinity, or else "revoking your man card" isn't just a joke meant to uphold the idea that men are "better" than women, but a very real threat. In many queer communities, especially online, transmascs are expected to always be cute femboys who love pink (while transfems are frequently degraded and seen as threats for being butch), and being Just Some Guy is viewed as inherently a sign of assimilationism at best and abusiveness at worst. It is an eternal tug-of-war where "cuteness" and ornamentation are both demanded and banned at the same time. Black and brown people are often hypermasculinized and denied the opportunity to even be "cute" in the first place, regardless of gender. Long hair and how gender is read into it is extremely culture-dependent; no matter what it means to you, if anything, the dominant culture wherever you are will read it as it likes.

Trophies and medals - For one, the trans sports Disk Horse has set feminism back by nearly 50 years; I'm barely a Real History-Remembering Adult and yet I clearly remember a time when the feminist claim about gender in sports was predominantly "hey, it's pretty fucked up that sports are segregated by sex rather than weight class or similar measures, especially when women's sports are usually paid much less and given weirdly oversexualized uniforms," but then a few loud living embodiments of turds in the punch bowl realized that might mean treating trans people fairly and now it's super common for self-proclaimed feminists - mostly white ones - to claim that the strongest woman will still never measure up to the weakest man and this is totally a feminist statement because they totally want to PROTECT women (with invasive medical screenings on girls as young as 12 to prove they're Really Women if they perform too well, of course). For two, Black and brown people are stereotyped as being innately more sporty, physically strong, and, again, Masculine(TM) than others, which frequently intersects with item 1...and if you think it only affects trans women, I am sorry my friend but it is so much worse and more extensive than you think.

Hearts - They mean many things. Love. Happiness. Cuteness. Social media engagement?

TikTok - A platform widely known and hated around these parts for its arcane and deeply regressive algorithm; I felt it deserved to be name/layout/logodropped for reasons that, if they're not clear already, should become so in the final paragraph.

Computers, cameras and cell phones - My initial specification was that one of the phones should be on Instagram and another on TikTok, which the model instead chose to interpret as putting a TikTok sticker on the laptop, but sure, okay. They're ubiquitous in the modern day, for better and for worse. For all the debate over whether phones and social media are Good For Us or Bad For Us, the fact of the matter is, they seem to be a net positive-to-neutral, whose impacts depend on the person - but they do still have major drawbacks. The internet is a platform for conspiracy theories and pseudoscience and dangerous hoaxes to spread farther than ever before. Social media culture leaves many people feeling like we're always being watched and every waking moment of our lives must be Perfect - and in some senses, we are always being watched these days. Digital privacy is eroding by the day, already being used to enforce all the most unjust laws on the books, which leads to-

Pigs - I wrote the prompt with the intention that it would just be a sticker on the laptop, but instead it chose to put them everywhere, and given that I wanted to make a somewhat stealthy statement about surveillance, especially of the marginalized...thanks for that, Dall-E! ;)

Alligators - A counter to the pigs; a short-lived antifascist symbol after...this.

Details I did not intend but love anyway:

The blue in the hair - I only prompted for platinum and pink in the hair, but the overall color palette description "bled" over here anyway, completing the trans flag, making it even more blatant, and thus even more effective as a bias self-check.

The Macbook - I only specified a laptop. Hilariously ironic, to me, that a service provided through Bing interpreted "laptop" as "Macbook" nearly every time. In my recent history, 22 out of 24 attempts show, specifically, a Macbook. Microsoft v. OpenAI divorce arc when? ;) But also, let us not forget Apple's role in the ever-worsening sanitization of the internet. A Macbook with a TikTok sticker (or, well, a Tiikok sticker - recognizable enough) - I can think of little more emblematic of one of the main things I was complaining about, and it was a happy accident. Or perhaps an unhappy one, considering what it may imply about Apple's grip on culture and communications.

Which brings me to my process:

Generated over ~7 hours with Dall-E 3 through Bing Image Creator - The most powerful free tool out there for txt2img these days, as well as a nightmare of filters and what may be the most disgustingly, cloyingly impersonal toxic positivity I've ever witnessed from a tool. It wants to be Art(TM), yet it wants to ban Politics(TM); two things which are very much incompatible - and so, I wanted to make A Controversial Statement using only the most unflaggable, innocuous elements imaginable, no matter how long it took.

All art is political. All life is political. All our "defaults" are cultural, and therefore political. Anything whatsoever can be a symbol.

If you want all art to be a substance-free "look at the pretty picture :)" - it doesn't matter how much you filter, buddy, you've got a big storm coming.

#ai art #generated art #dall-e 3 #bing image creator

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yeah-yeah-beebiss-1 · 2 years

Note

I feel like if people had any sort of common sense at all, they would've realized that Nintendo firing a voice actor over an apparent pay dispute but then hiring someone that costs much more might have meant that there was more to the story than just money. Perhaps unrelated, Hellena Taylor is a TERF.

Thing is, “video game voice acting pays like dogshit” and “companies can and will use lowball offers to get contractors to leave of their own accord” are both commonly-known facts. With this in mind, I don’t blame people (myself included) for taking Taylor’s initial claims at face value because they were plausible. The multiple-session rate that it turned out Platinum actually offered was still low in a general sense, but it was at least consistent with union rates in the field. From what I can tell, if this new information is correct, it seems like it went something like this:

-Platinum approached Taylor with an industry-standard offer, five several-hour sessions at $3-4k each. VAs absolutely should be getting more than this, but it isn’t a lowball offer by current industry standards.

-Taylor declined and asked for six figures plus residuals, which is frankly unrealistic in the current industry (even if game VAs absolutely should be getting residuals).

-Platinum opted to bring on a new VA who would take the standard union rate (Jennifer Hale). Platinum initially announced to the public that the change was due to “scheduling conflicts.” They still offered Taylor a cameo role that would be a single $4k session.

-For whatever reason, Taylor took to the social-media warpath and spun the cameo offer as her being offered $4k for the entire game. People took her at face value because, again, plenty of VAs have been paid less for similar projects. Other VAs in turn speak up about some of the dogshit rates they’ve been offered for games that are frankly much bigger than Bayonetta.

-When Taylor’s story went viral, rather than hunkering down and letting PR do their thing, Hideki Kamiya went on his usual hyper-abrasive Twitter routine. When people started roasting him online over the allegations, he made very angry vaguetweets about the situation and blocked so many people that the Twitter suspicious-account-activity algorithm flagged his account. This is, as the kids say, not a good look for someone whose studio is facing scrutiny.

-Someone within Platinum or familiar with the project leaks documents showing the full situation to journalists, Jason Schreier is the first to break the story. He’s generally been pretty aggressively pro-worker when reporting on stories related to labor issues in the games industry, so the fact that he’s vouching for these documents suggests that he’s pretty confident in their legitimacy.

-Taylor doubles down on her side of the story. Jennifer Hale has mostly been silent on the matter (likely due to NDAs), but has liked tweets alluding to the idea that there are two sides to the story. Platinum has yet to issue a direct statement about the situation beyond the initial “scheduling conflicts” claim.

This is just my attempt to piece the situation together based on the public information available right now. For all I know, some new development may crop up that completely vindicates Platinum or proves Taylor correct. We’ll watch this space, I guess. My gaming time is still being consumed by Xenoblade 3 so I’m in no rush to get the new Bayonetta at launch, as much as I love the series.

(And yeah, Hellena Taylor’s dodgy politics don’t strike me as surprising in retrospect; I’m already on a “probably transphobic until proven otherwise” attitude with any Brit over the age of, like, 40. But if her claims of being offered $4k for the lead role of the whole game are true, then her being a shitty person doesn’t change the fact that Platinum made a ridiculously low offer.)

#anonymous #customer support

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lorddeathofmurdermountain · 3 months

Text

What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck

NIJI TERMINATED SELEN??????

I'm not saying it was unexpected but I still can't believe how fucking Galaxy brain they have to be to look at black company accusations, as well as suspicions of abuse and all kinds of shit and Riku just goes "yup don't give her access to her account for a month, stay silent and terminate" if Nijisanji doesn't go under I will personally hire a hitman to seduce Riku and plant explosives in Riku's yacht when they get a tour.

Let me paint anyone reading this the full picture, if unaware

>Selen was one of the first chuubas in Niji

>keep in mind Nijisanji VTubers get ZERO base salary, ZERO debut money, ZERO advertisement and have to organize every event and new rig with THEIR OWN MONEY, of which they only get a portion of the donations as well as the infamous 2% from merch sales

>despite this Selen was one of the top dogs with organizing events and doing a bunch of stuff, literally at the top when it comes to productivity alongside Pomu

>she releases a new song cover which the original author gave the green light for but which was STILL taken down by Niji management

>Selen tells fans to reupload and posts on a private account how the cover cost her 15k dollaridoos

>Niji management stealth suspends her

>no word for days until one day she says she's been in a hospital (there's also a rrat about how it wasn't made by her because the post used squiggly apostrophes which she can't do on her keyboard)

>two days after she gets released from the hospital

>a month of silence

>people are worried because not even management is saying anything, Dragoons (fans) are begging management just to release SOME kind of statement, literally just a "Selen is alive and healthy"

>while all this is happening Pomu suddenly graduates (totally different from termination bro trust) and even that Niji management can't do right because they release the statement hours before it was slotted to happen so Pomu literally woke up to the announcement and had to quickly start stream, during which she cried

>today Selen has been terminated

>one of the reasons for termination is that she "gave a bad image to Nijisanji"

They're a literal black company. High turnover rate (they have iirc literal dozens of livers who were terminated or graduated), excessively low salary, management abuses their power, fuck they even encourage livers to fight and create controversy for ENGAGEMENT and most livers have to SHARE managers. Nijisanji is way below the industry standard at every turn yet is widely considered to be the biggest rival to Hololive purely through the sheer will and honest passion of the livers, and Riku can't even take care of the people whom his success is based on?

#nijisanji #selen tatsuki #dragoons #i hope Riku gets done in Shinzo Abe style

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bonny-kookoo · 7 months

Note

LO King Yoongi, how did Yoongi and MC meet? How did their relationship evolve?

A/N: Warning for injury, blood, this is LO we're talking about after all haha

You hiss at the rather rough manner the nurse is cleaning the large gash over your back, your tears just quietly falling by now. Neither this planet nor their ruling species do really care much for empathy- you've learned that over the years you've been working at the palace here.

It's better than earth however, since you do have shelter and food here, at least.

You notice how a door opens, and everyone moves away- probably to address whoever just entered the room accordingly. And from the way the nurse closest to you bows, you can only assume who it might be.

"Leave." His voice is the only thing suddenly heard, low and rather monotone. "I'll take over from here." He states, and with that, you simply believe he's probably talking about getting rid of you. After all, you probably embarrassed him to high heavens- you honestly don't know what you were thinking.

It's quiet, the only thing you can hear the jewels on his robes moving as he takes the wet rag to tend to your wound- surprisingly enough a lot more gentle than the people before him. "Do you think of me as a king unfit for his role?" He asks, while he looks around for the needle and thread to sew the worst portion of the gash shut.

"..no." You mumble, voice quivering as you try and control your breathing as you spot him pick up the utensils necessary. His hands are warm against your skin, and you like to pretend that he's trying to sooth you with his touch rather than just doing it to push your skin back together.

"Then why did you do what you did?" He wonders, stopping for a split second as he feels you flinch from the needle going through your skin.

"..you weren't looking." You hiccup, wiping your cheeks quickly before you cover your front properly again. "It.. it wasn't fair." You just say, unable to shrug since you know that would just hurt.

Yoongi simply continues to sew your wound, hand at your front pushing you into a more straightened position, fingers able to feel you trembling from the pain. Did they not give you anything for the pain?

How long can you endure this with your weak body?

What you're correct about is the fairness of it all. The fight had been done, finished as the young man had willingly admitted defeat- just to get up and try to end the King while his back had been turned to return to his throne. And that's where you came in.

Hired from earth as a cheap worker at the palace, you'd been a little bit of a troublemaker all the time. According to other workers, you cry easily, or you'd hug and smile even more whenever someone showed you just a minimum of basic kindness. You're very openly emotional, something that doesn't fit within the usual standard of this planet's ruling species-

but he dismissed it, because down the line, you never complained, and never slacked on your assigned role. In fact, more often than not, you'd work like a ghost- Yoongi had to truly sharpen his senses to even hear you move around in the palace sometimes.

You're not even in a high position at all. You're just a helper that the general staff can use whenever they need you.

So when you jumped entirely out of line and shielded him from the attack he didn't notice quick enough, he didn't really know what to feel at first. In his culture, this is nothing but an insult to his abilities- but you're not of the same species, let alone culture.

You're human, and humans do things that sometimes don't make sense.

"You could've died." He says, trying to make it as quick but thorough as he can.

"..you're more important." You say, shrugging now- and immediately whimpering from it, making the king click his tongue in annoyance before he pushes the front of your shoulder again to make you sit straight.

"Keep that posture or you'll rip the stitches." He scolds, and you just sniffle, continuing to cry. "...I'll order them to give you something to sleep later." he mumbles.

"I have to finish the palace floors-" You start, but he cuts you off.

"You'll do none of that." He denies, quietly finishing your back before he moves to clean everything one last time, beginning to dress it. "You've earned your place." He simply tells you, placing the patches of dressing material dipped in medicine over your wound. He's silently impressed by how well you push through this- he's heard of humans passing out from much less than what you're experiencing right now.

"What do you mean?" You ask, as he wraps the gauze around you.

"You've proven strength." He explains, carefully finishing up his work. "And it's about time I chose anyways." He simply says, fixing the gauze before he let's go- making you turn a little bit, hands still covering your chest as you look up at him with eyes still full of tears.

"Chose what?" You wonder, and he reaches out to wipe your cheeks a little roughly.

