#and more importantly WHAT HAPPENED TO PEN PEN??

[shinobi98]

After watching the rebuild movies a couple of years ago I finally gave NGE+EoE a try and like...I would have loved answers for the 100 questions that popped up honestly. The ending wasn't my cup of tea. For such a famous anime, I hoped it would be better?

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。the dictionary definition of a rich boy

synopsis. that rich guy who won’t stop asking you out is your partner for this project—send help

contents. pre dating rich boy! gojo, college! au, implications of a zenin being pushy on the first date, satoru being distraught you went on a date lol, pre relationship shenanigans with the cutest loser boy !!

word count. 3.8k (it’s literally all just him being a handful)

notes. thank you niku my most cherished gojo stan for comming this (and giving me the most ridiculous tip) i adore you so much :,) mwah 💋

he’s late—gojo is late. in fact, he’s very late, by forty-five minutes and thirty-two seconds to be exact. you aren’t really the count-by-the-second type of person, but somehow when it comes to that irritating, smug, too-talkative brat that you’re stuck with…well, you can’t help but be petty and use the seconds against him too.

he shows up close to an hour after your agreed time, waltzing in with a grin on his face—and, oh, you should kill him. he has the audacity to send you a wink when he walks over, coming up to your table and pushing his sunglasses down his nose just a bit to look you in the eyes over the lenses.��

what kind of person wears sunglasses indoors? surely only the kind that are nothing but trouble.

“aw, you’re here already,” gojo hums, “that excited to see me?”

“you’re late,” you spit.

“am i? i could have sworn—”

“now it’ll get dark by the time we get through what we planned for today,” you glare. he looks enthused, positively delighted by the statement—it’s almost as if you’ve offered him candy. 

“well, then i’ll just have to walk you to your apartment,” he offers smoothly. 

what a jackass. of course, just as expected, he’s still attempting to worm his way into your personal life (and likely your pants) in the most obnoxious of ways. over your dead body, however, will you ever allow him to know where you live, let alone accompany you on the way. you value your sanity, and having a conversation with gojo satoru longer than you absolutely have to seems like the most efficient way to fry every nerve and brain cell you have left.

“absolutely not,” you grit, “you can call me an uber. you pay.”

“alright,” he nods, “i’ll get an uber for you. but i’ll need your number to make sure you made it home safe. otherwise, what kind of partner would i be?”

typically, any normal pair of partners are meant to exchange numbers for a project—it would be the easiest form of communication, and more importantly, you can spam call if gojo decides not to carry his weight instead of just hoping and praying he checks his socials. but you can’t let him have your number—he’s not trustworthy enough for that. the last thing you need is him bombarding you with texts, or worse: calls, in the middle of work and class. so instead, you strictly inform him that any and all communication will occur via social media.

he pouts at that—it’s a cute pout, you have to admit. it’s slightly dangerous, too, because had you not had the self-control you do, you might have caved. but then he lights up at the prospect of you adding him back on socials. 

i’ll get your number one of these days, he says confidently. his confidence is as aggravating as the way he clicks his pen in the middle of class. he still chooses to sit right beside you despite all the free and very available seats the entirety of the lecture hall has. 

but no, he insists on sitting right next to you—and you? well, you have to hope you don’t get charged with homicide by the end of every class from the constant clicking he makes you endure. despite all that, gojo is surprisingly smart, which means your project might not be so doomed. 

he’s annoyingly smart, actually—he never takes notes, and just when you think the professor has him cornered by asking him a question when he’s seemingly dozing off, he answers immediately with the correct answer. 

you hate him.

“absolutely not happening,” you grumble, opening your laptop, “anyway i think we should start with—”

“well, i hate to inform you,” he sighs sadly as if it genuinely pains him to say this, “but i’ve actually deleted all my socials.”

“what?” your eye twitches.

“yeah,” he nods, “it’s a bit of a cleanse if you will. staring at your screen all day and finding value in fake posts is not good for mental health, you know? i’m trying to be more in tune with myself. it’s been a real self-journey.”

before the end of this project, you might either be a college dropout or an inmate at the county jail. you’re not sure, either is equally as possible.

“gojo satoru, i am sick of your games,” you spit, “we both know—”

“and i would hate not being in touch with my partner since it’s a crucial part of this project for us to work together,” he hums, something of a smug look plastered on his aggravatingly gorgeous face, “that thirty percent deduction for ineffective partner communication would be such a shame to get when we’re working so hard already on this, wouldn’t you agree?”

is he threatening you? for your number? with your grade? he is, you realize—and you clench your fist tightly around the phone in your hands as he eyes it with a knowing look on his face. he has you right where he wants you, whether you like it or not.

“you’re an asshole,” you spit.

“i’m a mental health advocate,” he gasps—he has the nerve to act offended, even as he’s so obviously enjoying working you up like this. you wish he’d drop dead immediately. maybe you could take his card from his wallet as his cold body lays lifeless on the table and order yourself a new laptop if he did—that would be ideal. 

“i saw you post on your story last night—”

“you didn’t watch it,” he pouts, “i posted a shirtless gym selfie just for you—wait a second, you pay attention to my story, huh?” he cuts himself off with a smirk, wiggling his eyebrows at you, “c’mon, you don’t have to force yourself to skip them. you know you wanna watch them.”

“no, i don’t,” you seethe, “it was just the first one at the top. stop being self-important—”

“anyway,” he drawls, eyeing your phone again. you want to splash your coffee in his face. “i’ll need your number,” he sniffs, “the crushing disappointment of you skipping my story made me realize i’m too focused on getting social media validation, so i’m taking a break. it’s the best thing for me to do in my headspace right now. hope you understand.”

“are you kidding me?” you stare at him. he grins before shaking his head.

“i would never joke about mental health,” he says seriously—it’s not as serious as your desire to slap him, however.

“fine,” you take a long, slow sip of your coffee to calm down, “give me your phone.”

“oh, you’re gonna set your own contact?” he brightens, immediately handing you his phone. it’s brand new—the newest model, in fact. it’s barely been a few days since it dropped. truthfully, you’re not even sure why you’re shocked—of course, he, of all people, would upgrade immediately. “how intimate,” he gushes, “it’s almost like we’re going on a date—”

“do not text me outside of project purposes,” you interrupt, thrusting the phone back into his hands, “got it?”

“you got it,” he grins triumphantly.

