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evalevaeva · 6 months

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only us | ryu shioh/ryu sio

HOW THE FUCK DO I SPELL HIS NAME

You waited on the steps outside your apartment as you pressed on the unread message from sio on your phone.

"Are you ready? I'm reaching soon," Sio's message read as you tapped on your keyboard, sending a response back.

"I'm outside my apartment, waiting," You sent back.

A grey bubble appeared as sio typed quickly, "I told you to not stay outside alone. Many people are after me, I don't want you getting pulled into this mess".

You smiled softly at the evident worry in his message as you heard the sound of a car pulling up in front of your apartment. You lifted your head as you saw the familiar car that sio used to get around. The door on the opposite side of where you were seated at opened as you stood up, dusting your bottom as you saw sio, in his signature black suit as he smiled.

"Did you wait long?" Sio asked as he opened the door on the side closer to you, motioning you to get in as you took a seat in the car, giving sio's assistant a smile as sio entered the car, sitting next to you.

"I promised you we'd go out on a date when I returned to Korea, so everything today is up to you. You can choose for us to go skydiving and we'll do it, if you want to pick worms, we'll do it," Sio said as he slipped his hand into yours, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb.

You thought about it as you chose two activities you'd like to do with him.

"Maybe not skydiving. Instead, how about we get canvases and paint? then we can go for dinner or I can cook," You suggested as Sio nodded, turning to his assistant as he said, "Drive us to the nearest art store, then drive us home".

The man simply nodded. You turned to Sio excitedly as you asked, "So what have you been up to so far? I'm sorry I didn't get to see you at the airport when you returned... my boss made me cover for another worker out of the blue. "

Sio hummed as he thought about his adventures since he came back to Korea.

"Well, I joined a heritage club, and I'm doing normal boring office stuff, that's about it. How about you love?" Sio switched the topic quickly as you thought about it.

"I got called in for a job recently, for CEO Hwang Geum Joo! Isn't that exciting?" You told him as your face was plastered with a big smile.

Sio's smile faltered slightly, his eyes switching to the mirror at the front, making eye contact with his assistant as he nodded, "That's good. Are you nervous?".

"Hmm.. well... not really! I think I have a pretty good chance at this job! and there's a lot of benefits, so I'll have more rest days," You admitted as the car turned into the front of the art store.

It had been a while since you had gone to one and Sio... well he had no time for things like that.

"I told you, you don't have to work. Let me pay for everything," Sio said as you shook your head. "I need to be independent too. What if I wanted to buy a house or something," You asked him as he turned to you, bending down slightly as he whispered, "Then I'll get it for you".

He knew his affect on you, and it didn't take long for a red flush to creep up your neck.

"Let's just... go in," You changed the topic as you led sio into the store, your hands still connected as the worker in the store greeted, "Welcome!".

You walked around with sio as you got to the aisle with different canvases. There were big ones, medium sized ones and small ones. You hummed as you look through the different canvases, trying to think of a project you could do together.

"What if we get a big one and we paint on it together? Then we can hang it up in your apartment," Sio suggested as you turned to him.

"Then you won't have one..." You sighed as you tried to think of something. A lightbulb lit in your head as you grab two medium-sized canvases and put them together, side by side.

"If we paint on them like this, it'll be one complete painting, then we each take one!" You said happily as you stared at the two canvases.

Sio was busy staring at you, smiling as he watched your eyes crinkle and your cheekbones rising when you were happy with your decision. Sio rested his chin on the top of you head as he said softly, "You're so smart. My girlfriend is so smart, I'm lucky."

You laughed as you responded, "You're just as smart. Don't boost my ego too high."

Sio took the two canvases from your hands as you walked to the paint section. Different varieties from water colour to acrylic paint were available there. Your indecisiveness began kicking in as you were torn on what colours to get.

"You can't decide on the colours, right?" Sio could practically read your mind. He bent down as he took a look at the small cans, looking at the colours that could compliment each other.

"Let's get this set, it looks like there's a lot of varieties so we won't have to decide," Sio said as he picked up a set of 8 colours.

Sio wasn't even looking at the price tag as he simply grabbed what he thought you'd need to paint while you were kind of worried if his wallet would survive. Who were you kidding? He's a ceo.

You grabbed a set of brushes as you ushered him to the cashier, not wanting him to look at anything else.

The cashier was stumped as she gulped, amazed at sio's height. She grabbed the items, scanning them and placing them into a plastic bag as she pressed a few keys on the cashier.

"That'll be 24,000 won," the cashier stated as sio took out his wallet before taking out his black card to pay. He tapped his card on the payment machine before taking the receipt and the bag.

"Let's go?" He said as he linked your arms, walking out the store as his assistant took the items from him, placing them in the back as the both of you made your way back home.

Sio played some music from the playlist the both of you had put together when he came back and sat down next to you as you taped the two canvases together. You wore a plain black shirt that Sio had lent you to prevent your outfit from getting dirty, while sio had on his normal black t-shirt and black jeans.

"What were you planning on painting, dear?" sio asked as you showed him a photo on your phone.

"The photo I took for you overseas?" Sio asked, unsure, as you nodded. "I was having a hard time at that point because you were so far away, but that picture was so beautiful, it's even my lockscreen," You said as you showed him your screen.

He smiled as he sat next to you, getting a paintbrush as he took some paint, "should we start?".

The both of you painted in silence with the occasional 'is this right?' or 'how do i paint this?'.

The painting was about 90% finished when sio suddenly placed his paintbrush down, placing his elbows on the table as he watched you silently. He felt as if he fell in love once again as he watched you like a little high school boy meeting his first love. He had spent too long away from you and he couldn't deny it.

"Why did you stop painting?" You asked as you looked at him. "I was busy admiring my painting," He said as he reached out to caress your hair.

"I think... it's finished!" You happily said as you removed the tape connecting the two canvases together, seeing the two separate paintings come together. "We did a good job, love. Where should I hang this?" Sio asked as he took his side of the painting, looking around his apartment as you pointed to his room.

"How about there? Then I'll put mine up in my room too, so when we wake up, we'll see our painting every day," you suggested as sio went to the kitchen, opening the bottom drawer to get a hammer and a nail as he knocked one nail into the wall, hanging the painting as the both of you looked at it.

Sio placed an arm over your shoulder as he pulled you close, placing a kiss on your head as he said, "It reminds me of you."

You chuckled as you responded, "It's supposed to remind us of each other".

The both of you never got to eat dinner as you fell asleep on the couch, head on sio's lap as he brushed your hair out of your face, leaning back as he also fell asleep.

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wow finally a fic that doesnt follow original storyline eva ur amazing thank u guys

#ryu sioh #strong girl nam soon #byeon woo seok #ryu shi oh #ryu sio

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diagnosedpsychosis · 1 year

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Protective Hotch

Description: There is a copycat the BAU are after, so Hotch and reader go to prison to talk to the original offender. The prisoner makes a few suggestive comments about the reader that Hotch doesn't like.

Made up, not a CM episode.

Word Count: 2.5k

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You had only ever stepped inside a prison a handful of times before. Literally. You could count every visit on one hand, all whilst being able to recount why you'd gone those 4 times in the first place; now 5.

The first 3 were all for the same thing, and the same person. A serial rapist and murderer you had helped catch years earlier was being interviewed, and not only did you have to supervise, but perform a psych eval on him as well.

The fourth time, you were in and out in record time. Another prisoner you'd put away had died and you were there purely to collect the few belongings in his cell. When the Warden of the Penitentiary had called you to inform you of the inmates passing, you offered to come down from Virginia. The Warden suggested not bothering, and that they'd just throw his belongings in the rubbish bin, which is exactly why you got on the earliest plane you possibly could. This particular inmate had victims he'd not told you about, and you just wanted to make sure with your own eyes he didn't name them in or on anything in his cell.

Today though, on your fifth time inside prison walls, you weren't alone. Your company came in the form of your long time workplace crush, Aaron Hotchner. The pressure of having not only your crush, but the BAU's Unit Chief with you put an immense weight on your shoulders.

Usually you weren't fazed by the cold glares and almost bored expressions. Aaron Hotchner exuded power and had subconsciously mastered the art of intimidation, but that wasn't what made the hairs on the back of your neck stand as he walked beside you, down prison halls.

It was how close beside you he walked. The outside of his arm brushed yours with each step and sway of his arms, and even though you could see, in the corner of your eye, his head facing forward, you could feel his eyes bouncing all over the place.

He stood close not because he wanted to, but because even if every cell door was closed, and every hall had 3 guards tending to it at all times, he didn't feel 100% safe, which meant he wasn't comfortable having you around. Because he knew, that if by some fluke chance the doors buzzed open, you would be every prisoners target.

He knew it. You knew it. The inmates knew it.

"Oh Hey Baby, how about taking a detour and stopping by my cell?" Somebody off to the side hollered, which lead to a loud array of crude comments made your way. You ignored them well, but Hotch seemed to take offence for you. You were almost at the end of the hall, but that didn't stop Hotch from protectively stepping even closer, almost tripping you up with how close he now was.

You both got to the door at the end of the hall, the guard standing beside it nodding at the two of you before letting you in. You walked in first, Hotch shutting the door behind himself as you stepped up to the one sided glass, looking at the man you both were about to question.

"Certainly not the kind of man I'd enjoy being alone with" You stated, Hotch stopped beside you and looking into the visitors room, his arm brushing yours again. Relatively old and greying, Martin Gould was NOT a sight for sore eyes. He wasn't attractive, which is what ended up being a factor of his killings. He'd ask a woman out, she'd reject him, he'd later stalk her, and then rape and mutilate her, in her own home.

"I wouldn't have brought you if I didn't need you. I'm not going to leave your side. I promise" Hotch told you. When you and the team had been going through victimology of the copycats and then compared them to the original killers, you'd all come to the same conclusion. You were his type, to the T.

That's why you were here. Not because your skills were valued and appreciated...but because you were this guys type, and you hated that. You hated feeling like you had to prove yourself more, in a team you'd been in for years. You worked 5 times as hard as everyone else, and yet still felt like you'd gotten nowhere at being seen as an asset to the team. Nobody had ever said it to your face, hell maybe they'd never even thought that way about you, but you were an avid overthinking pessimist.

"Everything is going to be fine" Hotch reassured you again when you didn't reply to his promise. You sighed, grabbing the door that separated you two from Martin Gould.

"Easy for you to say. He raped and mutilated 13 women" Before Hotch got time to process what you'd said and the weight of your words, you opened the door and stepped inside. Martin Gould immediately looked to you as you entered, paying little to no attention to Hotch as he followed behind, and took the seat beside you at the metal table.

"Wow. Just wow" Martin sighed, leaning forward and resting his chin on his open palm, as he stared at you like you were the brightest star in the sky. At least someone appreciated you.

"Martin, I'm SSA y/n y/l/n, and this is SSA Aaron-"

"Has anyone ever told you you've got the eyes of a rare jewel?" You ignored him, and continued on like he'd never interrupted you in the first place.

"-Hotchner. We're with the FBI's Behavioural Analysis Unit-"

"No ring, I don't see how that's possible. You must have men down at your feet 24/7" Martin interrupted you again, shuffling forward in his seat slightly to get closer to you.

"We're here to investigate a string of serial rape and mutilations. Same signature as yours from 7 years ago" Hotch speaks for the first time, and you both notice Martin's jaw twitch at the sound of his voice. Martin takes a breath, ignoring Hotch before smiling back at you.

"Couldn't be me, Sweetheart" Martin tells you softly, lifting his hands and showing you the chains restricting his movement.

"It's a copycat, somebody who admires you. He's probably sent you hundreds of letters over the course of the last 7 years" Martin holds his smirk as he listens to you, enjoying the sound of your voice and the way your lips move with each word.

"They would've started with him confiding in you, expressing his share of troubles involving women rejecting him. Then they would've started becoming a little more aggressive" You state, Hotch straightening his posture, one of his tells that he's about to talk.

"Probably wrote 'What is wrong with me?' over and over again" Hotch adds, Martin's smile faltering as he speaks again.

"And then his most recent letters would've been him talking about women like we're a virus. Something nasty that could be caught and had to be terminated" Martin shook his head ever so lightly, his smile growing with every second you continued talking to him. He's a classic narcissist and thinks that the fact you're talking directly to him and looking him dead on, means you're flirting with him.

"As pretty as you are, you're just like them, aren't you?" He asked slowly making you frown.

"I'm sorry?" Martin leans forward a tiny bit more, the smile on his face long gone and replaced with a look of repulsion.

"A needy whore, asking for it-"

"That's enough" Hotch stated.

"Begging for it. You all lead us on with your smiles and your glances, but then you laugh in our faces and tell us to get lost" So that's why he thought these women deserved it. Because to him, an innocent smile and a half a second passing by glance meant flirting. So when he'd walk up and randomly ask a woman out and she'd say no, he'd see her as a tease, a deceiver, someone who needed to pay.

"You're nothing less, Agent y/n y/l/n. Just a whore with a bitching, lying mouth, and a pussy asking to be-" Hotch sliding back in his chair and abruptly standing up caught you off guard more than Martin Gould's random verbal attack.

"Y/n, out" Hotch demanded, leaving no room to argue against his direct order. But you did anyway.

"No, Hotch, I'm fine-"

"Y/l/n, out or you're suspended for a week" Your face contorts with shock. Never has Hotch ever been so forward and aggressive towards you in your life and you hated how being on the receiving end of his threat made you feel.

"What?" You stood and raised your voice, finding Hotch completely unreasonable in this moment. You were with a prisoner who know who the unsub was, you could easily get it out of him, and now here he was sending you out. He brought you all this way for a couple sentences?

"You're not being forceful enough, Agent. Bend her over and teach her a-" Martin's words became background noise as Hotch took your arm, backing you up to the door of the visiting room, before opening the door and practically shoving you out. He let go before you could rip your arm from his grasp, and shut the door in your face.

Not knowing what the hell just happened and why the hell Hotch reacted like that, you storm over to the one sided glass window, and slam your palm against the button under the window that allows you to hear what is being said inside the visiting room.

"I don't care who you are, or where we are. If you ever talk to my Agent like that, ever again, I'll make you sure I am the last thing you ever see" Hotch threatened, the look on his face sending a wave of goose bumps over every inch of your burning skin. He looked furious.

"Probably not the best place to threaten killing me, Agent Hotchner" Martin stated, trying to hold back his laughter. It quickly died down at the expression adorning Hotch's face. It was almost like he was being challenged.

"I don't need to kill you to take away your sight, Gould. All I need is a speculum and a pair of scissors" Hotch replied and you watched in shock as for the first time since talking with him, Martin looked anything but cocky. Hotch used Martin's current state to his advantage.

"His name" Martin hesitated, glancing at the one way window like he knew you were standing behind it.

"Dane Hansen" The second the name left his mouth, Hotch was turning around and exiting the visiting room, only to be met with an annoyed you, giving him the cold shoulder. His eyes stayed glued to yours as he shut the door behind himself.

"Don't give me that look."

"I was given about 10 seconds from the first time you told me to get out before you threatened to suspend me. If you want me gone just say it, Hotch" You knew you were probably being unreasonable but you were annoyed. What so quickly went from 'get out' turned to 'if you don't you're suspended'. It escalated in seconds and made you wonder how long they'd been sitting on the tip of Hotch's tongue.