"A fitting Queen."

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #yoongi imagine #min yoongi imagines #yoongi imagines #yoongi x reader #alien yoongi

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joonlaksme · 7 months

Text

Sign Here: Chapter Three

Sign Here Masterlist

Summary: All of Min Yoongi’s partners never knew what he truly wanted. Too scared to tell them to their face, he decides to just invest into a professional. He didn’t know you were exactly what he was looking for.

Pairing: Min Yoongi X Reader

-> Genre: Yoongi x Dominatrix!reader, Smut

-> Warnings for this Chapter: You with other clients, Yoongi has tattoos >_<, nipple play, pain play, spit play, throat fucking (gagging, choking, coughing), a lil bratty!Yoongi

-> Word Count: 2,700+

A/N: I’m actually proud of how this came out so I hope you enjoy!!

Chapter 3: Act One

Yoongi isn't sure what to do right now.

He's sitting on the couch in the living room of one of his closest friends, Kim Namjoon, as he fixes him a cup of coffee. The truth is, Yoongi told him that he had something he wanted to tell him. However, as he sits in the room listening to low volume jazz, playing on a record player while he messes with loose threads on throw pillows, he starts to rethink his decision. The crackling on the track couldn’t distract him enough. What would his best friend think?

Why did he even care that much?

Yoongi didn’t often confide in his friends for things. He knows it isn’t exactly healthy but he has always been one to deal with problems and decisions by himself. Now that he’s getting into a new relationship- BDSM at that, although he isn’t regretting his decision, he is iffy about whether he should share it with others. He knows no one is entitled to his thoughts but he wants to learn how to get more comfortable talking to his friends about personal things. Now that Yoongi is sitting on his best friend’s couch, he might as well commit. Why else would he be here?

“So, what’s the sudden request for a meet up about?” Namjoon walks up to him, a cup of tea in his hands. His eyes fill with concern because Yoongi has never so nervously called him before. He was usually calm, collected, and straight forward. Namjoon was the guy that gave him a new outlook on situations when he knew he needed to turn to someone. There is no judgment.

“You know how…a few months ago, I broke up with Ae-min.”

Namjoon nods as he sits back in his seat, adjusting the volume on his jazz music. “Did she try to talk to you again?”

Yoongi shakes his head briefly, “Rather, I got in a relationship. With someone else!”

Noticing how off character this was of Yoongi, the taller man places his tea cup down on his coffee table and lays his concern on the back burner for now. “Ah hyung, that’s great! When do I get to meet them?” His eyebrows wiggle, a grin popping on his face. Just the mood of Yoongi’s friend settles his nerves. Namjoon’s smiles are contagious.

Having a good judgment of character, Namjoon always took it upon himself to meet Yoongi's newest relationship. Ae-min was a woman that had been a particular thorn in Namjoon’s side. For the ten months the two were together, he could tell something was off. Whenever he was around, she was a bit too touchy; too flirty to someone who she knew was her boyfriend’s best friend.

It was when she pushed him against a wall at a party and tried to force a kiss on him when Namjoon had gotten the hint. No amount of alcohol would be able to shift him to betray his friend. When he was sobering up the next day, he called Yoongi about the ordeal. They officially broke up the very next day.

“That’s what I wanted to actually talk to you about the most. It’s not really the standard relationship that you think it is. I don’t think I’m ready to move on to something else yet.” Yoongi explains.

This leaves Namjoon further confused and it shows up on his face. It was understandable as Yoongi and his ex had been apart for almost 3 months. He rests his hot cup on the table and leans back in the plush of the couch before crossing his arms, “Then, what do you mean?”

Yoongi messes with his fingers for a second before just coming out with it. “I’ve decided to hire a professional dominatrix.” But it comes out more like a question than a statement.

One beat of silence. Then two.

“Woah. Wow.”

Namjoon rubs the back of his neck, breaking eye contact as he stretches for a moment. That wasn’t exactly the reaction Yoongi was expecting.

“I have a lot of questions but…honestly? Good on you. After what you’ve been through, I think it’s great that you’re moving on.” Namjoon looks back at him and smiles, showing his dimples. “I can ask you the details later but for now, can we finally watch this movie? I’ve been wanting you to see it for a while.”

Settled with Namjoon’s comments, Yoongi takes a sip of his coffee and gestures towards the television with a tilt of his head. “It better be scary.”

“This will be our final play.” You mutter into your client’s ear, her hair firmly in your grasp. Your fingers made a mess of what was previously mid-length, neat scarlet waves. She nods in confirmation, not being able to reply with the gag in her mouth. “Good.” And you gently tap her cheek.

Then your phone dings. You sigh because you swear you put it on silent before starting today's session. Maybe this one was broken. You pick it up and read the message.

Mr. Min - Friday? Not sure I can do that but I’ll let you know

You pat the floor twice and your client scrambles on the floor to crawl at your fingertips. You sit on her back as she holds herself up by her hands and knees. She quivers from your weight and whines but holds her ground.

You - Absolutely. I’ll be there around seven if there aren’t any change in plans

There’s a knock on his door and he has to look at the mirror near the entrance to see if he’s presentable before opening it. As expected, it was you, here at seven on the dot.

You walk in, black boots heavily clacking on the wooden floors of the entrance. You look around to what is immediately the living room after the first hallway. A deep gray couch with plants around the walls and near doors, some real and some fake.

It was only when you walked in that Yoongi realized he had no idea how this would start. Why is he so nervous?

“I got this for you.” You turn your head to him and hand him a gift bag. The top of it is covered with tissue paper. “Don’t open it yet.”

Yoongi can’t help but be curious for what’s in the bag. What did you give him? He places it near his shoe rack for now.

You take off your jacket and hang it on the rack at the entrance before walking up to the couch. You sit down, no invitation needed, and cross your legs. Then, you clap so loud it causes Yoongi to flinch.

“Today, we’re just going to get to know each other. Okay, darling?” You look back at him.

A shiver runs down his spine and he mindlessly walks and sits next to you. He nods, waiting for you to do or say anything. A couple of moments pass by as you get comfortable on his couch, twirling your finger absentmindedly on the soft texture of the couch.

“Take off your shirt and lay on my lap.”

You say it in such a careless way that it confuses Yoongi just a little bit. Why does he have to take off his shirt?

“What-“

And before he can finish his question, you’re lurching towards him and he shuts his mouth quickly when your fingers hold his chin. You not-quite-glare but challengingly stare at him while sinking into the brown of his eyes and him, the color of yours. One of your eyebrows go up and you let go to lean back on the couch, arms now spread on the back, his head close to your fingers. Now, you’re looking at him.

He does as you say, pulling his shirt over head and revealing his tattoos in full. A chain of blue roses cover his arms and almost continue to his shoulders. Instead, they run down his chest, the amount of flowers thinning and becoming smaller until it’s down his stomach. It is just enough to be covered with a simple long sleeve shirt. They were intricate and the details make it more gorgeous and life-like. Yoongi doesn’t have defined abs; he’s built perfectly and is just your type.

He usually is never looked at and analyzed like this often when his shirt has been off. His nipples go hard in the cold of the room and goose bumps rise on his skin. He resists covering his arms for warmth and comes over to you with as much confidence as he can muster.

You pat your lap, “c’mere.” It’s a bit cheerful, as if you’re treating him like a dog and he can’t deny that it makes him feel some type of way, his heart jumping out of his chest.

He rests the back of his head on your lap and he’s puzzled as to where this can possibly lead to.

Your fingers trace every stem and root of the tattooed flowers on his arms and make their way inwards. They ran down his chest with feather-like touches. Yoongi has to resist the urge to get closer for more of your warmth and instead he finds himself letting out the smallest sigh. He arches his back when your finger grazes his nipple.

“Sensitive here?” You ask in a mumble.

It’s rhetorical, he knows. It’s obvious that he is but he never had the courage to tell his exes and past flings that. Sure, he would take advantage of it when he would masturbate but no one has ever taken the chance to see for themselves. Except you. Maybe it’s because you’re a professional. You flick one and a smile grows on your face when his breath stutters.

“I would love to make you cum just like this.”

He wants to moan louder but he’s not used to being vocal. You can tell by the way he bites at his lips and little whines come from the back of his throat but don’t come out in full force. You know that is just something you’ll have to train him to do. You focus on playing with his nipples, pinching, flicking and rubbing them until he’s arching his pretty back closer to your hands.

It’s when you graze your nails up his pecs that he lets out a full blown moan. Red lines on his pale skin show up in your nails’ wake from its pressure. What stops you is his hands grabbing yours.

“Wait,” He’s out of breath. His eyes are blown out, cock making a clear outline in his pants and he shuffles his hips side to side as if it will help him gain release.

“Yucca?” You offer his safe word just in case he forgets it. Immediately he shakes his head.

So you pull his hands off of yours and continue your ministries.

“Fuck…”

He shivers again but this time it’s not because he’s cold. In fact, he feels like he might start sweating. He thought you were joking about making him cum with just his nipples but the longer you do this, the more he starts to believe you.

“Why’d you stop me?” You tug.

His teeth press together, arching, “This is a-a lot.”

One of your hands moves away from his nipples to dip into his newly agape mouth. When your fingers hit his tongue, he instinctively wraps his lips around them.

“This okay?” You say in this babying voice while your finger motions are anything but sweet. Your fingers are rougher, nails involved more than before. The fingers in his mouth are close to thrusting down his throat.

He’s so hard and you haven’t even touched his dick.

He nods almost immediately at your question, small humps in the air as he really starts to feel the texture of his pants. Why would he wear underwear in his own home? Well, he wasn’t expecting to be making this much of a mess in them. Gray sweatpants were the worst thing to wear because the wet spot on it couldn’t be hidden even if he tried.

You pull your fingers out of his mouth, spit attached to them before you swap hands. You coat and swirl your wet fingers around his sensitive nipples and with his okay, stuff the two from your other hand, down his throat until he’s gagging on it.

It’s more intense than he thought for your first session but he knows what he signed up for. He is the one who checked all those things down in the contract. He reaches to touch his cock just a bit for a glimpse of relief and a clear head but then you move your fingers from both his mouth and his chest.

“Baby…” You rub up and down on his tattooed arms. “You know better, don’t you?”

He looks into your eyes, his own glazed with lust. You notice the way he tries to subtly roll his eyes.

“Don’t you?” You repeat yourself, surprising him by pushing your fingers on his tongue. “Speak.”

“Y-yesh.” He gets out the sound even with your fingers in his mouth.

Your fingers run closer down his throat and he tenses. “Then…why did you even try it?”

He can feel himself twitching in his pants again. He’s realizing just how close he is to the edge.

You thrust your fingers down his throat again, watching tears build up in his eyes. He gags again, spit gathering at his lips. It doesn’t help when your finger are back to his nipples, even meaner than before.

“Wa-“ He tries to get out the ‘wait’ but the gagging is too much and instead, he chokes on it. You pull your fingers back to the top of his tongue as he coughs and squirms in your hold.

You fake a pout, rolling his nipples between two fingers and then running your nails down his chest once again.

“Fuck, wait wait, gonna-“

You lean down, pressing a kiss on his forehead and you mumble there. You talk to him soothingly and before he knows it, he’s shivering and making a mess in his sweatpants. His hands jump up and you grab them in yours, watching as he cums untouched. His eyes clenched tightly while he thrusts in the air, groans flowing from his lips and you do nothing but watch it all happen.

It’s not often that your clients cum without some type of lower stimulation so this is just a treat. You can’t deny how turned on you are.

When he’s lowered to trembles, you let go of his hand and kiss his forehead again. “Y’okay?”

His eyes open slowly, blurry and the light coming from the ceiling doesn’t help.

“Holy shit.” He puddles in your lap. He grips your thigh in a way you would call lovingly before looking into your eyes. “I’ve never done that before.”

“A lot of people haven’t.” You push your hand in his hair, saliva already dried on your fingers and his chest. You playfully flick at his nipple again and he moves away, letting out a small sound of disapproval. “I’ve learned a lot about you. You have quite the pain kink, don’t you?”

Yoongi presses his lips together before mumbling, “maybe.”

It’s either you don’t hear him or you choose to not acknowledge it. “How do you feel?”

It’s genuine and warms his heart. He hides his eyes behind his hair, feeling how uncomfortable it is in his pants. “I really need to take a bath.” And he lets out a small scoff.

“Can I help you out?” And you continue with a joke, “No extra charge.” Your fingers twirl in his hair, massaging his scalp.

“Well in that case…” He lingers his sentence, sarcasm dripping from his words.

Yoongi looks at his pants on the floor, grimacing at the sight of it inside-out. He’s already soaked to his chest in hot water and he can feel his muscles relaxing under the bubbles and smell of lavender in the air.

You’re there, gently rubbing a sponge on his arms. “I want to get to know you-“

Yoongi lays back on the edge of his bathtub, eyes meeting yours, “You know I can’t trust you when you say that now, right?”

You stop your movements to let out a laugh, “To be honest, I was trying to learn about what you liked.” You dip the sponge in the sudsy water again and gently rub it on his arms, “Dare I say, I helped you learn something that you like.”

Yoongi chuckles and although he’d like to say something sassy, he holds himself back and gets comfortable in the steam and the feeling of your touch.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist - @hobiswhore @madstxo @itsshaydeekaydee @namjooncrabs @ollyoxenfrees @jajabro @lchimmyl

All likes, reblogs, and comment feedback are appreciated for stories like this. Friendly reminder that reblogs spread more than likes!