—————

like all things he does, gojo finds a roundabout way to keep his word without actually keeping it. it’s his secret talent, you think—finding loopholes through all the technicalities of things.

hey when ur free can u read over my portion? i just finished

btw r u going to that frat party this wknd? u don’t seem the party type haha but u should come 

i’ll introduce u to suguru! he’s my best friend he’s super nice u’ll like him

oh and when do u wanna meet this week? promise i’ll be on time this time ;)

you make sure to only respond to the questions regarding your project—just because he technically kept his word and started the conversation centered around the project before getting off topic doesn’t mean you have to indulge him. and the way he types is infuriatingly annoying—who shortens every possible word like that? only him, you think.

okay, maybe you’re just nitpicking now, but every time you see his name pop up on your screen, your mood sours tenfold. you decide to answer as dryly as possible.

k i’ll look. we meet same time as last.

the period at the end should add the perfect touch—you grin to yourself in pride at that one. instantly, bubbles pop up and indicate he’s typing again. your smile very quickly drops.

wow ur a rly dry texter aren’t u?

that’s ok i don’t judge

so how bout the party? 

i can be ur escort ;) 

it’ll be fun!

from his side of the screen, gojo watches as your contact shows notifications silenced at the bottom. he pouts to himself—no party, then, he thinks.

—————

gojo satoru, the guy who seemingly has everything he could ever want, likes you. 

frankly, he’s not really sure why—at first, he finds you mildly amusing, and he thinks it’d be fun to have a short fling with you perhaps. somewhere along the line, however, that changes. he watches you dedicatedly take notes in class, no matter how tired you seem from work the night before. he notices the way you chew on your bottom lip when you’re really focused—it’s actually very cute, he thinks. and he’s entertained by the way you always have some smart little retort waiting on your tongue. you’re not boring—and more than anything, you leave him a little humbled. it’s refreshing, and he kind of likes it, if he’s being completely honest.

he’s never liked anyone before—it’s a weird feeling. at best, he’s had a crush where he could appreciate that someone is generally pleasing to the eye and has a personality that might mesh well with his, but he’s never yearned for someone before. 

it just so happens to be his luck that the same person he wants more than anything in the entire world (for the first time ever, too) seems to hate his guts. it also happens to be that the same person he wants more than anything is currently getting asked out by some kid from the zenin family. right in front of him. and you’re saying yes. 

why on earth would you say yes to a zenin of all people? don’t you value yourself? 

gojo can admit that he’s had his fair share of heart robbing and tear inducing moments—he’s not exactly someone with the best track record for commitment, but at least he doesn’t use people for his own benefit. plus, he does, in fact, actually plan on committing to you. that zenin boy most certainly can’t be any good news if he’s anything like naoya, who gojo has met on a multitude of occasions, and knows very well is a scoundrel of a guy. 

“see you at nine?” he hears the zenin (what was his name again?) ask you. you nod, smiling sweetly. 

why don’t you smile sweetly at him like that? he buys you coffee every week. sure, he only gets to buy you the coffee because you have no choice but to meet him for the project, but he even offers to get you a slice of cake—you don’t ever accept, though, so he ends up eating both. but you do like coffee, very strong coffee that’s probably not sweet enough for his liking, but you enjoy the coffee he buys you nonetheless, and that has to count for something.

“sure, see you at nine,” you hum.

gojo watches in absolute shock (and abject horror) as you look down shyly. as soon as the zenin boy walks away, he stomps up to you.

“hey, what gives?” he asks petulantly, making your face paint on that irritated look that it always seems to adopt when he’s in the vicinity—how rude.

“what do you mean?” you ask tiredly, “i don’t speak toddler, so please use your words—”

“why’d you say yes to that zenin boy—”

“he has a name. it’s—”

“who cares what his name is? he’s an asshole! he won’t treat you right even if his mother’s life is on the line—”

“oh, and you would?” you raise an eyebrow, glaring at him. how is it his place to tell you who’d treat you right and who wouldn’t? how is it his place to even care?

“i would,” he gasps at the accusation, “you’d date a zenin but not me? how come?”

“because you’re annoying,” you counter like it’s obvious.

okay, now that is technically fair—gojo has heard his fair share of you’re annoying’s from people in his life. in fact, a good amount of them come from his own mother, but he’s also dashingly handsome, very good in bed, has soft hair, is tall and muscular, can buy you whatever you like, and can be smart and funny too if you really don’t care for those kinds of things. he’s the entire package and more. and more importantly, he’s not from the zenin family, and that automatically means you’ll actually be treated with an ounce of respect.

he looks at you incredulously, feelings a little hurt. “that’s not true! name one annoying thing i’ve done—”

“you laughed in the middle of me speaking in class.”

“that wasn’t at you! suguru showed me something funny on his phone—”

“and you took like twenty minutes in line ordering the most sweetest drink on the menu while i was running late—”

“you can’t use that against me, that’s not fair! i’m a paying customer, i should be able to get whatever i want. plus, it’s technically not my fault you were late.”

“you rubbed in the fact that you had a black card.”

“you mentioned it first!”

“you were late to our first meeting for the project.”

“okay, that was an honest mistake! people are allowed to make those, you know—”

“i don’t want to go out with you,” you say frustratedly, “and it’s really annoying when you act like a spoiled brat that can’t handle the word no and keep on insisting, okay? so leave me alone unless it’s to discuss our project—which weighs fifty-five percent of our grade, by the way, so don’t even think about getting lazy.”

he is not lazy, he wants to argue.

but before he can, you roll your eyes and take a step to walk around him, leaving him there to blink in shock. okay, he thinks with a huff, so you’re playing hard to get. that’s no matter, he’s good at the chase anyway. 

—————

the date doesn’t seem to have gone well. gojo can tell because your eyes are slightly red and puffy, and you’re extra grouchy today in class. your professor seems to have noticed, too, because instead of calling on you today, she calls on gojo extra as a rare show of mercy. 

gojo doesn’t mind—this class is surprisingly easy, and he’s bored half the time anyway. he might as well indulge the uptight professor in an ugly brown pencil skirt and answer her pretentious questions that aren’t as complex as she thinks they are. 

“so,” he finally breaks the silence, “how was your date—”

“if you’re looking for a chance to say i told you so, just get it over with, you jerk,” you grumble. he raises his eyebrows in surprise before both hands go up in surrender.