"Was I the only one that heard the way he talked about you?" Hotch questioned, clearly annoyed by your assumption. You take a step toward him.

"Simply sending me out of the room doesn't stop me from hearing it, Hotch" You brought attention to your hand by tapping the button again, turning off the speaker. Hotch took a step forward.

"He was getting satisfaction out of you being in the room" My presence. My face. My body. Not my skills, and Hotch knew that. He only brought me to show me off.

"Be honest with me, Hotch. Do you bring me along for these things because you think I'm the worst profiler on the team, so I won't be needed as much back there with everyone?" Hotch frowns at me, turning his head to the right slightly.

"I have never once called you a bad profiler."

"You've never called me a good one either, Aaron. Believe it or not, but I'm one of those people that need to be told they're doing good to keep doing good. I need the validation, otherwise I lose energy and end up giving a half assed effort" You immediately realised the first name slip, but if Hotch noticed it he certainly didn't show it. Instead, he takes another step that makes him dangerously close. You can smell his musky cologne, and if either of you take another step your face would be buried in his chest.

"Y/n, you're not a good profiler, you're an amazing profiler. I didn't bring you along today to show you off as a piece of meat to Gould. You're his type, but so is Prentiss. I wanted you here. I wanted you on the plane, and I wanted you in the car. I like your company, I like your perspective and I like your brain" You suck in a shaky breath, embarrassingly overwhelmed so quickly by Hotch's compliment. Even though it's only a few things, it means so much because he's not the kind of guy to get even slightly sentimental about anything.

"You think I don't notice when the overthinking side of you takes over the reasonable side? You're an asset to our team, y/n. I didn't bring you along for the benefit of the case, I brought you along for myself" Tense silence consumes the room and the air the two of you breathe. For what feels like minutes, you two stand, almost toe to toe staring at each other.

There's an achingly intense energy floating around the two of you, and before looks go any further or before either of you can slice the tension in half, Hotch's phone rings, and you both rear back at the shriek.

Your shoulders sag in disappointment and you swear you see the same with Hotch's, but he's back in boss mode too fast for you to really catch a good look as he listens to somebody on the other end of the line.

"We're just heading out now. Yeah, we got a name; Dane Hansen" Hotch ends the phone call and his eyes meet yours again as he shoves his phone back in his pocket.

"We've got to go" You press your lips into a tight smile and nod. Walking past him, you go to grab the door that'll lead you back into the hall, but before you reach it a large, warm hand wraps around your wrist stopping you.

You turn back to Hotch, and again he's toe to toe with you. His grip on your arm is soft, and the look on his face mixed with his parted lips tells you all you need to know; he wants to say something.

You don't know what he's thinking, but you also don't want to force it out of him. You smile and slowly pull away from his grip before patting his arm.

"It's okay, Aaron. Come on, let's go."

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#aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #aaron hotch fluff #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotch fic #aaron hotchner x female reader #criminal minds fanfiction #hotch #aaron

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lqfiles · 6 months

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SCORE THAT GOAL! — 17. under my umbrella

(wc: 1.209)

“and in last place is… (—)! which means she will clean up the equipment today! everyone else can go home now, enjoy your weekend.” your coach exclaimed. everyone else let out a sigh of relief as you threw your head back. you knew you weren’t the best at this sport, but placing last was plainly humiliating. and now you had to pay the price which came in the form of walking around the unnecessarily long field to pick up barely used equipment.

“maybe we need to have a one on one practice to improve your skills.” jeno had joined your side after grabbing his water bottle. while everyone slowly left, it was only you two left occupying the field. “i’ll pass on that offer for now.” you responded back and started walking to the multiple cones that were placed on the field. “alright then, see you next week.” jeno saluted you before exiting the field as well, leaving you all in silence.

practice went alright, despite not shooting a single goal today, you felt like you were starting to get the hang of the sport. you were relieved that you got along with almost everyone and how they were all willing to help you instead of ridiculing you for being so bad at this. at least this was better than sleeping around in art club, you thought. maybe not 100% but definitely some percentage. you were too busy dazing out that you barely felt the few soft drops of rain that had landed the top of you head. only when the droplets started to grow more rapid did you frown, looking at your left hand that held a disc cone, covered in multiple drops of water. “the sun was just out?” you spoke out loud, gazing at the sky that had somehow turned grey in a mere few minutes.

“great” you whispered, quickening the pace at which you were cleaning. you could’ve sworn the weather app said it wouldn’t rain today. you had no time to think too much about it, the rain had started to become a bit more violent by the time you collected everything. you quickly brought the equipment inside before going back out and grabbing the remaining equipment. “holy shit.” you wondered where this rain had even come from. it was barely bearable and you were sure if you stayed for too long you’d catch a cold. so you quickly changed into your dry clothing, hissing when you had no choice but to place your wet clothing in your bag, leaving all your belongings damp.

though you hadn’t expected the rain, you knew to always keep an emergency umbrella on you in these unexpected cases. you walked outside, umbrella in hand, making your way to the bus stop near your college. you looked up to see how far you were from the stop when you spotted an unexpected face. you halted for a second, your heart pace quickening as you immediately recognised it as jisung’s side profile who was sat on the bench at the stop. he wasn’t wearing his sports attire either, instead sporting a black jacket and matching black jeans. knowing you had to no choice but to go over there too, you started walking again.

jisung hadn’t seen you walk up to him yet. not until he decide to look away from his right and had faced his left to continue admiring the outside view. his eyes had landed on you who stared straight ahead of you, body a few meters away and umbrella next to you. jisung gasped and jumped back, not expecting you there. when had you settled next to him? “oh, sorry for scaring you.” you apologised and quickly created more distance between the two of you, not like there wasn’t already a huge gap. “it’s, uh… it’s okay.” he hesitated to respond back, still surprised to see you here. seriously, how long had you sat there for? neither of you talked for a few minutes and tried hard to look everywhere but each other before you had decided to start a conversation again. “hey jisung?”

“yeah?” he answered back, giving you a quick glance instead of facing your way. “do you know when the next bus is coming?” you asked. jisung shrugged, hoping you’d leave it at that. instead you had turned his way, waiting for him to continue speaking. “i don’t..” he mumbled softly and you hummed, accepting his answer. “normally the buses take longer on rainy days..” you started, looking up at the rain that was still pouring. “my guess is probably 20 minutes.” you kissed your teeth at the thought, eyeing your umbrella. “yeah, sucks.” jisung couldn’t tell if you were trying to hold a conversation or not, but he wished this attempt at whatever would end soon so he wouldn’t have to continue giving awkward responses back.

“i’ll just walk then.” you had stood up and grabbed your umbrella before you turned back around to look at him. “do you wanna come? we can walk to that supermarket and go our separate ways from there.” you offered. you had opened your umbrella and stood under the rain, turning to face jisung and waiting for his answer. you had made a good point about the buses taking longer in rainy weathers, and he did need to get home to finish of his sociology homework. the supermarket was also close to his house. the only issue? having to awkwardly stay with you under an umbrella in close proximity for a good 15 minutes.

“i…” jisung was hesitant and you were about to dismiss your offer and start walking off, but he surprised you when he stood up and walked closer to you and your umbrella. “thank you.” he said as he bent himself down to fit under your umbrella, making sure to push himself all the way to the edge, the umbrella barely covering him from the pouring rain. you held the umbrella his way. “you should hold it since you’re taller.” you advised and jisung complied, quickly grabbing the umbrella and more so holding it over you instead of him.

jisung couldn’t help but feel bad and as if he was intruding your personal space the whole walk. neither of you talked and instead decide to distract yourself with the sight of the view and the sound of the rain. it took a while before the supermarket came into your view and you had turned jisung’s way. “we can separate from here.” you spoke, looking up at jisung who handed you the umbrella and took a step back. he nodded, looking ahead. “yeah, thank you for that.” he responded back and you could feel the corners of your mouth lifting up into a grin.

“it’s nothing, i’ll see you next week. bye jisung.” you waved him goodbye and turned around, starting to walk your own way. you didn’t even let jisung say anything back. you didn’t even hear how he had told you goodbye as well, sending a very small smile to your back view. on his walk back, jisung wasn’t sure how long it hadn’t rained for, but by the time he reached his apartment, he was completely dry without a single sign of dampness.

previous — master list — next

notes ; PLEASE FORGIVE ME FOR HAVING SO MUCH WRITING CHAPTERS i should’ve added that this is probably gonna be half written i’m sawryyyy 💔 anyways i’ll try to update tomorrow too HOPEFULLY…

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painted-bees · 6 months

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part i

Hitting a cafe during rush hour wasn’t Raf’s definition of a fun idea, and he was well practised in the art of saying ‘no’. Yet, for some reason or another, that skill failed to find him when the wide-eyed little Portasound busker insisted on treating him to a coffee.

The streets outside Granville Station were abuzz with traffic of all kinds. The wide sidewalks were, at least, accommodating to the amount of pedestrians that relied on them during the city’s busiest times of day. The same could not be said for the roads as cars rolled slowly forward, bumper to bumper. Still, the ambience was manageable despite all the bustle. Only the hissing, honking noises of transit bus breaks would coax the occasional wince out of him in their random, unpredictable intervals.

The little Portasound busker, ‘Magritte’, kept up beside him in lock step. She hadn’t stopped talking since they began their walk together and, in honesty, he preferred it that way. She was a disheveled little thing, more than a head shorter than he was. Her manner of dress was as sloppy as the thick bundle of curly, dark red hair that flopped loosely atop her head. Her grey sweater was several sizes too large, covering her to the knees. With sleeves that hung far past her hands if she didn’t scrunch them in her palms. Black leggings were tucked into knock-off ugg boots whose soles had eroded so severely on the outer edge, Raf was concerned she’d roll an ankle if he made her walk too briskly. She smiled so vehemently as she spoke, that her lips rarely closed around consonants, making it difficult to understand her at times.

“–so when my dad was like, ‘you can stay here and work, or you can move out and do your music stuff’, I moved out. That was like…oh–almost three years! I was eighteen. I just turned twenty-one today!” She accompanied that last sentence with a joyful little skip that caused Raf to turn his head and watch her.

“Well, happy birthday.” He exhaled a small laugh. “Vancouver’s an expensive place to live, but house hunting here probably already gave you the full story on that.”

“Rent’s insane,” Magritte echoed his small chuckle. “But the weather’s way more agreeable in the winter, which is what I’m after. And the music scene! I heard there were tons of musicians in Van, and look–I’ve already met two in the first few hours of being here!”

“Oh, you’ll meet more.” The way he said it made it sound more cautioning than he intended and he diffused it with a snort. “Guess the music stuff must have paid off after all, if you can afford a place in the city.”

There was silence between them and Magritte chewed the nail of her forefinger for a moment. “It actually hasn’t, I’m not a professional musician by any means. I’m just really good at finding a lot of short term work and stuff. Sometimes it’s music related, but not often enough to call it a living.”

“Mmh.” Raf glanced down at her. The bounce in her step had vanished and he watched her chew on her lip beneath a knitted brow. With a shrug he said, “You sounded good in the station, all things considered. You stopped, you listened, you came in at appropriate moments, you improvised really well. The pieces I played weren’t really…great for busking…and demanded a lot more than what your little keyboard could reasonably provide, but even your rests were composed and natural. You didn’t drop off abruptly any time the melody brought you past the range of your keys, you played into it.” He smirked. “I’m not gonna lie and say we did a great justice to Paganini today or anything, but I was very surprised by what you were able to pull off. I dunno, seemed like the chops of a professional to me.”

That brought the bounce back into her step, though she continued to chew on her lower lip. Raf was content to see her spirits buoyed at least somewhat by his sentiments. He hadn’t embedded a single white lie into his assessment.

They arrived at the cafe of his choosing; a popular spot, very near to the station, named Caffe Artigiano. The outside seating was full up with patrons, but Raf hoped the inside would be a quieter space to sit anyways. Opening the door, he followed Magritte in. It was busier than he would have liked, but he couldn’t have expected differently, considering the hour. Still, one thing he appreciated about the place was that it did not play music. Only the sound of numerous quiet conversations filled the air. Raf gravitated towards a freshly vacated table in a far corner, and Magritte followed him to it. Her gaze hung on the coffee menu that loomed above the counter.

He waited for Magritte to pick her seat before gently offloading his violin case onto the seat across from her. “I’ll go order. Was it a latte you said you wanted?”

“Actually…” She let out an indecisive little sigh. “A mocha, I think. I want…choco. Oh, but–!” She dropped her duffel bag onto the ground before unzipping a side pouch and pulling out the twenty dollar bill that had found its way into her upturned ball cap at the station. She held it out to him. “With this! Please?”

He hesitated before taking the bill from her. “Yes, ma’am.” There was no point in telling her that the twenty had been his before it became hers. The thought was what mattered.

The line at the counter wasn’t long, despite the busy patronage, and Raf soon returned to their table and evicted his violin case out of the seat across from Magritte. Finding an unused chair from a nearby table, he pulled it up next to him and sat his carrying case on it.

He reached over the table to hand Magritte the change, and she stared at it blankly for a moment before saying, “–Oh!” with a bit of a start. She turned her palm up to receive it.

Magritte stuffed the money back into the pocket of her duffel bag. “So, Question.” She sat back up and looked to Raf. “You say you’re not a professional, but you sound like...you know…Properly trained, or whatever.”

“Mmh.” It was a predictable topic, but not one he wanted to stay on. “Or whatever.” He laughed. “Yeah. Parents pushed it onto me a little too hard. I’ve got the training, but playing it is a chore and I kinda hate it.”

Magritte’s eyes grew wide and rueful and she shrank against the backrest of her chair. “Wait, really?” She covered her face with the sleeves of her sweater and threw her head back with a guilty little groan. “I’m sorry, I made you play so many songs!”

Raf patted the air in front of him in a placating gesture, “No, no. You didn’t make me do anything, relax.” He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I did that to myself. I meant it, though, when I said it was fun. It was the first time in a long while where I actually enjoyed myself once things got going.”

Magritte drew in a deep breath, recollecting herself before tentatively asking, “Enough that you’d wanna do it again sometime?”

A beleaguered laugh escaped him, “No.” He had given her much of his time and energy already, and being asked for more put a bitter taste in his mouth. The arrival of his iced americano and her hot mocha couldn’t have been better timed. As soon as it was placed in front of him, he brought the drink to his lips and took a long sip.

Magritte sheepishly turned her gaze down to admire the little white hearts in the foam of her coffee before she started to drink it. She placed the cup back down but kept both hands curled around it. “Did you enjoy it when you were younger?”

“Music?” Raf shrugged. “I don’t remember. It doesn’t really matter.” His gaze turned down towards her duffel bag as he grasped for a better topic. “Is your main instrument the piano?”

“Yeah! It’s what I had access to, growing up.”

“Who taught you?”

“Oh, I, uh…mostly just the internet and stuff. My parents didn’t wanna waste money on it, and my highschool didn’t have like…a music class or anything. Just choir. None of my friends played music.”

“...You learned online?”

