#..unless hes /forced/ to. which is inevitable.

[buwheal]

Spamton please go to sleep, you look really tired

[yandere-daydreams]

i'm being forced by myself to make a proper post for this poll. may gojo reign as a codependent king for years to come.

Cuteness Aggression With The Yan!JJK Boys.

Characters: Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Toji, Mahito, and Sukuna.

TW: Kidnapping, Unhealthy Relationships, and Implied Non/Con.

Gojo is near-violent. Expect to be constantly covered in bruises from his habit of full-body tackling you whenever he notices you're wearing one of his shirts or curled up in his bed or quirking your lips in the way he's never been able to resist. Tends to hold onto you for a while, too, keeping you pressed against him while he squeals and coos about how adorable his partner is, making you sound like more of an especially beloved pet rather than a live-in captive. No amount of squirming will distract him, either - he's going to be there until someone literally pries him off of you which, because there's a good chance he's already got you locked up tight in that luxury penthouse of his, isn't going to be anytime soon.

Geto is more used to receiving affection than dulling it out, so he doesn't really know what to do with himself when he's suddenly overwhelmed with the temptation to wrap his hands around your neck and squeeze until you stop laughing in a way that makes his heart want to beat out of his chest. In the end, he sorta just,,, picks you up and starts carrying you around like a giant cat. Maybe pinches your cheek when you inevitably start complaining and ask to be put down. Cult members who ask why you've been slung over his shoulder for the past hour and a half are immediately done away with and curse-users don't fair much better.

Nanami, as the only (relatively) emotionally-regulated person on this list, takes it in-stride. He tries not to force affection onto you, so he'll settle for a few headpats and maybe a kiss to your forehead, if you aren't absolutely terrified of him at that point. If you catch him in a more vulnerable state, either injured or exhausted, he might be a little more forceful - wrapping an arm around your waist and hauling you against his chest, where he can hold you until you eventually give-in and stop struggling, but at least he tries to hold himself back. Sometimes. Maybe. If you're lucky, that day.

Toji is almost as bad as Geto, but not quite as awkward. He tends to scoop you up, drag you away from whatever you're doing, and lay you down where he can pepper your face with kisses and whine when you shove at his chest. He usually lets you go after a few minutes, but it's in your best interest not to squirm too much until he does. He'll just smirk and kiss your neck and say something about how precious his little sweetheart is being, today. The fondness-motivated aggression is short-lived. What he'll do if you give him the idea that you might need more of his affection won't be.

Mahito is twice as unhinged as Gojo and only half as self-conscious. His only saving grace is that, by the time he gets genuinely overwhelmed by something you do, you're going to be used to weathering his constant attempts to suffocate you via forty-five minute hugs. When he realizes how cutely you wince when he pokes a fresh bruise and decides he has to dig his teeth into your shoulder and refuse to let go about it, you'll probably be too used to his ""affection"" to do anything other than sigh and make sure he doesn't severe anything important, this time.

Sukuna is, in his defense, rarely gentle about anything, so you really can't expect him to have a gentle reaction when he sees what an adorable reaction you wear as you wait for him to take his first drink from the chalice you laced with you most recent poisonous fixation. You can kick and thrash all you want as two of his arms loop under yours and pull you onto his lap, as he cups your face and shoves tongue down your throat and wonders aloud if you taste as endearing as you look. He always keeps you by his side, but for the rest of the day, he won't be satisfied unless you're practically on top of him, riding on his shoulders or straddling his thigh. He'll even drink your deadly little elixir straight from the bottle, if you ask him to. It won't work, but you know, it's the thought that counts and all <3

[animeyanderelover]

Tw: Yandere themes, possessive behavior, obsession, clinginess, paranoia, abduction, Nsfw, masturbation, dubcon, oral sex, size kink, praise kink, mirror sex, ropes, handcuffs, overstimulation, breeding kink, afab reader

Tags: @lovley-valentine7

Nsfw Hc's

🩵​I feel like fanfic writers don't talk enough about the fact that this man must be so touch-starved. His Infinity is activated all the time, people cannot touch him unless he allows it. So the amount of clinginess that he exhibits with his darling is perhaps in that regard justified. A dam is broken the moment that he falls in love with you and the desire to touch and to be touched is flowing freely out of him. Smothering hugs, suffocating kisses, hands constantly all over you. It's a daily life that you are forced to endure from the moment his obsession blossoms. It's excessive but in the beginning it is not sexual. There's much that Gojo has to do as of now still with his mind filling with paranoia. Your safety has to be ensured, potential enemies have to be obliterated, all competition must disappear. As much sweetness comes with his infatuation, the stress always follows closely and doesn't allow any amorous thoughts in his mind just yet. A semblance of calmness only settles once you are in his apartment, stuck and safely tucked away. Only then is there free space in his head for thoughts and feelings that are much more erotic and intimate as a new desire manifests.

🩵​Gojo initiates it, tries to do so at least. Hands slide under your shirt, tracing over the cups of your bra whilst his lips travel down to your neck, smothering it with rough kisses. Only that he stops whenever you tense up or push him away, blue eyes filled with a hunger that he tries to hold back. For now your unwillingness holds him back though it will eventually not be a free pass to use anymore. A part of Satoru wants you to reciprocate, wants to see that you yearn for him as much as he does for you. He is not delusional enough to ever genuinely believe that though. He tries to be satiated with the kisses and the hugs you reluctantly tolerate, with jerking himself off but it is not enough. Not in the long run. What he needs isn't something his own hands can provide him with and the longer you refuse, the pushier and needier you grow in return. Frustration bubbles up within him as something is denied from him, something he desperately needs if his painfully hard boner is anything to go by. It will happen, it is inevitable. A realisation you cannot deny yourself until eventually you allow it out of fear to see what he would do if you were to continue to push him away.

🩵​Still, your reluctance is hard to ignore and almost threatens to disturb Gojo the first time that he takes you. It is that reluctance that results in the speed he always claims you forever after. Within his home he makes free use of all the space that he has as he ends up fucking you wherever space is available. There is at one point no room left where he hasn't undressed you and slams his aching cock into you. The kitchen counter, the shower, the bathtub, the couch or even the floor are witnesses to long and intense sex between him and you, mixed fluids always staining the surface by the end of it all. His tongue is always eager and fast to enter you the moment your panties are gone, pushing greedily deep within your plush and hot walls, his hot breath fawning over your sensitive pussy as he eats you out like a starved mutt. Your reluctance would be poison for a situation he needs to be intimate and filled with mutual desire which is why he resorts to the strategy where he doesn't even give you any time to properly think. Instead his large hands squeeze your hips greedily as he pushs your pussy closer to his face as he forces an orgasm out of you without giving you any time to process.

🩵​Overstimulation is common and constant as first his tongue and later his long cock force you into orgasm and moments of only bliss and no thoughts. He loves fucking you out of your mind but not because he feels sadistic nor because he plans to degrade you. No, it is simply because in this state you just give in to your desire and reciprocate his own needs. It is not perfect, not yet what he wishes for the both of you to have but it is the best he can get for now and so he latches onto it eagerly. Every plea, every whimper of his name sends electricity straight into his pulsing dick, his hips snapping against yours almost painfully as shallow and rapid pants escape his lips, his hot breath fawning your face. His greed tires you quickly as your head starts pounding and your legs start hurting yet any begging of yours for him to stop is cut off by his lips muffling all process, by his husky voice telling you that you can take more as he starts thrusting faster into you, pushing you over the edge once more. He leaves you so exhausted by the end of it all that you have little to no strength left to get angry at him or to say anything that would ruin the blissful experience he just shared with you.

🩵​He resorts to physical restriction during times where you are difficult. His own strength is more than enough to restrain you yet he prefers to have them all over your body, reverently running over every curve and inch of your figure. That is how your wrists end up cuffed or tied to the bed as you lose half of your ability to defend yourself even just the tiniest bit, your legs spread apart with ease to reveal to Satoru's blue eyes what he needs the most in that moment. All the tugging and desperate wriggles of your hands to free them often result in your skin being raw by the end of it all, a burning stinging located within your wrists. His own lips always press kisses all over the raw skin as a silent apology whenever he releases your hands, a tiny spark of guilt in his eyes. He discovers his kink for mirror sex by accident whilst fucking you in front of one in the bathroom and glancing at the reflection. The different angles reflected in the glass and even the fact that you can see within the reflection how you get fucked turns him on. He starts ordering an entire bunch of mirrors, places them everywhere and always fucks you in a position where you have a perfect view of the many reflections staring back at you.

🩵​His strategy of pushing you relentlessly into euphoria after euphoria works as you often end up downright delirious. Otherwise you would have noticed one thing much earlier, something that worries you quite a lot the moment you finally realise it. Satoru never pulls out. He doesn't use any protection as that would rub him of the pleasure and the feeling of plunging into your warm walls and he never pulls out whenever he feels his balls tightening either. No, instead you notice that he always makes sure to bury himself inside of you, the tip of his cock nearly kissing your womb as he lets out a choked moan as he shoots his load deep within you. Filled with a dread of what this could mean you confront him quickly about this, question him why he never pulls out of you. He hesitates, a reaction that has your heart pounding nervously when he is faced with your own discomfort. Instead blue eyes land on your stomach, an answer enough already before he eventually admits that he has been thinking a lot about a child with you lately. For now it is only a fantasy as he still allows you to take the pill but you should know that the more you deny him, the more he will end up wanting it.

[verstappensrealwife]

No regrets - Oscar Piastri x Inexperienced!Fem!Reader

[oscar piastri masterlist  / f1 masterlist]

ʚɞ in which... reader loses her virginity to oscar. ʚɞ fluff, smut.  ⋆⭒˚.⋆ 1200 words ʚɞ warnings: fem receiving: fingering and oral, p in v, loss of virginity, not proofread. Pussy and shaft….

-୨♡୧-

You never imagined losing your virginity to him.

He was your neighbor for goodness sake!

“Good morning!” He greeted each morning as you left your apartment at 8am sharp to head to work. You’d reply in kind and go on with your day, sometimes thinking to the cute boy across the hall.

Oscar, however, was not a morning person. He practically forced himself out of bed just to see you, speak to you, pretend to be going somewhere, then go back inside and chastise himself mentally for not even trying to ask you out.

One evening as you were coming home, he was leaving his apartment, and almost tripped over his feet when he saw you.

He was not prepared to speak to you. Each morning he’s silently sike himself up to utter two words. Now he was stuck in a situation: ignore you and pretend he didn’t just nearly fall straight into you, or mutter some words you probably won’t hear because of how quiet he would inevitably be.

“Hi,” You smiled as you pushed your key into your door.

“Hello.” He said back, not sure whether to walk away- very quickly- or stay and attempt to talk to you. It was the latter. “Sorry to be nosy but urm… well… I don’t think i actually know your name?”

“Y/N, Y/N Y/L/N.” You replied, holding your hand out to him to shake. His hand felt more than limp in your grasp.

“Oscar… Piastri.”

“Nice to meet you, Oscar… Piastri.” you giggled, slightly making fun of his shy demeanour

He huffed a small laugh, “Sorry to be more nosy, but I don’t think I have your number either?” He tried… he really did. And he succeeded!

“Oh! Sure, yeah!” You passed him your phone, a small smile playing on your lips as you watched him press the digits into a new contact. “Well, I should be going, a girl needs to eat.”

“I- I mean you can eat with me…” He said, “I- that sounds weird- I- Do you wanna go on a date with me?”

That was the first of many dates he had invited you on. It became almost routine over the 2023 summer break for Oscar to take you out, every Friday evening, 7pm.

But by the end of August he had to of course go back to travelling the globe, racing cars.

The two of you stayed in touch, he gave you a key to his apartment to water his plants- of which only 2 were real. He routinely called you on a Friday night- unless team duties came upon him- to keep up with tradition.

But he grew tired of not being able to see you, physically.

The flight was long, and boring, but seeing Oscar as the first thing out the airport was more than exciting.He hugged you- longer than friends would hug- and led you by the small of your back to his car.

“To the hotel?” He asked you.

“Yes sir!” You smiled.

The hotel room you were put in was huge, the bed probably bigger than your kitchen at home.

Before you even touched your suitcase you fell, backwards, into the pristine white sheets of the hotel bed. Oscar falling in suit.

Lay next to eachother, you turned your head to see him already looking at you. He had a lovesick look in his eyes as he admired your face, eyes, lips. The more he stared at your lips, the more he couldn’t stop thinking about kissing them.

His body acted before his mind and he was kissing you before he knew it. You were a little taken aback but didn’t pull away- you didn’t want to.

Until he moved his hand from your face, to your waist, to the inside of your leg.

You jumped up quickly, almost headbutting him in the nose in the process.

He was more than swift to throw apologies at you, sorries and quick movement to the other side of the bed.

There was an uncomfortable silence which Oscar hated. He wanted to say something, anything, but no words could fix, what in his mind, was the most awkward encounter with a woman in his life.

“It’s not that I don’t want to…” You said quietly from the far side of the bed. He looked over at you, face flushed a light pink in embarrassment. “I– embarrassingly enough, im a virgin.”

He frowned confused. “Your a virgin? Like… never had sex… You?”

“Rub it in why dont you,” You laughed, “Why’s that so shocking?”

“Look at you! You’re like the most beautiful woman i’ve layed eyes on.” He wasn’t lying. “I thought men would be throwing themselves at you- I would.”

Now it was your turn to blush crimson, heat rising up your neck and across your face. You carefully shimmied towards him, holding his face gently. “If I’m gonna do it, I want it to be with you.”

That was all he needed to hear. He was on you like predator to prey, greedily kissing you, feeling your body needily. Until he went lower.

He was tentative, gentle in pushing his hands under the fabric of your underwear. Rubbing his finger up and down, smearing the wetness across your pussy. “Thats a good girl,” He said quietly. You weren’t meant to even hear him, but you did. And god, did it make you moan louder. He smirked at your visceral reaction. You heartbeat quickening as he pushed one finger, then two inside.

“See, no need to be nervous… Feels good, hm?”

You babbled some sort of response to him, a ‘yes’ somewhere in the jumble of the reply.

He pushed the clothes off of your bottom half completely, before moving to pull the shirt off your torso, unclipping your bra with ease and tossing it somewhere behind him. He was more than gentle as he kissed you, your neck, chest, stomach, thighs, and finally your clit.

He licked and sucked like there was no tomorrow. Indulging in the way your body reacted to him, to what he was doing to you, how he made you feel.

The first orgasm washed over you, legs shaking as he licked up everything. Climbing back up your body he was face to face, his mouth covered in a shine of liquid. “So, do you wanna do this. Really do it.”

You took a deep breath and nodded. He undressed, and kneeled between your legs, rolling a condom up the length of his shaft before positioning it infront of the entrance.

You took one final deep breath and he slowing pushed his hips towards your own. It hurt less than you had imagined- -but that didn’t take away from the fact it still stung.

