#AND THEN tacks on 'but don't get offended'

[bloodwards]

.

[atlasmoonglade]

University AU Enemies to lovers

Joost Klein x fem!reader

Warnings: swearing, PiV (protected), 18+ only

It's a Friday evening, soft music is playing through the speakers on Max's desk, mixing in with the chatter of your friends. Everyone is sitting in different spaces around the room, some on the desk, some on Max's bed, you and Olivia rest on Max's roommate’s bed. Red solo cups of beer are scattered amongst the room. It was calm and then the door swung open.

"Yooo!!" The entering voice rang, instantly earning a happy response from Max, who hops off his bed and heads towards the entrance.

“Joost!” Max exclaims, arms open wide to embrace his friend. “Where the hell you have been, man?”

"Consider my good time ruined" you mutter.

"Be nice" Olivia pats your knee.

"I am always nice. It's him who always starts shit. That di-"

"Hey, Y/N" Joost greets, taking a seat on the opposite bed. "Hey, Olivia."

"Hey, Joost" Olivia smiles. When you don't say anything, she nudges her elbow into your side.

You roll your eyes. "Hi, Joost"

"C'mon, that's all I get?" he teases. "What's wrong? You tired?"

"You have no idea" you say, finally looking at him. He is wearing a green long sleeve polo shirt and a hat, his blond messy hair sticking out the front it.

"Aw, is it past your bed time?"

"And the day is just starting for you? Let me guess, you just rolled out of bed."

"Oh, God" someone says "Here they go again."

"Max invited me here. I am more fun than someone who sits with a sour face all the time."

"Why are you talking to me? Don't you have anything better to do?"

"You know" Max says. "if you two just - I'm gonna say it - fucked one good time. You would get over this rivalry already."

Your jaw drops, you look at Olivia, who just shrugs.

"Don't ever say that again, Max. Ew" you say disgusted at the thought.

"Ew?" Joost says offended. "You would be lucky if I even considered it."

Your jaw drops even lower. "You arrogant asshole" you sit down straight. "And this is who you all want around?"

"Stop it you two." someone says.

You can't see yourself ever getting along with him. This "rivalry" as your friends call it has started a long time ago. During the first week of introductions, he asked you to speak louder, which completely messed up your track of thought and earned some laughs from the auditory. So, after the first homework tasks, you called his presentation uninspiring and poorly structured. He took the last internship place, which he knew you wanted. So, you assigned to write the final paper with the professor, he was planning to ask. You showed his old embarrassing Youtube videos to a girl he wanted to ask out, which lead to her blocking his number. So, he fucked your roommate, while you were still in the room. He calls you short tack, princess, anything but your name, making fun of the fact that he is taller than you. List of insults you call him is too long.

"I'm gonna head out" you stand up to leave.

"I'll come with you" Olivia left with you.

You take your favorite seat in the auditorium, noise of chatting students around you as you take out your laptop. The professor walks in, prepared to start the lecture. The room falling into gradual silence, then the door opens and Joost walks in. You watch him take his place further up, he notices you looking and flips you off. You mock him and flip him off back.

At the end of the lecture professor announces "As you all know the final paper consists of a group presentation. I took liberty and divided you into pairs. I will also email you the list." he pulls up the list on the projector screen. You search for your name. As soon you see it, the color drains from your face.

No. No, this must be a mistake.

A groan is heard from the back of the auditorium. "Professor, I am not working with her." Joost says annoyance clear in his voice. "Switch me to be with someone else."

You are sat in disbelief that you got assigned to write the final paper with Joost.

"This is a final list." Professor looks at the whole class. "Drop this attitude and act like grownups."

As the lecture ends, you hurry to the professors desk. "Sir, this is not going to work. He is going to sabotage my results. Can I just switch with someone?" you look at him with pleading eyes. "Anyone else."

"I assigned pairs randomly, so everyone has equal chances. You have to learn to work with everyone." he says. "This is final."

Joost rushes past us towards the exit. You roll your eyes. This can't be happening.

You meet with Olivia and tell her everything. She laughs in shock at first, but then insists you'll be fine, that you are adults and both want this done one way or another. You knew it’d be a miracle if Joost and you made it through 15 minutes of working on something together. 

You and Joost still haven't talked about it, as if pushing it to the last minute would solve the problem. It is halloween night, you are getting ready for the party, your costume is inspired by Britney Spears in her music video Baby one more time. You finish braiding your hair into two braids, fix your skirt, wait for Olivia and you head out to the party.

Loud music, neon lights, you already had a couple of drinks, feeling a nice buzz. Someone from the group of your friends suggests to play Spin the bottle.

"Hell yeah, let's do it." Max puts his hand around you. "C'mon grumps, you joining us?"

You push his hand away. "I am" you make kissing face at him. "Always dreamt of kissing you" your voice full of sarcasm. You and Max burst out laughing.

Your usual group of friends and a few people you met at the party find space in the house to set up the game, music still loud around you. Olivia brings the bottle, as you are all sitting in a circle, ready to start.

"Is there still space for me?" a voice behind you asks. You turn around to see Joost, his face painted to resemble a skull, he is wearing a black suit, which doesn't properly fit him and a red tie.

"Sure, man! We've been looking for you." Max makes room for Joost to sit next to him, opposite of you.

"I was a little busy with this girl I met." he says as he sits down. "Glad I found you guys just in time." his eyes find yours and he smirks.

"We are so lucky" you say contemplating if you should just leave. Olivia looks at you shaking her head as if trying to tell you "don't start it again", you roll your eyes.

For the past 15 minutes there was a lot of cheering as people kiss. Some give just a little peck, others fully commit, tongue and all. Max is currently making out with a girl from an acting class. Her hands are in his hair as they deepen the kiss.

"Okay okay. I am afraid you will start fucking soon." someone says. "I am not drunk enough to see that."

Everyone laughs and they pull apart, going back to their places.

It is your turn to spin the bottle, you down your drink and reach for the bottle. You give it a good spin, watching it, already knowing you will just give a little peck to whoever it lands on. The bottle slows and comes to a stop. You follow the neck of the bottle, it points to Joost. Everyone erupts into loud cheering and whistling.

"Finally!" someone says.

You look at Joost. Universe must be punishing you for something.

"Bring it on, princess." he messes up his hair. "Hope it's not gonna be your first kiss." he licks his lips.

"Pass." you say with a smile and cross your arms against your chess.

"No, that's not how this works" Max chimes in. "No skipping your turn."

You groan and look at the ceiling hoping you can just die on the spot.

Joost stands up and offers you his hand. "We will go somewhere private. Won't give you all a show. It is her first time, has to be special."

"Oh, shut up" you say. "Let's just move on, everyone"

"Just trust me." he kneels down next to you. "Can you do that for once?" he says looking into your eyes.

You stand up without his help and head towards the first room you see, you can hear his footsteps behind you.

You walk in and close the door behind you as he walks towards the window.

"I am not kissing you." you say.

"I wasn't planning on that" he replies and opens the window, he takes out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, puts one in between his lips and reaches for a lighter.

"You should quit that." you point at the cigarette in between his fingers.

He chuckles and takes a drag of a cigarette as you stand in silence.

"About that presentation.. " you start.

"I emailed the head of the department asking to let us switch partners." he looks down at his shoes. "He said no"

You look at him with your eyes wide.

"You would hate to work with me that much?" you ask shocked he went that far.

"I was doing it for the both of us. You know it would be a disaster. But since we are stuck together, promise me you won't fuck this up for us." he lifts his head up to look at you.

All of your anger returns. You can't believe you were about to offer him to put your differences behind you.

"Fuck you, Joost. Why do you think I would be the one to fuck this up? You are the unreliable one. Always gone somewhere doing fuckall with whoever." your hands ball into fists. "Fuck you" you say again and storm out of the room.

You leave the party without saying bye to anyone, you just need to go back to your room to calm down.

The street you walk back to the dorm is silent, lit up only by sporadic streetlights. It's late enough that everyone is already asleep or partying. Your head clears from the alcohol. You are deep in your thoughts, and suddenly you hear fast approaching footsteps behind you. You don't have enough time to realise what is happening, you feel a heavy hand on your shoulder. A flight or fight response kicks in and you scream, turn around and throw a punch, not risking waisting time to think about it.

Your fist connects with something.

"Ouch. You fucking bitch" you open your eyes to see Joost holding his cheek. It's not until you smell a familiar scent, cigarettes with cologne, your panic subsides a little. You think of how stupid your argument over the presentation was. The fear of being robbed or worse, has made you realise that Joost is not the enemy and never has been. Your hands start to shake and you burst into tears.

And then you hug him, your arms tight around his middle, he tenses but then wraps an arm around you, feeling you tremble.

"Hey, hey" his voice getting soft. "What's wrong with you" his other hand is still holding his cheek.

"I thought you were a murderer." you let go of him, still shaking.

"I called your name, you didn't hear?"

"No" you say "What are you doing here anyway?"

"No one knew where you disappeared to. I went looking for you." he says letting go of his cheek. The paint of a skull on his face has rubbed off from sweat throughout the night and you can see hints of red from where you hit. You start to feel sorry and embarrassed that you reacted that way. You reach out to him, but drop your hand before it reaches to touch his cheek.

"Let's not tell anyone about this." he suggests. "We can't give them the satisfaction of knowing you hit me"

It draws a laugh out of you and it makes him grin.

"It's the least I can do. I really am sorry, Joost."

"You are nuts for reacting like this...but I really didn't mean to scare you." he says. "Let me walk you home."

You walk together in silence.

"I'm sorry for what I said earlier at the party." he says suddenly. "I realise I was kind of an asshole"

"Kind of?"

"Ok, yeah, I overreacted. I guess what i'm trying to say is.. Let's just do that presentation and not kill each other. I already felt your knuckles on my face, don't want that again"

You look at him, seeing the red mark again. "My room. 7pm tomorrow. Let's at least start it"

Olivia left to go to a friend’s place, you changed into comfortable pants and a cropped sweater. You sit at your desk, and wait. You’d told Joost to come at 7. 

There is a knock at 7:14.

"Come in" you say slight annoyance in your voice.

"I'm sorry, short stack"

"I was starting to think you weren't gonna come" you turn in your chair to face him.

"I'm here now" he says taking a seat next to you, smell of cigarettes filling the space.

"I started writing a rough plan." you show him what you wrote on your laptop.

After 30 minutes of you two working out an agenda for the presentation, Joost leans back on his chair. "Wow"

It makes you look at him. "What?"

"Look at us. Not arguing"

"It's only been like half an hour" you look at your watch. "The night is young"

Maybe he has brain damage from the punch, but he can’t lie to himself, that night after the party shifted things. Seeing you so terrified caused a change in him. Feeling your arms around him, clinging to him and trembling so hard, softened him towards you.

He catches himself thinking you look so good all wrapped up in your shared work. He hooks his foot around the leg of your chair and pushes you closer to him.

"What are you doing?" you push yourself back.

"Why are you so far away from me?"

"I am not. I am an appropriate distance from you." you look at him as if he is crazy.

He pushes you closer again and leans in. He acts on an instinct, closes the distance between you and crashes his lips against yours. You press your hands against his chest and push away.

"What the hell was that?" you ask touching your lips.

He is just as speechless as you are. Speechless, and confused, and out of breath, and so pretty. Has he always been that pretty? 

You grab onto the hem of his shirt and pull him back in, pressing your lips together in an aggressive collision. Joost's hands grip your waist and he urges you to straddle him. Without breaking the kiss you put your legs on each side of his and sit on top of his thighs. He grips your hair and deepens the kiss, earning a moan from you, which makes him push up into your clothed core. You feel him hardening.

Joosts hands slide down to your thighs, he scoops you up in his arms, standing up and lifting you up with him. Your legs are wrapped around his torso, your hands on his shoulders. He supports your weight so easily, all while sliding his tongue into your mouth. He carries you over to the bed, dropping you on top of the mattress. He looks down at you with a grin.

"These fuckers were right." he laughs. "We needed this" he leans back to you, his hands sneaking beneath your sweater, pushing it up until your bra is revealed. He looks into your eyes. "Is this okay?"

"Yes" you moan, "Please".

His pushes your bra down, enough to reveal your chest. His lips wrap around your nipple, wetting it with his tongue and applying light suction. A soft moan left your mouth, and you grip onto his hair. He can't stop himself from smiling. He sucks harder, just to hear you make some noise. Any noise.

You rubbed your thighs together for some relief. Joost noticed this and proceeded to stick his hand down your pants, fingers sliding underneath the band of your underwear. He smirks at how soaked you were already and rubs your clit as he licks a trail up to your neck. You tighten your thighs around his hand, gasping at the friction and pulling at the bedsheets. His cock is pressed against the zipper of his jeans, getting to the point that it was excruciating. So, as he massaged your clit, he undid his pants and pushed them down his legs. 

"Do you want to do this?" he looks at you.

"Yes." you reply with no hesitation. "Condoms are in the drawer."

He gets off the bed, finds the pack of condoms, tears the foil with his teeth, and watches you as he rolls the condom on himself. You’re absolutely gorgeous, better than he could have ever imagined.

"How do you want me, princess?” The nickname finally getting a new meaning.

"However you want it.”

"We are doing acrobatics then"

It startles a laugh out of you, and Joost thinks he might love that—the way he makes you laugh.

He takes off your pants together with the underwear, bends your leg, pushes it away from him, closer to you, which reveals your slick core to him.

“Gotta tell me how you want me, and fucking quick.” he groans, just the view of you makes him do mathematics in his head to stop from cumming on the spot.

"Missionary works me." you prop yourself on your elbows.

So he climbs onto you. He kneels between your legs, then pushes them apart obscenely wide. You stay propped up on your elbows, watching him, but when he settles between your thighs, you fall back against your pillow.

“Good?” he asks.

"You haven’t done much,” you point out. 

"Smart-ass.” He reaches down and grasps his cock at the base, and drags the tip through your folds. He coats himself in your arousal, feels the heat of your pussy even through the latex, then notches himself at your entrance. He looks down and pushes into you. He goes slow but steady, and he hears a small gasp fall from your lips.

He remembers the way you clung to him that night, and he wants to capture that feeling again.

He picks up a steady pace, holding your legs apart, kissing your neck. One of his hands makes its way to your clit again, you arch your back as he starts to draw circles around it.

He feels you clench around him. "Joost. I'm so close" you moan and he watches you come undone beneath him, proud of himself — to the point of cockiness. Giving you a few more forceful pumps, he hides his face in your neck, and releases himself into the condom.

You want to remember this forever. Him panting, moaning in your ear. He taps the side of your thigh, pulls out and throws out the condom. You watch him pull up his jeans and sit down at the desk again.

"Let's do this thing"

You and Joost are sitting next to each other in the cafeteria. Max and Olivia join you.

"Look, both are still alive!" Max jokes.

"How did it go yesterday?" Olivia asks looking between the two of you.

A deep blush spreads across your cheeks.

"Wait." Max looks at you, then at Joost. "Did you two...?"

"No way!" Olivia gasps.

"Ok, shut up guys." Joost says

"You owe me 20 bucks" Max says to Olivia.

"Fuck!" Olivia exclaims

"You bet on us?"

"Last year!" Max takes the money from Olivia.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Melting Pot II

Ingrid Engen x Mapi León x Child!Reader

woso-dreamzzz Kids x Child!Reader (Nena)

Summary: A day in the life of the Engen-Leóns

You have a big house because you have a big family.

Or...Ingrid has a big house because she has a big family.

Your Mama says Ingrid has a fancy job which means she's very busy and gets lots of money. You think she's lying because Ingrid always has time to hang out with you and your nieces.

You have a lot of nieces.

Cub was Mapi's belly baby but that doesn't make her any less your niece. Then there's the twins, Bebita and Skatt. They were oopsy babies like you. Sunshine is next and then Teeny.

That makes five.

You have five nieces and you love them so much.

You keep a tight grip on Sunshine's hand as you're all led outside for pickup. You're her auntie and Ingrid says she's fragile after having her heart transplant so you make sure you don't lose her in the group of bodies heading outside.

Cub is up further ahead with your sister's twins following after her. Teeny lags behind because she's hanging back with one of Tia Alexia's twins.

But you keep a tight grip on Sunshine's hand because she's vulnerable and you're a good auntie.

Mapi is there waiting at the school gates and she hugs each and every one of you individually. You all get kisses too and her lips flutter around your face before you push her away.

"Really, Nena?" She says," I'm feeling a little offended here."

You giggle. "Silly, Mapi!"

"I'm not silly!"

"You are, Mami!" Cub agrees. She's hanging off of one of Mapi's strong arms and Mapi rolls her eyes.