All rights are reserved © joonlaksme

#min yoongi x reader #sign here #bts smut #bts fanfic #gender neutral fanfic #sub!bts #sub!yoongi #kpop smut #dom!reader

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mayajadewrites · 1 month

Text

Sweet Secret (Levi Ackerman x Reader)

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x F! Reader CEO Levi Ackerman coming in hot. I've been wanting to write a CEO Levi/Sugar daddy Levi story for a hot minute. Enjoy! Summary: You needed a job. Ackerman Inc was hiring for an in house assistant for none other than the CEO: Levi Ackerman. He's known to be essentially the worst to work with, you decide to take the job and take on the challenge that is Levi Ackerman. Will your relationship remain professional, or will their be monetary value added to the stakes? Or possibly even... love? ao3 Chapter Two: Chamomile

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay here?” Historia said as you walked down the steps to her apartment.

“I’m positive. I’m a big girl, I can do this.” You reassure her.

“Just because you’re 28 doesn’t mean you have to leave us!!” She pouted.

“You act like I’m going to war. I’m a text away!” You wave as Ymir placed her hand on Historia’s shoulder.

“She just feels protective of you like I do.” Ymir pulled you into a hug.

“You have never hugged me this much before.” You fake winced as the girls wrapped their arms around you.

“Movie night soon.” Ymir said as a matte black Range Rover pulled up to the curb.

“Holy shit.” Ymir gawked at the car. You turned as the passenger window slowly slid down, revealing Levi Ackerman himself.

You pull your tote bag over your shoulder and wave bye to the girls. As you reach for the door handle, you feel a tight grip on your wrist.

“Let me.” Levi let go of you and opened the door. How did he get next to you so fast?

He glanced at your former roommates quickly before getting in the driver’s seat.

Levi studied you for a moment before speaking. “You really only have 1 bag?”

“All I need is in here.” You tap your tote bag. “I’m a simple woman.”

Levi nods as he pulls away from the curb. You watch as his arm stretches out to the wheel, his right hand resting on his thigh. You take note of how plump his thighs look, even in black jeans.

“Stop staring.” Levi interrupted your thoughts.

“Sorry, Mr. Ackerman. I’ve never been in a car this nice before.” You lie as you look out the window.

“Call me Levi.”

“A-Are you sure?”

“It’s gonna be annoying if you keep saying ‘Mr. Ackerman’ every time you say anything. Plus it sounds like you’re talking to my uncle. Yes, call me Levi.”

Levi pulls his car up to a gate. “Levi.” He says into the speaker.

“Mr. Ackerman! Good morning!”

Levi says nothing. The gate opens and he proceeds to his… mansion.

Because this for damn sure is not a house.

The house is painted a dark grey, close to Levi’s eye color. The roof is black and the plants surrounding are well kept. You see an empty garden spot which piques your interest.

“You garden?” You ask as Levi opens the door for you.

“Sometimes. I have professionals clean it up, but it’s a nice way for me to de-stress.” Levi offers his hand to you. His hands are large accompanied by long fingers. You take his hand gently, feeling his pillow soft skin on yours.

“What are you gonna put here?”

“Not sure yet.” Levi shrugged. “Let me get your bag.” He held out his arm.

“I can carry it, sir.”

“Stop calling me sir. Give me your bag. I’m not asking.”

You hand Levi your tote bag as he fumbles with his keys. When he opens the door, you’re amazed.

The house seems like it’s never ending. It’s clean, almost too clean. As if a speck of dust has never been in this home. The color scheme is mostly neutrals and there was obviously an interior decorator that worked here.

Levi lead you up the stairs to the room that you would be sleeping in.

“I hope it’s up to your standards. I had new sheets put on this morning. You have a dresser, desk, TV, and a big closet.”

“My standards are pretty low.” You chuckle and look at Levi. But he doesn’t laugh. “I’m just kidding.”

Levi nods, setting your bag on the desk chair. “I’ll leave you to settling in. Let me know if you need anything.”

You watch Levi leave the room, the hand that was previously wrapped around your wrist only minutes ago was now closing the door softly behind him.

The room is basic: a queen sized bed with white sheets and blankets, a neutral rug, a flat screen TV, a dresser, and a sleek white desk. You smile to yourself as you think about making this room your home. You haven’t been able to decorate any space you were occupying. Even when you lived with your parents, you felt like those homes were never yours.

You unpacked your tote bag and settled into your new space. You grazed your hand over the sheets - they’re definitely expensive. They feel expensive. You turn your attention to your nightstand where you placed a moon shaped crystal that Alexis got you a couple of years ago. You have no idea where she got it, but it was from her, so you kept it.

You heard a light knock at your door, startling you a bit.

“Come in.” You say softly.

“Just wanted to make sure you settled in ok.” Levi looked around. “It still looks like when you walked in.”

“I told you I don’t have a lot of stuff.”

“Do you have clothes? Shoes?”

You look down at the outfit you have on. “I have a couple of other professional outfits but that’s it.”

Levi raised his right eyebrow as he analyzed your face. He wondered where you came from. Why you have nothing.

“I’ll take you shopping.” Levi cleared his throat. “We can go tomorrow. I don’t want to overwhelm you.”

“I appreciate it, but I can go shopping after my first check.”

“That wasn’t a question. I wasn’t asking you if you wanted to go. I’m telling you that we’re going. You should stop assuming I’m ever asking you anything. You’ll know when I have a question.”

“Okay.” You nod.

“Are you hungry?”

You ponder his question because you don’t want to seem too… needy. Food was always a delicacy in your house because your parens would rather spend money on drugs.

“Hello?” Levi waved his hand in your face.

“I-Um, yes I am.”

“I’m starting dinner now and brewing some tea. I’ll let you know when it’s ready.”

“You cook for yourself?” You perk up. You never knew how to cook, even though you’ve tried various recipes from Pinterest. “I would’ve thought you had a chef.”

“I don’t like having people do shit for me. I don’t like owing anyone anything.” Levi closed the door behind him softly again.

You watched the back of his head as he exited the room, his undercut fresh. He must’ve gotten his hair cut this morning before he picked you up.

As you drift into your thoughts, you smell chamomile tea brewing in the kitchen.

#levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman fanfiction #levi x reader #levi ackerman smut #levi ackerman fanfic #attack on titan #aot #levi ackerman attack on titan #levi x you #levi ackerman x you

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dylansslutt · 1 year

Text

blue lagoon/ j.m

my lil note: i needeed something to post

summary: rafe was toxic and your friendship with jj and the pogues lead to something more

warnings; just fluff and violence

your eyes never left the boy your dad hired, jj maybank. for yard work and helping out around with the boat, you knew who he was. it was entirely different approach aspect though... you being a kook; him a pogue.

after watching him the last few weeks, you start seeing him in a new light. nothing ever came out your small conversations, especially since you were dating rafe. yet he never seemed to treat you with the standard hatefulness. neither did you.

“hey, jj.” you smile as you walk out the back door, him glancing up with a nod.

“Princess.” you loved and hated it but it stuck, he thinks your some kook princess.

“here.” motioning the water bottle towards him, he doesn’t act shock by the gesture. you’ve done this a lot now.

“you hungry? was gonna make me a sandwich.”

you heard the rumors, and you were good friends with sarah who has been seeing john b on the low.

not wanting him to know you knew. you just always ask casually. “nah it’s fine. thanks though, y/n.”

you just nod, “i’ll make you one to go then!” without letting him protest you head inside. knowing little but enough to know his life was rough and you weren’t insensitive.

after packing a baggy with a double stacked sandwich, chips, gummies, and another water; your phone rang.

“hello?”

“hey babe.” rafe voice calls out, a smile slipping your cheeks.

“whats up?”

“aw with the boys, we are gonna head to a party tonight. so get dressed, i’ll be there in 20.”

without letting you protest he hangs up, sighing you set your phone down glancing at your clothes. ignoring your thoughts you head outside, noticing jj was almost done.

“hey, might be gone before you leave so here... take this with ya’.” you set the bag on one of the chairs. he looks like he wants to say something but just thanks you instead, getting back to work.

the party was stupid, rafe ended up ditching you half way. you finish your small drink, letting one of the girls you rarely talk to alone. sarah wasn’t around nor topper.

You head up the stairs and open the door to only to end up finding them surrounded by people doing coke.

“what the hell is going on?”

your eyes flicker at a girl who drapes herself all over rafe, anger fueling through you as he jumps up.

“he-hey, babe. it’s no-not what it looks like.” he chuckles almost, so out of it.

you scoff before turning away, leaving the room ignoring his calls. not bothering with anything, as you head down the stairs you snatch a bottle off a table.

the fresh air was amazing and knowing you didn’t drive, you just walk taking sips from the bottles as tears fall down your cheeks. this has happened countless of times, rafe getting caught up in all that shit.

it was exhausting for you to deal with, and humiliating to go through.

days passed and you were ignoring rafe, today jj wasn’t working and you were laid out by the pool. your phone plays soft music as you rest on one of the lounge chairs.

“there she is.” rafe exclaims from behind you, making you sit up shifting towards him.

“raf- what the hell?”

“ya- you been ignoring me.” he glares and you stand up walking towards him,

“i’ve been busy... besides you were an ass.”

the truth escapes your lips, getting closer to him, you smell the alcohol reeking off of him. his eyes bloodshot, and pupils blown. grateful your parents weren’t home.

“fantastic rafe, you’re high and its not even 2pm!” the sarcasm drips from your lips.

he scoffs, “what? you aren’t my mother.”

your eyes glare up at him, the mockery on his face made your blood boil.

“no, i am your girlfriend which is about to end if you keep this up rafe!”

your voice raised at the end which switched something inside rafe, his hand grasping your arm tightly. tugging you towards him, the grip was harsh.

“what you think you can do better than me? huh?”

“rafe let-” his grip tightens making you wince.

“no one wants you, y/n. your lucky im still even with you. do you know how m-how many girls i could have?”

struggling from his grasp, you push back falling onto your side. scrapping your arm and elbow, a whimper escapes you as you scoot back away from him.

“y/n, i-” he stutters with an unreadable expression.

“just go! go rafe!” you scream out at him as he hesitantly backs away.

sobs escapes your lips, happy your alone for this. your arm was bleeding and the pavement left small rocks in your arm. brushing them away gently, before biting your lip harshly to hold back the sobs.

“y/n?”

you gasp head jerking landing on jj, catching eyes with him. he stares at you with worry. “are you okay?”

he walks forward as a few more tears escape your cheeks.

“wh-what are you doing here?” he shakes his head.

“your dad left my paycheck early since he was out of town, came by to get it. what happened?”

adjusting focus on your arm instead, trying to keep your tears at bay. “i slipped and busted my ass... you caught me crying like a baby.” the lie was too easy, you muster up a small smile finally looking him in the eyes.

“i can help clean it if you want?”

shaking your head, “no its okay. thank you though, did he tell you where he left it?”

“yea under his gnome.”

that made you smile laughing slightly. “sounds like him.” your eyes were on his as he scan your face, you could tell he didn’t believe your lie. yet he didn’t push asking anything.

“thanks for being nice to me.”

rafe’s words repeats in your mind, as he shakes his head. “don’t tell anyone this, but you’re the only kook i like.”

rolling your eyes, “lets not lie now.” he looks taken back for a moment.

“i’m not?”

a shock expression crosses your face for a split second, “thanks, i like you too... um i gotta clean this up.”

he nods and gives you a small goodbye, your mind replaying that whole thing over and over again.

“yes, here look this is what she posted after.” you told jj about some drama which he didn’t mind hearing, since he enjoy the way you talked.

you stood beside him showing him the girls instagram, as you two drank some lemonade vodka drink you made.

“this is so much better than that reality tv shit.”

you giggle and he smiles back down at you. “or the way you say everything in different voices, it cracks me up.”

the confession made your eyes light up, “i didn’t even notice i did that.”

he shrugs, “i gotta finish this up, but you should tell me the rest later.” you wink at him.

“you know it!” you liked this, and you didn’t have this with rafe. walking back inside your mind couldn’t escape that boy.

“he killed her?” you stare at john b and sarah, disgust filling you up. the way the last few weeks have changed so much.

“i know, im sorry.” sarah understanding your pain, she was his sister.

“i knew he could be rough but...” your eyes fell to the floor, just in shock at everything.

“rough?” jj’s voice rang out, after being silent for a good moment.

it made it worse since the two of you started getting closer, you failed to reply not even bothering to look at the rest of the group.

“oh, y/n. im so sorry.” kie’s arms wrap around you as you finally make eye contact with jj. sarah grasp onto the both of you, making a small group hug.

“i swear i wont say anything about the gold, and im not even dealing with rafe so... you guys have me if you’re willing.” it was true after the last time rafe hit you was before he murdered peterkin.

you left and have ignored him since. even your parents knew you didn’t want to speak to him.

“we are.” that shocks everyone that jj accepted you so quickly but they didn’t disagree. you gave a small smile, just trying to wrap your mind around everything.

after the presumed death of john b and sarah everything changed, you manage to avoid rafe at best cost but it all felt torn apart. no one believed the group, your parents couldn’t believe that rafe could be a murderer.

someone you loved turned evil, and now two people who were your close friends are gone. you refused to believe they were dead. it was only a few days since that night, but you could barely sleep.

a knock on your window made your eyebrows furrow, the sight of a sad jj sent you in a mode. pushing the window up in a rush.

“oh, jj come in.”

he quickly comes through before his arms surround you. “h-he can’t be gone.”

his sobs ached your soul, this was when you went to be brave. you pull him in your bed and cuddle each other, having each other at nights like these allowed the burden to be shared.

it helped, so it continued.

“let me go!” you hit rafe as he tries to shove you in the vehicle along side a drugged sarah.

“jj!” you scream out as he shoves you in the door, your breathing erratic as your eyes land on her. you try to shake her awake.

“come on wake up...” you didn’t know what they did to her but after wheezie gets in along with rose everything makes sense.

after finding out sarah and john b were alive, and ward killed john b’s dad everything hit ten notches. your heart sank as Sarah mumbles but it’s incoherent.