“i wasn’t,” he says genuinely, “you just…uh…you look upset, is all.”

you hesitate for a short second, gauging his sincerity for a moment before sighing and slumping on the desk, cheek resting on your arm. gojo resists the urge to poke the soft flesh—it’ll probably make you mad, and you’re already in a bad mood. 

“he was…pushy,” you say quietly, “i don’t really believe in taking things far on the first date. he didn’t like that.” instantly, his fists clench tightly, eyeing you from the side carefully, almost in concern. “nothing happened,” you wave off, “but he did make me feel disgusting,” you mutter.

“yeah, well, he is a zenin,” he points out, “they’re…well, my family’s known them for a while. my mom hates them.”

you look over at him in mild interest, raising an eyebrow. “don’t tell me there’s drama in the rich community,” you gasp, “i thought you all just came as one to sip fancy wine and laugh at the poor together.”

he snorts, throwing you a toothy grin that you think for a moment is kind of cute—but that doesn’t mean he’s any different from the rest of the rich folks. someone of gojo satoru’s caliber has no business mixing with someone of yours—it’s common knowledge. gojo has everything he wants, and if he doesn’t, it’s a simple matter of asking before it’s his. there’s simply no way you can mold into his world to be what he needs you to be, and when the time inevitably comes when he realizes you’re not what he wants, well…you’d like to save yourself the wounded pride and crushed soul while you can. 

“sometimes we have fancy appetizers too with the wine,” he jokes, “don’t forget those.”

“oh, my apologies,” you chuckle. gojo likes it when you laugh, he decides. it looks much better than when you’re glum—he thinks seeing your lips quirked in anything other than a smile is a waste of your perfect features, and he can’t have that.

“my mom married my old man in this stupid arranged marriage or something,” he explains casually, like it’s just the norm. you suppose it is—for the rich, at least. you wonder briefly if gojo will have a marriage planned for his future, too, and you wonder if he’s okay with that. surely it’ll be some wealthy and fancy socialite of a girl that fits his family’s standards. someone who’s not you—not that you care anyway, you wouldn’t marry him regardless. “my grandma wanted her to marry the zenin, but she said no. said he treated her like a piece of meat every time they met, so she settled for my dad instead. lucky her, 'cause now i’m her son,” he beams. 

settled—something about the way he says it makes you think his parents must not really care for each other as a husband and wife should. it makes you think briefly about what his childhood might’ve been like, not watching his parents happy and in love the way they should be. but still, the way gojo talks about his mother is fond, with a gentle smile on his face as he recalls the things she’s told him. you can’t help but smile a little too.

“i think that makes you the lucky one,” you snort, “you’d still be her son. just that you’d be a zenin.”

he crinkles his nose at the thought, dramatically shivering and making you giggle. “gross,” he gags.

“well, now you have her to thank,” you hum, “your dad would’ve been…whoever the zenin she was supposed to marry is.”

“yeah, well, trust me,” he mumbles, his smile dropping ever so slightly, “my old man’s not that big of an upgrade from a zenin. even my grandfather’s sick of him. imagine being such a douche, your own dad can’t stand you.”

you’re learning more about gojo in one sitting than you ever imagined (or planned) to learn—part of that is because he seems like he’s the type to overshare on the first meet; the other part…well, you have to be honest with yourself, it’s not exactly a bad pastime hearing him talk about himself. gojo is an odd piece of work, and you can’t say you hate learning about the little pieces that come together to make him so weird. 

okay, perhaps weird is a bit rude, you think—he’s…unique.

“oh, so you’re the dictionary definition of a rich boy, huh?” you hum, resting your cheek on your hand as you sit up and face him—gojo, for a quick moment, feels his heart stutter when you talk to him like that: with your undivided attention like he’s the only one in the room. 

“what makes you say that?”

“daddy issues is like…the first thing in the rich boy starter pack.”

he laughs at that, smooth and almost sweet—it’s a dangerous thing. it’s easy to attract you to him, like a bee to honey, with the way his lips curl like that, showing off his dimples. but the bees can easily turn into maggots—and you don’t want to find yourself as a dead carcass by the end of this.

“i don’t have daddy issues,” he says smoothly, “that old man should sleep with both eyes open. if anything, he has son issues.”

“you’re hands down the oddest person i have ever met,” you mumble.

“what was that? did you say hottest? yeah, i know—”

“shut up, jackass,” you scowl, shoving his shoulder when he leans closer with a bat of his lashes. he laughs, and so do you—and just for one, quick, momentary instance, gojo satoru is not so bad. dangerous and a bad choice maybe, a setup for a big mistake perhaps, something you should stay away from, in fact. 

but not so bad. 

“how about i show you what it’s like to go on a date with a gojo,” he grins, winking easily. he’s persistent—very persistent, you note. “you might like it a lot more than a zenin.”

“no, thank you,” you hold a hand up, “never going to happen.”

“never say never,” he hums, “you might eat your words.”

—————

“hey, satoru?”

“that’s not my name.”

“that actually is your name,” you say tiredly.

“hmph,” satoru rolls over, dramatically tugging the blankets over his body as he shuffles away from you, “not to you, it’s not.” 

you sigh, pursing your lips at his antics. “oh my god. okay—hey, toru?” you correct yourself. and just like that, he turns back around, grinning brightly as he inches closer until his head is resting on your chest.

“yes, baby?” he says sweetly, earning a roll of your eyes as your fingers weave into his hair. it’s soft—you don’t think you ever want to let go.

“it’s way better dating a gojo, by the way,” you murmur, “than a zenin.”

“oh yeah?” he grins smugly, arm draping over your body as he kisses your jaw, “i told you it would be, didn’t i?”

“i haven’t dated other rich families to compare, though,” you tease, “you might get replaced.”

“unlikely,” he chuckles, “no one,” there’s a kiss to your jaw, “will love you,” another kiss to your cheek, “like me.”

finally, there’s a slow, soft kiss to your lips—and when he kisses you like that, you have no choice but to believe him.

satoru sooooo sends multiple texts back to back he just like me for real

[cinematicreid]

for a moment

the one where Spencer reminds reader to slow down.

wc 651

warnings + the rundown: bau!reader, fluff, soft!spencer, i love him, literally can’t live without him, what a sweetheart, mentions of reader getting shot, but nothing explicit, feelings!, yikes!

a/n: can’t beat short and sweet and cutesy. feedback always welcome, come say hi to me i think you’re all so cool!