"Let's agree to disagree," She says," Now, has everyone got everything? Bags? Bottles? Toes and fingers?"

"Uh-huh!"

"Alright, then. Buddy up, please. Hold someone's hand."

Bebita and Skatt crowd together and you keep Sunshine while Cub grabs Teeny, who whines a little while waving goodbye to her friend.

It's a very long walk back to the house so you only walk a little bit before Mapi gets you all into the car together.

You get to sit in the front because you're not one of Mapi's babies. You're her sister-in-law (although Ingrid always says you're not Mapi's sister-in-law yet) and then Cub and Sunshine sit in the way back because they're a pair.

Teeny, Skatt and Bebita sit in the middle because they're still little and Mapi needs to keep an eye on them.

"Is Ingrid home yet?" You ask as Mapi hands out snacks before driving off.

"Sorry, Nena," She says," Not just yet. Soon, though. She's been stuck in meetings today."

"What's for dinner?" Bebita asks.

"Spaghetti."

"I want lots of cheese on mine!" Skatt butts in and suddenly everyone is yelling their own choices and you giggle.

Your family is very big and very loud.

Ingrid says it's chaotic.

You think that means there's a lot of love to go around.

"Can I make Mama a picture?" Teeny pipes up suddenly.

She's been a little sad since leaving her friend behind at school. Teeny is the niece who spends the most time out of the house. She hangs out with Tia Alexia and her twins a lot.

Ingrid says it's because she's good with Pequeñita. They're painting buddies.

Teeny is always drawing and painting and if she's not drawing and painting then she's playing with Mr Pina, her hedgehog.

"Can we make Mama a picture too?" Bebita asks.

"Er...I don't know girls," Mapi says as she drives up the hill to the house," Have we got the supplies?"

"I've got paper in my room," You say.

"I sharpened my pencils last night." Teeny now.

"Mama got me new pens last week," Skatt adds.

"I've got glitter!" Sunshine says.

"And I've got the glue for the glitter!" That's Cub in the way-back.

"Mama bought us all new aprons too!" Bebita tacks on.

Mapi sighs. "Sometimes," She says," I think you lot gang up on me."

"Please, Mami?" Teeny asks," We won't get messy."

That's a lie, or, at least half a lie because Teeny is always messy. The others aren't though. Just Teeny.

It seems Mapi is thinking that too so you jump in.

"I can keep Teeny clean!"

She pretends to think about for a moment, tapping her fingers against the steering wheel. She sighs.

"I guess so. But-"

Her words are drowned out by the cheering of you and your nieces and she struggles to get you all out of the car quick enough when she pulls up to the house.

It's dark by the time Ingrid gets home and she curses herself as soon as she locks the car.

She hadn't meant to stay so late but she'd had meetings with Frido and the rest of her heads of department and then the website went down a few hours before the new sale went up so she'd had to call Caro up from her IT cave to get her to fix it.

It had been meeting on top of meeting on top of meeting getting everything ready for the launch next month that she'd hardly had time to stop and eat, let alone make it to the school with enough time for pick up.

She slips into the house.

"Hi, Bagheera," Ingrid says as the cat meanders towards her, tail flicking against her leg," It's good to see you too."

Mapi's in the living room, aimlessly flicking through channels. "You're home."

"Sorry I'm late. Work-"

"I know. Frido called. It's fine."

"No," Ingrid says," It's not. I said I'd pick up the girls today and-"

"Ingrid," Mapi laughs," Trust me, it's fine. You're practically single-handedly keeping us afloat. I'd hate to think about where we'd be living if you didn't have such an important job."

Ingrid's cheeks flush. "What did I do to deserve you, huh? You're such a smooth talker."

Mapi grins. "It's just one of my charms." She winks. "I'm your sexy arm candy, remember?"

Ingrid laughs. "Yes, you do look very good in a suit, don't you?"

"Want me to model some more for you?"

"I certainly want you to model something for me," Ingrid says," But it's not a suit."

She leans forward to kiss Mapi before freezing, pulling back suddenly.

"Ingrid? What is it?"

"I..."

Her eyes roves around the room.

Something's different.

The floor is spotless. The kitchen is clean. There's the lingering smell of whatever Mapi cooked the girls for dinner and-

The girls.

That's what's different.

Six little girls live in this house and yet there is practically no noise whatsoever. There's no giggling and laughing from Ingrid's twins. There's no running from Cub. There's no rhythmic thumping of a ball being kicked from your room. There are no spills of paint from Teeny's projects and there's no clicking of Sunshine's camera.

It's just...calm.

"Where are the girls?"

"Huh? The girls? Oh...They wanted to surprise you with something they made. I think they took it up to our room."

Ingrid strains her ears but still can't hear anything.

It's embarrassing how quickly she hurries up the stairs.

It's never good when a house of six girls goes silent.

Mapi follows after her and Ingrid wrenches the bedroom door open.

She stops, a smile appearing on her face.

Her girls are asleep on her and Mapi's bed, all cuddled up together under a massive portrait.

It's made up of several pieces of paper taped together and Ingrid knows it's meant to be of her.

"They wanted to draw you a picture," Mapi says," I didn't realise how big it was until they brought it up here."

"It's perfect," Ingrid says," Thank you for helping them."

"I didn't do much. Just taped it all together and-oh!"

It's nice that Ingrid can still make Mapi blush with just a simple kiss to the cheek.

"You're such a good mami, Mapi," Ingrid says," You're so good with them."

Mapi gives her a bashful smile. "It's bedtime. I can take them."

"No," Ingrid says," You've been with them since school ended. I'll take them to bed."

"Are you-"

"Mapi," Ingrid says," Go downstairs and watch some tv with Bagheera. When I come back, maybe you can model what I want you to model."

Mapi's face goes bright red and it's almost like she can't get downstairs quick enough.

Ingrid takes her time putting her girls to bed.

Cub is first, taken into her bedroom and put up high in her cabin bed. Garfield is splayed out on the middle of the carpet. León-León is already asleep too, taking up half the bed but Cub immediately curls around him in her sleep.

Bebita is next and Ingrid has to be careful walking through her room because it's like a minefield and she makes a mental note to make Bebita clean it up in the morning.

Skatt comes after her and Ingrid has to check that all her terrariums are closed so none of her bugs escape in the night.

Teeny follows after and Ingrid spares a glance over at Mr Pina's enclosure to make sure the little hedgehog's food bowl is filled up and his water is fresh.

Sunshine is put to bed after Teeny and Ingrid makes sure to flick on her fairy lights on in case she wakes up in the middle of the night.

You're last and wake as Ingrid lifts you.

"Ingrid," You mumble.

"Yes, Nena," She says," It's me."

"Did you see your picture?" You ask, still groggy as your head lolls on her shoulder.

"I did. You girls did such a good job with it."

"Made sure Teeny stayed clean."

"I could tell. You did such a good job, Nena."

She sets you down in your bed, pulling the covers up all the way to your chin as you yawn.

"Made sure Sunshine didn't get lost at school too."

"You're such a good auntie," She tells you, kiss your forehead," But it's bedtime now."

She goes to leave.

"Ingrid!"

"Hmm?"

"I love you."

Ingrid flicks off your light. "I love you too, Nena."

[inkblot22]

Give You Something To Cry About

Yay, my time management skills continue to be straight ass. Sorry to the anon who has waited so patiently for this, and thank you so much for giving me an excuse to write this depraved ball of snot. Headers by @/cafekitsune. Also don't believe everything you see on the internet, there's no scientific proof that certain things work for your skin. I think Vil would know that, considering.

This Fic Is For: Anyone who can handle it! Once again, I tried to make it as gn as possible, considering Rook's use of Franglais, but I'm delusional and will say I did exactly that. Reader is referred to with they/them pronouns, and no real allusions to specific body parts are made for them.

TW for DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT, forced dieting, non/dubcon, mentions of death, questionable use of magic, captivity, someone has a case of dacryphilia and a strong sadist streak, won't say who, Rook Hunt because he freaks me out, unhealthy relationship dynamics, abuse, forced BDSM if you squint, I feel so bad for the reader in this one, toxic relationships, possibly OOC characters.

“I am not going to tell you again, my love.” Vil bends down to get in your face, already wearing his ceremonial robe and heels. He points a finger in your face, like you’re a small child or a dog, “If you continue to pick at your skin, I am going to let Rook punish you this time.”

You swallow and look away, and Vil pinches your cheeks between his thumb and fingers, pulling your head so you’re looking at him again. His violet eyes bore into you, and you swallow again.

He looks offended, almost, “Well? Have you forgotten basic manners? Speak.”

Your voice sounds dry and weak, “Yes, Vil. I understand.”

He seems satisfied enough with that, moving around as he continues to prepare for whatever school-wide assembly is happening today. He elegantly tucks his hair behind his ear and sighs, scrolling through some page on his phone.

You remain standing where you are, turning your head to look out the window. It’s so pretty outside, but you only get to leave this room whenever Rook is watching you or Vil sends you on an errand. It’s always spring, never too hot, never too cold, but you’re sweating anyway.

Vil approaches you again and tilts your face back so you’re looking at him with a hand on your cheek. His eyes narrow a fraction.

“Your skin doesn’t seem to like this foundation. Make sure you discard it today; I’ll get you a new one.” He bends down again, this time to press a chaste kiss to your lips. He rubs his own together after pulling away and smudges his thumb over your bottom lip, “Hmm. What lipgloss is this?”

Your voice doesn’t sound so dry, but it still doesn’t sound like you, “Uh… The dark red one with the metallic purple? ‘Electric Berry’?

He’s silent for a second, just staring down at your lips as he cups your chin, and then he sighs and turns away, “It’s sticky. I’d tell you to wash your face and reapply your makeup, but that’d be a waste. Make sure you put on lip balm next time.”

You swallow, “Yes, Vil. I understand.”

“I have to get going now. You’d better be at least halfway done with that list by the time I return.” He breezes towards the door and gives you a last, long look. He’s completely silent before he leaves, closing the door behind him.

Your palms ache. You stiltedly wander towards the list pinned in the closet, glad to see it’s not insane today. All you need to do is tidy the bathroom and skim through Vil’s mail to see if it’s anything but hate mail or advertisements. Tack on getting rid of that foundation and that’s it, at least until he returns at lunch.

You relished this time to yourself, even if it was just cleaning or whatever else. Vil always said that motion is good for you, a structure does the mind good. You didn’t care much anymore. As you sat down to search through his mail, finding nothing but the usual hate mail and what appears to be a poem from Rook (why did he even mail that? He’s not even down the hall from this room,) you catch yourself craving something sweet.

The diet Vil has you on sucks. He has assured you that your body is lovely, and he is having you eat like this to help clear your skin, but really you just want something. Anything, you’d even take a breath mint over this lack of junk food. You’re young, what young person doesn’t enjoy gratuitously unhealthy food? A basket of french fries? Ice cream? 

You frown to yourself and toss the last of the mail into the recycle bin. You know he’s just going to check it over again anyway, but at least you’re moving around. That’s what he would say.

By the time you’re almost done scrubbing the tub, you hear the door open. You don’t want to go greet him, so you pretend you didn’t hear anything and keep cleaning, making sure to disinfect the non-slip mat that resembles a bunch of ugly gems glued together. 

You hear him clicking towards you, and his hand rests on your shoulder, “Going above and beyond today? I have lunch, come eat.”

You school your expression and stand up, pulling off your cleaning gloves and hanging them on the rim of the tub before you follow Vil. He ensconces himself in his desk chair, leaving you to awkwardly lift the stool near his vanity. He hates it when you push the furniture.

He clucks his tongue, not even looking at you, “Lift with your knees, darling. As much as I’d love to massage your back if you pull something, I simply don’t have the time.”

You can’t help it. You shoot him the nastiest glare you can muster as you lift with your knees, right as his eyes flick up to meet yours. You nearly drop the chair as his lips curl into a cold smirk.

“Do you have something to say?”

You hastily shake your head, “No, Vil-”

“Then don’t allow me to see that expression on your face again.” He bites, “Come sit down.”

You put the stool down a little harder than you mean to and take a seat beside Vil at his desk. He passes you your nice little container containing one of several things he gets you- a pile of leafy greens and chopped veggies on a bed of quinoa, fresh fruit, and a murky green smoothie topped with chia seeds.

 You don’t like chia seeds. They remind you of frog eggs- a bunch of slimy lumps, sliding down your throat. You accept the straw Vil passes to you and stir the smoothie before eating in silence.

Vil doesn’t mind if you don’t thank him for feeding you. Since he’s keeping you here, it’s pretty much the least he could do. Still, it doesn’t make up for hearing about his boring day.

“This morning’s assembly was complete and utter chaos, as usual.” He muses, sipping his own smoothie. It’s a soft purple. “It’s ridiculous. Those brutes never wear their robes correctly.”

You don’t respond. There’s two reasons: first of all, you don’t care, and secondly, there’s a knock at the door. Vil hums, as though he’s been waiting for someone, and turns to face the door.

“Who is it?”

That boisterous voice you are so used to hearing echoes past the door, “‘Tis I, Roi du Poison. I have come to join you for lunch.”

You can hear the smile in Vil’s voice, “Oh, of course. Come in.”

As Rook walks in, you feel a stab of jealousy in your chest. He takes a breezy seat on the loveseat in front of Vil’s bed and glances at you. You break eye contact and dully pick at your salad.

Vil treats Rook so nicely. He considers his feelings and opinions, although he doesn’t always listen. He speaks to him as though he’s a person. You suppose Vil’s obvious care for Rook trickles down to you in some capacity, but it hurts. Vil claims that the two of you are lovers, but really you’re more like a doll.

“Do you mind meeting me in the lab later on, Rook?”

Rook chuckles from where he is and you cast another glance at him. His eyes meet yours, again, and you look away, again.

“I can always make time for you, beautiful Vil.”

You lamely pick at the fruit, having finished the salad, before you decide to save it for last. You take a sip of your smoothie after stirring it again and openly recoil, trying not to cough. You didn’t smell it, but there must be ginger in there, because there’s a mellow burn alongside the bitterness from the kale. It makes your eyes water and settles in behind your nose.

“Mmm. Something wrong?” Vil smiles at you.

You shake your head, blinking rapidly so you don’t start crying. There’s not enough tears to fall, but taking your chances is stupid, “No, Vil. The ginger just caught me off guard.”

“Oh. My apologies, I should have warned you. I don’t want you catching a cold, and you’ve been a little irregular. The smoothie also has spinach, kale, avocado, chia seeds, and, of course, a little mango.”

You nod and force yourself to smile, taking another sip and soldiering past the rush of that aromatic pain in your sinuses. “Oh, thank you.”

“You’re very welcome, darling.” Vil turns away from you to speak to Rook again, “What else did you have planned?”

“I thought I might take a walk. It is a wonderful day, non?” There’s a slight mocking tone to Rook’s voice, “Hardly the type of day to be cooped up all day, hmm?”

Vil furrows his eyebrows as you choke down the last of the smoothie. His voice is curt, “You can say what you mean.”

“Est-ce que je peux? You are not very open to suggestion.”

Vil narrows his eyes at Rook, taking a deep sip of his smoothie before he places it on the coaster sitting upon his desk. He uncrosses his long legs and stands, walking over to sit with Rook on the loveseat. Rook watches him approach with a smile, the same pleasant one he usually wears before he shoots you a beaming grin and turns to look at Vil.

Their conversation is hushed, and you can’t really make out all of what they say. You can hear someone say your name, Vil’s tone swiftly turns vitriolic, then sweetens once more, and Rook chuckles under his breath. When their little meeting is over, Vil walks back over and finishes his smoothie before petting your head like you’re some kind of cat.

His hand strokes the crown of your head, then smooths over your cheek, he cups your jaw and thumbs over the swell of your lip, all while staring at you with a look you cannot read. And then he tilts his head, and smiles.

“Make sure you thank Rook. And you mistook a letter from my father as garbage.”

“Yes, Vil.” You reply obediently, “Sorry, Vil.”

He smiles. Your palms ache, and you have to bite back the urge to move, to peel at your cuticles or scratch the sides of your fingers.

“I’ll see you in class, Rook.” Vil says politely before he tilts your face up and pecks you on the lips.

You’re left alone with Rook. He doesn’t get up, not yet. You remain where you are, looking at your slippers. You hear Rook stand up and discard his garbage. You can feel him come up to stand behind you. 

“Has today been particulièrement difficile? My poor dear… You seem so sad today.” His arms wrap around you, looping them around your shoulders so they warm your collarbones like a scarf and he can rest his cheek against the back of your head. You hear him take a deep breath in.

