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#i hate to be this person but reblogs really are much better than likes........
medicinemane · 11 days
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You know, capitalism is another one of those words that sadly is like problematic in that it's functionally useless because people just toss it out and then everyone gets so hung up debating the meaning of the word capitalism that the whole point is lost
That's why I don't ever really use it. It doesn't really matter if it's capitalism or if it's cronyism or... whatever, I think it's bad when companies make record profits while prices go up up up
I think there's probably an issue and it probably needs to be solved (and I'm afraid you can't convince me less regulation is a magic bullet)
I like currency and exchanging currency because it seems like a good way of moving goods and labor around, but I also strongly support welfare and think that any group of more than 50 people is probably starting to get corrupt
Don't trust the government, but sure as hell don't trust corps...
I don't know, my original point is that sadly capitalism gets tossed around too much to mean anything anymore... but I just see too many argumentative people online so I'm tossing out my stances to avoid getting side tracked debating what I mean
What I really really mean is just fucking say what you're saying and don't bother saying capitalism cause you'll just make people argue and miss your point
#this is about me reblogging a post the mentions the word capitalism#and I sometimes do that and have people get in and argue about if something is or isn't capitalism#and it's like yeah mate and honestly I hear you; I'm not sure that it fully 100% fits here and if it does it's so broad it's meaningless#but like... read the bit before they said capitalism and have a think on that instead#like let's focus on the description of the situation and how we feel about that description more than a single definition#I honestly don't really care what things are called half as much as the actions being taken and how effective they're likely to be#don't really care if something's called hatemurderdeathism if it's making things better with no policies I hate#obviously there's some things where I'd be like 'hmm... let's not call it that; cause that implies some specific bad stuff'#but like broad strokes shit... capitalism socialism libertarian... what the fuck ever...#is there a strong social net while people are free to trade goods and services?#then I probably am mostly for this plan#fight about the name but leave me out of it#...that's another big part of why I don't call myself anything#takes too long trying to explain your definitions and get people to agree that it doesn't actually mean fascist murder#(cause whatever label you run under I bet I've seen someone call it a fascist murder)#nah; I'm not any this or that group... given up on that a long time ago#I'm just a stupid idiot with various ideas I'd like to talk with people to see how we can move the needle more in that direction#like the less people starving and being homeless direction#and the more worthwhile and productive work and less busy pointless work for megacorps direction#which I think means a shift to more small businesses... which is actually part of why I'm for a UBI#pretty sure I know at least one person on here with a business idea (and knowing them it's a good one)#but they just lack the financial stability to start the business#so I actually want a UBI cause I think it would be good for the economy#never gonna say I can't be stupid or wrong; but that is one of my motives#...whatever... none of this matters; really ought to hurry up and die but I procrastinate that as hard as everything else
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whoetoshaw · 4 months
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YES! | h. lewis
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summary: harry finally pops the question. [5.3k words]
pairing: reader x bog (W2S.)
notes: it’s the 1st of the month, why not? 🤷🏽‍♀️ part one of three potentially?!! mini wedding series, no?!! i coulda made this so much longer but we have other stuff to look forward to where i can hopefully provide some heart-exploding cuteness with our couple finally getting sappy in the new year! hope you enjoyed angels. don’t forget to reblog! <3333
HARRY NEVER WANTED TO GET MARRIED. Never. A wedding didn’t appeal to him, ever. In fact, a wedding was probably Harry Lewis’s worst nightmare.
Why? What was the point? What was the need? The whole idea of his wedding day just made him feel sick, made him angry, almost.
So much unnecessary shit. Why did he have to spend thousands for a start? For one day? On a venue, on his suit, on his bride’s gown and everything in between? Secondly, why did he have to invite hundreds of people? People he hadn’t spoken to in years? Obliged to come because they knew his mum, to what? Hold an awkward 10 minute conversation over how much he’d grown? Yeah, it fuckin’ happens. Thirdly, what was so fucking special about them? What did he get out of it, realistically? His last name didn’t change? He didn’t possess any better assets? He got a wedding band to wear for the rest of his days and he hated the feeling of jewellery, so really— why would he do it? Why would he torture himself like that? What was he proving?
“I don’t need go get the law involved to prove how much I love you. Is that not the creepiest fucking thing ever?”
He hated to sound like an utterly selfish man, but he did, he hated the thought of marriage. Growing up, the dirty-blond found it more and more unappealing the more thought he gave, and when asked his opinion upon having a big day for himself, he gave a loud, heavy, heartfelt “fuck that.”
But then he thought of who that day was meant for, who he shared that big day with, and suddenly—he didn’t feel so hostile towards the topic. 2014, the year his life changed forever when he set eyes on probably the most important thing in his life, the person he’d do anything for, the one that impacted his life like no other.
She never expected anything from him. She still didn’t ‘til this day. She didn’t expect love from that messy-haired teenager after that day she’d seen him outside school and she certainly didn’t expect herself to reciprocate it. Didn’t expect to last this long with him and be just as infatuated as she was, she hated his guts during those years, physically unable to stand him in those classes, going as far as even skipping the class when she knew she had that god-awful disruptive subject to attend with him in it.
But hey, wasn’t there was a fine line between love and hate?
Love wasn’t the word to use when it came to you and Harry Lewis. Love didn’t even cut it. But you were yet to come up with a better word, so love would do for now.
But it was so much more than just being in love with the other. It was something deeper, more than a soul connection. You just belonged together. You were made to be together. It was the way things were supposed to be, and 10 years together didn’t even feel like 10 years.
Was that all?
“—three year anniversary next, and woah. What a three years they been,” laughter picked up through the mic, “more like thirty,” the tatted man tiredly rubbed his eyes. “You, you been, what? Almost ten? Ten?”
“Yeah, yeah, only 10 years.”
“HA! ONLY! Don’t make me laugh!”
“What?” Harry looked amusingly opposite Ethan, the two carrying today's podcast for SidePlus. “Trust me, trust me; you get to that point where you go ‘. . just 10 years? Surely not,’” he looked to the cameras, flustered, caught slipping in front of his boys, “no it’s not long enough, man, it’s nothin’, that’s nothin’,” he casually tapped his fingers on the desk. “I mean . . it might not feel like it but it probably looks it,” he awkwardly laughed, “don’t know if I’m ready for her to see me all old and grey so soon,” he laughed with Ethan.
Ten years did feel like nothing. The pair of you breezed past them, they’d flew by in the blink of an eye. Well, there might have been a period where you went just a little over year of no contact, slightly headed on a path at different speeds, but Harry was able to salvage himself and meet you there once again, continuing the journey together for the rest of the trip.
And that year and five months might have felt like a lifetime apart at the time—but now, trying to think back to it, it felt like you’d just gone a week without each other. It was weird the way it worked.
He was your best friend, you were his, what more did you need to say? You would never love the way you did with him, and him? No one, not even his parents saw the Harry you got to live with.
The ten years were a breeze, and it couldn’t get any easier. With nothing to prove, the best step was to hit the next 10 years.
“Stunning. Literally the most beautiful ring,” you and the girls applauded and cheered for your girl, Talia to-be Minter on her engagement. “It suits you so much, it’s scary.”
“He did good, didn’t he?” She grinned, still in disbelief.
“Ethan wouldn’t have a clue what I’d want.”
“Yeah, I was very surprised with Vik, I didn’t think he had it in him, you know,” Ellie giggled, admiring her own ring as well. You sat amongst them, head on your hands, watching them dreamily, smile smacked across your face. You thrived off their happiness, unable to imagine how they felt.
Being with Harry was scary. It was scary because before him, you had your mind set straight, you had a check list with a deadline: engaged early twenties, at least married by 25 and a baby under a year later at most. Didn’t most people think like that? You loved the idea of being a youngish mum, but you also always wanted the ring before the babies.
But Harry . . . didn’t want to do either.
He wanted to live his life first, which was completely fair and valid, but it was scary how . . he just . . led you into feeling the same way.
Having kids was your ultimate dream, it was a deal-breaker in any relationship if they didn’t want that. You knew you always wanted to have a family to make and raise as your own, so you could follow in your Mum’s footsteps and recreate those precious memories with your own kids. Relive a little bit of your childhood again, with the person you loved, and know you’d have someone look after you when you were old and grey.
It was weird what Harry could do, because at times, this man had you questioning if you even wanted children anymore.
You’d just gotten sooo used to it being you two, you didn’t know if you could squeeze in another person to share him with. It sounded incredibly selfish and immature of you to think such things, but it wasn’t a lie, and Harry thought the exact same about you. You weren’t ready to grow up in that sense; lazy days, nights out and travelling abroad was all so easy when it was just the two of you. It just worked. You looked after each other and that was all you needed. You would take care of each other when you were old and grey.
If it weren’t for Harry mentioning he did in fact want kids, you wouldn’t have been surprised if starting a family was just . . something you forgot to do. Harry based his number off his dad’s age when he became a dad in his mid-thirties, and that was convincing enough for him. It annoyed you at first, thinking you might not be bothered at that age, but then you naturally grew used to letting time flow without a plan with no pressure. You accepted that you couldn’t follow a plan, after all, it’d gone tits up when the year you’d planned to get engaged — you weren’t even together.
You couldn’t script these things, you didn’t force them. You just accepted that . . you probably weren’t getting that wedding . . and . . you’re probably weren’t getting those babies until 35.
Maybe when you were 40, you might go to the registration office and exchange a couple vows, but the wedding venue Talia was talking about and the wedding dresses Ellie was showing you — they were so far out of your future, they weren’t in the equation. You may have been with Harry the longest out of your friend groups, but he would make you the last to get married.
“Do you want to get married?”
“I would like to get married, but I’m not in a rush. I guess the moment’s passed for me. I think I’m passed that point. We’ve already passed 10 years, like what . . I mean . . I mean why would we do it, you know? Is there even a point anymore?”
“There’s always a point! What are you on about?! You’re acting like you’re 40 and the time is gone!”
“I know but it’s too much effort.” You found yourself sighing, unconvinced.
“Is this you talking or Harry talking?” Faith raised a brow.
“Do you even know what type of engagement ring you want?” Talia squinted her eyes.
“No,” you laughed, not seeing how many girls you’d have gaping. Of course you didn’t, you didn’t look, because you didn’t think you were getting one anyway for decades to come, if at all! You didn’t know what shape you wanted, what size - what was the point? It just got you excited for nothing and Harry saw it as a joke he didn’t find funny. But you didn’t mind! You didn’t need to worry about a ring on your finger! The Fendi one would do now anyway. “I just . . just one with a diamond, I don’t know?!”
A rectangle maybe?
Talia facepalmed and Ellie hid her face to cover her little laughs. Faith was 2 seconds away from pulling out all the screenshots she had of the variety of rings she’d approve of, as well venues, dresses, and bouquets. “Babe, I have the song and everythin’ i’m walking out to.”
You laughed at her and could only hope that Ethan popped the question soon for her sake. Not you. You were chillin’.
But maybe the intro of Video Games would have been nice to walk out to . . .
Seeing your friends get engaged and plan their wedding, and then have the wedding, it was one of the most fulfilling things to witness as a friend. It was the same cycle: never any jealousy, just pure, genuine compassion, waiting for the next one.
You attended with the biggest grin on your face, heart bursting with happiness getting to witness your besties big days! Ahhh!
It would have been nice to get something like this one day, you thought from your guest seat.
It didn’t change overnight, but since his first wedding experience at one of his boys’ . . something switched in him. He saw things . . a little differently, he saw . . the meaning. The reasoning.
Most of all . . he saw your face. He saw that big, wide toothy grin, clasped hands, threatening tears when he glanced at you, looking the most excited person in the room. Grateful was the word, you’d never been so grateful to be invited to such an intimate day, such special occasion. Harry sat next to you in his formal attire, watching his friend’s live the best day of their life, not an ounce of fear or regret during their big day, and then to you, who couldn’t appreciate it anymore, knowing it was the closest thing you’d get to experiencing it yourself.
Maybe that was it.
Guilt hit him of course, he should have done that ages ago, and as shame began to pile on top of him, he remembered — he still had time.
Those tabs he found left open on your laptop, those pages in your history search for those type of rings . . they could have been worthwhile.
He . . he could do that, right?
He did want to marry you, he always knew that, the occasion wasn’t the issue, it was the ceremony and the anxiety that ruled him when he thought for it seriously for more than 2 minutes.
But talking to his friends, sharing his worries and hearing their opinion, he found he wasn’t so opposed to it as he used to be.
Marriage didn’t sound so bad. A wedding didn’t.
And calling you his wife? Referring to you as his wife?! Well, he was practically sold.
The next time Harry had one of his regular love spells, a moment of realisation of how obsessed he still was of you, an overwhelming sense of love and adoration for having a best friend in the woman he loved, that image came into his head stronger and stronger, became more appealing, ‘til it got to the point where yeah - Harry Lewis wanted to get married.
He wanted to do it.
He wanted to marry you.
No, he needed to marry you.
Months passed, more memories were made: whether it was sitting in your living room after doing the dishes or gossiping in the car on the way to work, whether when you were both loved up under the sun abroad in a hammock or singing karaoke, drunk, in his parent’s house on Christmas night - this idea had turned more into a desire than an idea.
The next wedding he attended, it only became more clear. The day was about his best friends, and all day he’d only thought and you and him, and how you would do it. He’d made it about you two.
You watched Vik and Ellie seal the deal with a kiss, and applauded with hoots and cheers, trying not to frown so hard at the happiness it filled you with. You wanted to squeeze them both.
Harry consoled you as always, giving your arm a rub as he pulled you into his side, keeping you together as he promised - holding up his deal of not letting you ruin your makeup. He smiled at your cute little emotions, making you smile because he made you feel silly for crying.
The thing that comforted you was knowing Talia and Frey were the same, crying as well just a row behind you.
More months passed. Wedding season was over. The next thing you were looking forward to was your next holiday. What was it? Your fifth? Sixth this year? You’d just gotten back from the Bahamas a couple months before, enjoying the scorcher sun and clear waters you had to cool down in on the daily – now you were unpacking the case of bikinis and sun hats and replacing them with hats, hoodies and gloves, packing for your trip to Amsterdam.
Amsterdam was a sweet place for you and Harry. It wasn’t the most extraordinary holiday destination, and nothing really changed over there, but you and your boy had a soft spot for it.
It was your first trip together, gone for four days after just a few months together, Amsterdam was a wholesome place for you two to be. It was just your city, and you felt obliged to visit her every couple years. You loved it, you found her as beautiful as the first time, as thrilling, and loved finding something new to do each time. The first time you’d done what you expected most people to do over there— smoke weed, visit sex museums and go out to clubs, but of course other things too: you visited at Christmas time and went to the Christmas markets, ate waffles and ice cream in the Summer and went on boat trips in the Spring. You saw the tulip fields, watched a match in the Johan Cruyff Arena and saw other museums that made it to your instagram , all of which were amazing . . . but nothing could beat doing Amsterdam how you were supposed to do Amsterdam: museums and tulip fields were cute but they’d never be as fun as walking the streets at night, high with friends, laughing and giggling at every giftshop you walked by to eventually end up at the Red Light District with more memories. Amsterdam was comforting because it took you back to those days when you first came here and how Harry had proved he’d look after you, clueless as to what life had in store for the both of you.
Besides, you had to go back regularly: you had to check up on your lock on Love Lock Bridge. Yes, you and Harry had done the cheesy thing of writing your names on the lock and clamped in between hundreds of others, but she still hung there, a little rusty and less noticeable as the years went on, but you were always happy to find her amongst the hundreds of others.
“Wait, I’ll find it in a minute,” Harry shoved more chips into his mouth as you stood at the bridge, eating your own cone of chips. He always beat you to finding it.
“I swear, if its been stolen–” you muttered, shoving the food into your own mouth. You knew it was highly unlikely to happen, but you always got that little panic in your chest when you couldn’t find your lock. You knew it wasn’t a big deal, she wasn’t valuable . . but, well, she was valuable to you. You always said if you found out they were stripping the bridge, you’d be straight over to collect your lock and bring it home, incorporate into your house decoration.
“My hand’s fuckin’ freezing, hold on!” your boyfriend complained, more snowflakes landing in his hair.
It was Winter time in the city, the canals frozen over with snow painting the grounds, it was the opposite weather from the last time you were here, but it was so worth it - seeing all the way it was lit up at this time of night with festive lights. It was your last night and then you’d say goodbye for another year or so.
“Did you eat your brownie?”
“No, I’m saving it for when we get back to the hotel,” he looked at you, following behind. “Is that alright with you, boss?”
You tutted, rolling your eyes, “shut up.”
He smirked cockily, watching you strut away from him, as always, sending him that little hot buzz. Any other time he’d continue to wind you up with ease, but truth be told — Harry was sweating all over, despite feeling like he was in the antarctic.
He knew you were on the opposite side of the bridge, your lock on the other side and slightly to the right from the centre, so he had until you both circled to the other end to finish his food, wipe down his hands, get a grip and pull out that little surprise he had kept in his pocket.
“I love Winter but I say this every time: I need a warm holiday after this,” you laughed, looking back at him. You were a fan of the scenery but not a fan of the cold. “Nothing beats a day in a bikini with jet skiing booked in the afternoon.”
“Tell me about it, I was beginning to miss those sharks we swam with.”
“You didn’t even go near them?”
“Shut up, y/n,” now he was the one tutting and rolling his eyes.
But it was true, you couldn’t beat a Summer vacation: minimum clothing, lathed in oil, drunk on cocktails, shagging on the hotel balcony.
Fuck, maybe he’d made a mistake.
Was that the better option? Was he better holding off until Portugal?
No. No, he had to do this now. This was sentimental. This was your guys’ little place.
Harry threw his wrapper in the bin, swallowing thickly at you steps ahead, he nervously scratched his leg, scared to go into the pocket.
Fucking hell.
He slowed in his steps, just watching you stroll aimlessly around, snow landing in your hair, your eyes starring out to the rivers, he could count your lashes from the side and spot the redness blushing on the tip of your nose.
“What time’s our flight?” You blinked, snowflakes irritably landing in your eyelashes. Your boots crushed against the light layer of snow, your breath appearing in the air as you spoke, ignoring the sounds of cyclists ringing bells to get people out of their way. It was quieter this time of year, not as many tourists, still a few, but much quieter, less havoc, less stoners. You still got some entertainment though, like now, smiling at the group of friends smoking next to the frozen canal, laughing away, making their own memories.
“Already itching to get home? You couldn’t wait to ‘sEe tHe sNOw’” your boyfriend mocked you, a finger jabbing your side ticklishly.
You didn’t know who he was mocking, looking like Rudolph with a red nose and an idiot with his thick, frosty hair out of control. And who was he poking you— your pet peeve! You pushed him away, “i’m not itching, I’m just . . we’ve done all our stuff and,” you defended, falling in step with him, “unless you’ve got anymore Christmas presents you’re wanting to buy me.”
“Fuck off, y/n!” He shoved you. You’d already dented his card walking through duty free on the way over here, the perfumes and drinks calling his name, telling him to nab them instead of waiting ‘til you were back in London.
You calmed from laughing, linking arms once again, you received a kiss on your head from him to tell you he was only joking.
His eyes were on the fence of your padlock, his hands tingling with nerves.
Keep calm, Harry, keep calm. Just keep going, don’t even think about it.
“What would you do if I launched a snowball at your head right now?”
“Do not even go there, I will fight you on this bridge! I will!” You warned, immediately twisting with caution, not having your back to him. “Move, now! I’ll fight you! I will throw you in that canal!”
“I–I would like to see you try, son!” He cackled , getting you defencless already as you tried to grab him, “I would like to see you—” the sound of your coats shuffled as he tried to fight the snow out of your hand, it crumbling in your hand and down his neck a little, he hooked his foot under your ankle and dropped you to the ground, laughs leaving you both, you screamed at him to get away. “SORRY! SORRY! SORRY!”
He only pretended to throw it, if he wanted to, he would have stretched out your hoodie and reached his hand all the way past your chest to nip with snow, but he didn’t, feeling merciful, he pulled you to your feet instead, laughing, your cheeks both red now with warmth, rather than the cold. “You’re a fuckin’ . .”
“A what?” He tilted his head up, pausing his actions of patting the snow off your back.
“Nothing,” you shook your head, smiling like an idiot. You didn’t even know what you were trying to say.
You walked the sides of the canal, approaching the other fence of locks. You grabbed a hot chocolate from the parked trailer beforehand too, inspecting the batch of locks with it in hand while Harry got his.
“I say this every time we come here but like once you do everything like, why do we come back?” You laughed, “it is boring wh—”
“—I been telling you that ever since!” He called from the van, leaning his head on his hand.
“It is better in a group,” you admitted more to yourself, missing Chip and Freezy and the others. Last time you were here, it was a madness. But it was still just as nice seeing the view in front of you, of the twinkling lights and light fall of snow, it added to the beauty of Amsterdam, and once again, you were left reflecting of your first time here, of the grainy selfies you took with Harry on this bridge on your iPhone 4s.
Harry found your lock under five minutes, picking it up with his hand for a moment, “there,” he said, letting you inspect it. As always, you looked at it with a weird melancholy / nostalgic feel to it, running your thumb over both your names you’d scribbled on with permanent marker almost a decade ago. You took a picture as always before observing others, none of them was a nice as yours, before going back to it.
Turning to ask your next question, you closed your mouth at the sight of Harry kneeling next you, and pulled your brows together.
You glanced at his shoes.
His shoelaces were perfectly tied together?
“What are you doing?”
You grabbed his arm to help him up, but Harry got down on one knee, and you were even more baffled, looking at the snow soaking into his joggers, “come on you moron, your knee!”
“Y/n—”
“Harry what are you doin’?” You began to laugh, leaving a hand on his broad shoulder, “get up? Hurry up!” you giggled.
He kept his eyes on you, beaming up brightly, smile as bright as the snow, he set his hot chocolate down with one hand and dug into his pocket with the other . . and your face dropped.
“Harry,” your tone lowered, eyes drowning with apprehension, with fear almost, “no, what are you doing?”
“Y/n.”
“Harry, get up.”
His hand pulled out the box, and you felt like your heart was about to explode. You became frozen, not knowing what to say, not knowing what to do, you shook your head and took a step back, not falling for it, “no, no, you’re not—” you tried to pull him up again, “get up now.”
“Y/n—”
“You’re not doing this to me!—” you cupped the back of his neck to urge him to get up, laughing in disbelief, hands shaking, “you’re—”
He took your hand off, a laugh leaving him, trying to assure you it wasn’t a joke but you were adamant - he was taking the piss out of you and going to embarrass you. “Y/n,” he stopped you, having to hold a hand out to keep you from pushing him over. He flicked the lid open with his thumb and your jaw hit the ground, “y/n will— will you marry me?”
You couldn’t even see him properly. You felt like you hadn’t heard him properly. Your eyes brimmed with tears, blurring your vision, your hand shaking at your mouth. Your whole body was trembling. Your lips quivered as you tried to focus on the blur that was the most breathtaking ring before you, sparkling in all its glory. You never knew what kind of ring you even wanted but seeing that one unveiled below you — it was everything you desired.
She, was huge.
She was not want you expected at all.
Harry’s fingers shook a little with it in his grasp, scared to touch it, he only looked at you as you stood frozen, tears running down your cheeks and your heart — your heart felt like it was literally beating out of your chest.
There was no way— there was no way this was happening!
Knuckles shaking, Harry grabbed your other hand and squeezed it, he hushed quietly, “you alright?”
“Yeah,” you croaked, snapping out of your daze.
With a sob trapped in your chest, your reply reminded you of the current situation, and you jumped almost, remembering you were yet to give him an answer. “Yeah! Yeah! Yes! I will!” you frantically nodded, somewhat smiling at him if you weren’t crying so much, but you couldn’t even explain the feeling. You were so bewildered. It didn’t even feel like happiness, it just felt like you were . . elevating. Your whole body was tingling. Like you were numb but in a good way. “YES!”
He felt like he could have lifted off the ground as well at the sound of your voice in your answer. At the sight of your face. At the happiness in the form of tears in front of him. His heart beat for you. If he could, he would’ve ripped it out and given it to you as well. As if he didn’t already know, you were the absolute cutest thing to grace his earth.
“Are you serious?” You croaked, watching him stand.
He plucked the ring out of its slot and snapped the box shut, reaching for your extremely shaky hand.
“Stop shaking,” he spoke softly.
Harry’s shook badly too, that he dropped it in the snow. “Oh fuck. Shit.”
You laughed, watching him pick it up meeting his eyes, still totally in denial, that this was a dream. Harry’s little smile stretched across his face as he held your hand in his, warmer from his stress of sweating, he held it still while slipping on the most beautiful stone you’d seen.
This ring was made for you.
You dropped your head at the metal slipping on your finger, crying into your hand, Harry pulled you into him with the back of your head and wrapped his arms around you, and you squeezed him.
You squeezed him tight, still crying like a baby for no reason while he held you with his heart bursting out of his chest, feeling as warm as ever.
“Stop cryin’! What are you cryin’ for you muppet?” He cooed, kissing your head repeatedly, waiting for you to pull away, but you stayed snug into his neck. He nestled his chin on your head, embracing the silence, letting you calm and take in the moment as he felt his insides melt to nothing.
He had never felt so at ease. So at peace, like something had lifted from his shoulders and been replaced with a small buzz of excitement and anticipation for what was next.
He swayed you both slightly after a minute, happy to hold you forever, “ . . . you’re my everythin’, don’t you know that?”
He began to ramble. He could feel the words slipping from his lips and there was nothing he could do about it. Withdrawing your head, you looked up at him with teary eyes, trying to wipe them away but he beat you to it. “You, were made for me. There is nothing I have never been so sure about in my life, other than the fact I need you to be by my side for it all,” he dramatically clamped his hands to your cheeks after. “You are my life, y/n. My world revolves around you. No one will be you. You get a certain part of me no one else does. The day I met you, I started to forget what my life was like before,” he confessed. “My life is split into three parts: before you, after you, and after getting you again . . . I don’t think we’re a coincidence, y/n,” he held your face lovingly, thumbs tucked under your chin, “I think some things are too strong to be a coincidence, and too strong to be kept apart.”
You tried to talk but your throat was choked in barbed wire, you couldn’t get the words out but he proceeded anyway. “Do you know how mad it is for us to be together? In this lifetime? To not only exist at the same time, to not just know each other but to love each other? Do you know how mad that is? A one in four trillion chance of being born and then a 0.001% chance of just knowing you? And we get to do that?” The math nerd in him came out.
Harry beamed at you, swiping his thumbs under your eyes to clear your tears, you felt like you could have melted right through his fingers in his warm grasp. You were speechless he shook his head, “no one will be able to knock the wind out of me like you do. Not like that first time, not like the second time . . . and probably not the third time when I see you walking down the aisle,” he smiled, feeling you hand lock onto his wrist.
“Harry,” your heart skipped at the thought.
“I consider myself the luckiest person alive having you in my life. I don’t know what I did to deserve that. I don’t know how I deserve live alongside you and do life with you, I don’t know what I did to deserve that but I don’t argue it too much,” his eyes locked on yours. You felt small beneath him but so so safe. “I was made for you. I never thought there’d be a person more accustomed to me so naturally. Y/n, you’d think I’m crazy if you could see yourself in my eyes. The things I think. The way I’m attracted to you in ways I–I don’t even understand,” he made you laugh, “I think of the things I would do for you and they scare me shitless but I—I love you so much, y/n. I . . I hold you closest to anything I’ve ever had in my life,” his grip on you tightened at the last sentence.