“Well, like…on Myspace and LiveJournal. Lots of people share what they know there, and I made some really good online friends who tried to teach me things. We’d share music with each other and do weekly challenges and stuff. It was fun.”

“So, self-taught, more or less.”

“Mostly. Oh, except–!” Magritte ducked down to unzip the main pocket of her duffel bag and dove her hands into it. She rummaged around until she produced a small mp3 player and earbuds attached by a chord. “There was a year when I was living in Montreal, my girlfriend was a jazz pianist. And then we met other, um…friends who taught me more in that one year than I think I ever learned in my entire life. It was her and a whole lotta horns. They all let me use their instruments and taught me proper technique and stuff. I think they liked watching me stubbornly struggle with it. In the end, I was only able to record one song before I had to, um, move on. But I’m still kinda proud of it. I dunno if you wanna–it’s instrumental and kinda eclectic, but I loved making it.”

In response, Raf extended his hand, and Magritte spent a second scrolling through her library of mp3s before stuffing the little music device and earbuds into his open palm.

She performed an excited little wiggle in her seat as Raf wordlessly placed an earbud into his ear. “Just hit play, and it should be the right song.”

Raf wasn’t sure what he had expected to hear. He was, at least, perfectly comfortable with listening and offering his honest input. He didn’t believe in ‘bad’ music. There was skilled and unskilled music, there was music that fit his tastes and music that really didn’t. But none of it was bad. All music created deserved to be created and allowed to exist–if only for the satisfaction of the musician who produced it. He was prepared to tell her that the best music she could make is the music she enjoyed making, even if it didn’t resonate with his personal tastes. He pressed ‘play’.

What hit his ear was an uptempo half-time funk sound carried on a unison horn line; crystal clear, well mixed, high quality audio. Right from the jump, the sound had a quirky, catching character. He fitted the other earbud into his ear as a sustained note leapt into an energetic, off-beat ska groove. His brow furrowed deeply as he tried to discern the instrumentation. The drum fill might have been digital, but the winds sounded far too dynamic to be synthetic. And there were…three of them; the two horns he couldn’t quite specify, and then a baritone sax. The horns took centre stage, confident and playful, supported by a jaunty walking bassline and synthetic, bubbly organ accompaniment. Despite its G minor key signature, the character of the piece was lively and a little goofy, smart but playful; it was simply–fun. A smile lit across his face as the melody modulated G minor into G Phrygian for the bridge section. The effect was a jesting ooh gonna getcha vibe.

He listened to the end of the song before he began to comment on it. “Very cool. Your jazz friends weren’t sleeping on their music theory classes. I assume the organ is you?”

Magritte shifted nervously in her seat as her thumb smoothed over the handle of her coffee cup in small, repeated strokes. “I borrowed instruments for this one and recorded it in…um, my girlfriend’s parents' house. They had a music room where I was allowed to record things.”

“You borrowed–right. But the horns..?”

“Yeah.”

Raf levelled a measuring stare at her.

“I recorded each instrument separately,” she began explaining, “It’s uh, piano, trumpet, trombone, and–oh! The baritone sax was played by Sadie, one of my, um…jazz friends.” She let out a weak laugh. “And then, like…a bass, I also played. And a synthetic drum fill ‘cus…none of us knew how to actually play drums.”

“You played each instrument? Learned them and recorded this song within the span…of a year?”

“No, just the trumpet and trombone! I already knew piano and bass.” Confusion must have been apparent on Raf’s face, and she tried to address it by saying, “It’s all digitally processed, so it sounds a little more–”

“No, I–I know that.” Raf massaged an eyebrow with one hand. “You’re the songwriter too, I assume?” His tone was a little more sharp than he’d have liked it to be. It betrayed his incredulity.

Magritte picked up her cup and eyed him nervously over the rim as she sipped from it.

“No, I don’t know how.” She sounded embarrassed. “I can’t read or write music. I just sketched a bunch of it out digitally first, and then–”

“Fresh compositions? By ear?”

“Yeah. And then I recreated it with the correct instrumentation.” She chewed on the nail of her thumb. “It works, I think.”

“That’s still songwriting. It counts.” Raf sniffed and leaned back in his seat. “I gotta be honest, and don’t take this the wrong way but…it’s a little hard to believe.”

Magritte’s nervousness dissolved into a flattered grin. “Yeah?”

Raf’s brow twitched downward as he tried to read past her demeanour. He had expected a more sheepish response, if not a more defensive one. His doubt wasn’t intended as a compliment, but if she were being wholly honest with him, perhaps it made sense that she’d take it as one.

He drained the last of his americano. “So, you’re not pursuing this professionally, because..?”

“Oh, I am!” Magritte shrugged and turned her eyes to the upper right corner of the room. “It’s just been kinda…difficult.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?” It was a stupid question he already knew the answer to. Music was more easy to find nowadays than ever before, but discoverability still relied on knowing how to promote the work and get the right ears onto it. And, across the entire spectrum of skill, this is what everyone tended to blame for the inability to live off their–

“Money.”

“M–!” The response was so sudden and matter-of-fact in tone, Raf couldn’t stop a bark of surprised laughter from escaping him. He’d have laughed the same way if someone had just dumped a bucket of ice water over his head.

Magritte slapped her palms down on the table and leaned forward with wide eyes to state her defence. “Instruments are expensive, lessons are expensive, computers are expensive, software and sound libraries are expensive! Everything’s so expensive!” She slumped back in her seat, turning her palms over in an exasperated gesture. “If I could afford to go to school and actually like–learn music, and if I could afford to rent instruments and recording equipment and stuff, I could make more songs! I could upload like…whole albums! I’ve got all these doodles with my shitty midi libraries and they might sound actually good if I could just record them properly! But it’s been like…four years since I left home, and the only properly produced track I have to show for it is that one.” She flopped her hand towards the mp3 player on the table. “So, I just make my little digital doodles, and I come up with tunes that suit the sounds I have access to. I like it. I’m happy I get to make any music at all, but it’s a bit niche, you know? And I have all these other ideas in my head that need like…better, less…synthetic sounds. There are libraries that sound pretty convincing, but all the best ones are…expensive. And vocals are hard to record with the stuff I’ve got.”

Raf held up his hands in effort to placate her. “No, I know, you’re right–money. I just–” It wasn’t a struggle he had ever faced, and he couldn’t help but feel like a bit of a heel over the fact that he hadn’t even considered it as an obstacle to the extent that she was describing it.

“On the other hand,” Magritte’s voice took on a capitulating tone, “With the right skill, I should be able to produce bangers with whatever I’ve got, yeah? And,” she took up her coffee cup in one hand, staring into its contents, “if I was better at saving money, I’d be able to afford those really good sample libraries just fine, probably. I just like my sweet foamy lattes too much.” She sighed a little laugh at herself.

Raf let out a low groan of disagreement, but didn’t elaborate on it. “I kinda…want to listen to those ‘digital doodles’ you mentioned.” If nothing else, it’d give him an idea of how much input her jazz friends had over the composition of the song he heard. If the obvious compositional prowess flexed in that fun-loving jazzy ska piece were completely absent in her little sketches, he wouldn’t chalk it up to being just a fluke.

Drawing in a deep breath and holding it, Margritte reached for the mp3 player and scrolled through its contents before handing it to Raf. “You can just skip through these as you like. It’s all a little–” She wrinkled her nose and let out a grunt in place of any real adjective.

With an affirming little snort of his own, Raf took the little music player and put the earbuds into his ears once more. He pressed play, and immediately understood what she meant. The synthetic instrumentation was wholly lacking in dynamics, and the musical ideas present in the melodies begged for more colourful phrasing. As he skipped from one song to the next, he grew more frustrated. The compositional writing was good. Consistent with the first song he had heard, Magritte seemed to really love playing with eccentric progressions and modulations that were unconventional for the mood or emotion that the song was attempting to capture. And ever present in each little composition was this boundless sense of joy. But god, the instrumentation (or rather, the lack thereof) really, really held it all back.

As he listened, his lips pressed into a thin line. Finally, with a low groan that betrayed his thoughts, he took out the earbuds and handed the music player back. “Yeah, that sucks.” The end of that statement stuck in his throat as he sputtered to clarify, “Not the music–”

“Yes, the music.” Magritte’s giggle was one of genuine affirmation as she tucked the mp3 player away into her duffle bag.

“No,” Raf argued, “your toolset. There’s a lot of skill here, but the cheap synthy sounds aren’t doing it any favours. You went absolutely ham on those horns in the first song, and I don’t hear any of that in these sketches because it’s just not possible. There’s a lot of energy that is just…missing. Even watching you play at the station, yeah your keyboard suffers the same limitations, but at least in person I noticed you’ll even make use of like…the percussion of your fingers hitting the keys, which, you know…is dynamic.”

As he spoke, Magritte retained a smile and provided small nods before asking, “You like it, then?”

Raf leaned back, folded his arms and chewed on the question for a second before replying, “Yeah. I do. A lot.”

A lot.

There was a corner of his mind that begged him to get back home to his apartment and try out the melodies with an instrument that could do it proper justice. Jesus Christ, this actually makes me want to play the violin.

The realisation made his lip curl with a feeling in his gut that he couldn’t quite identify. “You know…”

Magritte, taking the last remaining sips of her latte, turned her eyes up at him with a little “Hm?”

There was a pause while Raf wrestled with himself. “I, uh…work at a recording studio not too far from here. Just down on uh…Powell Street.” He felt his jaw clench. There was no good reason for him to tell strangers about where he worked. There was no possible good outcome in doing so. Mentioning it felt too much like an open invitation for her to pop in at any time, for no good reason at all except to make things uncomfortable. “It’s called Hi-Note, and it’s got like…a pretty standard assortment of instruments to rent out and such. It closes early.” He wasn’t looking at her. Brow furrowed, he stared at the ice melting in his otherwise empty glass. “Swing by tomorrow night, after eight, and maybe we can jam for like..half an hour or something before I head home.”

He didn’t glance up to see her expression, but her voice was slow to rise to his ears. “..Wait, really?”

No. “Yeah.” What the fuck? “Really.” Unable to unfurrow his brow, he managed to at least turn his gaze towards her. Her eyes were so large on that petite face of hers, and her lips parted slightly, muscles tense with the anticipation of some kind of catch or condition. Or, perhaps she had picked up on his apprehension and was waiting for him to revoke the offer. For some reason, the idea of doing so suddenly felt…unconscionable to him.

In a small voice, she said, “I’d really like that.” The restraint of her response was belied by the way she wiggled in her chair. Beneath the table, her leg wagged restlessly like an excited dog’s tail. “Eight o’clock?”

“Mmhm.” Raf felt some of the tension in his browline relax as a slight smile passed his lips. “Let's see if we can revisit some of those tunes you have. Just–for fun. No recording, nothing serious.”

It seemed that Magritte could never keep a smile off her face for long, and once again, that broad, delighted grin of hers painted her features. “Yeah, yeah! I’d like that a lot!”

“Alright then.” Raf knocked his knuckles twice on the table like a gavel, before standing up.

As he reached to retrieve his violin case off the chair next to him, Magritte pressed her fingertips to her temples. “Hi-Note, eight o’clock.”

Raf favoured her with a lopsided smirk. “Don’t forget.”

“I won’t. I’ll see you there!”

He provided her with an affirmative little wave, but by the time she had realised he was taking his leave, Raf was already halfway to the door.

He heard her call out to him, “Thank you for the–um–everything!”

Looking back to her, Raf returned the sentiment with an appreciative nod before pushing through the cafe doors; exiting onto the busy sidewalk outside.

He wanted to get home before sundown…

To play his violin.

#Hi-Note #I'm not a very good writer I don't paint very well with words haha but this is at least one way to get the scenes outta my head!#rafael #magritte

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alatushours · 5 months

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☆ WINTER WONDERLAND, genshin men — when the snow keeps you indoors, what are you doing to pass the time?

contents. features zhongli, kazuha and albedo. gender neutral reader. holidays, fluff ♡ word count. 457

notes. i’m posting this just two days after my last one i’m proud of myself :muscle emoji: here’s a sweet little winter drabble for you all, and i am planning a longer piece to be (hopefully) posted on christmas day <3 also zhongli debut ! ! !

zhongli brews hot drinks for you to share. earl grey tea for him, and a mug of hot chocolate with extra whipped cream for you, to enjoy by the warm fireplace.

“there’s nothing like a cup of warmth to brighten up your day,” he says, setting a wooden tray down on the table. “drink it while it’s still warm, love.”

you smile and nestle up to him with your hot chocolate in hand, watching the flames roar in the hearth as you sipped from the mug.

“you have something on your face,” zhongli remarks. you turn to face him, confused. he swipes a finger across the corner of your lips, revealing the dollop of whipped cream on his index finger. “there, all gone.”

you laugh, giving him a kiss. “who needs hot chocolate when i have you to keep me nice and cozy?”

albedo takes the snow day as an opportunity to spend time with his lover. he accompanies you the whole day, doing whatever you want to do.

you wanted to make gingerbread cookies for your christmas party, so he helped you shape the batter into trees and presents and candy canes. while they were in the oven, you sat by the window, staring at the snowfall outside.

“look, ‘bedo!” you exclaimed, pointing at the snow-covered rooftops. “it’s like i’m looking inside a giant snow globe!”

“oh, so it does.” albedo smiles at your childish shenanigans. “if the snowstorm lets up, perhaps i’ll bring klee out to play later.”

a long afternoon of decorating cookies and wrapping presents later, albedo finds you asleep on the couch, a half-finished knit sweater in your lap. your lover chuckles to himself before going off to find his art supplies. he hasn’t drawn in a while, perhaps now is the perfect moment for a new masterpiece.

kazuha spends the day in bed with you; telling stories of winters back in inazuma while you play with his hair.

he shared how, back in his youth, there would be sparrows in the trees and snow foxes that frolicked in the snow-covered fields.

“were there big festivals with sparkly lights?” you ask him.

he nods. "there were festivals, but none as big as the ones here," he replies. "like the one being held today."

you sit upright, remembering what day it was. “wait! the winter wonderland extravaganza? that’s today?!” you sighed. “oh archons, i completely forgot! we wouldn’t have been able go anyway, with this freak snowstorm going on outside.”

kazuha laughs. “well, i suppose that means we can take another nap, hm?”

well, you couldn’t say no to spending the whole day in bed doing nothing. you smile and climb back under the covers, feeling your boyfriend’s warmth. “i suppose it does.”

end notes. fastest i’ve ever wrote something omg 0.0 i hope it didn’t seem too rushed, but i wanted to get something short and sweet out before a longer piece that i hope to be posted on christmas day!

#໒꒰՞ ܸ. .ܸ՞꒱ა mari writes !#zhongli fluff #zhongli x reader #albedo fluff #albedo x reader #kazuha fluff #kazuha x reader

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buckgasms · 11 months

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Doctors Barnes and Rogers (Part 4)

So I had a meltdown but I'm back and feeling hotter than ever so let's just dive right in shall we? It's not smutty 😭 but don't worry, it will be 😍

A few months had passed and you were now about three months along. Although you were excited, it had been quite challenging. You felt sick almost all day, exhausted and fed up. Trying to keep on top of tidying up your flat and take care of yourself was a huge challenge and all you could do was nap.