With Vil, you don’t even try to speak anymore. You know he won’t really listen to you, because he knows better than you… But with Rook, as long as you wait a moment to make sure he is done speaking, he welcomes and even encourages you to speak your mind.

Your breath hitches and you swallow, “Uh, I mean… I guess I’m just having a bad day. It’s really been the same as usual.”

“Hmm.” Rook hums, completely devoid of emotion. You feel him turn his face so his nose is buried in your hair. He presses a kiss against your hair and sighs, “Ah, yes, the monotony of life is très épuisant, mmm?”

You wait for a second, then deliberately don’t answer the question in favor of asking your own, “Um, he said I should thank you?”

“Perhaps you should ask why more clearly. I have convinced our very own Vil to allow me to arrange a surprise for you.” Rook removes himself from your back and turns you around to face him, “And thus, I believe I have earned a kiss from you.”

“Wait, what?” You don’t get time to really back away or tell him to explain, as Rook squishes your cheeks with one of his gloved hands until your lips part.

His grip isn’t as harsh as Vil’s, but this is still something that only happens when you’re in more trouble than usual, so you involuntarily wince and close your eyes, cowering away from Rook as he dips his tongue into your mouth and slithers it between your teeth.

It is very easy to like Rook. He is passionate, and he’s far more kind to you than your supposed lover is. He’s intelligent and has an adonis-like form, and if not for the taste of blood on his tongue from whatever he ate for lunch or the grip he has on your face, maybe you would enjoy this kiss. But the big issue is that Rook honestly frightens you a little.

It’s absolutely not his fault, not entirely. Upon first meeting him, it was hard to tell if he was being genuine. He’s difficult to read, as he is often wearing the same set of expressions and his tone is always a bit melodramatic.

His hand releases your face to clamp around the base of your head, his tongue twisting in your mouth, pressing against the crevices in your teeth.

Not only is Rook hard to read, he is also uncannily observant and will not hesitate to ask somewhat invasive questions about his observations. The fact that he dresses in a way that conceals his mass is also disconcerting, as you were unaware that he had such a build until you saw him roll up his sleeve one time. You were aware Vil could do a lot of damage, but that was the day you realized that Rook was capable of doing about as much as Vil, if not more.

He purrs into your mouth, the vibrations feeling oh-so-wrong, and his other hand clamps down on your shoulder. He sucks your tongue into his mouth. It’s not a good feeling, as he is literally stealing what little air is in your mouth. When you feel something feather light flutter against your lashes and cheek, you feel a bit confused for just a moment, not even a second, before you realize that Rook just blinked. His eyes are open. 

He pulls away and sighs, almost dreamily. You suppress your distressed sputtering, holding your breath as Rook stares at you.

“Ah, enough time has passed. I will need to leave you, mon lapin. Thank you for indulging me; your kiss was divine and tasted sweeter than the finest fruits!” He presses something into your palm and adjusts his hat before he casts you a wave and shuts the door.

You stand there, your lips drying out from the saliva left on them and your cheeks feeling a little odd from the way he was holding your face. You’re processing, because, ever as always, Rook is simulated spontaneity. So many things just happened, and you don’t… 

You blink a few times and look down at your aching palm stupidly. The crimson cellophane crinkles as you unclench your fist. He gave you a piece of candy.

Just looking at it makes you start crying. One second you’re staring wide-eyed at the little lump of sugar, and the next your vision is blurring and you’re crying off your makeup, plump tears cascading down your face. Your nose begins to run and you sniffle. You can’t find it in yourself to sob, because you’re mostly certain that these are happy tears. 

Unfortunately, you can’t eat the candy now. If you threw the wrapper away, Vil would notice it in the garbage and you’d get in trouble for “breaking your diet plan.” So you hide it in the very back corner of the drawer of Vil’s armoire. You’ll be tidying it on your own anyway, and Vil never reaches all the way into the back of it.

Once your tears have stopped, you stand up and go back to cleaning the bathroom. It’s spotless and smells like lavender and lemons about an hour before Vil gets back, so you decide to skim one of the books on the shelves. 

It’s not long before you’re bored with that as well. You carefully put the book back and wander over to the lattice window, staring out of it. The window, paired with your usual low mood, made you sort of feel like a bird in a very ornate cage. 

From where you are, about three stories up, you notice a familiar figure notching an arrow before he unnotches it and takes a knee. You blandly spectate as he fiddles with the bow.

Partway through him notching the arrow again, you see his hat tilt. He’s far away enough that you can’t see his eyes, but you can feel his stare. His gloved hand bends his brim and you jerk away from the window, only to bump into someone.

You don’t get to shriek, as a hand clamps over your mouth. It’s just Vil, but you don’t relax yet as he drags you towards the bed and deposits you there.

“How many times must I tell you to stay away from the window?”

He’s never once told you to stay away from the window. Not as far as you can recall, at least. Your lips tremble and you decide it’d be more wise to keep silent.

Vil glares down at you and you feel the rest of your body start to tremble. His lips curl into a displeased sneer, “You didn’t wash your face after crying?”

“N-no, Vil-”

“We do not stutter.” Vil hisses, bending to get in your face. He stares at you for a moment before standing straight again, “Speak up.”

You swallow and clench your hands into fists, “No… Vil. I… got rid of the foundation like you, um… asked me to. I wouldn’t have been able to redo-”

“Alright. Go wash your face.” Vil interrupts you again.

You jump up and rush into the bathroom, going through your skincare routine. You can feel Vil staring at you, your skin crawling under his gaze. As you rub moisturizer into your skin, Vil finally says something.

“Did Rook do something to you, darling?” His tone is soft, tentative.

You glance at him, blinking a few times. What does he mean by ‘something’? He did do something, but it wasn’t bad, or particularly different.

“Um… Not exactly.” You say, massaging your forehead.

“I see. What did he do?” 

You look down at the sink. You’re not saying anything about the candy. “Rook kissed me?”

“That should not be a question.” Vil says. You see him shake his head through your peripheral, “Would you like to change your clothes before I redo your makeup?”

You’d like to ask what he’s talking about, but instead, you look down at your clothing. You don’t have a proper Pomefiore uniform because you’re not a part of this dorm. You’re an interloper- or a caged bird.

You don’t know what to do here. You don’t want to say something wrong and unintentionally offend Vil. Your palms ache. You give him a confused look from where you are.

He doesn’t look impressed, but before he can say anything about you gaping at him, you speak up, “What… am I supposed to do?”

You’ve only seen Vil surprised a few times. He raises his eyebrows and looks at you as though you’ve grown two heads, then sighs, “Well, I suppose I’d like to see you in something else. I’ll choose your outfit.”

That’s nothing new, he always does that. You wait in the bathroom for him to return. He strolls back in with a mockery of the Pomefiore uniform. There’s a deep purple cloak and capelet, which Vil drapes on the bed before handing you the actual clothes. It’s a very ruffled dress shirt, the long, puffy sleeves cinched into more ruffles at the wrist paired with a pair of black bloomer-style shorts. The buttons are all white and gold, marbled together. 

Vil leaves the bathroom and you change, neatly tucking your previous clothing away in the hamper. When you leave, as usual, Vil picks at your clothing, making sure it looks as good on you as he pleases, and then he steers you to sit down.

For however vicious he can be, Vil can be oddly gentle. For every time he grabs you roughly, his touch is feather-light ten more times. He hums a soft tune as he puts light makeup on you, just your eyes and lips, and then he drapes the cloak around your shoulders and places his hands on his hips.

“You look lovely. Go put on the pair of gold boots with the black decals.”

You do as told. He very likely wants to just take pictures of you or something so he can ask that Mira app about it.

Except when you stop in front of him, he doesn’t tell you to go sit in the loveseat or on the table near his window, no, he scoops you up and presses his forehead against your jaw.

“Oh, when did you put on this cologne? What a ravishing smell on you.” He presses a kiss on the column of your throat and breezes out of his dorm room's door.

Almost immediately, you go limp in his arms, like a doll. He never gave you explicit verbal permission to leave this room, so the curse he placed on you when he decided you should be his smashes into you like a giant wave at the beach.

Vil carries you all the way outside and looks at your face, then happily struts along the path behind the dorm. Since you can’t turn your head, you can only go off of the view of Vil’s neck and chin, the sky, and whatever you can hear.

“Ah, I am glad to see you did not change your mind, Roi du Poison. J'aurais été très déçue et triste pour notre chéri.” You hear Rook say. 

You can almost feel Vil get a mite warmer, “Yes, well. Hand me the basket. Since you want to make out with them and make them cry, you get to carry them as an apology.”

Rook happily scoops you out of Vil’s arms, giving you a cloying look as he strolls along. He and Vil chat as they walk, something not really worth listening in on, just boring musings about class and “this teacher did x” or “that student did y”. An insect lands on your cheek and you are incapable of batting it away or expressing your discomfort. Its legs tickle the peach fuzz on your face and you remain still, like a corpse.

Rook slides you into a seated position, posing you like a toy before shooing the bug off of your face. Now you can see that you’re in a clearing in the woods, seated on a picnic blanket. There’s a few lanterns staked into the ground, and Rook and Vil are busy with whatever is on the floor. You can’t look down, so your best guess is that it’s a picnic.

Vil leans over and snaps in your face, smiling kindly at you, “Now. If I release you, you are not going to run. You are not going to so much as consider running. We are going to have a nice picnic with no shenanigans from you.”

You can’t nod, so you just stare at him, trying to telepathically communicate.

He looks pleased enough, “Wonderful. I give you permission to leave our room.”

Your muscles relax and you look back, finding that you’re leaned against a log. The picnic spread is very nice, as well. It looks like finger sandwiches. You’re not expecting to get to eat one, as you haven’t had bread since Vil switched up your diet. Vil passes something to you.

“Oh.” You mumble, staring at the plate Vil hands you. 

It’s a sandwich. A very wonderful looking sandwich, cut into triangles and with the crusts still on. You blink at it a few times and look back up at Vil.

“Don’t expect this to be a pattern. This is a treat for good behavior.”

You look back down, “Yes, Vil.”

“There’s no need to remind them. They’re being obedient.” Rook’s voice is more firm than you expected to hear him ever speak. Usually his tone is buoyant, and you’ve never seen him outright pick a fight with Vil like this.

“Please. You give anyone an inch, they’ll take a mile.” Vil cuts back, then turns to you and pets your head like a dog or a cat again, “Eat your food, beautiful.”

You take a bite. Bread is just as good as you remember it. The air feels thick, like you’re in a bubble as Vil and Rook communicate through eye contact alone. Before you know it, your sandwich is gone and your hands are covered in crumbs. Rook, still staring at Vil with that happy little smile, wipes your hands and places a glass in your hands. Whatever is in it smells sweet. You take a tentative sip.

Were it Vil, you would have never drank whatever this is. It kind of tastes like a mellow mixed berry juice. It’s very pleasant, actually. Better than the potion Vil used to lace your food and drinks with. You smile into the cup and Vil snatches it from you.

He takes a sip and frowns, handing it back, “Mmm. I have an even better surprise.”

Rook pulls your legs into his lap and gently kneads your calves as you watch Vil rifle through the picnic basket. What is happening? You sip your juice and Vil produces a triangular container. He places a fork on top and hands it to you.

You finish the last of your juice and accept the box, looking conspiratorially at Rook. Something you can’t put your finger on dances in his eyes and he digs his thumb into your shin a little strongly. You flinch and cautiously open the box. It’s a piece of fluffy white cake, with even fluffier meringue and an uncannily perfect cherry wedged into it.

You look at Vil, expecting some kind of trick. Not that he’s ever done that before, usually he’d just take it from you or make some snide comment, things like that, but he and Rook are acting really strange today, 

“I know how much you long for junk food, so I spent some time after club activities today whipping up some angel food cake. It’s got agave instead of sugar so it won’t completely break your diet and your skin won’t suffer as much.”

Yeah, this is weird. The cake is good, though, it’s fluffy and sweet. You pace your bites so that Vil won’t make a comment and you can savor this. You can feel both of their eyes on you and it makes your skin crawl.

You lower the cake box and look at Vil, who looks a bit offended for just a second. The fleeting expression is replaced by a pleased little grin, the mauve lipstick making the curve of his lips all the more sinister in the dimming light.

“Do you like it?”

“Yes, Vil.” You glance at the cake and then back at him, “I’m… I’m sorry, I’m a little confused.”

“Why?” Rook asks.

Your shoulders jerk as you turn your head to look at him. You weren’t expecting him to say anything. His chest swells in what appears to be a suppressed chuckle as he squeezes your knee. It seems his hands have climbed.

“Uh…” You swallow, “This is just… not what I’m used to.”

“The cake?” Vil looks hurt. Why does he look hurt?

You shake your head rapidly, “No! Oh- No, Vil. I… It’s just been so long since I’ve been out here…”

“Do you want to go inside, chéri?” Rook murmurs.

You do, but you also don’t really want to risk sounding ungrateful. Being outside has stressed you out more than you’d like to admit. You’re not really sure what to do because Vil has you trained like a dog, and none of what he’s hammered into you involves picnics. You’re scared.

Rooks eyes narrow as you just stare at him. Your chest hurts from how hard your heart is throbbing, and on the other side of you, Vil sighs.

“Well, I’ll start cleaning up, then. When we get back, I expect you to take a seat on the bed.”

That sounds like what happens every time you get in trouble. A terror shudders through you and your eyes water a bit as you gnaw on your lip. Your palms ache as you fight to keep from picking at your cuticles. Vil packs up everything and Rook offers you a princely hand to help you up.

You can feel the calluses on his hands through his gloves as he essentially lifts you to your feet. You keep between Rook and Vil as you walk back to the dorm.

It’s quiet, since everyone else is winding down for bed. For a moment, you think you spot Epel, but you’re not sure. It doesn’t matter anyway. None of your old friends talk to you anymore. Not since Vil started having eyes for you.

Just as you were told, after taking off your boots you take a seat on the bed and retrieve the silver ruler from the side-table’s drawer. You place it beside you as you look down at your feet. You look down at the streaky bruises on the lighter skin on your palms and try not to start crying. It’s always worse when you cry.

He adds smacks by twos. Depending on what you did, you start with four or six, and then any time you flinch or pull away or make a loud noise, he adds two more. Last time, you spilled one of his nail polishes, and after watching you clean it up, you ended up getting ten lashes.

At least Rook didn’t do it then. He tries to make it quick but that just makes it hurt more. A tear slips down your cheek.

You don’t even know what you did. You tap the tear track dry with one fingertip and Vil and Rook fully enter the room.

“Why is the ruler out?” Vil asks, and then his voice goes sharp, “Are you crying?”

“I’m… I’m sorry, Vil.” You sob.

“I don’t know why.” He grabs the ruler and shoves it away before you can raise your hands, “Go wash your face.”

You stand up and shakily do as told, returning to sit on the bed. Vil goes into the bathroom after you and Rook takes a seat next to you, his hand on your shoulder.

He smiles at you, rubbing your shoulder, “You are très précieux, chéri.”

You look at him in a state of hollow bewilderment as he brushes his cheek against yours and presses a soft kiss to the shell of your ear.

You hear the bathroom door close and a tired sigh from Vil, “Do you have no patience?”

Your head jerks to look at VIl, “Rook is…?”

“Yes, he’s joining us tonight.” Vil plucks the loop of his sleeve from his middle finger and loosens his belt. You get the feeling that the next words he says aren’t for you, “Well, go ahead.”

You feel Rook’s chuckle more than you hear it. With his lips against your neck, his hands begin to slide. The hand on your shoulder rests on the nape of your neck and his other hand slides down to your thigh, then up to your waist. You try not to cringe against his touch, but it’s difficult.

His hand slides down again as he trails his teeth against the back of your ear. His thumb hooks in your pants and starts yanking them down. You outright flinch.

“Wait-”

“Relax, darling.” Vil mumbles, hanging his clothing in the armoire.

You try. You absolutely try. Rook throws your bloomers aside and rests his hand on your lower belly for a moment. He sighs into your ear and reaches up to unclasp your buttons.

You feel stiff. You want to push him away but you can’t move. It’s as though your body is frozen. It’s not due to a curse, so the only possible solution is that you’re quite literally scared stiff. 

He pulls away your shirt and glances at Vil, “Are you prepared?”

“Please.” You can hear the smile on Vil’s lips as Rook turns back and kisses you again, his hand smoothing along your collarbone and shoulders.

Your underwear is the next to go. Of course it is. You fight to keep from breathing oddly, because you’re aware that if you pass out, Vil will get annoyed.

“Mmm.” The devil’s hand glides up your back and you fight back a shudder as Rook leans you backwards into his arms. “How are you feeling, darling?”

You’re honest, “I’m scared.”