“You are for me, you’re mine. I’m not scared of anything that comes at me if you’re here, I’m never not ok when I know you’re here, I know I’m not a bad person if you’re here. I just know— I’m just meant to be with you, y/n, and God forbid anyone’s tried to snatch you away from me—” he shuffled, shaking you fake-possessively, getting you to laugh, “You are my bestest friend. I’d be lost without you, everyone knows it! I-I wouldn’t be me without you,” his lips brushed your own, “nobody likes me when i’m not with you.”
You couldn’t have looked at him more lovingly, devotedly, mesmerisingly, pursing your lips in thought, you were taken back by the man in front of you. Who even was this?
Surely this was not the same boy who bullied you every chance he got?
Who acted like you were a nagging old wife he came home to each day for the camera?
Who had downplayed any romantic feelings for you for years in front of friends and family?
Where was that macho man now, huh?
And who had turned him into this big, lovesick giant?
He would never know how much you loved him. How you felt the exact same way back but a thousand times more.
You pulled him down to your level, lips moulding together, you melted underneath him. Pushing harder against him, your lips feverishly against his, soft at the touch but hungry with passion, the warmth of his lips consumed you. “I love you so much,” you whispered, “a thousand times yes. In every alternative timeline, yes,” you chuckled, “I will marry you.”
His smile screamed content. Fulfilment. “I love you,” he nuzzled his nose next to yours, “. . . don’t know how I feel being a fiancé though, think I still want to be called your boyfriend.”
A weird dizzy feeling washed over you making you feel like this was still all just a dream. You actually felt lightheaded at that word.
Fiancé.
You had a fiancé.
You were a fiancé.
Ew.
You could feel his lips turning into a smile with them against your cheek, and you smiled against him too, tightening your arm around him, you looked at your finger and closed your eyes again, shocked it was still there and glistening.
“I don’t even call you my boyfriend, I just call you my Harry?” you rambled, still entranced by the rock on your hand.
Yeah, you couldn’t say fiancé, you might actually just faint.
You held his hair, appreciating his embrace, your favourite place in the whole world, before pulling away. Footed again, you placed a soft, lovingly kiss on his lips again. “Thank you.”
“S’alright,” he couldn’t stop smiling at you, “I’m sorry I took so long but,” he cockily raised a shoulder, “get to be a Lewis at last.”
“Oh my GOD!” you tried not to cry again. That didn’t even sound real.
A Lewis!
Finally! Finally you’d be a Lewis!
His hands snuck around your waist with a big grin on his face, you were almost off again! Bringing your hand to your mouth, his words made you blush! You just couldn’t believe he meant it. “Do you really want to marry me?”
Harry gave you the look you usually gave him, with his brows slightly furrowed and his head tilted, like when he did the most stupidest shit of said the most out of pocket sentence. “Yes? Why else would I ask you, you s—” silly bitch “—numpty?”
“I can’t believe you.” You glanced at the ring again, feeling like looking at it too long would make it disappear. It was truly the most stunning thing your eyes had set on and you couldn’t believe how perfect it was for you. “I can’t—I can’t even take this in.”
You had to be hallucinating, surely.
“You deserve it darlin’,” he kissed your cheek, breaking you out of it, “you deserve . . way more than just that,” he shook his head.
You tilted your head at him, utterly infatuated.
“I’ll always take care of you, in’ I?” His brow twitched giddily as he smirked down at you.
You cupped his face, lashes soaked with your tears, eyes looking as bright as ever, you wanted to eat him up, “you are the cutest person ever. I. Love. You.”
“I love you too,” he kissed you repeatedly, the warmth of your lips distracting him from the cold off the snow, “now stop crying and get the prenup signed.”
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Liked by prettylittlething, sidemen and 2,108,055 others
yourusername --/--/--
never getting over it. EVER.
i love you @ wroetoshaw. oh i love you, i love you, i love you. ring or no ring, i was staying stuck to you anyway cus life without you, i cannot stomach. thank you for the best 10 years of my life, for being you and for loving me as i am. i love you endlessly my best boy. 🩵 you are my greatest prized possession and i can’t wait to marry you.
. . and see you in a dickie bow . . . and tell everyone i have a big sexy, scary husband they don’t wanna be messin with xxx
u know i’ll always take care of you. 🔐❤️
view all 25,828 comments
user AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH CHILDHOOD COMPLETE
user 😍😭😍😍😭
user oh he’s rich rich
user *oh he’s in LOVE LOVE
user NO WAY
faithlousiak CRYING XXXX
faithlousiak SO HAPPY FOR YOU WIFE XXX
faithlousiak MRS LEWIS PENDING XXX
yourusername *kelly-lewis xxx
user FINALLLLY BOGGO!!!!!
user used to pray for days like this
user mans heard mount was single again
user MY ROMAN MF EMPIRE!!!!!!!!
user w2s had a gf??????
user CANT STOMACH A LIFE WITHOUT YOU IM— 🥲🤧🥲🫠
mollymae congrats beautiful!!! 💛 xxx
chridmd10 my guys ❤️
stephen_tries make sure you get that prenup sorted mate, she’ll drain you dry🫡 congrats guys ❤️
user CRYING
user oh she belongs to HIM
user that ring is a fucking JOKE
sidemen some things are meant to be ❤️ (brb we have a video or two to delete)
taliamar look at the SIZE OF IT!!!! 🤍 congrats my babies 🥹🥹🥹
user shaking crying throwing up
behzingagram YES BOSS!! ❤️❤️❤️
user oh my man dropped bagsss at the jewellery store 🤑🤑
user blood bought that on the sidemen card
vikkstagram YES GUYS ❤️❤️
user YES YES YES, WROETOSHAW WEDDING 🤩
user my greatest prized possession— bitch better be talking about the ring 🤮 y/n you you’re never allowed to be this romantic again!!!
user NOT FAMILIAR WITH THE WORD VOMIT ON THE GRAM GO BACK TO BULLYING HIM!!!
sabinablair_ 🩷💛🩷💛🩷💛
theburntchip prayers for the rest of us 👍🏼
user ain’t no WAY
zoe_sugg congratulations! xx 💗
calfreezy i’m not ok.
r0sielewis ANSWER FT NOW.
user harry ‘sidemen 10 years-10 shmeres, who gives af, time isn’t real’ lewis is also harry ‘10 years gone too fast, i’m not ready for her to see me all old and grey, 10 years felt like 10 seconds’ lewis 🥲
user YES HAROLD
user boulder 🥵
user what is the point of living if i’m not gonna be at the wroetoshaw wedding? seriously 🥲🥲🥲
user prayers to y/n w that thing weighing her down every day 🙏🏼
tobjizzle biggest congrats to the happy couple ❤️ BOG WEDDING INCOMING! ☝🏾
freyanightingale MY BABYYYY 😭😭😭 IM SO UNBELIEVABLY HAPPY FOR YOU <33333 💘💖💓💗💝💞💘💕
user im actually balling.
zerkerr congratulations gang ❤️
user WROETOSHAW?!!!!
ksi ❤️❤️
user me sleeping peacefully at night as a Yn2Shaw fan knowing i’ll never wake up to divorce rumours 😴
miniminter congrats guys! ❤️❤️
user definition of soulmates 👏🏼 MEANT TO BE
user comfort couple ❣️
user their wedding is will out do all weddings
yourusername posted to their story!
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wroetoshaw posted to their story!
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hiveswap · 2 months
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Summary of The Cat of The Year poll atrocities of 2023/2024
I'm sure that most people on this side of tumblr have seen the Jellie vs. Nefarious Anglerfish poll going around with like 60k votes at this point, and I'd really like clear up some of what happened since I was around for the whole thing.
Url blocked out for op's privacy. They have already left but don't look for it if you haven't seen it/don't harrass them if you already have.
1. The previous round (preparation)
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I discovered the poll in its previous round, needless to say she beat Jort's ass severely. This was around the 3rd of january, meaning that this round finished before jellie's passing with only about 7k votes. Op did add their own piece of propaganda from their main:
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...which was FINE. (except for stuff we'll see later) Of course running a poll while biased isn't ideal but I for one didn't even know they were the op until much later. I also added my own piece in a separate thread, and they didn't interact with it at all. There was no drama.
2. The Finale
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Jellie unfortunately passed away right before the starting of this poll, which was the catalyst for what happened next. Op did exactly as last time and added a slightly more mean spirited encouragement to vote for the other contestant. This is the point where I believe that i fucked up personally.
I added this thinkpiece accusing op of associating all mcyters with Dream (who we all hate for the record) despite them not alluding to him at all. This is because tumblr has a history of disimissing all mcyters as... everything that dream was been accused of. Op did allude to not caring for mcyt. but they didn't say what i accused them of. This is important to point out because this reblog of mine is still being spread. Jellie was in the lead at the time, but not by the time i woke up next morning.
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I won't be including anyone else's additions because I don't want to put blame on any specific person. Just felt like clearing up mine.
3. The Fuckening
Some time later op made this post to their personal blog:
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which is insanely shitty because, as other people have pointed out, the "lame ass youtube cat" didn't die to inconvinience op or ruin their fun, and people would have probably voted for her anyway because jelly is universally beloved in the mcyt community. This isn't anti democratic. This post was added to the poll with a caption saying op should not be running this poll, and it took off. Op later went on to say that this was a joke:
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This apology was not taken well by people, (including me) because "you were not meant to see it" isn't an apology and they still very much made fun of someone's pet dying. Safe to say this did not make the drama stop and only added fuel to the flame. I believe this was the point where the conversation of mcyt fans being unjustly sent hate to was reignited.
We should discuss that! it's a real thing that happens often and is equal to childish bullying. However, in this case, OP was the only one getting sent hate to my knowledge. The notes were mostly saturated by mcyt fans, and even now i can only find one or two hateful stance towards us under the whole 20k notes post.
4. Conclusions
Op posted a second apology to the catoftheyear blog to try and calm people down (i believe this is comprehensive and a lot better than the previous one) The blog was deactivated shortly after, so i only have my phone screenshots of it that i also added to the poll itself at some point:
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(Edit) Here's proof that op did not write the justification they got criticised for, from the notes of the original poll:
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This apology didn't get seen, or get accepted by enough people, so op made this statement on their personal:
Needless to say I am deeply dissapointed (and guilty) that it's come to this. Yes, op said tasteless things that made us all angry, but telling a human being to commit suicide is worse than being insensitive about a stranger's pet dying. Even after I posted about the blog being decatived i had someone come into my notes to wish that "they never find happiness" i mean wtf. This isn't like shipping where we can do whatever without the content creator's input. this is fucking harrowing and i can't imagine how i'd feel if this was done in my/my pet's name especially after losing them as recently as a week ago.
I hope no one from hermitcraft who is on here (let alone scar holy shit) learns about this like they did with previous lighthearted tournaments. If you truly respect the creators you claim to be a fan of as people, you do not tell people to kill themselves over them. And finally, let Jellie fucking rest, guys. she had a long, good life. I hope op can come back and also avoids behaving like this if they ever wish to do so. I'm angrier at mcytblr, though.
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cybernaght · 8 months
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The fandom echo chamber: fanon, microanalysis and conspiracy brain 
As someone who has been in fandom spaces, on and off, for 20 years, I find some fascinating trends popping up in the last decade that I thought to be fandom-specific but clearly aren’t. So, I would like to do a little examination of where those things come from, how they are engaged with, and what it says about the way we consume media. This is a think piece, of sorts, with my brain being the main source. As such, we will spend some time down the memory lane of a fandom-focused millennial.
This is largely brought about by Good Omens. But it’s also not really about Good Omens at all.
Part one. Fanon.
The way we see characters in any story is always skewed by our very selves. This is a neutral statement, and it does not have a value judgement. It’s simply unavoidable. We recognise aspects of them, love aspects of them, and choose aspects of them to highlight based entirely on our own vision of the universe. 
Recognition comes into this. There is a reason so many protagonists of romance novels have a “blank slate” problem. Even when they do not, we love characters who are like us or versions of us that we would like to be. And when we say “we”, I also mean, “me”. 
(I remember very clearly this realisation hit me after a whole season of Doctor Who with writing which I hated utterly when I questioned why I still clung so incredibly hard to Clara Oswald as my favourite companion. Then I looked at myself in the mirror. Oh. Well. That would do it, wouldn’t it?)
Then, there is projection, and, again, this is a neutral statement. Projection exists, and it is completely normal and, dare I say it, valid way of engaging with — well, anything. Is the character queer? Trans? Neurodivergent? Are they in love? Do they like chocolate? Are they a cat person? Well, yes, if this is what the text says, but if the text does not say anything… You tell me. Please, do tell me. Because, in that moment of projection, they are yours. 
And then, there is fandom osmosis, and that is the most fascinating one of them all, the one that is not very easy to note while you are inside the echo chamber. It’s the way we collectively, consciously or not, make decisions on who or what the characters are, what their relationships are, and what happens to them.  
(Back when I was writing egregiously long Guardian recaps on this blog I actually asked if Shen Wei’s power being learning actually was stated anywhere in the canon of the show. Because I had no idea. I have read and reread dozen of fanfics where that is the case, and at some point through enough repetition, it became reality.)
We are all kind of making our own reality here, aren’t we? 
Back when things were happening in a much less centralised manner - in closed livejournal groups, and forums of all shapes and sizes - I don’t remember there being quite as much universally agreed upon fanon. Frankly, I don’t remember much of universally agreed upon anything. But now, everything is in one place: we have this, and we have AO3, and it’s wonderful, it really is so much easier to navigate, but it’s also one gigantic reality-shifting echo chamber, with blogs, reblogs, trends, and rituals. 
Accessibility plays its part, too. If you were, say, in Life on Mars (UK) fandom between seasons, and you wanted to post your speculation fic, you had to have had an account, and then find and gain access to one of the bigger groups (lifein1973 was my poison, but ymmv), and then, if you feel brave you may post it, but also, you may want to do so from your alt account if you wanted to keep yours separate, and then you would have to go through the whole process again. And I’m not saying that fan creations then were somehow inherently better for it than fan creations now (although Life on Mars Hiatus Era is perhaps a bad example - because some of the Speculation Fic there was breathtaking), but there is something to say about the ease of access that made the fandoms go through a big bang of sorts.
(I mean, come on, I can just come here and post this - and I am certain people will read it, and this blog is a pandemic cope baby about Chinese television for goodness sake.)
The canon transformations that happen in the fandom echo chamber truly are fascinating to witness as someone who is more or less a fandom butterfly. I get into something, float around for a bit, then get into something else and move on. I might come back eventually when the need arises, but I don’t sustain a hiatus mind-state. This means that when I float away and return, I find some very intriguing stuff.
Let’s actually look at Good Omens here. Season two aired, and I found it spectacular in its cosy and anguished way; deliberately and intelligently fanfic-y in its plot building; simple but subversive, and so very tender. (I will have to circle back to this eventually, because, truly, I love how deliberately it takes the tropes and shatters them - it’s glorious). And, to me - a person who read the book, watched the first season, hung around AO3 for a few weeks and moved on - absolutely on-point in terms of characterisation. 
So imagine my surprise when the fandom disagreed so vehemently that there are actual multi-tiered theories on how characters were not in possession of their senses. Nothing there, in my mind, ever contradicted any of the stated text, as it stood. This remained a strange little mystery until I did what I always do when I flutter close to an ongoing fandom.
I loaded AO3 and sorted the existing fic by popularity. And there it was, all there: the actual earth-shattering mutual devotion of the angel and the demon; willingness to Fall; openness and long heart-aching confession speeches. There was all of the fanon surrounding Aziraphale and Crowley, which, to me, read as out of character, and to one for whom they became the reality over the last four years, read as truth. 
Again, only neutral statements here. This is not a bad thing, and neither this is a good thing, this is just something that happens, after a while, especially when there are years for the fandom-born ideas to bounce around and stew. I can’t help but think that so much of what we see as real in spaces such as this one is a chimaera of the actual source and all the collective fan additions which had time and space to grow, change, develop, and inspire, reverberating over and over again, until the echoes fill the entirety of the space. 
Eventually, this chimaera becomes a reality. 
Part two. Microanalysis 
Here are my two suppositions on the matter:
1. Some writers really love breadcrumb storytelling. 
Russel T Davies, for instance, on his run of Doctor Who (and, if you are reading it much later - I do mean the original one), loved that technique for his seasonal arcs. What is a Bad Wolf? Who is Harold Saxon? Well, you can watch very very carefully, make a theory, and see it proven right or wrong by the end of the season. 
Naturally, mystery box writers are all about breadcrumb storytelling: your Losts and your Westworlds are all about giving you snippets to get your brain firing, almost challenging you to figure things out just ahead of the reveal. 
2. We, as humans, love breadcrumbs.
And why wouldn’t we? Breadcrumbs are delicious. They are, however, a seasoning, or a coating. They are not the meal. 
Too much metaphor?
Let’s unpack it and start from the beginning.
Pattern recognition colours every aspect of our lives, and it colours the way we view art to a great extent. I think we truly underestimate how much it’s influenced by our lived experiences.
If you are, broadly speaking, living somewhere in Western/North-Western Europe in the 14th century, and you see a painting in which there is a very very large figure surrounded by some smaller figures and holding really tiny figures, you may know absolutely nothing about who those figures are, but you know that the big figure is the Important One, and the small ones are Less Important Ones, and the tiny ones are In Their Care. You know where your reverence would lie, looking at this picture. And, I imagine, as someone living in the 14th century, you may be inspired to a sense of awe looking at this composition, because in the world you live in, this is how art works. 
If you, on the other hand, watch a piece of recorded media and see the eyes of two characters meet as the violins swell, you know what you are being told at that moment. You don’t have to have a film degree to feel a sort of way when you see a green-tinged pallet used, when cross-cuts use juxtaposing images, or notice where your focus is pulled in any given shot. This stuff - this recognition of patterns - has been trained into us by the simple fact that we live in this time, on this planet, and we have been doing so long enough to have engaged recorded media for a period of time. 
As humans, we notice things. Our brains flare up when they see something they recognise, and then we seek to find other similar details and form a bigger picture. This often happens unconsciously, but sometimes it does not. Sometimes we do it on purpose: finding breadcrumbs in stories is a little bit like solving a mystery. It allows us to stretch that brain muscle that puts two and two together. It makes us feel clever. 
So yes, we love breadcrumbs, and, frankly, quite a lot of storytelling takes advantage of this. It’s very useful for foreshadowing, creating thematic coherence, or introducing narrative parallels and complexity. It’s useful for nudging the viewer into one or the other emotional direction, or to cue them into what will happen in the next moment, or what exactly is the one important detail they should pay attention to.
Because this is something media does intentionally, and something we pick up both consciously and not, it is very hard to know when to stop. We don't really ever know when all of the breadcrumbs have been collected. It becomes very easy to get carried away. There is a very specific kind of pleasure in digging into content frame by frame, soundbite by soundbite, chasing that pleasure of finding. 
But it is almost never breadcrumbs all the way down. They are techniques to help us focus on the main event: the story. I truly believe those who make media want it to reach the widest possible audience, and that includes all of us who like to watch every single thing ever created with our Media Analysis Goggles on and those who are just here to enjoy the twists and turns of the story at the pace offered to them. And I think, sometimes in our chase to collect and understand every little clue we forget that media is not made to just cater for us.
One can call it missing a forest for the trees. But I would hate to mix my metaphors, so let’s call it missing a schnitzel for the breadcrumbs. 
Part three. The Conspiracy Brain. 
If you are there with me, in the midst of the excited frenzy, chasing after all those delicious breadcrumbs, then patterns can grow, merge together, and become all-encompassing theories. Let’s call them conspiracy theories, even though this is not what they truly are.
So, why do we believe in conspiracy theories?
One, Because We Have Been Lied To. 
All conspiracies start with distrust.
If you are in fandom spaces - especially if you are in fandom spaces which revolve around a queer fictional couple - especially-especially if you have been in such spaces for a period of time, you have most certainly been lied to at one point or another. 
We don’t even have to talk about Sherlock - and let’s not do that - but do you remember Merlin? Because I remember Merlin. Specifically, I remember the publicity surrounding the first season, with its weaponised usage of “bromance” and assertions that this whole thing is a love story of sorts, and then the daunting realisation that this was all a stunt, deliberately orchestrated to gather viewership. 
And, because we were lied to in such a deliberate manner for such an extensive period of time, I genuinely believe that it forever altered our pattern recognition habits, because what was this if not encouragement to read into things? Now we are trained to read between the lines or see little cries for help where they might not be. Because we were told, over and over again, that we should.
(Yes, I think we are all existing in these spaces coloured by the trauma of queer-bating. I am, however, looking forward to a world where I can unlearn all of that.)
Two, Cognitive Dissonance.
The chain reaction works a bit like this: the world is wrong - it can’t possibly be wrong by coincidence - this must be on purpose - someone is responsible for it.
Being Lied To is a preamble, but cognitive dissonance is where it all originates. In so many cross-fandom theories I have noticed a four-step process:
A) this is not good
B) this author could not have made a mistake 
C) this must be done on purpose
D) here is why 
(Funny thing is, I have been on the receiving end of the small conspiracy spiral, and it is a very interesting experience. Not relevant to this conversation is the fact that a lot of my job revolves around storytelling. What is relevant is that my hobbies also revolve around storytelling. And one of them is DnD. Now, imagine my genuine shock when one of the players I am currently writing a campaign for noticed a small detail that did not make a logical sense within the complexity of the world, and latched on to it as something clearly indicating some kind of a secret subplot. Their thinking process also went a bit like this: this detail is not a good piece of writing — this DM knows how to tell stories well — this is obviously there on purpose. It was not there on purpose. I created a clumsy shorthand. I erred, in that pesky manner humans tend to. And, seeing this entire thought process recited to me directly in the moment, I felt somewhere between flattered and mortified.)
This whole line of thinking, I think, exists on a knife’s edge between veneration and brutal criticism, relentlessly dissecting everything “wrong”, with a reverent “but this is deliberate” attached to it like a vice, because it is preferable to a simple conclusion that the author let you down, in one way or another. 
Three, Intentionality 
I believe that there is no right or wrong way of engaging with stories, regardless of their medium, and assuming no one gets hurt in the process. While in a strictly academic way, there is a “correct” way of reading (and reading into) media, we here are largely not academics but consumers; consumption is subjective.
However, this all changes when intentionality is ascribed. 
The one I find particularly fascinating is the intentionality of “making it bad on purpose” because, as open-minded as I intend to always be, this just does not happen.
It certainly does not happen in long-form media. Even in the bread-crumb mystery box-type long-form media. 
When television programs underdeliver, they also underperform, and then they get cancelled.
If all the elements of Westworld Season 4 that did not sit together in a completely satisfactory way were written deliberately as some sort of deconstruction for the final season to explore, then it failed because that final season will now never come.
(There will likely never be a Secret Fourth Episode.)
And look, I am not here to refute your theories. Creativity is fun, and theorising is fantastic. 
But, perhaps, when the line of thought ventures into the “bad on purpose” territory, it could be recognised for what it is: disappointment and optimism, attempting to coexist in a single space. And I relate to that, I do, and I am sorry that there is even a need for this line of thinking. It’s always so incredibly disappointing that a creator you believed to be devoid of flaws makes something that does not hit in the way you hoped it would. It’s pretty heartbreaking. 
Unfortunately, people make mistakes. We are all fallible that way. 
Four, Wildfire.
Then, when the crumbs are found, a theory is crafted, and intentionality is ascribed, all that needs to happen is for it to catch on. And hey, what better place for it than this massive hollow funnel that we exist in, where thoughts, ideas and interpretations reverberate so much they become inextricable from the source material in collective consciousness. 
Conspiracy theories create alternate realities, very much like we all do here. 
So where are we now?
I am not here to tell you what is right and what is wrong; what is true, and what is not. We are all entitled to engage with anything we wish, in whichever way we wish to do it. This is not it, at all. 
All I am saying is… listen.
Do you hear that echo? 
I do. 
2K notes · View notes
marvelouslizzie · 9 months
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You're Stuck with Me - Co-written with @notafunkiller
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Summary: When you find out your boyfriend's cheating on you with his best friend, you immediately tell Bucky Barnes about the affair and propose revenge sex.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader
Word Count: 6.9K
Warnings: 18+ smut, cheating, revenge fuck, language, oral sex (female receiving), protected and unprotected sex, praise and degradation mix, pet names, teasing, no mention of y/n
A/n: We are getting a little out of our comfort zone with this story. I hope you will enjoy it.
Please give my lovely co-writer @notafunkiller a follow. She's an amazing writer. You should definitely check her Bucky Barnes stories.
All work is ours, please do not repost or translate without our permission.
Every like, comment, and reblog is highly appreciated. Don’t hesitate to message us. Unless it’s hate. That’s never welcome.
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"Are you sure?" Bucky asks, finishing your bottle of sparkling water. "I don't want you to cry and regret it after."
“Don’t worry, I won’t.” You sound so confident that even you are surprised. “It’s just sex.”
"Just sex." He repeats with his eyebrows raised. "You never seemed to me like the type of girl who would go for just sex, doll."
“Maybe you should’ve paid a little more attention. You would’ve realized you might have the wrong kind of impression.”
"Oh, really?" He leans in amused. "Big words."
“They're not. You just aren’t used to talking to me.”
"You're telling me you're not a commitment girl?" He presses the matter, not believing you even a little. You two might not be friends, but he figured out what type of person you are.
“I’m just saying I won’t regret having sex with you. The rest is your assumption.”
His gaze immediately drops to your chest. "You trust my skills that much?"
You roll your eyes. “Do you have to be this arrogant all the time?”
"Do you have to be a brat all the time?" He doesn't wait for your response, though, as he continues. "Oh wait, you can't help it. Totally in your nature."
“So women who don't stroke your ego are brats? Maybe I just don’t care that much about you. Did you consider that?” There’s a hint of anger in your voice but nothing more. He always manages to challenge you and push your buttons. “Maybe you aren’t the only one who didn’t like those double dates. Get off your high horse.” You add without missing a beat. You realized how bored and uninterested he was then. No matter what topic you were bringing up, he wasn’t open. That’s one of the reasons why you believe he thinks he’s better than anyone.
"Fuck." He shakes his head. "You and that mouth of yours. Do you see me going around and calling women brats?” He doesn’t wait for you to answer. “Those dates were absolutely horrible. Your little boy toy is the biggest loser I've ever met."
“You seem like a guy who would do that. You are not? Ops, wrong assumption I guess.” You make a fake I am sorry face. “He’s not my boy toy but I agree, he’s a big loser.”
He smiles when you finish your sentence, so satisfied. "Why do you enjoy pushing me so much? Does it turn you on?"
“How am I pushing you? Do you think this is pushing?” You don’t budge.
"What is it then?"
“I know you don’t like me and I am just giving you back that same energy.” You tell him the truth. That’s what you always do: you give the same energy people give you. If they are kind, you are kinder. If they are assholes, you are a bigger asshole.
Bucky snorts, running a hand through his hair. "Where was this attitude hidden around him?"
You breathe out loudly, not hiding how bored you are. “Are we gonna talk all night or are we gonna do this?”
He smiles in a way you never saw him smile before he leans in even more, invading your space. "It's been that long, huh?"
You make a face. “You can’t tell me sex with her was great. I saw their little sex tapes.” You can’t deny what he’s just said, but you can deflect.
He gives you the most surprised face. "What?"
“You heard me. If it had been a while for me, then it must have been even longer for you.”
"Indeed." His voice doesn't betray any emotion.
“Then stop belittling me. We both have been having bad sex and we both got cheated on. You aren’t better than me.”
"When did I say that, woman?"