~

Spencer’s eyes may as well have laser beams shooting out of them with the way his gaze is glued to you. You attempt to focus on the task at hand, securing the Kevlar vest to the upper half of your body and completely ignoring him. But this has been happening for almost two months, ever since your incident, and you can’t take it anymore.

“Give it a rest, Spencer, you’re driving me crazy.”

“I know! I’m sorry, just — will you please let me —”

You let out a huff of exasperation, giving up.

“For fuck’s sake,” you mumble, and then more loudly, “Fine.”

Your hands fall to your sides in surrender as he quickly moves toward you and reaches for the vest’s fasteners.

A child. He’s making you feel like a child.

You hear Morgan chuckle from the other end of the police precinct’s tiny conference room, as if he can read your thoughts. You’re about to shoot him a death glare when you’re interrupted by Spencer sharply tugging a strap too tight.

“Reid,” you hiss.

“Don’t start,” he interjects over your complaint.

The incident in question was, of course, an accident. It wasn’t like you had intentionally put your vest on in a rush. There just hadn’t been enough time (which was not a proper excuse, as Hotch had gently but firmly reminded you later), and the loosened straps meant the vest moved around more than it should have when you were running, and the UnSub’s bullet found your side all too easy to graze.

It was stupid, really, but it was one time and nearly two months ago.

None of this was enough to ease the seemingly permanent furrow in Spencer’s brow.

It started as small, albeit irritating, reminders to double-check your vest, which you initially laughed off. But it had now escalated to taking the task entirely off your hands.

Spencer finishes with a final tug.

“Happy?” you ask him flatly. He lifts his concentrated gaze to meet your annoyed one.

“I could do without the sass. But yes,” he says, his shoulders visibly lighter and more content.

“It’s like watching a dad get his daughter ready for Take Your Kid To Work Day,” Morgan teases, rushing out of the room before you can hit him with the closest object at your disposal and leaving just you and Spencer. He rolls his eyes at the poor joke and gently takes said object from your hand.

“I don’t think a pen is going to do much damage,” he says. He loosens a sigh. “I’m sorry.”

You regard him for a few seconds, a small part of you melting at the undeniable softness in his eyes, which are so vast and deep you could stay there forever.

You get it.

It’s the thing about this job. How it forces an eternity to become temporary. How, in 20 minutes, you’ll be hunting down the bad guy but for now, what can feel like forever if you wanted, you’re only here with Spencer.

It’s all fleeting. Your little “incident” had only served as a reminder of that.

And so, Spencer had to take care of you in this way. You both knew that.

“You don’t need to be,” you offer him. He avoids your gaze and you nudge his shoulder with your hand. “Spencer, I’m here, yeah?” That earns you a gentle nudge back and the hint of a smile.

“I know. I’m here, too.”

And here is everywhere and nowhere and, perhaps most importantly, together. A beat, or maybe a forever passes before he speaks again.

“If this were Take Your Kid To Work Day I’d be the worst father in the world.”

Just like that, he’s back and you’re back with him.

Fleeting.

“I am so getting him back for that,” you mumble, making your way to the door. Spencer’s laugh as he follows behind you is all you can hear.

[icarryitin]

Episode 11: Effortless

spencer reid/gn!reader

coming into this from a fandom where my last fic got literally 11 notes (half of which were my own self-rbs) the reception for workplace hot was heartwarming, pls accept more pre-relationship work crush goodness as thanks🧡🧡

series masterlist

word count: 1.6k// warnings: absolutely hopeless pining, this man is so so clever but so so oblivious

summary: Taking care of you just comes naturally to him.

“Chicken.”

“Did you know, the origin of ‘chicken’ in reference to someone who’s afraid can be traced back to the use of ‘hen-heart’ as a synonym for ‘fainthearted’? Its first documented use was in the York Mystery Plays - which are considered to have been written prior to 1450.”

“Chicken.” Morgan repeats.

“Shut up.”

While his second response is decidedly less eloquent, Spencer’s pretty sure he can’t fact-dump his way out of this particular conversation.

It’s not exactly a secret - his giant, all consuming, world ending crush on you - at least, it’s not a secret from anyone except you. He’s past being embarrassed about it when one of the others brings it up, as long as it’s not around you. That’s happened exactly once, and Spencer’s automatic response was to chatter about the migration patterns of a specific type of bird he’d read an article about the day before. Ceaselessly. No matter how much everyone else had begged him to stop, until the previous subject was well and truly forgotten. So when you’d asked a leading question about another kind of bird? He was more than happy to oblige. You’ve always done that, listened to him. It’s nice.

It’s probably what got him in this mess in the first place.

Somewhere along the way, a routine developed itself. He remembers the first day you asked him to elaborate on something he’d started on earlier in the day, trivia about the fluctuations in the popularity of a specific make of car. It had ended up being useful in the context of the case anyway but, more importantly to Spencer, the tidbit had you cornering him in the kitchen to ask him about it. And now it’s just what happens. You potter around to make your lunch, he chatters about the most recent paper he’s read like your own personal podcast.

It’s a comfortable friendship, solidified by little things like that. Though they’re not all that little to him, if anything they’ve only deepened his feelings for you - he doesn’t let on, for your sake, he tries not to.

But his affection sneaks out in other ways.

He gravitates towards you without realising it, just to exist in your space. At the round table, on the jet, at crime scenes, in whichever office the local PD have cleared out for the team. He’s never hovering, but he’s not not hovering. Just working parallel to you. It’s why he likes the bullpen, for all its hustle and bustle, because he can look at you out of the corner of his eye whenever he wants to. He can spin his chair to face you, stretch his legs out across the aisle, and let a wave of sheer steadiness wash over him. Sometimes it’s you, reaching over to hand him something or abandoning your post completely to perch on the corner of his desk. Spencer thinks that’s what it might be, the peace you seem to exude that quiets his busy mind - the kindness you extend to victims and their families that flows through your very veins. It follows you like an aura, there’s very little he won’t do to be bathed in it whenever he can. It’s all led to a unique dynamic that means you’re paired up together more often than not.

You move around each other unconsciously now, leaning over maps and files and evidence. Swapping pens and ducking under one another’s arms as you both scribble away at the board. It’s almost choreographed, natural. Everything is with you, and that’s what gets him. There’s a part of Spencer Reid’s brain that is dedicated to considering his actions in relation to the people around him, running in the background like a computer programme, but he doesn’t have to run it around you. He doesn’t think, for once. He just does.