“I thought you would say that.” Vil freely manhandles you, shifting you so you’re leaned chest to chest. He slides something off of the side table and passes it behind you, then cups your cheek, “You would save a lot of time and stress if you’d just learn to trust me.”

“I…” You hate him. You hate him so much. He keeps you here like a pet, and you don’t know how he’s supposed to expect you to treat him like a lover when he treats you the way he does. 

Before you can articulate an answer that pleases Vil, a wicked burn besets your sphincter and you clench your jaw. 

Vil’s voice is sharp, “Rook, please.”

You hear Rook make a noise underneath the harsh sound of blood rushing in your ears and your own heavy panting. Something cool oozes around the ring of your ass and you press your face against Vil’s chest. His robe is lazily tied, which is not particularly like him, and you can see his cock poking out where the fabric separates. You let out a strangled noise and Vil shushes you, rubbing your back soothingly.

“Relax. I know, you weren’t prepared. Relax.” Vil soothes.

“I don’t mind if you remain tense, chéri. Mon plaisir n'en est que plus grand. And your little cries and whimpers sont terriblement mignons.” Rook mumbles behind you.

Rook is better than Vil in most areas, but once he gets his dick inside of you, it’s as though he forgets to be caring and kind. The tables flip, with Vil acting the part of a caring lover and Rook becoming a sadistic bully. You let out a ragged sob as Rook rolls his hips and Vil hisses something that you don’t quite catch.

It almost sounded like he was telling Rook to slow down. That very well could have been the case, as Rook eases back a bit and only shallowly thrusts.

Vil continues petting you, coaxing you so your cheek is pressed against his thigh. He is always a perfect warm. He is always perfect, so it sort of makes sense, but his skin is a pleasant temperature. He feels alive, a perfectly human temperature that tells you he’s breathing and his heart is beating. As he fingers through your hair, Rook gives a harsher than usual thrust and you cry out.

“Rook, if you’re impatient then you’re going to hurt them, and neither of us have the time to take care of them all day.” Vil chides, and then his tone softens as he rubs the space between your shoulders, “Are you ready for me as well, darling?” “What…?” You ask, blearily. Somewhere in the back of your awareness, you know what he wants, but you can feel Rook’s thrusts growing impatient and seeing as you weren’t given any prep, you’re in a bit too much shock to think straight.

“Mmm… You’re awfully cute but I need you to be a bit more lucid.” Vil snaps in your ear and resumes his petting, “This isn’t the first time, sweetheart. I’m not going to hold your hand.”

The soft tip of his member spreads his pre like lipgloss against your lips. As you shakily open your mouth, you figure you’re lucky that Vil doesn’t have a chaotic, unhealthy diet like Leona or Ace, that he doesn’t drink coffee for fun or often like Deuce does. The taste of his skin is lightly floral and dominantly human, likely thanks to the body lotion he applies daily. 

He hisses and presses against your forehead, “Ah-ah. You’re taking enough from Rook. Just the tip for me is fine.”

From behind, you hear Rook grumble under his breath, “Je n'en peux plus de cette merde…”

“Watch your- unf- watch your language, Rook.” Vil snarls, massaging the nape of your neck as you carefully lave your tongue over his glans.

Rook’s patience breaks, his hands clamping down on your waist, just above your hips. You have the sense to pull Vil’s cock out of your mouth as Rook begins battering into you.

As much as you feel okay about Rook, he is not a doting lover by nature. He’s mean and brutal, chasing his climax, and only after he cums does he bother to think about you or your needs. Your palms ache as you grab Vil’s member and gently tug on it. Vil flinches and snaps at you to get your attention.

You look to the side and for a second, as the pain ebbs, you assume you’re having an out of body experience, and then you realize that you’re staring into his vanity mirror. Rook’s hair exaggeratedly sways with his motion. He removed his hat but just haphazardly displaced the rest of his clothing. He’s not smiling, he’s making some sort of smug expression.

It’s funny. As Vil is satisfied with you weakly jerking him off, his touch gentle, Rook is wild on your other end. Every time you just barely begin to relax, he thrusts harder, which makes you tense and a spike of pain batters through you. 

You endure as best you can. You endure every day, enduring through eating the same unfulfilling food, enduring through walking on eggshells around Vil, enduring getting your palms beaten to hell for the most human of errors, so what’s getting sodomized in the face of everything else you can handle?

You bite back a shriek as a harsh pinch on your bottom, followed by a smack administered by Rook. He leans down and blows in your ear, snickering as he leans back, “I thought you had given up the ghost for a second there.”

Vil sucks in a breath and you quietly mumble against his thigh.

“Hmm? I didn’t hear you, mon chou.” Rook’s voice is almost mocking, like before.

“P-please… Rook, I can’t-”

“You can. You’ll live.” He grunts, the steady clap of your ass against his body punctuating his statement.

“It hurts.” You sniffle. You’re not particularly prone to crying, but, then again, Rook and Vil usually prepare you before deciding to fuck your ass.

You sob and Rook’s grasp tightens on your waist, a ragged moan punching out of his chest. He pulls your body flush to his and jerks his hips into you, drilling a bit harder for all of four or five thrusts. And then he’s no longer on you, and you feel your body getting shifted so your head is still in Vil’s lap but you’re lying prone.

You tilt Vil’s dick down to massage the head with your tongue and something warm drips on your back. You hear a noise of disgust from Vil, capped by a quiet moan.

“Absolutely not. All three of us are getting in the tub if you don’t clean that up right now.”

Rook chuckles and coos, “Hmm, but it looks so lovely. My alabaster essence creates a wonderful contrast with their soft and supple skin.”

A flush of humiliation crawls up the back of your neck and you hide your face against Vil’s belly, using your own arm to hide the other half. Vil shudders as he pushes your head down a bit, but his voice sounds incredulous.

“That’s vile. It doesn’t have any proven health benefits, you know that.”

You felt Rook’s hands spreading his semen into the skin on your back and your palms ache as Vil cums in your mouth. He doesn’t do that often, so it hits you like a shock.

You gag but force it down and Vil shoots up, fretting over you.

“Did you just swallow that?” He bends down to look into your eyes.

“Yes, Vil.”

“You didn’t need to do that.” Vil snips, sounding much harsher than he might intend, “I’m going to run us a bath, alright, darling? I’ll make sure you can brush that icky stuff out of your mouth.”

It didn’t taste bad. Vil usually cums on your face as an incentive for you to wash your face very well after a day of wearing makeup, or he has you jerk him off until he cums, but the few other times you did taste it, it was the same as this time. It was mostly salty, not too bitter, likely from his good diet. Regardless, he breezes away and Rook gives your bottom a light tap. You stand up and glance at Rook, who is looking a bit disheveled but pretty pleased with himself.

“How are you feeling, cheri?”

“That hurt.” Your voice is quiet, and your throat is still lined with tears.

“Does it still hurt?” He smiles and tilts his head.

The sound of the tub running is thunderous even where you are. Vil would never tolerate you complaining, but Rook is amicable, “A little.”

“The bath will do you good, then. Come.”

You let Rook guide you into the bathroom, his hand on your elbow. As he undresses and joins Vil on the edge of the tub, you look down at your bruised hands and glance at the slowly closing bathroom door, then at Rook and Vil where they stand near the tub.

You can’t say you prefer either of them, really, but you don't get an opinion. Do dolls at tea parties get to ask for a different kind of tea?

[bunnyreaper]

𝖈𝖔𝖑𝖑𝖆𝖗𝖘 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖈𝖆𝖌𝖊𝖘 𝔞 𝔰𝔬𝔞𝔭 𝔪𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔞𝔳𝔦𝔰𝔥 𝔵 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔯 𝔰𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝖕𝖙 4 — 𝖕𝖙 3 𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊 wc - 5.8k warnings - 18+/nsfw, dom/sub dynamic, hints of petplay notes - i blame barry for the delay, jk. anyway, sorry it took so long but i hope you enjoy! also on ao3! ♥

You've officially reached the point of insanity, and there's no turning back. One date with Johnny, and you're practically doodling his name in a journal with hearts all around, or putting your name with his just to see how it sounds. 

Admittedly, you haven't done either of those things, but you did turn down another night out drinking this weekend on the off chance you end up having plans with Johnny—which might be just as insane, if not more. Especially since you hadn't brought up your intention with Johnny. 

You suppose there's no time like the present, so cuddled up on your couch, you bring up your messages to Johnny and start typing.

i miss you so much, even if it's only been a few days!! when can I see you again? 

Straight to the point—unbridled emotion that's honestly a little cringeworthy, but there's little point in pretending to be something you're not, especially when Johnny seems perfectly into it. 

You have to distract yourself for a little while, scrolling through various social media apps to occupy your mind as you wait for a response. It's not too long before your phone pings, and you're rushing to click the notification—each time his name pops up on your screen your stomach flips, and you always click onto the message far too eagerly. You wonder if he does the same.

Been thinking, and I did have an idea in mind, but now am overthinking.

That certainly piques your interest, as you speedily type back a response, almost demanding an answer. 

tell me!! 

You watch the screen as it tells you Johnny is typing, then nothing. Then typing again, then nothing. After a minute or so of stopping and starting, his picture fills the screen as his call waits for you—you pick up immediately.

"Hey, pet." He greets cheerfully—so much so that you can hear the smile in his voice. It's so much better now the image of it is burned in the back of your mind—it feels like the two of you never stopped smiling when you were together.

"Hi, Johnny!" You reply, just as enthused, despite it only being a day since you last spoke. "What's your idea?" 

Your insistence on hearing his idea makes him laugh.

"Straight to the point, lass. I was thinking that ya could come stay fer the weekend?" You detect a hint of hesitance in his voice, while your heart practically leaps at the prospect. 

A whole weekend with Johnny sounds like a dream—talking, cuddling, kissing... maybe more. You burn with need thinking about finally taking things to a more sexual level with Johnny. So far you've only teased each other, and even that has made you unbelievably needy—practically every conversation with him leaves you dripping and aching, leaves you yearning for relief that you can only get at Johnny's hands. 

Not only that, but maybe you'll get to explore more of your dynamic together—the thought of getting to submit to him sends you into a tailspin. You know it would come so easily, you know you'd slip under Johnny's command so easily were he to just take ahold of your metaphorical leash. 

You come to, realising you'd fallen completely silent instead of responding when Johnny speaks again—lighthearted yet hesitant.

 "... But it's okay if you don't want to—"

"I want to! On base?" You ask, already starting to unfurl the logistics in your head.

Johnny chuckles good-naturedly, seemingly amused by the idea of having you come over to his place on base. "Nah, I have a flat in Hereford."

"Oh, cool. I was a little scared for a moment." You admit, a hint of nervousness before you change tack. "But ooh, are you aiming to get laid this weekend? Bold move, Johnny." 

Admittedly, you're teasing and not offended by the assumption in the slightest, if anything, you know wholeheartedly that you want him. If you go on much longer with the level of teasing Johnny subjects you to without any relief, you may just combust. 

"You're the one making assumptions, needy girl." He teases right back, and then continues more earnestly. "I wasn't counting on it, jus' want to spend some quality time with you. Can't exactly cuddle up in a café."  

How he manages to balance wholesome and filthy so well you have no idea. Consistently, Johnny shows his depth and keeps you on your toes by making you flustered in every possible way. One moment you're blushing from desire, the next from his sweetness. 

"So... it's a sleepover, then?" You giggle as you snuggle closer to the couch cushions, already thrilled at the idea of spending time with Johnny in any way. 

Johnny laughs right along with you, launching back into joking. "I'll even paint your nails if ya want. Braid your hair, talk about boys, as long as the boy is me..." 

The hint of possessiveness makes your stomach do somersaults—despite the early stages of your relationship, your heart is set on Johnny, and it's reassuring to know he might be in just as deep. 

"You're the sweetest! Do you even know how to braid hair, though?" You try to imagine Johnny's large hands working with delicate strings of hair, as braiding is something you even struggle to do yourself.

"I have sisters and nieces. Taken part in many a makeover." He proudly admits, and you can feel the joy radiating off of him. No threat to his masculinity at all, just sheer enjoyment at being the subject of his niece's whims.

The image it conjures up is downright adorable.

You nod to yourself, storing that piece of information in the back of your mind for later. "I'll keep that in mind for when I need to dress up for a special occasion." 

The giggles are unavoidable as you picture big, bulky Johnny painting nails—you'd put good money on him being the kind to poke out his tongue when he concentrates.

Your thoughts start to drift to other plans for the weekend, other things you might get up to. Johnny was adamant that sex wasn't expected, but on your end, it's certainly still desired... at least in theory. 

There are still some residual nerves and worries, even with Johnny's constant sweetness—past events, past bad experiences lurk in the back of your mind waiting to sabotage the present. 

The need you feel almost overwhelms all of that though—the way Johnny just seems to speak to all the submissive parts of you, making you feel so desired and so safe.

"So... what if I want to have sex?" You ask, voice falling quiet as if admitting something forbidden—as if Johnny isn't going to do filthy things to you far beyond just sex. 

A throaty, strained groan leaves the man, his voice dropping low and dripping with desire. "Might have to have you stay longer, since you won't be walking after."

You suspect the idea of you struggling to walk isn't just bragging—if you close your eyes, you can almost see his length, remembering how good it felt even though thick denim jeans. 

"I— yeah, okay." The sigh that leaves you is instinctual, hot with anticipation.

"I've got condoms, but yer welcome to bring your own," Johnny mentions. "And I'll pick ya up Friday evening, drop you off Sunday night? How's that sound?" 

"Wonderful." You say honestly, loving that you'll get to spend the weekend with him, all while being cared for and driven there and back. "Ooh, I get to be your passenger princess." 

You giggle mischievously, playing it up for Johnny as your mind runs wild with ideas. 

"Don't be getting any ideas, lass." He chides, playfulness clear in his tone.

"Hey, I was just planning on taking over your radio and telling you fun stories. Nothing more!" Your voice rises through your protest, as before Johnny had turned it dirty, you really hadn't been thinking of the way your hands may drift to his thigh, or palm at his cock. 

"Not sure if I believe that. I felt the way you were squeezin' me under that table, yer a naughty girl." He purrs, making shivers run through you.

"You started it, not me." Your gasp is full of offence, proclaiming your complete innocence. Of course, you had wanted to feel him up way more than you did and had undoubtedly had a few very sinful thoughts while he was sitting next to you. 

But you had been good, had behaved, and kept your hands to yourself. It was Johnny who led you to sin.

"So, you won't be feeling me up unless I'm the one guiding you?" 

At that you fall silent, too stunned to speak—the thought of Johnny guiding you through pleasing him, guiding you into being perfect, just for him is overwhelming. He'll lead you deeper and deeper into submission—trust.

"Oh, you like the sound of that." Johnny's purr has you completely dead to rights, as once more, he sees right through you.

You take a few deep breaths, trying to settle your rapidly swirling arousal. "Of course I do..." 

Johnny doesn't relent in his teasing, in his almost cruel display of control of your desire. Everything from his word choice to the dominant edge in his voice sends you spiralling. "Want me to show you how to please me, puppy?" He coos. "Show you how tae be a good girl fer me?" 

"Please, sir." You feel your mind slip just a little—falling so easily into that blissful state just listening to Johnny's tone, finding it so easy to fall for him. 

"Won't have to show you much, you just know how to turn me on naturally, like it's instinct. Fuck, lassie." The guttural noise from Johnny shows the effect his own words have on him too. 

You hope he's squirming just like you are, achingly hard and straining against his jeans, just like he was in the café. 

The tension crackles in the air between you, the silence thick with your joint lust settling deep in your respective guts. 

You let out a shaky sigh before you respond. "It's only fair for us to be equal on that front since you just... I don't even have words. It's like you read my mind so you can drive me crazy." 

Johnny is undoubtedly insightful, likely an occupational thing, but sometimes it's scary how well he can read you. He's not the only one who naturally knows how to appeal to someone's baser desires.

For a moment, and quite unfairly as the logical side of your brain notes, your gut twists at the idea of how he became so well practised.

Johnny's sweet laugh pulls you from that train of thought. "Am a smart man, perceptive, what can I say? Know how to read ma pet."

"I'm not your pet." You note, not bitterly, but rather plainly. You're not Johnny's— 

"Not yet, aye, but you will be." He says with a sense of certainty. 

"Johnny..." You don't even know what to say to that, beyond begging and pleading for him to make it come true—but that hardly feels appropriate right now.

"Even if we don't have sex this weekend, I'd like to explore things with us a little, if tha's okay?" He asks, his voice open and inquisitive, almost shy in how quietly he poses the question.