“You always act like you are better than everyone.”
"That's just your assumption." He paraphrases you with the biggest smile on his face
“Prove me wrong then.”
And he does, looking at you for a couple of seconds. When you don't move, he finally grabs you by your chin and kisses you. He's not hesitant or testing, he's literally trying to claim your mouth as he wants to deepen the kiss by licking your bottom lip. When you finally give him access, his hand goes to the back of your neck, the contrast between his soft touch and his passionate way of kissing making you moan.
"Your mouth…"
“What about it?” You ask while still looking at his lips.
He kisses you again, like he's starved, his hand pulling your hair a little more. He tastes like some fresh toothpaste and a little chocolate.
"So sweet, yet so bratty."
“Do you have a thing for brats for something?” You pull him by his collar and kiss him again. He might be an asshole, but he knows how to kiss.
"Maybe just for a special brat."
“What does that mean?” You stop and look into his eyes.
He lets go of your hair and lowers his hands to your waist. "Tell me to stop and I will. Tap me anywhere if you can't talk and I'll stop. Get it?"
“Yeah. Same goes for you. Any lines you don’t wanna cross?”
"Just don't call me by someone else's name." He sighs.
“Fine by me. Don’t use any pet names you used for your ex.”
"I wouldn’t dream of it. What else?" He smirks.
“No degrading.”
"So no my little whore?”
“That doesn’t sound like degrading to me but another rule: Don’t say things you don’t mean. I don’t like that heat-of-the-moment bullshit.”
He seems to like your rules. "God, how did you date that asshole for 5 months?"
“I was just giving that so-called nice guy a chance and it got me here. How did you date that bitch for 8 months?”
"Woah. Bitch? Never heard you referring to a woman like this."
“I never liked her.” You shrug. And she cheated on him. So why not?
"Why?"
“I don’t know. I always thought she was full of herself. Always looking down at people.”
"Like me." He stares at you. "I understand."
“Not like that. She always talks badly about people. Most of the time, behind their backs. She always looks for a way to steal the spotlight. I actually wondered what you saw in her.”
"I won't talk about a woman badly, especially my ex, but I guess we just want to give people a chance."
“That woman cheated on you. With someone she called her best friend after you two decided to move in together. Maybe longer. But sure, make me feel bad about calling her a bitch.”
Bucky seems to think about it for a few seconds. You appreciate his non-talking shit about my ex policy, but in this case? Not deserved. They cheated on you for months. They could have chosen to break up, but they didn't want that. They pretended they are just friends, proposed double dates, lied and hid, and made promises. Your relationships weren't working perfectly well, your sex lives seem very shitty and probably there were signs about this affair, but you cannot blame yourself or Bucky for not seeing them. You deserved the truth. You just can't believe you two are actually in this situation. Giving the wrong people a chance… never again for sure.
"You're right. This is such a fucking shitty thing. I mean, at least fucking break up with me. God, we kissed them, fucked them after they were with each other." He makes a disgusted face.
“So we practically fucked each other already, you know?” You make a joke, trying to change the mood a little. It really is fucked up.
"They didn't see us having sex though." He shakes his head. "They managed to make the lamest sex tapes in history."
“Yeah, I am still traumatized by her fake moans.”
"Fake?" He snorts.
“Yeah, I know how sex is with him. No way those moans are real.”
"Maybe they are. Maybe she enjoys it. She likes him so much they decided this fucking shitty sex is worth it." He leans in and kisses you again suddenly and you don't understand if he's angry because he regrets being with her and getting cheated on or he regrets being betrayed because he wants her so much. You know they fought a lot from your soon-to-be ex, but 8 months are something after all.
You kiss him back nonetheless, enjoying the way his lips and tongue feel. You don't remember the last time you've been kissed this good. If you've ever been with someone like this… he's basically eating you with his mouth.
“It won’t take long for her to regret it. Talking from experience,” you say while kissing him back. You wanna know if he wants her back or not. Not that it matters. You are just curious. Maybe he wants to make her jealous.
"What she wants doesn't matter anymore, doll." He strokes your hair when he stops kissing you so you can take a deep breath. "You called me arrogant, right?"
“Yeah?” You answer hesitantly.
"Do arrogant people ever let themselves be humiliated?" He pauses. "I don't want something like this. Someone like this. I have absolutely no desire to keep a person who does this. I am a patient person, I try to work things out, but this? Never in a fucking million years. Nothing about this relationship was right, I suppose. What about you?"
“I don’t care about him anymore.” Your response comes immediately. You were completely done with him the moment you found out about their affair. There’s no turning back. It was like a switch. That’s why you are here with Bucky. “I tried so hard to make it work, thinking relationships are hard and we gotta put some effort to make it work. All bullshit. I’m done with him. I’m done with lowering my standards. Done with 5-minute sex, and ‘you turn me on so much, I can’t help it’ excuses. There’s no going back for me.”
You see his little smirk and can't help but touch his face. He is really one of the most beautiful men you’ve ever seen.
"I never liked him, and you know it. That small dick energy is unbearable. I think he'd have a heart attack if he even heard us. Can you imagine?"
“I… actually can.” You can envision how that would hurt him and his insufferable ego. “God, she would hate me so much.” You smile.
"Oh, she would. She's always been jealous of you anyway."
“And he hates that you don’t even have to be nice to make people like you. Now he would have an extra reason.”
"Fuck, doll." You feel his thumb on your neck and you shiver. "I'm gonna sound crazy, but wouldn't make you feel satisfied if indeed they heard us?"
You blink, trying to understand his offer. That actually would actually give you pleasure… knowing that he suffers just like you did. You also notice the pet name he uses. You never heard him use it with his (ex) girlfriend, so he’s keeping his promise. “I’d… really like that.”
"Yeah?" He leaves a kiss on the corner of your mouth. "A voice message?"
“Sounds better than actually calling.” You turn your face a little and kiss him on the lips.
"Look at you, you ignored me for months." He bites your bottom lip lightly.
“It wasn’t like you were friendly.”
Does he even hear you?
He takes you in his arms. "Bedroom?"
“Bedroom.” You wrap your legs around his torso in agreement as he leads the way.
"Left?"
“Yeah, hurry up.”
He opens the door with his elbow, then doesn't bother to close it as he lets you down. His hands find your blouse and you hear the ripping sound before you can raise your arms.
You’re surprised but not bothered. Truth be told, you find that very hot. But you still unclip your bra.
“Fucking hell.” He manages to whisper before he leans in and grabs your breasts, his tongue licking all the way down from your neck to your nipple.
You tug on his T-shirt and try to take it off while he’s busy exploring your body.
"You hid these from me."
“Not specifically from you. Move your hands up so I can take this off.”
"From who then?" He frowns and lets go for a second so you can take it off.
“From everyone, of course.”
"God, I wanna come all over them. So pretty.”
“Maybe you should make a mental list. Come on her tits. Come inside her mouth. Come inside her pussy.”
His eyes glow, and you giggle. "Who said I didn't?"
“You did?” You sound impressed. “Wanna share?”
"Wanna share my come? Sure." His fingers find your zipper and you gasp when he takes your pants off from one try.
“Oh, you are filthier than I thought.” You say to cover your surprise.
"You thought about how filthy I am?"
“You think I didn’t consider how this would be before offering a revenge fuck?”
"When?" He takes ahold of your underwear, and you're unsure if he wants to rip it off or simply take it off.
“I just told you.”
"I thought…" He blushes, realizing he misunderstood. It's an asshole move to assume that while you were with that prick, the thought of him like this has even passed your mind. "Forget it."
“No, no, tell me.” You pull him closer by his belt. “Let’s get rid of these.”
"Did you ever think about me before today?" He helps you take off his pants while finally getting rid of your panties.
“What if I did? Does it make me a terrible person?”
"Terrible." He nods, letting the pieces of your underwear drop on the floor along with his boxers and pants before he steps out of them. "So terrible." He kisses you, his hands on your hips, bringing you closer to his cock. You didn't even have proper time to look at him. "The worst."
“I knew it.” You play along. “What about you?”
"I thought about this mouth a lot."
“Just my mouth?” You nudge him by moving your hips up.
"Thought about fucking you in the bathroom."
“When?” Did he really want to fuck you before? He never looked at you twice or at least that’s what you thought.
"A few weeks ago… we… the office. You were with your little group. They were smoking and you wore that fucking lipstick that just blew my mind away. I didn't intend to. You didn't even notice me." He kisses you again but doesn't deepen it.
Everything he said takes you by surprise. You didn’t think that he ever paid attention to you, let alone notice your lipstick and get turned on by it.
“I noticed you, but I thought you were bored. You had a grumpy look on your face most of the time. I liked your blue shirt, though. It makes your eyes pop.”
He moans. Is it so easy to make him moan? you wonder.
"I'm always grumpy and arrogant, of course."
“You don’t seem that grumpy and arrogant right now.” You gently bite his neck and then soothe the spot with your tongue.
"Fucking hell, woman." You feel him grabbing your ass. "Tell me you have a condom."
“In that drawer.” You point to it casually. “But just so you know, I’m on the pills.”
He nods, contemplating for a little while before helping you get on bed and taking a condom from your nightstand.
You don’t question why he chooses to reach for it, yet you can’t help but wonder how it would be like to feel him without any barrier. Your mouth waters at the sight of his naked body.
Maybe, maybe you should let him fuck your mouth, too. Why not?
He quickly puts the condom on and before he can climb on bed, he looks at you. "What you said earlier about the voice message, do you still stand by it?"
You realize you actually forgot about them or why you are doing this for a second. “Yeah. I want them to suffer.”
"Good." He takes his pants from the floor and finds his phone quickly. You didn't even realize he had it when you undressed him.
“So what are we doing exactly? Recording a small part and sending it?”
"Ihm." He nods. "Want that asshole to hear what your real moans sound like." He finally sits on the bed and you spread your legs further apart.
“Only my moans?” You ask while he positions himself.
"No video," he says immediately, and you giggle. That wasn’t your question, but it’s okay. You wonder if he’s being possessive with you already or it's something else.
“I meant what about your moans.”
He smiles. "Yeah, of course, but I'm not a loud person." He drops the phone close to your shoulder. "You, on the other hand… I bet you're a fucking screamer."
“I guess we'll find out. Is it recording already?”
"No, uhm, can you… The code is 0478."
“Let’s start and then we can record when it gets really loud.” You try to sound normal, but you are surprised he's just told you his passcode.
"You sure? We can trim it. I don't want to interrupt you."
"Don't worry. I'm good at multitasking." You give him a smile. "But if you wanna record the whole thing, so you can get off to it later, just say that." You can’t help but tease him a little.
"No, no, it's alright. I just want you to feel good, okay?" He smiles, his hands making their way to your thighs.
"Oh, I will. Don't worry about that." You pull him closer by wrapping your legs around his body. As he pushes inside, you start to forget what you were talking about before.
"Oh, fuck me." He groans when he sees the shape of your mouth. Such a perfect O. You feel so good and he's not even halfway inside you. "You're so wet."
"I can do that." You cheekily respond. "But we would need to change the position." You ignore his second comment.
He kisses you as if he needs to taste you again to be able to breathe, his tongue quickly finding yours once you open your mouth. Your hand gets into his hair at the same time he properly gets inside you.
You moan at the fullness. You haven't felt this stretched for so long, but it doesn't hurt. It just makes you crave more.
"Such a brat when you only needed a good cock." You know he's intentionally teasing you, so you try to find a good response.
"We'll see how good it is."
"Brat." He repeats again and moves his hands to your breast. His thrusts are not constant as he tries to test what you like.
"Put your mouth on them already." You know he wants to. He has been looking at them since he stepped inside your apartment. And you want him to do it, too. The thought itself makes you moan.
"Are you ordering me?"
"Depends. Yes, if you like that. No, if you don't."
He takes a handful of your breast in his mouth in response, not only your nipple, his thrusts getting slower, but a little deeper at the same time. The sound of his tongue licking on your skin makes you close your eyes.
The way he sucks your nipple makes you think he likes taking orders. What a great turn of events, you think.
He switches to the other one quickly, giving it the same treatment, while keeping the pace.
"Do you like it?"
“Yeah, yeah.” You quickly respond. “I love it.”
"Faster?"
“Yep, faster.” You gently push his head onto your breast again, loving the double stimulation.
He moans excitedly as he resumes licking and playing with your breasts, carefully trying to leave a hickey around your nipple. "These are mine now."
He doesn’t mean that, does he? Must be the heat of the moment, but you agreed on not doing that. So you decide to remind him. “Don’t say things you don’t actually mean, remember?”
"I didn't forget, brat. Did you?"
He bites on your nipple, gently, but you still feel it.
“So you actually mean that?” You really want to know, so you ignore the fact that he called you a brat again.
"Mean what?" He leaves a kiss on your nipple to soothe any possible pain. "That these are mine?"
“Yeah.” You sound impatient. Why is he acting clueless now?
"They are, they belong to me. So does your bratty mouth." He kisses you shortly.
You can’t deny how his words turn you on even more.
"I imagined fucking you in a bathroom that day at the office." He groans. "So terrible of me, right? Imagining you with come dripping out of you, down to your thighs as you go back to work. Months of petty silence solved."
“If I'd known my silence bothered you that much, I would have been even more silent until it drove you crazy enough to do something about it.” You move your hips up to match his rhythm. “I just thought you just preferred not speaking to me because you didn’t like me.”
"I would have screwed everything up and fucked you, you understand?" He looks you in the eye, making it clear he is honest. "I would have become a horrible person, but not even that thought would have made me reconsider."
“Yet you didn’t do anything, did you? You never acted on it. You were just a grumpy man with terrible thoughts.” You just want him to know he’s not a horrible person, yet you can’t help but tease him a little at the same time.
"And you just needed the cock of that grumpy man with terrible thoughts, huh?" His thrusts are so much faster now. You wonder: how the fuck does he expect you to answer?
All you can do is whine and moan because somehow he manages to hit all the right places.
"My little cock whore." He groans. "Mine, okay? Just like I am yours."
“Jesus fucking Christ.” You can’t help but react. You find it so hot you can barely stay still. The way he talks during sex… They would really die if they heard you two. That makes you remember… You were supposed to hit the record button.
"Just Bucky. Or James."
“Where the fuck is your phone, Bucky?” You ask while trying to find it without actually looking.
He's confused for a split second, but then he remembers what you agreed on. "To your right."
You finally find the phone and unlock it quickly before dropping it without any care as soon as it starts to record.
"Oh, doll, you're too wet for me. So good." The sound of your skin slapping and the whimpers are so loud. You can’t contain yourself even if you try.
“Faster, please,” you say without thinking. It feels like you are already close. You don’t care if you have to beg for it.
"So greedy." He cries out when he feels your hands on his ass, pulling him deeper inside you.
“Fuckk. That feels good!” You moan loudly and arch your back.
"Holy shit."
He suddenly stops, making you open your eyes and giving him an accusatory look, but then you notice the phone in his hands. Oh, you forgot about it for a second and you have no idea why.
"Are you sending it?"
"Ihm." He doesn't just lock his phone after he is done. He freaking turns it off, surprising you. “I don’t want any interruptions. Want to fuck you in peace.”
You just pull him into another kiss, more passionate this time. You feel his right hand on your tummy, tickling you a little, before stopping down, above your clit.
“You close?” You ask him to make sure because you surely are.
"I'm trying not to come," he says honestly.
“Oh, you can. I’m close, too. I just need it a little faster.” His hand on your clit already makes you realize it won’t take much for you to fall apart.
He pulls back, taking his cock almost completely out, and the emptiness makes you whine. Then he thrusts with full force, making you moan so loudly that you can’t recognize your own voice.
"Fuck, look at you. And those sounds…" He brings his thumb to your lips. "Come on, be a good girl and show me how your pretty little mouth would take my cock. The one that's inside your pussy right now, ready to come for you."
“Such a filthy mouth.” You say while moaning. “Come with me so I can take that cock inside my mouth and show you what it can do.”
"God, come, baby. Please come." He is begging you at this point. His voice is so desperate and soft.
His neediness, the way he says those words finally pushes you off the edge.
“Oh god.” You try to breathe as the orgasm takes over your body, making you shake. Your mouth opens, letting out the most unfiltered moan you've ever heard from yourself. It is pure pleasure with no thoughts, no worries. Your heart and your head are on fire, begging for more. You want this feeling to last as long as possible.
He comes shortly after you, but you don't realize it until you hear his loud groan vibrating against your chest. His hips and ass cheeks are trembling under your touch as he seems lost in his world for a few seconds. You run your fingers through his hair, waiting for him to come down from his high.
“Oh god, baby." You feel his breath on your wet skin and you sigh. "Can I live here forever?"
“That good?” You can’t help but ask. He can feel your smile without looking at you.
He looks up. "Ihm. What about you?"
“Wanna get your ego stroked?” You ask genuinely. “Promise that you’re not gonna use it against me.”
He kisses your throat. "I don't make such promises, woman."
“Then you won’t get to hear it.” You expose your throat more while talking.
"What if I eat the truth out of you?"
“Eat the truth out of me?”
"Ihm. You know… when you're under sex spell, you become truthful."
“You are welcome to try.” There’s no way you are gonna turn down another orgasm like this one.
"Perfect." He leaves another kiss on the valley between your breasts and sighs. "Have to take this off first," he says, taking his cock out with a small hiss before standing up near the bed, watching you. "Where can I throw this away?"
“There’s a trashcan in the bathroom.” You point at it while getting more comfortable on the bed.
"Be right back."
You feel something cold on your back and realize it’s his phone. You put it on the nightstand, thinking about how he turned his phone off in the middle of the sex. You make a mental note to ask him to send you that voice message later, so you can remember how good the sex felt.
He comes back with your small semi-wet towel and watches you carefully. "Look, I meant what I said about eating the truth out of you, but only if you are okay with it. I won't ask again. I could always just leave, you know? No big deal." But you can see in his face it would be a big deal. Maybe he likes your company. The sex is amazing.
“Do you wanna leave, Bucky?” You already know his answer.
"No, I don't."
“Then come here and do whatever you wanna do.”
He doesn't need to be told twice. You watch him drop to his knees and, at the same time, drag you closer to the edge of the bed as quickly as he can. You let out a surprised gasp, but it turns into a whole moan when he lifts your legs on his shoulders and starts licking you from your entrance to your clit.
“Fuck, you weren’t joking.”
He acknowledges your words by playing with his tongue around your clit. You move your hips slowly, up and down, just to create a little more friction. Your greed grows while you watch him eagerly lick every bit of your pussy.
You don't expect to feel his fingers at your entrance all of the sudden as you're focused on his tongue. And you especially don't expect him to curl two of his fingers and get them inside you at once. No warnings.
“Oh fuck, yes!” You find yourself grabbing his hair, just needing something to hold on to.
And he moans, buckling his hips in the air at the slight pain. The pace of his fingers matches his tongue, but it's not enough.
“Add the third finger.” You sound desperately close.
He is surprised, you can sense it, but he quickly does what you say, his tongue eagerly toying with your clit faster than before.
“I’m so close!” You warn.
He stops licking for a little and you try to move your hips to meet his mouth. What the fuck is he doing? No time for edging.
"What were you gonna say, doll? What did you think it would stroke my ego?"
“What?” You raise on your elbows, looking like a mess. “Really?”
"If you want my tongue, you give me an answer."
“You are unbelievable!” You sound so betrayed.
"I warned you not to cry, doll."
You really want to keep that thought to yourself, but the ache between your legs doesn’t care about your pride. “I can’t believe you are doing this right now.”
He gives you a small smile, and you see him leaning in again. You think you won, getting more comfortable, ready to come soon, but he only licks you twice, teasingly, and lets your clit go.
"Do what?"
You whine loudly. The feeling of his tongue lingers on your clit. “You wanna play dirty?” Maybe you can’t win this fight, but it doesn’t mean you can’t win others. “Fine.” You sit up a little, looking into his eyes. “It was the best orgasm I’ve ever had. Happy now?”
"Delighted. Now was it so hard? You get a reward for being my good and honest girl."
“Yeah, whatever.” You roll your eyes.
"Fucking brat," you hear him whisper right before his tongue finds your clit again, finally licking it in circles properly. He starts to move his fingers, too, and even though they are obviously not even close to the thickness of his cock, they feel incredible.
But you are too annoyed now, at the same time. A part of you just wants to hold back and not give him the pleasure of hearing you come. So he tries harder. You hear him whimpering as he takes your clit into his mouth, sucking on it. And you swallow a moan while your legs are trembling.
"Come on, baby." His fingers move faster, too. "Let it go."
Your whole body starts to shake uncontrollably, but you keep your moans to yourself, pressing your lips together tightly just out of spite. You can see he hates it, but he doesn't stop until you finish coming. And it feels amazing, but you are sure it would have been even better if you had let yourself enjoy it freely.
He sighs into your clit and leaves a kiss there before he stands up. "You're mad."
“No shit, Sherlock.”
"Ah, doll. Nothing can tame that mouth."
“More like actions and consequences. I wasn’t ready to share that, but you forced me to say it for an orgasm, so that’s what you get. An orgasm. Nothing more, nothing less.”
"Forced?" His face shows concern as he sits next to you. "That wasn’t my intention. The last thing I want is to make you feel trapped.” He seems like he’s confused. He looks around and meets your gaze again. “Do you want me to leave?"
“If you wanna leave, just leave, but if that wasn’t really your intention, you can start with apologizing.”
"I am sorry," he immediately says, taking your hands into his. "I was just trying to… be silly I guess."
“You wanted your ego stroked, I get it. We both need it after what happened, but… I don’t know. I just felt exposed.”
"I'm sorry." He kisses your cheek. "I might be a grumpy arrogant son of a bitch, but forcing…"
You start to tear up, hearing him say sorry this quickly. Fucking relationship trauma.
"Oh god, baby, I am sorry, I didn't…" he tries to wipe your tears with his thumbs. "I'm a jackass, but I swear I wasn't trying to force you. I thought it was just a game. My bad."
“No, no. This is on me. Sorry.” You try to take a deep breath. “He just never said sorry no matter how hurt I was. He always had an excuse. This is just… trauma I guess.”
"What a fucking douchebag. I can fuck him up really good, you know?" He suggests. "Just say the words."
“He’s probably already fucked up by the fact that we are fucking.” That thought cheers you up a little.
"His face deserves it, too." Bucky puffs and kisses your wet cheeks. "To be honest, this whole should I leave question comes from my relationship trauma, too. So you’re not alone. She either wanted me to leave or she left every fucking time we disagreed on something. She once threw my shoes out of the window just so I'd go. I don't know why we kept trying…"
“Oh.” You finally understand why he keeps offering to leave. It isn't about you. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I thought you were just trying to get out when things get hard.”
"Don't be sorry. I prefer to talk on the spot, to be honest. Letting everything out is healthier. Don't "
“Or take a break whenever it’s needed. Doesn’t mean you have to leave though.”
"Yeah! Exactly."
You laugh a little. You never realized how similar you two are. Today is changing your perspective completely. “Your apology is accepted by the way, but under one condition.”
"What is that?'
“Tell me something about yourself that you don’t want me to know.”
He thinks for a second. "My breath smells like death in the morning. I can make your plants die if you let me."
You shake your head, amused. “That’s not good enough. Everyone’s breath smells bad in the morning.”
"What do you wanna know then?"
“Something on the same level of having your best orgasm.”
"I think you broke me."
“What?”
"You broke me." He repeats as if that is an explanation.
“In what way?”
He kisses you just as desperately as he did in the kitchen, as if this is the first time he kisses you and he can't ever get enough. "I want you for more than one time, do you understand?"
“Oh. Well… That can be arranged.”
"Yeah?" He drags you by your hips, placing you on top of his thighs.
“I would actually like that.”
He kisses you some more, letting his hands wander all over your body, stopping especially on your neck and breasts.
"You like it rough, don't you? Not complaining about me ripping your clothes off, loving the bites." He pulls your hair, just to prove his point in case you deny. You moan.
“Yeah, apparently you like it rough, too.” You don’t deny. Why would you?
"Of course I do, brat." He then turns you around suddenly. "All fours, please."
“Since you asked so nicely,” You stop for the dramatic effect and say as sarcastically as possible: “Boss.”
"Wanna make me your boss?"
“You are already acting like one.” You stand on all fours, pushing your ass back while lowering your head.
"Fuck! You're such a sight, you know?" Bucky's eyes don't leave your body.
“Am I?”
"I wanna look at you like this all day long."
You look at him amused. “I’m afraid I don’t have that much patience.”
You notice him shaking his head. "Of course."
“It’s rude to make me wait like this, you know?”
"Sorry, just wanted to remember this." Bucky feels a little bad for the thoughts he has. He mentally took a picture of you cause he can't ask this from you, right? You're not a couple, and even if you were, it doesn't mean exchanging or keeping photos like this would be okay.
His hips touch your ass as he positions himself at your entrance. "Any limits that come to your mind? I won't ask again."
“We already decided on the rules. I don’t think there’s anything besides them.”
"I'm not gonna hold back this time." Not completely… he grabs a handful of your hair as he thrusts inside you. "I'm gonna pound the fuck out of you and you're gonna take it like a good little girl, understand?"
“I understand. You won’t stop until I say stop.”
"Jesus Christ." He moans halfway inside you at the feel of your extra wet pussy. He feels out of breath just by standing still. "How…"
“Oh, fuck.” You nearly choke. It feels unbelievably good. This position is doing wonders.
"I didn't think-" he says, but at the same time doesn't move an inch. "Fuck, it feels too good, this pussy is driving me crazy. You are driving me crazy." He grips your hair harder without warning and starts to thrusts properly inside you, making sure to squeeze your left breast with his free. The sounds of your wet skin slapping make him curse under his breath.
“You didn’t think what?” You sound out of breath already.
"I cannot fuck you with condoms again." Technically he can, but he doesn’t want to.
You smile widely. “Why is that?”
"Because I am completely fucked."
“You like it that much?”
"Like it?" He puffs, unamused, and starts to finally pound you the way he imagined a few weeks ago. Maybe even harder.
“Oh, fuck!” Yep, he’s right. You are fucked, too.
"You might need to fix me very often, you know?" He drops his hand from your hair just to properly grab your hips. You can barely keep your position like this, his thrusts are so deep.
“Fix you?”
"Yeah. Fix my cock." Oh, that’s what he means.
“We can fix each other then.”
"Ihm." He doesn't say much after this, too focused on kissing your back and keeping the pace at the same time. He's ready to come any minute.
“Harder, Bucky. Please!” You need to come. Really desperately.
"How much harder?" He thrusts a little harder. "More or like this?"
“As hard as you can.”
He doesn't disagree with you, but you know he's holding back even when he pushes harder. And harder. And harder.
"I'm gonna come," he manages to moan. "Fuck I'm gonna come inside you, gonna make a mess. Tell me you… t-tell me you want my come."
“I want your come, Bucky, please. p Please, come with me!” You are already shaking uncontrollably.
"Fuck." That's all you get from him before he's coming, his fingers digging so hard into your skin that you moan again, dizzy from your orgasm.
He keeps moving, making a mess, indeed. It’s already dripping out, you can feel it.
"I came so much." You hear him say suddenly through fogginess.
You smile, resting your head on the bed still, feeling unable to move.
"Not gonna say anything?"
“I died and went to heaven.” You murmur. The orgasm is still running through your veins, making you twitch here and there.
"I've been in heaven for a while."
You finally turn around and look at him. “It was so fucking good.”
"No words." He slowly gets out of you and you notice how happy he is, not taking his eyes off your pussy. "It's gonna start dripping… all over your thighs and sheets. What a nice mark." He even brings a finger to your entrance and pushes back some come.