You trudged to the fridge and as you went to get a cold drink you smiled at the little sonogram you'd stuck to the fridge door. The little grey squiggles that showed your baby in their first few months. Sadly a wave of nausea interrupted your happy moment and you groaned, heading back to the living room.

You were woken from a doze by a knock on the door, making you jump before shuffling over. You were surprised to see both doctors standing there, looking at you with a mixture of concern and relief that you were in fact alive.

"What's going on?" Was all you could say in your surprise. Bucky chuckled as he rolled his eyes and nudged the door until you came to your senses and let them in.

"We could ask you the same question honey?" Steve said sternly as you sat down looking sheepish. "You missed an appointment today, your next scan, and you haven't been keeping us up to date with how you are?"

You felt tears well up in your eyes and you sank back in your chair. "I'm sorry" you sighed as you pinched your nose. "I just feel so exhausted, it slipped my mind..."

Bucky reached over and laid a hand on your thigh, stroking gently as you quietly cried. "It's ok sweetheart, it's ok..." You sniffled and nodded, "I'm sorry, I should have called you, I just..." You descended into more tears as they both cooed and rubbed your shoulders and legs. Steve pressed a kiss to your hair and took your hand in his.

"We have a suggestion on how to sort this out, would that be helpful?" You leant into his body and nodded as Bucky chuckled and continued rubbing your legs, which made you sigh in relief.

"You might not remember because you are a silly thing, but in the paperwork, it was agreed that you could live in provided accommodation, alongside a substantial amount of money to help you in the meantime. Do you remember that?"

You pouted and nodded, as Steve smiled, giving you another kiss. "Very good honey, well that's where we're gonna take you today. If you don't like it, we can figure something else out but let's just see how it goes for now."

⚕️

You weren't sure what you imagined but when you arrived on a leafy street in Brooklyn, a pretty brownstone greeting you, you heart leapt in excitement. It also made you cringe to think about your messy apartment with peeling paint and smashed windows littering the facade.

You all but ran up the steps to see where you were and your shock doubled when you saw the name on the letterbox. Doctor Barnes M.D and Doctor Rogers M.D. It was their house? Well this was a surprise.

Finally they caught up with you and saw you staring but didn't say anything, just smiled before unlocking the door and guiding you in.

It was so beautiful, everything tastefully decorated, like something out of a magazine. Neutral tones, soft fabrics, fluffy rugs, tasteful art, big windows letting in the soft light from outside and that was just the living room! You wanted to run around and explore and sensing your anticipation, Bucky took your hand and guided you around the house.

They had a home office with two desks, and walls covered in books and a gorgeous, well fitted kitchen that had your favourite coffee maker, a huge fridge and every other gadget under the sun. You couldn't help but do a little happy dance when you saw it, and wrapped your arm around Bucky's as he pointed a few other things out to you before guiding you upstairs.

There were three bedrooms although working out which one belong to which Doctor was a real struggle. Both had lots of books, artwork (which had been made by Steve no less) and wardrobes stocked with fancy clothes and workout gear. It made your head spin.

At least until you saw the bathroom. It was insane. A beautiful walk in shower and a huge bath which you couldn't help but squeal at. You tried to remain casual but it was incredibly difficult when faced with such luxury and comfort.

Finally he showed you the last bedroom. "This is yours sweetie" he said and guided you in. It was fairly plain compared to the other rooms, but he explained it was so you could decorate as you wished. "This bed is huge" you giggled as you sat down on it, glad for a break as you bounced on it a little. He took your hands in his and kissed your fingers. "Well if you want, you don't have to be in it alone..." You flushed and felt your stomach flip, "Share it with you? What about Steve?"

"Glad to know I'm still remembered" Steve said as he came into the room, a smile on his face as you pouted again. "I don't understand? Are you two together?"

Steve sat down next to you, wrapping an arm around your waist and rubbing your tummy a little. "Let's just say, Bucky and I feel the same way about a lot of things, and that includes you honey..."

You giggled at that but still felt unsure. "One last room to show you, and then you can have a think..." Bucky pulled you back up and lead you to a small room across the way from yours.

You gasped when you went in, a beautiful sunshine yellow room greeted you, with a crib and nursing chair already set up. Like your potential new room, it was still a little empty, but you understood the implication, that you could decorate it to your heart's desire.

They'd even left out some teeny little baby gloves and booties which you couldn't help but pick them up and smile, turning to them and laughing accusingly and Steve's sheepish face. "I couldn't resist I guess..." But you couldn't stop smiling at it. For the first time in weeks you finally felt really excited again.

⚕️

You sat in their little garden, sipping on a cold drink pondering what you were going to do. Obviously the house was perfect and you would be very well looked after. Even in this short visit you had been waited on hand and foot and even been given a little check over by Bucky.

Your pondering was cut short by Steve and Bucky joining you and taking a seat next to you.

"We do have some rules whatever you decide to do sweetheart" Bucky said seriously, "if you need something you have to tell us, if you feel poorly you need to let us know, and no more missing appointments."

"Ok, I promise... I... I think I'd like to live here if that's ok with you?"

They both laughed and took your hand in each of theirs, "that'll be great sweetheart..."

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x reader x steve #steve rogers x reader #steve x reader x bucky #doctor steve rogers #doctor bucky #doctor bucky barnes #doctor rogers

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paperdoll201 · 5 months

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Jordan Teaches Marie How to Drive (stick shift)

2000 ish words

Jordan leaned proudly beside their sleek black Jeep Wrangler parked outside the dorm smoking a cigarette, patiently awaiting Marie's arrival. It was a sunny day today. Perfect weather conditions to drive. Today was the day when Jordan, an expert at handling their manual transmission car, would teach the art of driving a stick shift to Marie.

They were wearing a simple grey tee, black basketball shorts, their iconic chain and pearls resting on their neck, and shades that adorned their eyes. I hope she doesn’t get us killed, they thought taking a drag from their cigarette.

Jordan wanted Marie to start off with an automatic car, it’d be easier for her to learn and easier for their mind to handle. But Marie insisted that Jordan teach her how to drive a stick shift, saying she wanted to drive "cool like Jordan does” or whatever she meant.

Jesus, maybe this wasn’t a good fucking idea. I mean, I can protect myself if she crashes but what about her? Fuck, Imma tell her that she can’t learn manual-

“Jordan! Hey!” Marie jogged towards them. She wore her hair in a bun, a simple strappy tank top, shorts (that were oh so short Jordan smirked to themselves), and a large smile on her face. “Are you ready?” She asked reaching to bring them in a hug.

Jordan tossed their cigarette to the ground, before stepping on it, swishing their feet over it to make sure it was out.

“Speaking of, are you sure you wanna drive a manual?” They asked. “I mean, come on, Mar, automatic is easy. No gear shifts, no stalling—smooth driving the entire time,” they suggested with a hopeful glint in their eye.

Marie placed a hand on her hip, shooting back, "I'll take my chances with the 'fun' version of driving, thank you very much." Her warm-hearted determination was unyielding, and she was adamant about diving into the challenge head-on.

Fun she says Jordan thought to themselves. “Oh my god, she’s gonna get us killed. Fuck my life,” they mumbled to themselves turning towards the car.

“What was that?” Marie asked innocently at them.

“Nothing babe. Get in,” they gestured opening the passenger door for Marie.

Marie raised a brow at this. “I thought I was the one learning how to drive today?” She stood standing by the passenger door.

“Yeah, but there are too many people around campus for me to feel comfortable with you driving us from here. We’re going somewhere you can’t accidentally use someone as a speed bump,” they quipped giving her a pointed glance. “Now get in,” they smacked her butt pushing her into the driver's seat. Marie could only grumble a simple fine knowing that Jordan was right.

Jordan skillfully drove them to the empty trucking lot, an area without of any traffic, bystanders, or witnesses. Perfect for someone who’s just learning how to drive. Once they reached the empty area, Jordan parked the car and turned to Marie.

"Alright sweetheart, your time to shine," Jordan announced, grinning mischievously as they hopped out of the driver's seat, leaving the position vacant for Marie.

They opened the back seat pulling out cones and a “Please Be Patient: Student Driver Sticker.” They took the stick slapping it on the back of the Jeep and putting the stacked cones off to the side, planning to use them later.

“Do you really have to put the sticker on the back of the car?” Marie groaned embarrassed noticing the sticker.

Jordan shrugged. “Well, that’s what you are. We wouldn’t want to lie to the world now would we?” They smiled at her. “Now we’re gonna start with the basics. We’re not moving until you know where every button is, and how to use your windshield wipers versus your turn signals. The difference between your clutch, brake, and gas pedals. How to use your shifter-“

“That’s a fucking lot,” Marie groaned in disappointment. She wanted to get on the road immediately.

“You’re the one who wanted to learn manual so here we are, learning manual,” Jordan responded simply. Now get in the driver's seat and stop moping.” They finished with a swift smack to Marie's ass.

“You gotta stop doing that,” Marie laughed hopping into the driver's seat.

“Sorry, not sorry. It’s a reflex. Whenever I see your ass I just gotta smack it, you know?” They gleamed at her following her to the driver's side. “Alright,” Jordan leaned into the driver's seat where Marie sat patiently.

Jordan gestured toward the center console of the Jeep, pointing to the shifter. “See this stick right here?" They explained, "This is the shifter. You'll use this to select the gear you want. Reverse, Neutral, 1st gear, 2nd gear, and so on. It's like a manual control for the transmission."

Marie leaned in, nodding attentively. "Got it, the shifter."

"And here," Jordan continued, shifting their focus to the pedals. "This pedal on the far left is the clutch pedal." They pointed to the left side near the floorboard. "You'll use your left foot for the clutch. It connects the engine to the transmission. Up position, connected. Down position, not connected."

Marie looked down at the pedals, nodding to indicate her understanding. "Clutch got it."

“I know that last part made no sense to you Marie. It’s alright, It will make more sense once we get you driving,” Marie laughed a little, embarrassed that Jordan was able to read her so well.

"And lastly," Jordan added, pointing out the parking brake lever situated between the seats. "This is the parking brake, sometimes called the handbrake. It's not the same as the regular brake pedal. This keeps the vehicle from rolling when parked, especially if it's in neutral. It's essential when the engine is off."

Marie looked at the parking brake and gave a nod. "Parking brake. Check."

"Alright, let's do a quick rundown again," Jordan said, checking in on Marie's understanding. "Shifter for the gears, clutch for engine-to-transmission connection, and parking brake for keeping the car still when parked. Clutch, brake, accelerator. Left to right, C-B-A. Ready to give it a try?" They looked at Marie.

Marie nodded confidently. "I think I'm ready!”

***********************

"Now, about the clutch," Jordan continued, pointing to the pedal on the left this time sitting in the passenger seat. "It's different from the gas and brake. It disengages the engine from the wheels, allowing you to switch gears smoothly. Before you change gears, press the clutch down." They explained, "And it's a good time to get the feel of slowly releasing it."

Marie glanced at the pedal and nodded attentively. "Clutch to switch gears. Got it."

"And when the gearstick is in the middle position, and/or the clutch pedal is fully depressed, the vehicle is considered out of gear," Jordan elaborated. "Remember, don't try shifting gears without pressing the clutch. It won't work."

"Alright, Marie," Jordan said, hands resting on the gearstick, ready to assist. "Press the clutch all the way down with your left foot and move the gearstick into first gear."

Marie followed Jordan's instructions, feeling the unfamiliar resistance of the gearstick as she maneuvered it into position. She cautiously released the clutch while gently pressing the accelerator.

The engine grumbled and the car jerked slightly before lurching forward.

"Good girl,” Jordan encouraged. "Now, slowly lift your foot from the clutch pedal."

Marie's focus was intense as she carefully released the clutch, feeling the tension in the pedal and the gradual engagement of the gears. The car began to move more smoothly, and Marie let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding.

"You're doing great," Jordan said, observing her, ready to jump in if they have to. "Now, try to pick up a bit of speed. As you accelerate, you’re probably gonna need to shift to a higher gear."

Feeling a bit more confident, Marie gradually increased the pressure on the accelerator, feeling the car pick up speed. Jordan guided her through shifting gears, explaining the process as she gained momentum.

As Marie gained a better understanding of the coordination between the clutch and accelerator, she became more comfortable. She practiced moving forward and backward in the empty lot, getting a feel for the gears and the car's responses.

With each attempt, Marie's movements grew smoother, and she managed to drive the car in a straight line without stalling.

“Alright babe, that was really good. Park the car and let me set up the cones,” Jordan looked over at Marie, giving her an affectionate squeeze to her thighs.

They got out and quickly set up some cones, creating a makeshift course for Marie to practice steering around.

"All right, Mar. This is your Formula 1 racetrack Jordan announced, strolling back to Marie. "The idea is to drive smoothly through these cones, maintaining a steady pace and keeping an eye on the steering. It's all about precision and control."

Marie nodded, feeling a mixture of excitement and nervousness.

"Now remember," Jordan reminded her, "start at a slow speed. Keep your eyes forward and steer gradually, letting the wheel naturally move through the course. Feel the car's response and adjust your movements whenever you need to.”

Marie took a deep breath, letting the instructions sink in as she shifted the car into gear. Slowly pressing the accelerator, she inched forward, feeling the car respond to her touch. She focused intently, guiding the vehicle through the path set by the cones.

Jordan stood on the sidelines, offering gentle guidance and encouragement. "You're doing great, Marie! Just a little to the left. Now, keep that speed steady. Nice, gentle turns." Jordan beamed in pride. That’s my girl. They started clapping in encouragement, more excited than Marie right now.

After going around the course a couple more times, Marie pulled to a stop next to Jordan and parked.

“I did it!” Marie exclaimed hopping out of the car into Jordan's awaiting arms. She couldn’t help but pepper kisses all over Jordan’s face. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Marie grinned widely, pulling them in for a long kiss.

“That was all you baby! Don’t thank me,” they smiled. “And now, you’re driving back home,” They winked getting into the passenger side of the car once again.

“Wait what?” Marie looked at them nervously. “I’m not sure if that’s a good idea,” She said scratching the back of her neck.

“But you were so eager before,” Jordan raised an eyebrow. “Don’t worry, we’ll take the backroad, you’ll be fine,” They leaned across to kiss her. “It’s finally my time to be the sexy passenger princess,” they teased, throwing an arm behind the driver's seat.

“Be serious,” Marie laughed at that regardless.

With the help of Jordan's guidance and encouraging words, Marie navigated the car along the quiet backroads, taking her time even if she was driving ten under the speed limit. As she cautiously steered through each turn and straightaway, her confidence grew steadily. Jordan sat beside her, offering occasional tips on adjusting the speed and handling the curves. Only once did Jordan have to take over the wheel to avoid them falling in a ditch! Marie sees that as amazing progress.

The surroundings gradually became familiar as they neared the campus. Marie's concentration remained strong, her focus entirely on the road ahead. After a 30-minute drive (she seriously did drive ten under the speed limit, the entire time), they finally made it back to campus, parking Jordan’s car in the garage.

“Woohoo!” Marie jumped out of the car squealing. She did a little dance and Jordan stepped out of the car, watching her appreciately.