He hadn’t moved in almost 2 minutes before you gave him the go ahead, pulling his hips back slowly and pushing them back towards you at the same pace. It hurt less as he carried on, eventually the sting turning to pleasure.

“Doing so- fuck- so well for me.” He groaned as he reached his peak slowly.

You could barely make words, so stuck to just moaning his name over and over again, whines of need flowing from your lips.

“Gonna cum, okay baby?”

You nodded quickly as he quickened his pace a little before his hips stuttered against yours before pulling out of you and immediately getting up. “I’ll be back- just need to clean you up.”

You never imagined losing your virginity to him.

But god, you didn’t regret it. Not one bit.

[zweetpea]

Mrs. “Wayne”

Content warning: Swears, Arranged Marriage, talks of having an heir, Mentions of Bruce’s Affairs, Nightwing x Starfire mentioned

Based on this since no one else has done it (or at least not that I've seen...)

BTW guys if you want to write something based off something I write I ask that you tag me in it. (Unless it's like a broad thing... like if you see my post about Bruce bringing home a girl that he met and married that day then write a fic around that idea I ask that you credit me, but if you see my Yandere Bruce x reader and decide to make a "baby fever! Bruce x reader" that's more general so I don't think it would be fair of me to ask for credit.)

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

"Honey I know you're angry with us but it's what’s best for you. He's the richest man in the country." Your mother fixed your veil.

"He's a whore. And what's worse is that he doesn't even consider how it even affects his kids. I just picks up orphans off the street like they're lucky pennies or a 20 dollar bill for him." You grimaced.

"You know what a..." She sounded appalled. "20 dollar bill is? Oh how I've failed you as a mother."

"Don't be so dramatic." You rolled your eyes.

"Are you ready to go?" Your father entered into the private room. "You look beautiful Princess."

"Thanks dad."

"Come on." He grabbed your hand as you grabbed the bouquet. You wrapped your arm around his as you two walked down the isle to your soon-to-be husband, Bruce "Brucie" Wayne.

You looked down through the entire ceremony, up until the Vows. Brucie's were short and sweet. "We may not know each other too well but I swear to be loyal, thoughtful, and truthful through our entire marriage." At which you heard a faint snort from the front row. You slightly glance over and see a young man a few years younger than you trying to hold laughter, his white streak bobbing as he shook with laughter. Brucie's glaring at him.

You turned back to your inevitable spouse and said your vows. "I promise to stand by your side in all your endeavors, even if that means adopting 10 more orphans you pick up from the streets like they were stray cats." You said in a monotonous voice.

You two finish off the ceremony with the standard ceremonial officiator speach.

"Do you Bruce Wayne take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"

"I do."

He turns to me. "Do you-"

"I do." You cut him off. Surprising everyone with how forward that was. Some whispers were heard amongst the crowd, undoubtedly calling you a gold digger for being so eager to get this ceremony over with.

"Well at least she's eager! That's almost gotta ensure this marriage lasts right?" The officiator jokes to ease the tension. "If anyone objects to this marriage please speak now or forever hold your peace." The same young man who was laughing held up his hand but it was pushed down by a man about your age sitting next to him. "Then you may now kiss the bride."

You and your new husband shared a chaste kiss before you ran down the isle and out to the limo. And after a short drive you made it to the spot where you were scheduled to take your wedding photos and have the reception.

The reception was void of life, stuffy, like all those galas your parents forced you to attend. Hopefully this didn't end up like one of the incidents of Brucie flirting with milfs, sticking his tongue down a young squeezes throat, or twerking on ice sculptures.

Eventually Brucie takes you over to the loudest table in the place. "Wifey, these are my kids and co. Dick my oldest, the trouble maker who laughed during the ceremony is Jason, my oldest daughter Cass, the middles Stephanie and Tim, and Damian my youngest. Then there's Barbara Commissioner Gordons daughter, and our newest member of our family Duke."

"I'm the only blood child." Damian points out.

"Let's hope debauchery isn't hereditary."

Jason bursts out laughing at that. "I like her already."

"Really? Cause I had to hold your hand like a toddler during the ceremony to keep you from throwing a tantrum like a toddler." Dick points out.

"Can you blame me Dickie. She's your age. If anyone should be having a hissy fit it's you. Well you and maybe Babs."

"But we're not. So can't you be mature about this."

"I think Todd's lack of manners have become more acceptable considering what she said. Now it stands out less. Congrats Todd, you're now the family's second biggest embarrassment." Damian rolled his eyes.

"Haha" You laughed sarcastically. "What are you stray cats fighting over anyway that has you so rowdy? Someone throw out a can on anchovies?"

"No we're just excited to have a new Mom." Dick smiled at you.

"Oh looks like my new Father-in-law is calling me over for some business talk. I'll be back, Wifey. You just stay here and mingle." Your husband walks away and you turn back to the Brucie bunch.

"I know you guys probably don't like me or find it weird that I'm so close to your guys ages. Do me a favor and just put up with me for say five to ten years." They looked at you confused so you elaborate. "Brucie and I signed a prenup that if I asked for a divorce I'd get nothing. But give it a few years and he'll find a new fling. They'll get caught and he'll ask for a divorce to save his image. Don't worry I'll only ask for at most a million. Standard sum for a celebrity of his caliber."

Damian glares at you. "You skank."

"I'm being realistic. As a woman in high society you get to be a man's pretty young thing till you're 40. By then you've either started your own multi-million dollar business or you're the divorced crone who can't do any better. Most relationships of this caliber are shams held together by pool boys and secretaries. Or the few lucky ones that got married for love instead of PR."

"Bruce isn't like that." Tim defends.

"Oh please. I've seen him go to a date with a woman and leave with two completely different women than the woman he arrived with." You rolled your eyes

"Maybe when he was younger, but he's changed." Duke stood up to confront you.

"It's nothing personal kids, it's just business. I don't care if that's how he chooses to live his life. I won't be around much to see it anyway, I'm going to be rather busy." You shrugged, seemingly above it all.

"Busy with what?" Cass glared.

"Trading stocks and such, preparing for the inevitable divorce. Maybe I'll go sponsor some artists or a theatre production if I'm bored. I don't know, but what I can tell you is that it's coming." You turn around to walk away and see Brucie already flirting with another woman. "And from the looks of it, it's coming sooner than we could've ever guessed." You smirked, feeling vindicated. The rest of them looked on in horror.

After the reception you two left on a rather uneventful honeymoon. The private villa was garish and gaudy. It felt like a petty excuse to flaunt his wealth especially because you two spent the entire trip sleeping in different rooms. And on top of all that half way through he up and left you with his black card and flew back to the mansion to deal with an "emergency". Your best guess was a whiny sugar baby was getting pissy.

At the end of the trip you flew back and had to catch an uber home. None of them even came to pick you up from the airport. Though with how they reacted to your statements at the reception could you really blame them?

Regardless you practically snuck into the mansion with the help of Alfred who showed you to a small guest room on the first floor. It had a single queen sized bed without even a comforter, just a white duvet, and on either side of the bed were nightstands.

"Thank you Alfred." You nodded to.

"You're welcome." He bows. "If there's anything else you need please feel free to inform me immediately."

"Brucie left this with me in his vacation home, can you give this back to him and tell him I said thank you for the take out?" You handed over the black card.

"Take out?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah. And for letting me use the Wayneflix account while I was there. If I may make a slight suggestion, give your regency era shows more attention. Thank you Alfred. I'll go unpack now."

"I've already taken the liberty of unpacking your clothes into the wardrobe and dresser." He revealed.

"You didn't need to do that."

"I know you requested that I not but I felt I'd rather have your room ready for you than for you to stress when you arrived." He bowed.

"That's very sweet but I have a very particular system. My outfits all fit together in a specific way." You start to rearrange your clothes in the way you see fit.

"Might I learn how you like them so I can properly sort them next time?"

"No, it's okay. I can do my own laundry." You offered.

"Have you ever done your own laundry?" He raised an eyebrow accusingly.

"Well... no." You confessed. "But you already have like 14 other people's laundry to do. I don't want to be a bother. Besides I don't want you to waste a few weeks when it won't matter in a few years."

"So Master Damian has told me you've said. Nevertheless I'm willing to learn to do this if you are willing to learn how to do your own cooking and laundry."

"Why are you helping me?"

"I've met many people whom Master Wayne has brought into his life. You are the first who's actually wanted to fend for yourself. If you are running a long con into Master Wayne's pocket it's either the smartest or the dumbest plan I've ever seen concocted. Besides, many of the Wayne's don't currently reside here full time. Master Dick lives with his wife missus Koriand'r. Master Jason lives in a renovated greenhouse studio apartment. Miss Barbara and Miss Cassandra live as roommates. And Master Wayne lives in either his WayneTech or home Office. I have more than enough time to learn."

You genuinely smiled for the first time since you heard about the engagement. The two of you spent the rest of the day organizing clothes and making cookies.

"-And that is the difference between Light Academia and Pastel Academia.”

He looked stunned. "How do you keep all this straight?"

"It's just something I got into because I wanted to disassociate from my hopeless reality. I figured fake it till you make it right? Someday I could have a different, more quiet life. And finding subtle nuances between aesthetics is honestly fun. Like a game of spot the difference."

“Oh my! Look at the time! It’s already 4 o’clock!” Alfred looks stunned at the time.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to spend four hours talking about this.”

"It's quite alright Missus Wayne."

"I'll go bring these to Brucie. Might as well let him know that he's not getting any inheritance from a tragic accident that happened to me."

"Master Wayne cares for you. I hope you know that. It may not be in the most... romantic measure... but I swear that he was not lying on your wedding day when he said he'd remain faithful to you." Alfred tried to reassure.

"If you say so Alfred." You gave him a small smile.

Alfred looked at her sadly as she walked away. He wished there was more he could do to help you fit in around the manor. Someone as grounded as you would be a good addition in Brice's life, he just knew it!

Later in the Batcave, Alfred confronted Bruce

"Master Wayne I have an idea on how to keep your new wife busy."

"Why should I care about what's she's doing with her life? I have more important things to do than to worry about than some nepo-baby throwing a tantrum.

"Why should you care? How about the fact that you have never had a serious relationship and making this work is crucial for your public image? How about the fact that she has given up her entire life to cater towards your brash decision after one petty comment Mr. West made about your love life?" Alfred started listing off reasons; becoming more irate as he did. "How about the fact that if she's not kept busy during the day she'll eventually stumble upon the entrance of the Batcave?"

That peaked Bruce's interest. "I'm listening." He swivels around in his chair.

"Offer her a job as the family's social media manager." Alfred proposed.

"What? Why?" Bruce looked at him, skeptically.

"She's very knowledgeable about different aesthetics and trend. She could make this family look..." He tried to find a nice word to describe them.

"Normal?" Bruce interrupts with an almost bored look on his face.

"I was going to say civil but that works too." Alfred shrugged as Bruce groaned. "Don't take it the wrong way Master Wayne. I love this Family with all my heart but you cannot deny that they can be a bit rowdy at times."

"A bit is an understatement. It would look good for your PR... fine. Go ask her... but If it is not up to Wayne Enterprise standards you're firing her for me!"

So that's what you've been doing for the past few months.

"Jason, I'm telling you, motorcycles are out! Most girls aren't going for the bad boy vibe anymore! They're into Timothée Chalamet!" You argued over the phone with Jason, Bruce's most rebellious child, even more so than the 12 year old pain in the ass! "Fine, we'll talk later. I have an unexpected visitor anyway." You looked behind you as Bruce entered.

Bruce made a habit of being loud around the house for her. You knew he was being exceptionally weird but you didn't exactly know why. You didn't really care all that much either.

He came up behind you and started to massage your shoulders. "Jason giving you trouble again."

"...yeah." You said shrinking into yourself. The one thing you hadn't quite gotten used to was Bruce's attempts to flirt with you. You knew that he wanted to keep public image favorable, but it didn't make sense why he flirted with you behind closed doors.

He leaned down and started kissing your exposed shoulders in your off the shoulder sweater dress. You wriggled out and away from him in discomfort and he looked at you puzzled. "What's wrong?"

"I don't like you touching me." You confessed. "I don't- ...I don't see us that way... I'm sorry."

He sat on the edge of your desk. "You have nothing to apologize for. I'm the one who should apologize. It's just that... we haven't done anything yet and-"

"And what? You think I'm a slut that's just going to put out for you?" You interrupted.

"No! I just meant that you were probably wanting me to... be more romantic... I thought you'd want me to instigate something..." He stood there, not knowing what to do.

"Well you thought wrong." You left your office angrily. You stomped out of there and went to the library. You looked over all the books they had. Classics like the Iliad and Crime and Punishment to so many romance novels. But one book in particular caught your interest. The History of Taxes.

"Who wants to read about taxes?" You cringed. The book looked relatively untouched. 'Typical,' you thought. 'Rich people can't even be bothered to try and read the books they have in their house.' She went to pull it out and found the bookshelf moving.

On the other side was the answer to one of the greatest mysteries she's had since she came to Gotham, "Who is Batman and Co?"

There it was! The Batcave and All it's glory...

Oh... the bags under his eye of sleepless nights, the flirty persona, the stomping around trying to make his presence known to you.

"Bruce Wayne is Batman..." No sooner had you said those words did you feel a sharp pain in the back of your head and the world fade into darkness...

[read-marx-and-lenin]

I'm asking this in good faith, but this is something I'm genuinely confused about. Regarding the Holodomor, or the Soviet famine of 1930 in general, why does it matter if it was a genocide or not? At best it seems to be a natural famine exacerbated by poor decision making, and while that is far different from a genocide, I don't understand why that specification matters, because it was still made worse by Soviet intervention, unless I'm getting the facts wrong which I probably am.

It matters to the Western propagandists who were insistent for decades despite zero evidence that the famine was used to commit atrocities against the people of Ukraine. The refrain the whole time was that once the Soviet archives were made public, they'd finally have the proof they needed. The archives are eventually opened, and surprise surprise, there's not only no evidence of the deliberate withholding of grain, there's evidence of significant amounts of food aid being sent to help alleviate the famine. The myth of a Ukrainian genocide began as Nazi propaganda and was adopted as part of the "double genocide" narrative by Western reactionaries after WW2 to downplay the crimes of the Nazis and to maintain a narrative about liberal opposition to "authoritarianism", painting Western capitalists as the "free world" fighting against both fascism and communism. (Don't ask them why they stopped fighting fascism after WW2 though.)

As for the human elements of the famine, it is also part of the typical Western narrative, even among those who admit the Holodomor was not a targeted anti-Ukrainian genocide and who admit that there were environmental factors, to try and put substantial amounts of blame on the Soviet collectivization of agriculture. I am not going to lie and say collectivization went smoothly with no issues, but you cannot ignore the factors of reactionary sabotage by kulaks (including the destruction of animals and grain and the outright murder of party officials) and the effects of Western sanctions and sabotage on the economic development of the USSR.