“Do you have a breeding kink or something?” You smile while asking.
"A breeding kink?"
“Yeah, do you know what it is?”
"Something to do with my come inside you?" He teases. His confusion seems to fade away.
“Yeah, and getting me pregnant.”
He groans, closing his eyes.
“They do that pushing the come back inside thing most of the time.”
"I guess I have a breeding kink." He smiles, accepting it instantly, and finally closes the gap to kiss you. "You might not get rid of me now."
“I knew it!” You point at him with your finger. “I wasn’t gonna get rid of you anyways.”
"Wanna keep me as your boy toy?"
“You wanna be my boy toy?” Your whole face lights up.
"You look quite excited."
“I never had a boy toy before.”
"No?" He shakes his head. "Time to change that. And as your boy toy, I should always make sure you're having a good time." He surprises you by spreading your legs again.
“No, no, no, no. It’s my turn.”
Bucky shakes his head. "Need to get you clean, and then we can do whatever you want, alright?"
“You are really something else.” You sound amazed.
He smirks. "And you're stuck with me. You're all mine now."
You don't get to say anything anymore as you feel his tongue at your entrance. So you just grab his hair, closing your eyes, your exes long forgotten.
“And you are all mine.”
3K notes · View notes
jeonghantis · 10 months
Text
✧ — HEAVEN ANGEL (y.jh)
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PAIRING ⇝ yoon jeonghan x reader.
SUMMARY ⇝
beautiful, everyone had called you. the compliment lost its charm on you, knowing fully well it’s paid only for the surface-level appearance you kept up and nothing else you had to offer. irritating, he had called you. you let him fuck you.
TAGS ⇝ uni!au, fratboy!jeonghan, fwb, smut, a dash of angst (oopsy!).
WARNINGS ⇝ language, fem!reader (she/her), houseparty scene (not exactly detailed), gossip, explicit sexual content (MINORS DNI!), bathroom (mirror) sex, unrequited crush (or is it?), reader has commitment issues, reader is kinda mean, mentions of p*ss and sh*t but not in a sexual manner, just for jokes.
WORD COUNT ⇝ 4.1k words.
note: funnily enough, i had two requests specifically for house party sex with yoon jeonghan. i lost the ask for them both (accidentally deleted while my laptop glitched). i am insane. and before anyone asks, yes there'll be a part two/prequel :) and also this is somewhat connected to my upcoming cheol fic. so i hope you stay tuned! proofread by the star of my life @cheolhub. sar fr put up with every version and my constant anxiety over every paragraph. i couldn't have done it without them. i love u so much. @szakias was also helpful in keeping me sane as i wrote this out 🙇 i love u so bad. loosely based on the song heaven angel by the driver era. don't think it'd go with the fic but you know :)
reblogs & comments are very much appreciated.
explicit tags under the cut.
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EXPLICIT TAGS ⇝ semi-public setting (bathroom sex while there's a party), unprotected sex, dom/sub dynamics, mean dom!jeonghan, sub!reader, dumbification, teasing, petnames (angel), degradation (whore, bitch), dacryphilia, marking, briefest thigh-fucking, clit stimulation, cumming inside, squirting, light overstimulation, (a little) aftercare.
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A strange rumor went around the campus. A rumor of a person whose beauty was so out of this world that it was terrifying. 
Unreal. Everyone had said. You won’t be able to look her in the eyes! 
But beyond that angelic beauty was a personality so sour, no one dared thought to approach her. Those that tried their luck had it beaten right out of them and they came to hate her to hide their broken hearts.
What a bitch, they had said. Does she think she’s all that?
Yoon Jeonghan, for one, thought they were being overly dramatic. It was a strange and interesting phenomenon how gossip can evolve to add in such theatrics. It was like living in one of those regency novels his sister owned which he had perused over on one particularly boring day. Had these people really had nothing better to do with their lives? Were they trying to live in a novel of their own? Jeonghan never understood them, neither cared for these kinds of things. He’d much rather form his opinions. He had better things to do than to dabble in such frivolity. 
What a stuck-up, one would say. What better things could Jeonghan be doing that puts him above everyone else? 
Oh, fucking the subject of the rumors of course. 
“How irritating,” Jeonghan sighed, abruptly ceasing his thrusts inside you to harshly yank you back by your hair. 
You yelp, a deer in the headlights, when your neck is forcibly craned back, made to look up at his looming figure. You looked pathetic from where you were pinned against the wall, exposed breasts pressed flush against the cool tiles and your mini skirt flipped upwards to reveal the swell of your bare ass flattened against his hip bone.
“I said to keep your voice down,” he tuts. “Do you want the whole house to hear you?” 
“I’m s-sorry,” you stammer out, throat raw and chest heaving. 
“Are you?” He mused with a raised brow, mocking and unbelieving. 
You couldn’t meet his gaze, or at least you tried to. Jeonghan liked to make eye contact, he once told you, for he loved to see your sanity visibly ebb away from your eyes, leaving you a mindless, glassy-eyed whore. You had not reached that stage, not yet, not when some semblance of your being remained clear in your gaze, dilated pupils fearfully wavering back and forth between his simpering face and the bathroom door where a rather large, booming frat party laid beyond.
He cocked his head to the side and tightened his grip on your hair, forcing your eyes back on him. He leaned forward until he’s breathing your air, and all you could do is stare up at him pitifully with quivering lips. “Or…” he starts, his lips twisting cruelly. “Do you want them to hear you? Want them hear how good you’re being fucked right now?”
You remain silent, the lump on your throat bobbing as you swallow hard. But your walls tighten around him and Jeonghan couldn’t help the curve of his lips.
“You’re really weird, you know that?” Jeonghan sighed, releasing his hold on you. A lithe finger curls a lock behind your ear, the gesture jarringly affectionate from his prior cruelty, before his mouth moves to hover over it, his warm breath tickling. “You moan loudly when I tell you to shut up. You shut up when I ask you questions. Have I fucked you stupid already? Or have you always been stupid?”
You let out a shaky breath. “I’m sorry.”
“Is that all you know what to say?” Jeonghan laughs. “A renowned bitch, known to reject her admirers without so much of a second thought, now reduced into this pathetic bitch in heat. What would everyone else think, hm?”
His derogatory spats clamored down to your bones, making you shake with emotions that you couldn’t quite place with your hazed mind. At one point, with the last bit of pride you had left, you’re irritated, and it’s shown in the twitch of your eye and narrowed gaze. Then there’s embarrassment, shown by how your face warms and flushes. There was no denying how fucking dazed and desperate you had been, that much was true, and the demeaning tone of his voice did its job of filling you with shame. The twisted part of it all is that you enjoyed every minute of this ridicule thanks to pure, carnal desire. You couldn’t care less about what other people would say about you, what matters now is when the fuck would Jeonghan move his dick inside you. 
But Jeonghan being Jeonghan, he wanted his answers. His last question was rhetoric. You knew. He knew. And yet he looks down at you with cruel expectancy masked in the sweetest, angelic smile that has fooled so many, and had once fooled you. 
“I-I don’t care,” you say, deciding to be honest. “Who the fuck cares what they think?”
“Oh, but I’d like to know,” Jeonghan said. He hums for a moment, looking you over in consideration, before speaking again. “But you’re right. They don’t matter right now, do they?” 
You release a breath you hadn’t known you were holding.
And Jeonghan watched, amused. He wasn’t done speaking. “But I’d at least like to know what you think.”
You blinked. “What?”
Before you could question him some more, Jeonghan pulls out of you, leaving your weeping cunt fluttering around nothing. You cry out, high and broken, from having pleasure ripped away with such cruelty. Jeonghan ignores it and his own throbbing problem as he goes to peel you off the wall with a rough tug on your arm. He has you by over the sink, has you staring at yourself through the vanity mirror. Jeonghan casts a smile at you through the reflection, his gaze weighted as he drinks in the sight of you as well.
Jeonghan had to admit, the rumors weren’t all baseless. You were stunningly beautiful, there was no denying that when anyone with functioning eyes could see it. The way you carried yourself tells him you’re well aware of it too. You held confidence with a raised chin, an allure with your own posture and stance even in this vulnerable position you were forced in, looking as disheveled as you are with tufts of your hair sticking out in every direction, framing your flushed face. Your blouse had been carefully unbuttoned despite how desperately urgent you both had been for each other the moment the bathroom door shut closed, but the rush was evident in how your bralette had been roughly tugged down enough for your perked breasts to spill over. Jeonghan had been anything but kind to your skin, having left angry red splotches blossoming all over your chest; you weren’t either on his, knowing if Jeonghan had craned his neck enough from behind you, they’d find similar markings on his throat, though considerably less in quantity.
Jeonghan also looked considerably less damning. He had not made moves to remove any of his upper clothing and so he remained presentable with his black varsity over a loose white shirt. Even his long hair had not looked loosened from where it’s tied up. But below, away from the mirror’s sight, his dark jeans had been unbuttoned and unzipped for his curved dick to spring out freely, for it now to rub over your ass teasingly.
“So?” Jeonghan asks. “What do you think of yourself?”
You glare at him through the mirror. “Fucking awful.”
“Of course you’d see it that way,” he laughs, resting his chin on your shoulder. “For me, I think this is the most beautiful you’ve ever been.”
It’s your turn to look unbelieving, but your pulse rouses. 
Jeonghan grinned. “Ask me why.”
You reluctantly indulge him, “Why?”
“Because you finally look fucking awful,” Jeonghan said cheerfully. You turn to glower at him but stop when he lifts a hand to trace a line over your chest, mapping out the marks adorning you with a nimble finger. “And because I’m the reason for it.”
“A little vain, don’t you think?” You remark, albeit breathily, your face heated.
“I can be proud of my work,” he quipped, pressing his smile against your skin. He looks you over once more, taking in every detail down to the last freckle, and something deep in him thrums sweetly. “And I had a beautiful canvas to begin with.”
“How charming,” you sighed, derisive, as you threw your head back against his shoulder so you could look at him with batting lashes. “Can you fuck me now?”
“But I mean it,” Jeonghan murmured and relented, reaching around you so he could press a roughened finger over your swollen clit.
 “Mean what?” You ask, but you’re barely listening, not when your focus is narrowed to the deft circles he’s making on your sweet nerves.
Jeonghan guides his length between your thighs, letting it glide languidly right under your weeping and throbbing cunt at a lazy pace. His lips are still curled, his eyes bright when he gazes down at you before he’s responding, “You’re absolutely beautiful.”
Sincerity was not something you’re used to when it came to the ever sarcastic Yoon Jeonghan, and yet here it was, bleeding into his tone in its purest form. Never in the entire three months of sleeping with him had he ever complimented the way he had just now, and if he had uttered any, it was quickly followed with ridicule or said with ridicule.
Good, he called you when you were obedient.
Cute, he called you when you were crying.
Beautiful. It was new. From him at least. 
It was a temporary moment of clarity in your lust-addled head as you blink at him, making sense of what he had said, making sense of the warmth that starts to bloom throughout your chest. And temporary it remained as Jeonghan led his cockhead right back to your entrance, pushing himself in without so much of a warning, and the bare grasp you had on lucidity loosened.
You gasp out loudly, doubling over the bathroom counter as your walls tense and quiver painfully from the sudden breach, but still yield around him nonetheless. Jeonghan was quick to catch you, to force you right back up with his long fingers encircling your throat. 
“Again?” Jeonghan barked out a laugh but it’s hoarse. “You really want everyone to hear you.”
“I c-can’t help it,” you whined, your head resting weakly against his shoulder, warm breath puffing over his marred skin. 
Jeonghan looked unimpressed. “Well, help it.”
“Oh, fuck!” you cry out when he starts driving into you with no sense of leniency, your body thrown fully forward and voice shaking from the repeated impact that clatters your bones.
“You’re horrible at this,” he cackled. He grips at your hips this time, pulling you hard against him, balls slapping heavily against your ass. He's practically pulling and pushing your cunt onto his cock as if you weighed nothing, as if you were nothing but a cocksleeve for him to enjoy. Each decadent slide of his length in your heat draws out breathy grunts from him, his head drunk with pleasure.
You weren’t faring any better. Your head is thrown back to reveal flushed skin stained with tears that drip from closed eyes as you try desperately to hold yourself up with palms flat against the cold marble counter. There was nothing else for you to do but feel it, feel his cock stretch your pussy, its silken insides practically making way for him with each piston that has you crying out more in volume and pitch.
“Open your eyes.” His hot, staggered breath wafted over your ear. His thrusts ease its pace, slowing into something more languorous and teasing. “Open your eyes and look at me.”
You whine but your eyelids flutter open. Glassy, unfocused eyes find Jeonghan.
A devious smile splinters across his face. 
There you are.
“Please,” you whimper, your hand reaching to paw at his nape. 
“What is it, angel?” His tone is sweet but it rolls off his tongue sharply. “I n-need - ”
Jeonghan laughed cruelly. “I don’t think you’re in the position to demand something from me when you can’t even listen to my one demand.”
You grab at the ends of his hair and rock your hips back into him, fucking your cunt right on his dick in a faster, but struggling, rhythm. 
“Hannie,” you mewl. “You feel too good. Please, please, just fuck me. I can’t help it, I just - Please? I’ll b-be good. Just please fuck me, Hannie.”
Jeonghan doesn’t respond right away to your pleas, allowing himself to revel in the broken desperation you display with an amused smile and delighted throbs made inside your velvety walls. Perhaps Jeonghan should be used to this sight now. He’s seen you in much messier and miserable states, ruined you far worse than he had now. And yet he’s plenty invigorated than he’s ever been, pure excitement searing his veins.
What would everyone else think, hm?
Jeonghan thought it was rhetoric. Jeonghan said it didn’t matter. 
It wasn’t. It did. 
“I don’t think you can be good,” he began as a hand inches forward between your legs, “But if you’re going to be loud, then at least use my name. That way, everyone will know who’s fucking you so good.”
“H-Hannie!” You mewl, oh so pitchy, as your frame jerks from the brush of the roughened pads of his fingers on your clit, pleasure flickering up your abdomen so wildly that you could not easily bear through it. 
“There we go,” he crooned, pride gleaming in his eyes. Jeonghan was much too familiar with your body by now, so it’s easy when his hips brings back its pace, fucking at your insides at an angle so the length of him glides over your sweet nerves with each impact. 
“Yes, yes, yes,” you sob out like a mantra, spreading your legs a little wider to accommodate his brutality, your channel tightening around his throbbing girth. “Ngh, Jeonghan, right there! Oh my god - !”
The nectar that leaks out of you coated his shaft with an amazingly significant amount that makes the slides so much easier and louder, the wet noises bouncing off the four walls and meshing with your own cries of his name like he wanted. It was almost enough to drown out the muffled music of the party that seemed many worlds away now.
Jeonghan soon enough joined in this sinful chorus, letting out panted moans of his own. Some were incoherent but when it wasn’t, it was mostly your name, just in case everyone couldn’t tell who was screaming his name like a wailing prayer. How he’s managed to keep himself restrained and sane for this long was a strong feat in itself. Your everything put him in a trance, every touch of you—nails, fingers, and obviously your tight cunt, was a little too much, it was dizzying. 
Even at your seemingly waning state, your hips somehow finds itself moving back against him, undulating with the same force and rhythm. You’re driven by the tightness both in your chest and in your abdomen, white flashing across your vision the more you keep up your pace, your moan becoming more muddled as your thoughts were. And when balance fails you, having you bow back down and lean all your weight on your forearm, Jeonghan inclines with you, his chest pressed right against your back and you could feel his raging heartbeat that very well matched your own.
“How are you holding up, angel?” He chuckled and pressed his face against your neck, his breathing hard and warm on your skin, as his thrusts become more shallow. “Doing okay?”
“I-I’m close,” you whimper. “Please, Hannie - ”
“I’ve got you,” he whispered back as nails dig crescents on your waist, muscles flexing as the intensity of his strokes inside you extends once again and remains at the same tempo. He doesn’t know what came over him the next moment, his senses just completely overtaken and all he could do was be at awe at all this perfect bliss you’re bringing him, and only him. “You’re mine tonight,” he breathed. “I’m going to fucking ruin you for everyone, angel, you understand that? You’re mine.”
There it was again. The clarity. The warmth. It all happened in a single moment.
You turn your head and stare up at him. Jeonghan stared right back at you. A completely indecipherable expression confronts another.  
Where it had been temporary then, it intensified now. Where there had been questions, suspicions took its place. 
Then came fear.
Jeonghan catches a glimpse of it in your eyes and for the very first time, his stomach sank at the sight of it. 
But his facade is flawless. It comes too naturally before he’s fully aware—a sweet curl of lip, the faintest crinkle at the corners of his eyes. He’s fooled too many. He could fool you again. 
Jeonghan takes advantage of your moment of daze to toy once again with your clit, and is relieved at how immediate your body reacts. 
“Ngh, J-Jeonghan!” You keen high as you reach a hand to cup over to where his fingers flicks and pinches at the delicate bud, pressing down on him for added pressure to alleviate your own self. Oh, how embarrassingly easy it was for your thoughts to be completely overwritten by your own lustful desires, but as you have learned, it always prevails, doesn’t it? 
Your thighs seize up from the overwhelming pleasure crawling up your spine; while your rhythm falters from it, Jeonghan’s is relentless even when his own breathing turned ragged and his body strained from the effort. It all becomes so much so fast; the feverish heat spreads under your skin, tightening up coils in your abdomen, but your frame is trembling, as if a chill settled so deeply into your bones. 
“Hannie, Hannie, I’m going to -”
“I know,” Jeonghan grunts as his face falls in the juncture of your neck, lips pressed right over your pulse point. He can feel your walls start to restrict around his twitching girth, and it did little to aid his own self-control. “Let go for me, angel. C’mon. Let me hear you. Let them hear you.”
And you do. With the most shrilling wail, you come, your warm release spilling onto his cock and, much to your surprise, squirting onto themselves, their clothes, and his hand. 
“Holy shit,” Jeonghan marveled under his breath. If he could burn a memory into his brain, this would be fucking it. Just you shivering and quivering around his dick. Your back prettily arched back with tits hardened and perked. The fluids spurting all over yourself and him so shamelessly and so intensely until you're convulsing back down on your front from it all. 
Watching this whole brilliance of you, just reminded Jeonghan of how lucky he truly was to have you like this, to be able to make you this fucked out with crossed eyes, pupils blown wide out of proportion. Hidden concerns were washed away by this single glance, replaced with nothing but gratitude, pride, and true bliss. And with all that and a poorly thrown out warning, he’s thrown over the edge. A moan is punched out of his gut as he’s releasing inside you with one last valiant thrust, his cum white and hot as it spurts and paints your walls.
And poor you having to tolerate this continued abuse of your insides that pushes you close into the sphere of overstimulation. You’re spent, fatigue already ebbing into your consciousness, but you stay still for him, letting him use you for all your worth until the last few twitches of cock, until the last few spews of his cum is fucked back into you.
For the next few moments, only a dulled bass fills the air as two heaving bodies try to steady themselves. When the remnants of carnality wane, Jeonghan finally pulls out of you, your channel left with nothing but their shared release dripping out of you, beading down your legs. There’s a crack of a smile thrown your way through the reflection just as you feel a light tap made over your cunt. You resist the urge to roll your eyes at the gesture. And to rock back into it.
“If I clean you up,” Jeonghan began, eyeing the puddle on the floor, “could you help me with the rest of your mess?”
Now you did roll your eyes. “Ever the gentleman.”
“Hey, I just thought I should ask. It’s a lot.” 
Your face warmed up. “Forget it, I’ll clean myself up. You clean the floor.” You move to lift yourself up from the counter, but catch yourself as your muscles start to strain, limbs shaking. 
Jeonghan raised a brow.
You winced. “Can you help me over to the toilet?”
 “Need to piss it all out again?” He jests and takes a hold of your arm to gently pick you up. 
You sneered. “That wasn’t piss, asshat.”
Jeonghan laughed. “I know it wasn’t. But it was hot as hell.”
“Shut the hell up.”
That only made him laugh again.
Then came a knock, a very aggressive one.
“Yoon Jeonghan, are you done fucking in there?” Said a male voice beyond the door, sounding just as irritated as his knock was. 
“Ah, damn,” Jeonghan muttered quietly to himself, then raised his voice at the door, “There are other bathrooms, Cheol!”
Choi Seungcheol, you now recognized Jeonghan’s fellow frat brother, responded right away. “All occupied! Can you hurry your shit up?”
“No!” said Jeonghan, but he’s quick to guide you over next to the toilet with an arm now encircling your waist; you tell yourself this was just a helpful gesture, but there’s no helping how your skin heats up under his touch. From where you stand leaning against the wall, you watch him rush around the bathroom, first cleaning himself up and shoving his dick back in his jeans before he throws a clean towel down on the floor to soak up your mess.
“I’ll leave first,” Jeonghan explained as he sauntered back to you with soap and another fresh towel in hand, setting them down where it’s within your reach. “I’ll appease Cheol first and buy you some time to clean up.”
“Is he always so impatient?” You asked.
“Always,” he sighed, “but once I explain, he’ll understand. I don’t know why he’s fussier than usual though.” 
“Maybe he needs to shit.”
“Shitting at a party? That’s disgusting of him.”
“He has no respect for the partygoers out there.”
You exchange grins with each other. 
Then another round of knocking came around.
“In a minute!” Jeonghan called back, trying to sound calm but his face was scowling. He lowers his voice when he speaks to you again, “Are you sure you don’t want any help? Now I just want to make him wait.”
“Go,” you tell him and wave him off. “He sounds like he’s about to kick the door open. I’d rather not have that.”
Jeonghan huffed a laugh at that. “I wouldn’t put it past him.”
Jeonghan turned to leave. Your heart lurched from your chest.
“Jeonghan?” You call out before you could stop yourself.
He looked back. “Hm?”
“Do we…” You didn’t know what to say, how to phrase it. “Should we talk about it?”
It was miniscule, but you caught his wince. “Talk about what?”
“About what you said?”
“Angel, I said a lot of things.”
“Don’t play stupid with me. You said - ”
Another loud knock, quickly followed by Seungcheol yelling. “Jeonghan! Hurry up!”
Jeonghan let out another sigh, a mix of annoyance with a tinge of relief. “We’ll have to talk about it another time.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Jeonghan - ”
“We will talk about it,” he said firmly, his tone spoke of sincerity, but his face said otherwise. “Just not now. Not yet.” 
You gave him a skeptical look. 
He tried for a smile, perfectly saccharine. You saw right through it.
“Fine,” you relented.
Jeonghan gave you a grateful nod of his head and made a move to leave again. You watch again with the strangest restriction in your chest.
“Cheol, you have got to learn patience,” Jeonghan said once he cracked the door open.
“And you have got to learn to be quiet,” the disembodied voice of Seungcheol parried back. “I’m sure the people passing the hallway could hear you both.”
“Well, we were trying to get the whole house to hear us.” Jeonghan spared a quick glance your way and grinned. You wanted to punch his teeth in.
Seungcheol groaned. “Of course you fucking were.”
Jeonghan laughed and finally stepped out of the bathroom. “At least I’m getting my dick wet. You haven’t been with anyone since - Oh, I spoke too soon. Cheol, you sneaky son of a - ”
The door shut closed behind him, leaving you all alone, and you buried your face in your hands.
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© jeonghantis. all rights reserved. do not re-publish, translate, plagiarise, edit any of my work on any other platform.
3K notes · View notes
valeskafics · 14 days
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"(S)He's Not You" - Conrad Fisher x Reader
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a/n: from an anon request 🩷
Summary: You help your best friend put the broken pieces of his heart back together.
Word Count: 4,000
Rating: 18+, MDNI
TW: afab reader, she/her pronouns, profanity, innuendo, infidelity (not by reader or conrad), hair pulling, pining, fingering, p in v sex, unprotected sex
Disclaimer: I do not own any of The Summer I Turned Pretty characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.
Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated 🩷
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You don’t know what you were expecting to see when you made it back to Cousins after your last final exam. The beach house was saved and everyone was getting along right before you left. So why is Connor crying? You approach your best friend with trepidation, knowing he’d never want you to see him like this. You rest a gentle hand on his shoulder and he jerks his head up, eyes going wide as he quickly tries to dry his tears, to calm the way his body seizes with every sob. But you just sit down beside him and pull his head into your lap. And he cries. God, how he cries. It physically pains you to see him like this, like something is squeezing your heart in two as you run your hands through his hair.
You know who did this. Belly. She fucking broke his heart. You swear, if your mom wasn’t so close with hers and Steven wasn’t one of your best friends, you’d kill her with your bare hands. The pain she’s caused… You shake your head, listening to Conrad’s sniffles as they slowly begin to calm.
“You’re too good for her,” you say softly, “You always were.”
He lets out a hoarse laugh, sitting up and meeting your gaze with bloodshot eyes, “Then why did she pick him over me?”
Jeremiah. He must mean Jeremiah. God, you think you really might drive all the way to her fucking volleyball camp and kill her. You shake your head.
“Cuz she’s an asshole.” You see the hint of a smile curling at the corners of your best friend’s lips and you poke his cheek, “Is that a smile I see, Fisher? Don’t you hide that from me. Come on.”
He shakes his head and finally smiles, and it’s like the sunshine has broken through the clouds as he embraces you tightly, “Thanks.”
“Anytime, bub,” you rub his back.
“Can I be completely honest?” When you nod, he heaves a sigh and continues, “I… I never stopped loving her. No matter what she did or said. I never stopped. Do you think that’s stupid?”
“Love is stupid. It doesn’t make sense. That doesn’t make you stupid.”
Conrad gives a sad smile at your reassurance before continuing, “I think you’re the only person I have ever been completely honest with. And you’ve always been honest with me. So do you really think I’m too good for Belly?”
His eyes are full of self-doubt, self-pity, grief. You hate what she’s done to him. You take Conrad’s hands in your own and squeeze gently.
“Of course I do. I always have. Stringing you and Jere along like that? Playing you against each other? That was bullshit. Belly isn’t all that, Connie. You’re gonna find someone so much better.”
“I thought Belly was my soulmate,” he mumbles, “Why didn’t she pick me?”
“Because she’s not your soulmate,” you reply firmly, “All she’s done is hurt you, bub. Love isn’t supposed to hurt. It’s supposed to be intense, yeah, but it’s supposed to make you feel glad that you’re alive.”
You can see that even if your words aren’t immediately affecting Conrad, he’s listening. You’ve always had a way of getting through to him, even when Belly couldn’t. Even when Susannah or Laurel couldn’t. Everyone would look to you to talk some sense into your best friend. His brow furrows as he turns to face you.
“So you think I’m better off without her? It’s just… The way I saw it was that Jere must be better than me cuz-”
“Absolutely the fuck not,” you cut him off sharply, resting your hands on his cheeks, wiping away the last of his tears, “Jere is great, okay? Jere is sweet and awesome and a great guy. But you know what he’s not? He’s not you.”
Conrad lets out a breath, a long one, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his head on your shoulder, his voice muffled, “How do you always know how to make me feel better? And how are you always right? Love isn’t supposed to hurt.” He pauses, giving you a cheeky smile, “Maybe I need someone more like you.”
You elbow him, shoving him away when he chuckles, “Ha ha, very funny, you jerk. Besides, I don’t think it would go down very well with Paul if I dated you.”
He rolls his eyes at the mention of your boyfriend, “Paul’s a tool. You know you can do better, right? I mean, you got into Stanford. He has the IQ of a potato.”
“Don’t be mean, Connie,” you chide before giggling, “He’s at least a yam.”