It’s effortless, second nature, to make space for you. The same as it is to leave a seat open for you, even if it’s the only one. To nudge you gently when you’re too far in your own head to realise you’re picking at your skin. You’ve started nudging him back in recent weeks when he does the same, chewing on the inside of his lips and paying absolutely no mind to the damage he’s doing. You notice, you care enough to stop him. Just like you’ll leave an empty space on the nearest desk for him to hop up on. He’s not sure if you realise you’re even doing it. Clearing perfect Spencer-sized spots at every precinct and office you’re set up in, because you know he prefers it to the chairs. Which makes his own actions feel a little less overt and, in turn, lets him breathe a sigh of relief. Maybe this is just what good friends do for each other. He can call you that, at least, if his own fears won’t afford him the chance to call you anything else.

Though, he’s not sure he could stop himself from taking care of you in his own way if he tried. Mostly because he’s not trying in the first place.

He didn’t even realise what he was doing, the first time he turned to you to double check your protective vest was secure. Narrow fingers tugging on straps, barely even processing the inviting warmth of you underneath them, he’d been too focused on making sure you were as protected as you could be. And then he’d walked into the Unsub’s home ahead of you anyway.

Spencer never walks ahead of you, anywhere. He’s always ushering you in first, something drilled into him by some unknown force, his basest of instincts - you’re ahead of him into the office, into precincts, into crime scenes, even into the elevator. But in a hostile situation? He’s first through the door every time.

So much so that it’s routine now, wherever the case, whoever is around. He grasps the shoulders of the thick vest and wiggles it, he rips the velcro straps off at your waist only to secure them again. A little tighter, and he’s quietly grateful that you let him. The heat of you at his back is reassuring when scenes aren’t secure. To know that, based on his experience anyway, the Unsub will more than likely jump out ahead of him - and he’ll be the one between you and the bullet. Which is maybe a little dramatic, but it’s the truth.

“Ready, boys?”

Doctor Spencer Reid has never claimed to believe in any god, but he makes sure to thank something for the interruption. Anything to get himself and his giant crush out from under Derek Morgan’s microscope.

It’s Emily who speaks, Emily who tosses protective vests at him and Derek, but Spencer’s eyes are focused on you entering the office behind her. You’re concentrating on your own vest, securing straps that’ll only be repositioned in a minute or two. But you still do it yourself each time, as if you’re not expecting him to come over and double check your work. There’s no way you haven’t noticed by now. That he’ll do it every time, that he doesn’t do it for anybody else, that he spends twice as long checking on your vest than he does securing his own. FBI emblem emblazoned on his chest, Spencer crosses the room dutifully to conduct his little ritual.

Velcro isn’t quiet. It pierces through the background noise when he undoes the buckle at your side and tears it free, but his eyes don’t move from the task at hand. Yours are heavy on his face, the way they always are when he gets this close. He pretends not to notice.

“Thank you.” You whisper softly. So softly that between the chatter and gun checking behind him, only the two of you can hear.

It’s only now, now he’s certain your vest is snug as possible, that he allows his careful gaze flicker to meet yours. He struggles not to take a step back with the force of it.

“Of course.” He replies, reluctantly pulling his cold fingers out from the warmth beneath the shoulders of your vest. His smile, small, self-conscious, is returned tenfold and beaming. The same way it always is. He doesn’t know how you do it - see the things you see every day and still manage a grin wider than the Río de la Plata. Maybe he can’t explain everything.

He catches a movement over your shoulder, it’s Morgan. Arms folded at the elbow, fists tucked close to his chest, as he makes the exaggerated movements of a chicken. Head bobbing and all. The teasing support, because that’s all it is, is nice to have - but there’s not one member of the team who understands exactly why he’s so afraid to say anything to you. In an ideal world, he wouldn’t be. He’d be able to pull you aside and tell you exactly how many days it’s been since he’d met you, started crushing on you, fallen absolutely hopelessly in love. It kind of all started at once, if he’s being completely honest. And in that ideal world, you would smile that billion kilowatt smile and tell him you love him too, and even the paperwork from the bureau wouldn’t matter. This isn’t an ideal world, however. He knows that better than most.

Spencer’s been rejected before, more than even he would care to admit, by friends and lovers and parents and colleagues and strangers. But he’s not sure he could take it from you, not while you hold his heart so tenderly in your hands. Even unaware of the responsibility, you’re gentle with him.

He’ll keep you close, regardless, as much as he can without arousing your suspicion. He’ll keep making space for you and double checking your vest until every ugly confession claws its way out of him.

That’s enough, for now.

if you’ve made it this far, pls know i am kissing u gently on the forehead🧡🧡

i’m also thinking about opening requests for all things pre-relationship spencer bc mutual pining and obliviousness is my fav fav fav thing, in case anyone was interested👀

[b14augrana]

Nenita

You plan a surprise for Irene’s birthday

Irene Paredes x teen!reader

Part of the Scrubber universe

masterlist

Warnings: pure fluff, no warnings needed!

A/N: in honour of irene’s birthday, i decided to write a little fic. there will be a new section in the scrubber masterlist for all the blurbs about cute moments with scrubber and the girls! i hope you enjoy 🫶🏼

Your calendar was very significant. You marked off your birthday, upcoming matches, Christmas, but most importantly… all your big sisters’ birthdays. Each of their birthdays were marked on your calendar in pink glittery gel pen.

You were giddy the night before their birthdays, probably even more excited than they were. Tonight, it was Irene’s big day that you were looking forward to as you laid on your bed stomach-first, filling in a card you made yourself.

Birthdays were a big deal for you because it was probably the most appropriate time to tell someone just how much you loved them.

Your captain was a very special woman. She was your second mother, mentor, and friend, all in one. Everyone needed an Irene in their life, but unfortunately there was just one, and not-so-unfortunately, she ended up with you and your team.

Those were the words you wrote on her card before sealing it in the envelope. With a smile, you placed it on top of the neatly wrapped gift stashed in your closet… that was piled on top of what looked like a dozen more.

The morning of the 4th of July, you were up before Irene. Carefully and quietly, without hitting the walls with your tower of gifts, you walked out of your bedroom with them and placed them on the coffee table. You placed your card in front of them and scrambled to the fridge to pull out the cake you made for her.