While some have argued that there was a complete "gold blockade" on the USSR during the famine and so the Soviet Union was forced to export grain to facilitate international trade, the blockade was never enforced by all Western nations at the same time and the Soviets were still able to export gold and silver at various times throughout the 1920s. It is true, however, that gold reserves were stretched thin at the time and the Soviets simply didn't have enough gold to cover their international debts. Soviet gold mines had never been extraordinarily productive and the rest of the Soviet economy was still developing at the time, so grain was one of the few things that they expected to have in surplus. In addition, there were various other sanctions in place by 1930 that did limit who they could trade with and what they could trade with, but the export of grain was almost never restricted. The famine caught them off guard at a very bad time.

While international grain exports were restricted during the famine as grain was diverted to famine-stricken regions of the country (and grain imports were increased as well), the problems with hoarding only worsened as in the panic of the famine, kulaks sought to exploit the people and create a profitable black market on grain. A struggle against the kulaks coincided with worsening environmental effects and the spread of disease among both crops and humans.

The famine was not man-made, it was not entirely natural, and it was not the inevitable outcome of collectivization. It was a perfect storm of a variety of factors. Stalin was not some heartless monster condemning millions of Ukrainians to death for daring to defy the glorious Soviet Union. He was not some idiot who had no idea what he was doing, plunging the nation into famine out of ineptitude. He was not a stubborn maniac who refused to abandon failing economic policies even at the cost of human lives. He was a human being, one of many in charge of the Soviet Union, dealing with concurrent disasters as best as they could.

[weenwrites]

What if some of the TFP Decepticons (let’s say Soundwave, Starscream, Dreadwing) were keeping a secret romance with a human behind Megatron’s back? What will happen when Megatron inevitably finds out about it? (HCs please)

Secret Relationships

Summary - Secret relationships with giant robots stuck in a war can remain secret for only oh so long... Characters - Soundwave, Starscream, Dreadwing Content - Fluff, Angst Category - Headcanons Trigger Warnings - Character Death

✎ A/N: Thank you for the request! I had a lot of fun writing these!

[ Please do not repost, plagiarize, or use my writing for AI! Translating my work with proper credit is acceptable, but please ask first! ]

Soundwave

No one knows how exactly Soundwave ever fell in love with a human, let alone the reason why he kept it a secret, but if he was willing to go this far for you, then it means that you are—without a doubt—special to him (but what he sees in you is what makes everyone else aboard the Nemesis curious, once the secret's out of course).

The moment before the two of you began officially dating, they made it clear that you must keep the relationship a secret, and as such, this may not be the best or happiest relationship. Meetings must be secret and planned in advance, and he's more often than not kept aboard the Nemesis for work, meaning that it's a rare treat to even see him.

But they try their best to be a good partner. He frequently sends you gifts, and most of the time spent together is over texts, so it's kind of like a long-distance relationship. But whenever the two of you have a moment you can spend together in person, he enjoys going sightseeing. But he has to be careful about how frequently he uses groundbridges, because every destination is most likely recorded and kept on a datalog that he can't easily erase without arousing some suspicion.

The two of you have most likely spoken about the war before, and whether you decided to pop a question about leaving the decepticons is up to you. But he comes to learn that being around you makes them realize just how exhausting the war is. It never used to feel this draining. It never used to take such a massive toll on him. It never used to feel so... Hopeless. It's depressing, honestly, which makes him look forward to the little moments of peace he experiences whenever he sees you.

But those moments didn't last as long as he would've liked. They didn't know who may have done it, or how it happened, but when Megatron requested to meet with them, they never expected to learn that he would find out about you. Megatron forced them to explain themselves and to tell him all about you. But luckily he had prepared for this eventuality in advance, despite how depressing it is.

The two of you had talked about what would happen in the event that your relationship was discovered, and you both came up with 2 plans.

1. Fake your death. Say that Megatron found out about you, but he doesn't know your real name, where you lived, or any important information about you in general. Soundwave would risk giving him false information and leading him to kill someone else instead. Unfortunately in this eventuality, it will mean that the two of you can never see one another again, unless you both want to risk your lives again.

2. Bring you to the Autobots and entrust them to protect you. Let's say that in this eventuality, Megatron knows who you are, where you live, etc.. And depending on whether he's taken the initiative and taken you aboard the Nemesis, or still plans on taking you aboard, this plan has varying degrees of success. Ideally, Soundwave would contact the Autobots, requesting to meet, and he would bring you to the rendezvous coordinates and pass you off to them. It would be hard to make this appear as if the Autobots randomly showed up and stole you away, so once again, the chances are that you'll most likely never see eachother again, but in this case he's at a significantly bigger risk of dying.

But after some deep, deep thinking, he came up with a third. Leave the Decepticons. He loves you more than he can ever express, he loves you enough to even consider this option, but that doesn't make it any easier. He's dedicated a good portion of his life to the Decepticon cause, he's witnessed the rise of the cause, the loss that it brought, and the fall of Cybertron, but he still remained loyal to Megatron. But it all changed when he met you. He doesn't understand how or why he ever let you get as close as you did, but he wouldn't even dare to change a thing. It's just a shame that he can't chose this option now.

After he knows that lazerbeak has brought you to the autobots safely—after he finds a clawed hand digging into his plating and pinning him down, the pressure increasing ever so slightly and threatening to crush his throat—after shards of his visor fall to the floor, and there, he comes face to face with Megatron who glares down at him with nothing but disgust and malice—even now, he could look back on all that he's gone through with you to where he's found himself now, and his only regret is that he didn't have enough time for you. No matter the outcome, they're prepared to face whatever comes for them.

Starscream

How the two of you met and let alone even became a couple is a story that not a single soul will ever know, but honestly given the situation the two of you are in, you'd both most likely think it's for the best.

Out of everyone else on the Nemesis, he knows well what will happen in the event that Megatron finds out about you, and he knows that the fallout of it all won't bode well for either of you. He's had nightmares about what would happen, and the worst one was where he was forced to kill you or else Megatron was going to do worse. He's rarely had that dream, but every time it's never failed to leave him worse than a shaking mess.

He understands that this isn't the easiest relationship to be in, and he feels guilty that all he can offer you are sparse gifts and comforting words through text rather than in person. So he tries his hardest to make what little time he does spend with you, the best days of your life.

It's hard to get resources to set up little picnics, or to even get you a wrapped gift, and it's even harder to hide it from the other decepticons, but he tries anyway for your sake despite the high risk it poses to you both. And some cons begin to notice that he seems rather eager to go outside for a flight, much more than he used to, so some begin to suspect that he may be up to something.

At times you even go weeks without hearing anything from him because it's too risky to send you even a single text. But every time this happens, he tries his best to make it up to you when he gets back to you. Yet no matter how many times you assure him that you forgive him with the most sincere look you can muster, that does nothing to silence the part of him that thinks: it won't be long until he'll hear you say those words for the last time.

He's grateful for your forgiveness each and every time, yet all good things will come to pass no matter how much he'd try to stop it. He just hopes that this ends with no blood or energon spilt, and that you'd walk away without so much as a measly scratch, but since when was Starscream ever that lucky?

One day, someone found out about you. He doesn't know who or how, but he'd personally hunt them down and damn them to the pits of Kaon if he was given even so much as just their name, but much to his misfortune, he's denied that possibility as he's forced to flee from the Nemesis and reach you before the other decepticons do.

Knowing you better than anyone, he's able to accurately guess where you might be that day, and with little time to spare he scoops you up and blasts off as he tries to communicate the gist of the situation in as little words as possible as he tries to avoid fleets of vehicons that have been sent after the two of you.

He can't keep running away forever, primarily because of your sake. You have a life of your own to live, and he'd rather throw himself into an active war zone than ruin your life. He hates having to do this, but if has to contract the autobots in order to keep you safe, then so be it. He sends a message under the guise that he's taken you hostage and demands for them to meet him at a set of specific coordinates, and if everything goes according to his half-baked plan, then you'll be safe.

But what about him, you ask? Starscream is visibly hesitant to answer, and even when he responds he doesn't truly answer your question. He simply assures you that the autobots will keep you safe because his first and foremost priority here is your own safety and welbeing. You may not see or hear from him for a while, but he'll be fine! He'll figure something out, you can count on his word for it.

Dreadwing

He hardly leaves the Nemesis unless he's dispatched for a mission, so it's very difficult for him to find any time to spend around you in person. Sure, he has free range of the Nemesis and he can leave and fly as he pleases, but the more he does this, the more suspicious it will look, so unfortunately for your sake and his, he has to keep your meetings in person few and far between.

But he makes it up to you in an abundance of text messages. Each message he sends you is long, eloquent, and teeming with his admiration for you, it's like a love letter of sorts, and each is more charming and sweet than the last. And despite how he may seem, he can be quite the conversationalist given the right topic, and he keeps rather entertaining conversations going between the two of you, and they more often than not last very late into the night.

He can be quite the romantic gentleman, and at times his words are so poetic (and maybe a little cheesy) that it might lead you to think that he seeks his inspiration from a beautiful blend of old, romantic cybertronian works and human love stories (or maybe it's from those cheesy romance movies that play in the drive-in theaters).

His favorite memory of the two of you together was when he took you out to stargaze. You were both talking about your ideal futures, and you had started, making sure to emphasize that you wanted him to be part of it for sure one day, no matter what happens. The moment was sweet, and despite however unlikely it was that the two of you would ever be able to spend your days together without any fear, he promised that one day he would be able to devote himself to you in the way he wishes he could, that he would be with you for eternity.

But eternity is never truly eternal. In an ever changing and evolving world where even the deepest secrets eventually come to light, that dream shriveled up and died the moment he had been summoned before Megatron to speak about his little "human pet" he's kept on the sidelines for so long now.

Though his lord's disdain and immeasurable disappointment was meant to shame him into correcting his ways and "disposing" of distractions like you as Megatron suggested if he were to regain his honor, he found himself far more concerned with your own safety. You're far more vulnerable than he is, and though the price he must pay for your safety is tantamount to sacrificing his own life, then so be it. He chose you, and now he is willing to pay any price and bear any burden that comes with it.

Though he has to break the sound barrier in order to do it, he manages to reach you in time and deliver you to safety. He quickly explains that he's informed the autobots of your situation and that you will be safe under their careful watch while he goes to face Megatron alone. But unfortunately no matter how many times you persuade him to come with you, even if Optimus was there to agree with you and help advocate your point, Dreadwing can't bring himself to do it.

Betraying the decepticon cause may be one thing, but to forget it all and run away with you is something he doesn't believe he can act upon--he promises that it's not that he doesn't love you, it's that he has a very complicated relationship with the cause now, and this is his way of properly dealing with it. Honor is a very important thing to him, you know this as well as he does, and this is something he must confront head-on, even if the chances of his survival are slim. No conniving plans, no tricks, no deceit, it is just him and Megatron.

And eventually, as he finds himself fading in and out of consciousness, overwhelming shame floods him. Not only has he betrayed the Decepticons, but he's betrayed his promise of an eternity with you. Even as he sees a blade slowly rise above his head, poised to strike at any second, all he can really think of is how he wishes he could plead for your forgiveness and do whatever he could to earn your love and trust again.

[whatswrong7]

Part 2 Part 3 Ghost didn't think much of you at first. You were just the incapable rookie to him. Constantly getting lost and needing backup on missions. He was actually annoyed at you and your incompetence, trying to stay as far out of your way as possible. But without fail, on almost every mission, your voice would pop into his ear calling for help as you inevitably fucked up, or bit off more than you could chew, or got yourself injured. He didn't even understand how you made it onto the task force, and he told Soap as much, which would usually just get a laugh and not much of a real response. He'd avoid your attempts at chit chat and small talk, barking orders at you to go do something else, unless you were at base, where he settled for just ignoring you until you furrowed your brow and went off.

And then you saved Johnny. His earpiece had gotten destroyed a few minutes earlier, the last thing he was able to say a vague description of his location. Price, Gaz, and Ghost were all preoccupied with their own fights. Ghosts mind seized up as his body continued the motions, aiming and shooting with deadly accuracy. He was gone. Soap was as good as gone, and just like his family, he wouldn't be able to save him. He couldn't breathe, all the gear too heavy on his body as his lungs threatened to collapse. Dead. Dead, dead, dead, all because of him, him, h-

"I got him"

Your voice rasped through the tiny machine, sounding out of breath and unsteady. You didn't respond to anything else, the rest of them hurrying to finish up and head to the chopper, Ghost silently hoping, praying. And there Johnny was, huffing and breathing heavily as a medic took care of him, quickly confirming to the newly arrived team he would be just fine. Ghost breathed a sigh of relief, just to turn to you and get the breath knocked out of him again. You were also getting quickly helped, blood coating you as the medic worked to remove the bullets from all areas of your body you had been hit in. Your usually bright eyes were heavy lidded, as you lazily looked around, barely glancing at Simon. Your shoulder had to get put back into place after popping it out of its socket- and by god, you were a proper mess, thick blood all over your skin and blending in with your uniform, your arm hanging limp by your side as it was held and shoved back into place, and barely able to keep your eyes open.

Ghost had never seen anything more beautiful.

[stardustizuku]

Unfortunately I came across a very strange and misinformed video about Black Butler.

It’s not good. Don’t watch it. Unless you wanna ruin your day, in which case have fun.

Despite it all, I watched it. What left me wondering, however, was how off the mark the person who made the video was on, well, everything.

From their insistence that the Book of Circus Arc theme or point is non existent, to reading Ciel’s character so badly they genuinely thought the Green Witch Arc did nothing for his character development.

While baffled, it also made me think on how someone could read Black Butler so badly.

Sure, you can say that there’s no real way to read or interpret something “in the wrong way” but interpreting The Hunger Games as a pure battle-royale action story would make you believe it’s bad.

“Why are we focusing so much on how the capitol preps them?” Or “Why isn’t Katniss winning everything?” Or “I wanna know more about the rebellion” All questions that miss the actual point of the story - which is criticizing (not solving or ignoring) the way that media distracts us from violence via spectacle.

The same thing applies here. While there is no “right” way to consume media, there’s things that the author makes clear they wanna focus when creating a story. Things that, if you understand, make the story you’re reading actually make sense.

And in Black Butler there’s three things that you have to understand to properly get what Yana is saying.

Sebastian is the protagonist

Ciel and Sebastian’s relationship IS the story.

And that relationship is, fundamentally, a positive one.

A quicker version of it would be:

Black Butler is a love story from the POV of Sebastian, and you have to ship it to get it

- but that’s not entirely true.

You can still look at it as a complex but ultimately positive rship and get in broad strokes of what it’s conveying. It doesn’t have to be romantic. Although, it helps much more than a platonic framing.