Conrad throws his head back, bursting into full-bodied laughter, covering his mouth, “I bet you a hundred bucks he doesn’t even know what a yam is.”
Intrigued, you pull out your phone, giving Conrad a sidelong glance as you text Paul. Conrad tries to lean over your shoulder to read what you’re typing, only to be batted away. He pouts, resting his chin on your shoulder, startling slightly when your phone goes off and you gasp at the reply.
“He doesn’t know what a yam is!”
Conrad shakes his head incredulously, “I won… Okay, pay up.”
“I can’t, I’m poor.”
He scoffs, tossing his arm around you, squeezing your side, “Fine. I’ll let you off easy since I like your face.”
“You like my face?” You tease, batting your lashes at him, “God, when are we getting married? That was so romantic!”
“Shut up.”
“That’s gonna be in our vows,” you declare as you stand up, taking Conrad by the hand as the two of you grab your bags and walk toward his car, “That you like my face.”
He shoves you away from him, trying his best not to laugh but failing miserably, “I hate you.”
“You can’t shove your future wife like that! That’s spousal abuse!”
“Who’s gonna stop me, you little nag?”
You burst into giggles, the sound of which seems to lift his spirits as you meet his gaze, “I hate you so much.”
“I hate you too, wifey.”
You bump your hip against his, then you turn to face him, “But look, I’m serious. One day? You’re gonna find some girl who makes you forget Belly ever existed. And you’re gonna be so happy.”
“Promise?” He asks softly, extending his pinky toward yours.
You nod, wrapping your pinky around his, “Promise.”
As you begin the drive to California, Conrad can’t help but look over at you every so often, smiling to himself as you sing along to some Fleetwood Mac song, waving at every passing car like the weirdo you are. He shakes his head, wondering why his stomach flutters when you look over at him, the sun shining down on your face.
Sure, before you got with Paul and he got with Belly, he’d always sort of, kind of had a thing for you. But he got over that when he fell for Belly.
Right?
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Stanford is everything Conrad hoped it would be. And best of all? He’s there with you. His favorite person in the world. He knows that your boyfriend hates it. After all, he didn’t have to deal with Conrad’s presence freshman year. And now? Things are different. Paul is cold and distant, while Conrad remains the same. Always sweet and loving. Tonight, for example. You burst into Conrad’s dorm, declaring that the two of you are going to hang out. 
“Alright, just don’t be annoying.”
You grab his pillow and begin whacking him with it, making your best friend burst into laughter, trying to cover his face as you do your best Kim Kardashian impression, “Don’t be fucking rude!”
“Alright, alright! Come on, let’s go. What do you want to do?”
“Pizza?” You offer, “I’m hungry as fuck and Paul always wants to eat at these fancy healthy places. Sometimes all I want is a slice of that cheesy, greasy goodness.”
Conrad scoffs as the two of you begin to walk, “Buzz kill.”
“There’s nothing wrong with eating healthy,” you protest.
“It’s California. Put an avocado on the pizza and say it’s healthy.”
You roll your eyes, elbowing him playfully, “Your Bostonian is showing, babe.”
Babe. His heart races slightly as the two of you begin to walk out of the building and toward the pizza parlor near campus. However, you don’t seem to be walking fast enough for Conrad’s liking as he pulls you by the hand, trying to get you to pick up the pace. You whine playfully, making him snicker.
“I’m tired of your whining.”
“I’m training you for your next relationship!”
“Keep talking like that and you might just be my next relationship.”
“Yeah, cuz that’ll go over real well with Paul.”
“He can fight me. Besides, you’re a big girl. He doesn’t control you.”
His voice is teasing, but there’s an undertone of seriousness to his voice, to his expression that is hinted at but you don’t quite catch. A lingering desire for something more, something that’s remained unacted upon for years. You respond to his teasing in kind, pretending to swoon in his arms, your voice reeking of melodrama.
“Why, Mr. Fisher, I do declare! Are you going to fight for my hand?”
He shakes his head at your antics, and though he’s joking when he replies, a part of him truly means it, “It would be an honor, my lady.”
You two finally reach the pizza parlor, moving toward what has quickly become your usual booth, taking a seat and waiting for your waitress to pass by. When she shows up, Conrad takes the lead and begins placing the order.
“And pineapple and anchovies on her side-”
“Don’t you dare!” You gasp, clutching your chest, “You’re killing me, Fisher!”
The waitress laughs at the two of you, remarking what a cute couple you make. And neither of you moves to correct her. As she walks away, Conrad turns to face you with a grin.
“I’ve never met anyone as dramatic as you.”
“Oh, yeah? Well-” 
When your face freezes, eyes going wide, Conrad turns around to follow your line of sight. And there, he sees what has you so shocked. It’s Paul. With a girl. A girl who he has his arm around. A girl who he’s kissing. Conrad turns back to you, watching as you blink owlishly, trying to absorb the sight in front of you.
“Am… Are you seeing this or am I delusional?”
“You’re not delusional,” Conrad mumbles, taking your hand.  The devastated expression on your face tugs at his heartstrings, rage building inside of him at the thought of anyone wanting to hurt you, of anyone thinking they’re better off with someone other than you. “Let’s get out of here.”
“I thought he… Loved me,” you mumble, your voice cracking as your lower lip wobbles slightly. You stand up and race out of the restaurant, “I’m going back to my dorm.”
Conrad is stunned for a moment but rushes after you. You were there for him and now he’s going to be there for you. He catches up to you just outside, grabbing you by the arm and pulling you into his arms, letting your head rest against his chest. He runs a hand through your hair, speaking softly.
“I’m sticking with you.”
The levee breaks and your tears begin to flow, a heart wrenching sob torn from your throat as you cry against Conrad’s chest. This isn’t how tonight was meant to go. You weren’t supposed to be crying like this.
“I know how you’re feeling right now,” he whispers, “And I’m so sorry.”
“I tried,” you cry, clinging to him, “I tried so hard!”
“I know you did,” he soothes, squeezing you gently, rubbing your back, “And you should never have had to.”
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Days turn into weeks, weeks turn into months and soon? It’s nearing winter break. And Belly and Paul are nothing but distant, unpleasant memories. Conrad has been biding his time, working up the courage to ask you out, and decided today is the day. And as the two of you talk, moving your head to rest in his lap as you chatter away mindlessly, it confirms what he’s known deep down ever since he built sandcastles with you on the beach back when you were kids.
He’s madly in love with you.
“Okay, um, fuck, marry, kill.” He watches you with amusement as you think, “Wonder Woman, Catwoman, Harley Quinn.”
He runs his fingers through your hair affectionately, “Marry Wonder Woman because she’s gorgeous and cool as hell, fuck Catwoman, and kill Harley Quinn because she’s insane.”
You sit up, staring at him in horror, “You killed Harley?!”
“What? Did you really want me to marry her?” He questions incredulously.
“Yes! She’s the baddest bitch in the DC Universe. How DARE you!”
“Wha- Okay, DC Queen, would you marry her?”
“Yes!” You say without hesitation, making Conrad arch a brow, “She’s smart, she’s gorgeous, we’d be the cutest cottagecore lesbians in Gotham City.”
“I?” His jaw drops, “Harley would be the worst wife in history! And what the hell is cottagecore?”
You flop back so that your head is once again in his lap with a dramatic sigh, “You don’t understand aesthetics, Connie!”
“Oh, please, I’m from Boston. I don’t have to know this crap.”
“So am I and yet I know it,” you stick your tongue out at him, making him roll his eyes, “What do you think cottagecore even is?”
“That thing where girls just wanna make everything all pastel and wear oversized sweaters, right?”
“...That’s the worst description I’ve ever heard in my life.”
“It’s the truth though!” Conrad insists, “That’s all I’ve ever seen! A bunch of girls who wear oversized sweaters, drink pumpkin spice lattes, and hang out in cottages-”
“Who the fuck hangs out in cottages?” You question, bursting into laughter, “Bub, that’s not it at all.”
“It is! All the pictures I’ve seen are girls sitting in cottages or standing in fields with oversized sweaters drinking out of tiny cups! And if you’re the expert, you explain it and I’ll admit I was wrong!”
“...I actually don’t know what it is.”
Conrad stares at you for a long moment, stunned, “You’ve been defending cottagecore this whole time and you don’t even know what it is?”
“I just like fighting with you,” you snicker.
“Yeah? And I love arguing back. But you know what I like more?” He smirks, leaning in close, his voice low as he murmurs, “This!”
You let out an inhuman shriek as he shoves you off his lap, “You dick!”
“I guess you’re falling for me already!” Conrad grabs your hand when you move to leave, “No way, I’m not done messing with you yet.”
“This is physical abuse!”
“How is pulling you back onto my lap ‘physical abuse’?”
“You haven’t pulled me- HEY!” You land on his lap, smacking his chest with annoyance, “You’re so annoying Conrad, I swear!” Your phone goes off and you gasp, checking the time, “Oh, shit. I’ve gotta go.”
“Why? You gotta hot date?” Conrad taunts, pinching your side before letting you up.
“Ha! Yes, actually. Sam from lab asked me out! You know, the cute guy who sits up front?”
Conrad does his best to mask his disappointment, feeling his heart crack in two all over again. He knows he should be happy for you. He knows it. But it fucking hurts. He fakes a smile, his words of excitement coming out forced.
“That’s cool. Where are you guys going?”
“The movie theater downtown,” you beam, “And for dinner.”
“Oh. Cool. Yeah. That’s cool,” he forces another smile, his stomach in knots. You’re going on a date. With someone who isn’t him. “Have a great time.”
You frown slightly, knitting your brows together, “You okay?”
“I’m cool,” Conrad says, barely masking the crack in his voice, “Everything’s cool. You should get ready.” You part your lips as if about to say something, but he gives you a gentle shove, “Go. I’m serious. Tell me how it goes.”
He walks back to his dorm, alone and dejected, hands in his pockets. Conrad tries to distract himself all day and all evening from the fact that some asshole is probably holding your hand right now, kissing you, making you laugh. Telling you how beautiful you look when you smile, brushing your hair behind your ear-
He doesn’t know how long he sits at his laptop, just staring at the study guide in front of him but not really seeing anything. 
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That is until he hears a knock on the door. Conrad frowns, standing up and wondering who it is that’s bothering him right now.
And there you are. In a pretty blue sundress, looking absolutely gorgeous.
“Hey. You busy?”
Conrad blinks a few times, trying to make sure his eyes aren’t deceiving him, before stepping aside, “Yeah, no. Uh, come in.”
You walk past him, the scent of your vanilla body spray lingering in the air as you pace the length of his dorm. Conrad watches you, wondering just what happened. You come to a stop in front of him, hands on your hips.
“Okay, here’s the deal. I went on a date with a really nice guy, right? He picks me up, brings me flowers. A real gentleman. Opens the door and even pays for our movie tickets.” Conrad’s heart sinks as he hears you talk about your date, “He buys us popcorn. He gets us a soda with two straws. It’s a romcom and he holds my hand when I tear up. It was perfect. The date any girl dreams of.”
“I’m sure it was,” Conrad mumbles, a lump in his throat. He can’t pretend to be happy for you. It hurts too damn much. “It sounds like a great date.”
“It was,” you pause, “But there was one huge problem.”
“Yeah? What was the problem?”
“You.”
Your response is so blunt. So simple. With one word, you’ve raised a million questions in his mind as he looks at you.
“Me? What do you mean me?”
“I mean I was with the perfect guy,” you say, gazing up at him with a soft, gentle expression on your face that makes his heart pound, “And all I could think about was how much I wished it was you.”
His pulse spikes at your words, his heart filled with equal parts hope and disbelief, “Really? You… You thought about me that whole time?”
“I couldn’t even kiss him goodnight. Because all I could think was…” You trail off before whispering, “He’s not you.”
He’s not you.
“You wanted it to be me?” Conrad whispers, smiling at you almost bashfully, running a hand through his hair.
You nod, “I guess I was just scared of us being each other’s rebounds-”
“You’d never be a rebound to me,” Conrad quickly assures you, cupping your face in his hands. You rest your hands over his, eyes locking as he speaks, “You’ve been the most important person in my life for as long as I can remember. And I was an idiot for trying to move on from my feelings for you with Belly because…” He laughs, “She’s not you.”
Your eyes start to blur, and you’re pretty sure you see Conrad spill a tear too as you mumble, “You’re my best friend. And I’m in love with you, Conrad Fisher.”
He lets out a breathless laugh, resting his head against yours, “Shit. I love you. I love you so much.”
“You’re so cute,” you grin up at him, you know that?”
“Shut up,” Conrad protests, rolling his eyes and feigning annoyance, “I’m not cute.”
“Okay, fine, you’re ugly- OW!”
He snickers after pinching your side, “That’s better…” The expression on Conrad’s face is so tender when he moves to take your hand in his, comparing how small and soft your palm is against his own, “I never wanna let go of your hand.”
“I don’t think you really ever did. Not since you took me to make that first sandcastle,” you whisper, using your other hand to caress his cheek, smiling as he leans into your touch, “Even though you were a little menace and tugged on my braids, I only wanted to be around you.”
“Hey, I did it gently.”
“Yeah, maybe that’s the reason I’m into that now- Oh.” You freeze, realizing what you’ve just said. Aloud. To your best friend. Who now knows you’re in love with him. “I didn’t mean to say that out loud. Me and my big mouth…”
When you meet Conrad’s gaze again, you see the smirk playing on his lips as he moves a hand to thread in your hair. You gasp as he tugs gently, shivering at the feeling. You let out a soft moan of his name, moving your hands to rest against his chest as you feel his nails gently moving against your scalp before tugging again.
“Not fair…”
He grins at you, pulling you in close and pressing his lips to your own.
And it’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before. There are fireworks behind your eyes as your mouth moves against his, your arms wrapping around his neck as the two of you slowly move toward his bed. You feel his mattress against the back of your thigh and let him push you down gently, never once breaking the kiss. You tug at Conrad’s shirt, helping him pull it up over his head before reaching for his jeans. He laughs against your lips at how eager you are, the sound turning into a moan as you palm at his cock over the fabric of his boxers. He moves his hand from your hair to move along your thigh, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake, higher and higher until he pushes the hem of your dress up. Conrad tugs at your panties, pulling them down your legs and tossing them to join his shirt and jeans.
Within a few more seconds, the two of you lay there, completely bare before each other. Conrad’s hand moves to cup your mound, his fingers tracing you gently, making sure you’re wet enough to take him, teasing you, preparing for what’s to come. And you just stare up at him, lips parted with those sweet eyes that he can’t get enough of. He grasps at the base of his cock, lining himself up with you, when you suddenly grab his hand.
“I’m a little nervous,” you admit softly, “I… It’s you. And I want this to be perfect.”
“Me too,” Conrad admits, “And it will be.”
“Will you hold my hand? I just…” He can’t help but smile at the way you gaze up at him, interlacing your fingers with his, “I like how big your hands are. How safe I feel when you hold mine.”
“Yeah, baby,” he whispers gently, “I’ll hold your hand.”
And when you come together, it’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before. He fills you so perfectly. Like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Like he was made for you. His lips are soft and slow against yours, both hands holding your own as he rolls his hips against you, setting a rhythmic pace as he ruts against you. Your legs wrap around his waist, your moans and his filling the room as he lets go of one of your hands to tug on your hair with a playful grin. Before you can say anything, he’s kissing you again, his lips moving against yours.
His phone goes off and you glance at it, scoffing when you see that it’s Belly. No doubt she’s gotten bored with Jere and wants Conrad back. Conrad gives you a soft grin, whispering in your ear.
“She’s not you. She’s not the one I love. The one I’ve always loved.”
With that, any insecurities die on your tongue as he kisses you again.
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teyamsatan · 10 months
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𝕄𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕚𝕟 𝕄𝕖 | ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕀: 𝕎𝕙𝕪 𝕐𝕠𝕦 𝔾𝕠𝕥𝕥𝕒 𝔹𝕖 𝕊𝕠 𝕍𝕚𝕔𝕚𝕠𝕦𝕤
Pairing: Neteyam x (f)Omaticaya!Reader
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synopsis: you and Neteyam are the two prodigies of the Omaticaya, and while that unmoving fact brought you together as children, now, as adults, it brings you to your knees, as each day is just another opportunity for you to hurt each other in any and every way your minds could conjure up.
warnings: 18+ minors DNI, enemies-to-lovers, strong language, mentions of violence, blood, neteyam being an absolute dick, mentions of reader being choked (not in the fun way)
wc: 5.4k words
a/n: after a much longer wait than anticipated, my enemies-to-lovers fic is officially here, and I'm so excited to start a new series. As much as I love the one shots and the requests and the drabbles, I am a series enthusiast at heart, and this is something i'm really looking forward to, as I find this whole idea very challenging and hope i do it justice. pls enjoy besties, and as always, thank you for every like, reblog, reply, it means the world x (thank you very much to @cinetrix for her amazing Neteyam art ily bestie x)
na'vi compendium: syä - bitter, rumaut - cannonball fruit tree, tanhì - bioluminescent freckle, parultsyìp - children
: ̗̀➛ next chapter (x) : ̗̀➛ series masterlist (x) : ̗̀➛ series playlist (x)
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I tried to look for the best in the worst, but like, fuck me, that caused a commotion
You're lucky I'm a private person, I’ve quietly carried your burden
And everyone thinks you're an angel, but shit, I would probably use different wording
“You know, syä, one day, I’m going to be better than you at this, and that day, you will have to swallow your words, and I think that’ll be very hard for you to do.” 
“You know, Lo’ak, if you one day do beat me at anything, then I’ll be more than happy to swallow my words. I’ll even swallow my tongue, if you want.” You chuckled as you propped yourself onto a thin branch of a rumaut, maybe 50 metres from the target on the ground, and dangling from it, upside down, you took aim, focusing intently with one eye closed. Breathing in, you took the shot, and watched as it landed straight in the middle, right next to your last arrow, very far away from Lo’ak’s arrows, which were buried somewhere so obscure, you couldn’t even spot them anymore. 
“You suck.” Lo'ak puffed, rolling his eyes annoyedly. You laughed and reclaimed your spot next to him, nudging him softly with a hand.
“No, skxawng, you suck. That’s why we’re here.” 
These little training sessions have become one of your favourite things to spend your afternoons doing. They started a few weeks ago, when Lo’ak came by unannounced to your tent, his tail sheepishly between his legs. He hated that he had to ask, his enormous pride wounded and scarred, but he figured finally building up the courage to ask you to train him in his bow and arrow practice was better than asking his brother and once more proving the chasm between their skill level true. You were cocky and arrogant on the surface, but deep down, Lo’ak knew you had a heart of gold and wouldn’t judge and, at the end of the day, would do anything for him, and for his whole family.
Well, almost his whole family.
You found the oldest Sully sibling by his tent, masterfully skinning a yarik from his latest hunt. Just like everything else Neteyam did, he excelled at it. He looked peaceful and deep in thought as he worked, expression which quickly melted into annoyance when his lips pursed in a tight line and his eyes hardened, as soon as they spotted you making your way towards him. You smirked when you noticed the change, loving to see him so on edge whenever you invaded his personal bubble, which happened to be all the time, since you were as good as Neytiri and Jake’s adoptive daughter. 
You loved Neytiri and Jake. You owed them everything you had, everything you were. After your parents’ death, they provided you with the support and love and care needed to not fall into the pits of despair that came with being orphaned, with being all alone. They saw something in you, ever since you were a child, and trained you side by side with their oldest son, Neteyam. Quickly, it was obvious to everyone who paid attention that you were a prodigy, just like he was. Neteyam liked you when you were kids, and you liked him, too. You loved him, in fact. He was your best friend, and you were his. It was hard not to be each other’s best friends, when you spent so much time together, when you shared every blister, every bloodied gash, every muscle cramp from practice. You shared the good and the bad, and it was just the two of you. Nobody else knew what you went through or could possibly understand, nobody else had to spend their whole childhood being honed into the perfect warriors, the future of the Omaticaya strength. Kids played and kids laughed and kids held hands splashing in the nearby river, but you and Neteyam cleaned each other’s wounds and gave each other words of encouragement, and soft, shy smiles as your eyes met across the practice field. 
That was all in the past. Very far in the past. So far so, it was hard for you to conceptualise that it happened in this life, and it wasn’t some sort of fantasy you made up in your head, because there was nothing left of the warmth or the camaraderie you once shared. Whereas before he was a warm shelter from the storm in your life, now he was the storm, cold and ruthless, out to get you and to hurt you, to turn your limbs cold and your heart numb. You don’t know when this happened. You just know that at some point around when you were 12, Neteyam started pushing you away, until one day you were so far away, you were just a dot in his life, so far removed from the vast, centre-stage line you used to represent, a line between his past and future, between a friend and something more, something better, something permanent. 
It’s been 7 years since. Seven years since Neteyam was more or less a stranger, albeit an annoying, aggravating stranger. Because a stranger, you could ignore. A stranger, you didn’t have to see every damn day, in practice, in stings, in battles, at breakfast, lunch and dinner. A stranger might have ignored you, or pretend you don’t exist, but not Neteyam. Neteyam was determined to make your life a living hell, to make you feel as unwelcome and inadequate as humanly possible, and so you resigned yourself to returning the favour, because you very rarely ever lost to him, and you weren’t planning on starting any time soon. 
When you and Lo’ak approached, you watched as he sized you up, his eyes travelling down your body, lingering for just a second longer on your chest, covered in flowy, silken fabric, your signature look. You loved the beads, and the feathers that usually concealed Na’vi bodies, but what you loved even more was the feel of the luxurious, soft material that you took great pleasure in making yourself from a secret, coveted technique your mum taught you as a child, before she died. You tried to ignore how his stare made you feel, how the tingling that always appeared on your skin matched the bubbling feeling in your stomach, and you pushed it down, choosing to believe that’s just the feeling of hatred, of deep, intense dislike, that you didn’t feel for anyone but him.
“If you’re not actually going to contribute anything of use to the clan, you might as well train instead of wasting time and dragging Lo’ak to your level. Are you not in enough shit with father as it is, baby bro?” 
You didn’t even look at him as you walked past, opening the flap to the Sully family tent. 
“Well, Neteyam, not all of us have to try so hard all the time to keep up. Some of us are just naturally better than others.” You say with a sly smirk, almost able to hear the steam coming out of his ears, before you entered the tent and closed the flap behind you.
“The two of you will kill each other one day, you know that, right?”
You rolled your eyes at Kiri, who was dutifully making healing pastes by mixing it in a small pot on the fire, and removed the bow from around your torso, tossing the quiver on the ground and sitting next to it, warming your hands off the heat emanating from it. 
“Or fuck each other, one of the two.”
“Lo’ak!” You and Kiri hissed at the same time, and you threw a small rock you found on the ground at him, hitting him right in the middle of his forehead. You smiled, satisfied when he yelled in pain. You never missed. 
“Ow?! You’re so mean sometimes, no wonder he doesn’t like you! I’m just saying, you guys always have sexual tension, and I’m definitely not the only one that thinks so. Spider says so, too.” 
“Oh, well if Spider says so, then it must be true! It couldn’t be that you’re both children, and your mind hasn’t left the gutter since you first had a girl let you into second base.” 
“Ah… Mira… she was something, wasn’t she? Haven’t seen her in a while.” 
“Yeah, she’s hiding from you.” 
Lo’ak returned the rock in a pointed throw, that you dodged effortlessly, smirking in his direction. 
“See? Mean.” 
Walking through the village in the late afternoon, you are pleasantly surprised at the still bustling atmosphere, all the men, women and children contributing in their own respective ways to the clan’s prosperity and success. People were returning from hunts, crafting arrows, sharpening knives, preparing new garments for the warriors that will be leaving for a new mission early in the morning. It filled you with a sense of wonder, this clan, despite having lived and breathed in it your whole life, it never ceased to amaze you, how beautiful, how grand, how unified it was. It made you determined, more and more each day, to fight the fight, to never give up or give in, to always strive to be better, stronger.
It was a big one tomorrow, a big train filled with guns and supplies, protected by 10 helos and armed guards, that were needed to the clan and would constitute a big loss for the humans. A win-win, as Jake would sometimes say. You couldn’t even remember when the first one of these missions started. It’s been more than 5 years since the humans have returned, 5 years since life as you knew it changed forever, 5 years since death and hurt followed you everywhere you went, since every day felt like a battle for survival, for your clan, and your people, and your world. Back then, that first mission terrified you, it ate at your soul and your body, manifesting itself in chills and shakes, in crying eyes and trembling lips.
You remember that day like it was yesterday, you remember how you and Neteyam were the youngest in the war party, how for the first time in years, you felt a connection to the boy as your eyes met on your respective ikran, and you saw in them pain, and fear… and yearning. For a second, he was your friend again, and the future you dreamt about as a kid, one where it was just you and him, facing this harsh world together, came back in full force, taking the breath out of your lungs. But the second passed and so did his gaze and his vulnerability, and his walls never diminished, but only got thicker and more fortified in time, and yours did too, as a result. It hurt you, his behaviour, how sudden the change had been and how drastic, how he pushed you away with no goodbye, with no chance to defend yourself, how no matter how much you tried to mend it, it just ended up making it worse. So after a while, you gave as good as you got, and blow by blow, your relationship died like soldiers on the battlefield, broken and bruised, rotting away, only the beautiful memory of what used to be left behind. 
Training was still in full force at the edge of the village, in the big clearing fortified by trees and a waterfall where Jake now taught you all how to use human weapons. You didn't really need the practice, not anymore, having mastered every weapon he thought fit to throw at you years ago, but still, you went, because you may not need it, but one person you wanted to see did.
You smiled as you saw him, struggling with a Y70 Bullpup Rifle, a deep frown on his face and a small pout on his lips, and your heart swelled at the sight. O'ì'en Te Äfawoo Ìrauyon'itan was many things, all good and pure, all sweet and kind, a good balance for you, all fire and ice, no sense of balance or middling emotions. He was a mighty warrior, and a needed shelter from the new storms in your life. You've known him your whole life, but have started spending more time with him recently, as you started subbing for Jake as a mentor and a teacher, in days he was too preoccupied or otherwise engaged with one of his other many Olo'eyktan duties. He found the human weapons particularly strange and difficult to understand, so you weren't surprised now, finding him like this, struggling as he was, still trying to understand how to put it back together, how to make it work again.
You snuck behind him, careful not to make a noise, and he startled as your hands reached around and found his chest, that you caressed, tracing his defined pecs and abs, laughing as the weapon almost dropped from his hands.
"Tanhì, you scared me. What are you doing? People are watching."
"So? Let them watch." your eyes found Jake, who was eyeing your interaction curiously, an eyebrow raised and an amused smirk on his face. You brought your hand to your forehead and greeted him with a smile, and he waved at you, another human gesture he found it hard to part ways with. He made his way towards the pair of you, enveloping you in a big hug, and you almost suffocated in between his swollen, muscular pecs.
"Woah, Jake, you're gonna kill me right before an important mission." he laughs again, and you feel the deep rumble in his chest, reverberating in the forest surrounding you.
"I see you, ma Olo'eyktan."
"I see you, O'ì'en. Is the gun giving you trouble? I'm sure my little spark here can help you out. Seems you two are... close enough that she might consider it." you rolled your eyes and removed yourself from his grasp, and his knuckles made contact with the top of your head, putting pressure and twisting until it hurt, in yet another human habit you hated, that he called a noogie. He said it was affectionate, but you weren't so sure.
"Good luck." and with a wink, he was gone, focusing on the other Na'vi who needed his help and guidance.
You got on your tiptoes and kissed his cheek.