You got inside the house to save Sarah, until rafe found you and shoved you alongside his sister. You didn’t know what was happening until it starts to click.

this was a family escape, “wheezie? where are we going?” she shrugs and stares at sarah in worry. your heart beat rises and you feel like you could pass out.

“i-i can’t breathe. “ you try to open the door but it was locked. rafe jumps into the car and starts driving.

“no.no.no” you mumble before your eyes roll back.

eyes fluttering softly you blink to see yourself at a docking location. without moving the door swings open. arms pull me out the car making you thrash.

“y/n/n, enough.” rafe yells scooping you over his shoulder, marching you onto the boat and into a room.

“n-no, rafe please.” you beg as you look around frantically.

you stumble onto your feet as he sets you down, begging as he stares down at you. “i gotta do this, y/n.”

with that he locks the door leaving you alone.

minutes pass before sarah is brought in with rose, who see’s me. “oh i’m so sorry sweetie.” she rushes towards you, your hand flying up.

She halts carefully eyeing her as she looks at your remorsefully.

“i swear i didn’t know rafe was doing this.” she pushes a drink out towards me.

“here is something to drink, i swear y/n. when we get off this boat i will get you on a plane back to your parents.” the way she seems so genuine made you accept the cup.

“im so scared.” you admitted looking at sarah as you take a few sips of the tea. confused on what rafe did to her, you glance back at rose.

“what happened to her?” worry about everything was already running through you, but the sight of sarah being passed out had your heart racing.

taking one more sip, you glance at rose confused on why she didn’t answer. “im sorry y/n.” your eyebrows furrow and suddenly the cup started to feel heavy.

your vision hazes slightly, making you sit up abruptly. “wha-what did you do?” the cup slips out your grasp onto the ground as rose pushes you back, eyes fluttering shut.

“come on, y/n. wake up.” your eyes flutter open seeing sarah above you.

“sarah?”

“shh. follow me and stay quiet.” you nod, letting her pull you up. so out of it you had no idea what you were doing, holding onto her as she leads you into a hallway.

it felt like time was in and out, one second its dark, next red, then its bright. “sarah- wait a-.”

“shh.” she stops me for a moment until a figure that you couldn’t make out appears behind her.

“Sarah...” you turn her towards them before she pushes you to run.

“go y/n! no you stay back, don’t touch me!” she yells and you turn the opposite way. heading down the side stumbling slightly, as the drugs were still not fully out of your system.

the sounds of voices yelling, makes you turn back. not seeing anything you rush forward, reaching onto the deck. rafe was right in front of you.

you try backing up slowly but he turns his head catching you in. “oh look who awoke!”

you were absolutely terrified, you couldn’t fight him. eyes flickering around the only option was to run, but as you continued backing up. your foot stumbles on some rope sending you over the edge.

the water is cold as it surrounds you as you swim to the top, coughing out some water.

“y/n!”

your name was heard as the sound of a small engine quickly comes towards you.

“oh my god!” sarah and john b reach out for you pulling you in. coughing as they take off to the other side.

your eyes were frantic as Sarah held your arm. John b heads around to the other side of the boat. your eyes landing on the cross, dangling off the side.

they find pope and cleo, before finally reaching jj and kie. you didn’t even know everyone was here.

jj was unresponsive when he reaches over board, your eyes widen at the sight of him.

“jj?”

you push forward, shaking him harshly.

“he-hey wake up.” tears form in your eyes as he lies still, “please wake up.” you beg as a sob leaves you, hugging him tightly. everyone watches the interaction between you two.

he shoots up coughing harshly, before his land on yours.

“oh thank god.” you breathe out not worrying about anything else, after the thought of losing your him.

“poguelandia.” you smile up at him, “i kinda like it.”

the peaceful sound of the waves hitting the island shore, makes everything seem okay for once. “you should like it princess, because i made it.”

that made you laugh, before you focus on the sunset. “i would stay here forever if i could.” muttering the statement softly, left jj looking at you deeply.

“No missing the pool? Air conditioner, your Instagram drama?” He jokes but waits for your reply.

“This right here is real…” you motion around them. “You work for the life you live, the rest drowns out. I could do this forever. So yes I would give all that up, but if I start looking slightly ugly don’t judge.”

He laughs before shaking his head, “I feel that, but i doubt you could get ugly.”

you focus your gaze back on him, biting your lip softly. his lips look so soft and plush. you just wanted too... your lips lands on his. the movement was soft until you pull away.

“o-oh my go- i am sorry. i dont kn-”

“its okay.” He shakes his head, hand still cupping your cheek.

You stare up at him too nervous to move, but his eyes flicker down at your lips again. This time he moves forward capturing your lips with his.

his hands tangle in your hair as his free hand pulls you closer. breaking apart for some air, your eyes flicker over his face.

“i’ve been wanting to do that for awhile now.” you confess as his smile widens.

his hands now around your waist fully, “i been thinking of that since i started working on your dads pool.”

you shove him, “what the hell? you’re telling me you could’ve done this sooner?”

he laughs, “i kinda like this blue lagoon type vibe actually.” your eyes flicker down agreeing with him.

“i don’t wanna lose you, i-if we get rescued or something...” you trail off as he shakes his head.

“hey, you won’t lose me alright? it’s us okay, no matter what.” with that he kisses you once more, the sound of the pogues and the waves fill you.

#jj maybank x reader #jj mayback x reader #JJ Imagine #jj x reader #jj maybank fluff #jj maybank #jj maybank fic #jj maybank imagine #rafe cameron #obx rafe #rafe x y/n #rafe cameron imagine

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spockfallsinlove · 11 months

Note

spirk prompt request: a moment on the bridge or at dinner with the bridge crew where Spock says something off handedly (like maybe Jim mentions having misplaced something and without hesitating Spock tells him it's on his nightstand) that subtly reveals to everyone the level of intimacy between Spock and Jim, with a focus on everyone's reactions. thank you!!

"It's not like I tried to provoke a potential galactic war!" Jim protests as he spears a piece of fried chicken off his plate. "It was a woefully inadequate translation."

"But somehow, those kinds of things only seem to happen to you," Bones shoots back. He glares at Jim's plate. "And I told you to have the chicken."

"I am having the chicken."

"The grilled one, you intentionally obtuse man. Your blood pressure—" Bones starts, face already red with an impending lecture on Jim's health.

"So Spock," Jim cuts in, turning to his First Officer. "How did things fare on the bridge while I was away?"

"Quiet, Captain," Spock says with a dainty swipe of napkin across his lips. "I believe Uhura has some interesting communications she picked up while we were stationed," he adds, nodding to her. (She's sitting across from Jim, also having the fried chicken, but no one's yelling at her about it.)

"It's just a few snatches I managed to translate," Uhura says, handing a PADD to Jim over the plates. "And you should really have asked me to do the translations for this mission. Starfleet HQ means well, but they do tend to hire linguists fresh out of the academy."

"I'll never stray again," Jim promises, setting the PADD down in front of him. He pulls up the document in question and begins to read Uhura's notes. Spock, next to him, bends his head down as well, their temples nearly touching as he reads in tandem. The rest of the bridge crew turns back to their usual lunchtime chatter, the hum of the mess room buzzing around Spock and Jim as they read.

"I can't make any sense of this," Jim murmurs.

Spock nods. "Further analysis will be required."

"Could make a great bedtime story," Jim says, grinning at his First Officer. "Better than that math nonsense you always insist on reading to me."

Bones, across from Jim, drops his fork onto the plate midair. His wide eyes dart between Jim and Spock. "Excuse me?"

"Oh, don't get me started," Jim emphatically sighs, leaning back in the chair and waving off Spock's attempt to speak, pitching his voice even louder. "No, don't try to defend yourself, mister. Every night I put up with that nonsense. No one needs to read twenty different arguments on the Pythagorean theorem, much less talk about it, while the poor sap next to you who understands none of it is just trying to sleep and—What?" Jim finally looks at Spock, who has a panicked look on his face. "What's wrong, Spock?"

He realizes too late that the mess room has gone quiet. At least twenty pairs of eyes are staring him down. Uhura has a hand over her mouth, a huge smile hidden behind it. Sulu's jaw has dropped. Bones looks redder in the face than he ever has. Scotty is very intentionally not giving anybody, much less his senior officers, eye contact.

"Oh," Jim says, stupidly, and a little belatedly. He turns to Spock, giving him a bashful grin. "I think this means that you've won the bet, my dear."

There's a smile dancing behind Spock's eyes. He pushes his knee into Jim's under the table; a small but powerful gesture as far as Vulcan standards are concerned. "Two weeks," he says, soft and low. "You have kept the secret longer than I expected."

Jim shrugs, rolling his eyes at himself, before going back to eating. At least he wouldn't have to work so hard mincing his words anymore. "Well, go ahead," he says to the twenty pairs of eyes on him, waving a hand. "Have at it."

Another blissfully peaceful, silent moment passes before the mess hall breaks into a cacophony of cheers, exclamations, and one Southern-tinged horrified wail rising above the rest.

#i hope this was ok lol!!!!#this was way too fun to write #spirk #stark trek tos #space husbands #my writing #also i did not edit this i am literally throwing it into the world with its hair wild and unbrushed #enjoy!!

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thebisexualdogdad · 3 months

Note

kitchen counter make-outs with OPLA sanji x male reader

Sanji x GN!reader

Zeff had a strict rule about no staff at the Baratie dating each other, the last thing he needed was drama getting in the way of serving his customers on par with his high standards.

Sanji had always stuck to this rule, finding plenty of customers he could fool around with instead but when Zeff hired you as a new server he found himself unable to resist you.

He thought one night in bed with you would be enough to get his fix and move on to the next but here you were after closing hours, Sanji pushing bowls to the side before lifting you onto the counter, lips that have gotten so familiar with each other moving together seamlessly.

“You sure everyone's gone to bed?” You mumble into the kiss.

You hear a muffled yes as his hands play with the buttons of your shirt and his lips trail down your jaw to your neck.

You throw your head back when he softly sucks at your skin but you hit a pan hanging from the stove top making a banging noise.

“You okay love?” He chuckles, placing his hand gently on the back of your head.

“I'm fine,” you nod eagerly kissing him again, not even thinking about how loud the sound of the pan was.

Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer and rocking your hips into his eliciting a low moan from him.

Sanji is attempting to get your shirt open when he knocks a bowl over onto the ground causing a crash even louder than before.

“Alright who the hell is in here,” you hear Zeff’s voice say pushing apart the doors to the kitchen.

“Shit,” Sanji mutters, helping you off the counter so you can duck under the counter to hide.

You hear the clicking of Zeff’s wooden leg getting closer and closer, you were definitely going to be caught but suddenly the room goes quiet.

“Must have just hit some rough waves,” he huffs, picking the bowl off the ground and walking back towards the doors.

Both you and Sanji let out sighs of relief when the doors shut again.

He peaks over the counter to make sure Zeff is gone, “coast is clear.”

You get back to your feet, Sanji chuckling, “it's not funny Sanji, everyone knows your job is safe but I could get fired,” you say smoothing out your shirt.

“Don't worry, the old man wouldn't fire you over this he's not as heartless as he acts,” Sanji assures you, pinning you to the counter and grins, “so where were we?”

“No way, we already had one close call tonight,” you tell him sternly but instantly melt when he starts kissing your neck again.

“What was that dear?” He smirks, knowing exactly the kind of effect he had on you.

“Shut up and kiss me,” you groan, giving in and pulling him in by the tie to kiss him.

#one piece imagine #sanji imagine #sanji x reader #x gender neutral reader #fic

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ecoamerica · 24 days

Text

youtube

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

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3terna15unshin3 · 7 months

Text

time, curious time

1 of 6 ★ 6433 words

masterlist — next

— warnings: alcohol consumption, recreational drug use

“This area’s too dry. Grass looks like hay. It’ll look rubbish to set all the mic stands on it,” You argue.

Matty sighs in defeat. “You never like my ideas,” he whines sarcastically, rolling his eyes in the process.

Your elbow juts into his side, making him groan and then laugh. It’s your turn for an eye roll.

“Do you want my help or not?” You challenge, “I don’t have much experience with music videos, to be fair, so if you'd rather empty your pockets and hire someone professional—”

“Okay, okay, okay. Shut up. Let’s keep moving.” He interrupts.

You both continue on your path, scoping out locations for a video that the boys want to film later in the week. There are plenty of spots Matty suggests, stopping repeatedly to ask you to capture a certain frame. Though, as he had complained, none of them have been up to your standards.

By now, you’re used to his constantly fleeting and sometimes messy creativity. You find comfort in it, actually, and feel the most empowered in your own strength as an artist when Matty’s there. Your camera seems the strongest in your hands when it’s pointed at him.

He nudges you to point out one last possible shot. The trees hang hauntingly low and its branches are frail, almost skimming the tops of your heads. Your feed tread over the now slightly greener grass as you come closer and look around in awe. Matty’s right, for one of the few times today.

“Now we’re talking,” You whisper in satisfaction, raising your Nikon to your eye out of instinct.

You back away slightly to get him in frame. From behind, the last hour of daylight shines through the kinks of Matty’s hair, backlighting him. It accentuates the slope of his nose as he turns to the side and looks up at the tree above him. His side profile is one of your favourite things about photographing Matty. It’s strong, but gentle.

He glances back at you after hearing a few clicks of the camera’s shutter. The sun that lights his silhouette contrastingly shines directly onto your face—since you face him—painting an orange glow across your skin.

There’s something that makes you feel like he’s staring. And you’re right, because he is, but it’s a stare that felt good. Not exposing, or perceptive in a way that usually made your heart drop. You almost want to look behind you to see if maybe he was looking at something else.

It’s sort of how he always looks at you, though. Maybe that’s how he looks at everyone, you think, but part of you hopes it wasn’t. That you were an exception. Something outstanding.

You gasp when Matty suddenly lunges to steal your camera from your grip.