(That said, interpreting their rship as father and son, still isn’t the best way to go about it. Mostly because by its very nature of “soul consuming” their relationship is extremely sexually charged. And hey, if you’re into that I don’t judge. However, if you’re desperately trying to interpret their rship as NOT romantic to the point you fall back on heteronormative patriarchal ideals of nuclear familiar as framing device, I don’t think this interpretation bodes with you)

Now, having all that ground work:

Why do I say these are the key components to understand BB?

Okay so, first,

1. Sebastian is the Main Character. The protagonist.

There’s a lot of people who wanna argue against it, claiming he’s either the villain or the antagonist. Both wrong.

He does not function as an antagonist. Even if, and an emphasis on if, you consider Ciel to the protagonist, Sebastian isn’t a narrative antagonist.

If you wanna go back to Creative Writing 101, be my guest. An antagonist is directly defined by the protagonist. It’s the opposing force. If the protagonist wants A, the antagonist wants to stop them from getting A.

Sebastian’s catchphrase is “Yes, my Lord”. He never opposes Ciel, in fact quite the contrary. By the mere fact they’ve created contract, it means that they’ve both agreed in the inevitable outcome.

People want to frame Sebastian as the villain, because Ciel having his soul taken by a demon, would be a BAD END in the context of their moral compass. They see Ciel as a frail victim of abuse, who’s being tricked by Sebastian, who wants Ciel’s soul.

Which is an. Interpretation. A bad one. But still one.

The narrative (and whether the narrative fits your personal moral compass and lack of critical thinking is irrelevant) treats Ciel as an agent in his own destiny. The abuse he suffered was the moment in which he had no control. It’s only after he meets Sebastian that he can rid of both his guilt and his despair, and do what he wants.

In this case though, it’s revenge.

The famous “Asthma” scene shows this. If Ciel is taken back to his past, he becomes helpless. Swarmed with pain and memories that make it so that he can’t even react. Sebastian is his saving grace. If Ciel didn’t have him, and the power he wields to rebuilt what’s broken, he would crumble once more.

If Ciel has a panic attack, because of all the pain he has, Sebastian picks him up and says “you are not a helpless child anymore, you are not a victim anymore, you have the power to do anything. So, what do you wanna do?”

Ciel’s answer is to kill them.

A proper analogy would be to say that, if Sebastian offers a gun, Ciel pulls the trigger. They are both at fault. Sebastian, strictly speaking, is not here to directly cause Ciel’s downfall, but as a tool Ciel uses to plunge into the abyss.

If, again if, you were to frame Ciel as a protagonist, Sebastian falls closer to the “Voice of reason” character. Not a literal voice of reason, but a literary one. If you have a protagonist and an antagonist exchanging ideals, the Voice of Reason serves to engage with the protagonist on their own ideals.

That said, Ciel isn’t the protagonist. The story quickly falls apart if you interpret it as such.

Things such as Ciel’s character arc being…shall I say odd?

It’s not that his character arc isn’t there, but it’s never lineal. His goals stay the same, the only thing that happens is that we start to peel back the “why”s of his goals. Throughout the series it’s never about Ciel understanding himself better, he knows who he is, he knows what he wants, he knows why he wants it. He doesn’t ever need to uncover these, but simply remember them. Because it’s always about the audience understanding Ciel.

He knows he wants revenge.

In the Circus Arc: He knows that he needs Sebastian because without him, the pain of the abuse he suffered would be too much to bear. But WE are introduced to it.

In the Book of Atlantis: He knows that with this new lease he does not want happiness and peace, he wants revenge. The one being told this is the audience.

In Green Witch Arc: He knows that their revenge isn’t for his family, the real Ciel or guilt. It’s because he wants it. He’s angry, he’s upset, and this is entirely for him. The one being told this is the audience.

Except. Not really. The one either discovering or remembering these key moments - is always Sebastian.

Sebastian is the one who reassures him that he now holds the power of a demon to override the pain. Sebastian is the one who remembers that to override that pain, Ciel wants revenge. And Sebastian is the one who discovers that that revenge isn’t built out of grief or guilt, but for himself.

We are witnessing it all, through the eyes of Sebastian.

This is why we have an extremely vague idea of who Ciel is, Sebastian does not have the whole picture.

If you haven’t been reading this manga with your eyes closed, you’ll realize we have a better grasp at Sebastian’s character than that of Ciel. We get a lot of insight on how he thinks and what he values through light hearted dialogue he has with the servants. You even see the character development in these little interactions.

Think about how when he first arrived to the mansion he magically created food with no regards to taste, but when he meets Bard he states that food is created to see whoever will eat it, smile.

That is character development, more than you will be able to see from Ciel.

Because Ciel’s character, while not static, doesn’t go from point A to point B. Mostly, cause it doesn’t need to. He went through that when he lost the real Ciel and got Sebastian. Everything we are watching is the falling out.

Now, given the fact that I’ve told you that it makes more sense for Sebastian to be the protagonist/main character, and that he 100% isn’t either a villain or antagonist in ANY of the interpretations you can get:

Do you believe me?

If you don’t, you’ll probably believe Yana herself.

This is from the first Volume, where Yana herself describes the process of making Black Butler. The primary idea behind the creation of BB was a butler as a “hero”.

If you go back to the introductory chapter, you notice that Ciel is barely mentioned. He’s simply the one to give Sebastian impossible tasks and standards that Sebastian must find how to overcome.

Ciel is properly introduced until the NEXT chapter. The second chapter has this formula too, introducing Lizzie as a problem to overcome. Although, to Sebastian the best way to “get rid of the problem” is simply to indulge her.

The issue here being that the problem isn’t as simple as a business meeting but something directly tied to Ciel and Ciel’s past. Each time that Sebastian has to solve a problem, it chips away at Ciel. While with Lizzie he shows a persona, once he’s alone with Sebastian he acknowledges the toll it took on him. It serves to build Ciel as Sebastian’s master, and how some problems aren’t as simple as discarding a tablecloth.

The third and the fourth, are a unified narrative, with a similar premise to the first chapter. Ciel gets kidnapped and Sebastian must find a way to retrieve him without raising suspicions.

If the first chapter is to set up what Sebastian must do as a butler, the third and the fourth serve to set up what he must do as a demon.

The entirety of the volume, and up to Book of Circus Arc, is about how Sebastian tries to follow the increasingly absurd orders that Ciel has - it is not about Ciel trying to solve them.

That’s how they work, we follow Sebastian for the most part, because he’s the one having to come up with the solutions.

If anything, in early Kuro, where the emphasis was more on a slice of life conflict, Ciel is the antagonist. He’s the one creating problems for Sebastian to solve.

What’s more, in the second volume, the very first chapter is one from Sebastian’s POV. So far, we hadn’t gotten an entire chapter from Ciel’s POV. In fact, I would find it hard to point to a single chapter where Ciel is the POV throughout. The reveal of real Ciel and the flashback is the closest contender.

But once we move past early Kuro, and into Book of Circus, this set up changes.

It’s fairly easy to assume that Ciel is the main character, because from this point on the conflict of the plot sorta surrounded him. We spend a lot of time with him and with his story. The enemies start being people directly tied to Ciel and Ciel’s trauma. Rarely, if at all, we get to see Sebastian before he met Ciel.The framing device for the story, is Ciel.

This is where point 2 gets intertwined.

2.- Sebastian and Ciel’s relationship IS the story.

The story begins at the point where Sebastian and Ciel met. Who Ciel was before he met Sebastian, informs why he’s the way he is when he does. You have to know all he went through to understand why he’s a brat, why he lashes out. However Sebastian’s past doesn’t matter…because Sebastian himself doesn’t care much for who he was, before he was “Sebastian”. That’s also part of the narrative.

Unlike Ciel, he doesn’t seem opposed to revealing information from before the contract. He talks about how pets from where he is from are gross, he talks about how he knows how to dance because of other places he’s been to, and alludes to the life he's lived before.

Just that, to him, they're footnotes.

He makes allusions to a very bland, uninteresting life, up to the point he meets Ciel.

That’s why we don’t know more about his past.

As for why we focus on Ciel’s story…okay maybe we need Creative Writing lessons 102

I studied Dramaturgy for about 3 to 4 years. And something you notice is how play-writing is the quintessential story telling. It’s making it work with the bare bones of a story.

Some other mediums have more finesse, more depth, or more spectacle - all amazing things that work for whatever they’re created for. But understanding a play, how and why it works, helps understand the fundamentals of any derivative story telling medium.

Particularly, conflict.

Conflict is dialogue and dialogue can take many forms. A story, in its essence, is a dialogue between two opposing ideas.

Take Batman, for example, who embodies the ideas of justice and order. On his own, he’s not a well rounded character.

If you ONLY present him, in a vaccum with nothing else, you don’t have a character. You have a list of characteristics that you’re supposed to know.

You only know who he is when you have dialogue with another character.

I say Dialogue, but it doesn’t necessarily mean spoken language at one another. Dialogue can mean fist fighting, playing tabletop games, talking to other people about the other, or even just a competition. The idea is to simply to compare and contrast both ideas.

If you want an example on how tabletop games serve as dialogue, watch the video “Well, Someone Had to Explain the Liar’s Dice Scene” by Lord Ravecraft

Another example, were we to retake Batman, you have him fight Joker. Who’s the embodiment of chaos and randomness.

In the following picture, you get far more information than the one previously shown. While the Joke fights with daggers and fake guns, Batman only uses his fists. He doesn’t use the tricks that Joker does. His serious demeanor, contrasted with Joker’s glee at the dangerous situation. The fact that Batman has a deathly grip on Joker’s shirt, while the Joker doesn’t, which shows a desperation to catch him.

You are being shown, through a dialogue, who Batman is.

It’s so much easier and much more effective to explore a character through another character.

This is the reason why Shonen has a tendency to make incredibly good gay ships. If you want to explore Naruto’s personality, and his feelings of inferiority, you HAVE to have him interact with Sasuke.

If you wanna understand Hinata’s passion for volleyball, you have him enjoy himself the most with the only other crazy motherfucker who’s as obsessed with volleyball - Kageyama.

And I think that originally, Yana had this problem.

Sebastian was the protagonist, but she had little room to develop him as a character in the confines of the manor, dealing with random enemies.

She likely tried to create Grell as someone of the same stature as Sebastian. Someone who could be this other person to engage dialogue with and show or allude to his past a bit more.

The problem being that Sebastian didn’t care for his past. Or really, engaging with anyone. He sees everyone as below him, but when confronted with Grell who isn’t below him, he doesn’t wanna talk to her.

So you’re stuck in conundrum.

How do you have dialogue with a character, that as a character trait, doesn’t really wanna have dialogue?

Well, Grell also solves the problem. Because only the moment she gets him to start any semblance of a dialogue - is questioning why he’s serving Ciel.

And this is the moment when it’s perfectly cemented that the focus of the story is their relationship.

Why is Sebastian here? Why does he stay? What did he see in Ciel that made him want this extremely convoluted contract?

THATS the dialogue.

THATS the conversation we’re having in Black Butler.

We need to know Ciel because understanding who he is, let’s us know WHY /Sebastian/ is here.

Then slowly, with the introduction with the Undertaker, we find out Sebastian’s conflict.

Which is…

He’s scared of losing Ciel. It becomes apparent with the constant imagery of the Undertaker taking away Ciel and at some point even obtaining r!Ciel’s body, that he’s worried it might happen.

But he can only be worried that Ciel might be taken away if he wants to stay near Ciel.

And that’s his character arc.

Realizing that he actually likes Ciel, cares for him and the role he plays a butler that he doesn’t want this to end.

In the first chapters, he doesn’t feel a need to protect Ciel anymore than what’s strictly necessary. Just don’t die, that’s about as deep as his involvement in chapter 4 gets.

But by the Green Witch Arc, he feels a need to protect Ciel from ANY harm.

This is why I also said

3.- Their relationship is fundamentally a positive one.

In broad strokes, Sebastian to Ciel is the person who allows him to survive. He’s not worried about giving up his soul since he’s already dead. While Ciel to Sebastian, is someone who’s making him have fun. He’s slowly becoming more and more attached to Ciel and the life he has with Ciel.

Their relationship is not that of just a predator and prey, but also of master and pet.

In the terms that Black Butler itself would call: Sebastian is a wild wolf acting like a collared dog.

Ciel is aware that the wild beast will eat him at the end of the day, but if he clings hard to leash for now, he might just be able to have Sebastian maul his abusers.

Sebastian as a dog, currently finds that he enjoys being a chained dog.

(This is demonstrated in the Green Witch arc where he quite literally says, he doesn’t wanna be a wild beast and prefers to be a butler)

And much like the actual DOG Sebastian, Ciel constantly interprets his attempts to get close and protect him, as an act of aggression.

This push and pull of Ciel’s perception of Sebastian and Sebastian’s true motives is what feeds the story.

And the briefs interludes were that isn’t the case (what other people call the “plot”, but I would refer to as the connective tissue) such as Sullivan and Wolfram, the other servant’s past, the grim reapers and the like, serve as a parallel to Ciel and Sebastian relationship. Either to signify how they care for each other, highlight their weaknesses or fears, or explore how they feel.

It’s no surprise that Sullivan and Wolfram are parallels to Ciel and Sebastian. A sheltered sickly child who seeks the protection of a cold hearted machine that only knew how to kill, but who eventually found he cared for her genuinely.

Undertaker and Claudia’s relationship being heavily paralleled with them, even though we aren’t 109% sure what they had but heavily implied it was a romantic attraction from the undead supernatural creature and a Phantomhive.

Everything is a parallel.

That’s why, like the approach of the terrible original video, is flawed.

Trying to interpret Black Butler as action scene after action scene, with mystery after mystery with the only connective tissue being the mystery of who burned down the mansion - is missing the trees for the forest.

That’s not the point.

And if you’re too much of a prude to engage with gothic horror in its gothic horror game, I see little point as to why you even bother to engage with it at all.

A lot of people, including the person who create the video, simply refuse to acknowledge Black Butler IS the story of Sebastian and Ciel as a close and positive relationship, romantically and sexually charged. The reason for it being that they’re “put off” by it.

Part of me wonders how much that is genuinely true, and how much is just performative outrage. It’s like ignoring the fact that Cersei and Jami are in an incestous relationship and try to frame it as “platonic love”, because the idea of it is THAT off putting.

But regardless of that, if you don’t like the fact that it’s as canon as canon can get, I would reccomend you don’t engage with the story at all.

As I’ve explained, the entirety of the series is about them. If you refuse to see Sebastian and Ciel as, at the very least, a duo that cares deeply for the other - you aren’t reading Black Butler.

I have no idea what you’re reading.Perhaps your own biases and subconscious stigma with British aesthetic. At that point, watch the fucking British Royalty Gossip Magazine. You’d find more substance there.