“So,” Jordan started moving towards Marie, wrapping their hands around her waist. “What do I get for being such an amazing teacher hm?” They teased her giving her kisses alongside her jaw. They slowly backed her up until she was pressed against the side of the car.

“I can think of a few things,” Marie pretended to ponder, before pulling them in for a long kiss. Their lips moved in sync with one another, both of them moaning in content with the kiss. They grabbed at each other, marking each other with their lips. A tingling sensation spread through her body as they kissed her back passionately.

Their fingers were buried in her hair, holding her head still while they moaned softly into her mouth. They broke off the kiss and they both looked into each other. "How about I just show you my appreciation, hm?" Marie bit her lip mischievously. She grabbed their hand, dragging them from the car.

"Ow! Jordan!" Marie felt a stinging on her ass. That one actually hurt a little this time.

"Sorry," they replied sounding less than sorry. "It's like I told you; a reflex," Jordan smiled shrugging.

#gen v #limoreau #marie moreau #jordan li #jordan li x marie moreau #gen v jordan #marie moreau x jordan li #mariejordan #gen v marie #jordanmarie #she's learning to drive!!!!#cute #limoreau fic

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ice-devourer · 8 months

Text

YOU FOOL

pairings: akutagawa/atsushi (sskk)

synopsis: morning after chapter 110 where aya saves everyone without suicide and they all survive thank you i know it's canon.

note — this came to me while i was vaping for breakfast at seven in the morning, i’m gonna be using some lines from an incoming (devil knows when) sskk art and my poetry entry in uni bc it has been about sskk from the start anyway so. cr. for divider here. might cross-post on ao3 idk yet.

cw: implied smut ig but like implied implied idk man no in and out is actually described???

there’s warmth trapped inside atsushi. he can feel its movement like a burly beast. that's how he deranges the order of reality. what’s beneath above and beside ruined through one breath. his breath. it's like a new sound is invented. and akutagawa listens in a trance and what's left outside after contact is insensible, not a single thing as urgent as holding him, ingesting every single particle—every matter that brings itself to his fingers. collecting themselves under it like dusts of light.

atsushi, and his parted mouth. atsushi, and his sweat-streaked neck. atsushi, and his heated skin. Atsushi, and his eyes that tell him that he doesn’t need him to be good—to live good, despite growing a kindness in his sickly heart that no one else could create.

Atsushi who’s a promise, in himself, that dreams will always fall short of these moments.

And these moments, that soften and soften as their movements slow, nose against cheek, palm against chest. lips easing the ache in the other.

they hold each other, close their eyes holding each other. they never said ‘i love you.’ but really, after everything else—did they really need to?

then sunrise comes.

you. you. you.

this falls in and out, in waves, in melodies, in a small tremor between his shut lips.

while lines, forms, silhouettes gather in the small slit of his fluttering eyes—the violet-grey grains discoloring the walls, the misshapen sheets. then more nuanced senses awaken, there is atsushi’s chest, rising with warm breaths that crack open more of the indulgent fatigue hugging his body.

akutagawa’s thinking looses its restraints, he could say just about anything, right now. he could mean just about anything he says right now. and that's not what he’d always like, if he’s honest, but he's unlearning the resistance to tender things. tender, in the way that soothes. tender, in the way that bruises.

“jinko,” he breathes into the nape of atsushi's neck. one, two times, “jinko, it's morning.”

atsushi stirs, feeling akutagawa’s chin lodging between hus collarbone, “mm, what, already? wait, what day is it today?”

akutagawa sighs.

“even my boss cancelled all operations for at least a week, so you can shut up about work for longer than that.”

“well, thank you for kindly sharing with the class akutagawa—”

“you just saved the world, you just saved me. rest, jinko,” he interrupts, pulling back to tug on atsushi's shoulder as he complies, rolling over to face akutagawa, “and one more snarky remark and i’ll shut you up myself”

heat rushes to atsushi's face, and akutagawa realizes what it could mean. the weretiger is more expressive than he thinks he is.

“with rashomon, i mean, i’ll shut you up with rashomon.”

atsushi glances away with a small laugh.

“honestly, rashomon did a lot worse to me, so that's pretty mild but okay—” he glances back at akutagawa, saying in a teasing tone, “— i did just save you.”

he grumbles, “don’t push it, jinko.”

“but i love it when y—i mean, it's kinda funny, you know?”

“that i’m annoyed?”

“you don't look that annoyed, akutagawa, even when you say you are,” that's not actually funny exactly, it's more of. . .endearing. but atsushi can't say that just yet.

“just be quiet,” akutagawa averts his eyes, before looking into atsushi’s, before wrapping an arm around the weretiger’s waist as his cheek plants a soft kiss on and stays on atsushi’s bare chest, “let’s rest together, i’m tired.”

then he's there, dismantled on him, the weretiger’s heartbeat filling his ears in rivulets. he hasn't forgotten how cruel this borrow life can get, but he understands strength better.

because he knows, no matter how hard this gets, when he looks up at the corner of the room, when he drinks in atsushi’s sunlight-illuminated frame and he calls his name—he can endure it all. this is how he can endure it all.

“i resent you,” he mumbles, deep in thought and tucking himself into atsushi.

atsushi’s irises drift up to the upper corner of his lids, brows raised and mouth open almost in a small smile—akutagawa always knew how to start a sentence right. right and gently. “i see, is that the end of your sentence or. . .?”

it hits the mafia’s rabid dog a little too late, “god, you’ll never hear me say that again.”

“before, i mean. but i hoped too, that if i would die, it would be by your hand. by your side. now, i stupidly hope to live the same way.”

i don’t know what you’ve done to me, akutagawa wants to say but he doesn't.

i don’t know if i deserve to give you that reason, atsushi wants to say but he doesn't.

“still calling me that, you fool?”

“yeah, yeah,” atsushi inhales his laughter in, finger ghosting his under-eye, “didn't really even try to hope that i will, you damn lawnmower.”

“if i’m the fool, let me do the foolish things—don’t ever leave me again.”

#sskk #shin soukoku #bsd atsushi #bsd akutagawa #akutagawa x atsushi #bsd #bungou stray dogs #official receipt #i hope this doesnt suck ass 👍

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abiiors · 1 year

Text

Weekends in Manchester - Part 4 // M.H.

Gathering of Strangers

Matty Healy x fem! reader

Series Summary - Moving to Manchester all on your own was a bit of a daunting task so you started walking alone in the city to get a feel of it. Little did you know, the cute cafe that’s quickly becoming your regular is also the usual haunt of a certain curly-haired musician.

Word Count - 2.2k

Warnings - getting drunk, alcohol, swear words, very slightly sexual

A/N - Thank you so much to @yourtouchismidas for helping me with all the locations in this part :)

(Disclaimer: I have never lived in Manchester and all my knowledge comes from Google. Most of the places mentioned are made up. If there’s anything I have gotten wrong, please let me know :) )

I would really appreciate engagement and feedback and my requests are open!

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Here’s part 3 if you missed it!

You felt a small tap on your right shoulder just as you were about to climb the steps of The Blooming Bean.

But as you turned around to look, you saw no one there.

‘Boo!’ came a voice from your left side instead.

‘Real mature, Matty,’ you laughed, rolling your eyes at him. You almost hadn’t recognised him in his outfit for the day; an oversized jumper, a hat that mostly covered his face and a pair of vintage Ray-Bans that fit him just right. ‘What’s with the outfit? Are we following someone today?’ you joked.

‘We are going to a different part of the city today, and I uh…I don’t want to be recognised.’ He had mumbled the last bit but you had still managed to catch it.

‘So!’ he clapped his hands like an enthusiastic tour guide, ‘please don’t mind that I took the liberty of getting our coffees to go today.’

You hadn’t even noticed the two to-go cups sitting on the little bench behind him. You raised your eyebrow, about to ask him what he got for you but he spoke before you could.

‘Don’t worry, I got you a latte,’ he said, as he handed you your cup.

‘You know my coffee order, interesting…’

‘Well, I may or may not have overheard you talking to Leah…’ he scratched his neck with his free hand and you found the gesture extremely adorable. Scratch that, everything about bashful Matty was extremely adorable.

‘And why can’t we have our coffee inside?’

‘Well, I thought I would drive you,’ he beamed and you raised an eyebrow at him. But there wasn’t much room to argue.

Before you knew it, you were strapping the seatbelt of a non-descript grey car. The thought made you giggle a little. From the outside, it looked like the most un-Matty-like car possible but the inside had his touch all over it. You could smell his lingering perfume, and stickers on the dashboard of various bands and artists (some you had heard of, some were new).

The floor was clean and there wasn’t any trash you could spot, yet the car was exactly what you would associate with him; comfortable and lived-in.

***

The Northern Quarter of Manchester was an area you had only heard of until now. Every single article that you had furiously googled mentioned that it was one of the top places to visit in the city. And yet, through some twist of fate, you just hadn’t gotten the chance—until now that is.

The two of you had decided to park the car in a parking lot and then walk around the area. Quiet frankly, you were impressed at Matty’s ability to talk about anything and everything he found interesting. And it wasn’t pretentious and elitist rambling; it fascinated you how he had an opinion about everything.

You felt like a giddy child. Everywhere you looked, you could see some form of art—from cool clothing to street art to funky cafes and record shops, everything here felt so distinctly like you. Before you knew it, you had already dragged him to multiple music shops to look at all the vinyl records you wanted to buy.

‘Oh My God, are you the Matty Healy from The 1975?’ you put on your best fangirl voice once you had paid for a bunch of CDs and records. And one of them had to be their latest album.

‘What are you up to now?’ he laughed as you exited the store.

‘What, I just want you to sign my record.’

‘Look at you, abusing your privilege,’ he teased.

You bickered back and forth until he finally gave in and stepped forward. You narrowed your eyes slightly because you could sense he was up to something. What you didn’t see coming however that within a moment he had bent down, his face mere inches away from yours. If you leaned even slightly, you would be��

You felt it before you saw it. He had only bent down so deliberately to grab the record from the bag in your hands. And like an idiot, you had fallen for his bait. You rolled your eyes, fighting the rising blush and resisted the urge to smack him over his head.

The whole afternoon had passed in a blur. After grabbing a quick lunch from one of the many cafes, you ventured out once again. During lunch, he had brought up The Whitworth art gallery in conversation and you were determined to spend the rest of the afternoon there. And Matty had no objections, he seemed equally as excited to take you there.

You had about four hours to spend in there and you made sure that you made the most of each one of them. From bickering over the interpretation of art to indulging in frivolous gossip about others in the gallery, the hours seemed to fly by.

Finally, when Matty whispered, ‘oh, definitely on a first date,’ a bit too loudly while pointing at another couple, you had to drag him away.

The outside had transformed by the time you exited the Whitworth. What you hadn’t noticed before was a big, bold neon sign that said “Gathering of Strangers” right over the gallery.

‘See this is why I love this place,’ Matty stated proudly and you could definitely see it. In fact, you were sure you were going to come back here for round two eventually. Four hours did not seem like enough time for a place like this.

The Northern Quarters seemed like a whole different place once the sun went down. The bars and pub signs lit up and sounds of lively chatter and music flowed onto every street. You were sure some of them even hosted smaller bands and artists for a night of live music.

‘Well, I don’t know about you but I am parched,’ you stopped in front of a particularly interesting pub.

‘So what are we waiting for,’ he replied offering you his arm as the two of you stepped through.

Once you had both placed your orders, a cocktail for you and a glass of coke for him, (‘I have to drive you back, y/n!’) you both settled into a booth in the corner. Conversation flowed freely as one cocktail became two and eventually three. All the while, in the back of your mind, you kept thinking about what would happen if you made a move on him.

The booth was out of the public eye. Besides people were busy in their own conversations, so it’s not like they would be staring at you. Matty had been right about the disguise. He hadn’t been recognised all day. Before you could debate, however, he looked at your third empty glass and chuckled.

‘Looks like it’s time to get you home, my dear, I don’t particularly feel like taking care of a wasted person tonight,’ he teased.

You tried to glare at him but the jumble of thoughts inside you made it difficult to hold it for longer than two seconds.

‘It’s been such a fun day! You want to end it?’ you pouted and again, the way your words slurred jarred you a bit.

‘You can always come back here… We can always come back here,’ he offered.

‘Alright, alright,’ you raised your hands in surrender, ‘but we are only going back because you’re tired, old man,’ you stuck out your tongue at him. ‘I’m still spry and young and energetic,’ you declared.

The words would come to bite you in the ass as you tried to stand up too fast and almost face-planted straight onto the floor. You steadied yourself with a hand on the chair and leaned onto Matty the rest of the way to the car. Even through the alcohol blanket, his warmth felt different, more intimate.

The alcohol had definitely brought down the last of your inhibitions. As he popped in his playlist, you did not hesitate to sing along to it; slurring the words and butchering the lyrics in the process. He joined in, sounding like an absolute angel but you couldn’t care less. If you wanted to yell along to Wonderwall then he was just going to have to enjoy it.

‘Hey, hey,’ he tapped your leg. ‘I need to know where you live…if that’s okay with you, I mean I understand if you don’t want to tell me your add—’

‘You’re rambling, Matty,’ you said in a sing-song voice, ‘I know you’re not an axe murderer.’ And so after multiple typos and errors, you finally managed to put your address on his GPS.

Fifteen minutes later, you could see the car turning onto a familiar street.

‘So this is it,’ you mumbled as the car came to a halt.

‘Let me walk you to the door,’ he said and stepped out of the car.

You didn’t know how to end this day. He walked you to the door and then what? You were just supposed to give him a hug and say goodbye? What if you wanted to grab his face and kiss the shit out of him instead? Did he even want that? This wasn’t even a date date! Or was it—

‘Hey,’ he whispered softly. In your little over-thinking spiral you hadn’t even realised when he had held your wrist until he gave it a gentle tug that made you almost bump into his chest. ‘I had an amazing day.’

And it was true. Matty looked so happy with his soft eyes and his gorgeous smile. You had tried resisting him up until now but with all the liquid courage running through your veins, you weren’t sure you wanted to anymore.

He was so close, so tantalisingly close.

‘Fuck it,’ you mumbled under your breath and crashed your lips on his.

It was like electricity, like sizzling hot fire that zinged through your body at the contact. For a split second, you were terrified that he was going to push you away, that you had just mistaken his friendliness for flirting. But then his hand came to rest on your cheek as the other grabbed your waist, pulling you closer.

Matty’s lips felt exactly as you had imagined they would; soft and warm against the chilly night air. He hummed gently against your mouth, a sound of contentment as you finally let your hands come to rest against the nape of his neck. You had always wondered how his curls would feel between your fingers and you could finally find out.

He shivered against you as you gently tugged on a strand of his hair.

‘Stop doing that or we are going to have a problem here.’ The way his voice had deepened sent shivers down your spine. What started out as a sweet and innocent kiss was quickly turning into something completely different and you didn’t want it to stop. So you gently raked a nail down his neck.

‘Y/n…’ his voice came out in a warning as he finally, reluctantly broke the kiss.

‘Come inside with me,’ you breathed against his mouth. You weren’t willing to let the night end. You could feel his jaw clench slightly before he shook his head and stepped back.