"Me too, I don't wanna rush too much but holding back somehow feels...wrong." You sigh, wishing you had the words to really explain the pull you felt. "It's like I know I shouldn't be rushing head first into this, but... I can't stop it." 

Johnny is truly a magnetic force of a man, both in who he is and the way he treats you. There's so much about him that you can't wait to get to know, all the beauty and scars in equal measure, each story—the meaning of the waver behind his smile, the way he sounds first thing in the morning. 

"Me either, if it helps." He admits, sharing the sentiment. "It's okay to fall, just gotta be there tae catch each other, aye?" 

Your eyes flutter shut as you rip the phone away from your face, letting out a loud exhalation and a whispered "fuck". The warmth of his words and the weight of the meaning behind them overwhelming you, wrapping around you like a cosy blanket.

When you feel a little calmer, you return the phone to your ear to agree with Johnny's sentiment, though not quite as viscerally as you did in private.

"Yeah, just gotta keep each other straight." Your throat tightens as you push the words out. 

The silence on the line is overtaken by shuffling from Johnny's end for a moment before he clears his throat. "Gotta go, pet. Duty calls."

"It's... 8 pm, what are you doing at this hour?"

There's a laugh from Johnny, and a more insistent knocking in the background. "Going for a pint with the lads." 

"Oh duty, huh?" You tease. 

He hums in affirmation, unashamed. "Team bonding, essential stuff for the functional operation of any squad." 

"Have fun, Johnny." You wish him well sincerely, even if part of you wishes the call didn't have to end. "Talk soon."

"Talk soon, princess. Sleep well." He makes a kissing noise before ending the call, his photo disappearing off your screen before you lock the phone and clutch it to your chest just for a moment. 

'It's okay to fall, just gotta be there tae catch each other.'

His words echo through your mind over the coming days—the light in an otherwise dreary weak. 

You were definitely falling. 

————

Packing your bag feels like chaos, as you desperately scramble to not forget a single thing. You're only going for a weekend, and yet you're packing like you're bunkering down for the apocalypse. Well, a million pairs of underwear will be necessary with how Johnny ruins them just with his words and his voice—being there in person means you'll probably be going through a new pair every hour. 

And of course, you need cute extra outfits, in case the two of you go anywhere... that means extra shoes too. Johnny is going to think you're crazy with all the bags and belongings you're bringing. 

Thankfully, you got ready hours ago—did your makeup and hair to perfection and put on a pretty dress that you may have ordered just for Johnny. Okay, maybe you ordered several dresses just for Johnny.

As you rush to put the finishing touches on your packing, your phone buzzes with a text. 

Outside whenever you're ready :) 

i'll be out soon! <3

Maybe you should tell Johnny you'd buzz him up, but considering that your packing has made your flat look like a tornado has ripped through it, perhaps it's best not.

You do your best to rush, not wanting to exhaust Johnny's good patience, jamming in a few final items you might need just in case, before locking up your flat and heading down to the lobby.

You step out into the car park, spotting Johnny standing beaming, leaning against a jeep. His arms and chest bulge in his burgundy Henley, his jeans are slung low on his hips in such a tempting way. Is it possible he got more attractive since the last time you saw him? 

Your eyes crawl over him, drinking in every little detail and falling for his good looks all over again—just as enraptured in his beauty as the first time. 

"Hi." You call out as soon as the two of you meet eyes, the spark between you instantly reigniting just through a look.

"Hey, you." He immediately reaches for your bag, taking the weight off of your shoulder like it's nothing to him—even though the weight was already starting to strain your shoulder. "Let me grab that for yer." 

You let him take your bag, watching with glee as opens the boot to put it away. The manners are such a turn-on. "What a gentleman." 

His chest puffs up in pride, a resolute look on his face. "Ma maw raised me right." 

After closing the door to the boot, Johnny jogs round to the passenger side, holding the door open for you to climb inside.

"That she did." You nod, impressed and honestly swooning at the princess treatment as Johnny climbs into the driver's side.

With the two of you finally in the car, Johnny leans back to grab a shopping bag from the backseat, opening it to display a range of goodies. "Need anything? I brought drinks and snacks." 

You peer inside the bag to see what he brought before meekly taking a bag of cookies and a can to drink. "Ooh, it's like a real road trip." 

Johnny reaches back to put the bag away, stopping with his hand resting on the back of your seat—his baby blues shine, as does his smile as he looks upon you. "Gotta look after ma girl." 

Your heart hammers against your chest, your cheeks flush and burn.

His girl.

"I could get used to that." You whisper, lost in watching his mouth, recalling the way they wrapped around those words.

"Me too, bonnie." 

Before he turns his attention to getting the car running, he double-checks your seatbelt, making sure you're safe—he makes sure his rearview mirror is perfectly placed taps to activate the directions on his phone. 

And then he does the thing—the arm on the back of the seat, backing out of the parking space and looking so fucking hot while doing it. You're entirely transfixed. 

"I'm just getting it out of the way now, but I am gonna stare at you a tonne, you already look so attractive when you're driving." You know you're babbling just a little, a side effect of the nerves, and the fact that Johnny looks so good to you right now.1

"I'm all yours to feast yer eyes upon." He says with a wink, before turning his attention to the road as he pulls out of your apartment's car park.

"Lucky me." You whisper, gaze tracing over all of his features. "Especially since I love looking at you so much." 

"Shame fer me tha' I have tae keep my eyes on the road." The smile on his face widens as he spares you a glance, doing a quick double-take. 

"At least we have all weekend to spend time together uninterrupted." Feeling brave, you reach out to rest your hand on the back of Johnny's head, caressing the nape of his neck and threading your fingers in the roots of his hair. 

Johnny's shoulders relax, as he leans slightly into the touch. "That we do." His voice turns serious momentarily. "Did you let someone know where you're going?" 

Sweet Johnny, always concerned for your safety, even when it comes to him. The awareness he shows is another thing in the long list of little details you admire about him.

"I forwarded all of your info to a friend, so you should be very afraid." You tease easily. Your friend is under strict instructions to call the police should you not check-in.

"Terrified, lassie." He smirks. "Just tae be clear, you wanna go home at any point, I'll take you, or drive you to the station if yer not comfortable." 

"I appreciate it. And if you want to kick me out, feel free." 

"I'd never." He gasps, full of offence. "Unless ya decide to trash my flat, and even then that's only if you started damaging my keepsakes from ma granny." 

It's your turn to gasp now. You wonder if that comment was inspired by past events—the kind of warning that only comes after you've experienced the event. "Only a monster would do such a thing." 

"Aye, and I bet you can be a brat, but not a monster." 

You shrug, a coy smile on your face, knowing just how bratty you can be when you want to be. "Everyone needs to be a little bratty sometimes." 

"Hmm, do they now? Good job I won't get tired of putting you in yer place then, pet." 

Johnny's hand slides from the gear stick to your thigh, his fingers curling around the exposed flesh just above your knee. The feeling is entirely electric, especially in combination with his words, making you hyper-aware of every sensation as his thumb sweeps over your skin and his hand tugs your legs ever so slightly apart. 

"This okay?" He asks, glancing down to where his hand is settled on you—you know 100% if you said no, he'd withdraw in an instant. 

"More than okay." You smile earnestly, slipping your own hand across to rest in the same place on his broad thigh.  "But can I do the same?" You embrace the denim beneath your fingertips, relish in the firm muscle that rests underneath. 

"As long as it's just tha', don't distract me too much." He smirks, turning briefly to wink at you. 

You try to keep your eyes on the road and your hands respectful. "Can't concentrate on two things at once? Seems unlike you." You tease. 

"I can." He protests, firm and certain, before his voice softens. "But I dinnae want to risk it. Precious cargo on board." He fixes you with a meaningful look in between glances at the road. 

"Johnny..." You sigh, blushing profusely at his compliment and way of thinking. 

"Dinnae care what anyone says, a man who'll drive like a nut with his lovie in the car is no man at all." He nods firmly, face morphing into something serious—though his eyes are filled with mirth, as his serious facade almost cracks."

"So no road head... ever?" You gasp, genuinely a little taken back at the prospect. 

Johnny breathes deeply through his nose, his knuckles on the wheel turning white as his hand at your thigh grips. He faces ahead still, yet speaks slowly. "If the first time I get yer pretty mouth on me is while I'm drivin', I will crash, tha's all am saying." 

"I value your honesty." Your voice leaves you as a whisper, your attempt to joke falling flat at your own breathlessness. You take a moment to compose yourself, before starting to tease again. "Save it for tonight, then?" 

It's Johnny's turn to swallow hard. "We'll see." 

The car journey falls silent for a little while, and the lack of conversation, while comfortable, allows for unpleasant and doubtful thoughts to creep in. 

The truth is, you can talk a big game, but sometimes your desire becomes outpaced by your nerves—then you're left struggling in a swirling pit of darkened thoughts. Every time Johnny pulls away to change gear, you find yourself feeling a little colder until his hand returns. 

But it doesn't do well to dwell on anxious thoughts. You force yourself to stop biting your lip, stop letting your mind flicker back to bad experiences, and actually speak to the one person who can offer you comfort right now.

"I am a little nervous..." You let the words fall free, and feel a little surprised at how small you sound.

"Aww, don't be. There's no pressure at all, promise." He says, sounding sweet and genuine—his hand squeezes your thigh once again. "Even if the furthest we go is cuddling on the couch, I'll be a very happy man." 

The smile on his face speaks to the truth of the statement, and you can't help smiling right back at him. 

"I appreciate you saying that." You think for a moment before continuing, trying to put into words the true source of your angst. "I just... get hesitant about opening up, I guess. Some guys before have promised me the world until they got what they wanted and then..." 

You trail off, not feeling the need or the strength to go into detail about last time, or the time before that.

"Tha's not me." Once more, he squeezes and lets his thumb rub over your skin. "But I don't expect ya to just take my word for it, I'll show ya, as long as it takes." 

His words mean more than you can say, and the fact he intends to back them up means even more. You really hope you can count on him.

"You're so sweet." You sigh, feeling full to the brim with appreciation. 

Johnny seems a little nervous too, frenetic energy making him shuffle in his seat. He seems to be lost in thought for a few moments before he finally speaks up. 

"I'm not looking to rush in and make a mistake maself. The last girl I dated..." He trails off too, his words tinged with dejection as he stares straight ahead. "Let's jus' say it didn't end well, either." 

You nod understandingly, all too familiar with things not ending well. "You don't have to tell me now." 

He shrugs slightly and seems like he's refusing to meet your eye any longer. "Don't want tae ruin the mood." 

"It's hard to ruin it, Johnny. We're meant to be spending time together, getting to know each other." You offer your most reassuring smile, hoping he catches it out of the corner of his eyes. "I have my fair share of sob stories to unload on you, don't worry." 

Although, that's another source of worry, that Johnny will run for the hills once he learns of your baggage.

"I don't doubt it." His lips fall into a frown, before being schooled into a half-hearted smile. "Hopefully we can replace them all with good stories instead." 

You silently nod, hoping for the same. 

"Speaking of good memories, I was thinking we could make pizzas together, I got the dough and some toppings." Johnny mentions, and the notion fills you with joy. 

"Sounds like fun!" You gasp, a pressing thought flickering into your mind. "What kind of pizza toppings do you like? I feel like this is make or break." 

Johnny seems to think for a moment, his tongue poking into his cheek. "Hmm... What are the most controversial choices?" He asks, a shit-eating grin breaking out on his face. 

"Hmm, pineapple?" You pose a controversial yet not particularly gross topping first, to gauge Johnny's taste. 

"Aye, don't mind it." 

"Anchovies?" 

He shrugs. "Why not?"

"... Olives?" 

Now he turns, perplexed. "Who doesn't like olives?" 

"A lot of people! They're horrible." You whine.

"The black ones aren't so bad, ya big baby." Johnny looks as he turns in time to watch you frown, his voice turning so condescending. "Aww, poutin' like one too. What did I tell ya about poutin' in front of me?" 

"That you'd kiss me, nibble on me even." You squeak.

You watch as everything about him changes—his eyes grow stormy and lidded, his lips curl into a satisfied smirk and his voice drops dangerously low. "As soon as we get back, those lips o' yours are mine." 

"... Yes Johnny." Your reply comes automatically, an instinct that you know will be capitalised on.

"Sound so sweet when ya say my name like that." He smiles brightly, genuinely pleased.

"Wait til you're fucking it out of me." 

"That won't be the name I want to hear from that pretty little mouth, bonnie girl." 

Shit. 

You shiver all over, squirming in your seat. "Yes sir." 

"Fuuuuck." Johnny groans, squeezing your thigh extra tight for good measure. "We should set some ground rules for the weekend." 

He suddenly sounds quite serious, though you suppose it's a good thing. Boundaries are needed, especially if you're to keep things sensible and consensual.

"Yeah, sounds good." You nod, falling quiet to allow him to lead the way. 

"I'm not gonna make ya do anything, don't think we're ready for that, but I'd like to tease it, if tha's okay?" You love the way he sounds measured and yet hopeful. 

"More than okay, though I'm sure you love to tease." You giggle, filled with a little nervous energy. Johnny already teases you so much, if he steps up his game any more you might straight up melt into a puddle. 

"Who doesn't? What did ya say about everyone needing to be a brat?" He jokes, winking—all charm. "But aye, think we need a long talk first before anything proper." 

"I look forward to it, though." You admit. Despite detailing a lot of your interests and limits in your initial post, it's good that Johnny is adamant about revisiting them properly. Still, you're excited to get to a point where you both feel comfortable truly exploring your dynamic. "So... can I call you sir?" 

Johnny falls quiet for a moment. "If it comes naturally to yer. Feel like it's something I should earn." 

"You're already doing it, you make it easier to trust you with everything that you do." Like insisting the name is something earned, you think. 

"I'm glad tae hear that." He nods, the smile on his face only slight, as he weighs his responsibility. 

"I do have some questions, though." You begin, somewhat hesitantly, but you suppose it's good to lay your cards on the table completely. A part of you can't live with uncertainty—needs to know Johnny's true intentions. 

He eyes you for a moment, before nodding. "Go on." 

"So, say you had complete control over things going forward, what would you want to happen? What do you... want for our relationship?" You take a moment to breathe after spilling all of that. 

Despite his focus on driving, you can see the cogs in Johnny's head turning as he mulls over your question.

"I want ya to be mine, in every sense of the word. My girl, my pet, my love. Everything, and I want tae be the same to you." 

It's fortunate that you're stopped at a red light, so Johnny is free to look upon you, the meaning deep in his gaze stills you completely. 

The light turns green, stealing his attention back, yet he continues to elaborate—a fond smile on his face. 

"I'll always protect ya and look after ya, and you'll love me and care for me the way a good girl does." 

"I'll get ya a pretty little collar, and a day one too, so no one ever forgets who you belong to."

It's amazing to you how Johnny can make your heart thump and cunt throb all in one sentence, in one look. 

"We'll get you a cage, a nice training routine, and we'll fuck like animals." 

His hand returns to your thigh, just as respectful as it has been all the drive thus far. 

"And when we're not fucking each other's brains out, we're cuddling on the couch, going on dates, spending time with friends. All tha' normal couple stuff." He finishes up with a happy sigh, a far-off look in his eyes as he turns his attention back to you. 

"What about you?" 

After everything Johnny just said, an expression far beyond what you expected, you find it hard to verbalise anything at all, and certainly not something as wonderfully smooth and tempting. 

You open and close your mouth a few times before finally getting your words out.

"Pretty much exactly the same." You cringe internally at how lame and lacklustre your words sound in response. "I'd like the dynamic to extend beyond the bedroom if we can manage it. For me, there isn't really an off switch."

You can only assume Johnny sees eye-to-eye with you on that, considering he replied to your post in the first place. 

"Seems to come naturally with us, I like tha'." 

"Me too." 

Johnny removes his grasp from your thigh, opting to lace his fingers through the hand of yours sitting in your lap. "I'm glad we're on the same page, bonnie." 

You squeeze his hand, relishing the way he instantly squeezes back reassuringly. Despite being connected in this way, you find it hard to look at him as you stumble through a self-conscious admission. "I was a little worried it was gonna be just sex." 

"Already well beyond that, pet," Johnny replies in an instant, before chuckling and squeezing your hand again. "Dinnae go all shy on me now." 

"Why? I'm sure you enjoy seeing me blush and squirm." You mumble, trying to hide your blushing cheeks. 

Johnny hums, amused and content. "Good job tha' I know all the best ways to make it happen then." 

You hide your face in your other hand, cupping your burning cheek and disgusting your shy smile. "It's only gonna get worse for me too, I know it." 

"Promise to use my powers for good, lass." 