Just don’t be like the person in the video, please? Don’t play dumb. Don’t ignore the fact that Yana is a Shotacon, don’t ignore the fact Sebastian is a hero, don’t ignore the fact that the entirety of the story is based on Sebastian and Ciel’s dynamic.

Because if you do, you are ashamed. You are ashamed of what this story is about. You don’t wanna engage with the text, you want to engage with yourself. You wanna project into Ciel whatever traumas and experiences you have, for the sake a vanity project, where you come out as the morally superior.

You don’t wanna talk about Black Butler, you wanna talk about how good YOU are. How you “don’t sin” by watching it “without all the gross unholy stuff”.

Which is the exact opposite of what BB is about.

So, if you don’t want to, save us all the humiliation fetish and leave.

[meo-eiru]

I apologize in advance for any mistakes (English is not my first language) BUT I JUST CAN'T! I can't stop thinking about how exactly the main character will end up completely dependent on Father Micah. If elves, dark magic, incubi and other creatures exist in this world, I would venture to suggest that possession by demons or other evil spirits is also a known phenomenon.

Just imagine a situation in which the main character is forced to attend church because she realizes that something is wrong with her perception of reality. It all starts small - insomnia, minor auditory hallucinations, which can easily be attributed to general fatigue from work or school. She can try to self-diagnose and self-medicate, but there is practically no effect.

Disjointed and disturbing dreams give way to nightmares, auditory hallucinations become more unbearable and are now accompanied by visual distortions as well. Any sane person in such situation will rush to a psychologist (more likely even a psychiatrist), but the treatment doesn't give the desired results. Her relatives are very worried and concerned; someone from a more devout background may advise turning to the clergy - and Father Micah is simply an excellent candidate to help this poor unfortunate soul. If she really feels better after each visit, then she'll come back again and again. Just to not lose her damn mind.

But what if Father Micah is the root cause of her condition? If he's not as pure and holy as he seems? What if he's the one who made a contract with the entity that is currently ruining her whole life?

He can't keep her in church by force unless there is a good reason, but even if she'll try to stay away, her condition will deteriorate so much that she WILL inevitably attack someone close to her at some point, mistaking them for Father Micah or that entity due to hallucinations. And SHE WILL have to return back if she doesn't want end up accidentally taking the life of someone from her inner circle. But even if she'll refuse to do so voluntarily, her dangerous condition is in any case a good reason to forcibly isolate her from the others.

And I doubt Father Micah is interested in fully exorcising her.

Oh god I love this scenario.

So I don't think Micah would actually make contracts with evil entities to curse you, but he would make you believe you were cursed. I can definitely seem him drugging you small dosages by giving you small snacks whenever you visit the church or run into him by "chance". He'd always play it off as a gift from the church or some leftovers from what they made for the orphans.

You wouldn't suspect him at all. Why would you? He's THE Father Micah. The beloved angel of the town since he was a kid. No human has seen him do evil deeds.

He would know exactly when the drugs kick in and when they are the most effective, and he would always be there at the right time. Talking to you, making you believe it's unnecessary to see a doctor for such mild sickness. Surely it'll get better if you pray.

It's not getting better even after praying? Maybe it was more serious than Micah expected, but worry not, he knows just the right thing to do. You just have to come to his house so he can bless you with his personal prayers. Why not at the church? Haha you wouldn't want to bother everyone there for such a trivial issue right? Don't worry, Micah will give you special treatment in his house, just trust him.

And trust you will, because everyone knows if there's someone you shouldn't fear it's Father Micah.

[nayziiz]

It's Rough | LN4

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader (she/her)

Author's note: I'm trying something a little bit different with shorter form fics, so please send through any requests or feedback. These one shots will likely not have a second part unless it really speaks to me to continue with it. Thank you!

Masterlist

Lando watched with a mix of amusement and frustration as she attempted to grasp the basics of golf. Despite her proficiency in various other activities like water sports, skiing, and driving, golf seemed to elude her completely. He had hoped that her natural athleticism and coordination would translate well onto the golf course, but it appeared that golf was a different beast altogether.

Her swings were awkward and uncoordinated, sending the ball veering off in unpredictable directions. Lando patiently offered guidance, demonstrating proper technique and providing words of encouragement, but it seemed as though golf just didn't click for her.

Despite her struggles, she approached each swing with determination, refusing to let her initial failures dampen her spirits. With each missed shot, she laughed off her mistakes and eagerly lined up for another attempt, determined to conquer the elusive sport.

Lando had known from the moment she insisted on tagging along to the golf course that her declaration of merely watching and cheering was likely wishful thinking. Despite her assurances, he could practically see the curiosity and determination dancing behind her eyes, ready to pounce at any opportunity to join in on the action.

Yet, he couldn't bring himself to deny her the chance to be a part of the day. He understood that her company would bring a different energy to the outing, even if it meant potentially disrupting the boys' dynamic on the course. Besides, the thought of her sulking at home while he enjoyed a day with his friends was far less appealing than dealing with the inevitable consequences of her joining in on the golfing shenanigans.

So, with a resigned sigh and a knowing smile, Lando agreed to let her come along, silently preparing himself for the whirlwind of chaos that often accompanied her presence. Deep down, he knew that her insistence on joining them stemmed from a desire to spend time with him, even if it meant enduring a sport she clearly had no interest in.

As they arrived at the golf course, Lando braced himself for whatever antics she had in store.

As Lando focused on his swing, he couldn't help but be distracted by her restlessness. He noticed her initially staying put behind the steering wheel of the golf cart, as promised, but her impatience soon got the better of her. With a hint of amusement, he watched as she hopped out of the cart and began to circle it, her movements fluid and graceful.

Caught off guard by the sight of her, Lando found himself momentarily forgetting about the game at hand. His gaze followed her as she moved around the cart, her skirt swaying gently with each step, revealing glimpses of her smooth, tanned skin. He couldn't deny the allure she exuded, even in such a mundane setting as a golf course.

Despite his best efforts to maintain his focus on the game, her presence proved to be a delightful distraction. He couldn't help but admire her beauty and the effortless confidence with which she carried herself, even in a sport she had no interest in.

As she circled the cart, a playful smile danced on her lips, and Lando felt a surge of affection for her. Despite her initial reluctance to join them on the course, he couldn't deny that her presence added an undeniable charm to their day. And as he watched her, he silently thanked whatever force had convinced her to come along, knowing that moments like these were what made their time together truly special.

“Hey, come on. Focus, man,” Carlos moaned quietly, making sure no one else could hear him.

Carlos's whispered admonition brought Lando back to reality, reminding him of the game at hand. He chuckled softly at Carlos's remark, acknowledging the truth in his friend's words.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Lando replied, shaking his head slightly. “But can you blame me? She's something else.”

Carlos rolled his eyes playfully, understanding Lando's sentiment all too well. Lando made a concerted effort to refocus his attention on the game. Despite the temptation to steal glances at her, he knew that winning the game required his full concentration. With a renewed sense of determination, he squared his shoulders and prepared to take his next shot, determined to put aside any distractions and give it his all. As the game continued, Lando found himself occasionally sneaking glances in her direction, unable to resist the magnetic pull she seemed to have on him.

As the afternoon progressed and the rounds of golf continued, she found herself drawn into the conversation among the boys. Standing in between them, she listened intently to their banter and jokes, occasionally chiming in with her own witty remarks.

Before she knew it, a few of the boys had handed her their clubs, entrusting her with the task of holding them as they prepared for their shots. At first, she accepted the clubs with a bemused smile, unsure of what to do with them. But as the afternoon wore on, she found herself inadvertently assuming the role of their caddy, carrying their clubs from hole to hole with ease.

Despite her initial reluctance to participate in the game, she quickly embraced her new role with enthusiasm, eagerly offering advice and encouragement to the boys as they navigated the course. With each swing of the club, she cheered them on, her enthusiasm infectious as they worked together as a team to conquer the challenges of the course.

“How about you give it a try?” Alex's encouragement rang out across the green, much to Lando's dismay.

He watched with a mixture of apprehension and amusement as she smirked and accepted the club from Alex's outstretched hand. With a playful glint in her eye, she positioned herself on the grass, mimicking the stance Lando had patiently demonstrated to her numerous times before.

“Come on, you've got this,” Alex cheered, egging her on as she prepared to take her shot. Lando couldn't help but sigh, his expression a mixture of resignation and nervousness.

“Please, do not embarrass me,” Lando pleaded half-jokingly, knowing full well that her unpredictable nature often led to unexpected outcomes.

Her playful gasp of mock hurt elicited chuckles from the boys, but she quickly shifted her focus back to the task at hand. With a determined expression, she squared her shoulders and prepared to take her shot, eager to redeem her reputation.

But as she swung the club, it was immediately evident that this attempt wouldn't be as successful as she intended. With a wild and uncoordinated motion, she missed the ball entirely, the club swishing through the air with a whooshing sound. A chorus of groans and laughter erupted from the boys, their amusement mingled with sympathy for her failed attempt.

Lando, unable to bear the sight of her struggling any longer, groaned in pain as he moved to take the club away from her.

“Hang on. You all got time to warm up, how about you let me give it another shot?” she insisted.

Her insistence caught the attention of the group, prompting them to pause and exchange curious glances. Lando, his expression a mixture of defeat and resignation, reluctantly stepped away, giving her the space she needed to make another attempt.

With a determined gleam in her eye, she positioned herself once again, her grip on the club steady as she took a deep breath to steady her nerves. Ignoring the teasing remarks and sceptical looks from the boys, she focused all her attention on the ball before her, blocking out any distractions.

And then, with a swift and controlled motion, she swung the club, the sound of impact resonating through the air as the club connected with the ball. For a moment, time seemed to stand still as they watched in disbelief, their eyes glued to the ball as it soared through the air with precision and grace.

Their disbelief turned to astonishment as the ball arced gracefully over the green, heading straight for the hole with unerring accuracy. Cheers erupted from the group as they watched in awe, unable to believe their eyes as the ball came to rest just inches from the hole.

“Wow, that was great!” Alex exclaimed with a huge smile plastered on his face.

“Must be luck. Try again,” Max insisted, challenging her more than Lando would have liked.

“Fine,” she shrugged.

Encouraged by Alex's praise and challenged by Max's insistence, she couldn't resist the opportunity to prove herself once more. With a confident smile, she accepted the dare, her competitive spirit reignited as she prepared to take another shot.

Positioning herself with precision, she focused intently on the ball before her, blocking out any distractions as she visualised her next move. With a deep breath, she swung the club with determination, her movements fluid and controlled.

This time, luck seemed to be on her side once again as the ball sailed through the air, following a perfect trajectory towards the hole. The group watched in anticipation, holding their breath as the ball approached its target.

And then, with a satisfying thud, the ball landed on the green, rolling steadily towards the hole before coming to a stop just inches away. Cheers erupted from the group as they celebrated her impressive shot, their disbelief mingled with admiration at her uncanny skill.

“Please tell Lily she's a wonderful instructor,” she remarked to Alex, her tone laced with a hint of mischief as she acknowledged the guidance she had received. Alex chuckled in response, a knowing gleam in his eye as he nodded in agreement.

After her impressive display on the green, she couldn't resist a moment of playful triumph. With a smug smile directed at Lando, she returned to the golf cart, her steps light with the weight of her accomplishment. Lando, still reeling from the unexpected turn of events, watched her with a mixture of disbelief and begrudging admiration.

As she settled back into her seat on the golf cart, she couldn't resist shooting Lando a smug grin, revelling in the satisfaction of having proven him wrong. Despite his initial scepticism, she had managed to exceed his expectations, leaving him shaking his head in disbelief.

Lando, for his part, could only shake his head in response, still struggling to come to terms with the fact that she had just hit the ball perfectly not once, but twice in a row. It was a feat that seemed almost too improbable to believe, yet there she was, the evidence of her success undeniable.

As they continued their game, Lando couldn't shake the feeling of astonishment that lingered in the air. Despite his doubts, she had managed to defy expectations and leave her mark on the golf course in more ways than one.

As they made their way towards Lando's McLaren, he couldn't help but be curious about her sudden improvement on the golf course. With a lighthearted tone, he broached the topic, unable to resist a teasing remark.

“So, Lily's been helping you, huh?” he asked, a playful smirk playing on his lips as he glanced in her direction. She chuckled in response, the memory of her recent success still fresh in her mind.

“Maybe a little,” she admitted with a wink, her tone tinged with amusement. Lando raised an eyebrow in mock surprise, feigning disbelief at her confession.

“I see how it is,” he teased, a hint of mock indignation in his voice. “Getting private lessons behind my back?”

She laughed at his exaggerated reaction, shaking her head in amusement.

“Nothing like that,” she reassured him, her smile warm and genuine. “Surprisingly enough, it just took a bit of patience to teach me.”

“Are you saying I have no patience?” he countered, his tone tinged with offence as he feigned hurt.

“None whatsoever,” she replied with a grin, her amusement evident in her voice as she teased him gently.

Despite his protests, she knew that his patience had been tested more than once during their golfing adventure. she couldn't help but notice a hint of disappointment in Lando's expression. His competitive nature was undeniable, and the idea of her newfound golfing skills seemed to sting his pride just a little.

“How much does it hurt knowing your girlfriend can now golf?” she teased, her tone teasing yet affectionate as she gently prodded at his ego.

Lando's response was a playful groan, his lips curling into a rueful smile as he shook his head in mock resignation. Deep down, she knew that he was secretly proud of her achievement, even if it meant enduring a few jokes at his expense.

“It doesn't hurt, but it sucks that you're better at it than me now,” he admitted, his tone a mixture of resignation and playful competitiveness. With a soft chuckle, she gently pressed him against the car, her body close to his as she looked up at him with a knowing smile.

“Baby, when will you learn?” she teased, her voice low and seductive as she leaned in closer. “I'm good at a lot of things.”

As she spoke, she subtly shifted her leg between his, a teasing reminder of her many talents and abilities. Lando couldn't help but laugh at her playful confidence, his own competitive spirit momentarily forgotten in the warmth of her presence.

“I know. So, when we get home, you can put your mouth to good use,” he argued, his voice low and teasing as he leaned in to kiss her.

She couldn't help but chuckle at his boldness, her laughter mingling with the warmth of his lips against hers.

“Disgusting,” she screeched in mock indignation, her hand playfully slapping his chest as she pushed him away with feigned reluctance.

Despite her protestations, there was a playful gleam in her eye, a hint of anticipation as she met his gaze with a knowing smile.

“But, with pleasure,” she added with a wink, her tone teasing yet affectionate as she leaned in to return his kiss.

As their lips met once more, they shared a moment of quiet intimacy, their playful banter giving way to the warmth of their affection for one another. And as they finally pulled away, their laughter echoed through the air, a reminder of the love and joy that filled their lives together.

[cinnamonest]

//punishment/spanking kink

Thinking about really strict yans… you know when it comes to punishment, the dread of not knowing what will happen to you is one thing, but there's also something deliciously gut-churning about the thought of knowing exactly what will happen.