“Gimme this for a sec,” he mumbles. He’s lucky it isn’t hung around your neck as it usually was.

Embarrassment immediately creeps up your neck as he points it at you. You habitually block his view of your face with your hands, and insist, “Stop it!”

“The lighting’s nice!” Matty protests, pushing your hands away.

You replace them quickly to prevent any photo opportunities. “I don’t have space on my memory card for you to fool around, Healy.”

He rolls his eyes, turning the lens back onto himself to take a horrendously close-up picture of his own face. You giggle at the way his wrinkled skin was on display from the weird expression he pulled and the odd angle he held your camera at.

“This is literally our last location. Relax.” Matty points out.

Then, a bird tweets aggressively behind you, so you turn around to look for the culprit. Your eyes widen when it catches you off guard and squawks again, your sight flickering around the sky to try and find it.

“God, what was that?” you mumble, but when you face Matty again, he has your camera held up. A flash and click tells you that he sneaks a picture.

“Seriously, Matty.” You say after catching him, and his smile falters. The thought of him capturing you candidly makes your stomach flip with anxiety, and he knows that.

Since he’s aware, he hands your camera over, in case he’d pushed a bit too far. It’s the way you’ve been since he can remember; always groaning and uncomfortable to be in a group photo at school or denying his requests to pose for his camera every once in a while.

It grows frustrating sometimes, since it’s hard for him to grasp what you could possibly be insecure about. And, most of the thousands of pictures from the years you’ve grown up together showed everyone else’s faces and not yours, which made him even angrier. But that’s how you wanted them, after all.

This attribute of yours is one of the things most different about you and Matty. He loves having eyes on him—craves it, even. Wants to be seen and understood. But you're an observer, on the other hand. The world is fascinating to you, lighting your urge to preserve and savour its meticulosity. It explains your addiction to capturing it all with a camera.

The difference makes you two a great team. Though you regret your commitments in moments like these.

“Let’s go before we get shat on by that bird,” You snicker, lighting the mood back up and giving Matty a shove. He stumbles over with a chuckle and the two of you bee-line for where his car was parked.

By the time he’s arrived outside your building, the sun has set. You yawn after a fairly long day, walking in with Matty and dreading the four flights of stairs you’re about to climb together. The lift in your building is under maintenance and has been for the past few weeks, so you’re used to it. But that doesn’t stop Matty from complaining.

“What maintenance could they still possibly be doing on that fucking lift?!” He puffs as you tackle the first flight.

“I’d rather take the stairs than plummet to my death in a dodgy lift.” You add.

The second floor approaches. Matty trails a couple of steps behind you and is already audibly out of breath.

“Agree to disagree, I guess.”

You finally reach your level and walk side by side over the creaky floor of the corridor. There’s still quite a way to travel until your flat nears.

“I feel like you can’t really complain about the stairs when you and the guys only live on the second floor. That’s half the amount we need to get to ours,” You point out, fishing your keys out of your pocket as the flat numbers grow closer to your own.

“And what do I do every time we arrive? Walk you up to your flat! Up four and then back down two!” He exclaims, “I’ll complain as much as I’d like.”

You unlock the door and your best friends are sitting on the sofa. Their heads of hair—one blonde and the other raven—turn around to watch you and Matty barge in.

“And each time I insist that you don’t need to walk me up,” You counteract, bending down to take off your boots.

Matty stops at the doorway, not planning on sticking around. He gives a wave to Avni and Greta with a small smile, but isn't done making his point to you. “I don’t trust our weirdo neighbours. You should thank me, honestly.”

“Fine. Thank you for always walking me up. Happy? Now please leave. You smell like dirt from when you laid down on that pile of gravel,” You say, waving him off and grabbing the edge of the door to let him out.

“I wanted to see if it looked cool,” he defends, then pulls you in for a hug goodbye, and pecks your temple before you back away. He begins walking back down the corridor to the stairwell.

You call out, “It didn’t!” and watch him throw both of his middle fingers up in response.

The door closes and you bolt the lock. You sigh, ready to collapse into bed. But before you have the chance to, Avni motions for you to come sit on the sofa. And though there are many places you’d rather be, you oblige, sinking down into the cushions between her and Greta.

“Come on, talk to us! We haven’t seen you all day,” she nags, nuzzling the side of her face into your shoulder.

“Yeah,” agrees Greta, “I thought you were going to be back after your shift?”

“I was going to be, but then Matty picked me up and brought me dinner as a bribe to scout music video locations with him all evening. I was hungry, so I accepted his offer.” You explain.

Avni shrugs. “That’s a fair deal, I guess.”

You begin to stand up, thinking that what you’ve given was enough to satisfy your flatmate’s curiosities, but Avni’s hand yanks you back down.

“But wait,” she starts, “Everything’s okay, right?”

There was worry in her voice that confused you. “...Yes? Why would it not be?”

“Oh,” she let go of a breath she seemed to be holding. “I just saw Matty hug and kiss you before leaving so I thought he might be comforting you, or something. I don’t know. Forget I asked,” Avni finishes with dismissal.

The three of you chuckle casually and they finally allow you to get up.

“Doesn’t he usually do that? I feel like that’s always how he bids any of us goodbye,” You say, walking around the sofa to head to your room, but pause to hear their answers.

“I’ve known that bloke since he was pre-pubescent and never has he just casually kissed me without reason,” declares Avni, raising an eyebrow suggestively and making you shake your head in annoyance.

You know what she’s trying to get at, but you don’t want to talk about it. You never want to talk about it. Avoidance really is your best friend.

She’s convinced she sees something there—and though you secretly wished there was something, the idea of attempting to do something about it makes you want the ground to swallow you up. You could barely admit it to yourself, let alone another soul, or Matty.

Plus, you really are convinced that it’s just a you thing, not a you and him thing. That you just need some time to get over it, even though it’s been nearly ten years. How could it ever be a you and him thing?

Thankfully, Greta’s big ego and her pestering lighthearted crush on Matty shuts down anything Avni is trying to insinuate, when she says, “He’s kissed my cheek plenty of times,” as if it’s obvious.

You glance back at Avni, and as you expect, she’s giving you a look that screams, ‘Of course Greta’s just said that…’

“There you go,” You point to Greta and end the conversation, acting like she helped prove your point. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow. I work the morning shift so I should be back early.”

They respond tiredly and continue watching the telly, not concerned about the late hour like you are. Neither of them have an early morning to worry about, so you won’t be surprised if you hear another film begin when you’re about to shut your eyes.

Avni is a full-time student about to finish her degree—which her parents fund for her—so she only works here and there, doing integrated jobs within her program at University of Manchester. The only time she sees the early hours of the day is when she’s been hunched over a computer through the night, writing a paper about something you don’t understand. Since it’s the weekend and Avni’s free of class, you assume she’d sleep in.

On the other hand, Greta is like you, and opted out of A-levels and uni once completing GSCEs. She’s never been all that interested in studying, so after working as an associate at the Space NK back in Wilmslow, a position opened at the Manchester location and she stuck with it. In perfect correlation with the rest of the group also moving to the big city.

At this point she’s a manager and is earning quite a lot—certainly more than what you make at the cafe—so her working hours can be unpredictable. But since the store never opens earlier than 10 o’clock, Greta’s rarely a morning person either.

You wake up at a concerningly early time to make it to Cafe North for 6am. It doesn’t open for another two hours, but since you’re desperate for as many shifts as possible, you take on any position necessary. This morning, your position was baker.

It’s not a strong suit of yours, and you were only hired as a waitress, but the cafe being known for its fresh pastries made the morning shift annoyingly important. So, you often find yourself trudging in at the crack of dawn to cover for your coworkers when things come up and your boss needs you.

Cafe North helps pay your bills, since doing freelance photography work in Manchester isn’t quite enough to live comfortably. Work seems to be slowing down as the year goes on as well, so your only consistent clients are the up and coming local bands. You photograph their shows even though they barely make enough for themselves, let alone to be able to pay you fairly.

The reason you frequent the music scene is due to the growing popularity of your favourite band—the one that happens to be made up of some of your closest friends—so of course you photograph every one of their shows. Though you refuse to let them pay you, being at their gigs leads to plenty of more work, so you manage.

Thankfully, you leave your shift at the cafe with your newest paycheque in hand. So, you stop by the bank on your journey home and deposit most of it into your savings. It’s what you do every time you get paid, and the guys sometimes make fun of how frugal it makes you.

Their teasing persists when you walk into the pub to meet them for a gig. A morning shift and a night out all in the same day is usually a bad idea, but you run home to nap for a few hours and have tea with Avni before showing up, so you hope it isn’t a completely terrible night.

“Come on, mate! One cocktail?! It’s Saturday night, get pissed with us,” begs Ross, who has already downed a few pints.

The seven of you; him, Matty, Hann, and George, along with you and the girls, squeeze tightly into a booth to commit to your normal routine. If the guys were playing at a pub, you’d come a couple of hours before the show to have some drinks and chat shit. If they weren’t, you’d come to some pub anyway before heading to the venue. Beer was a part of the equation either way.

Weekend shows always brought the whole crew out. The audience had more bodies and their set had a bit more length. Smaller shows sometimes had your flatmates opting to stay home—busy with school and work or just not in the mood—but you never missed any.

You like to say you’re forced to, in order to keep the band’s Facebook updated with stills of every set, but truthfully, you never want to miss a show. You’d rather be in the crowd with your eye glued to your viewfinder than be anywhere else.

“I’m a classy woman.” you declare sarcastically, sipping your espresso martini leisurely, “Plus, I just got word that my application is being processed, as of a few days ago. Gotta save up for London if I get it, can’t be draining my bank account at every night out,”

“It’s always about London. Blah blah blah London, blah blah blah internship. Fuck off,” he drunkenly spits at your face. You laugh, not offended in the slightest since you’re used to his bluntness.

“By ‘fuck off’ he means ‘we hope you get it’, by the way,” Greta reassures you after flicking him up upside the head. It made Ross wince and whine but the alcohol in his system makes it hurt less.

It also apparently makes his reflexes slower, as you’re able to easily steal the glass from his hand to take a few large gulps to spite his comment. Ross’s jaw drops, newly offended, and moves with haste to snatch it back from you—though it’s now almost empty.

“You deserved that,” says Adam, chuckling and enjoying his full pint.

“Thank you!” You say and then clink your martini glass to his in solidarity. The rest of the group then add on and cheers you as well, leaving Ross to walk to the bar and fetch himself another beer, sulking.

“Can I just say, I’m not gonna pull a Ross and tell you to fuck off about London, but Gret can speak for herself about this whole ‘we hope you get it’ narrative,” George clarifies, “At a happy medium I will be happy for you but also very upset that you’d be leaving us.”

You smile at his sweetness through the fear that everyone might actually be upset at you leaving Manchester. It was hard enough to break the news that you were interested in an endeavour so separate from them. The sheer distance made it even worse.

Which is why you lied.

The internship Ross mentions is really in New York, not London.

Well, it could have been in London if you wanted it to be. ELLE Magazine has headquarters in both cities, and there are plenty of UK internships you qualify for. But, the program that calls to you is for international study—they provide housing for a year-long position (which is a paid one, thankfully), and you feel that the scene in New York is more exciting than anything in your home country. So, you apply.

But, change has always been difficult for you to accept; growing up and sticking to the same people, fantasising about the same career and carrying around the same camera. You enjoy your life being that same you.

And up until you discovered the internship, you planned to be just that. You like Manchester. You know Manchester. It’s comfortable, and has everything you need to make it in the industry. But so does New York.

The idea ignites a flame in you. Nobody would ever describe you as spontaneous, or as confident, or as a dreamer. You always feel diligent. Compliant. Following through with the plan that you’ve always had. But you want to be outstanding. Unpredictable, for once. Reaching for something so big that it’s scary.

You lie because you’re scared. What will people think of you if you fail? You think about telling the truth to the people you’re closest to and it makes you sick to your stomach.

How they probably think that you don’t have it in you to follow through with it. That you’re a good photographer in Manchester, and won’t compare in America. That you’ll be broke and back in England within months. A two and a half hour train ride of shame back from London sounded much less frightening than an 11 hour flight back from America.

Of course, they’re actually lovely about the ELLE internship. They have so much faith in you—maybe more than you have in yourself. But they don’t know that you’ll be packing up and moving 5 time zones over. And their loveliness doesn’t put your crippling anxiety to sleep, and doesn’t stop you from creating and keeping up with the London lie. It’s your safety blanket.

“Just think of it like this, George,” you begin, “Coming down and visiting me will give you guys an excuse to play some gigs and show all of the big London labels how badly they need to sign you.”

All four boys groan at the mention of record labels. They’ve been working their asses off trying to get attention from them and it hasn’t gone very smoothly so far.

“If the sad little indies in this city won’t bat an eye at us then I doubt any fancy London ones will give a shit,” complains Matty with an eye roll.

“For a man with such a big ego you can be so pessimistic.” Avni responds.

You’re sitting across from Matty, so you use your knee to shove his. Though his tone is confidently spiteful, you can tell that the band’s struggle to get signed sometimes gets to him.

He looks up at you since you gain his attention, and the two of you share a small reassuring smile. Matty’s knee shoves yours back. It softens his expression.

“I’ve got a multi-faceted personality, Avni,” he defends.

She raises her hands, accepting his statement as a fine enough rebuttal.

“At least the place is pretty packed tonight.” Ross interferes.

Everyone looks around and surveys the busy nature of the pub they’re about to play for. Ross has a good point, and the group’s excitement grows with the realisation. They could tell the energy would be great.

With the mention of why they’ve arrived in the first place, the four boys take note of the quickly lessening time before their set would begin. So, they finish off the last drops of what sat in their glasses and eventually begin to prepare.