You meet Johnny's gaze again, and feel a deep joy and contentedness flowing through every part of you.

"You better." 

You drive through quiet, suburban streets on the outskirts of Hereford, rows of houses passing by until Johnny turns into a street—fairly empty, and neither upscale nor impoverished. On the end sits a house, since converted into two seemingly distinct flats.

"Here we are." He comments, pulling a car to a stop and turning off the engine. Johnny leaves the car first, eager to open the door for you once more. 

"Ooh, are you upstairs or downstairs?" You ask, looking at the flats and the surroundings. 

"Upstairs," Johnny replies, grabbing your bag again. "Landlady lives downstairs, sweet woman." 

Your mind is flooded with a little old lady, lonely and completely adoring when it comes to her young renter.  "I'm sure you have her completely charmed." You giggle, imagining the effect Johnny has on older women. 

"Oh aye." He laughs too, a knowing glint in his eye as he leads you up the stairs, unlocking the door. "Keeps trying to set me up with her daughter." 

"Is that so?" 

"Mhmm." 

As the door opens, the smell hits you—clean and fresh with an undertone of something masculine. The entryway is narrow and crowded with jackets and boots of all kinds. 

"I better tell her you're off limits." You joke, as Johnny steps aside to allow you in.

He doesn't reply, simply taking ahold of you and pinning you to the door, slamming it closed behind you. His firm hands pin you by the hips, pressing you between him and the door in an instant. 

"Johnny!" You gasp, breath stolen from you as Johnny is suddenly in your space—so close and hot and heavy. 

He leans in, one of his hands from your hips drifting up your body, trailing up your breast and your neck, before stopping at your jaw. His large hand cups your face, thumb swiping across the plush of your lips, parting them slightly for him—he's entirely transfixed, eyes filled with arousal as they flicker between your lips and your eyes.

Closing the final few inches, his lips brush against yours, and you can practically taste the mint in his breath. 

He dives in, kissing you fervently, pulling you flush against him as he practically devours your mouth with his lips and tongue. His teeth worry at your lip, his tongue collides with yours, and his hand at your waist grips you intently as a throaty groan leaves him. "Told you, pet, this mouth is mine now." taglist: @cooliofango @ramadiiiisme @pterodactyal @simonrillleyyysss @hexqueensupreme @ivymarquis @oilfics @ghosts-cyphera @msdrpreist @collmemabi @ysljoon @kmi-02 @mockerycrow @nakedcrackers @cassiecasluciluce @xcup1d @cloudsovercoffee @lovewithasideoflust @abbiesxox @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @bubuslutty want to be tagged? click here! want to be untagged? dm me or comment, i won't be offended <;3

[wazzuppy]

i don't often like to criticize or complain about ninjago (just bc doing that with my special interests makes me sad), but jesus christ, i am so so tired of the continuous pattern of ninjago introducing a new character just so they can be a love interest. at the very least, nya allowed to be something outside of her romance with the jay, but that's still only 1/7. meanwhile pixal only gets to exist without zane sometimes; akita and harumi (in crystalized) have their romances tacked on for little to no reason; and skylor, vania, and geo don't have enough screen time or strong writing for me to consider them actual people.

and that sucks because i LIKE all those characters and i like some of the ships their involved in, but it's also just,,, SO fucking frustrating as an aromantic person to see characters only be created so they can date another one and do nothing else. especially since most of them are one-off female characters and there's a good chance of never seeing again ever, meaning not only do i, as a woman, lose part of my representation, but that i STILL can't fully relate to them because all of them are/were intended to pair up with other characters.

anyways. sorry for the rant. ninjago is definitely not the worst offender when it comes to this trend, but its still something i think about a lot because the series is so special to me. i guess i just felt like getting it out of my system

[yuri-is-online]

Bitch the Pot (Trey Clover x Reader)

Trey's birthday is coming up and you really want to buy him a present.

But what if he doesn't want it? What if he just thinks of your efforts as annoying, or even worse what if he sees right through you and makes things awkward. What if he stashes things away and makes fun of them later, years later when he barely remembers your name.

What if he's secretly looking forward to your presence and hasn't even considered he'd be lucky enough to get a gift. What if... what if...

notes: they/them used for Yuu, we're going to hurt comfort town choo choo mother fuckers, I am using the Hitchhiking Ghost names for the Ramshackle Ghosts because I am unoriginal, the more I think about Trey the more I realize Idia is right, Trey's a skethcy mfer and yeah that's hot. If you like this check out my masterlist for more fic.

You didn't want to indulge Trey's teeth thing.

Sure it will make him happy, smooth over all your little insecurities pricking at your heart as you poke through the second hand store for what you had thought would be a really cute idea on your way here but now weren't so sure about. Besides you are pretty sure that everyone else is going to buy him a bundle of floss and call it a day, well other than Rook who has been waxing poetic about how he had "the most fitting cap for the Rose Chevalier" so all the more reason to put a little less of a personal interest into your gifting and more of a thoughtful touch.

As thoughtful as you could afford anyway. You aren't even sure Trey likes these sorts of things, though that worry is sort of drowned by how surprised you are to find nice looking china in Crane Port's equivalent of a Good Will. There is a nice selection of tea cups, mismatched saucer plates, and the odd pot sat all by its lonesome all with neatly written prices on stickers you don't look forward to scrubbing off.

Afternoon Tea Special~ Pick one Pot, 4 cups w/ saucers, creamer, and sugar bowl: all for just 25 T!

Cute, and not a bad idea you supposed even if it did feel a bit overkill. Your original intention had just been to pick up a sugar bowl and maybe one cup, something for him to put candies in that had a lid so no flies could get at his violets. But it really would be a shame to pass up such a nice deal and hey, if Trey didn't like it he could just ditch it with the Heartslabyul kitchenware once he graduated and never speak to you again.

"Oh this is such a cute little selection!" The lady at the counter's eyes practically sparkle as she carefully wraps up your choices in tissue paper.

"It's a birthday gift." You can't help but mumble and the sparkle flutters out to her entire body, ah that's right, this lady always did look a bit bored when you came in. It seems like you have fed her and her knitting circle for the rest of the week.

"Well then this won't to at all." She huffs and stops wrapping up your order and bends under her counter, the tell tale ruffles of paper and boxes sounding oddly comforting as she produces what you think is a hat box and proudly begins to organize the mismatched set and fetches out even more tissue paper. "Must be for someone important with how long you've been eyeing up a sugar bowl." She wiggles her eye brows. You try to keep your focus on said bowl, you didn't realize she'd been watching you but then again you have been coming down here every spare weekend to stare at it. This shop was nice, it had a bunch of cheap clothes and nick knacks that were used sure, but a life saver for someone from a completely different world. If the lady is thankfully not offended by your silence. She simply tacks your receipt to the box and sends you off with a wink.

"Thank you for your purchase! Please come back soon!" And tell me all bout it! You swear she says it but you don't hear it, too much blood is thrumming in your ears

The hat box is not out of place among the gifts on the party table, so trey doesn't have an excuse to stare at it even if his eyes keep coming back to it. It's lavender, plain save for the cream bow he hopes Yuu tied around it, and had been decently heavy when he picked it up before Cater scolded him about playing favorites.

"Be a good Senior and eat the cookies we made for you until Riddle brings out the cake." He flicks his nose with a knowing look. "Normal people save the best for last right? I'm sure Yuu-yuu will be fine with waiting, since they can barely look at you today~" And of course like a fool he whips his head to look, startling them and proving Cater's point as they immediately scurry back to Ace and Deuce.

"Screw you." He's only half joking but Cater's fully laughing and probably already took a picture. "I'm just worried they felt like they needed to bring a gift I would have been happy just to-"

"No you wouldn't have." For someone who likes lying to himself Cater really doesn't seemed thrilled with his choice to gaslight himself. "You would have spent the rest of the night thinking 'ooooh it'd be really nice if I got something from Yuu, I wonder if they hate meeee, I should make sure they think I don't care about helping them some more so they leave me alone and I don't have to think about how nice it would be to-'"

"Cater!" Trey has never been so grateful to hear Riddle yell about anything in his life. "Could you please help me with the cake? I was going to ask Yuu but they had to go back to Ramshackle."

"Yuu's back at Ramshackle?" Trey reaches to adjust his glasses, trying to ground himself.

"Yes, they said they were feeling sick and-" That's all Trey registers, though he hears the rest "went back to lie down, Grim insisted on staying to make sure the food didn't get them sick." It's his party, he can't just leave that would be an extreme violation of the rules but Cater's earlier accusation comes back to him. Make them think I won't care about them. It's not intentional, he thinks it's obvious he always will but then again-

"Fifteen minutes." Cater whispers under his breath.

"Thirty."

"You're delusional." Still Cater doesn't sound mad. "Eighteen."