With someone whose punishments vary depending on how he feels, or are decided on the spot, the uncertainty can be both equally frightening while also comforting. You can tell yourself it won't be that bad, at least up to a certain point. You don't know, you don't have anything specific to fear.

But then you have those for whom you don't get that comfort. Rules and their corresponding punishments when violated are laid out for you very clearly from early on, you're told what will happen if you disobey each rule as he's giving you the rules themselves.

Some are arbitrary, some are highly specific, some are alarmingly vague. The punishments can be humiliating, painful, perverted… most are all of the above.

It's primarily corporeal — you get spanked regardless of the offense, that's the one consistent thing. He likes putting you over his knee. It's humiliating, it hurts, you squeal and squirm and the way your body tenses and the little sound you make with each swat to your ass is euphoric.

Even though it's the basis of most punishments, there's still details for different offenses. What you do determines how many you get, the instrument used… the only constant is that he never lets you keep any layers on. Even for the mildest offenses, your clothes are always hiked up or pulled down to your knees, each swat connecting to bare flesh, making your eyes water that much faster, you bite your lip to stifle the sounds.

Not doing something you were told to do generally is a lesser offense, just warranting his hand — doing something you weren't supposed to do, on the other hand, usually warrants a belt.

Talking to others when you've been specifically instructed to not do so is fifteen with a belt to your bare ass, little acts of spite such as jerking out of his grasp or putting on something other than what he set out for you to wear today — generally falling under the label of ’being a brat’ — is twenty with his hand. Failing to greet him at the door as you've been specifically instructed to do earns ten with the whipping cane he got just for you.

He has something worse — a wooden paddle, the kind with lots of holes in it, specifically designed to hurt. He keeps it visible in your room, up on the wall, a constant reminder. That, he says, is for when you try and run from him. Which is inevitable, you'll do it one day, he's certain. And when you do, you know exactly what you'll get. Isn't it nice, having such certainty? One day you'll get to know exactly what it feels like, coming down on your sensitive, soft flesh with full, enraged force. You'll be so cute, crying so much.

Even if you wanted to try and forget to make it less dreadful, you don't get much of a choice, as he expects you to memorize the specifics. That's part of the added humiliation factor — he doesn't just act immediately, instead making you tell him exactly what you did and recite what has to happen to you as a result… of course, only after you're already bent over, stumbling over your words as you tense at the feeling of his hand or the leather or wood gently brushing back and forth over the soft, sensitive flesh.

And if you can't remember, you get a few more added on with each incorrect guess until you get it right. He doesn't always make you count, though — generally, if it's over fifteen or so, he knows you'll be a blubbering sniffling mess long before it's even over, and he has some compassion for you, even if no amount of squealing and crying is going to make it stop any sooner. So after a few, it's okay that you lose count… unless he's in an especially poor, particularly sadistic mood, and makes you start over for it. That, at least, can be a bit unpredictable.

And while it accompanies every punishment, it's not always the only aspect of the punishment — different offenses get a secondary part tacked on.

If you backtalk him, you also take his cock down your throat to learn to use your mouth properly. You lie to him, you take his cock in your ass — double down on the lie and you only get your own spit for lube, multiple lies or particularly severe ones means multiple days with a nice thick piece of tape covering up your poor neglected pussy while he stuffs your ass with cum day in and day out until you're too sore to even walk. You ignore him — the one thing that seems to upset him more than anything — and you get a solid week of only using your throat and ass until you learn to show some respect.

You try and hide your body from him — when he's explicitly told you it's his property now — and you'll be naked at all times for the next week, and tied up with your arms and legs spread far apart to ensure you feel the vulnerability of exposure. You push him away when he's trying to be intimate with you, like the little brat you are? You'll orgasm until you cry, kicking and squirming and pulling against the restraints keeping your arms and legs apart, pushing the boundaries of your comprehension how something so good can become so overwhelming and sensitive as to be painful, the sensitive nubs on your chest and your clit so abused that the slightest touch makes your whole body jolt as you whimper.

You get each and every one of these punishments as promises. You know from the very beginning exactly what happens when you make these transgressions — and yet, the dumb little thing you are, you still do it, and you still try to run and fight it as if it's not unavoidable, as if you stand any chance of getting out of it, as if you don't know him well enough to know you won't get a single sliver of mercy… and as if you don't know that trying to run and fight only adds another punishment, as you've been told many times. Really, you're like a little pet, so foolish and predictable and adorable.

Even so, it's not as if you'll never know the sort of dread that uncertainty can bring… in the most extreme form possible. One day you'll inevitably do something even out of the bounds of what he planned for, something he never even anticipated you doing, such a severe transgression that for once, he doesn't know what to do, he has to come up with something that can even possibly be adequate for your misstep.

Yes, when you see his head slowly turn towards your shivering and huddled little form, eye twitching with an unprecedented disgust at your sheer audacity, you'll get to finally know that chill in your blood of being unsure of what he's going to do to you.

[nyxthejinx]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐒𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐧

Guess who's back- yeahh Wrio altered my brain chemistry and i gotta cope with everything that just happened in the archon quest (iykyk). I haven't written in ages, I'm a bit rusty :')

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Slow mornings are the sweetest.

𝐓𝐖: Fluff (incredible, I know) nudity and intimacy in general (nothing too explicit, more on the romantic side), allusions to the night before, reader loves wrio's butt and is shameless about it (don't we all), mention of scars (wrio's), I tried to proof read it multiple times but my brain is fighting against me, lemme know if I missed anything

𝐅𝐭.: Wriothesley - GN!Reader

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1056

𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨: Eclipse - Pink Floyd

𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐧𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 that his body is covered with scars, nor does he try to hide them. But the bedside lamp and the afterglow shed a new light on him, one that only you have the privilege of enjoying.

He sits at the edge of the bed, hands by his sides, sinking comfortably in the mattress. The slightest twitch of his muscles can't go unnoticed, not when everything is so slow and still as if time had stopped.

But that's what happens in the Fortress, no? Unless you keep an eye on the watch, minutes and hours blend into a placid flow, until you end up thinking you have all the time in the word.

That's why you lay down the clocks in the room, when darkness begins its descent up in the overworld.

Because you get to see him like this. Sleep ridden, quiet, a bit grumpier than usual. Shamelessly naked from head to toe, with the sheets thrown over his lap for the sake of decorum, as if you didn’t see and feel each other all night along.

This morning too, he stills for minutes on end, staring ahead and gifting you the precious sight of his toned back, now painted with marks and scratches fresh from the night. He runs a hand on his nape, down his shoulder and you know he loves the stinging carvings you left behind with your nails.

But your favourite part rests further down.

“You have a nice butt.” You mumble with a lazy smile, as you let your eyes wander to his lower back. “I ought to tell you more."

Wriothesley looks over his shoulder just enough to glare at you, but you know that fiery glimmer stems from amusement; the way his eyes wrinkle at the sides nullifies the frown creasing his brows.

He's lovely, incredibly entertaining whenever he tries and fails to hide his eagerness for compliments.

The man huffs through his nose, shaking his head before standing up. He holds the fabric around his waist, now covering his rear out of spite, as he rummages through the small puddles of discarded clothes on the room's floor.

You, on the other hand, aren't as diligent as he is. There's no hurry, no impending chores more important than this moment as you make yourself comfortable on your side, in the softness of your pillow —that inevitably smells like him too.

Only a fool wouldn't enjoy how incredibly clumsy he appears right now, fighting with the sheets and getting more and more impatient with every passing second that he can't find his underwear.

It's like admiring the dark side of the moon, knowing that no one else gets the same privilege, the same trust.

Which... Might be revoked after this little stunt you pulled.

"Looking for these?"

Wrio's head snaps towards you and his frown deepens at the sight of his boxers hanging from your hooked fingers. You smirk, backing away as far as you can, until he's forced to stretch across the bed and over your body.

You can't help but giggle and snicker, too amused and definitely too confident in the power you hold over him. You both know his pinky finger would be enough to turn the tables, but he wordlessly enjoys this silly game between you two, just like he adores seeing your petty smirk.

Oh, and how he loves wiping it off your face. If he only had more time, in this dreaded Monday morning.

Without much effort, he eventually grabs the garment. "Pervert." He mutters, pinching the skin below your ribs.

You flinch, chuckling breathlessly. "Mean."

But not wrong. You can't stop your eyes from drifting down, where the sheets have slipped dangerously low after all the fighting.

Everything, from his scarred pecks and abs, to his V line looks so... imperfect, gruff, hostile. He's a man who's rough around the edges, like the claw marks that decorate his throat; hardened by life, on guard all the time.

Untrusting.

And yet, he shows his back to you without much thought.

Even now, with his pants back on, he plops into his previous position idly, placid in his every move.

There's no need to check for threats, because there's none.

And you realise once again —like you do every day— that you're not ready for the sun to come up and for the moon to switch sides.

For him to glance back.

There's things that need to be done, affairs that only the Duke can handle, no matter how greedy and jealous of his presence you are. Your hands itch to wrap around his wrist, to pull him back by your side for another hour or two.

Wriothesley, on the other hand, spins along without thinking twice, as he adjusts his boots back on. Hadn't you known him long enough, you'd dare to say he doesn't yearn for you as much as you yearn for him, but it's the little things that speak in his stead.

It's the lazily unbuckled belt, the messy hair, wobbling around with his every little movement. "I'll do it later, for it means that we'll spend more time together" they say.

It's the blemished, vulnerable back, offered so humbly.

And suddenly you can't resist the urge anymore.

You navigate your way through the sea of sheets to wrap your arms around his waist, and your bare front against his back stops his motions altogether. Blurred memories from the early night flare up one more time, as your lips burn invisible seals on the skin of his shoulder. Every mellow kiss is so fond, intimate. Just for the two of you to feel.

Never have you felt a stronger sense of belonging. Not when he relaxes so easily in your presence and the world ceases to spin.

When turning his back to you feels so natural.

"Be careful, mh?" You kiss the crook of his neck again, while your hands trace the rough skin around his navel. "I want your pretty butt to be safe and sound."

Wrio's deep chuckle shakes his shoulders and chest, and you feel it deep deep deep in your own heart.

"Your wish, my command." He hums, his coarse fingers guiding one of your wrists to his lips.

The moon, you decide, is prettier when it's dark.

DON'T copy/repost/translate my work. REBLOG instead! ©nyxthejinx

[idkanymark]

[Give me my Romeo]

haechan x f!reader | theater club | romeo and juliet au

INTRO: What started as a rivalry on the stage became something neither of you expected. Cast as Romeo and Juliet in your university’s theater production, you and Haechan were forced to confront not only the tensions of your roles but the growing spark between you. What happens when the lines between acting and reality blur, and the final curtain brings more than just applause?

wc: 6.1k

NOTE: I never read Romeo and Juliet in English so I had to search online for some parts of the act, sorry if there's any mistake🙏

----

The dimly lit auditorium buzzed with nervous energy as students filtered in, clutching scripts and notebooks. The annual play auditions at NCTU’s theater club were legendary, and this year, they’d chosen the timeless tragedy Romeo and Juliet. Everyone wanted a role, but only two parts truly mattered—Romeo and Juliet.

You sat in the second row, scanning the script you’d practically memorized. The club director, Ms. Lee, paced near the stage with her clipboard, her sharp gaze flicking over the students as if she were sizing up a battlefield.

And then, he walked in.

Lee Donghyuck—or Haechan, as he insisted everyone call him—strode into the auditorium like he owned it. He was NCTU’s resident golden boy: charming, talented, and insufferably arrogant. His honey-brown hair caught the light as he ran a hand through it, grinning at his entourage of sycophants trailing behind him.

Your stomach churned. “Of course he’s here” you muttered under your breath.

“Why wouldn’t he be?” your best friend Yeri whispered back, glancing at him. “You know he’s going for Romeo”

“And I’m going for Juliet” you said, straightening your back. “Let’s just hope the universe has some sense of mercy and doesn’t pair me with him.”

The rivalry between you and Haechan was practically the stuff of legends. Ever since he transferred to NCTU last year and stole the spotlight in the spring musical, you’d been at odds. He was talented—you couldn’t deny that—but his cocky attitude and penchant for pushing your buttons made him unbearable.

“Alright, everyone, settle down!” Ms. Lee clapped her hands, silencing the chatter. “As you know, today we’re auditioning for the lead roles. I’ll be pairing you up for readings, and I want to see chemistry. Convince me you’re star-crossed lovers.”

That would be an easy task unless your partner is Haechan.

Ms. Lee called names, pairing students for the preliminary rounds. You watched as one by one, hopefuls took the stage, some stumbling over their lines, others showing promise. Then, the inevitable happened.

“Y/N and Haechan, you’re up” Ms. Lee announced, barely glancing up from her clipboard.

Your jaw clenched. You glanced at Yeri, who gave you an apologetic shrug, and stood, smoothing your shirt. Haechan was already swaggering toward the stage, his signature smirk plastered across his face.

“Try not to ruin this for me” he said under his breath as you climbed the stairs.

“Funny, I was about to say the same to you” you shot back, taking your place center stage.

The scene was Act I, Scene 5—the fateful moment when Romeo and Juliet meet at the Capulet’s masquerade ball. Ms. Lee explained the context briefly before nodding for you to begin.

Haechan started, his voice smooth and melodic. “If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the gentle fine is this: My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss”

You suppressed an eye roll and focused on delivering your line. “Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, which mannerly devotion shows in this; for saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch, and palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss”

The words felt electric in the air, but not because of any real connection between you and Haechan. It was tension—raw, palpable tension that made your voice sharper and his gaze more intense. You could feel Ms. Lee watching closely, her pen hovering over the clipboard.

When the scene ended, there was a beat of silence before Ms. Lee spoke. “Interesting. Thank you, both of you. Next pair, please.”

As you descended the stage, you caught Haechan’s smirk. “Not bad” he said. “For someone who’s clearly out of her depth.”

“Oh, please” you shot back. “You’re just lucky I’m carrying this performance.”

“We’ll see who’s carrying who when the roles are announced” he replied, walking off with that maddening confidence.

Two days later…

The cast list was posted. A small crowd had already gathered around the bulletin board when you arrived, and you pushed your way through, heart pounding. Your eyes scanned the sheet until you found it:

Romeo: Lee Donghyuck

Juliet: Y/N

You stared at the names, the reality sinking in like a stone in water. Your breath caught in your throat.

“No way” you whispered, your mind reeling.

Yeri appeared beside you, looking over your shoulder. “Well, looks like fate’s got a twisted sense of humor” she said, though there was a hint of amusement in her voice. "You and Haechan... this is gonna be something"

From behind you, a familiar voice spoke, smooth as ever. “Looks like we’re stuck together, Juliet”

You turned to find Haechan grinning down at you, his expression equal parts smug and amused.