The lack of warmth made you open your eyes in confusion and you were greeted with the hottest sight you had ever seen; Matty with kiss-swollen lips, dark eyes and messy hair. It almost made you want to kiss him again but then he took another step back.

‘I can’t,’ he whispered and it felt like someone had dumped a bucket of cold water on you.

‘Wha–have I done something wrong?’ you whispered. You still hadn't composed yourself enough to be able to speak normally.

Matty shook his head and laughed sharply. ‘Believe me, darling, I would come inside in a heartbeat but,’ he sighed, running a hand through his hair, ‘you’re drunk.’

You opened your mouth to protest but he raised an eyebrow, effectively shushing you. Now that he had said it, you knew he was right. You had consumed much more alcohol than he had and you knew him coming up to your bedroom tonight would be wrong. You silently cursed yourself for getting carried away until Matty stepped toward you once again.

‘I really like you, y/n, I like…’ he swallowed roughly, ‘I have genuinely enjoyed every single moment of all the days I’ve spent walking around with you.’

You beamed up at him, waiting for him to go on.

‘I don’t want to sound cheesy but I do want to ask you on an official date.’

Still drunk from the evening you let out a theatrical gasp at his question. ‘My God, Matty, I do hope you asked my father for permission,’ you giggled.

‘Shut up, you twat,’ he laughed as he gently flicked your forehead but then you beamed up at him once again.

‘I would love to go on this very official date with you.’

Part 5 is out now!

Taglist - @kurdtbean @wolferals

#matty healy #matthew healy x reader #matty healy x reader #the 1975 #manchester #rpf #matty healy fluff #matthew healy #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy x y/n #y/n #series #f #fem reader

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lookismaddict · 1 year

Text

Lookism: Rendezvous 🔞 (Ch. II) || Gun Park x Fem! Reader ♡

Author’s Note: Hello! If you read the Introduction and Ch. 1 so far, thank you so much! It really means a lot to me that someone got to read my story so far. There was a little bit of a Gun moment in the previous chapter, but I assure you, there will be more spicy moments to come! Also just a quick reminder. Gun will mostly talk to MC in Japanese but only when it’s just the two of them. However, I do plan on bringing in more characters from Lookism so when the MC is with them, then just imagine that they will be speaking in Korean. I hope this helps clear up any misunderstandings!

NSFW Warning: Violence, strong language/cursing, sexual violence (triggers of sexual assault), and sexual content (marking and praising).

Story Summary: You traveled abroad to help support your mother who is sick, back home in Japan. However, once you reached Korea, everything went downhill until you met a stranger who offered you a deal that could benefit you. But who knew that this special encounter would turn your whole life around…

Beep, beep, beep, beep…

There goes your alarm. From under the covers, your hand started feeling for your phone. Once you got a good grasp of where it was, you grabbed onto it to turn off the alarm that was set for six in the morning. You didn’t want to get up so early in the morning, but you had to. Your training starts today.

You flipped the bed covers off of you then got out of bed to stretch. You already prepared the clothes that you’re going to wear for the day, which was neatly placed and folded on top of one of the bedside tables near your bed. But first, you decided to head over to the bathroom to wash your face, brush your teeth, and do the rest of your normal hygiene schedule.

Once you got dressed in your matching light grey joggers and your crop-top shirt, you decided to tie your hair up in a high ponytail in front of the bathroom mirror. You smoothed out your hair before confirming, “Ponytail looks good today!”

You left your room then headed downstairs. Before leaving, you made sure you wore the right shoes fit for training. When you arrived at the dining table, you saw breakfast was already prepared for you. There was a protein bar with a small bowl of fruit, which mostly consisted of berries.

I see that he got up earlier than me.

You were impressed by how he already prepared food for you early in the morning. You were about to grab the protein bar until you sensed someone’s presence behind you.

“What are you doing just standing there for? Hurry up and eat.”

You whirled around to see Gun already dressed. This time, his hair was gelled and combed to one side. Also, he had wide-rimmed sunglasses that were covering his eyes, like he’s about to hit the most intense beach day of his life. He was dressed in black and white Adidas joggers, while wearing expensive tennis shoes. Of course, his outfit was well coordinated even though he was just going to teach you how to perform better in martial arts.

“Oh, I was just about to eat.”

“Well then, hurry up. We don’t have all day. When you’re done, just leave the bowl in the sink and meet me outside in the backyard. Once you’re done with training, then you can come back and wash it.”

After giving you his set of commands, he sped right through towards the back door of the house. You assumed that the door would lead you out to where he said the backyard was.

Well whatever. I guess I’ll start eating then.

After you were done eating whatever was on the table, you did as you were told by leaving the bowl in the sink and hurried out into the backyard. As you got out, the sun met your eyes, forcing you to shield them from the bright morning rays. You were surprised that it was still a little chilly even though the sun was out.

Your eyes took in the whole area, as it was very wide and it was a perfect place to go out for a morning workout. It was almost like the size of a school’s yard. A large shed can be seen from where you were standing, all the way down the end of the yard. You searched for Gun until you spotted him near the fenced wall. His back was turned towards you as he was practicing his martial art moves on an object that seemed to look like a…

Coat hanger?

You silently snuck up behind him, observing his every movement. Every quick punch, kick, and imaginary block exerted power from him. He was very quick in speed while his offensive attacks were just on a whole other level.

Wow, so this is how he practices? He’s like a professional!

Even when you’re standing a few feet away from him, he didn’t even break a sweat. His punches started to pick up even more speed, packing harder punches than before. Until finally, he hit it with one last blow. As Gun targeted its head, he punched it so hard that it snapped off as if he just decapitated it. It bounced off of the fence wall and it was heading straight towards you.

You squeaked as you dodged out of the way in surprise. Nervously, you started to tremble from how it barely missed your face almost by a few centimeters. If you hadn’t avoided it in time, it would’ve been ugly for you.

“You’re late.” He turned around and crossed his arms, giving you a stern look.

“I was just right behind you all this time. What do you mean I’m late?”

“You got here 5 minutes after the time reached seven. I could tell because I heard the door to the yard open around that time.”

“Oh…” your head sunk in embarrassment.

He could hear that door open from far away while he was practicing? Damn.

He sighed while shaking his head. “I’ll let it slide since this is our first time that we’ll be doing this. Next time, get here on time.”

You laughed nervously before giving him a small salute. “Yes sir…”

Your head turned to the broken coat hanger behind him, its top half now in splinters. “Um, why were you practicing on a coat hanger? You just murdered it right in front of me, like what did it even do to you?”

“Oh this?” He turned around and lifted it up above his shoulder. “This isn’t a coat hanger. People who practice martial arts use this as a wooden dummy. It’s called a Wing-Chun Dummy. In China, they use this when practicing Kung-Fu, specifically Wing-Chun which is a specific style of Kung-Fu. Japanese martial artists, however, use another object for karate and they call it the Makiwara. It’s just a board that absorbs force from the attacker whenever it’s been hit. You must’ve probably seen it at that karate school that you mentioned.”

“Oh yeah, it does sound like a familiar object.”

You followed him up to the big shed, where he keeps other equipment in there. “Let me guess, you murdered the Makiwara too?”

“If you’re replacing breaking for ‘murdering’ then yes I did.” He slid the door open to the shed with one hand and set the broken Wing-Chun Dummy on the side.

You watched him as he went further inside the shed. He was rummaging through some stuff until he found a long vertical board that was supported by a stand behind it. You immediately knew that the board-like object was the Makiwara that he was talking about. Afterwards, he held onto it and carried it out of the shed. You followed behind him, watching him set it down underneath the shade of a tree. He made sure that the object was aligned with the tree trunk before stepping back to marvel at it.

“Everything is set. So now, let’s begin.”

For hours, he’s been drilling information into your head about the basics. How to properly position yourself, how to punch straight, and how to kick correctly was no joke. You sat there on the grass for a while now with your legs crossed, and you could feel your legs numbing from the lack of blood circulation.

“[…] I already demonstrated what to do and what not to do, so let’s see if you actually paid attention.”

Finally after all the lecture, you stood up and got the chance to stretch your legs. The numbness in your legs started to fade away as you started to stretch but you still felt a bit of the tingles lingering.

Gun pointed at a spot for you to stand on, right in front of the Makiwara. You felt your nerves get to you, since the pressure is really on you now. His eyes were now focused on you, about to observe your movements. At the same time, Gun found this as an opportunity for him to observe how well you can copy the moves that he had just shown you. Also, since he found out that you have the copy ability, it was like he can see how he can improve himself. To him, he thought of it as a mirror effect.

When you stopped right in front of the Makiwara, your shoulders became tense and so did your legs. However, that didn’t stop you from trying. You held your right fist close to your body, making sure that it was straight. The elbow of your right arm was tucked in and your legs were shoulder length apart, one foot in front of the other. You made sure that both of your feet were flat and firm on the ground.

Before you tried to mimic Gun’s punch, you angled your body at the right position and used your left hand as a guide to aim for the right spot on the board. You took a deep breath for a second, and then…

WHAM!

Your fist hit the board at such a swift motion. The vertical punch was even more powerful than you least expected it to be. After doing so, you looked back at Gun as he nodded in affirmation.

“Not bad. That was almost perfect. However, I suggest if you do this…”

He inches closer to you, positioning himself behind you. You could feel his breath on the back of your bare neck, sending shivers down your spine. At that very moment, you could feel your heartbeat pick up some speed from how close he was to you. Your ears were ringing from the sound of your beating chest, as you were about to turn your head to look behind you…

“Keep your eyes forward.”

Due to his demanding instruction, your head didn’t once dare lose its position. The thought of how close both of your bodies were once again, reminded you of what happened last night. As a result, your cheeks started to burn at the heart-throbbing memory.

Meanwhile, his hands grabbed onto the sides of your waist. He angled your hips almost towards his pelvis, trying to help with your posture. “Your stationary stance is very important. You must position yourself correctly since it affects how powerful your punch can be.”

“U-uhuh…”

What is he doing? Crap. I have no idea what he’s currently talking about either. How long is this going to go for? Ah… I don’t know how long my heart can take this for.

Just remembering how the both of you were on the bed, with his hands on either side of you made you unable to concentrate. The thought of his leg in between yours, his face that was very close to yours, and his eyes… those eyes… what was up with those eyes…?

“Hey. Are you even listening?”

Your eyes suddenly blinked out of a trance, snapping you right back to reality. You nodded instantly, hoping that he wouldn’t notice how out of it you really were. He backed away from you and went around you, so he can face you directly.

“Right now, I want you to practice your punches fifty times. And then tomorrow, I’m adding fifty kicks. And then the next day and the next, I’ll keep adding more and more things for you to do. That way, you’ll get used to the basics. These days will become even more intense, so prepare yourself. Eventually, you’ll go up against me and then-“

“Wait, what?”

“[…] I’ll go ahead and prepare lunch. You better be done when the food’s ready. If you aren’t, then you won’t get to eat.”

“Wait, hold on a minute!”

Gun immediately left you to prepare lunch for the both of you. You had no choice but to do the dumb punching activity. Frustrated, you pretended that the Makiwara board was his face as you continuously punched it over and over.

What the hell is he trying to do, kill me?! Why do I have to face off with him after he trains me? Aren’t we on the same team here?! I’m obviously inferior to him so what’s the point? UGH!!!

Luckily, you managed to finish your fifty reps of punches. When he called out to you, you both went inside to eat lunch together.

When you arrived at the dining table, there were two plates of salmon and veggies laid out. Just by taking a whiff of that food, your stomach grumbled.

Hehe, don’t mind if I do.

You clasped both of your hands together as you said, “I humbly receive this food.” [いただきます。]

You were about to sit down until you felt your arm being tugged away from the chair.

“Eh?”

You turned your head to see Gun gripping your arm while glaring at you.

“Did you forget that you have to take care of something first?”

Your eyes blinked a few times until you remembered. “Oh… right, right. I’ll go ahead and take care of that real quick.”

He lets go of your arm, watching you scurry towards the sink, making sure that your chore didn’t go unnoticed.

Geez, he had such a firm grip. And for what? Just for a stupid bowl. Tch.

Annoyed, you clicked your tongue while scrubbing the bowl in your hands. While you were cleaning it, Gun sat down and brought out a folded piece of paper from his pocket alongside a small pen. He unfolded it then set it on your side of the table including the pen, right across from him.

“What’s taking you so long just to clean a bowl? Hurry up. We have some important matters to discuss.”

“Alright, alright! I’m almost done over here.”

Eventually, you set the rinsed bowl on the drying rack before you stomped over back to the dining table and sat down across from Gun. You folded your arms as you glared back at him.

“So what are we supposed to discuss about?”

“The contract.”

He gestured towards the contract that was already laid out in front of you. You scooted the paper towards you with your index finger, carefully scanning its contents. At the very bottom of the document, you saw that he already signed his name on there. After you confirmed that everything that the both of you had talked about was included on the contract, you got the pen and signed it. Then, you pushed the paper back towards him and handed the pen back. He gladly accepted it back into his hands as he folded the paper back up again and carefully slid it back into his pocket.

“Now that that has been taken care of, let’s talk about the monthly payment that you’ll be receiving from me. Go ahead and name your price.”

While he was talking, you already started cutting up your salmon into bite-sized chunks and was already digging into it. You took a bit longer to answer since your mouth was full, so Gun impatiently pressed onward.

“Alright, then how about a million won?”

You asked before popping another piece of salmon into your mouth, “And how much is that if we were to convert that into yen?”

“About a hundred thousand yen. (About a thousand U.S. dollars.)”

Just from hearing that amount of money being offered was enough for you to start choking on your salmon. You grabbed the nearest cup of water and chugged the whole thing down. After lightly setting the glass down next to your plate, you slammed both of your hands down onto the table and looked at Gun dumbfounded.

“A HUNDRED THOUSAND YEN?! ARE YOU SERIOUS?!”

Who the hell is this guy, and where does he get all his money from?! That amount of money is enough to pay for mom’s hospital bills for almost a whole year! But getting that amount of money monthly? That’s insane…

“I-I’m sorry… Did you say a hundred thousand yen?”

“Yes, that’s right. Do you want me to raise the price?”

“N-no, it’s not that. It’s just… why so high?”

Gun’s mouth curved to a devilish grin. “Because it’s an offer that will ensure that you won’t back out from our deal. I know that you won’t be able to resist such a high price, knowing that your mind is as greedy as mine. After all, it was your greed that landed you here so be grateful that you get a second chance at that.”

Both of your hands suddenly balled into fists. For some reason, his words just pissed you off.

You stood up from your seat without a second thought as you smirked at his striking words. “You know, I oughta smack you upside the head right now but I won’t do that since I wouldn’t want to do that inside your own home. As a temporary resident, I do admit. Yes, I am greedy, but I didn’t come here just for myself so don’t act like you know me. Don’t lump me in the same boat as you because we are not the same and we will never be the same. Sure, I accept the monthly payment but on one condition. Lower it. Pay me seventy thousand yen each month. That’s all I need. I don’t need anymore of your generosity for the excess amount of money. It’s unnecessary.”