"Twenty." He's already snatched up the hat box and making his way towards the doors.

~~~~

"Awww Yuu." Phineas would pat your head if he could. "I'm sure it's not that bad, you're just overthinking things."

"Yeah I think anyone would be happy to get a gift from you!" Gus tries, all three ghosts perking up slightly when you smile just a bit at his encouragement. "And if not then well..."

"I know I'm just being dramatic but I couldn't stand waiting anymore." You don't mention how Ace and Deuce had been teasing you, not wanting to relive the absolute embarrassment of having been caught staring at their Vice-Warden one too many times for dots to remain unconnected. "I asked Grim to bring back some cake but I don't know if he'll remember."

"Oooh let's take bets on it!" Ezra cheers and a familiar, unexpected laugh interrupts sending the ghosts scattering and leaving you at the mercy of a familiar face.

"I think it's safe to say that would be a pretty obvious bet." Trey sets the hat box on your coffee table, folding his strong arms and firmly sticking a lump in your throat. "You should have bet on me."

"Returning your gift is not bringing me something." You huff and Trey has the decency to look a bit awkward.

"I'm not here to return it, there's rules to gifts you know." Oh no. "For example, on our birthdays, the Queen of Hearts says we get to ask for anything we want." He finally moves, unfortunately for you he's decided to use his height to his advantage and lean over the table to crowd you back into the couch. "And I spent a long time thinking about what I should ask for from you."

"Um- I well-" You're looking everywhere but him now, as if you were before. "I did get you a gift though?" He laughs.

"And you ran away before I could thank you." Trey begins to unwrap the ribbons, slowly as if he's waiting for you to look at him but not wanting to deny his curiosity any longer. "But that doesn't change the rules. Sorry, I didn't make them."

The sugar bowl is the first piece he finds, the shop lady has to have set it on top on purpose. His eyebrows raise, not in disappointment you think, curiosity hopefully as he slowly opens the rest of them.

"Sorry." You immediately say to fill the space out of habit, and Trey stops his examination to look up at you.

"What for?" He picks up the sugar bowl, just as amused as you with the clover flowers patterned across it in a nice twist on his name and half the accessories he owns. "Don't tell me you want this stuff back, its mine now."

"No! I'm glad you like," you cringe at the question in your tone and cower at the smirk on Trey's face "I mean I hope you like it."

"A hand picked tea set from the Ramshackle Prefect? It's perfect. Especially for a birthday gift for me." He carefully wraps up the cups and their saucers, silence once again falling over the room as you wonder why he hasn't called you out on your lie, the self doubt suggesting he hadn't noticed. "I meant what I said earlier you know."

"What, about making demands of me?" You say.

"Hey chill I only sort of meant it like that." He doesn't even bother trying to hide his amusement. "I mean betting on me. I know it might sound strange to hear me say, but I do have things I think are worth extra effort. And if I have to put in a lot of it to get you to understand that I am glad you are in my life, then I'll just have to do that." So he did know you weren't sick, and was just dancing around the subject to be polite as usual.

"Happy birthday Trey." Because what else are you supposed to say, and he tries his best to not let his disappointment show as he takes his opened gift back to the rose garden. "I'm- I hope you have a nice time at your party."

He pauses at the threshold of your dorm, the wicked smile returning. "I think I know what I want to ask you to do."

"Oh no." You did not mean to say that out loud.

"Mhm. But you are going to have to come back to Heartslabyul to hear it, but after the party, we can use our cups." Our cups he says, as if you had picked out any cups that were supposed to represent you.

He noticed, of course Trey noticed that there was no trace of Yuu in this very you gift. But he could fix that, if you would just give him a chance. And maybe get the calm celebration he actually wants when you do.

[moki-dokie]

genuinely hate that most of western society can't take "no" without an explanation tacked on as an answer without it being offending in one way or another like 99% of the time.

actually i just kind of hate how unnecessarily convoluted conversations have to be in general.

one of the greatest ways of explaining how I WISH people spoke is an episode of the west wing, s2e20 babish, a lawyer, is interrogating cj, the press secretary, about the this scandal with the president. after a few questions, he randomly asks, "Do you know what time it is?" "It's five past noon," She answers. Then he says, "I'd like you to get out of the habit of doing that." Understandably confused, she asks, "Doing what?" "Answering more than was asked."

and that's what we do. what we're EXPECTED to do. it comes off rude and curt to give the exact information and that's so fucking annoying and i hate it.

babish followed that up by immediately repeating his question, "do you know what time it is?" and cj, visibly annoyed but understanding his point, reluctantly answers with a straightforward "yes."

like. why is that so hard??

why to i have to play mental 4d chess trying to figure out what the fuck people mean half the time, or why do i have to give up more information than i want to just to say no while maintaining the rules of politeness? its buuulllllssshhhiiiitttttt

i mean i know this is the autistic gay website but come on. it's like pulling teeth getting people to be direct. why is it like this?????

anyway i'm annoyed bc i had to do this shit at work today. and OFTEN have to in the professional world bc god forbid something come off the wrong way.

asked if i was going to partake in a pumpkin carving contest work is hosting and i wanted to just say no. period. end of sentence. because they are not owed the reasons why. i shouldn't have to divulge anything at all. but i know a straight up "no" would be seen as somewhat hostile without context. my hands are not steady enough for it, i don't have the space for it, i don't have the extra time for it, i don't have the spoons for it, and i really don't want to buy a pumpkin just to waste because a) carving pumpkins make shit cooking pumpkins and b) even if i got a cooking pumpkin every other point stands to use it for cooking. but I don't want to say all of that either. so i have to try and figure out which point is going to lead to fewer rebuttals since it doesn't seem to matter where you work, they always WANT you to participate in this kind of shit. so i went with just saying my hand tremors make it too difficult, so no thanks. and of course i get a paragraph about how its friendly to every level of ability, how someone with rheumatoid arthritis just used some stencils and spraypaint to do it one time and blahblahblah like - for one thing i'm not going out of my way to buy supplies with my own money for one specific thing that i'll never use them again for and two WHY CANT YOU JUST TAKE MY NO AND MOVE ON JESUS CHRIST.

i should've just made up some crazy lie like one of the cats is allergic to pumpkin lmao

anyway. i hate conversational habits like this in our society its the literal worst

[hypnoneghoul]

Sundown: Chapter 5

and Mushy May '24 Day 5: Animals

WC: 800

Relationship: SwissAlps + PhantomRainDrop

Tags: Transfeminine Mountain, AU; Cowboy!Swiss x Barmaid!Mountain, Sexual Humor, Horse Racing

The feeling of wind in their faces, the rhythm of their horses’ gallops, the immaculate feeling of freedom…that’s something none of them would ever exchange for anything else.

Notes: This one is for day five of @forlorn-crows' Mushy May 2024! The prompt is animals and I had to channel my yearning for horses here lmao

Read chapter 1 here or on AO3.

Read chapter 5 under the cut or on AO3.

Mounty wakes up to something cold and…wet on her chest. Right in the middle of it, just between her tits. She yawns and tries to stretch her arms above her head, only to find out her limbs are trapped by a heavy weight sprawled out on top of her. She opens her eyes and suddenly it all makes sense.

Swiss is laying on her dead asleep, with his head shoved under Mounty’s sleepshirt. His arms are wrapped tightly around her middle and his face is right between her boobs. Drooling.

With the weight and wetness explained, Mounty chuckles and relaxes again. There’s no way she’s moving any time soon with Swiss trapping her like this.

He wakes up not long after, nuzzling his face into the barmaid’s chest and scratching her delicate skin with his stubble.

“Mmm…Momo…” he slurs and Mounty chuckles at her newest nickname; just for when they’re alone and Swiss is all soft on her.

“Good morning, darling. Fancy telling me how you ended up in there?” The barmaid smiles, even though he can’t see it. He can definitely hear it, though, and he sighs as she starts gently scratching his back, too.

“Hmpf…boobies,” he explains.

“Ah, of course,” Mounty chuckles. Now that Swiss has gotten—as he calls it—boobie privileges he doesn’t waste any opportunity to indulge himself. And the barmaid loves him too much, is too soft for him, and so she can never deny him anything.

Still, they have plans for the day, so after just a little bit more snuggling they end up at Rain’s place eating breakfast. Swiss, Mounty, Phantom, Rain, and Dewdrop are all there and even despite the lively conversations taking place, they finish eating quite quickly, ready for the more exciting part of their shared day.

They all get up and go out into the stables where Dewdrop has tacked up everyone’s horses earlier and soon enough one by one they’re climbing on. Rain laughs when Swiss winces when he gets on and sits on the hard saddle, “Mounty’s got you good again?”

Neither the man, nor his girl, answer, but their blushes tell Rain all he needs to know.

“Found out he likes it up the ass and now he can’t get enough, I bet,” Dewdrop throws in and Phantom snorts at it.

“Leave him be,” Mounty says, chuckling, as she looks at Swiss apologetically. He’s hiding a little under the rim of his hat—blushing deeply—but there’s a smile pulling at the corners of his lips.

“Just don't stay behind 'cause you got fucked good last night.” Dewdrop winks at him and his horse whinnies as if in agreement. “That’s it.”

“Sure, sure,” Swiss finally speaks. “You’re just tryna find out if you can win thanks to it.”

“Even Dew isn’t that delusional,” Rain mutters, but it’s still loud enough for all of them to hear. Dewdrop throws him an offended look, but the other just shrugs. He’s got a point.

With a few more laughs and affectionate jokes they get on the road that leads out of the little town and to a few acres of an empty space. It’s perfect for racing.

The way there is just long enough to do some walking and trotting, perfect to warm themselves and their horses up before the near maniacal galloping.

When they reach their racing spot they move to stand in line, ready to run.

“Come on, girlie,” Swiss says to his horse, leaning down over her neck to pat her encouragingly. “You’re my good girl, we ain’t ever gonna lose.”

“Should I be jealous of that horse?” Mounty whispers to Phantom.

“Hard to say,” they giggle under their breath. The both of them shake their heads and laugh, roughly preparing for the race, too.

“Done sweet talking?” Dewdrop calls out. Swiss shows him his middle finger.

But they are all ready, and so Rain begins the count, “Three.”

“Two.”

“One.”

“Go!” he yells and it’s immediately overtaken by the horses’ neighs and the booming noise of their hooves hitting the dry ground.

The feeling of wind in their faces, the rhythm of their horses’ gallops, the immaculate feeling of freedom…that’s something none of them would ever exchange for anything else. Each and everyone has it in their blood; they need it to stay alive, to stay sane.

Swiss laughs and the wind is choking him, but he couldn’t care less. He can’t not smile and laugh as he watches Mounty and her mare running side by side with him and Monty. She looks so happy it hurts, and Swiss never wants to see her less than so.

He doesn’t care much about Rain, Phantom, and Dewdrop all running just behind the other two. Or anything other than his girl, really.

They are all free and there’s nothing else that matters.

[celestialprincesse]

hi angieee ‼️ first time requesting here but i love ur work 😋 esp how u write simon

noticed u don’t have anything for johnny…sooo silly sex w johnny?? bc let’s be real this man will NOT stop until he’s made u laugh a bit. will lowley feel offended 😙 could be hcs or a drabble wtv ur feeling.

but yeahh u don’t have to write this but johnny’s been plaguing my mind lately so ofc u need to experience some of that too 😼 alr byebye have a good/night

BARKING FOR THIS Like actually feral, rabid, foaming at the mouth🙂 There is some Johnny stuff peppered throughout my page, I just need to stop being so fucking lazy and actually organise it!!

Anywhoo mdni 🎀 nsfw

Johnny, despite what some people may think, is far from imperceptive. Yes, he's boisterous at times, energetic and animated, but he's also sharp as a tack, and too observant for his own good. Especially when it comes to you.

The split second he takes notice of the way you attempt to conceal a wince as his thick cock nestles itself up against your cervix, he stops still. Blue eyes search your face, the way your bottom lip is held tight between your teeth and the lines at the corner of your eyes where you squeeze them shut.

"Y' okay?" He immediately questions, the calloused hand he's not using to support his weight over you coming to brush errant baby hairs from your slightly sweaty forehead. "Mhm." You manage to strain, hoping desperately that within a few minutes, you'll get used to the slightly stingy stretch of your pussy accomodating his size. You normally do. "Ye don't look okay." "M' fine." You manage to ramble, although you can already feel yourself panting, and he's barely even done anything yet. "Right." Johnny gives a slow nod before eliciting a whine from you when he pulls out, leaving you empty. The look thrown your way as you prop up on your elbows to stare at him indignantly is half worried, and half wicked. "The hell did you do that for?" He doesn't even respond, just shrugs and flops down beside you, pulling you onto his chest and notching your knee across his opposite hip, one hand coming to rest around your shoulder, whilst the other comes down gently between your legs.

"This okay?" He hums against your hairline as his deft fingers begin to swipe between your folds, collecting the sticky mess of your slick and his precum before slowly plunging his ring and middle finger in, leaving you gasping. "I'll take that as a yes." The fact that you're not smiling like usual does something to his insides, makes his brows furrow into a worried frown. Fortunately, he knows perfectly well how to remedy your lack of usual blissed out giggles.

"Johnny!" You shriek as he digs his fingers into the soft, sensitive arch just above your hip and below your ribs, wriggling them slightly, leaving you yelping and cackling as you attempt to wriggle away from his tickling. "Ye ken why they call me Soap?" He growls in your ear, not stopping his tickling, only worsening it as his stubble brushes your neck, sending a shiver down your spine in it's wake. "S' cause I got slippery fingers." "Fucking idiot." You pant at his stupid joke, although you can't help but snort out a laugh at the idiocy of your situation. "Wha' has two legs and bleeds?" He continues, adamant on keeping that brilliant smile on your face. "What?!" You choke out, somewhere between a laugh and a sob as you continue to wriggle about as he prods at the curve of your waist. "Half a dog." The way you gawk gives him the perfect opportunity to capture your lips in his, teeth clattering and chests heaving as you kiss through the barely contained laughter you both share.

Realised like halfway through writing this that I don't actually know any good jokes 🥴 so I stole ghost's

Also this was like barely??? smut??? idk the brain isn't braining tn

[onlycosmere]

I wasn’t going to say anything about it because, frankly, I regularly read much better criticism of Brandon Sanderson on tumblr.

However, Brandon responded to that Wired article, so I’ll share his response with you all.

Brandon Sanderson:

All,

I appreciate the kind words and support.

Not sure how, or if, I should respond to the Wired article. I get that Jason, in writing it, felt incredibly conflicted about the fact that he finds me lame and boring. I’m baffled how he seemed to find every single person on his trip--my friends, my family, my fans--to be worthy of derision.

But he also feels sincere in his attempt to try to understand. While he legitimately seems to dislike me and my writing, I don't think that's why he came to see me. He wasn't looking for a hit piece--he was looking to explore the world through his writing. In that, he and I are the same, and I respect him for it, even if much of his tone seems quite dismissive of many people and ideas I care deeply about.

The strangest part for me is how Jason says he had trouble finding the real me. He says he wants something true or genuine. But he had the genuine me all that time. He really did. What I said, apparently, wasn't anything he found useful for writing an article. That doesn't make it not genuine or true.

I am not offended that the true me bores him. Honestly, I'm a guy who enjoys his job, loves his family, and is a little obsessive about his stories. There's no hidden trauma. No skeletons in my closet. Just a guy trying to understand the world through story. That IS kind of boring, from an outsider's perspective. I can see how it is difficult to write an article about me for that reason.

But at the same time, I’m worried about the way he treats our entire community. I understand that he didn’t just talk about me, but about you. As has been happening to fantasy fans for years, the general attitude of anyone writing about us is that we should be ashamed for enjoying what we enjoy. In that, the tone feels like it was written during the 80s. “Look at these silly nerds, liking things! How dare they like things! Don’t they know the thing they like is dumb?”

As a community, let’s take a deep breath. It’s all right. I appreciate you standing up for me, but please leave Jason alone. This might feel like an attack on us, on you, but it’s not. Jason wrote what he felt he needed--and as a writer, he is my colleague. Please show him respect. He should not be attacked for sharing his feelings. If we attack people for doing so, we make the world a worse place, because fewer people will be willing to be their authentic selves.

That said, let me say one thing. You, my friends, are not boring or lame. In Going Postal, one of my favorite novels, Sir Terry Pratchett has a character fascinated by collecting pins. Not pins like you might think--they aren't like Disney pins, or character pins. They are pins like tacks used to pin things to walls. Outsiders find it difficult to understand why he loves them so much. But he does.

In the book, pins are a stand-in for collecting stamps, but also a commentary on the way we as human beings are constantly finding wonder in the world around us. That is part of what makes us special. The man who collects those pins--Stanley Howler--IS special. In part BECAUSE of his passion. And the more you get to know him, or anyone, the more interesting you find them. This is a truism in life. People are interesting, every one of them--and being a writer is about finding out why.

In that way, the ability to make Stanley interesting is part of what makes Pratchett a genius, in my opinion. That's WRITING. Not merely using words. It’s what I aspire to be able to do. People are wonderful, fascinating, brilliant balls of walking contradiction, passion, and beauty. I find it an exciting challenge to make certain that the perspective of the washwoman or the monk sitting and reading a book is as interesting in a story as that of the king or the tech-mogul.

And I find value in you. Your passion for my work is a big part of why I write. You make my life special. Thank you.

(NOTE: I do want to make it clear, again that I bear Jason no ill will. I like him. Please leave him alone. He seems to be a sincere man who tried very hard to find a story, discovered that there wasn't one that interested him, then floundered in trying to figure out what he could say to make deadline. I respect him for trying his best to write what he obviously found a difficult article.

He’s a person, remember, just like each of us.)

[olderthannetfic]

you mentioned in an ask that the ending of HP book 5 was "so offensive that you dropped the series." can you elaborate on that?

--

Did I say it was offensive? I suppose I might have meant "offensive to my sensibilities" or something.

No, the end of book 5 was moronic.

It's eleventh hour tragedy tacked on for drama. Having there not even be a body is stupid as fuck too. I didn't think it was a fakeout, but I did think it was written like one, which is unforgivably hack-ish.

My actual issues that told me she wasn't worth reading anymore weren't quite that though. They were these two things:

First, there was allcaps yelling. I do not tolerate authors who've gotten too big to listen to their editors about standard formatting. Allcaps yelling is for stupid children on the internet, not something I paid for, much less something from a major publisher that I bought a hardback of.

Second, in interviews JKR tried to justify Sirius' death as "Real life is full of random tragedy" and some bullshit about teaching readers to face life.

I do not read Improving Literature. How arrogant to think that any reader needed her lesson! How doubly arrogant to think that her writing is strong enough to even do that! Now that is genuinely offensive in a way that the book never was.

This line is such a hallmark of undergrad writing classes and that tedious person in your writers' group who keeps writing plots that don't work and then getting offended when people say so.

It's literally one of the top cliches people say in defending their bad writing!

Every writing how-to book and blog has at least one post going "Real life may not make sense, but fiction is not generally random" and explaining why this justification is a cop-out that leads to cruddy books.

Self importance and incompetence are not things i look for in an author.

[lemonhemlock]

house of the dragon is sanitized because it doesn't want to offend anybody and receive the same (justifiable imo) criticisms that were lobbied at d&d for their treatment of women, poc, lgbtq+, etc. so, they turn a story that features morally dubious characters with themes that heavily criticize if not condemn monarchy, feudalism, and war in favor of serving a good vs. evil narrative that's straying further and further away from the original point.

You know, I'm starting to think if maybe I just don't resonate with this particular kind of storytelling anymore. I'm at an age where I've watched my fair share of shows and the devices that have been in use these past years have become cliche. Bad/mediocre shows certainly have their place in the ecosystem, but I'm not going to be impressed by such a straightforward attempt at tacking a simplified theme. What worked 10 years ago in movies and TV shows doesn't feel fresh now in 2024.

I am probably a little doomposting and I don't doubt the show can get better (I'm convinced there will be moments I enjoy), but this linear strategy of building Rhaenyra up as the "good monarch", only for them to tear her down when she enters her madness/vengeance arc is just not revolutionary at this moment. It's been done before many times, including with Daenerys. (At least that's what I presume they intend to do with Rhaenyra). But, perhaps to counteract the Daenerys criticism, Rhaenyra's fall from grace won't be so sudden, there will be more hints and more buildup to it and they'll pat themselves on the back for a job well done.