“This is going to be a disaster” you muttered, half to yourself.

“Or a masterpiece” he countered, winking.

Yeri groaned as she read the list. “Great. Now I have to hear you complain about him for the next two months” She glanced over at Haechan, who was already swaggering off, completely unfazed. “Can’t believe you’re actually going to have to kiss him on stage. You okay with that?”

You shot her a side-eye, feeling your cheeks warm slightly at the thought. “No. I’m not okay with it. At all” you said, your tone biting more than you meant it to. “But it’s not like I have a choice”

Yeri smirked, raising an eyebrow. “Well, if anyone can make something work, it’s you. Just remember, it’s acting. You can survive this.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “This is going to be the greatest challenge of my life.”

“Or the greatest performance” Haechan added from behind you, strolling away with a wave. "See you at rehearsal, Juliet"

Gosh, how cocky can he be?

And just like that, the stage was set for the greatest challenge of your theater career.

----

The first week of rehearsals was a complete disaster.

You showed up early every day, determined to prove you were the better actor. Yeri cheered you on from the sidelines, offering moral support and running lines with you during breaks. But no amount of preparation could prepare you for dealing with Haechan.

“You’re stepping on my cue” you snapped during the third run-through of Act II, Scene 2—the infamous balcony scene.

Haechan leaned casually against the mock balcony railing, his expression infuriatingly relaxed. “I’m not stepping on your cue. You’re just late delivering your line.”

“Late?” Your voice rose an octave. “I’m perfectly on time. Maybe if you stopped ad-libbing every other word, we wouldn’t be having this problem.”

“It’s called artistic interpretation” he replied with a smirk. “You should try it sometime.”

“Alright, that’s enough” Ms. Lee interrupted, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Both of you, take five.”

You stormed off stage, muttering under your breath. Yeri was waiting in the wings, holding out a bottle of water. “I take it things are going well?” she asked, eyebrows raised.

“He’s impossible” you hissed, taking the water and gulping it down. “He thinks he’s God’s gift to theater.”

“To be fair, he’s pretty good” Yeri pointed out, earning a glare from you. “Okay, okay, don’t kill me. I’m just saying maybe you should try working with him instead of against him.”

“I’d rather eat this script” you replied, waving the booklet in your hand.

Rehearsals continued, and the tension between you and Haechan only grew. He had a knack for getting under your skin, whether it was by subtly correcting your blocking or making snarky comments about your delivery. But as much as you hated to admit it, there were moments when his talent shone through.

During one rehearsal, Ms. Lee had you run the balcony scene again, this time with more emotion. “I want to feel the longing, the desperation" she instructed. “You’re two people who are willing to defy the world for each other. Make me believe it.”

You took a deep breath and stepped onto the stage. Haechan was already in position, looking uncharacteristically serious. As the scene unfolded, something shifted. His voice was softer, more earnest, and his gaze held a vulnerability that caught you off guard.

“With love’s light wings did I o’er-perch these walls” he said, his words carrying a quiet intensity. “For stony limits cannot hold love out, and what love can do that dares love attempt; therefore thy kinsmen are no stop to me”

For a moment, you forgot about your rivalry, about the barbs and bickering. You were Juliet, and he was Romeo. And for the first time, you felt the spark of something real. His sincerity made your heart flutter unexpectedly, and you had to fight to keep your composure.

When the scene ended, the auditorium was silent. Ms. Lee clapped her hands once. “Much better” she said. “That’s what I want to see.”

You glanced at Haechan, expecting a smirk or a snide remark, but he simply nodded, his expression unreadable. His usual cocky smile was absent, and something about that made your stomach twist in a way you weren’t ready to admit.

As you walked off stage, Yeri was waiting with a knowing smile.

“What?” you asked, frowning.

“Nothing” she said, grinning. “It’s just... you two might actually pull this off.”

You rolled your eyes, but a small part of you wondered if she might be right. There was something different in the air, something you couldn't quite place. Something that made the idea of this performance—of working with Haechan—suddenly feel... possible.

----

The tension in rehearsals began to shift after that balcony scene. Something unspoken lingered between you and Haechan, neither of you willing to acknowledge it directly. Instead, it seeped into your performances, turning your clashes into something raw and electric.

Ms. Lee noticed the change, of course. “You two are finally starting to act like star-crossed lovers” she remarked one afternoon after a particularly charged run-through of the play’s climactic tomb scene. “Keep it up.”

Despite the progress onstage, your relationship offstage remained rocky. Haechan still found ways to annoy you, whether it was by "accidentally" stealing your water bottle or offering unsolicited critiques of your delivery. But now, there were moments when his teasing felt... lighter. Playful, even.

One rainy afternoon, the rehearsal was canceled due to a power outage. You and Yeri decided to stay behind and run lines in the empty theater, but Haechan showed up too, claiming he needed the quiet to work on his monologues.

“You can’t possibly concentrate with us here” you said, eyeing him suspiciously as he sprawled across the front row of seats.

“I can ignore you just fine” he shot back, flipping open his script.

An hour later, you were struggling through one of Juliet’s monologues when he interrupted.

“Pause” Haechan said, sitting up. “You’re rushing through it. Juliet’s conflicted, but she’s not frantic. Give the words more space to breathe.”

You bristled, but Yeri nudged you. “He’s right” she admitted reluctantly.

“Fine” you said, exhaling sharply. “Show me how you’d do it, Mr. Perfect.”

To your surprise, Haechan didn’t smirk or gloat. He simply stood, walked to the stage, and began reciting Juliet’s lines. His voice was softer than you’d ever heard, layered with a vulnerability that made the words ache.

"O, that I were a glove upon that hand,

That I might touch that cheek!"

When he finished, the theater was silent. You swallowed hard, unwilling to admit just how much he’d moved you.

“Not bad” you said, your voice quieter than you intended.

“High praise coming from you” he replied with a small grin. “Your turn”

You hesitated, then took a deep breath and tried again. This time, you let the words settle, drawing on the emotions you’d seen him convey. The pause before you spoke felt longer this time, your thoughts swirling around his sudden honesty.

"O, that I were a glove upon that hand, That I might touch that cheek!"

When you finished, Haechan nodded.

“Better” he said simply, his tone lacking the usual sarcasm.

That wasn’t the last time you met a new side of Haechan. One evening, after a particularly grueling rehearsal, you found yourself alone in the auditorium. The stage was empty, the lights dimmed, but you lingered, flipping through your script and mouthing the lines to yourself. The world seemed quieter in these moments, as if the theater itself were holding its breath.

“You’re still here?”

The voice startled you, and you turned to see Haechan leaning against the doorway, his bag slung over one shoulder. “Didn’t think you were the type to overwork yourself.”

“And I didn’t think you cared” you shot back, though your tone lacked its usual bite. “What are you still doing here?”

He shrugged, walking closer. “Sometimes it’s hard to leave. Feels like the stage pulls you back, doesn’t it?”

You nodded despite yourself. There was something about the theater—the way it transformed you, made you feel larger than life, even when you felt small. “Yeah. It does.”

Haechan set his bag down and perched on the edge of the stage. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence stretching like a taut string between you. Then, to your surprise, he broke it.

“You know, it wasn’t always like this for me” he said, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it. “Theater, I mean. I used to hate it.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You? Mr. Theater Club Golden Boy? Hard to believe”

He let out a short laugh. “Yeah, well, my parents pushed me into it when I was a kid. Thought it would make me more confident or something. At first, it was just… exhausting. Trying to live up to everyone’s expectations.”

You tilted your head, curiosity piqued. “What changed?”

“I don’t know” he admitted, fiddling with the strap of his bag. “One day, I realized that being on stage was the only place where I felt like I could breathe. Where I didn’t have to be perfect, even if everyone expected me to be”

The raw honesty in his voice caught you off guard. You’d always seen Haechan as this unshakable force, someone who thrived on confidence and charisma. Hearing him admit to struggles you’d never imagined made him feel… human.

“I get that” you said quietly. “It’s like, when you’re on stage, nothing else matters. Not school, not family, not… whatever else is going wrong. It’s just you and the story.”

He looked at you then, his eyes searching yours. For once, there was no hint of mockery or arrogance in his expression. “Yeah. Exactly.”

The moment hung in the air, fragile and fleeting. You felt a strange warmth in your chest, an unfamiliar ache that you couldn’t quite name. Before you could dwell on it, Haechan smirked, breaking the spell.

“Don’t tell me I’m winning you over” he teased, his usual bravado slipping back into place.

You rolled your eyes, though your lips twitched into a reluctant smile. “Don’t push your luck.”

The next day at rehearsal, things felt… different. The barbs you and Haechan exchanged were less pointed, playful. The chemistry Ms. Lee had demanded seemed to flow more naturally, and for the first time, you found yourself looking forward to your scenes with him.

Yeri noticed, of course. She always did.

“Okay, what’s going on?” she asked during a break, cornering you near the water cooler.

“What are you talking about?” you replied, feigning innocence.

“Don’t play dumb with me. You and Haechan. You’re… I don’t know, actually getting along?”

You hesitated, unsure how to explain. “I guess we just… called a truce or something. It’s not like we’re best friends now.”

“Hmm.” Yeri gave you a skeptical look but let the subject drop—for now.

The next major turning point came during a late-night rehearsal. Ms. Lee had insisted on running the pivotal Act V, Scene 3—the tragic finale where Romeo and Juliet meet their untimely end. The scene required raw emotion, the kind that left you drained but exhilarated.

As you and Haechan stood on stage, the weight of the moment pressed down on you. The other students watched in silence as you delivered Juliet’s lines, your voice trembling with desperation.

"O, happy dagger! This is thy sheath:

There rust, and let me die."

The dagger in your hand was just a prop, but the emotion you poured into the words felt real. As you collapsed beside Haechan, his hand found yours, his grip firm and grounding. For a moment, the world narrowed to just the two of you, the stage fading into darkness.

When the scene ended, the room erupted into applause. Ms. Lee’s voice cut through the noise, her praise uncharacteristically effusive. “That’s it! That’s what I’ve been waiting for. Incredible work, both of you.”

You sat up, breathless and slightly dazed. Haechan was still lying beside you, a small, genuine smile playing on his lips.

“See?” he murmured. “We make a good team.”

You didn’t reply, but for the first time, you wondered if he might be right.

----

It had been weeks of rehearsals, and now, the moment had arrived. The kiss. The scene that you both dreaded, the one Ms. Lee had been emphasizing from day one—“Make it real. Make it believable.” You didn’t even want to think about it.

You sat in the dimly lit theater, the final act of the play hanging in the air. The room was empty except for you and Haechan, and you could hear the sound of your own heartbeat in the stillness. You looked at him, standing there, waiting for you to move, but you couldn’t. Your feet felt like they were glued to the floor.

"So, uh... ready?" Haechan asked, his voice oddly soft, the usual playful smirk nowhere to be found.

You swallowed, unable to meet his gaze. "Not really"

Haechan’s brows furrowed slightly. "It’s just a kiss" he said, but there was something in his voice that sounded almost... uncertain? "You’ve kissed before, right?"

You gave a nervous laugh, but it sounded hollow. "Yeah of course.."

“You haven’t?” he asks and you nodded confirming

Haechan paused, his eyes softening for a moment as if he understood, but then the playful side of him came back. “Hey, don’t worry. It’s just a scene. No pressure. We got time”

But you could feel the weight of the moment. The kiss wasn’t just a kiss—it was Juliet and Romeo, the pivotal moment of the play. You couldn’t do it in front of everyone like this, not yet. Not with the way your heart raced just thinking about it.

Before you could voice any more doubts, the sound of footsteps echoed through the hall. Ms. Lee walked into the theater, her clipboard in hand and a determined look in her eyes.

“You two ready for the kiss scene?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at both of you.

You opened your mouth to say something, but before you could get the words out, Ms. Lee gave you a pointed look.

“I know, I know,” she said. “This scene has been... difficult, but we need to make progress.”

You bit your lip, looking down at your script as if it might hold the answers. You could feel the heat creeping up your neck. You weren’t sure what was more terrifying—the fact that you had to kiss Haechan or that Ms. Lee was watching.

"Let's try it" she said, gesturing for you both to get into position.

You took your place across from Haechan, trying not to let the nerves show. The lines felt different now—he wasn’t just Romeo, and you weren’t just Juliet. You were two actors trying to make something real out of nothing.

“From the top” Ms. Lee said, her voice firm.

You and Haechan began, your words flowing more easily now that the tension had built. It felt like a dance—back and forth, moving in sync with each other.

“Thou know’st the mask of night is on my face” you said, your voice quieter than you meant it to be, but Haechan’s gaze was steady, pulling you in.

“I take thee at thy word” Haechan responded, his voice surprisingly gentle, not the usual confident tone you were used to hearing. “Call me but love, and I’ll be new baptized. Henceforth I never will be Romeo”

The space between you was closing, the tension so palpable that you could almost taste it. But as Haechan stepped closer, you found yourself frozen in place, heart pounding in your chest.

You weren’t sure what to do—what to feel. Every part of you was screaming to just get through the scene, but the other part... the part that didn’t want to admit it, the part that felt shy, scared to let it go, was holding you back.

Just as Haechan leaned in, ready to bridge the gap and close the scene, Ms. Lee stepped forward sharply.

“Stop!”

You froze immediately, your heart dropping into your stomach. Haechan pulled back just as quickly, confusion flashing across his face.

Ms. Lee gave both of you a look that wasn’t angry, but stern. “That’s enough for today.”

“What? But... we were almost there,” Haechan said, looking between you and Ms. Lee. “What’s wrong?”

Ms. Lee shook her head. “It’s not the right time. You’re both still holding back. That kiss has to feel real. It has to come from a place of emotion, not just ‘getting through the scene.’ Right now, it’s not.”

You bit your lip, avoiding Haechan’s gaze. The tension between you both hadn’t been just for the scene; it had been real, building each time you were forced to confront it. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to do it, but you didn’t want to rush into it.

“But we need to rehearse it, right?” Haechan asked, a slight edge to his voice. “Ms. Lee, we can’t just skip it.”

Ms. Lee nodded, but there was a firmness in her tone that made you want to shrink into the floor. “You’re not skipping it. But it’s not about rehearsing the kiss over and over. You need time to feel it. To make it real. The audience will feel it when it’s true. The chemistry, the tension—you can’t fake that.”

You couldn’t meet her eyes, but you knew she was right. You could feel the difference between just performing the scene and actually experiencing it. There was no faking that kind of connection, no matter how much you tried.

Ms. Lee continued. “Take some time. Work on the scene together. When you’re both ready for it, we’ll go for the kiss, and it will be as real as it needs to be.”

With that, she gave a nod and left the stage, leaving you and Haechan alone in the stillness.

The silence between you two was thick, but this time, it wasn’t as awkward as before. You took a deep breath, feeling a little lighter without Ms. Lee’s intense gaze on you.