Gun let out a cold laugh before standing up from his seat. He walked over to your side of the table, then out of nowhere, pushed everything off of the table. You gasped as you watched the plates full of food and glasses fall and shatter onto the wooden floor. He removed the sunglasses that he had on and dropped them onto the floor, revealing his darkened eyes again. Immediately, he grabbed onto your arm and pushed you on top of the table. You quickly tried to escape from his grasp but to no avail, he already had his hands pinned onto the table. You were trapped under him, which made your body tremble in fear.

“A-are you crazy? Just what do you think you’re doing?!”

“You know, you really are an interesting woman. How can someone like you get me so excited? Is it your determination?”

His hand suddenly grazed your hair. . .

“Or your feistiness?”

Then his hand started traveling down to your lips, caressing them. . .

“Or is it because you are just different from any other woman that I’ve slept with?”

And then his hand started rubbing down your thigh. . .

“Just the thought of ruining that strong spirit of yours gets me like this…”

His hand then grabbed onto one of yours, placing it onto his crotch area. You could feel something hard and bulging from underneath his clothing.

At that point, you didn’t know what to do. Your mind was blank as your heart began to beat rapidly. Your breathing quickened, panicking at what might happen next.

“You are the first woman who I’ve ever encountered, who would say such things inside my own house. I got to admit, you’ve got guts. You’re intriguing, and even though your fighting skills haven’t been polished, you still can pack a nice punch…”

Gun’s face leaned in closer to your neck as his lips made contact with your skin. You felt his lips leave kisses down your neck, which made you emit unfamiliar noises that would escape from your mouth. His arms started wrapping around your waist, giving you support for what he’s about to do next.

“Ever since I witnessed you become a strong and capable fighter right before my very eyes, I just wanted to see you crumble under my touch, and my touch alone. It’s almost as if I wanted to make you my toy.”

His touch became greedier as one of his arms wrapped around your waist even tighter while his other brushed up against your back. His other hand held onto your head from behind, as his lips attacked your neck once again. You felt his lips pressed against your skin, but in a rougher manner as he began to suck onto that spot. In response, you let out a pained groan. You almost lost your balance, as your hands held onto his shoulders for support. His actions started to make you question him.

What happened to the man that I was starting to know? Where did his calm and collected self go? Where was the gentleman who was understanding and thoughtful? Was he not serious at all when he made that contract with me?

You gritted your teeth in utter humiliation, as you thought that you allowed yourself to be defiled by this man.

“L-let go of me you bastard…”

You raised your hand and swiftly slapped him across the face. He was immediately taken aback, letting go of you quickly. Right when he lets go of you, you sped right past him then went all the way straight to your room.

As you slammed the door behind you, you leaned against the door in silence. Your back slowly slid down the door while you felt hot tears stream from your eyes. You began to sob silently as you hugged your knees then buried your head into them.

That sadistic jerk… What the hell did I do to deserve all this? Mom, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you in the first place.

[End of Ch. II]

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allaganexarch · 6 months

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wip wednesday-thursday ♥

HELLO FRIENDS thank you so much @myreia AND @thevikingwoman for the tags!!!

I am eaten by school rn so I am taking this opportunity to inflict my nanowrimo nonsense upon you :) It's a long excerpt so hopefully tumblr dot website doesn't ruin everything.

tagginggggggg @delirious-comfort @yourlocaldisneyvillain @thepapernautilus @quinnthebard @eemamminy-art annnnnnd anyone else who wants to share!

It is the height of the Season of Change. The year is 12:16, and the Era is called Progress. The beautiful town of Godsplace reflects a fragment of its ancient glory on days such as these, the warm hue of the changing leaves and the somber grey of the sky set against the severe stone buildings that make up its historic Town Square.

Indeed, Godsplace looks every bit its ancient self today, for set up in the center of the Square is a massive structure, a kind of stage where the players are town officials, and the story is one of deadly seriousness.

Of some interest to the gathered audience are a young man and a young lady passing through the square, neither one paying the crowd any mind. The young man is handsome and well-dressed, and even if his face were not known to the people gathered in the square, his features are nonetheless unmistakable. Bryce Davensay is possessed of the bright complexion and strawberry blonde hair of all noble houses of Godsplace.

The young lady traveling with him is known to the people in the square, too, either by face or by name. Tamsin Ward is possessed of features that lend her a somewhat severe countenance, and hair of the sort people call dishwater blonde, tied back from her face without regard for fashion. Her dress is plain, but it is clean and fits her well. To an outsider, it would not seem out of place to see Tamsin walking together with Bryce Davensay.

“Oh,” Bryce stops short. “Perhaps we’d better find another way around.”

“Why?” Tamsin asks, but soon enough there is no need for an answer. “Oh.”

Bryce takes Tamsin by the elbow and leads her through the outskirts of the crowd, nodding and smiling his acknowledgement as he passes. Tamsin keeps her head bowed low, her severe features schooled into neutrality, and follows where she is led.

When they are mostly out of earshot, Tamsin murmurs, “I wonder what happened.”

“Better not to know, I think,” says Bryce with forced lightness. He gestures that they should turn down a small side street leading away from the square.

“People of Godsplace!” booms a voice from the platform. “Gather round, gather round! Do not be so bold as to turn your eyes away!”

Bryce and Tamsin stop cold. They turn around. It is too late to leave.

There are four men standing on the platform, each occupying one corner. They are appointed officials, marked by a telltale patch bearing the town’s seal, which is sewn onto each of their uniform jackets. Two more approach the platform, with a young woman walking between them. She is markedly small by comparison, barely more than a girl, really, and she is all bound up in heavy ropes.

Bryce averts his eyes, fixating on a point somewhere below center stage. Tamsin cannot bring herself to look away. The girl meets her gaze, wide-eyed and frightened. Tamsin thinks she must be silently begging for help.

Unbeknownst to the people of Godsplace, an outsider lurks in the shadows, watching the proceedings under cover of a heavy cloak to shield her from the changing winds. She has half a thought to intervene, but something tells her such an effort would be worse than wasted. She has other business to attend to here.

The men lead the girl up onto the platform. She does not struggle.

“Gentle people of Godsplace,” the man on the close left corner continues. “Look bravely upon this wretched creature. Know fear, and then know peace, for she will not live to harm you any longer.”

There is a low murmur among the crowd, the ones who came knowingly. The ones who came to watch. As if on cue, the cold wind rustles through the trees above them, and the jittery whispers of the crowd take on a hue of growing anticipation.

The men tie the girl to a large wooden stake positioned at the center of the platform. Her crime is called witchcraft, but there is no telling what she has actually done. It is dangerous even to ask.

“People of Godsplace!” the front-leftmost man cries, a fanatical note of desperation in his resonant voice. “Do you know fear?”

Yes, the crowd whispers. Yes, yes, yes, yes.

“How will you find peace?”

Burn her. Burn her, burn her, burn her.

“Burn her?”

“Burn her!”

“Burn her?”

“Burn her!”

The back-rightmost man lights the torch that will finish the job. The flame makes a terrible whisper, a warning rumble, barely even as loud as the rustle of the wind. The girl starts to cry.

“How will we find peace?” the first man cries, as though beseeching the very heavens.

And the crowd replies, as though possessed by the word of the gods, “Burn her! Burn her! Burn her!”

The girl screams. It is the high, thin scream of a child, and it seems to go on forever. Even after she stops, Tamsin imagines she can still hear the sound ringing in her ears, louder than the howling wind, louder than the madding crowd, drowning out her thoughts until there is nothing but that endless, deafening scream.

A celebration will follow. People will dance and sing praises to the gods for protecting them, for rooting out this evil before it could infect this sacred place. Bryce sees an opening and ducks back toward the side street, pulling Tamsin along by the elbow. The heavy-cloaked watcher takes note of them, but something tells her she need not follow.

Tamsin and Bryce bolt down the side street and out onto another before they slow their pace, and even then they seem to have silently agreed among themselves not to linger. They walk quickly and huddle close together.

“I feel it’s my fault,” Bryce murmurs. “I should have known there’d be a burning today.”

“She looked so…young,” says Tamsin, subconsciously wrapping her arms about herself. “I wonder what could have happened.”

Bryce falters. He imagines he knows the answer, but it’s not something a lady should hear. “It seems to me they’ll think of any excuse these days. I hope you’ll be careful until the weekend?”

Tamsin’s features contort slightly. “You make it sound like I’ll be above suspicion by then.”

Bryce doesn’t quite manage a laugh. “Well. I hope you’ll take care even after that. But still.”

“I appreciate the thought,” says Tamsin, not very convincingly.

They hurry through the streets until they turn onto the road that leads to Tamsin’s home, and only then do they slow their pace. Both had hoped for a more pleasant outing, but their business has been attended to, and their spirits are decidedly soured. They probably won’t find time to see each other again before the weekend.

Tamsin reaches for the handle of her front door.

“If there’s anything you need, you’ll send for me, won’t you?” says Bryce impulsively.

Tamsin holds, then turns back to him, surprised. “What do you mean?” she asks him. “What could I possibly need that I can’t do for myself?” There is no accusation in her tone, but she is genuinely baffled by Bryce’s offer.

“Just… I mean,” he tries, tugging somewhat awkwardly at the cuff of his sleeve. “Look, I didn’t mean anything by it,” he tries again, with a sheepish smile, “just, if anyone gives you any trouble. You or your mother. Of course you can handle it yourself, just… You don’t have to. That’s all.”

Tamsin remembers, for the first time in months, why she used to like Bryce so much. His words are sincere, she can see it shining in his eyes. It’s not exactly his fault that she takes offense at the notion of accepting the privilege of his influence.

She smiles, and means it. “Thanks, Bryce. Really.”

He returns her smile, and gives her a small bow before he makes to depart. “Take care, Tamsin. Give my regards to Mrs. Burkow.”

“Give my regards to Natty, and Natty only,” Tamsin replies lightly. Bryce’s sister Natalie is the only member of his family who has any interest in her regards, anyway.

Tamsin closes the door behind her and heaves a sigh. She thought as time passed, she would just…naturally get used to the idea, but it hasn’t happened yet. It still seems impossibly foreign, like something out of a disquieting dream.

“Back so soon?” her mother calls from the sitting room.

“It was busy in the Square,” says Tamsin. It is a euphemism her mother understands.

“I see,” she replies with a sigh.

Tamsin’s mother looks almost nothing like her. She has warm brown hair and broad-set shoulders, and a round face with the kind of gentle features people tend to read as kindly. Tamsin, by contrast, is all angles, and even in her earliest youth always had a rather severe countenance, accentuated by the straight set of her brow and the thin line of her lips.

“Bryce sends his regards,” says Tamsin. Tamsin’s mother is called Mrs. Burkow and not Mrs. Ward because Tamsin herself has no family name. Mr. and Mrs. Burkow took her in when she was little more than a newborn babe, but she retained the name given to orphans and bastards. She’s never thought to question their choice. It’s only a name, after all. Soon enough, she’ll have another.

Mrs. Burkow lights up at the mention of her future son-in-law. “Oh, what a perfect gentleman!” she coos happily. “And how did it go in town? Everything’s taken care of?”

“Mhm,” says Tamsin, looking for something on which to focus her attention. The errands were barely necessary, more of a formality than anything else. The story is that they were to go around to the shop and the ceremonial hall and ensure that all is in order for the weekend, but of course there was no reason it wouldn’t be.

“Honestly, Tamsin, I don’t know why you’re not more excited,” her mother complains.

Tamsin feels a little bad for spoiling Mrs. Burkow’s good mood. Someone ought to be having a good time. “It’s not that,” she lies. “Just, the business in the Square is on my mind at the moment.”

“And that’s another thing,” her mother continues, and Tamsin knows the battle is already lost. “I don’t know why you let yourself get all worked up about these things.”

Tamsin picks self-consciously at her skirt. “It’s just a little gruesome, isn’t it?”

“You know, I worked hard to arrange this marriage for you,” says Mrs. Burkow. “You think it would have just happened all on its own? No! And you used to love Bryce! Honestly, I thought you’d be overjoyed, and instead, this is the thanks I get? Not three days out from your wedding day, and all you want to talk about is some nasty business in the Town Square?”

Tamsin has given up on finding something to do. She stands with her hands clasped, contrite and wordless. Her mother is right, after all. Bryce is the eldest surviving son of the Davensay family, and thus heir to his family’s fortune. He is by all accounts handsome and unfailingly kind, well-liked and respected by all their peers. His prospects are perhaps the very best in all of Godsplace.

Until a few months ago, Tamsin and Bryce were close friends. They went everywhere together, and told each other nearly everything. Tamsin’s mother often warned her that she shouldn’t pin her hopes on someone like Bryce, because one day soon he’d be expected to marry, and then she’d be all alone and heartbroken.

But then, back in the spring, Mrs. Burkow had suddenly changed her tune. It was like the Season of Flowers had bloomed right inside her heart, and she could do nothing but smile wistfully whenever Tamsin came home.

The news had come as a terrible shock to Tamsin. She hadn’t even celebrated her sixteenth birthday yet, and already she was engaged to be married. Mrs. Burkow was undoubtedly the happiest about the match, with the possible exception of Bryce’s younger sister Natalie. Bryce’s parents were (and remain) decidedly skeptical on the matter of Tamsin’s suitability. Tamsin remains decidedly unenthused.

Bryce himself was decidedly sheepish after the news broke, but it’s clear he has warmed to the idea. Tamsin reasons that he is a couple of years older, and the eldest son of a noble family besides. Surely he is simply more accustomed to the notion of marriage in general than she, who had not expected to have to think on such matters so soon, if at all.

Although she cannot be sure what was said, Tamsin thinks it’s very clear her mother has oversold her suitability as a spouse. Tamsin cooks and cleans and tends to whatever needs tending for her mother not because it is her life’s calling, but because she feels it’s her due. Mrs. Burkow didn’t have to take her in and raise her, and Tamsin doesn’t know what would have become of her otherwise. In spite of her humble beginnings, Tamsin had always hoped she might aspire to something a bit different than the lot of a happy homemaker.

And anyway, it’s not like the wife of a nobleman would be expected to do those kinds of things on the regular. Tamsin imagines she’ll be expected to…socialize, and hold events, a feat to which she is even less suited. Tamsin is not particularly skilled with people or making pleasant small talk, and she knows perfectly well that marrying above her station won’t be taken kindly.

Indeed, the one who stands to benefit the most from this arrangement is Mrs. Burkow. It is not she who has married above her station, after all, even if it was she who pulled the strings. She may freely reap the benefits of her rise in fortune without facing half as much of the backlash.

If Tamsin were the sort of person who could ingratiate herself to the upper class, she thinks, she might know what she’s meant to say to Mrs. Burkow right now. But she comes up woefully short. She is not excited for the wedding, and she doubts she ever will be. And the more she tries not to think about what she saw in the Square, the more it permeates every corner of her mind. Somewhere just out of sight she’s certain she can still hear that high, thin scream.

“You’re right,” Tamsin tries, her gaze downcast. “I’m sorry.”

“Honestly,” Mrs. Burkow sighs, but there is a certain note of triumph about her voice. “You’d think a girl like you would show a little more gratitude.”

But the pitiful words, thank you, catch in the back of her throat. She is not grateful. Not for this.