"Right. So this part is the underslung grenade luncher and it goes -"
It was late at night when you made your way back to your tent, smiling to yourself at the tranquility and joy of your evening, so far removed from the morning that was waiting for you and all you stood to lose when it came. Worry enveloped you like a shroud as you approached, and haunting thoughts tugged at your mind, but they didn't have time to fester, not as soft moans and breathy names percolated in your ears instead and took their place, names and voices you recognised. You circled your tent to the tree that rested right behind it, and you found exactly what you thought you would, exactly what you didn't want to ever see in your life. Neteyam's back shielding his little annoying girlfriend's naked body propped against the tree, with her legs around his hips, as he rutted into her.
You hated Neteyam in that moment. You knew he was doing it on purpose, you knew there was no other reason why he would choose this spot to do this, other than the knowledge that you would be coming to bed soon and the satisfaction he knew he would get from your reaction. But you wouldn't give it to him. The satisfaction, that is. He was good, at the little mind games, at knowing what buttons to push to drive you to the point of considering whether your love for the Sullys was greater than the desire to remove his head from his shoulders, but in time, you learnt all his little tricks, and in time, you learnt how to beat him at his own game.
You cleared your throat, your voice sweet and docile as honeycomb as you spoke.
"Neteyam, I just came from your family's tent. Mo'at was looking for you, she said you've been missing you treatments for your genital warts." You let out an affected noise, trying your hardest to sound sympathetic and concerned. "I'm sure it's fine, though. I'm sure the elders are wrong when they talk about how it makes fungus grow out of your vagina if you're infected by it." You almost broke your composure when the girl let out a pained yelp, but otherwise pushed through.
"Oh, well! Have a good evening!" And with that, you took your leave, grinning from ear to ear as all you heard when you entered your tent was screaming and Neteyam trying to hush her and defuse a newly-chaotic situation.
The mission and the aftermath went as well as could be expected, and you were proud of your contribution that never went unnoticed in the clan, or among the Sullys, much to Neteyam's dismay. He was still enraged about your little stunt, and you were happy that despite his continuous stink eye, you killed 5 humans, and secured the perimeter at all times, keeping the war party safe throughout the duration of the mission. The praise from everyone in the village meant the world to you, it meant everything to you, and by the afternoon, you felt on top of the world. The feeling didn't last, though, replaced with more anxiety than you knew what to do with, as Mo'at asked for your immediate presence by her side, as a matter of urgency.
You were nervous as you made your way to the Tsa’hik’s tent, unsure of why you would have been summoned there in the first place. You were going to see Mo’at for dinner shortly anyhow, so whatever it was she had to tell you was definitely too important to wait, and well, let’s just say you had a bad feeling. The bad feeling worsened when you finally pushed past the flap of the marui and found Neteyam sitting on the ground, the same kind of muted confusion visible on his face, that quickly changed into his signature “you” look as soon as he noticed who it was that walked in. You brought your fingers to your forehead and bowed your head to your Tsa’hik. 
“I see you, Mo’at.” 
She returned the gesture with a smile, and you sat down in front of her. 
“Is something wrong, ma Tsa’hik? Why are Neteyam and I here?” 
Mo’at circled the pit of fire that resided in the middle of her tent and placed a hand on one of your and Neteyam’s shoulder, a big smile on her face.
“It’s great news, ma parultsyìp. My latest communion with Eywa brought forth visions and guidance from the our Great Mother. Visions of you, my children.” Her smiled dropped a little and was replaced by a more serious expression, which accompanied her tone of voice.
“I know you two haven’t seen eye to eye for a while now. I know a lot of it is our fault, pushing you both to be the best versions of yourselves and pushing you apart as a result, but you used to be best friends, you used to hold each other close in your hearts, and Eywa thinks that can happen again… that it should happen again.” 
Mo’at’s words scared you. She was being vague and the direction of the conversation made you uncomfortable, sending shivers down your spine. You looked at Neteyam, who was watching you already and you stifled a grimace at the way he turned instantly, like the thought of meeting your gaze was too unbearable to even be considered. 
“Grandmother, what are you saying?” 
“Eywa has chosen the new Tsa’hik, grandson. You two are to be a mated pair, and Neteyam, you will be one of the finest ruling pairs the Omaticaya has ever seen.” 
Your mouth fell agape in shock and your brows furrowed as your mind was assimilating the influx of information, the way that your life instantly changed in so little time, in as little time as it took Mo’at to say the words out loud. Mated pair? Tsa’hik? You and Neteyam? Too many contradictions, too many oxymorons when said altogether for it to make sense to you. You looked over at Neteyam, hoping that for at least a second he’d let you in, he’d look at you, so you could work through this together, so you can navigate it together… so you can handle it together. But all you saw was anger and his composure coming apart at the seams, his tail shaking furiously and the tip of his ears a deep purple. 
“Absolutely not. This has to be some sort of mistake, grandmother.” 
Your own ears twitched and fell backwards at the unfairness of it all, at his booming tone and furious demeanour, at the way it was inconceivable to him that you'd have to spend your life together. It stung, the needles of hurt piercing your skin like a tattoo, marking you, how Neteyam never said no to his family, to his Tsa’hik, but decided to break that rule for himself just to reject you. It’s not like you wanted him, either, definitely not, but there was something about his antipathy towards you, unshaken and unwavering, even after all these years, that will always get under your skin, in the way that only he ever managed to. If there’s one thing you were good at, though, is matching him blow by blow. 
“Yes, Mo’at. He has his standards set much too low to allow me to be his mate, and I have mine set way too high for him to be able to do anything but limbo under them.” yet another word you learnt from Jake, that seemed appropriate now, too appropriate to go to waste.
“That’s enough!” Mo’at was no longer in a joking mood as she looked at both of you, a stern disposition about her that you knew better than to cross. “Eywa’s decision is final, and she’s never wrong. I was just as shocked as you are, and I don’t know why she chose you, but she did. We will talk shortly about the ceremony. You can leave now.” 
You sighed, your head falling in between your hands as you heard Neteyam scoffing and getting up, and the air that hit your back as he opened the flap of the tent and rushed out of it without another word. 
“Mo’at… please. This has to be a mistake. I’m not fit to be Tsa’hik, you know this. I am a warrior, I have been a warrior my whole life. There’s much better suited people for the job, much better girls, I -“ 
Mo’at silenced you with an affectionate pat on your head. “I think you’d be better fitted than you think. Now go, I’m sure there’s better things you could be doing than sitting here, fretting over a done deal.”
The water in the lake of your secret meadow, your favourite place in the whole world, was colder than you were used to, a welcome respite in a sea of flames that felt like it was engulfing every corner of your mind and body, as you were processing the calamitous conversation you shared with the woman. What was she thinking? What was Eywa thinking? You and Neteyam? The man hated you. And you hated him. What kind of mateship could this ever be, other than one filled with pain and suffering. What kind of leadership could this be, other than one that was disjointed and chaotic. This was a mistake. You would tell Mo’at as much the next time you saw her.
You could at least try to reason with Jake and Neytiri first. They always listened to you, they always took your opinions into consideration. You would tell them that Neteyam has a girlfriend and an intended mate, that you were too young for such eternal commitments, that there was no productive resolution to this, as long as this was still to go ahead. You would do this and it would work. It had to work, because what was the alternative?
A little calmer and with a plan in mind, you swam your laps, enjoying the cold crisp feel of the water against your burning skin. You did this for hours, until you eventually tired, now peacefully laying on the soft grass, looking up at the stars. You have always been able to escape this sometimes harsh reality in the safety of your mind. But harsh reality always had a distasteful way of creeping back in, and it did so now in the form of the one person you never wanted to see, the one person whose presence had the power to burn you and turn you cold all at the same time. 
“Leave, Neteyam.”
“No. We need to talk.” 
“Oh, what could we possibly have to talk about, Neteyam?” You said sarcastically. Of course he’d want to talk now, finally coming with his tail between his legs. You might put him out of his misery if he was nice about it, if for the first time in years he found it in his tiny, little heart to apologise and talk to you like an actual person, if he came to you with some semblance of humbleness and communicated fairly and honestly. Maybe you could finally come to a mutual understanding. This would benefit both of you, so there had to be a way to finally learn to be civil to one another and put your difference aside. 
“Stop being coy, it doesn’t suit you.” You rolled your eyes. This wasn’t off to a great start. 
“Stop being a dick if you want to talk to me.” 
“You have to go talk to my parents and tell them you don’t want this. Tell them you’re in love with that loser boyfriend of yours, tell them you’ve mated with him already. Tell them you don’t want to ever be tied down, that you don’t think the title of Tsa’hik would suit you. I don’t care what you say, just do it. You and I both know this can’t happen. It won’t matter what I say to my parents.” He looked down to his feet and mumbled mostly to himself. “It never does.” He collected himself quickly, before he continued.
“But they care about your opinion. I have to be Olo’eyktan, you don’t have to be Tsa’hik. So go talk to them.”
You rose to your feet and faced him. Your blood quickly started boiling in your veins at his words and tone, at the way he barely looked at you or acknowledged you, at the way he continued to treat you like a plague or disease to be sneered at, to be demeaned, to be avoided. You wanted to scream at him, to take him by his shoulders and shake some sense into him, and hope that this way the Neteyam you used to know, whose memory you still cherished despite all the horrible, unhappy, strenuous years that followed, would just return to you. But being vulnerable around him is something you’ve learnt the hard way you needed to avoid at all costs, so in the matter with which you’ve been accustomed, in a half-sneer, half-growl, you spoke.
“I have to give it to you, Neteyam, you definitely have some nerve. Coming here, demanding that I take one in the chin, yet again, might I add, and be the one to go and talk us out of this predicament, and not even being civil about it, when it’s you asking me the favour. You’ve always enjoyed letting me do all the dirty work, while you maintain the golden child title you clearly value so much. The mighty warrior. The perfect soldier. We both know, deep down, you’re just a fucking coward.”
You watched as his expression darkened, an edge to his face and beautiful features you’ve very rarely, if ever, seen before. But you were angry, so angry, so done protecting his feelings, so over trying to maintain a semblance of decorum for the sake of the love you shared in the past and the love you still share with the rest of his family, for the peace that you once hoped to protect. No one could make you angry like he could. No one got under your skin as well as he did, nuzzling there and making a home of the warmth of your bones, there to stay, until you were willing to forcefully remove him, until you were willing to finally break free from his unyielding grasp his presence had on your mind. It was finally time, it seemed. 
“You sit there and act like this is an inconvenience to you. I’m going to be stuck being Tsa’hik forever. I’m one of the best warriors in this clan. I stood by Jake and Neytiri my whole life, just like you. Why the hell should you get to lead the people in battle, while I have to stay behind, and forsake everything I have ever worked for, all the sacrifices I made and all the years I gave to stand behind and heal your wounds? I should be Olo’eyktan between the two of us, and I think you know that, Neteyam. I think it eats at you at night, the thought. I think that’s the reason you have treated me like dirt since the second you realised this very fact. I think you’re scared your own parents prefer me. You’re scared that comes push to shove, that little bimbo girlfriend of yours might only be with you for the prestige that comes with fucking the future Olo’eyktan, and that if by any chance she finds this out, she’d dump you faster than a banana fruit on a sunny day.” 
You knew it was a step too far, and definitely felt it as soon as Neteyam’s fingers wrapped around your throat and squeezed and your breath hitched in your throat with nowhere to go. 
“You’re such a little bitch. Take it back.” There was no light in his tone, no levity, just pure rage, burning wildly in his eyes and manifested in his bared teeth, threatening fangs fully on display, the low growl blooming in his throat felt deep within you, and for the first time in your life, you were scared of the man sitting in front of you. You felt yourself becoming dizzy and disoriented as the lack of oxygen was taking over your mind, but you refused to give in to his desires, not when he was hurting you, not when he crossed a line, not when you could be hurting him. You smirked instead, and tried to focus enough to get the words out. 
“You’re… a coward. You’re weak, Neteyam. Threatened by a little girl, so you pushed me away and continue to treat me like dirt. I have never thought I am better than you, Neteyam, until right now, that is. I realised something today. I don’t think I’m better than you. You think I’m better than you.”
With all your might and the last of your power, you kneed him, as hard as you could, straight in the groin, and exhaled in relief when his hand dropped from you throat and went to his loincloth, growling in pain. You groaned as you felt the marks he left on you, that will definitely bruise, and struggled to find your balance, as you walked slowly away from him. 
“I’m just as unhappy about this as you are. But you crossed a line, Neteyam. The next time you lay a hand on me, I will make you pay, and I promise you that little girlfriend of yours will have to make do without offsprings.” 
You left the spot that meant so much to you, that was now tainted forever, rubbing his finger imprints off your now sensitive, raw neck, heart full of deep anguish and mind filled with all the ways you were going to make him pay, and that started with one simple step: forsaking the plan to get out of this little arrangement. 
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blackbat05 · 10 months
Text
Real or Not Real?
Miguel O’Hara x Reader
Plot: You need a plus one for a wedding. Who better than your boss and perhaps the most hated person on your list.
Genre: PG-13, Enemies to Lovers (I would like to think so😬)
A/N: I’m on a roll. Also, I always wanted to do this trope! This is longer than usual. Reblogs and feedback appreciated!💜
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“Shit!” Your phone bounces off the bed, landing inches away from another expensive repair.
“What’s wrong?” Jessica Drew looks up from the self help book that she was currently engaged in.
“An old classmate. I totally forgot about the wedding!” You groan, feet becoming more fidgety by the second.
“Right… and would you care to explain why you look like one of Norman Osborn’s pumpkins?” Your best friend looks at you cautiously, as if like you were a volcano waiting to explode any second.
“Well, she used to be great with everyone in school. Can’t say the same about myself.” You winced internally at the memories about your youth. “You know how it is. Everyone is either rich, successful or in love once they leave school.”
“Or maybe all three.” Jessica adds helpfully much to your chagrin.
“Thanks, Jess.” You refrain from rolling your eyes. “Anyways, the chat group got reignited and some genius started asking about ‘the girl who everyone always see but doesn’t really know’ and before I know it, everyone starts pestering me about how I’m doing!” You throw your hands dramatically in the air and Jessica can’t help but to look amused. “So?”
“So, I kinda told them that I have a reallyhotboyfriend.” The last few words are mashed into one big mess but still clear enough for Jessica to pick up. “You what now?”
Smelling the judgement from a mile away, you hang your head in defeat. “I know! I’m an idiot! I couldn’t help myself okay? This is what happens when you attend a private all girls’ school. You stand out for being weird and suddenly The Plastics start making your entire school life hell.”
“The Plastics?”
“It’s a movie reference.”
“Why am I not surprised.” Jessica chuckles. “So what now girl? How’s damage control going?”
“Terrible.” You splat face first into the pillow. “I was thinking of getting help from the guys but…” You hold up four fingers, ticking them off one by one. “Pavitr can’t pretend, Hobie’ too unpredictable, Miles is too young and Peter’s married with a child - a fact I can’t ignore even if this is fake.”
Jessica looks at your closed fingers, tapping her chin thoughtfully. If being friends with her taught you anything, this wasn’t a good sign.
“There is one more option. I think he would fit your description of a really hot boyfriend.” She deliberately gives you a meaningful look that makes you leap off the bed, throwing her an accusing look.
“Actually, I think I’m going to ask Gwen. Do you know where I can find her?”
“Long gone. She went to visit Captain Stacey.” Jessica quips. “Come on. He’s a good option. Besides, this is a great opportunity to know him better!”
“I rather tangle with the loch-ness monster instead.” You mumble, thinking about your very first encounter with the man of the hour - Miguel O’Hara. The two of you were a good representation of day and night.
While you were bright and upbeat, the leader of the Spider Society probably didn’t have the word ‘joy’ in his dictionary. As you attempted to introduce yourself to him at your first meeting, he had simply brushed you aside.
“Miguel isn’t that bad once you get to know him.”
“Very funny, Jess. You should be comedian of the year. Did you forget how he yelled at me when I pushed him out of the way from Kingpin’s gangbangers?”
Jessica opens her mouth slightly, only to shut it soon after. You frown, turning your back to see whatever she was staring at behind you. How you wished you hadn’t. Oh, if only the ground could swallow you whole as Miguel himself stands at the door, staring at you with an unreadable expression.
“What- how long have you been here for?” You struggle to form that one sentence. “Jess…” You start accusingly.
Jessica shrugs, taking Miguel’s presence as a sign to leave. “I’ll leave you two to it!” She gives you a wink that results in your mouth hanging agape. Miguel closes the door and you quickly attempt to compose yourself.
“I’ll do it.”
“Do what?”
Miguel raises a brow. “Be your date.” He says it all too nonchalantly, as if choosing at empanada at the supermarket. You blink, pinching yourself out of his sight. The situation was very real. He stands in front of you, waiting.
“What do you want from me?” You blurt out. “You want something in return.” You clarify once more, trying to make sense of things.
The end of Miguel’s lips turn upwards slightly, and you’re worried that the sudden acceleration of your heart would unable to support your body to stand upright.
“I just want to apologize for my behavior and I happened to overhear your conversation.” He responds and you make a mental note to never trust Jessica again for not warning you about his presence.
“Am I in some kind of alternate dimension?” You laugh, trying to defuse the awkwardness. Miguel remains impassive, eyes staring intently into yours.
“What’s it going to be? You can take me or you can look like a liar to everyone. It’s your choice.”
You hate to say it, but he’s right.
***
“You came!” Your old friend comes barreling into you, giving you a big hug.
“Lils! You look amazing!” You gushed, returning the hug. “Congratulations. What a beautiful place.” You refer to the beachside wedding that she insisted on.
“Thanks! Jeju Island was always on my bucket list. I’m so glad I get to share this memory with all of you!” She gushes, turning to your plus one. “I mean, I finally get to see who has stolen your heart!” She extends a hand. “And who may you be?”
“Miguel O’Hara.” He extends his own hand for a shake. “Congratulations.”
“No need for the formalities!” Lilly smiles brightly. “What I do want to know is how you two got together! You can be away from her for a little can’t you?”
Before the two of you can even say anything, you find yourself being pulled away by Lilly while the groom effortlessly picks up the conversation with Miguel. She brings you aside, within the sight of the two men.
“Tell me everything!” She pounces on you like a tiger, demanding to know your first encounter. You give what you hope was a easy smile. “We’re… colleagues.” You don’t think exposing both your superhero personas would do well, not especially when you got here by inter dimensional traveling.
Your friend seems to be satisfied by this as she squeals. She hits your shoulder a little too aggressively, wanting more. You sigh, hoping that Miguel wasn’t being interrogated this intensively on his end.
“We just had the same interests and kind of clicked.” You prayed that the questioning would stop soon. “Everything was just a blur after.”
Lilly nods, throughly invested in your fake love story. She’s about to ask another question when a sharp voice pierced through the air, causing you to be rooted to the ground. You really wanted to run away at that moment.
“What is this that I’m hearing? You’re actually seeing someone?” The clack of heels come to a stop and you find yourself facing your tormentor.
“It’s nice to see you too, Becca.” You grit through your teeth. The woman remains oblivious to your discomfort as she addresses the two others trailing behind her. “I wonder who’s the lucky man nice enough to pick her up!”
“That’s enough, I invite you to my wedding out of our friendship but this doesn’t give you the right to insult her.” Lilly shoots back, keeping her eyes trained on your curled fists.
“It’s alright, Lils.” You try to remain calm. “Let’s go. I’ll tell you everything later.” You take the lead to escort her back when Becca’s comment brings you to a halt.
“I bet he isn’t even real!”
Although she was right, you couldn’t help but to turn around, wanting to give Becca and her posse a piece of your mind. Something that you should have done a very long time ago.
“Oh, I’m very real alright.”
You see Miguel walking up towards the trio. Was it just you or did Miguel look… angry?
He composes himself, giving a charming grin to the trio who looked like they were going to start falling at his feet any moment.
“Miguel O’Hara. She has told me a lot about you three.”
“Oh, she has?” Becca twirls the edge of her skirt nervously and you don’t know where Miguel is going with this.
“Sure. She’s told me all about how you three dimwits made her entire life hell. Honestly? I don’t even know how that happened when she’s a hundred times classier with more substance than you plastics claim to have.” Miguel catches your eye and gives a quick wink.
“Excuse me?” Becca stutters. “Oh, I get it. She must have paid you to say that!”
Miguel walks over and gently loops an arm over your shoulders. By now, the conversation seemed to have attracted every guest who were lining up at the buffet table.
“Nope. But you know what she is? She is the most courageous and selfless person who wouldn’t hesitate to help others. I don’t think you three would even come close to understanding what that means.”
Miguel has done it. He’s left them speechless and every guest is know giving disapproving looks to the trio who can only storm away in embarrassment.
“I think I’m not that hungry yet. How about we take a walk?”
You realize that Miguel is asking you, so you nod numbly and find yourself being led out of the venue. You see Lilly standing at the entrance greeting guests.
Catching your eyes, she gives you a thumbs up and a mischievous grin, not bothered at all about the verbal altercation that was inadvertently caused by you. Amidst the chaos, one thought was clear in your mind.
Just what is going on?
***
The rainbow colored blocks providing as seats for families, friends and couples to take photos makes the sea look even clearer. Silence overtaking the two of you, you busy yourself with noticing how the jagged edges of the rocks are a wonderful addition to the waves crashing near the shore.
“What’s going on up there?”
Finally. You prepare yourself, stopping beside the statue. “I was just about to ask you the same thing O’Hara.” You take a brave step closer towards the hulking man and he briefly looks away before staring back at you. “Not that I’m ungrateful but that wasn’t like you.”
“Then, what am I supposed to be?”
You paused. “Well… you’re supposed to be grumpy and grouchy and keeping me at arm’s length I guess?” You search for the right words as Miguel contains a chuckle seeing how flustered you were becoming by the second. “And you’re suddenly being nice to me? Hell would have to freeze over.”
Miguel closes the already small gap between the two of you and you suddenly feel hot at his gaze. He examines you for a while and you think he’s about to deliver another sharp retort.
“I did try. I tried to keep you away but you were too bright and cheerful for your own good.” Miguel gruffly tells you. “You were so much like her.”
You knew that he was referring to his past. His wife whom no one really dared to talk about. You finally understood. To him, you were a walking and living painful reminder.
“I’m sorry.” You breathed out. The air suddenly constricts in your lungs and you feel the need to get away. Anywhere but here. You turn around and find yourself being pulled into him. Miguel hugs you, and he hugs you tight.
“No, I’m the idiot. I punished you for seeing you as someone else.” He confesses. “I should have just seen you as… you. You were so bright and so brave, I almost lost it when you took the bullets from Kingpin. That’s when I knew my behavior had to stop. I wanted to tell you and I guess I saw this as the perfect opportunity.”
“Oh.” You don’t know how else to react to this sudden revelation.
“But I meant every word. About me apologizing for my past behavior.” Miguel continues. “And that. Earlier on.” He refers to his relentless counter attack on your tormentors. “I didn’t know that you had to go through all that.”
“Hey, we all go through things right? Kind of a ticket to join the spider society.” You try to lighten things up. “Besides, it’s nothing big.”
Miguel pries you away gently, a slight frown on his face. “Don’t minimize your struggles. You are a hundred times stronger than those three combined. After all, that’s what made you stood out to me in the first place.”
Your heart swells at his statement. As you hear the waves crashing, it felt as if like it gave you a sense of newfound confidence as well. It was all or nothing now. You’re inches away from Miguel, his rosy cheeks prominent from the strong breeze that the coastal city offered. “I just have one more question.”
Miguel cocks his head to the side, curious. He doesn’t interrupt, giving permission for you to go ahead.
“You love me. Real or not real?”
He takes you by the waist, lips on yours. It could be minutes or hours before he lets go, leaving you in a daze. But the movement of his lips are as clear as day. One that would be forever etched in your memory.
“Real.”
1K notes · View notes
kaleldobrev · 5 months
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Stupidest Person Alive
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Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader
Summary: After a near death experience in which you almost lost Dean, you tell him that you can’t risk losing him again.
Word Count: 1.7k
Warnings: Cursing (9x), Fluff, Soft!Dean, Parent!Dean
Authors Note: I refuse to accept the canon ending of Supernatural after all these years | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡
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You don’t know the exact amount of time you’ve been sitting in this uncomfortable hospital chair, curled up, huddled underneath a random flannel of Dean’s that was in a duffel bag in the trunk of Baby. You rubbed your eyes, trying to get rid of the sleepiness; surprised that you even managed to get a wink of sleep.
The last few days have honestly been some of the worst days of your life, as you were told by doctor after doctor that Dean’s condition didn’t seem to be getting any better. It stayed the same, which was a good and bad thing. He was in and out of consciousness, barely awake long enough to have a conversation. His eyes would just flutter open and he would briefly look at you. And you would smile at him, and he would do the same. His lips always looking like he was about to say something but he never did as his eyes just shut again. Each and every time his eyes shut, a part of you hoped that it wouldn’t be the last time.
The last few days have given you a lot of time to reflect, reflect about your time as a hunter; thinking about all of the good you have done, but also thinking about all of the times you’ve nearly died or have actually died. In the words of Dorothy, “you’re not a real hunter unless you’ve come back from the dead.” And you, Sam, and Dean have come back from the dead more times than you could count at this point, but you’re pretty sure Dean had the highest death count.
“Not awake yet?” Sam asked, two Styrofoam cups of coffee in hand.
“No,” you answered as he handed you one of the cups, “Thanks.”
“I’m surprised you fell asleep,” he said, taking a spot in the chair next to yours.
“How long was I out for?” You asked, taking a sip from your coffee. You hated the taste of hospital coffee, but the caffeine it contained had to do for now.
“Only half an hour,” he stated.
“You get any?” He shook his head. “You really need to get at least a little rest. We’re no help to Dean tired.”
Sam couldn’t help but agree, but he had the same mind set as you; he wanted to be awake when Dean woke up. “I’ll sleep when I know he’s okay,” he said, stubborn as he usually was.
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When Dean finally woke, he didn’t really know where he was. But all he knew was that the lights were too bright for him. He struggled to keep his eyes open as he squinted, trying to adjust. “Fuck these lights are bright,” he said weakly.
You almost had wanted to laugh, hearing Dean say these words. The man had been out for the last few days and the first thing he had to comment on was the fucking brightness of the lights. But if you were being honest, it was pretty on brand for him. “Hey Sleepy Head,” you said, getting up from the hospital chair.
“Hey there Sweetheart,” he smiled. “Sam with you?”
“Yeah, just talking to one of the doctors,” you said. You took his hand and held it in yours, and all Dean could do was just stare at your face, admiring it like he was just seeing you for the first time.
“How long was I out?” He asked. “My head and stomach are fucking killing me.”
"A few days," you replied. "To be fair, you've been on pain killers pretty much the whole time and not a lot of actual food in your stomach."
"When we get out of here, can we go get a couple of cheeseburgers?" He asked, grinning at you.
"Of course we can," you smiled.
"So, I really fucked my body up bad this time uh?" He asked, letting out a small chuckle.
“If you call nearly killing yourself fucking up your body than yes,” you said, no humor in your voice. He could tell that you were pissed. “You know Dean, I love you, but you’re honestly the stupidest fucking person alive.”
“Love you too Sweetheart,” he grinned.
“I’m serious. I thought I fucking lost you for good this time. Me and Sam…” you took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down. There was no point in getting upset, no point in being mad at Dean. “We thought you were dead, dead this time.”