You weren’t a professional baker, but you knew how to make simple things like a cake. Irene loved red velvet cake, so when you stacked it all together with a homemade cream cheese frosting you had worked all week on (almost) perfecting, the end product was a birthday cake. You decorated it with the help of Fridolina, using sprinkles and cake toppers she had chosen, then two big ‘3’ candles right in the middle.

You were proud of your cake, even if it wasn’t the best. You figured that it would be nice to test out your baking skills instead of buying a red velvet cake that already cost you an arm and a leg without extra decorations.

Your culinary creations didn’t stop there. Next on the menu was french toast that you dusted with powdered sugar, drizzled with maple syrup, and garnished with strawberries and blueberries. It made you feel like a proper chef, and once you finished constructing your meal, you looked at it in pride. It almost looked good enough to go in your stomach.

“Irene,” you whispered, nudging her bedroom door open as you carried her breakfast and a cup of coffee into her room, on a tray. Your grin was hardly containable.

She rolled over, looking at you through squinted eyes. Her expression brightened and her eyes widened when she realised what was happening, and she sat up while a smile flashed across her face.

“Meu nenita, moltes gràcies,” she replied, her smile widening as you placed the tray on her lap and put the coffee on her bedside table.

“After you eat, come to the living room. I have to give you something!” you chimed, skipping out of the room and leaving the woman to eat her food.

When she emerged out of her room, you were standing in front of your gift tower with your arms behind your back and a beaming smile on your face. You moved to the side, gesturing to your gifts. “Surprise! Feliz cumple, hermana!”

Irene gasped quietly, placing a hand on her chest as she looked at you in surprise. Before even paying another thought to her gifts, she pulled you into a tight hug, squeezing you gently. “Nenita, you didn’t have to. How did you get all of this– no, how did you hide all of this?”

“I can’t tell you that,” you responded, “I’ll have to do it again next year. Open the card!”

You picked up the envelope and handed it to her, almost bouncing off the walls in excitement. She tore it open carefully and pulled out the card, taking a minute to read it before lowering it and looking at you with glossy eyes.

‘Dear Irene,

From the very first day I played with you in Barça, I’ve seen you as a second mother to me, away from my home. Not only do you take care of me and let me live under your roof, but you inspire me and teach me to be better than what I am capable of, on and off the pitch. I am lucky to spend my days with you; a beautiful, loving, and talented person. Being under your guidance and having you by my side during every game has made me the player I am today and I will always be grateful for having you in my life now, and hopefully forever.

Feliz cumpleaños, hermana! T'estimo per sempre.’

You were the one to initiate the hug as you wrapped your arms around her. She was quick to react and do the same, embracing you affectionately. “T’estimo, meu hermanita,” she mumbled.

Once you had pulled away, your grin hadn’t faltered one bit. “When all of the girls get here, we can have cake!”

“What do you mean, all of the girls?” Irene questioned, raising an eyebrow.

“Y’know, all the girls. Alexia, Mapi, Frido, Ingrid– who else.. oh, Caro, Marta, Aitana, Lucy and Ona,” you answered, “Now go on, go get ready. The icing is going to start melting!”

[y2katsuki]

german professor!koing x student!reader

word count - 1.3k

i like to think konig being that hot middle age professor who dresses like a hot history professor. also yall this is my first time actually writing smut, so like...don't come for me on how bad it is, i'm trying to get better lmao.

cw: straight up porn lmao, female reader, p in v sex, slight breeding and corruption

you are in the middle of the lecture room, chewing the tip of your pen as you watched your german professor looking down at his notes before continuing with the presentation. you would be lying to yourself if you didn't find him attractive. he was clumsy, cheesy, laid back, and more importantly hot.

as he wrapped up class, he looked out into the room of students, making sure no one had any questions before dismissing the class a bit early, on this nice friday afternoon. his eyes stopped on yours for a second before you shoot him a pretty smile.

you made sure to pack slowly, as the lecture room emptied out, leaving you alone with him. as you come closer to the desk, you can see him give you a kind smile.

"ah y/n, your last paper was good. your german is getting better." he said warmly.

"thank you professor konig. it helps to have an amazing professor." you gave him a sly smile as you looked at him.

"vielen dank für ihre freundlichen worte. i try my best." he felt his face flush slightly.

unknowing to you, he has also had his eyes on you. he found you attractive and a sweetheart. he knows he shouldn't fantasize about a kind student in his class, but he can't help but fisting himself after work to the imagination of your fucked out face, covered in his cum.

the silence was thick, and so was the tension. before you can even process what happens, konig lips on yours. your bag falls as you grip his arms as you kiss him back. his hands pull at the hem of your shirt as he pulls it up, right above your breast. he picks you up placing you on the desk. your legs wrap around his waist bringing him closer to you, as both of your tongues fight for dominance.

"i've had my eyes on you since the first day of class." he mumbles against your lips. hearing this instantly turned you on, you can feel your panties getting wet.

"me too." you softly said as his lips trail down to your neck, collarbone, and stopping right before your bra. his fingers pull down your bra, as he held the soft flesh in his hand before attaching his mouth on to your hard nipples. you throw your head back at the sensation of his wet tongue on your breast.

you can feel his bulge grinding into your inner thigh. you leaned up, your fingers tugging at his waistband. before you can reach the zipper of his pants he pushes you back gently, your back hitting the desk.

"geduld, liebling." he groans in your ear. you hear your blood soaring in your ears, getting more turned on by him speaking german. before you can say anything, he pulls down your bottoms, looking at the wet spot on your panties. "your so wet, sweetheart." he chuckles before connecting his hot mouth to your clothed cunt.

"oh fuck..." you moaned, your eyes looking at the empty lecture room upside down. you can feel your panties getting wetter due to the mixture of your sweet juices and his wet tongue.

he gently moves your panties to the side, finally connecting his mouth to your bare cunt. you moan loudly, at the sensation. he continues to explore your folds as he slowly teases his fingers at your entrance. he moans as he laps up all of your juices, making sure he savors it all.

as you whimper and moan under him, your thighs are squeezing his head, but he doesn't mind. he slowly teases his fingers, inching their way into your soft and velvety walls. now you were squirming under him, as his fingers pump in and out of your and his mouth sucked on your sensitive bud.