It’s not long before you’re in an uncomfortably crouched position, waiting for them to come on and begin their first song. Gret and Avni stand behind you, drinks still in hand and chatting away. You adjust the settings on your camera, making sure to up the exposure to accommodate the dark pub lighting.

Small cheers and woops erupt from a few of the patrons who are familiar with the boys, and you raise your camera to your eye when the set begins. Every time it settles on Matty, you almost feel a sense of relief to have an excuse to watch his every move.

It paralyses you, how natural his body and mind present themselves through the music. You watch him through the haze of cigarette smoke that floated in the air, seeing his hands dance up and down the fretboard of his guitar. They move with urgency and make pretty sounds. His eyes close when he sings and you find yourself missing the brownness of his irises when they are, sighing in solace when they open back up.

You have to remind yourself to photograph the others. They’re naturals on stage as well—and you can’t deny their talent—but they’re humble in nature. And Matty isn’t. He makes the perfect frontman; overtly confident and spilling with an amplified arrogance. It’s so easy to capture him and have the photos ooze magic. You aren’t sure if the magic comes from you or from him.

When you’re satisfied with the amount you’ve taken, you relax to enjoy the show, quietly singing along to the lyrics to your favourite tracks. Your friends chat here and there but you stay engaged with the performance. You chase contact with Matty’s eyes, which are usually scanning the depth of the growing crowd, and have to suppress your smile when you succeed, stealing his attention for split seconds at a time.

And as quickly as it begins, it’s over. You detach yourself from your camera and carefully place it back into the bag that slings over your shoulder. Applause rings through the pub.

Everyone sticks around for a couple of hours after the show, as the boys ride on what’s left of their post-performance adrenaline—but your eyes droop with tiredness and they can tell. Clearly, the nap you took after getting back from work wasn’t enough to keep up with your friends.

“Falling asleep on us, are you?” notices Avni, poking at your cheek, sufficiently drunk.

You smile softly and try to shake some energy into yourself. “Not anymore,” you say, embarrassed that they can see through your attempts to hide the fact that you’ve been up for nearly 21 hours. You’re even too knackered to sip on your drink, and the copper mug sits full of a concoction of Moscow Mule remnants mixed with melted ice in front of you.

“Quite the grandmother tonight, Y/N.” Hann teases.

You don’t tease him back because you can tell he just cares, and will probably suggest that you make your way home, knowing his sensibility. “Can’t help it. Been up since 5,”

“Fuckin’ ‘ell, 5 in the morning?! Doing what?!” asks Matty, who sat between you and the edge of the booth.

“Going to my job, Matty. Have you heard of those? Jobs? Or have you not, since you’ve never been able to keep a real one?”

The whole table ‘ooo’ at your burn and Matty shakes his head in disbelief.

“In my humble defence, I have been helping George deliver for Flame and Wok and they do pay me now. So yeah, darling, I have,” he defends matter-of-factly. “You know, I slept for 12 hours last night. Maybe more. And for some reason I think I’m just as fucking exhausted as you,”

You turn to him, confused. “I can’t tell if you’re trying to one-up me with how tired you are or if you’re bragging about how much sleep you got.”

“I’m trying to point out that you’re a trooper for still being up. And am also insinuating that I am very unusually tired and willing to leave if you come with. If everyone else wants to stay.” he clarifies.

Oh, you think, He’s just being sweet.

“Thank God someone finally offered. I’m dying here,” you whine, “You lot keep having fun for me, alright? I don’t want to start being known as the buzzkill.”

Matty scooches sideways to stand up and you do the same, slipping on your denim jacket.

“Oh, you will,” confirms George. You flip him off, and he laughs. “I’m joking. Get some sleep, love.”

You smile at the fact that underneath the sarcastic humour all of your friends share, is a synonymous deep care for each other. You’ve really lucked out. A sudden sadness pangs your mind when you think of the fact that you might be leaving them. You wipe it away before it can settle.

They all mutter farewells while you lean down to peck Avni on the cheek. You repeat the action for Greta, and then you and Matty begin heading out.

“See you at home,” he calls, waving. Everyone waves back, and then returns to their slurred banter and cold drinks.

He holds the door open for you and you step into the chill late night (almost early morning) air. You follow the pavement towards your building and walk side-by-side.

“I need to meet Wade before we get back, by the way. If that’s okay with you,” Matty admits. “He’s just waiting for me on the corner of Spears.”

Wade is Matty’s dealer, who regularly supplies him the weed that everyone often smokes together. At one point, you try to figure out a way to somehow split the cost by seven, but since Matty and George have a much more intense fixation than the rest of you, they agree to just pay for it themselves.

So, you’re complicit, and follow him a block past your flat to where Wade was waiting. You’re retrospectively thankful that walking an extra block is the trade off for free weed.

It’s quick; you both throw a casual ‘Hi, mate,’ to the dealer and a few seconds later you’re already turning back with your arm linked in Matty’s, who had the small baggy tucked into his pocket.

You climb the dreaded stairs together and reach your floor. It’s mostly quiet between you, due to your energyless states, but before you come to your door, you mutter, “Thank you for leaving with me, Matty. I know you would rather have stayed,”

“Don’t be silly,” he responds, “I know I’m crazy, but I actually am knackered. I should be thanking you for giving me an excuse to leave.”

A smile is shared between you and you unlock your flat, sighing in contentment at the lessening proximity from you and your bed. “You’re right about being crazy.”

Matty rolls his eyes, and you send him a look that tells him it’s okay for him to head to his flat. That you’re all good and safe in yours. But before he leaves, he stops to say one more thing.

“You really should rest up. I know everyone likes taking the piss out of how much you work—especially tonight—but it really is a lot. And I get that it’s for a reason and you’re saving up or whatever. I just hope you know that we won’t be offended if you don’t come and take photos of every single show we play. It’s okay to miss them, really. You’ve seen it a million times over. If it means you can avoid 20 hour days and draining all of your energy.”

“I like coming to your shows. I don’t feel like I have to. I just want to,” you insist while taking off your boots, “But thank you. I appreciate it. ‘S very sweet,”

He accepts your answer with a gracious nod and briefly wraps an arm around your shoulder to press his lips to your cheek, then turns to find his flat. You watch him walk down the hall and finally close the door when you hear his footsteps bouncing in the stairwell.

You have to suppress the giddiness you feel bubbling up and convince yourself that you’d feel the same way if any of the other guys had walked you home and said what he’s said—though you know that isn’t true.

Now washed up and in bed, you check your phone one last time before shutting your eyes. You see a message from Matty.

matty: Wanna to try out the stuff I picked up earlier?? It’s a new strain, needs opinions. I’ll be home all day tmrw just stop by x

y/n: beautiful

y/n: ill text when i leave x

You think about how nice a joint sounds after the long day you’ve had. So, you agree, and fall asleep soundly.

But when you wake up the next morning—far too early—to the scariest email you’ve ever received, you’re even more in need of a smoke. Because you’re about to have a panic attack.

You’re moving to New York.

You reread the congratulatory words maybe 30 times before you can bear to look away. Tears of both happiness and fear threaten to spill from your eyes, but you blink enough times to make them disappear.

The kettle is whistling in the kitchen and you can hear it from your room. It’s probably Greta. You wonder if she boiled enough water for you and Avni to make cups as well, since you’re usually up by now. You can pick apart two sets of footsteps. They’re both up.

What if they can hear that you’re up? What if your thoughts are so loud that they can hear those, too? You quiet down your quick breathing and hide yourself and your screen beneath your covers. Just in case.

You’ll have to start packing soon. Book a plane ticket. You’ve never booked a plane ticket by yourself. What if it’s hard? What if you can’t find your passport? You get up and rummage through your bedside table to find it. It’s exactly where you left it.

Eventually, after hiding out and panicking for what seems like a couple of minutes but is actually many hours, you let yourself cry. You let it all out in heaving sobs. The girls don’t hear you or question the fact that it’s past noon and you’re still in your room. They assume you’re catching up on sleep. But you’re wide awake.

You think about how bad you’ve been wanting this. You want it so bad. You would never be able to forgive yourself if you let your fear ruin it.

So, you compose yourself. Wipe your eyes dry and sniff up the snot. Get dressed, plaster a normal smile on your face. You ask Greta and Avni if they want to come to the boys’ flat with you for a smoke. You tell them that Matty’s got a new strain he wants you to try. They agree after asking if you’ve had a good night’s sleep. You lie and say yes.

y/n: heading over now

y/n: and bringing the others if u don’t mind

You need an excuse to have everyone in the same room again. An opportunity to tell them the news. You’re not sure how long you can go before it eats you alive.

matty: Course

matty: Door’s unlocked

Matty doesn’t mind, but is weirdly disappointed to know that it won’t just be you and him. He calls Ross, Hann, and George out to the lounge to let them know that everyone’s coming, to act like he meant for it to be a group thing all along. It’s nothing out of the ordinary, so the boys don’t question it.

To be fair, hanging out one-on-one wasn’t out of the ordinary either. He’s just worried that you might find it odd for him to like it better that way, versus seeing the other girls. So he keeps that part to himself.

Everything’s normal when you arrive. Matty explains that the joints you puff and pass are supposed to give you a more concise high. Less scattered but definitely less alert, and maybe more focused. He thinks it might be good for writing, or something. You’re not sure. You just inhale and let it happen and then think in circles about how to start mentioning what you need to mention. It blares at your conscience.

Thankfully, at the perfect time, Avni asks you a question about the cafe. Which you know you’ll have to quit soon. It’s the perfect segue.

She’s complaining about accidentally volunteering to organise an event for her colleagues before winter break came along. “Thought I’d just be setting up the place but now I’ve got to plan the whole program of honourees and even sort out the catering,”

“Catering? Fuck, that’s fancy.” sneers Ross.

“Right? I think I’ll plan it at an odd time so that I can just get coffee and pastries, or something,” Avni lazily says, blowing smoke out of the corner of her mouth, “Does the cafe do catering? Like big carafes of coffee and tea?”

“We do,” you answer with hesitance.

“Oh, gorgeous! Would you be able to ask your boss to sort me a few? So I can use some of my budget on other stuff?” she asks.

Your heartbeat quickens. Now’s your moment.

“I would, but—” You cough and bite at the skin on your fingertips to stall, “I—Um, I won’t be working there anymore. In December.” You finally sputter out.

Everyone’s in their own little world as you hang out; George busy mixing something on his laptop, Greta bringing over her latest crochet project to finish (hoping she doesn’t get too high and fuck up the pattern), the others making casual conversation and enjoying the company. But they stop when they hear the words leave your mouth, and there’s a moment of eerie silence when the gears in their heads grind to figure out what you mean.

“Have you been sacked?” asks Adam. You shake your head no. “...You’re quitting?”

You nod slowly, searching for some sort of release in each of your friends’ expressions, hoping they figure it out before you have to say it on your own and out loud, since you haven’t done that yet. But nobody says anything, and you can’t bear any more silence.

“I got the internship.”

A sense of shock blanketed the room before Ross finally jumps out of his seat to tackle you in an embrace. You grin, a wave of relief hitting you, and flipping the morale in the October air on its head.

“Are you fucking kidding me?! How long have you known?!” He screams in your ear, and you wince at the volume, though you can’t help but giggle with joy as your friends erupt in praise.

He climbs off of you and you stand so that everyone can have their turn wrapping their arms around you.

“I got the email early this morning and have not been able to function since,” You explain, “Genuinely had a panic and hid underneath my bed sheets for about 3 hours before I could face the fact that it’s actually happening,”

“We have to celebrate! I should go get a bottle of champagne. Someone come with me, please. Balloons? Streamers? Do you want a cake, love? I can get a cake,” Avni rambles, dragging Greta up from her seat and heading for the door.

Your cheeks hurt and your head spins.

“Please, Av, you don’t have to do all that.” You argue.

Matty’s the last to hug you so he leaves one of his arms draped around the back of your neck, standing close. He leans his head sideways and your temples touch. He leaves his head there.

“Please, Y/N,” Greta copies you, “You deserve it. None of us work tonight, why can’t we party?!”

“This buzzkill narrative is really catching up to you…” George buts in, “And don’t you want to spend time with us before you leave? There’s not much time left, you know,”

Your cheeks finally relax, and you’re brought back down to Earth. Fuck. He’s right. The room falls silent as they all make the same realisation.

You feel your nose get fizzy with emotion. You can’t move on and let them celebrate you without telling them the truth.

“Yeah, you’re right. There’s also one more thing you should know. About the internship,” you start nervously.

Everyone looks you in the eye but you can’t dare to meet anyone’s stare. They sense the lighthearted and energetic mood shift, and their mouths fall flat. Why are they not smiling anymore? But there isn’t anything left for you to do besides explain yourself.

“It’s with ELLE Magazine. They have a head office in London, and I applied through ELLE UK, which is why I said the position would relocate me there. But, in my offer, they gave me the option to intern there, or at the headquarters in New York,”

Your breath shakes as you inhale.

“And after some thinking, I’ve decided to choose New York.”

#thread of gold #matty healy #matty healy x reader #matty healy x you #matty healy x y/n #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy fic #the 1975 #the 1975 fanfiction #fanfiction

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throwaway-yandere · 1 year

Text

"I AM HERE" (Yandere Modern CEO! Alhaitham/Reader)

a/n: btw, the logo's made by Esther anon!!! ❤️ Thank you so much!!!! Ily!!!

Unreliable Synopsis: You got recruited as Alhaitham's assistant... But honestly? You'd rather be a damn idol producer.

Mother of Klee, Alice's note: We (Our cutie pie Lumine and I) just wanted you to know that it wasn't our idea to make you Alhaitham's assistant, ✾... That's all! I'll have Barbara pray for you every Sunday <3

Yandere Idol!1k event masterlist

--------

You didn't get the job.

Technically you did get to work for the company, but you still didn't get the job. It's a strange predicament, truly. It would be comparable to learning how to prepare fried eggs in a culinary class and then being informed that you must serve medium-rare steak with sauce for the test.