I just would personally have preferred to not have to wait until the second half of the show to encounter the criticism part. This particular technique of subversion feels a little stale at this point. You don't have to wait so long to insert commentary and it doesn't have to be overt or take up more than a few seconds of screen time. You can close up on someone turning their nose or raising their eyebrow when a character makes a fuckass reply, for example. I am just tired of seeing characters like Otto say shit like how Viserys was the salt of the earth and it going absolutely unchallenged.

This is why I love Succession so much, I suppose, because the commentary comes within the episode, with the way it's filmed and framed. It doesn't tell you what to think, but it gives narrative and visual clues that something is up and it doesn't wait until 120 episodes of whitewashing some character to reveal that they're actually quite villainous or wrong. And they really had the material to do something more experimental with this set-up.

[johaerys-writes]

Hello! I hope you are doing well. A WIP Wednesday for The Fates, if you don't mind?

Hi anon! I don't have anything for Fates right now, since I've mostly been working on the Cowboy AU for the past week! So I hope it's okay if I offer you a snippet from the next chapter of that instead:

"You shouldn’t needle him so much,” Patroclus tells Achilles after they’re alone in the stables.

“Who?” At Patroclus’ meaningful stare, Achilles blushes. He looks away in embarrassment. “I wasn’t needling him. I just wanna know what the hell is wrong with him.”

“Mocking him isn’t going to get you any answers.”

"I wasn’t mocking him!" Patroclus quirks a knowing eyebrow at him, seeing right through his childish complaints. Achilles scoffs, crossing his arms before his chest. He tries to look unbothered, even though his face grows noticeably hotter. “Antilochus and I have known each other for years, it’s what we do. He’ll be alright again soon enough.”

“Be that as it may… if he’s your friend as you say, you probably don't want to make things worse with him by baiting him into arguments.”

“I'm not! It’s just— look, I just don’t understand why he sulks around like that," Achilles protests. "No matter what I say, he’s always sniping back at me like I’ve offended him. He’s… so weird all of a sudden.”

Patroclus hums thoughtfully, hanging the tack by the peg on the wall. “Perhaps he’s jealous.”

“Jealous? Of what?”

"Of you. Not hanging out with him and Automedon as much as you used to. Of spending more time… with others."

“‘Others’?” Achilles echoes.

“Well… me, mostly.”

His voice is lowered, his eyes downcast and his features darkened by the shadow of his hat as he works, but Achilles can still see the colour that tinges his cheeks. He thinks he knows Patroclus well enough now to pick up on the slight changes in his posture, to understand when he feels awkward, out of place. Achilles moves closer, stepping into the stall with him, out of sight of the stable doors.

"But I like spending time with you," he says. He doesn’t intend for it to come out so softly, but the way he says it makes him sound almost breathless. "Why would Antilochus be mad about that?"

"Some people are… possessive when it comes to the people they care about," Patroclus cocks his head at him slightly. "And I'm new here. He doesn’t know me. Makes sense that he wouldn't like me."

"Well, he'll get over it. It ain’t his call who I spend my time with."

Patroclus lets out a huff and shakes his head. "That's not what this is about."

"I don't care. I like you, Pat," Achilles says decisively. He stands tall, fists on his hips, his tone brooking no argument. "We're friends, right?"

Patroclus blinks at him, taken aback. He smiles, fleetingly, and something new and unreadable, something Achilles has never glimpsed before, flashes in his eyes. It's gone in an instant; he clears his throat before he looks away.

"You should still try to be nicer to him." He gently slaps the horse's rump before stepping out of the stall. "Want to go for a ride? I'm just about done here."

"Yes!" Achilles chirps, dashing to Xanthus' stall to saddle him up.

[mcytblr-archive]

Early MCYTblr Interviews: tack-tick

today's interviewee is tack-tick, a pioneer of the "phistin" ship and DSMP fan since before the first election! below is a transcript of the interview.

Q: What was your overall time in MCYTblr like?

A: I'd say my overall time in Mcytblr could be described as finding diamonds in the rough. This fandom is defined by finding your group, sticking to them and if you're smart not really looking beyond that. I did look beyond that and saw a lot of discourse and such. I had a good time with my friends but I did get negatively affected by the discourse at times. It was kind of a toxic shithole but by God mcytblr was our shithole lol

Q: Do you remember any specific discourse that affected you, or was it just the overall culture around you?

A: As a Technoblade main, it was the discourse surrounding his character that messed with me. At the time, I was mutuals (none in the phistin palace dw guys) with some people who hated his character. I, as an anxious teenager, was very worried it would cause drama if I unfollowed them and my dash became a lot of those long negative essays about how he was an awful person and yknow the drill. It was mainly my own fault and my dash became signfigantly better once I realized no one would be offended of I unfollowed, blocked a bunch of tags, started up my own discord server and focused more on writing fanfic instead of doomscrolling. A good lesson in curating your dash of anything else. (Btw those former mutuals are fine people, we just had radically different tastes in what we liked and disliked about the Dream SMP)

Q: You mentioned the "phistin palace"-- before we get into that, would you like to explain the "phistin" rarepair itself?

A: Now we are cooking! So, Phistin is the ship of Kristin and Philza. It's main focus was on the scraps of lore that we had about their relationship which was Kristin was the immortal goddess of Death and they couldn't really see each other often but loved each other very much. I'd say it's main appeal was being one of the few ships that was just really stable in the Dream SMP compared to the Karlnapity polycule and whatever youd call Quackbur. Fun fact, I can't find the post now but if i remember correctly me and tumblr user Demonadelem helped name the pair Phistin. Although, that was ages ago so I could be misremebering

Q: Was the ship entirely within the SMP, or was it just the general ship name for the real-life couple?

A: It was both. Since Kristin didn't really stream on the dream smp, a lot of her personality had to be based on what Phil said about her and her other streams. Basically, lore about the ship was pulled from the SMP but the dynamics and personality was from both. You could play around with the dynamic if you focused on Kristin being a goddess

Q: With that basic information laid out-- what was the "phistin palace"?

A: The Phistin Palace was a discord server I founded in August of 2022. Phistin was a ship that was basically a side thing I did in fandom because my main focus was Technoblade and emerald duo stuff. I think if you're a Technoblade fan you're legally obligated to be a Philza fan and vice versa. I don't make the rules. So Phistin was something I did when I wanted a break from Technoblade as a way to practice romantic shipping.

Then Technoblade passed away and I didn't want to do anything with his character for a while so I focused completely on Phistin. However, when I tried to find any fics they were either a background ship with only one line or Kristin was already dead from a tragic disease who's main symptoms were lying daintily in bed. While I was writing my own long form Phistin focused fic, Two Birds if anyone read it, I got a comment that complimented me for "giving her an actual charatcer" and maaaan that is a very low bar to be praised for. So, I started the palace as a way to find other Phistin fans who actually cared about them beyond Kristin being angst fodder for SBI.

Q: Do you have any fond memories in specific of the "Phistin Palace" discord server?

A: Oh so many. During the Syndicate finale, three of us all liveblogged and freaked the fuck out when Kristin showed up for the first time in a minecraft skin on the server. I made on of those AI chatbot things that was popular for a bit and the bot was supposed to be the Kristin character. I asked if she had a pet and she said she has a gecko named Tim. The entire server instantly decided they would die for Tim and he's now an emote. The general chat is also named Tim Time Fucker. A mermaid AU that was made that the majority of the server contributed a lot of lore to we named it the Communist Mermaid AU because the server collectively owns it now. Many good moments there

Q: Beyond the Phistin Palace, are there any large community events that you remember/took part in, or did you mostly stick to your friend group?

A: I remember The Penis SMP of course. I never really took part in large community events but I did watch them happen. I read the Passerine chapter where Tommy died becasue my dash flipped out when that dropped. I'd also try to watch Sad-ist animatics live when I could. At most, Id make a meme during a stream that would rack up a couple hundred notes or one thousand if I was lucky A thousand was like once or twice I think

Q: You mentioned that you were also a Technoblade fan before you became more focused on Phistin-- was your experience in that side of the fandom any different?

A: It certainly had more content than Phistin did lol. I was never really in any Technoblade discords or anything but back in the day it was focused on emerald duo and being funny. or angsty. Nowadays, it's way less lively unfortunately. It's not as bad as in 2022 but Technoblade fancontent seems to be less foucsed on the character and more on memorials/remembrance. At some point, you run out of things to say and not a lot of people wanted to stay in a fandom that just felt weighed down by it all. I did leave so things could perk up someday but I don't think that's likely

Q: We've talked about the fandom and how it responds to content-- let's talk about the content itself. What were some of your favorite moments from the Dream SMP as a whole?

A: The Red Festival Technoblade stream was the first one I ever watched live so that's a good one. The stream where L'manberg getting blown up at the end of The Manberg Arc is iconic for an underrated reason. I don't know how many people remember but Phil was highly speculated to be on the Dream SMP someday. On the day of that stream, he started on his hardcore world, then stopped his stream and did his dramatic switch surprise entrance to enter the Dream SMP for the first time. Also Technoblade escaping the anvil and then killing Quackity with a toothpick was great. I've never liked watching Twitch streams on my Ipad so most of my favorite moments come from YouTube

Q: Were you sad that Phistin wasn't a more popular ship, or did you enjoy the tight-knit community?

A: I was sad Kristin kept friggin dying, the poor woman lol. Sometimes I wish it was a bit more popular but the community was nice. The main issue is Phistin stuff started tanking hard on Ao3 in terms of numbers and tended to get misstagged quite a bit

Q: You've brought up a few times that Kristin was often fridged, disregarded, or replaced (on several notable occasions, by an actual Samsung fridge). How did you feel about it? Do you think there was any particular reason for it?

A: I mean, I really don't like it but I understand it. A lot of people loved that SBI angst but also wanted to write all the SBI. So the obvious solution is to kill off Kristin for free angst and keep all the SBI in the story. Passerine is a fic i respect a lot but it also kickstarted this trend to be honest. Kristin herself also didn't physically show up in the lore a lot so it was really tricky to write her. When I first wrote her, it was intimidating because I didn't have many fics to look at as good examples.

Was it shitty and a bit sexist? Yes but I don't think sexism was the only reason. Kristin's character was in a unique situation compared to the others. I have no problem with Kristin dying in a fic. The main issue is that often came with her personality being reduced to good mom and that's it. I'm not gonna call a bunch of probably first time writers evil sexists when I know what it's like to not know how to write her and being scared you'll get her completely wrong.

Q: Since it's come up, would you mind giving a quick rundown of what exactly the fanfic "Passerine" is? (As well as any memories you have relating to it!)

A: If i'm being honest, I only read the chapter where Tommy got murked. What I know from osmosis is it's an SBI royalty AU that had some kind of meta twist at the end and it was very sad. It also got a sad-ist animatic made out of it which jesus christ I'd give for that. I tried it but the writing style was too wordy for my liking. It's mainly important for Phistin history even though Kristin wasn't in it. No, The Fridge died in it but everyone just kinda assumed it was Kristin for long enough it got the ball rolling. Also I think Niki read it on a stream

Q: Before we wrap up, is there anything else you remember about MCYTblr/the DSMP that you'd like to talk about?

A: The DSMP sure was the minecraft server of all time that is defined as a server that was doomed from the start. Whoever makes a video essay on it is gonna have a hell of a job. 10/10 experience would not recommenced. Hello to the Phistin Palace if any of you read this :D

Mcytblr is getting more chill with shipping from what I've seen. Thank God, keeping making Philza Minecraft kiss those men and his wife.

Also SUBSCRIBE TO TECHNOBLADE

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

"was just thinking about this and jake seresin and 'princess 😒' and then 'princess' 😉 and then 'princess--' 🥵"

danyyyyyyyy pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease

Warnings: Enemies to friends to lovers; angst; fluff; pining; dirty talk

Princess 😒

You hate him immediately.

He smiles too much.

The winking? Unnecessary.

When he leans against the bar beside you, tells Penny that he's buying your drink, and introduces himself as Hangman, your urge to punch him goes through the roof.

You inform him that you will be paying for your own drink, that you don't care what his callsign is, and that he ought to take one big step back before you give him a good reason to.

He whistles low, eyes sweeping you as his smile widens. But he holds his hands up, takes two steps back, and offers a, "Didn't mean to offend, princess."

The term makes you want to slap him, but he's already out of range.

You manage to forget about him until the following morning, when you're given your temporary assignment—weapons systems officer for Jake 'Hangman' Seresin while his usual officer is out of commission.

You introduce yourself with stiff formality. He gives you another once-over now that you're in uniform before ordering, "Suit up, Princess. We've got a practice run in twenty."

The practice run is a disaster.

Jake doesn't listen to you—not a single warning, not a single suggestion. He insists that he knows best, that you'll get the hang of it, and that every call and play he makes is the right one.

And you know what? For one nervous, shaky moment, you think he might be right.

And then he pulls a shit maneuver and fails the test for the both of you.

He's quiet, peeved as he lands, and you can't help but pipe up: "Thanks for showing me the ropes on that one."

He just scoffs, grumbling, "I don't wanna hear it, princess."

Princess 😉

You don't sit down with him and get on the same level.

You try to.

But asking Jake Seresin to see your side is like trying to teach calculus to a brick wall.

It comes to a head in the midst of a practice run—when your yelled warnings clash with his maneuvers.

The reception on the ground is bad. You're told to get your shit together. You see a tightness in Jake, a disappointment that you've never seen in him before.

You need to blow some steam off—away from the skies. You head to the Hard Deck that evening, intent on calming the heck down.

"...Can I get that for you?"

It's such a sharp contract to the first time he saw you at the Hard Deck—a question and not a declaration, and a tentative one at that. He's offering you an olive branch.

You hesitate as you turn to look at him. He still has that same, hangdog, dejected look that he had in the briefing.

You still want to tell him to fuck off—but you nod. Jake sits beside you, waiting patiently as Penny makes her way around the bar.

"...I been, uh..."

You glance as Jake trails off, then clears his throat. You can see him fiddling with a toothpick in his hands, like the one that you so often see in his mouth.

"I've been an ass," He says firmly, turning to meet your eyes. "And I'm sorry."

The apology takes you aback; your brows raise, and your lips part just a touch.

"...I appreciate that," You offer. Jake nods, dipping his head. You hesitantly tack on, "I could've been a little nicer the first time we met."

"S'alright, princess. I'm startin' to see that you just take a little while to warm up."

His smile is back, but it's not cocky or malicious. It's teasing, and bright. It makes you smile, too.

You roll your eyes almost on instinct, turning away from Jake as you wait for your beer.

"Wanna rack 'em up, play some pool?" Jake offers as Penny sets your drinks down. "Take the edge off?"

"I think we should talk strategy for tomorrow, because we cannot have another day like today."

You think he'll push back and gripe, but he just nods and offers an, "Alright."

It's smoother sailing after that.

Not smooth, just...Smoother.

You still bicker in the cockpit, but the resolutions start to pop sooner and sooner.

Before you know it, you're sort of on the same wavelength.

You don't mind grabbing a drink with him. You even concede to a couple of games of pool. You pointedly ignore his games of shirtless football on the beach.

And his little nickname for you is far used far less derisively than before.

"I'm grabbin' a coffee. Want one, princess?"

"Good call, princess."

"Up top...C'mon, princess, don't leave me hangin'! That was damn good!"

When you're told that Seresin's WSO will be back within the week, some little part of you wilts.

You understand, of course, but you're...You're kinda going to miss the guy.

That feels like a nuts thought to have. If someone had told you a month ago that you'd miss Jake, you would've laughed in their face.

Now, you find yourself seeking out Jake—his smiles, his laughs, his teasing goading. If you took the time to read into it, you'd come to realize just how much you like the guy, you'd uncover a wealth of tender feelings that you absolutely do not have time for.

On your last night, you go out with the entire team. It's sweet of them to insist. You make easy conversation with them, tease, and laugh—

But you find yourself keeping close to Jake. You're at his side; you lean into him as he turns his head to murmur a joke in your ear; you lean in to murmur into his in turn. You revel in the feeling of his arm around the back of your chair, his fingers brushing your shoulder every few moments.

He drives you back to the barracks. The two of you take slow, ambling steps toward the entrance, chatting still. You finally stop, your hands shoved into your pockets.

Glancing at Jake is a mistake. He's watching you with a warm intensity that you've never seen from him before. Your breath catches in your throat.

"...Promise me something?" You ask.

"Sure."

"Listen to your next WSO more than you listened to me?"

Jake scoffs a laugh, rolling his eyes up toward the sky. "C'mon. We got there."

"Mmm. Took a while, though."

"I promise."

"Good."

Jake meets your eye again, and you can't help but smile at him. He takes a step closer, the tips of his shoes brushing yours. He raises his arms, leaning in just a touch. You appreciate the fact that he only goes halfway; it gives you a chance to lean away.

You don't, though. You step into him, curling your arms around his middle. Jake's hands slide gently over your back as he draws you into his chest.

Your eyes slip closed. Drawing in a deep breath, you catch the mingled scents of the night air, Jake's cologne, and his sweat. Your eyes squeeze a touch tighter as you feel his fingers curl gently in the fabric of your shirt. He turns his head a touch, brushing his lips against your temple. The press is too light to be a kiss, but it makes your heart sing all the same.

"...Take care'a yourself, princess."

"You, too, Hangman."

Princess 🥵

You don't expect to see him at the awards gala. Maybe that's on you.

For all of his chest-puffing, Hangman is a damn good pilot, so it figures that he's there.

And goddamn does he look good.

It's a little vindicating that he seems shocked to see you, too.

You have a flashback to that first night at the Hard Deck—to the way he'd sauntered up to you, and looked you up and down. But where it had incited irritation in you before, it lights a fire in your belly now.

"You clean up nicely," You offer once he's close enough.

"Was that a compliment, princess?"

It's been months since you've heard that from him.

You've had texts, the odd call, but he hasn't called you that over the phone. You've missed it.

"I think it might've been, Seresin."

"Maybe we oughta get you checked out. If you're givin' me compliments, something's gotta be wrong."

You roll your eyes. "You're going to make me regret missing you."

"You missed me?" He repeats, planting a hand on the wall beside your head and leaning in just a little. It makes your heart flutter in your chest; you force a straight face.

"Mostly the back of your helmet. I got so used to it," You bat back dryly.

Jake's smile widens. "You want a drink?"

"Sure."

He straightens up, holding the crook of his arm out and nodding toward the bar with a murmur of, "C'mon."

You hesitantly slide your arm through his, smile widening as he rests his hand atop yours.

It's too easy, sliding back into being with Jake. It's like slipping on a well-worn, well-loved jacket. The two of you just—fit. It's perplexing.

The way he watches you now is different—it’s desirous, and attentive.

It's a look that you want to curl up in, and hold to.

You take his offer of a ride back to your hotel.

You invite him up for a drink. You don't think he'll say yes.

That's probably why your hands shake as you pour him a drink from the bottle of prosecco that you ordered up to the room.

You tighten your grip slightly on both the bottle and the glass, forcing yourself to steady. Jeez, get it together.

It's just Jake.

It's just the guy you've spent the last few months thinking about, and missing terribly.

You turn, glass in hand, and find him far closer than you expected. You push a smile onto your lips, and hold the glass on.

"Thank you."

"Mhm."

The two of you clink your glasses gently before raising your glass to your lips, taking a sip. Jake's eyes hold steady on yours as he takes a sip. You don't think he's trying to stare you down, but his gaze still feels heavy, expectant.

You lower your gaze to your glass as you lower your glass.

You hear Jake set his glass down, and see him take a step closer.

"Y'alright, princess?"

"Sure. Why?"

"You're going quiet on me."

"Am I?"

Jake cups your jaw tenderly, sweeping his thumb along the side. You pull in a soft, nervous breath, unable to help it. Jake's other hand raises, gripping your glass and gently prying it from your fingers.

"Talk to me, princess," He urges softly.

"What makes you think I have something to say?"

"You always had something to say," He chuckles softly. "I don't think I've ever seen you this quiet."

You let out a nervous chuckle.

"...If you won't talk to me, look at me, huh?" He urges.

Your eyes flit to his warily. He's smiling still, with that same sweet, tender way that he's been watching you all evening.

"I missed you, too, you know?" He murmurs. "Missed havin' you in my ear."

"I'm sure you're managing fine without me."

"Doesn't mean I don't want you close."

"Can't always get what we want, Seresin."

"Sure we can."

"...Well what is it you want?" You ply.

Jake's lips quirk with that same damnable smile.

"Honestly?" He steps closer, his chest brushing yours. "I want you spread out on that bed. I want under me. I wanna eat your pretty little cunt until you're crying."

He dips his head, nose nudging yours, his breath brushing against your quivering lips.

"But I'd be happy to start with a kiss, princess."