Dean looked at your face, hearing the sound of your voice, and it started to break his heart. He didn’t realize how much pain his actions had caused you and Sam over the course of the last few days. When he killed that vamp the way that he did, he wasn’t thinking about himself in that moment, wasn’t thinking about you or Sam. All he could think about was killing that vamp with the items that he had surrounding him. Being resourceful was one of his most useful and best qualities (at least he seemed to think so). “I’m sorry I scared you…and Sam.”
“It’s not your fault Dean I’m just…I was so fucking scared,” you felt yourself about to cry, but you didn’t want to tear up. “You and Sam are all I have left.”
“You’re not going to lose me,” he tried reassuring you, but he knew his words weren’t going to stick.
“But I almost did. And I can’t…I can’t have that again,” you said, your voice slightly shaking. “I can’t do this anymore.”
“Can’t do what?” He was afraid to ask, hoping this wasn’t you cutting and running. But he wouldn’t blame you if you did. You deserved a far better life than what he could give you. And despite him loving you, he wanted you to be happy, even if it wasn’t with him.
“Hunting.” A wave of relief washed over Dean. “We’ve died so many fucking times. More than, more than anyone. And, I know as hunters we save people, save people from all the monsters in the world but, I’m tired. I’m tired of the constant moving. The constant fighting. The constant looking over my shoulder.” Like the Winchesters, hunting was the only life you had ever known, but having a life away from the monsters and demons was something that you had dreamed of. And it was a dream that you had pictured doing with Dean; it was something the two of you often talked about.
“Okay,” was all Dean said to your speech. He agreed with all of it, and you knew that he did, as having a life away from hunting was something you two often talked about. But neither of you ever thought that it would be possible for you, as this was really the only life either of you really knew. “As soon as I get out of here, we’re done. And done for good this time.”
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Five Years Later…
The aroma of your homemade chicken noodle soup filled the air as you did another few stirs in the pot on the stove. You heard the front door open and close, and you smiled, quickly wiping your hands on your kitchen towel. “Honey we’re home!” Dean yelled, his voice cheerful as always.
“Mommy, mommy, mommy!” Your daughter yelled, her voice equally as joyful as her fathers as she ran to meet you in the kitchen.
Her arms opened up wide as you went down on your knees to greet her at her level, the two of you embracing each other. “Hi baby,” you smiled, kissing her on the top of the head.
“Hold me?” She asked, giving similar looking puppy dog eyes to that of her Uncle Sam’s.
“Always,” you said, picking her up in your arms. “How did you do at the doctors?”
“I was very brave,” she answered. She pointed to a sparkly strawberry sticker on her shirt. “The doctor gave me this because I did a really good job,” she said and then looked over at Dean. “Right daddy?”
“Bravest kid there,” he smiled. “Doctor even told her she’s her favorite patient.”
“Favorite patient uh?” You smiled. “Now that’s really something,” you said, giving her another kiss on her temple.
“Mom, after dinner can you and daddy tell me some more of those spooky stories?” Your daughter asked. You smiled, and so did Dean. The spooky stories that she was referencing were all of the hunts that you and Dean had been on throughout the years, but it was something that you never straight out told her (not yet at least, the both of you wanted to keep her as naive as long as possible). You never used either of your names, or Sam’s, you always changed the names, but these were stories that she had grown to love, and always expected a new one every single time. Thankfully, but not too thankfully, you and Dean were always able to tell her something new as the two of you had decades worth of hunts between you.
“Of course, what do you wanna hear about today?” Dean asked.
Your daughter thought for a moment, putting her thinking cap on until a lightbulb in her little head appeared; the biggest grin on her face. “Ghosts!”
You and Dean exchanged looks, almost thankful that she picked an easy topic for todays story. “How would you like to hear about the Van Ness House?” You asked her.
“It sounds spooky already!” She beamed.
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Five years you and Dean, along with Sam and Eileen have been living the domestic life, none of you have hunted for the last five years. In all honesty, you were surprised that you and Dean had managed not to hunt, as hunting was something that the two of you had only known. When Dean told you five years ago that he was done with hunting for good because you said you were done, there was a part of you that didn’t believe him, as the last time he said he was done he got roped back in (which meant you got roped back in), when the both of you found out that Sam had returned from the pit.
But these last five years have been life changing for the both of you, as not only did the two of you have a beautiful daughter together, but you were happily married in addition to that — two things that neither of you ever thought would happen nor would ever be possible.
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Tag List: @roseblue373 @beansproutmafia @queenie32 @deanwanddamons @missy420-0 @jackles010378 @mrsjenniferwinchester @syrma-sensei @k-slla @justletmereadfanfic @deans-daydream If you'd like to be added to a tag list, let me know!
462 notes · View notes
hee-pster · 1 year
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air dropping: love, at 305
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+18 content read at your own discretion, please scroll if you’re uncomfortable with. [MDNI]
pairing: sim jaeyun x afab!reader
genre: smut, strangers to lovers
summary: bus rides after school to your house was something you hated, at least until today. Thanks to the cute guy who was sitting across you, the monotony of your boring life was about to end. All it took for him to airdrop you a cute selfie and boom, there you were, laying on your bed naked — with him in between your legs.
word count: 4.1k
warnings: dom!Jake, sub!reader, unprotected sex, making out, public nudity, praise kink, daddy kink, smacking kink, cream pie, breeding kink, pervy Jake, usage of pet names (princess, sweetheart etc.)
a/n: Hello hello my luvs, i hope everyone's doing okay and taking care of themselves <3 As an android user idk how this idea ring my bells 🤚🏼 but nevertheless, I would not doubt using any excuse to write pure filth for you guys 💖 as always, all types of feedback is highly appreciated whether it's a like, comment, ask or especially a reblog with cute tags so, please don't be shy to let me know 🥺! I hope you enjoy this, see you on the next fic, love you <3
🧷. . . back to masterlist
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Roads, especially long roads, you hated them. 
Nothing about them was ever fun to you, especially not if you were returning home from school with a bus. You really didn’t get the hype on romanticizing long ass boring drives but today, it sucked less, thanks to this cute guy that was sitting across you. 
He had long silky hair, honey skin and a cute smile — making him look almost like a human form of golden retriever’s. He was probably the most handsome guy you’ve ever seen in real life, looking even better than those models on the runways. Ugh, you thought, he was probably a fuckboy — he had to be, since his aura was literally radiating intense sexual energy. You could sense that he was the wrong type of person to hook up with, yet you couldn’t take your eyes off of him, since you wanted to do exactly that. 
Honestly, there was no way for a guy that looked like him to disappoint you in bed and you really — so desperately, needed something in your life that wasn’t a disappointment at this point, like some good dick. 
It wasn’t very ethically propriate for you to have sexual fantasies about a guy you’ve just randomly saw in a bus maybe, but that wasn’t enough of a reason to stop you from zoning out doing just that. 
Jake — the guy of topic, was not naive of course, noticing how you kept looking his way. If he were to speak the truth, he had to be one hell of a dumb guy to miss the obvious signs you were basically throwing at him about what exactly you had going on in that pretty head of yours. 
Everything you did, from the way you were slyly trying to eye him up and down to the way you were boldly holding the eye contact with him, was screaming how much you wanted to fuck him and it was safe to say that he had the exact same thoughts going inside his mind.
He couldn’t lie, you were hot, sitting across him with your mini skirt that was no good to cover up the places that drew his attention. That’s right, you weren’t the only one that knew how to use their eyes, since he has basically glanced over every inch of your body already, enough to be able to imagine you fully naked. Just as he was staring at the outline of your boobs, something caught his eyes, the embroidery on the sight of your loose jacket — “y/n”. 
That has to be her name, he thought, thinking how nice it would sound if he were to moan it right next to your ears as his dick was buried deep inside you. 
Nope, there was no way he was gonna let this day end without him fucking you, cause he knew you were the only one that could solve his growing problem under his pants. So, he did what he had to and took the risks, in hopes of getting some of your pretty pussy. 
He wasn’t much of a prayer but he was currently begging God for this plan to work as he quickly took a picture of himself on snap and added a cheesy line on it. He saved it to his gallery with shaky hands in a rush, tapping on the share button to airdrop it to you — hoping that you had your receivings on for everyone. 
And bingo! There it was, your name on the first line of his screen. 
He took a deep breath and tapped on your name, chewing his lower lip out of anxiety as he watched you carefully, wondering how you’d react. 
“Fuck fuck fuck ..” he cursed out really lowly when he saw you picking your phone up, looking at it’s screen with a smile you tried to hide by teething your gorgeous lips. 
He was really shameless for sending you a picture of him pouting with the low angle and if that wasn’t enough, he was brave enough to type “Your skirt looks so cute.” on it, adding the winking face emoji next to it as well. Tch, guess today was the day you were gonna dance with the devil, the devil named Jake — based on the name that popped on your screen. 
Fuck, why did he have such a moanable name anyway?
The buzz of his phone inside his palms made him slightly flinch, which made you giggle since you were eyeing him to see if he was gonna get your notification. You sended back a picture just the way he did, copying his pose and captioning it “I have even cuter ones, if you’d wanna see.” before tapping on the send button. 
The way his heart started to beat 10 times faster as he was reading what you wrote was an obvious sign of him loving the idea, making him nod continuously while he raised his head up from his phone to look at you. You were already facing his way with expecting eyes, gulping down nervously. 
No but, what the fuck were you doing? 
You literally just invited a guy that you didn’t even know to have sex in you place indirectly, how the fuck were you still conscious and how was these all not a dream? It didn’t matter to be fair, as long as you got your back blown by him — or front, directions didn’t really matter.
You could swear that you felt your uterus doing a flip inside your tummy once he mouthed “I would love to.” at you in response, brushing his long locks back with his pretty and veiny long fingers. 
Amazing, you couldn’t wait to suck each and every one of them, have them deep inside your pussy and throat.
Thankfully you didn’t have to wait long, since you were gonna get down on the next stop and you were gonna take him with you — in approximately 5 minutes. 
Jake watched you with a smile on his face for those five minutes, enjoying the fact that you didn’t even try to hide how much you couldn’t wait to take his cock. He was gonna have so much fun with you, he could definitely sense that. 
You’ve never realized how long five minutes actually lasted, not until today. It was almost as if you were counting down mili seconds until you've finally arrived your dream destination and the bus final-fucking-ly stopped. You got up from your seat with the speed of a lightning, grabbing Jake by the wrist and dragging him out of the bus with you. 
He was taken aback by your sudden act, trying to catch up with you as he let you drag him, keeping his quiet. The neighborhood felt somewhat familiar, maybe you two lived close, which would be a dream come true since he felt like one time wasn’t gonna be enough with you. 
As much as he loved to watch the pretty view of the neighborhood you were living in, he had something even more gorgeous before his eyes — your bare legs, distracting him and making him isolated from everything besides you. Fuck, the walk to your house was taking too long, he had to feel you — he had to feel you right fucking now. 
So he did what you did and grabbed your wrist firmly, starting to drag you to the nearest alley in his sight with fast steps. After making sure no one was around to watch, he pushed you against the wall of a random house and smashed his lips onto yours, moaning once he felt the contact of your skin. 
The kiss felt so right, that it almost made him think that you were destined to take the bus together today, destined to meet with each other like this. The softness of your lips against his was just perfect, which drove him absolutely crazy as if he wasn’t acting out of his mind already. 
He let out a small whine once you bit his lower lip, pulling away from the kiss with a pout on his face when he felt you pushing him away. You looked hot even when you were trying to catch your breath, the fact that your lips looked so swollen after a minor make out session aroused Jake even more than he already was. 
“Not here ..” you panted, “.. at my place, we’re almost there.”
“Just one more kiss -”
“Shhh, no ..” you stopped him by pressing your index finger on his hungry lips, “.. 2 more minutes and you’ll get to do more than just kissing me, okay?”
“Fuck .. okay.”
What was two more minutes compared to a lifetime he spent without knowing about your existence, even? If he waited for nearly 20 years for the best sex in his life, he could wait for 2 more minutes, hopefully without cumming in his pants. 
Shit y/n, he thought, what the fuck have you done to me?
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Jake was in love, he was fucking in love with a totally strange girl who was currently busy riding the shit out of his dick, aka you.
You looked so good to say the least, grinding your hips on his in between bounces while you were on top of him. Your body looked even better than what he imagined in his mind; the way our skin was shining due to the thin layer of sweat, the way your boobs were pressed together, the way your swollen lips were parted only to moan his name — all of it was such a euphoric sight to see. He was fighting the urge to cum just to make this last longer, just to feel you a little longer like this. 
Everything that happened from the moment that you two got out of the bus and came to your place was unclear, as if he was under the effect of some drug. The only thing that had a clear place in his head was the way your ass looked so pretty while you were walking before him and now that he got to see it fully uncovered, he felt like the luckiest guy alive. 
“Fuck, that’s it baby ..” he threw his head back on the pillows, unable to stop himself from bucking up his hips underneath you. “.. ride me, just like that.” He moaned out rather loudly, losing his mind over the way your walls were clenching around him. 
He reached his big hands to play with your clit, pressing small circles on your sensitive flesh as he kept his gaze on you. Your eyes were fluttered shut whilst a small whimper escaped your lips due to the feeling of his pretty fingers caused on your bud. 
“Tch ..” he let out, noticing how dry your lips had gotten. How could he be so ignorant when you were taking such good care of him in your house and on your bed? This wasn’t gonna do, he had to show you just how thankful he was feeling. 
So he wrapped one of his strong arms around your waist, pulling you down on him to meet his wet tongue with your lips. He kissed you hungrily, tilting your head to the side to gain better access inside your mouth. He could tell you liked it from the way you were moaning in his mouth, but that wasn’t the only thing he noticed. You were worn out, not a single drop of strength left in your body – not even enough for you to support yourself on top of him. 
Cute, he thought, liking the effort you put on just to fuck yourself on his dick. What were you if not his dream girl?
“Are you close, sweetheart?” He asked, gently brushing his fingertips on the soft skin of your ass before landing a strong smack on the exact same spot, making you finch and clench around his dick on his lap. 
“Fuck, do that again.” You moaned before attaching your lips back on his, giving him the return of the hungry kiss he had blessed you with earlier. 
You felt him smirk into the kiss as he flipped you over with one swift move on your bed, making you lay on your back as he was standing in between your widely spread legs. Before you could open your mouth he held your ankles and placed your legs over his shoulders, leaving a soft peck on your skin.
“I said, are you close yet, sweetheart?” He repeated his question, landing another sharp smack on the previous spot. As soon as you felt the delicious sting on your ass, a wave of shivers washed over your whole body, making you clench around his length unconsciously, giving him exactly what he wanted once again. 
“Y-yes, f-fuck!”
“Aw, isn’t that daddy’s good girl?” He cooed at you, lifting your hips up from the bed to gain himself a better angle as he pulled his dick all the way out, only to push it back in with a deep thrust. “You’re gonna take my dick and cum for me too, right my angel?”
Shit, not the cute nicknames with that sweet tone, you thought, trying hard to control your raging praise kink. How did he know — how did he fucking know just exactly what you wanted and how you wannna be treated?
His hard thrust made it basically impossible for you to form any type of words, so you chose to node as response instead. You could feel his tip brushing over your g-spot with every slam and that was the best thing you’ve ever experienced in your whole life. 
It wasn’t your first time or anything but it made you realize that you’ve never been fucked right before, not until today, not before Jake. He was fucking you so good, not too hard or not too soft – but just the way you needed. 
You wanted to moan, you wanted to scream his name to let him see how great he was making you feel, but the pressure you felt inside your tummy due to his dick was making you choke on your words at every time you attempted to speak. So you gave up on that and instead reached to his hands – to his big palms that was holding your asscheeks to lift you up from the bed as he fucked the absolute shit out of you. 
The way you were desperately trying to hold his hands with your small fingers melted his heart, making him break into a smile right there. He let go of your hips and instead leaned down on you with your legs still on his shoulders, stretching your hamstring muscles as much as he could until his face was inches away from yours. 
“Oh, so you’re also flexible, huh?” He giggled, brushing the tip of his nose against yours. “Do I make you feel good, hm my angel?” He asked, his voice sounding as soft as silk while he was pushing the strands of hair that stuck to your forehead due to how sweaty you were from off your face. 
“Mhm ..” you nodded, “..so, so good.”
He seemed satisfied with the response he got so he leaned in once again, to envelop your lips with his, this time for a soft – delicate kiss. It wasn’t like the previous ones, he was much more gentle, as if you were a glass that could get broken any minute. 
Guess everything he did was more than enough to meet your touch deprived-self’s needs, cause just as you were under the influence of his sweet kisses, you felt the knot in your stomach unravel. 
He could sense that you were about to cum any minute from the way your walls has been constantly contracting around his cock, making him give his full focus on not cumming, especially not cuming inside you — since he thought it would be inappropriate to ask, considering the fact that he was already surprised that you let him fuck your raw. 
Not longer than two minutes, there you were, moaning sweet nothings into his ear as he tried to help you ride your high with his sloppy thrusts. You were clenching so fucking much that he couldn’t keep himself inside anymore, despite the fact that he wanted to do nothing more than staying there — inside your warmness for the rest of his life. So he tried to pull out but got stopped by you when you shouted “Stop!” and stung your nails on his back to get his attention. 
He froze at his spot, still half inside of you, looking at you with a questioning face.
“Cum inside me, please.”
Oh fuck – were you for real? He could propose to you right now, right fucking now for saying that, you better not be playing. 
“Are you sure -”
“Yes!”
“But -”
“For fuck’s sake just shut up and fill me up before I change my mind, I’m on the pill Jake, come on!” You yelled in one breath, feeling the back of your legs burn due to how much he was forcing you to stretch.
At least he was quick to obey, shooting the warm strings of his seeds down your tummy without wasting any time. Poor thing, you thought, he must have been holding back for a while. 
As soon as he was finished he got off of you, thinking it must have been hard for you to stay in that position. He collapsed right next to you instead, turning to your side to watch your reaction, feeling nervous all of a sudden. 
What if he wasn’t good enough? What if he hurt you while he was holding you in that position like that? Did he forced you too much — were his thrusts too hard?
“Holy crap ..” 
The sound of your breathy voice next to him pulled him out of his anxiety trance, making him give his full attention on you — on the words that just fell from your mouth. 
“Oh come on, you can’t be regretting this already, right?”
You chuckled — regretting? That was not even near to what you were feeling right now.
“Relax Jake ..” you turned to him, facing him the way he was doing. “ .. I don’t regret anything, nothing at all.”
“Then what was that reaction?”
“I just ..” you reached to his hair, playing with the silky waves of his soft locs. “.. I can’t believe I’ve done all of this with a stranger, that’s all.”
“All of this — you mean having sex and getting cream pied?” He asked in a smug tone, a cute smirk slowly forming on his face.
Jake, you little shit, you thought, wanting to slap that cute grin away from his face.
“Yeah, that’s what I meant, thank you.” You said sarcastically, letting him pull you closer to himself. 
“Well, what if I said I wasn’t exactly a stranger?”
“What do you mean?”
“What I mean is ..” he pecked your lips, “.. I’m technically your neighbor, I just moved in next door, yesterday actually.”
No way, no fucking way this was possible. What were the chances — close to zero? He was lying, he had to be, but a part of you was praying that he wasn’t.
“Fuck off, that’s a lie.”
“No, thankfully, it is indeed the truth.”
You stopped for a second, to observe his face. He looked serious, pleasantly serious, but a part of you was desperately rejecting to believe his words. 
“No, I’m not falling for this, I don’t believe you.” You said, trying to push him away, making him laugh out of frustration. Why the fuck were you not trusting him even?
“Fine, don’t believe me?” He let go of you as he got off of the bed, “Let me prove myself, then.” He huffed out, grabbing his pants from the floor. After a minute of him poking up the pockets of his pants, he finally found what he was looking for – the key to his new place, with the flat number engraved on its keychain, just like the one you had.
He sat back on the bed, right next to you with a victorious smile on his face, holding up the keychain that was attached to his keys right before your eyes. “Do you see what’s written on this y/n?” He asked with a sarcastic tone, “Do you see the number on it?”
“Fuck, 305 ..” you read out loud, “It says 305.”
“And what’s the number of this flat?”
“304 ..” you responded in a whispery tone, unable to believe that this was actually happening. “.. you weren’t lying?”
“I told you that I wasn’t -” his sentence got interrupted when you literally jumped on him, kissing every inch of his face with excitement. You didn’t know why the fuck were you so happy for but, the possibility of you seeing him again made you wanna get up and dance. 
“I’m guessing that this means you’re happy about me being your new neighbor, huh princess?” He held you by your waist, making you sit on his lap properly — and by proper, I mean on his still hardened dick. 
You nodded, brushing your fingers over the outline of his clavicle “Yeah, i am.”
“Does that mean I got a chance to be more than just a stranger, hm?”
Never in your life a question made your heart skip a beat, until now. 
Jake was looking straight in your eyes, chewing on his bottom lip — a sign of him feeling nervous. Yep, you got that figured out about him, since he had the same look on his face while you were on the bus as he was airdropping you some of his randomly taken selfies. 
“It depends..” you answered, wanting to tease him a little. What could you say? He looked too cute with his cute puppy-like eyes, waiting for you to give him an answer like that. 
“On what?”
“On you giving me a house tour ..” you looked down, suddenly feeling too shy for the intense eye contact. “.. showing me the inside of your house — your bedroom, maybe.”
He took a deep breath, trying to hold back his laughter. If that was you asking for a second round at his place it definitely worked, cause fuck, he’d be more than happy to test his new bed with you.
“Are there any cameras at the hall outside?” He blurted out, biting back a smirk.
“Cameras?” You were taken aback by the sudden question, looking puzzled as you tried to figure out how this was related to your current topic. “I mean there is but, it got broken a month ago so it doesn’t work -”
You couldn’t finish your sentence due to Jake suddenly deciding to lift you up bridal style, making you yelp and almost fall as he did so. 
“What the hell, Jake?!” You screamed, wrapping your arms around his neck as strong as you could. 
He giggled at your reaction, leaning to peck you on the lips. He couldn’t lie and say he didn’t steal some glances from your bare titts that were pressed together, feeling his dick twitch against thin air. 
He had to fuck you again and he had to do it now.
“You wanted me to show you around, no?” He asked, taking quick steps as he carried you out of your bedroom to the front door of your flat, without even bothering to grab a piece of clothing.
“Yes but - what are you doing?!”
“I’m taking you to my place ..” he grinned, “.. why waste time with clothes if no ones gonna be watching us?” he said, indicating the broken camera at the hall. 
“And plus ..” he licked his lips playfully, “ .. what’s the point of putting them on when it’s only gonna take me a minute to rip them off of you once we’re at my bedroom, right sweetheart?”
He was such an annoying guy, yet he managed to turn it into something charming. Shit, you thought, he still had a point though. 
“I hate you.” You whispered as he opened your front door with his elbow, revealing both of your naked bodies to the outside world. The camera may have been broken but if anyone were to step outside right now, there would be no way for either of you to explain what the hell was going on. 
“I’d love to hear you repeat that ..” he closed the door shut, “ .. if you manage to talk of course, cause I’m gonna fuck you even harder on my bed ..” he leaned down on you face until his lips were touching yours — only to whisper just like you did, against your lips, “..  until you fucking pass out on my dick, princess.”
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Tagging:
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sunnylands-world · 2 months
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Red possession
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Pairing: draco malfoy x female reader
Summary: your cycle is ending and that means you're feeling needy and distracted. Who better to fix it than your boyfriend…
Word count:1’889
Warning: fingering,mean draco [not really it's more degrading], choking, period sex [it's the last day], p in v, soft draco, possessive draco and reader, let me know if I missed anything
Universe: Harry Potter
A/n: "guess who's back, back again, Sunny's back tell a friend" 🎤 ��💓 no but seriously hopefully this one makes you guys love my writing again since people had requested something like this awhile ago 🙏🥺
You read the warnings if you continue to read. I'm not to be held responsible.
Comments, reblogs, and inboxes are appreciated and motivational
(⁠ ⁠˘⁠ ⁠³⁠˘⁠)⁠♥(⁠ ⁠˘⁠ ⁠³⁠˘⁠)⁠♥(⁠ ⁠˘⁠ ⁠³⁠˘⁠)⁠♥(⁠ ⁠˘⁠ ⁠³⁠˘⁠)⁠♥(⁠ ⁠˘⁠ ⁠³⁠˘⁠)⁠♥(⁠ ⁠˘⁠ ⁠³⁠˘⁠)⁠♥(⁠ ⁠˘⁠ ⁠³⁠˘)
Being a girl was something you hated...
There were probably countless reasons, such as childbirth, but the most annoying aspect of it was the constant bleeding. Every. Fucking. Month.
It was pretty much the end of your cycle now though, and Draco had been spoiling you rotten. You had enough chocolate right now to give away to a village of children and that's not an exaggeration, you had bars stacked in a fridge he also bought for this occasion. He even got a personal chef! When you were on your cycle, you had moments where food wasn't a thought. Then you'd eat a little, and soon you'd eat more, but even then, you felt like one more plate wouldn't hurt.
Draco had you in his room today. Draco is currently beside you, shirtless and wearing black boxers. He was reading a book to you, but every word he said was like whispers in a forest because you were distracted.
"Why does it seem like I want to devour him? Has he always been so attractive? Am I getting closer to him?"
"Are you alright [name]?" Draco announced.
"Yeah, yeah of course. Why wouldn't I be? " You laughed and Draco let out one as well but he sounded nervous.
"Because you're squeezing my arm like you're terrified, surely my reading isn't that bad," he said, looking at the grip you had on his arm.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I just... well, I'm distracted," You muttered, letting go of his arm, feeling a little guilty for it.
“By what, darling?” He inquired, putting the book down and turning his focus on you.
"You," you whispered, and you could see him smirk.
"I'm sorry, what did you say? I didn't catch that,” he teased and you shook your head, you always knew your boyfriend was cocky.
"I said you're distracting me," you repeated, playfully. You looked into his blue eyes, which were like a storm above the ocean, and they were darkening.
His gaze was intense as he chewed on the inside of his cheek.
"Why is he looking at me like that?"
"I think I could fix that," he announces first before he gets up and heads to his bathroom, leaving you confused.
When he comes back with a towel, you realize what he has in mind.
"Wait, just let me use the bathroom first," you say quickly, heading into the bathroom. You pray quietly because you're just spotting. You open the bag you brought to Draco's, grab the wipes, and do your business before washing your hands. Draco's eyes meet yours once you open the door.
“Come here,” he states, and you walk over hesitantly.
Upon reaching him, his hands gently grip your waist and the pads of his thumbs rub circles on your back.
“You’re so beautiful,” he says, as he stands over you.
Your cheeks turn crimson, and you say "Thank you."
He cradles your face, kisses you softly, and you become engulfed in him, kissing him back while your hands wander to his waist.
The desire for more causes your heart to race and you whimper against his lips.
"I've got it, baby," he assures you as his hand slides under your shirt, causing your breathing to slow, and you feel the familiar touch of the silver ring he wears. His hand slides up higher along your soft curves and you feel the sense of possession in his touch as he delicately squeezes you.
The kiss grows stronger, his tongue slips past your lips and yours moves with his in a passionate tango that makes you moan softly.
Your own hands find themselves on his back as you feel the familiar desire spreading like wildfire in your belly. You're unsure whether he's teasing you or taking his time, but you want more and you want it now.
“Please,” you beg and he chuckles.
"So needy," he says teasingly before pulling your shirt off.
“I fucking love it” he grunts looking at your breast with starvation and he pushes you back, not enough to injure you, but enough to catch you off guard and make you gasp falling on his mattress. Draco's gaze softens as the breeze from the room hits your skin.