Yes. You didn't become an idol's producer.

But anyone can imagine the kind of stress you're under when you found out you were hired as the CEO's assistant.

-----

"Ohohoho, a lost guest! It's always nice to see a new face around here! Can I get you something to drink? I promise you can trust me!" A man approached you with two bottles of iced coffee.

You raised an eyebrow, clumsily scratching your neck.

The taller blonde man beside him sighed exasperatedly. "I don't think anyone in their right mind would accept drinks coming from..."

An idol wearing a weird bonnet? Yeah.

"Geez, trainee, what's with that look? I don't spike drinks. Is that sooo hard to believe?"

"You're Kaveh and you're Venti of 5wirl, aren't you?" It's clear to you who they were after that brief exchange.

"Yep yep!!!" He does a tiny little finger-gun gesture. "The one and only– wait a minute, that's Itto's line."

"S-Sorry to bother you, but I'm quite lost right now..." You stuttered. "If you could lead me to CEO Alhaitham's office, that would be fantastic."

"Aaaahh, so YOU'RE (Y/n)! We heard rumors that you're going to work as that idiot Alhaitham's assistant, is that true?"

Your nose scrunched. Sadly, that does seem to be the case based on TeyvatPro's employees' behavior towards you.

Venti gave you a look of pity, "maybe you'd have a good life if he wasn't the CEO and a cum laude Akademiyan graduate. Unfortunately for you, that guy is both."

But you're also an Akademiyan graduate...

"That bastard's an absolute numbers guy for a linguistics major, if I were you, I'd purposefully bomb that interview," Kaveh said.

Venti shrugged. "Do you even have to try? I'd crumble if I'm stuck with him in a room for more than an hour. He probably got that attitude from his seniors."

But based on the magazine you've read, you were a senior when Alhaitham was a freshman...

"Yeah, yeah, we get it. Enough slander, Venti." Kaveh scoffed. "Like, hello? I was Alhaitham's senior you prick!"

You perked up. "Oh? What did you major in?"

Kaveh gazes at you proudly. "Architecture."

You raised a hand and you shared a quick high-five. "Nice! I love to idle around St. Deshret's building back then--"

"Aaaaaaaalright nerds, we're here!!!"

Venti loudly announced, bowing in front of the door.

A closed door, huh? There are unspoken things about doors when it comes to superiors. It's a pseudo-science that when a superior's door is always open, they value employer-employee relationships and are willing to hear out inquiries. Considering how Sir Alhaitham's closed...

Well... You shouldn't make a mountain out of a molehill.

A pink-haired lady opened the door.

"There you are, little one. Come, wait inside."

---

"We didn't expect someone like you to apply here. Your GPA is astoundingly high– what exactly made you want to apply here?"

The money and the location, but mostly the former. You had a similar salary before your old company faced bankruptcy, but the workplace here has some pretty decent coffee and a nice dental plan. Those standards may be low but at least they weren't nonexistent like your newbie self's preservation skills.

Miss Miko smiled slyly.

"You know what, don't answer." She said. "The boss should emerge in 3... 2... 1..."

You heard the door open, but you can't see who it was yet since a bookshelf was blocking your view.

"Well then, I'll be taking my leave~." The ex-idol giggled. "Farewell, little one."

Of course, it was none other than the CEO himself. Alhaitham walked to his desk, ignoring Miss Miko as he sat down, which amplified your nervousness. He's known as a genius businessman for a good reason. With a demeanor imbued with confidence and wit, his face glows in a rather youthful light.

"I'm certain you've deduced why I called you here."

You're wary of how his cologne smelled like money. He smells like he's trying to prove something to you.

"Y-Yes, sir, but I don't think I'd be fit to be your assistant–"

"That's right. You're still incompetent." He deadpanned, "I'm only hiring you because you have neat handwriting, and based on Lumine's analysis, you're something of a realist. My criteria are usually stricter than that."

You know little regarding the full business Alhaitham conducts, but if his standards helped him stay as the CEO instead of Madam Alice, it must be a challenging one.

"But...?" You droned.

"But?"

"W-Why me, then?"

Alhaitham scoffed, "there's no use explaining more than half of my reasonings to you. Let's just say I enjoy how you're something of an odd one out. Uniqueness as an asset is something I value, especially in this industry."

"If I'm not worthy, then may I propose that I'll only be a temporary assistant until you find a suitable idol for me? O-only if you'd allow it, of course."

He raised an eyebrow, not expecting those words from you.

"You're seriously determined to be an idol's producer?"

"I am."

"Even when being MY assistant provides better benefits?"

"Yes, sir."

"How stupidly honest. No, scratch that off the record: you're stupid AND honest."

You laughed uncomfortably. You're not sure why you're so direct with the CEO. Being straightforward with your potential employer is quite a welcome change from your usual practice of masking your true thoughts with formalities. You usually keep your opinions to yourself, but his mere presence implores you to speak frankly.

"I know that look." He said. "You notice it too, right? We communicate rather naturally for an employer-employee relationship."

"Yes, sir. It's a bit strange."

"Hmm. If you look deep within your past, you wouldn't think it's strange at all."

What does he mean by that?

Alhaitham reached his hand out. He smirked as you accepted his handshake.

His strong grip feels oddly familiar... You would think that you've known him from somewhere but you are still an Akademiya graduate. You need more evidence to support that gut feeling of yours.

"I like you. Let's get along for the next 5 years."

"Until you find a suitable idol for me." You answered without malice.

His face clenched slightly.

"Sure. Until you no longer need this company."

At that time, you should've noted that there's a difference between those two sentences.

-----

"I AM HERE." Your phone spoke in an AI voice.

It's been a long time since you had your first encounter with Kaveh & Venti and that interview with Alhaitham. Nowadays, you work hard to please the latter.

You opened your phone. TeyvatPro's app logo is a heart-shaped leaf, but it's anything but natural and comforting. It's corporate and cold. The AKASHA - Device Policy app served as a reminder that you've long abandoned your old job and entered a new business environment.

You miss your old boss. You miss your old colleagues.

You looked around, unfazed. It's just one of many features the AKASHA app has; it allows Alhaitham to make your phone speak whenever he's searching for you. Since you're usually around wherever he is, this tracker sufficed.

The door opened. You committed the painful error of fulfilling his demands at an ungodly hour of the night, and now Alhaitham has sent you more tasks.

Alhaitham pocketed his phone after seeing you. He just used it to make your phone ring. The AKASHA app doesn't allow you to silence his calls. It'll only stop saying "I AM HERE" once your boss turns it off.

"Mx. (Y/n)."

"Here are the files, sir."

Miffed at the exasperation in your boss's tone, you cast your eyes downwards as you passed his folder. However, you have to face him head on or he'll begin his streak of "professional" insults.

You won't let him run his mouth just yet. "Would that be all?"

Alhaitham didn't look like he was in his best mood. As he looked through the folder, skimming through each page with hawk-like eyes, you noticed two strange papers on his desk.

Is that... your file?

"S-Sir, permission to speak?"

"Granted."

"Why is my resume on your desk?" You showed your best poker face because you knew that your next words aren't pleasant.

"Am I fired?"

Alhaitham spoke immediately, not looking up to face you. "You're uncharacteristically confrontational. Is it because it's 2 in the morning?"

He's wrong about the hour– you're always begrudgingly bending your schedule for your bosses– but he's right about your "lack of spine." However, while you don't need another ulcer, you need this job.

Alhaitham continued, now sporting a more pronounced frown.

"How did you arrive at such a conclusion? I took you as my assistant for good reasons and your groundless inference shames this company."

"I... Pardon?" Rude.

"Perhaps it was wrong for me to assume that you possessed a greater aptitude for critical thinking," Alhaitham spoke sardonically. "Take a look at the desk again. The reason why your resume is there should be obvious."

"Is that right?..."

You glanced at his desk again, gaining unspoken permission to touch and move papers on your boss's desk. When you did, the underlying reason became apparent.

Kaveh's file is also on his desk.

With nowhere to turn, you came up with a single hypothesis.

"Does... Does this mean..."

You beamed a wonderful smile at your boss, unable back your excitement. "Does this mean I'll be reassigned as Kaveh's producer?!"

He smirked.

Unbeknownst to you, Alhaitham was pleased as you started associating his motivations with another cause entirely.

You grabbed Kaveh's resume, grinning from ear to ear as you fan your face. "Holy. Oh my God. I'll finally be an idol's producer!"

"Kaveh is still a trainee," Alhaitham replied but you didn't hear him.

There's no better fit for you to work with than someone as theatric as Kaveh. Visual kei, rock, disco– it makes virtually no difference what Kaveh's idol genre will be; you don't care as long as it sounds nice! In addition to being the only noisy members of the "ABC" or "Alhaitham Bashing Coalition," you both graduated from Akademiya, thus it's impossible for you two to not be close friends.

"I've never seen a person this happy for getting a downgrade."

"Then clearly you don't know what it's like for people who abandoned their engineering careers to pursue art."

"No. No, I don't." Alhaitham said, picking up more folders in his drawer. "Send this to Miss Minci down the first floor and you'll be excused for the day."

As you should've been in the first place. Today was a Sunday.

"Of course! Thank you so much, sir Alhaitham!"

He nodded, uninterested.

"Don't forget to close the door on your way out."

--------

"I'm taking Kaveh off the list."

"No, it's nothing personal– never mind. Yes, it is. Alice, I can't tolerate it. If I could swap out Venti for Scaramouche on 5wirl, I would. They're too enmeshed with my assistant's business. They don't know (Y/n) any longer than I have, yet they act like they've been friends with them since they were young while they can barely recall who I am."

"I've looked at Kaveh's file and honestly, only an idiot would miss that he wants to join TeyvatProductions to spite me. He knows my history with (Y/n). He knows what I did to their old company."

"... Hah. Please. They're not going to resign. I listen to their phone calls– they're not going to leave until they pay off their student loans and other debts."

You swallowed dryly. By now you were supposed to be at home, but Miss Minci instructed you to return Alhaitham's folder with her revisions and now you can't help but listen while hiding behind the bookshelf in morbid curiosity.

Consequently, you are now hearing sounds that were not intended for your ears.

"... (Y/n)? A pet?"

Alhaitham laughed.

A pet...?

Your breath hitched as you recalled a conversation you had with Venti months prior.

---------

"Haven't you ever wondered why the big boss never takes his earphone out?"

Whenever you two are alone together, Venti makes sure you turn off your phone when speaking to him. You never understood the reason why before this talk.

"Nope."

"Seriously?" Venti blew a raspberry. "Bullshit– ain't no way. You've never thought that, hmm, maybe he's listening to our conversations? Not even once?"

Alhaitham looks at you like an ant lining up in a row: with clear indifference and little regard, yet he is confident that you serve a purpose no matter how insignificant it may be. You noticed that the ability to exercise control matters to him. Alhaitham is obsessed with omniscience in the most subtle way. He is slightly despised by his people, therefore he used you as a subpar pawn to observe their behavior.

Deep down, you know he has no need for an assistant; you're only here to boost his pride. Hence, you tossed that hypothesis out the window.

"No, I doubt he has the time for that." You said after contemplating.

"Gosh, you're naive," Venti sighed. "You're book smart but not street smart, aren't you?"

"Hah?"

"C'mon, just admit it, (Y/n)," the idol frowned.

"Isn't it obvious that Alhaitham's keeping you like a pet?"

----------

So that's what you are.

Now that you overheard Alhaitham's phone call, everything pieced itself together and it terrifies you.

"They're not a pet to me. They were once my mentor–" Alhaitham muttered.

You took a step back.

Shit.

He must've heard that.

You didn't mean to snoop around. You're not a bad person. You just wanted to drop a few more folders. You didn't mean to eavesdrop–

"... (Y/n), are you there?"

You didn't breathe as you continued hiding behind the bookshelf.

You can't handle this right now. Confrontations are something you do not trust yourself with.

You stole a glance at Alhaitham as if seeing him for the first time. There sat a man with a veneer of calm. A man you've never met before.

"... Hmph."

Alhaitham pulled out his phone.

His face, his smirk, his breathing... they're now entirely alien to you.

Your phone rang.

"I AM HERE."

Your blood froze.

Anxiety coursed through your veins, not to recede but to possess. Your reaction is almost immediate yet his impinged movements served to make your heart run faster. You propel your heels to the door in a noisy attempt to leave even while you heard his chair drag against the floor, making his way toward you effortlessly.

Then his cold hand was clamped above yours, holding you and the doorknob with intense firmness.

You trembled.

His grip feels like deja vu.

"There you are. Why are you still here, my assistant?"

ANSYTEA: hehe thank you ✾ anon for joining the 1k event <333!!!

#yandere genshin x reader #yandere alhaitham x reader #yandere al haitham x reader #al haitham x reader #alhaitham x reader #yandere x reader #yandere genshin #yandere genshin impact #yandere male #yandere #yandere male lead #yandere fanfiction #yandere oneshot #tag: yan!1k idol event #✾ anon #ansy-writes

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alezangona · 3 months

Text

The Shadow of Khansar (Salaar Fic)

Part 7 - The Descent of Virabhadra

Part 6 | Part 8

“Stop. Who are you?” The guards stationed outside Mahit’s home don’t hesitate to point their guns in Deva’s direction and he maneuvers himself to stand in front of Chintu, pushing down the spark of irritation clawing its way out of his body.

“Devaratha,” he just manages to hold back from snapping. A flicker of surprise passes through him when they flinch, dropping their guns immediately.

“We’re so sorry, sir. We didn’t recognize you.” They step back and gesture toward the stairs that lead up to the entrance. Deva nods quietly and pulls Chintu along, feeling the rush of adrenaline as he realizes just how close he is to seeing Varadha. He couldn't have been gone for long, maybe a day or two, but the separation is agonizing. It comes as a small shock to him that he wants more than to just see Varadha, but to feel him against his body, to be able to melt into him again, and never let go.