Haechan gave you a small, reassuring smile. “You okay?”

You nodded, though you weren’t sure. The air felt different now, and for a moment, you just stood there, unsure of what to say or do.

“We’ll get it.” Haechan said, breaking the silence. “When it’s time, we’ll make it real.”

You met his gaze, a small but genuine smile tugging at your lips. You didn’t know when it would happen, but maybe, just maybe, you were starting to believe him.

---

After several more rehearsals, the tension between you and Haechan seemed to settle, though there was still a quiet undercurrent that neither of you fully acknowledged. But, as Ms. Lee had said, you needed time to really feel the scene—especially the kiss. Haechan seemed to understand that now, and so, the rehearsals went on without any more awkwardness.

One evening, as you were packing up your bag after a particularly long rehearsal, Haechan caught your eye, looking unusually hesitant. You raised an eyebrow as he approached.

"Hey" he began, his voice softer than usual. "You know, we've been practicing this scene for weeks, but we barely ever talk outside of it. How about we, I don't know, hang out a little? Just... you and me"

You blinked in surprise, not expecting such an invitation. "Like... a date?" you asked, unsure if that’s what he meant.

Haechan smiled, his usual playful grin returning. "Yeah, a date" he confirmed. "Think of it as a way to get to know each other better, so it doesn’t feel so... weird when we’re on stage"

You hesitated for a moment. You'd never been on a date, not in the traditional sense, and the idea of spending time with Haechan outside of rehearsals made your heart race for all the wrong reasons. But then, you remembered his gentleness during the last rehearsal—the way he'd reassured you without making it awkward. Maybe this would help you both get more comfortable.

"Okay" you said, giving a small nod. "I guess I could do that."

Haechan’s face lit up. “Great! I know a place. I promise it’s not as weird as it sounds"

The next day, he picked you up, wearing a simple yet stylish jacket that made him look effortlessly cool. You were still nervous, but there was something about his easy confidence that made you feel like everything would be okay.

When you got to the spot he had chosen, you were surprised—it was a small, charming café tucked away in a quiet part of town, far from the busy streets. The soft glow of fairy lights hung overhead, and there was a cozy, intimate atmosphere that felt worlds away from the chaos of rehearsals.

"You didn’t tell me you were a fan of cozy cafés" you said, glancing around at the warm, inviting space.

Haechan grinned, his eyes twinkling. "There’s more to me than just rehearsals and sarcasm, you know."

The café had a relaxed vibe, and the two of you settled into a corner booth. As you chatted, it was easier than you expected. The conversation flowed naturally—about everything and nothing. You discovered that Haechan had a deep love for music and played guitar in his free time, and he learned that you loved reading and had a secret obsession with indie films. You laughed together over the silly things you shared, and for a moment, it felt like you were just two people, not actors forced to kiss in a play.

As the night went on, you realized how much more you were learning about him—the playful side, the thoughtful side, and, maybe unexpectedly, the vulnerable side. He wasn’t just the confident, teasing actor on stage. There was something deeper to him, something that made your heart flutter.

When the meal came to an end, Haechan suggested a walk through the nearby park. It was quiet, peaceful, and the night air felt crisp as you strolled side by side, occasionally brushing against each other. You could feel the connection between you growing stronger, but neither of you spoke of it directly.

Finally, you stopped in front of a small fountain, the sound of the water filling the silence. The lights from the café flickered in the distance, casting a soft glow. Haechan turned to face you, his expression serious now, no longer playful.

"I’m glad we did this" he said quietly, his voice soft. "I wasn’t sure if you’d say yes, but I wanted to give us a chance to just... be normal for once. No pressure, no stage, just us"

You met his gaze, your heart pounding a little faster. The night had been unexpectedly perfect, and you couldn’t deny the way he made you feel—like you could breathe easier with him around.

“I’m glad too” you said, your voice quiet. “I... didn’t know what to expect, but this feels nice”

There was a pause, and then Haechan stepped a little closer, his gaze not leaving yours. “You know, I think... we’ve got this. The scene, the kiss, all of it. We can do it, because we’re not just pretending anymore. This—" he gestured between the two of you, "—this feels real.”

You felt a surge of warmth spread through you, and for the first time, you didn’t feel so nervous about the kiss. Maybe it was because, right here, standing in front of him, you were starting to understand what it meant to be real. Not just for the stage, but for the two of you.

You took a deep breath and smiled. “Yeah... I think we can" you said softly, your heart telling you that Haechan wasn’t just talking about the scene anymore.

The walk back was easy, and when you reached your apartment, Haechan stopped, looking at you with an expression you couldn’t quite read.

“Goodnight,” he said, his voice lower than before. “I’ll see you at rehearsal tomorrow”

You nodded, feeling a mixture of emotions. “Goodnight, Haechan”

As you closed the door behind you, your heart was still racing, but it wasn’t out of fear anymore. It was something else—something new.

And for the first time, you were sure of it. What was unfolding between you and Haechan? It wasn’t just part of a play. It was something real, and it was happening.

----

The big night of the performance had arrived.

The packed theater buzzed with energy, the murmur of the audience blending with the hum of the orchestra tuning in the pit. Behind the curtain, the cast and crew hurriedly adjusted costumes, touched up makeup, and whispered last-minute words of encouragement. But for you, the world felt still—like the weight of the night pressed its full force upon you.

You stood in the wings, adjusting the lace of your Juliet costume. Every fiber of your being was charged, not with nerves for the performance itself, but for what lay beyond it. Haechan stood a few feet away, leaning casually against the wall, dressed as Romeo. His typical playful confidence was gone, replaced by something quieter, something serious.

The moments between you during rehearsals had been electric—charged with unspoken feelings neither of you dared to address. The kiss, rehearsed in fragments but never fully acted out, was waiting at the center of the storm.

“Places!” called the stage manager, jolting you from your thoughts.

You glanced over at Haechan. He caught your eye, his expression unreadable, but in the depth of his gaze, you felt the same tension mirrored back at you. He gave a small nod, barely perceptible, as if to say, We’re in this together.

The opening scenes flowed seamlessly, the energy between you and Haechan drawing the audience in. By the time the masquerade ball arrived—the fateful first meeting of Romeo and Juliet—the crowd was utterly captivated.

When he spoke his first line to you under the soft glow of the stage lights, his voice was steady, but there was something more, something that made the words hum with sincerity.

“If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the gentle fine is this: My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.”

The way he looked at you made your heart stutter, and for a moment, you forgot your lines. But the pause wasn’t awkward—it was charged, a heartbeat longer than it should have been. Finally, you found your voice.

“Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, which mannerly devotion shows in this; for saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, and palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss.”

Your hands touched, palm to palm, and though it was only for the scene, the touch felt electric. When he leaned in, pretending to kiss your hand, the brush of his breath sent a shiver down your spine. The audience erupted into applause, but you barely noticed.

The first kiss came midway through Act II, Scene II—the balcony scene. The moment you dreaded and longed for in equal measure.

Standing on the balcony, you gazed down at Haechan. He delivered Romeo’s lines with raw, unfiltered emotion, his voice steady and low, each word drawing you in.

“With love’s light wings did I o’er-perch these walls;

For stony limits cannot hold love out,

And what love can do that dares love attempt;

Therefore thy kinsmen are no stop to me.”

As Juliet, you responded with all the vulnerability and yearning you could summon. But this time, it wasn’t just acting. Every word you spoke felt real, pulled from somewhere deep within you.

“If that thy bent of love be honourable, thy purpose marriage, send me word tomorrow...”

As the lines wove together, the moment came. Haechan climbed the balcony, his hand reaching out to you. The script called for the kiss—a brief, dramatic moment—but it was anything but scripted.

When he leaned in, your heart raced. His lips met yours, soft and warm, and the world fell away. The noise of the crowd, the spotlight, the weight of the scene—all of it vanished. It wasn’t a performance. It wasn’t rehearsed. It was real.

The kiss deepened for a heartbeat longer than it should have, and when you finally pulled away, breathless, you opened your eyes to find him staring at you. Not as Romeo. As Haechan.

The rest of the scene passed in a daze. The audience erupted in applause, but your heart was still pounding from something far more intimate than the performance.

After the final scene, the play came to its tragic conclusion. Juliet’s dagger fell, and the stage went dark. The audience leapt to their feet, the sound of their cheers filling the theater. The curtain fell, signaling the end, but for you and Haechan, something had only just begun.

Backstage, the cast celebrated, hugging one another and reliving the highlights of the night. But you stood apart, your thoughts consumed by the kiss—by the way it lingered, refusing to fade like the echo of a final note in a symphony.

You found Haechan by the prop table, where he was unlacing his boots. He looked up as you approached, his expression unreadable. For a moment, neither of you spoke.

“That kiss” he said finally, his voice quieter than you’d ever heard it. “That wasn’t acting, was it?”

You hesitated, the weight of his question pressing down on you. But you couldn’t lie—not now. “No” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “It wasn’t”

Relief flashed across his face, quickly followed by something deeper. He stood, closing the space between you, his eyes searching yours.

“I’ve been trying to say this for weeks" he said, his tone soft but insistent. “But every time I get close, I... chicken out. So, I’m just going to say it now.” He took a deep breath. “I like you. Not just on stage, not just as Juliet. I like you.”

Your breath caught, his words unraveling the last of your defenses. “I like you too.Not just on stage, not just as Romeo. I like you too” you said, the confession tumbling out before you could second-guess it.

His smile was soft, vulnerable, and before you could think, he leaned in again. This kiss was different from the one on stage—less dramatic, more tender. His hand cupped your cheek as if afraid you might disappear, and when you pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours.

“I guess we’re not just a disaster waiting to happen, huh?” he teased, his signature playfulness returning.

You laughed, the sound light and free. “No,” you said, smiling up at him. “Maybe we’re just the beginning of something amazing, a masterpiece.”

In the distance, the cast’s cheers continued, but for you and Haechan, the night had quieted into something intimate, something that felt like a new story waiting to be written.

The final curtain had fallen, but the real performance—the one with no script or stage lights—had only just begun.

[valdomarx]

It begins, innocently enough, with a carton of orange juice.

Roy has never cared for the stuff, but Jamie is round at his house at 6am every morning after training, and he loves it. Roy figures he might as well make breakfast for them both while they're there, so the next time he's at the supermarket he picks up a carton and shoves it into the fridge.

And there's really no point in Jamie going home to shower before team training, is there? That would be a waste of everyone's time, so he showers at Roy's. Soon enough Roy's bathroom is full of expensive hair conditioner and elaborate skincare products and the inevitable cans of Lynx which start to crowd his shelves, but whatever.

And then Jamie starts turning up for weekly Lust Conquers All watch parties, and it's not quite clear how that happened. Roy wouldn't admit it on pain of death, but he likes having an excuse to watch the show and having someone to bitch about the terrible contestants and the unfair eliminations with.

And Jamie is right there, so it would be rude not to offer him dinner, wouldn't it? Roy likes to cook, and it's just as easy to cook for two as for one. Then suddenly Roy's kitchen cupboards are full of Jamie's favourite brands of soy sauce and Tabasco and rice cakes, but that's okay because at least now Roy can keep an eye on his diet.

And when Jamie is round and it's getting late and they've got 4am training tomorrow, he might as well stay the night. So what was Roy's guest room becomes Jamie's room. And if, on occasion, when they're both knackered from a hard match and ready to pass out, Jamie collapses into Roy's bed, tucked up next to him, snuffling and cuddly and infuriatingly, wonderfully Jamie, then that's no one's business but theirs.

Roy keeps finding bright orange joggers and graffiti-covered hoodies in his laundry pile, but Jamie still complains of having nothing to wear, so Roy tosses him one of his old Chelsea shirts. Then somehow Roy's entire cupboard full of old kits becomes Jamie's wardrobe, and Roy gets kind of used to waking up to find Jamie in the kitchen, making coffee, with KENT printed across his back.

At some point it's been weeks since Jamie was at his place, and Roy caved ages ago and gave Jamie his own set of keys, and it would be odd, frankly, for him not to be here, in Roy's space, sprawling on Roy's sofa and eating Roy's leftovers, and dropping his feet into Roy's lap with that ridiculous grin that makes the corners of Roy's mouth twitch upwards involuntarily.

"Marry me." Roy blurts it out, some instinct rising up directly from the very centre of his chest and exiting via his mouth with no input whatsoever from his brain.

"The fuck?" Jamie blinks at him, slowly, like he's approaching a wounded animal.

"Oh." Roy thinks fast. "It's a joke. Because you're always here, right, and we spend all this time together, and we're practically married." He forces what he hopes is a jovial smile. "Haha?"

Jamie gives him an odd look. "Riiiight."

Roy fiddles with the TV remote, then glances over at Jamie, then looks away again, then looks back. Jamie is still staring at him, a look of utter bafflement on his face. "I mean." Roy's leg bounces anxiously. "Unless... ?"

[thermodynamic-comedian]

everybody's saying this all the time but i fear i have to become another post among millions to say that i cannot get over the absolutely brilliant contrast between deidara and sasori.

sasori's philosophy is that true art is eternal. something untouched by the world, forever beautiful. this makes a lot of sense for his character: he lives, in his mind, in a single moment that lasts forever. he lives, in his mind, the moment his "parents" held him, and he was young, and he was safe, and he was loved. he lives in that moment, forever. he can't let it go, can't force himself to confront the eventual decay of all life. and so, to him, the authenticity of it all doesn't matter; he'll live as plastic if it means he won't decompose like everything else. he'll create a fake world with fake people, if it means he'll never have to let go of anything ever again. beauty is that which lasts forever, and that which lasts forever has surely embraced its own fakeness. it doesn't matter whether it's real or not. what matters is that it cannot decay. it cannot end. it's eternal, and eternally beautiful.

deidara, on the other hand, is obsessed with the temporary nature of life. at 19 years old, he's already eagerly awaiting his own death. his philosophy is that the only thing we can be certain of is that nothing lasts forever; and, within that, there is beauty. he was never given as clear of a backstory as sasori, but i really don't think he needs one. i think he's just an excellent example of someone coping very poorly with a horrible case of existential dread. an ego death of sorts could easily result in the mindset he exhibits: the one in which destruction itself becomes art. things are beautiful because they're temporary. this is how he gives his own life meaning; he'll die one day, on his own terms, and that inevitable end will finally be what makes his own life art. art exists in its own absence; it is created in its own destruction. after all, we tend to picture something as much more beautiful than it ever truly was once it's no longer there. he takes joy in destroying his own art, these delicate statues and works that must've taken immense talent and effort to create, and he creates them specifically with intent to end up destroying them. he can't see meaning in his own art unless it dies. he'll only see that it was beautiful after he's destroyed it. he'll only see that he was beautiful after he's destroyed himself.

and, in a cruel twist of fate, deidara ends up outlasting sasori.