Are you feeling cold, my love? He asks, tucking your hair back before stroking your cheek.
"Just a bit," you say, and he smiles.
“Under the covers” he states.
You do as asked, and he does the same, moving underneath them with you before he's back on your lips. Because you're so turned on because of hormones, you grind against his hips between your thighs and he's trapped by your legs around his waist.
He groans, his lips moving along your jaw only making it worse with his soft kisses on your heated skin. You moan softly, faced with a high.
You tug at his platinum hair and take into detail how soft it is. How his body is pressed against yours, brushing your nipples as he moves to kiss your neck. His tongue darts out and licks your skin, prompting you to tighten your grip on his hair.
“You're so responsive, so sexy” he whispers before he sucks and licks a bruise onto your neck. He grinds his hard length into your panties, brushing your clit and making you wetter. Your whimpers and moans like music to his ears that he could play on a loop.
He growls as he releases your neck and kisses your collarbone once before disappearing under the covers. He holds you down, branding your waist, with the pressure of his ring as he kisses and nips at your breast.
He whispers "fuck" as he sucks on your nipples. You writhe, eager for him, feeling his tongue flicker and his teeth nipping at your breast until he stops.
He lowers himself, resulting in the blanket following him as he pulls your panties off, tossing them to the side so he can look at you while his fingers glide through your slick folds before he slowly pushes them into your entry.
"So wet and warm," he groans, pumping his fingers in and out, watching you moan softly with a dark hunger gaze. You wither and buck your hips as he picks up the pace curling his fingers just right to hit the spot inside you to have you weak in the knees like you're never gonna walk again, and he doesn't stop, he just goes harder and deeper as you arch your back moaning loudly.
When he hears the wet noises from your pussy as it latches onto his digits, begging to release, he removes them and makes you whine, almost teary-eyed.
“Shut up,” he growls and you bite your lip.
He knows you so well...
He observes and shakes his head.
"God, I'm in love with you," He groans when he takes his boxers off, and your eyes glow with excitement as his cock, slaps against his abdomen, just as happy to see you.
Had you not been so desperate to have him inside you, you would have sucked it like there is no tomorrow.
"It's alright, baby. You'll be home soon."
Draco crawls back between your legs and rubs his tip repeatedly through your wet lips and you swear he whimpers before plunging into your velvety walls, making you moan softly as he seat's himself inside you.
He won't admit it, but he's just as needy for you. He couldn't tell you how many times he's been hard without relief because nothing satisfies him like his girl.
Fuckkk, that's good,” he moans, his head falling back as he shudders.
Your cheeks are heated as he leans forward, resting his hands on either side of your face.
Holding your gaze, he begins to gently and slowly thrust forward, causing your lips to part in a silent cry. Your breath practically stops as he glides so easily inside you, as though you were made just for him, fooling your senses and riddling you blank with every teasing thrust. As he leans forward, making you shiver, his warm breath ghosts over your skin.
“That's it darling, let me in,” he whispers, his accent clear as day.
Wrapping your legs around his waist, you hear the creaking of the bed as he picks up the pace, making you moan a little louder and grip the sheets.
He's playing with your pussy, whispering the right things, and kissing the right spots to make you relax and become comfortable, all in order for him to go faster, harder, and deeper.
"Draco, please," you beg as your eyes start to roll.
He growls, "Look at me when you ask for something."
As you meet his eyes, you moan, "Harder."
He knows exactly what you want, so there's no need to ask twice.
As he smirks, he sits up, and those blue eyes lock on yours. He wraps his hand around your neck, pressing lightly, and slamming into you, while you choke on air and pathetically moan and mewl.
As the headboard hits the wall, whoever is on the other side is forced to listen to your pornographic sex while he thrusts into you like his pleasure is more important than your own.
He watches as your legs begin to shake and your body becomes possessed with pleasure. You know that leaving his room will cause you to feel embarrassed.
He allows you to breathe better by releasing your neck, as he fucks you without mercy, ruining you for anyone else.
“Mine,” he growls.
His eyes say it all, his forceful pace says it, you're his girl and this is his pussy.
His cock slams into your pussy faster than it can throb or pulse and you almost beg him to slow down, but this how you like it, hard and possessive. When you can feel your walls begging him to stay inside you as you try to clench and his thrust are so hard and deep you know he needs you too.
He pants, and groans, his own body nearly shaking.
"You feel so good," said in unison, in thought..
You'll always be his, even if you try to escape nobody will fuck you like this, so if you try to find someone else you'll be left unsatisfied.
As you near the edge, he kisses you, tongue and all making you moan softly as you tug his hair.
You can't tell who wants who more with the way you're both making out, and thrust so powerful that somehow your poor little cunt still weeps for more until you can't take it. He finds your hands interlacing your fingers grounding you.
“Be a good girl and cum for me” he whispers, and as you cum lost in bliss and overwhelming pleasure he follows, moaning that he loves you.
He collapses against you, breathing heavily and you wrap your weak legs around him, stroking his hair, affectionately because he's vulnerable like this.
He hums softly in response as you feel your sweaty, sticky skin against his and you inhale your passion in the air while you catch your breath.
“Still distracted?” he says, finally looking at you, you shake your head with a lazy smile.
“Wanna take a bath?” he asks softly
“If I can walk,” you say sarcastically and he chuckles.
You don't have to walk, because he'll carry you, you're his…
(⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)⁠❤(⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)⁠❤(⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)⁠❤(⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠) (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)⁠❤
©Sunnylands-world this belongs to me therefore you don't have the right to do anything with my work or ideas without permission.
Nice thought, reblogs, and inboxing is appreciated and motivational ❤
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aboxofcereales · 7 months
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Currently trying to collect all the information about our companies’ life before the events of Baldur’s Gate 3. Mainly, about their family and age. Any suggestions/editing will be very much welcome.
Huge thanks to everyone who aiding the cause in comments and reblogs.
Last update - 29 October 2023.
Wyll Ravengard: is about 24, has left the city when he was 17, in origin introduction states that he’s been exiled for 7 years. Apparently his dad, Grand Duke Ulder Ravengard, raised him by himself, Wyll’s mother, Francesca, passed away in childbirth, when Wyll was born, as stated by Ulder’s longsword description, Wyll mentions her during a romance scene in Act 3, also calls himself “a single son to a single father”. According to Murder in Baldur's Gate: Ravenguard has never married and has no interest in domestic matters, moreover the said sword description calls Wyll's mother Ulder's love, not wife, which makes me think that Wyll was born out of wedlock. Supposed to have 3 uncles. I’ve seen a note about Wyll diving to see a mermaid as kid, written by his dad, in the high security vault. Florrick seen him grow up, had a crush on Stelmane as a kid, also during his childhood enjoined fishing with his dad, but sucked at it. Also, Ravengard's Scourger states that "Duke Ravengard's father was the sort of man who works with his hands, and communicates in grunts. In his heart his son vowed to do better. But when Wyll was born, Ravengard felt a strange gravity that drew him away from his son.", that strange gravity might be Francesca's death in childbirth(?). Generally, I strongly advise to take him around the city in act 3, as he tells plenty stories of his boyhood.
Gale Dekarios: still not sure if there any information about how old he might be, but I estimated around mid-to-late 30s, though it doesn’t really sit well with him meeting Mystra as a kid (btw there’s an absolutely wonderful post on this topic by @lairofsentinel, check it out), still I’d like Gale to be on the older side, alternatively, he may be around 28-30 due Mystra's return year. Personal headcanon - he's 37. He casted his first spell as a babe - a score of rabbits in the panty. Apparently lives separately from his parents in his tower, at least as kid had them both (mentioned when he first tells about his friend-tressym, Tara), thou in his origin (at least as much as heard and played myself but @vitanithepure confirmed it) only his mother gets mentions, the state of the other parent is unknown. Has a very tender relationship with her, but didn’t inform her about the orbe for her own safety, her name may be Morena (godsblessdataminers), Mrs Dekarios really wants him to find someone to settle down with. Also, Tara hates his beard.
Shadowheart (Jenevelle Hallowleaf): is about 50, comments that Viconia documented about 40 years worth of her life at the hands of Shar, in the same note she writes that Shadowheart was able to keep her heart true to her child self, and was hard learning Shar lessons. As I understood when she was kidnapped, she was about 10-13, kidnapping was directly by the Shar command. Personal headcanon - she's 51. After her abduction made friends with tiefling named Nocturne (they might have be more than friends?), had a pet mouse for sometime called Nibbles. There’s a grafiti somewhere behind Jaheira house which she has drawn. Shares a questionable taste of romance literature with Wyll and his father. Her parents’ fate, Emmeline and Arnell Hallowleaf: is up to you decisions. Her mother mentions that they wanted Jen to have siblings.
Karlach Cliffgate: early 30s I think, the way she speaks about Gortash makes me thinks she was practically a teenager when she started working for him and spend 10 year serving Zariel. Personal headcanon - she's 29. Her parents, Pluck and Caerlack, she moved them from Outer City to a nicer place. Her mom died due to fewer when she was a teen, dad a couple years later due to road accident. Both died before she met Gortash. Her mom seems to be behind her love for Minsc, Jaheira etc. You can meet her friend near Baldur’s statue.
Lae’zel of K’liir: seems to be barely 20. Githianky reach adulthood in their late teen, and as Lae’zel was yet to present a mindlflaer’s head, I think she’s the youngest in the party. According to Idle Champions of the Forgotten Realms, she's exactly 22 (but they do mess up astarion age). Personal headcanon - she's in fact 20. She hates owls due to their necks, Karlach agrees.
Astarion Ancunin: according to translation of his grave he only lived for 40 years before becoming spawn, spend 200 year as such. Safe guess - there's definitely smt wrong with his grave stone or/and translation as it messes the current year - from 220 to 250. According the artbook he was a corrupted magistrate, which seem to be true atleast to pre-release version.
Halsin is 350, his family is from the High Forest, thou they are all gone. Spend 3 years captured by drow, loves honey and curving ducks. Jahiera is about 150-160, as she was a child in 1347. Has atleat five foster children: half-elf Rion, half-orc druid Jord, three humans - Jhessem, Fig, and Tate. Minsc was a statue from 1409 to 1480s.
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justsomeectoplasm · 9 months
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Hhhuugh so the reddit incident came and went but I know there's going to be a handful of twitter users that don't know jackshit about tumblr and are migrating here. Honestly it's valid that you all jumped ship because there's only going to be two outcomes to this:
-Muskratatouille is going to realise he fucked up and remove the rate limit.
- He refuses to admit his mistake and kills twitter.
So welcome! I hope you like my blog. Here's a revamp of some things you need to know before interacting with me and some general notes you need to know:
Massive porn bot problem here that can actually harass you and other users by sending porn through dm's and asks. Also shares malicious links to sites which is a big no-no. Therefore, PUT A DAMN PFP AND CUSTOMIZE YOUR BLOG, AND REBLOG POSTS. That's the only way to let people know that you're not a bot and that you're 100% a living breathing human. Lurking only works through reblogging without adding tags. (Side note: irl Hot lady pfps are not that great. Bots use them all the time. Anime hot lady is fine.)
Likes do jackshit. Tumblr is more of a blogging website than a social media platform. The way it circulates and brings attention to posts is by a sharing system called reblogging. If you really want to support artists, writers, game devs or just wanting your friends to see some funny posts, reblog it. (Reblogging artists work is not the same as reposting on this site. It helps us.)
Tags are your friends in this site. You can use them to navigate through content of your favorite subjects or you can add your thoughts to them. They can also help sort out your own original posts on your blog. (for example I use 'I ramble' on posts that have nothing to do with my fandoms.)
If you censor a word I will personally break your computer. You can say whatever the hell you want on this website and you won't get in trouble (unless it's hate speech, which you can report.)
Pt 2 of the above point: The reason why I'm so adamant on this point is because tumblr has a filter system. Users use this system to filter out content and tags that they don't want to see. This helps a lot for people with triggers and over all curating your online experience. By censoring words, you are bypassing these filters and doing more harm then good. Don't censor your words. If you want to use this feature go to settings and click on "content you see".
Pt 3. With that said, please please tag your posts if they have triggers or upsetting material. Whether you do dark content or not, it is important to tag your posts if they have a well known trigger.
There is no algorithm. You create it using tags. Your post going viral is a 50/50 gamble and you better hope it's a post that's actually great.
You can block anonymous askers since you need to use an account to send asks. Have fun.
Blocking users is much more effective. You can't see or interact with their posts and vice versa. Go wild.
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irisintheafterglow · 4 months
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OKAY A FELLOW SWIFTY I SEE
Okay here me out I need to express this with another SWIFTY
ALL THE GIRLS YOU LOVED BEFORE IS SO GOJO X READER CODED!!
Gege confirmed gojo was canon a player right??
He’s all about fuckboy life but THEN then he meets you and is so inlove he becomes so domestic and just <333
I NEEDED TO SHARE THIS WITH ANOTHER SWOFTY FOR YEARS OKAY THANKS BYE
every dead end street led you straight to me
wc: 2.1k
cw/tags: established relationship, first meeting, creepy guy at a club but he doesn't get very far because of unofficial bodyguard™ satoru, mostly just fluff and taylor references, little fun surprise at the very end in case it wasn't tooth-rotting enough
note: hi anon!!! first off, i'm so sorry this took so long to complete; i literally love aotgylb and so i was a little stumped for how to write this because it's just,,,,so him. i love him. i love taylor. i hope you love this lol. enjoy!!!
likes, reblogs, and replies are appreciated!
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“I really wish I found you sooner.”
“How so?”
“I wouldn’t have needed all that dumb shit with other girls if I knew you were waiting for me. All the lame fights, feeling alone even when I wake up next to someone. That dumb shit.”
“Who said I wasn’t doing dumb shit too?” You look at him with a sleepy smile, warm despite the biting chill of the early morning air. "You couldn't fathom how many boys I was crying in the bathroom about."
"Do you remember their names?"
"Of course not." While you press against the personal heater that is your boyfriend, the long-awaited sunlight starts to touch the very tips of the mountains before you. “You remember my first boyfriend, don’t you?”
“Mmm, yeah. The one from Kyoto that dropped out ‘cause he couldn’t stand being weaker than his partner,” he recalls. “He’s also the ugliest of your exes; it’s hard to forget him when I almost exorcized him before I met you.” You burst out laughing at the memory and a puff of your breath appears in front of your face. Satoru follows suit, exhaling a long breath and making boyish dragon noises. “See, aren’t I so much better?”
“Yes love, no one can compete with your dragon impressions,” you tease. With a shiver, you wrap your coat tighter around your body. “I won’t lie, though. My ass is freezing.”
“I was just about to say that,” he agrees, shifting uncomfortably on the stone bench. Even with the several layers of thermal long sleeves, jackets, and gloves, the winter weather seemed adamant on giving you frostbite. “Remind me to never suggest a sunrise hike ever again.” 
“But isn’t it romantic? Freezing our asses off and shit-talking our exes?” 
“I would not enjoy this if I was with anyone else,” he concludes. “That’s all I’ll say about that.”
“Fine, then go back to that other thing, the one about finding me sooner.” 
“Oh, that?” He pauses for a moment, jutting his lips to the side in deep thought. Spots of gold start to catch on his bright white hair, strikingly similar to the snow crunching under your boots. “I was just thinking how much time I wouldn’t have wasted if I simply found you sooner.”
“What do you mean, ‘found me?’” 
“I was searching for someone, you know, and I didn’t know what I wanted until I met you.” The corner of his mouth quirks as a memory pops into his mind. “Even though you hated me.”
“I did not hate you,” you argue in vain since you did, in fact, hate him when you first met him. In need of a new partner after your boyfriend (the ugly one, Satoru notes) fell ill the night before a mission, you considered feigning sickness yourself when you saw who the higher ups assigned. It was easier, logistically, to slap on the most powerful asset they had on a mission where a sorcerer dropped out, but it didn’t make him any less annoying when he picked you up at the airport. It was before the days of his current blindfold, when he wrapped strips of white linen over his eyes during the times he opted for no sunglasses. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t unnerve you, the way he navigated through the airport crowds as if his vision wasn’t impeded in the slightest. The aura that he emanated was intimidating and one of sheer power, but the goofy smile and melodic voice contradicted any assumptions you made about the strongest being alive. 
“Gojo Satoru?”
“That’s me. I like it when you say my name,” he drawls and you make a quiet gagging noise in your throat. 
“Please don’t ever say that again,” you say, walking in a random direction where you hope the driver is parked. To your embarrassment, you turn around to see him standing in the same spot, a smug grin on his face and a thumb pointing in the opposite direction. “I thought I read the lot was this way,” you mutter in irritation while he falls into step next to you. 
“Oh, it was,” he affirms and you stop mid-stride. The shit-eating expression on his face only grows wider when he senses your increasing annoyance. “But there’s a dango stand over here and you look like you could use a snack.” He was right, of course, but you didn’t admit it until much later in your relationship. The first twelve hours with him were painfully awkward, to say the least. You shoved dango in your mouth to avoid answering any questions about yourself and stared out the dark window of the car while he snuck glances at you in the backseat. After dropping your stuff at the hotel and slipping into nicer clothes, you walk out onto the crowded street to find Satoru waiting in a sleek-looking suit that would have the girls back home fainting on the spot. He opens the door with a flirty remark that you immediately tune out and you recheck the Cursed Tools in your clutch while he slides into the seat beside you. 
“You know your role?” 
“I’m a wealthy businessman gunning for the weapon with the blue handle,” he states confidently.
“Green handle, not blue.”
“What’s the difference?”
“One of them has an eons-old Curse stuffed into its hilt…and the other is blue.” He makes a small noise of amusement in his throat and you feel yourself relax a little bit more. “I’ll camp out at the bar and wait for the owner to make a move. Apparently, he’s the type to bite pretty easily if he sees something good-looking and alone. When he’s distracted, you grab the weapon. Got it?”
“Clear as crystal,” he says, swiping his tongue over his top lip absentmindedly. A serious look washes over his face, something in his head making his eyebrows draw together. “What if the guy starts getting handsy with you?”
“I’ll…handle it,” you reply slowly, slightly confused as to why he cares. “Just get the weapon, Gojo. You can stall or kill time however you want before that, but we don’t have the luxury of being able to make a mess.”
“Easier said than done,” he says quietly, “So, no promises.” 
It turned out that making messes was simply a part of Satoru’s daily routine. Perched on a bar stool and barely nursing a weak drink, you clearly saw what his idea of killing time was. Lean arms stretched over the back of an overstuffed corner booth in a corner of the club, pulling several nice-looking women into his side while they giggled in his lap. He’d swapped the strips of linen for an expensive pair of sunglasses and he peered over the rim at regular intervals to keep an eye on you. It made your heart pang just a little bit, seeing him easily attract girls to him like a magnet in a paper clip factory. There was no doubt that Gojo Satoru was attractive, yet every doubt existed in your mind as to whether you would ever have a chance with him. You didn’t mean to look so mopey and sad at the counter, but it seems to play to your advantage when the owner of the weapon creeps over with a sinister smile on his face. 
“Hello, dear,” he purrs and it takes all of your willpower not to slap him for looking at you like a pretty thing. “Nothing is sadder than a beauty at the bar, all alone.”
“And what were you going to do about it?” You drop the volume of your voice to an enticing volume, looking up at him through your eyelashes. 
“Inject a bit more excitement into your evening,” he replies daringly and the insinuation makes you nauseous. “That man, with the glasses? He broke your heart?” He leans on your shoulder and looks in the direction of your partner, the one who was supposed to be grabbing the weapon while you were busy being ogled by this narcissist. “You need to watch out for men like him, throwing around money and women like they’re of no value. Both have value. You have value.” Great, you groan in your head, he’s gross and a hypocrite, too.
“I wouldn’t say broke it,” you murmur mysteriously. “More like, doesn’t deserve it.”
“You’re feisty,” he observes. “I’m incredibly attracted to it.” Shit. On pure instinct, you feel your Cursed Energy flare up as his hand roams dangerously close to your thigh, sliding down your arm with a clammy palm. Despite not being a sorcerer, you know he feels the energy shift when his eyes dart up to yours not with lust, but suspicion. By some stupid twist of Fate, you’d blown your own cover. The weapon owner’s hand suddenly tightens around your wrist, chaining you to the bar counter. 
“Let go of me,” you order, completely rid of the stupidly airy voice and naive smiles. 
“What did you just–”
“My love, we’re leaving.” Elegant fingers effortlessly pry the man’s hand from your skin and toss them aside like garbage. You find your coat gently draped around your shoulders, and only then does he guide you up and away from the bar, with the weapon owner still gawking in his stool. Somewhere between your Cursed Energy flaring and the man grabbing your wrist, Satoru must have left his posse of gorgeous women to pull you out of your present situation. “Good?”
“Yeah,” you mutter, slightly embarrassed that he had to come in and save you. “Thanks for doing that, even though you had to leave your girlfriends.” 
“Of course. They never mean anything to me, nor do I mean anything to them,” he replies and it sounds genuine, without any sort of mockery or indication that he was holding it above your head. With one arm still wrapped around your shoulders, he calls the valet to retrieve the car and you find that you don’t mind him holding you close. “Nice play with the energy flare-up, by the way. That was really smart.”
“What do you mean?”
“Smoking out the weapon’s energy signature by making it butt against your own?” He shakes his head in disbelief, city lights catching in the lenses of his glasses. “Absolute genius.” 
“I…didn’t mean to do that,” you admit and he peers at you out of the corner of his vision. You didn’t know it yet, but to him, you looked prettier than any of the women he was surrounded by inside the club. “It was an accidental reflex when the guy went for my leg.”
“Want me to kill him?” You chuckle, but it dies away when you see the cold expression on his face, nothing like the playful and warm persona you’d just been speaking to. “Say the word and I’ll blow the place to pieces.”
“We’re not supposed to make a mess, remember?” 
“And I said no promises, remember?” He helps you into the passenger’s seat with a gentlemanly hand, shutting it after you before settling into the driver’s seat. “Either way, I got the weapon. It was in the guy’s pocket, not in the safe like we thought it would be. But, more importantly, you got out of that creep’s vicinity.” 
“I appreciate you looking out for me.”
“Anytime, pretty.”
“Don’t call me that,” you say firmly and he looks at you curiously. “What?”
“Why not?”
“I’m not interested in being your arm candy; I’m not that type of person.” He pauses for several long moments, stuck in deep thought.
“I didn’t realize I was the type of person to have arm candy,” he states quietly, like it was an epiphany as he pulled away from the club’s valet curb. 
“Something must be wrong with one of your Six Eyes, then, if you truly believe that,” you chuckle, trying to make the mood a little lighter. Yet, he’s still staring straight ahead with a frown on his face and a draw between his eyebrows. It was unsettling, to say the least. “Hey, I really didn’t mean any offense–”
“Let me try.”
“What?”
“Let me try,” he repeats with absolute determination. The streetlight casts his face in a dangerous shade of red.
“Try…what?” 
“To win you over. Teach you what forever feels like,” he answers and your head feels like it’s been submerged underwater, all noises suddenly becoming muddy and irrelevant. “Show you that I don’t think you’re just eye candy.” 
“What the hell are you playing at, Gojo?”
“I’m just tryin’ to show you that I’m not the playboy you have in your head,” he argues and it makes your cheeks heat. “Let me try. If I fail, I’ll go bald or something. Sorcerer's honor.” You burst out laughing, shaking your head in disbelief but feeling comfortable enough to take him up on the offer. Now, a few years and zero bald heads later, you were freezing your ass off with the man of your dreams on a mountain at six in the morning. 
Somehow, you both felt like you’d won the bet when he pulled out that box from his pocket and got down on one knee. 
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I really respect you, which is why I'm reaching out. But I wanted to explain why reblogging that post about how "most" suicides are "manipulative" is actively harmful to people with depression and suicidal ideation. I lost pretty much my entire friend group after I attempted, when I needed them most. More than anything else, suicide attempts & threats are cries for help and to call them manipulative, while true, just contributes to the harmful ideas around suicide. At one point I remember thinking "if I'm so selfish, then my friends would be better off without me anyways". So much of society already hates people who attempt, ignoring that it's an awful place to be that we don't want to but we feel we have nowhere else to go and it's a time when we need help the most, and instead we're treated like dirty monsters. If we want to get rid of the shame and stigma around suicide, we need to stop treating it as if the people who do it are evil monsters who want you to feel bad. I'm sorry for the rant but I was incredibly upset and disappointed to see someone who's fairly popular in a community that's incredibly vulnerable to suicide reblog something so isolating.
before i reply, i want to say i’m going in with the presumption that this is the post you’re referring to and my response is based on that
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this post is not saying that “most of all suicides are manipulative”- at least, thats not what i see and interpret. i could be wrong and it has happened.
what i see is saying that “often, when someone is called out for abuse an is backed into a corner, they threaten suicide for revenge or to get you back on their side”. whether or not it’s genuine, it is still based in intentional emotional manipulation. and this is something people will do and ive personally experienced. and it sucks.
take somerton’s first apology, where he opened it by talking about how he was in the hospital for suicide for what, like 10 minutes. i, unlike a lot on here, am inclined to take that in good faith and assume he’s not lying on principal. but why did he bring it up in an apology video for years worth of plagiarism and theft? why did he film it the way he did, crying and downplaying his behavior? because the goal was to make you pity him, because the internet is a stranger to kindness and nuance.
i have been in way too many relationships and stayed in them because i was afraid the other person would kill themselves if i wasnt there and they said so quite explicitly. many people have attempted after i tried to break off those relationships. one of them is currently back in the hospital and i can’t talk to her, because last i heard from her she threatened to kill herself if my friend hung up the phone to go to work and refused to get help. me and that other friend spent months ignoring manipulative and abusive behavior because we didnt want to lose her and now its reached a point that we can’t talk to her anymore. when i was 12 we had another friend who would lie about being in contact with his bio dad or spraining an ankle to get us to help him and make us do all his work around the house and physically intimidate us bc it was funny. and when we tried to talk to him about it, he said he was going to kill himself so we panicked and stuck with him. my friends mom does sex ed and works with rape victims in the ER, one of the things she talks about is how often women’s boyfriends will often threaten suicide if their girlfriends leave them because guess what! no one wants their friend to die! even if theyre a sucky person and even if they’re abusive.
because the point of “threatening suicidal is bad” isnt that theyre lying, its that theyre weaponizing their death against people theyve hurt in order to keep hurting them.
imo, saying “suicidality, whether true or not, is often used to manipulate victims into staying with their abuser or in this case, convince someone to pity you and therefor stop criticizing you and you should be wary of how people present these things to their audience and why they’re doing so” isn’t the same as saying “most suicides are manipulative” because the key word there is darvo
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that context is important! the post is about abusive tactics that utilize suicide, not suicidal people being abusive! and if you misinterpret it… i’m sorry, i’m happy to clarify what i mean(this is the reading comprehension site, adjust to your environment and ext) but if you were harmed by a misinterpretation that is not the fault of me or the op.
because while it would be nice for suicide to exist in a vacuum, it doesnt. i dont think james is lying about suicide- rather, i think its harmful to say he’s lying- but the way he is presenting this information to us is manipulation 101. he is using his life to try and get people to stop talking about what he did and that’s more than terrible. you should be able to condemn that without associating him with all suicide survivors or attempters.
as a (sorts formerly mostly “its complicated”) suicidal person, can you imagine if i responded to this post a month later and said “sorry for not addressing this, i tried to kill myself and was in the hospital. did you know i have adhd and head trauma and grew up poor?” you’d be upset and feel cheated, as you should! because that is a manipulative tactic used to avoid accountability.
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