“No. No, no, no.” A commanding voice stops them in their tracks just as they take two steps into the grand foyer. In front of them stands a short woman, draped in a pink Sambalpuri sari. Despite her small demeanor, the strict set of her jaw as she glares at them in disdain is more than enough to have Deva freeze in place, his posture taking on that of a soldier awaiting orders. “They’ve just finished cleaning the entire house after hordes of men piled in hours ago. I will not have you two tracking any more blood on these floors. You there, go hose these two down in the back before helping them get settled in.” She orders the footman before turning back to look at Deva, her gaze gentler than before. “It must have been a long night. Once you freshen up, there’s some food I can serve you if you’re hungry.”

All he can do is nod as they’re led back out. The stream of water from the hose isn’t as powerful as he expects, but the cool flow of it is pleasant against his skin in comparison to the humidity. Soon, he and Chintu are drenched from head to toe and are handed soft towels to dry off with. The footman leads them through the house, where Deva can hear distant conversation as they pass by what must be the dining room, and up the stairs. The footman opens the third door on the right and gestures for Chintu to make himself comfortable. Deva kneels down to sign, trying to keep a reassuring smile on his face.

This is our friend’s house. Freshen up and we can go downstairs for dinner. All our friends are there.

At least, he hoped all of them were. Not something he’d say to the kid considering he finally looked a little less scared than before. That’s not to say that he won’t be plagued by nightmares later on in the night, but they’d deal with that once they get there.

“Where’s my room again?” Deva asks, pushing himself off his knees and rising to full height.

“Just this way, sir.” The footman leads him down further in the hallway.

“Who was the woman we were talking to earlier?” Deva finds himself asking in an effort to seem more talkative. Low standards, but Bilal would be proud. Or would pick on him relentlessly.

“Rudramma. She was initially hired as a cook, but within the next couple months, she was running the household. I don’t think the General would be able to function without her to keep his scattered brain in check.” The footman blanches visibly. “Please don’t tell him I said that. I don’t even mean it in a bad way! He’s great at his job, but the second he’s home, he’s kind of just everywhere. The attention span of a hummingbird, but a good man. Which, well you know. You’re one of his friends.” He begins to ramble, clearly flustered as he ponders the possibility of unemployment in his future. Deva finds himself genuinely amused by the interaction.

“Don’t worry, I’ve only met him a couple of days ago. He won't hear anything from me.” They share conspiratorial grins, finally coming to a stop in front of one of the rooms.

“Well, this is it sir. Your room. The kitchen is located downstairs to the right of the stairs. My name is Anand should you need anything else.”

Deva makes his way into the room after the exchange, closing the door and slumping against it as he processes the day. Save for one moment of utter panic, he feels like he handled everything as well as he could’ve. First and foremost, he discovered that his people aren’t extinct and are very much alive. If not slightly overcome by the need for revenge against the crown, but in their defense, who doesn’t want Raja Mannar dead. For now though, he just needs a quick shower so he can make his way downstairs and see–

“Deva? Rey, Deva?” At the sound of his voice, Deva’s body flips into autopilot. He rips open the door, taking a step into the hallway, his heart hammering in his chest. His eyes find Varadha instantly and before he knows it, he’s tackled into a hug with so much unrestrained force that he’s pushed back into his room. This time however, Varadha is in his arms.

They don’t say anything for a few moments, their harsh breath echoing through the room. Deva holds onto Varadha for dear life, pressing his cheek into Varadha’s soft hair as wetness forms in his eyes. Varadha doesn’t seem to be in any better shape as he grasps on just as tightly, a tremor shaking his frame.

“We were going to find you,” Varadha whispers, so low that his words couldn’t be distinguished from a quick hiss of air. “I was preparing to head out when we found a lead, but that’s when Rudra attacked. I had no choice but to stay back and help, Deva. I’m sorry.” Deva laughs lightly, moving his hand up to brush through Varadha’s hair.

“Pichaa? We both know that I can handle myself just fine. They needed you more in the moment than I did.”

“Where were you anyway? Kampu koduthunavu ra.”

“Rey,” Deva starts to pull away. “Yevado ethukelipothe nannu em chayamanthavu? Give me a second to shower and I’ll-”

“No. Don’t go yet.” Varadha pulls him close once again. “Who was it that got you?”

“Bhaarava.” At the sound of his name, Varadha rears back to look at Deva sharply, fury glowing within pools of obsidian.

“What did Radha Rama put him up to?” His eyes begin roaming down Deva’s body on high alert as he looks for signs of malice.

“It wasn’t her. Not this time.” Deva sighs, stepping back slightly. “I’ll get into all of that, but I think I need a shower first.” Varadha drops his arms to his side, hands fisting as a flicker of uncertainty passes over his features. His eyes dart between the door and Deva before he nods.

“Yes, of course. Then I’ll just-” Deva swoops in before he can finish, palm resting against Varadha’s cheek and pressing their lips together in a gentle, yet firm, kiss.

“Wait for me? Right here?” He requests, pressing his forehead against Varadha’s.

“Yeah, okay.” Varadha smiles shyly at him. The gesture is enough to set off fireworks in Deva’s heart.

~*~

“I had Anand bring your meal up here.” Varadha says the moment Deva steps out of the bathroom, rubbing his hair with a towel.

“And Chintu?”

“Baba’s with him right now. He’ll be able to hold up till tomorrow, at least.”

Now that Deva has time to really look at him, he notices the casual way Varadha is dressed. The fabrics wrapped around him are rather thin, working to fight against the humidity of the day and keep him cool. His jewelry is stacked on the dresser in a heaping pile and his face is void of the usual khol and tilakam that he wears during the day. Varadha looks so normal to Deva, all his defenses lowered as he sets aside a glass filled with bourbon.

He reaches out an arm, gazing fondly at Deva. Within seconds, the towel is thrown across the back of a chair and Deva is planted on Varadha’s lap, pulling him in for a searing kiss. Varadha laughs, a tinge of surprise and joy, and gives back as eagerly as he gets.

“I know you’re hungry, but there’s also food that you can dig into, you know?”

“For the life of me, I can’t imagine that anything can taste better than this.” Deva emphasizes with small pecks, lips meeting with teeth at some point when Varadha’s smile turns into a full blown grin.

“You’re such an idiot.” Varadha grasps his chin, pulling him in for a deeper kiss once more. “But come on, you need food and Rudramma’s shouldn’t be missed at any cost.”

“She really has you wrapped around her fingers doesn’t she? First the coffee, now the food. If this doesn’t meet the hype, I’m going to start questioning your taste.” Deva pulls himself reluctantly off of Varadha and grabs the plate. He knows instantly when the smell hits him that he’s in for a treat.

“I told her you liked your food on the spicier side, I guess she accommodated?” Varadha teases as Deva digs in, refusing to leave a grain behind.

“Oh god, I think we have to steal her from Mahit. Satti oka level aithe, eema unko level, anthe!” Deva sighs happily as he finishes eating and goes to wash his hands, leaving the plate on the desk before coming back to join Varadha on the bed.

“Sare kani, ippudu chepara.” Varadha takes Deva’s hand from across the bed. “What happened, Deva?”

“Bhaarava is a Shouryanaga.” Varadha’s hand tightens painfully around his own and it’s a reaction he expects. “He’s not the only one that survived. Their parents saved them that night and they’ve been laying low for years as they grew their network.”

“Deva, this is great!” His posture animates visibly, as if the burden of his father’s actions have lifted off his shoulders, like he could finally forgive himself just a little. The optimism evident on Varadha’s face makes it difficult for Deva to continue. He almost doesn’t want to because maybe, just maybe, he could handle this problem on his own.

Varadha had spent so much of his life feeling accountable for the actions of his father and atoned for the sins in his own way by living a life less than he deserved. He faced humiliations for years and years, never uttering a word on his behalf, and taking the insults with the unyielding strength of a mountain. There was no reason to add more to Varadha’s plate than was necessary. Not when he was already responsible for the lives of his family and soldiers. If there is anything he can do for Varadha, it is to protect him from his instinctual ability to save and shield.

The enemy of the Shouryanga’s was Raja Mannar, not Varadha. There wasn’t any palpable threat at the moment that he had to warn him about. Right?

“Yeah, yeah it is!” he swallows with difficulty and plasters on a smile that he hopes is reassuring. “He just wanted to make sure I knew and with how tense the atmosphere in the city is, he thought this was the only way to get to me without risking their cover.”

“So, what does this mean? What do they want with you?”

“I have no idea if I’m being honest.” Liar. Liar. Liar. “I don’t even know how to process this. I think I just need some time?” At that, Varadha lifts their intertwined fingers and presses a kiss into the inside of Deva’s wrist.

“Would talking about this at a later time be better for you?” He whispers, concerned.

“Yes, please.” Deva’s shoulders slump at that, making evident to him just how much tension he was carrying. “What happened while I was gone? Are you all okay?” Varadha looks away for a split second, trying to come to a decision.

“Promise not to panic, okay?” Which is the wrong thing to say because Deva is immediately on edge, but he waits patiently as Varadha pulls his arm away. A sharp hiss leaves his lips when he lifts his arms above his head, limbs moving in crisp motions to shrug out of his kurta. Deva’s gaze narrows in on the bandage wrapped around Varadha’s left shoulder, his teeth grinding against each other as red clouds his vision.

“Is that–”

“My first ever gunshot wound,” Varadha rolls his eyes, picking up his glass of bourbon again to take a large gulp. “I’m currently high on painkillers and alcohol, which might be counter productive in the long run, but feels quite effective right now.” He grins broadly at that, the look in eyes probing for Deva to find this all as amusing as he does.

Deva, however, can feel rage overtake his body, physically manifesting in the tremor of his fingers. Thunder roars in his ears as he considers just how close the bullet was from touching his heart. A couple inches lower and Varadha wouldn’t be sitting in front of him right now, glowing gold among the dim lights, full of life.

“Stop it,” Varadha’s lips turn down in disapproval as he takes in Deva’s stormy look. “I’m okay and everyone else is too. Baachi, Baba, Bilal, and Rhinda at least. Some of our men didn’t make it, but mostly everyone has and Mahit is letting us keep our heads low here until it’s safe enough to move to the bunker.” He sighs, moving Deva’s arms up as he settles his head into his lap. “We can worry about everything later, but it’s been such a long night Deva. Just stay with me?”

Deva works to control his fury, swallowing down the dryness in his mouth as he nods. He runs his fingers through Varadha’s hair and places a kiss on his forehead. “I’m not going anywhere.”

~*~

“Anna! Anna!” Varadha startles awake at the sound of Baachi’s voice, grimacing at the sharp pain that shoots from his shoulder.

“What?” He grumbles, voice rough with sleep as he rises to his feet and makes his way towards Baachi when he sees the wide-eyed, urgent expression.

“Nee Salaar em chesado choodu!” Varadha’s head whips to the bed then, stomach dropping when he notices Deva’s absence. He takes off instinctively, pushing past his younger brother as he races through the mansion. The sound of celebratory cheers reach his ear immediately and he makes his way into Mahit’s garden only to catch sight of a large crowd standing in a circular formation, blocking his view. His legs start to slow down as he waits at the edge of the circle, a vision of Deva chopping off Naarang’s head flashing before his eyes for a split second before his attention comes back to the sight in front of him.

“Come on Anna,” Baachi grabs his hand, pushing through the crowd. Many of the men start to complain till they catch a glimpse of Varadha and step back enough to give him room. The gradual parting of the group allows for them to get to the front of the circle sooner than later, and Varadha’s breath catches at the image in front of him, yet he isn’t shocked.

Deva is situated at the center of the circle, drenched in blood. He is stark-still, a regal aura to him as he keeps his gaze to the ground, allowing for two henchmen to pour buckets of water over his head. The powerful flow follows the sculpted build of his body, taking the blood with it in a path from the roots of his midnight hair, to the broad curves of his shoulders, and down the span of his long legs before pooling on the ground, forming thin streams of liquid that reach out like veins toward the beginnings of the inner circle.

“I’ve heard the tales of his feats from many of my friends,” Varadha hears Rudramma speak from next to him. “I didn’t think there was any credibility to them initially. Just stories exaggerated during wartime when people need something to believe in. Even when he came in last night, he looked so innocent that I couldn’t fathom that this was the man who was shaking up Khansar by name alone. Now though– he doesn’t look like a human to me. Nor to anyone here, I presume. It’s as if Virabhadra himself has descended to this land.”

Varadha couldn’t respond, fixated on the form in front of him.

“The guards told us he left the mansion in the early hours of morning,” Baachi starts, voice rising to be heard above the squall. “Then he came back like this a couple of minutes ago. They’re saying he killed Rudra and Om, after taking on fifty of their men single handedly. I can’t believe I ever doubted your Salaar, Anna. I should’ve trusted your judgment. It’s not a mistake I’ll ever make again.”

As if sensing his presence, Deva’s gaze snaps up to him, observing through long lashes and void of any expression. Varadha’s heart tugs uneasily. A hand on his shoulder snaps him out of his thoughts.

“I’m not sure what triggered him enough to launch an attack without informing us.” Mahit mutters, standing close with a grim expression, no part of him reflecting the excitement of the group. “We’re lucky he’s on our side, but now we have to fight to keep him here because if for any reason he chooses to go against us, we’ll lose everything we’ve dreamed of. He’s a weapon Varadha, a powerful one that we can’t afford to let slip from your grasp.”

Deva’s eyes flicker to the hand resting on Varadha’s shoulder for a singular moment before dropping back to the floor. The water crashes over him forcefully, like a tide pounding against rocky shores. Though the dark red washes away, the stain of it tinges Deva’s dusky skin like a blemish.

Varadha can only watch.

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