"o-oh fuck..." my fingers tugged at his hair. "i'm about to c-cum..." your breathing became more ragged, as your chest was heavy. "w-wait p-pleas-" you can't finish your sentence as konig sped up his fingers, driving you to the edge.

"f-fuck" you dragged out your moan, as your body trembled. konig hums, sending shivers up your body, helping you ride out your orgasm. your breathing is heavy as you looked up at him, watching him lick your slick off his fingers while holding eye contact with you your face flush as you watched him.

"mmm...you taste good, meine liebe." he said in a husky voice, as he licked his lips. "i think you are wet enough." he mumbles as he frees his cock. you can't help but be amazed at the sheer size of it. he hooks his arms around your thighs bringing you closer to the edge of the desk. he aligns the tip to your entrances, leaning close enough to you that both of your noses met.

"be a good girl and take it." he smirked before crashing his lips onto yours and slamming his hips into yours. you moan against his lips, feeling your cunt stretching, feeling him bottom out inside you.

he gives you a second to adjust to his size, before slightly beginning to grind his hips against yours. you can feel your soft and velvety walls clench, making him groan in the process. your arms wrapped around his neck, as your nails dug into his shoulder blades.

"i-i feel so...full..." you whined as he picked up his pace, slamming his hips into yours at a steady pace. "ja? nun gut, ich werde dich bald ausstopfen, liebling." he whispered in your ear, making you shiver.

the room was completely silent, aside from the sound of skin smacking, the heavy breathing, and the sound of your slick. it was filthy, a professor corrupting his student, but this wasn't about grades or lectures. this was about how much you wanted him and how much he wanted you.

"scheiße, bist du dicht." he groans, as his hips picked up his pace, as you moan breathlessly under him.

his cock relentlessly hitting your cervix, as you slowly became a babbling mess under him. you can feel the ecstasy building up inside you again, as your hands gripped his.

"pl-please professor..." his pace was also getting sloppier. "i'm go-nna cum..." i moaned, as I could hear him groan as well, knowing he was going to cum as well.

"ich auch liebe." his hand moved from your thighs to your waist, now relentlessly slamming into you harder as he chased his high. you were sure your inner things would be bruised by how hard he was slamming into you, but that didn't matter right now.

"shit..." you barely croaked out gripping his hand as your body started trembling, as you cum on his cock. his pace was not staggering, feeling your walls clenched higher than before as you came.

"gutes mädchen." he groans, as he feels his climax coming. he was already corrupting you, so what better way to end it than by stuffing your puffy cunt with his cum. his hand gripped your waist even harder, leaving bruises, as he slams his cock in one last time before releasing his hot and sticky seed in you.

he slams his lips on yours, as he continues to fill you up, and you can't do anything about it because his hips are locked into yours. he gently slides his soft cock out of your hole, and you can feel his cum leak out. you whimpered due to being sensitive, before pulling away from his lips.

"just so you know y/n, this isn't going to reflect how i grade your assignments." he smirks.

"don't worry professor konig, if anything this just gives me the motivation to do better."

"good." he places a tiny peck on your lips, before pulling your panties over your abused cunt that was filled with his seed, before helping you get dressed. he fixes himself before giving his hand to help you stand up from the desk. your knees weak and your cunt was sore.

"we should do this again, professor. wouldn't want to lose motivation to do well in this class." i teased him.

he chuckles before getting you a pat on your ass. he couldn't help his cock getting hard again by watching you stumbling out of the class.

this was definitely not the last time.

[impyssadobsessions]

DPxDC idea/prompt Pen Pals

(Probably more idea but you can run with the concept... im so srry XD) Basically Danny and Damian are pen pals- until Damian receives a letter with Lazarus Water and Blood smeared on the page.

WHAT IF Danny and Damian were pen pals before Danny's accident. A school project for 8th grade. Damian was reluctant to participate but due to it being a grade and being pestered by his siblings that he would just scare the kid off anyways, he deciding to partake in this pen pal. Danny whose not suffering at school, just living a normal life at the moment, is being teased by Dash saying his pen pal could smell loser before even opening the letter. Asking Danny if his parents even let him open the letter or blast it thinking its a ghost. Which makes Danny who wasn't into this idea of writing a stranger more determined to do it. Besides they might only get one letter and teachers drop the subject. They might not even get it. So what the heck. Turns out they become the only ones that constantly wrote each other- even mailing it in person once the school ended the program. (Damian having a post box set up for letters)

At first it was awkward. Danny commented/asking if Damian really was their age or some teacher pretending to write back instead of sending out the letters. If so. He sucks at it because what kid writes perfectly grammar letters and big words to convey something is cool. Guess its better than pretending he knows slang. Damian furious writes back, offended! Also asks if he isn't younger, because everyone with basic english should know to capitalize their letters! This goes back and fourth. Danny writing back every chance he got, and Damian doing the same, even being told not to at the dinner table. It goes from offended at each other to being curious. Danny asking Damian more advice on english because it isn't his favorite subject. Damian asking more about how to sound like his age. Then it devolves to animals. Danny wishing he had one, but his parents didn't want one getting into the lab. Damian happily sending picture of his animals. Danny talking more about the stars.. etc. Until Accident happens- Danny starts having trouble writing the letters. His pen with phase through his hand and replies between them got longer. Danny justifying this by saying he's having trouble with schooling this year. Damian also been unable to send as many replies because he's been busy with teen titans and other heroics. Though he's encouraging Danny saying Danny is far smarter than that school even is aware of. Until one day, after months of not being able to reply. He finds Damian's letter again. It makes him feel better. Even if Damian didn't know him... this person still believes in Danny... Though Danny feels guilty about it- it compels him to write him again. He was about to finish the letter when he gets blasted by a ghost. He returns from the fight, beaten and bloody. He picks up the letter and sighs at the green stain left on it. Folding it up he stuffs it into his bag. Next day after hurrying off to school, his mother finds the letter after it had fallen on the floor. She read a little bit of it and immediately recognize it was to Danny's penpal. She takes the opportunity to try her knew anti-ecto spray and mails it for Danny. "Boy just like his father. So messy. I'll have to give him a lecture about ecto-contamination again." Damian just returned from a mission from Teen Titans, been gone for three months. Alfred informs Damian he had received a letter from his anonymous pen pal in his absence. Damian had almost forgotten about the pen pal- thinking his pal just didn't want to answer anymore. So eagerly he goes to his room to open the letter, but immediately blood drain from his face as his eyes zoomed back the feathery ink to the green blotch of lazurus water.. having almost evaporated.. leaving a water stain that glowed... and more importantly.. the human specks of blood that was revealed with the driest parts of the stain. Damian immediately rushes to the cave.. only to find out his paranoia was right.... and was it his fault his friend was harmed? Also the idea of Damian talking to Phantom in his robin suit. Asking how Daniel Fenton was.. and Phantom surprised and slips out a "Alive as much as he's dead." Damian glaring and Phantom corrects, "He's fine. He has parents that are ghost hunters is all." Stressing his situation complicated. Phantom just so shocked his pen pal is a hero- annnnd also cursing his mom for sending a letter like that. HE KNEW IT WOULD SEND IMPLICATIONS!