#exciting tag for writing things #personal #nano nonsense #original fiction #v sorry to everyone hoping for updates on things you actually care about LOL #SOON i will be free of paper writing hell #long post

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lokittystuckinatree · 11 months

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It’s my birthday, Pride is half over, and the Sylki fandom is half dead.

Here’s a useless meta proving Sylvie and Loki are closer to an Andrew Garfield vs. Tom Holland Spider-Man situation than “GeNdErBeNt SeLFcEsT”

🐍🐈‍⬛🐍🐈‍⬛🐍🐈‍⬛🐍🐈‍⬛🐍🐈‍⬛🐍🐈‍⬛

When Sylvie was introduced, all Loki variants presented so far resembled Tom Hiddleston. By episode five, we know the vast majority of Loki variants are not Tom Hiddleston clones, (like a Spider-Man, a Loki could be anybody,) so Sylvie likely isn’t his clone either. However, since they’re played by different actors, with vaguely similar facial features, it could still be argued that perhaps Loki and Sylvie are the same individual, just the “other sex.” (Insert iconic Loki eye roll). Today I’m demonstrating why that argument is stupid.

Skin ~ Loki’s skin tone is consistently cooler and paler than Sylvie’s, as demonstrated by earlier films. His skin is more neutral and saturated in the series, a decision by Tom Hiddleston to make Loki seem more alive and tangibly real. Still, his typical skin tone is best described as a creamy ghostly porcelain, whereas Sylvie’s is a light rosy beige. Sylvie has a rougher, less polished, more ‘human’ look, whereas sacred timeline Loki sometimes verges on the ethereal. These skin details suit their characters well.

Tom and Sophia filming season two

Note: Sylvie’s skin seems slightly tanned in this image, while Loki looks as deathly pale as he did in the movies. Likely a difference in lighting, but I think it does a good job showing how different the two characters can look at a glance.

Hair ~ this is the strongest argument. Loki’s natural hair color is visibly darker and deeper than Sylvie’s natural hair color. Loki’s hair is raven black, and Sylvie’s hair is dark brown. Sylvie dyes her hair a muted ash blonde.

Loki and Sylvie side by side.

This hair color difference is suspiciously intentional, and even carries over from final concept art, official merch, and their child actors. Baby Sylvie’s hair is dark ash/golden brown in better lighting. Baby Loki’s hair is always raven black.

Baby Sylki. (Look at these little squishies I want to boop their noses!)

The two variants also have noticeably different hair textures. Loki’s natural curl pattern seems messier and tighter than Sylvie’s fluffy waves, even with too much greasy hair product.

Contrast ~ Sophia and Tom’s eyes are similar shades of blue. Less is certain about the in character eye colors of Loki and Sylvie. The fandom is not in agreement whether Loki’s (and Sylvie’s) eyes are blue or green, so I tend to compromise on blue-green. Tom’s eyes appear slightly lighter than Sophia’s, so I headcanon that Loki’s eyes are lighter than Sylvie’s too. Combined with their hair and skin tone differences, Sylvie has a lower, softer, more muted contrast between her hair, skin, and eyes, compared to Loki, with their higher, clearer and more striking contrast.

Color Season Analysis ~ Going off of that, and taking this next part with a grain of salt, as I am in no way an expert on color analysis, I would guess Loki is a winter, and Sylvie is a summer. Sylvie could be a spring, but from what I’ve seen, her hair is more ashen than yellow, and it makes sense Sylvie would lean cooler then warmer since she, as a former Loki variant, is a frost giant.

Summers typically look best in sunny pastel colors, whereas Winters look best in jewel tones. Sure enough, when Loki and Sylvie venture outside their classic green, black, and gold, the costume department decided to dress Loki in deep jewel tones such as blue and purple (the guard turtleneck, some of their costumes in Ragnarok.)

Another costume department chose to put Sylvie in subtle pastels (her tie die shirt.)

Typically, cool seasons look better in silver (grey) than than gold (yellow). Coincidentally, Loki and Sylvie are both wearing gray in the pictures above. Obviously, Lokis are to gold as goths are to black. However, few people fit a color season perfectly (I’m ironically a winter in the winter and a summer in the summer,) Sylvie and Loki have fairly neutral pigmentation, and saying a Loki wouldn’t look good in gold is blasphemy.

In Summary ~ Sylki are not genderbent clones, they’re not identical twins, and though it’s near certain they don’t share much dna at all, because this is not Game of Thrones, the closest they could physically be is full siblings, and while it would be questionable, your siblings aren’t you, so it wouldn’t be selfcest.

If the multiverse was a cinematic universe, Loki and Sylvie would be two different actors playing two different adaptations of the same character by two different studios, at most. Loki and Sylvie have different personalities, different experiences, different bodies, and different lives. Honestly, they’ve lived such different lives, with Sylvie breaking away from her sacred timeline and Loki identity so young that she’s a different gender and mostly based on Sylvie Lushton, that they are possibly less the same character than any of the Spider Men variants, from Spiderverse through MCU. Likely, all the two share is a mind, heart, and soul. To me, that’s beautiful.

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#sylki #loki #sylvie #loki and sylvie #Loki series #sylki is not true selfcest

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bwobgames · 1 year

Text

Previous First

Beebo's memories of his last case forcefully enter his mind

"I would never judge a person for hiring a detective for a cat, and I would never judge a colleague for accepting such a case, but somehow, someway, I am very much judging myself.

Are my prices too low? Or is it better that is this low? I mean, work is work, but also, what would the academy think ...?"

"Oh Sir Williamson the fifth, it's you and me against the world"

"... There's no way they call him by his full name"

"Alright, professional Beebo time! Let's review"

"People around the area said that this is an area with a lot of cats, so if Sir Williamson ran away following some friends, he's probably here"

"And what better place to hide in the meantime than a big abandoned building?"

"Yeah, no, this place has seen better days"

"It's close enough to civilization that stray cats could get in, and far away for people to not care"

"This was some sort of half house half art display if I'm not wrong, perfect for a silly kitty to play in"

"It looks a bit dangerous, but I really want to see what's inside"

"I'm curious, I'm so curious. I need to get in already"

He enters the building

Something feels

Wrong

"Yeah, no, this place is a dump"

"Uhh, any kitties here?"

"... no response. Well, it was expected"

"Seems like there's still a few art pieces hanging around. They are not in the best shape, though, or are they? This might just be how it was made"

Looking at the wall ahead, he sees a framed picture

"Oh, that's useful, let's see...

I'll just go straight ahead and turn to reach the stairs.

I should be able to see something that indicates the presence of a cat"

He goes through the door

"I dont really mind graffiti, but why break the art?

Unless this was meant to be broken to send a message about what we consider art and not??

Maybe I should've investigated more, but all I got is that this place is supposedly haunted"

"If there's any ghosts in this building, have any of you seen a little grey cat?"

...

"Once again, no response. Rude!"

"All right, straight up ahead"

A tiny corridor with ruined paintings on the wall

"For being an abandoned place, it sure doesn't have any bugs

I dont think I've seen a single spider or fly. Maybe the faint smell of painting chemicals keep them away?"

"I don't even hear rats scurrying around"

"Hello? Any rats around here?"

"... Nothing. Not a squeak or little feet running around.

Maybe they are just hiding very well"

He goes through the first door

And finds another corridor

"Artists and their corridors"

The two doors lead to bathrooms

He goes through the third one

He finds a room that resembles a kitchen. There's only small and broken furniture.

The next room resembles a living room. This must be the House part of the art installation

He goes through another door and finds some stairs. He doubts the strength of the stairs, but after a few little jumps in the wood, he finds it sturdy and goes up

"Ah, so this is the studio, very nice, I would love an office this size

Although most things are broken, i can kind of see how a bedroom could be situated in the far corner"

"Here kitty, kitty! Are you here, kitty?"

"Uh, Sir Williamson the third? Come here baby!!"

He makes kissy noises, but nothing, no cat

The whole way here, he hasn't even seen a single cat hair.

Or rat, or spider, or fly

Just some moss sometimes

"Ah, I guess my theory has been debunked. There's no kitty here. It doesn't even even smell like cat pee!"

"There's a bit more rooms left, but I'm pretty sure there is no cat"

"I'll just keep asking the houses around here"

"Man, I didn't even see a ghost. This sucks"

He traces back his steps to the room he came in

"Welp, I guess I admired some art today. That counts as doing something productive!"

He calls for the cat one last time

But there's only silence

He opens the door to go back outside

There's a corridor

#have funny detective moment #this is a flashback! memories!#im planning on getting the whole flashback posted today #its gonna be a late beebo posting day once again #detective beebo

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kalevalakryze · 9 months

Text

What Can I Say, They’re Art

Pairing: Shin Hati/Sabine Wren Characters: Shin Hati, Sabine Wren Warnings: N/A Notes: fluffffff!!!!! This was another amazing rec by SteelGrace here on AO3, and just what I needed to add to all my warm fluffy feelings today Summary: Baylan settled himself into his seat, watching hyperspace flash across the transparisteel, blues and purples flashing by his head as the cockpit filled with the sound of gentle snores from his Padawan, reclined in the co-pilot’s chair across from him. His hand reached into his cloak to the plastic wrapped package Ahsoka Tano’s apprentice had slid into his hand at some point during the flight. Reaching into the plastic, he retrieved a thick piece of paper, folded with care and tucked inside neatly. As he unfolded the paper, another, smaller piece slid out. ‘don’t gut me, big guy, but I’m dating your padawan’ was etched into the piece, doodles of loth cats and fire birds surrounding the words. Unfolding the bigger paper, he was met with a colored sketch, similar to the view of the sleeping Padawan in front of him. Word Count: 1,134 AO3 Link: Here!

Bare legs splayed across the mattress, a dark purple sheet wrapped around a pale waist, crossing her abdomen and chest all the way to where the fabric was loosely bunched in her fingers, pressed close to parted lips, their face pressing against the familiar smells and texture even in slumber.

Sabine Wren sat against the headboard, sketchbook balanced on her knees as her charcoal scratched across paper. Brown eyes moved from the paper to the sleeping woman taking up most of the small bed. Shin’s other hand was splayed out across Sabine’s stomach, fingers hooked in the waistband of her boxers to keep their hand still even in their slumber.

The drawing cut off around Shin’s elbow, their pencil had long since rolled across paper, fingers mapping the lines of the old scars across her skin before they were transferred to the paper. Now though, Sabine was marking each mole onto the paper, pads of her thumb brushing across the beauty marks as she marked their positions on paper. The freckles were harder to add, light and spread evenly across her face, she couldn’t mark each spot, but she did incorporate them across her sketch’s nose and cheeks.

Hair had been drawn around the time Sabine had finished sketching out the Grey Jedi’s position, though now she took extra care to go back and add texture before moving on to the small braid that lay curled against a sharp collarbone. Bands of orange so dark they’d looked brown secured the winding hair in place, as well as a small green jewel nestled into their Padawan braid.

Sabine reached to twirl the braid around in her fingers, it was soft, the hair was healthy, though she could spot strands of brown hairs, missed in the bleaching process. It was clear a careful hand had woven the hair together. When she touched the smooth face of the jewel, Sabine… well, she could almost feel a fondness resonating from it, she could feel it like Ahsoka had been wanting her to feel something in their training lessons, a task she could only ever complete when she was closest to the deadly Mercenary.

“You are so beautiful,” Sabine called to nothing and no one, fingertips dancing across soft skin to follow the curve of high cheekbones and a cutting jawline. The pad of her finger smoothed from the tip of their nose up to the bridge between her eyes, bringing a soft, sleepy sound from the world’s worst morning person.

Nix munched quietly on his breakfast across the studio setup, occasionally mrowing at the sounds of wildlife outside or the click of a marker being uncapped as Sabine finished her fine details and moved on to coloring the view in.

It was hours before Shin started to rouse, just as Sabine was shading in the dark smudged eye makeup under their eyes (seriously, she was trying to get shin into a routine to taking it off, but the mercenary just wasn’t going to have any of it), Shin started to curl closer into her side, fingers wriggled in the waistband of Sabine’s boxers, sliding across her hips until the blonde was settled with their face in her side, arm wrapped awkwardly around her to press into the small of her back, and blankets tangled in a labyrinth, which would be hilarious to watch her wolf wriggle out of.

“You’re awake,” Shin grumbled against her stomach, a frown pulling at the lips pressed against the thin material of the loose shirt Sabine had thrown on. “And wearing clothes,” The fact was sneered with a feeling of disgust that had The Mandalorian reaching to set her sketchbook and markers onto the table.

“Yeah, that’s what people do when they get up in the morning, kurs’kaded,” Sabine poked at their side, and really, she did it to herself, though that didn’t change the gasp of surprise as teeth sank into the soft skin of her side. Shin must have been feeling merciful, letting go at the first brush of Mandalorian fingers against the underside of her jaw.

“You should have been sleeping too, therefore, clothes are illegal. It is in your New Republic laws,”

“Oh yeah, which law is that again?”

“Shin’s law,” They offered a sleepy twitch of their lips into a smile before shoving themselves up from their laying position.

“Mmm, I think I remember that one, I’ll never break it again.” Sabine turned her head to press her lips to Shin’s forehead as her wolf leaned against the headboard and leaned into her side again.

“You had the nightmares again last night,” Shin spoke as they reclined in silence. Their hand reached to grab Sabine’s interlocking together as her head bumped against the Mandalorians.

“I have them every night,” Sabine frowned, that wasn’t quite right, not since Shin started spending the night. “Mostly, you’ve been helping,”

“The more you attune your force abilities, the harder your… visions, will be to ignore in your sleep, until you’ve reached a point where you can block them from your subconscious,” Shin explained as she raised Sabine’s hands to her lips. Instead of pressing kisses to her knuckles, the scrape of their teeth had Sabine turning a fond smile to their joined hands.

“Not you too,” She groaned, smile slipping as she pulled her hand from Shin’s and stood from the bed. “First Ahsoka, then Huyang, then Hera, and now you?” Only some of her annoyance was mocked, there were constant reminders that she just wasn’t getting the force thing, always grinding down on her.

“Your Master is right,” Shin shuffled to the edge of the bed as well, rising to rest her hands on the Mandalorian’s hips and tug her so they stood flush together. “But we don’t have to worry about it, right now.” Her nose brushed against Sabine’s jaw as the purple haired woman melted into her hold.

“You’re gonna be there tonight, aren’t you?”

“As if I would give anyone else the chance to kill you,” Shin’s hand slipped up from where it rested on Sabine’s waist, sliding underneath the thin shirt to brush the scar she’d memorized by heart.

“You make a compelling argument, alright.” Sabine chuckled softly as she guided Shin back to the bed. “When do you have to go?”

“My Master will call when he requires me for preparations, until then, I am yours,”

“What a fancy way to say you have no idea,” Sabine tugged Shin back onto the bed, letting the blonde wrap their arms around her middle and pull her close.

“I am so going to kill you,” Nix pounced up onto the bed and forced a space for himself between the two women, claws pressing into Shin’s stomach threateningly as he got himself comfortable, ruining their spoon.

“You will try.”

#wolfwren #wrenwolf #shin hati x sabine wren #shin x sabine #ahsoka series #ahsoka spoilers #lesbians #star wars wlw #star wars

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