but idk if I figured out a good way for Damian to see the smeared letter. I just think it be fun. Also Damian thinking he's to blame for league going after the fentons when he wasn't. At least not as early as he thought. He's very focused on saving/protecting Danny Fenton.. which makes Phantom's job harder.

[extrajigs]

Wanted to figure out how chimera’s wrote and ended up starting on their written language proper. MASSIVE info dump below! 

Writing

They write using four fingers of one hand, usually the right, coated in ink. Think like a stamp almost. The three middle fingers draw with the tips of the teeth whilst the thumb will alternate between tip and back. All words are written simultaneously inward. The remaining fingers grip the source of ink, usually a length of hardened pigment only wetted on one side OR those who write often could invest in a pen. A pen for a chimera is a fanning brush saturated with ink that the writing teeth brush through when needing to reink. It allows for much faster wetting of the teeth, but can be messy when learning or refilling. 

Most chimera are right handed but left handed individuals exist, they will simply need to learn to use the two fingers opposite the middle in reverse of how someone who is right handed would! Luckily all fingers can move pretty independently of each other and it is an easy task.  As chimera mostly communicate through direct broadcast most find the written word lacking, so it is a common occupation among Chimera to write for others. It is an impressive skill to eloquently convey ideas/feelings through writing. Though their language set up lends to it MUCH more than others. 

The Nitty Gritty

All subject to change as this is very first drafty. 

Chimeric is a logographic language, there is no set alphabet and all ‘words’ stem from symbols representing things and ideas. Sentences are kind of two sentences atop one another, with one being the literal and the other the reactionary. It is read from out to in and sentences are written in a circle divided into 4 quarters. We’ll start with the top moving counter clockwise. 

Quarter 1 (Red) is the subject area, now subjects function the same as nouns for the most part, people, places, and things. But something important to note is that there must always be an ‘audience’ for the words being spoken. An audience basically means pronouns though they are a lot more encompassing with: I, You, Us, Them, Them excluding me/you, Us excluding you, Everyone, and a bunch of others. These are all acceptable audience subjects to top off your sentence. For instance you wouldn’t say “This pizza tastes good!” you would instead say “I enjoy the taste of this pizza” or “Everyone enjoys the taste of this pizza” the opinion/emotion needs to be applied to a source to make sense grammatically. 

Quarter 2 (Green) is all about emotions and opinions. Chimeric language is an exchange of ideas but also importantly emotions and feelings. Q2 is dedicated to how the sentence is supposed to be interpreted or felt by the reader, as obviously in ‘spoken’ chimeric speaker and listener technically feel the same about what is currently being said. Listener opinion is very distinct from speaker and in writing the speaker takes priority. So for example the statement “Who finished the box but left it in the pantry?” would instead have to be translated into something akin to “I am pissed and questioning who had the audacity to finish the box and did not care enough to remove it from the pantry thus leaving me to find it and become disappointed?” Basically chimeric lends itself to very long translations due to their feelings.  

Quarter 3 (Blue) is the action section of the sentence. The verbs if you will. This is where things are happening and is VERY tied in with Q1. Subjects in Q1 and Q2 will be linked together with lines that follow the same slice through the circle.

When a subject is linked to an action that means that the subject is the one performing the action, whereas subjects closer to the center and unaligned with an action are what is being acted upon. Like with the audience conundrum though an action needs a subject to actually act, whether it is an individual/s or an object or place. This is usually the least word heavy portion of the sentence as it is almost supplemental to Q1, and in contrast to the thin, crisp lines of the other quarters, Q3 will often be smudgey and more messy due to being written mostly with the back of the thumb. 

Quarter 4 (Yellow) is generally not going to have any words written there, as it functions as the anchor point for the hand. The outmost finger rests here on the page to stabilize the hand as it closes during writing. When writing in a ream of papers this is where the hole to hold them all together is punched through. However in modern fanciful writing styles Q4 is also used as a secondary emotional quarter. This style will use Q4 as the reactionary emotion of the reader, more so the expected reaction and emotion from the reader. This is an EXTREMELY class based writing style and it is a GIANT NO NO to write like this for someone of higher status to read. Typically only Clan heads will freely use this writing style, especially towards each other lmao. The writing style of the passive aggressive power struggle. 

All together Quarters are read at once! And I mean that there is no one word the chimera will start with. Every word of the sentence is absorbed at the same time, no following along a line like how I’m currently typing. But what indicates the order of which things are meant to be perceived is how close they are to the outside of the circle. Things closer to the center come later in the sentence and will be understood to be lower in the hierarchy of words. However only subjects and actions are directly linked to each other, emotion/opinion words are to have a more natural seep throughout the entirety of the sentence with only a loose idea of where they are to be felt. In this way while a subjects actions may be concrete, the writers feelings about them are more fluid and organic. 

Chimeric conlang yay! I wanted to make modern Mirum script but decided I needed to start at the roots. So technically two written languages originate from Mirum, but they are extremely similar with one directly branching from the other. Chimeric is the original and Miran is the derivative, they mostly share characters but their sentence structure is different. Chimeric keeps the circular structure whereas Miran is a zigzagging horizontal and completely drops quarters 2 and 4. Leading to modern Miran being a very literal language vs Chimeric’s emotion heavy focus. But if you know one you can pretty much read the other, albeit with some culture shock. 

[lottins-only]

THE ALCHEMY | PART II

pairing: kylian mbappe x fem!reader

word count: 3.9k

warnings: swearing, mentions of mental illness

A/N: thank you to those who read the first part. let me know what you think of this one <333

summary: working at real madrid is a dream come true— until kylian mbappe, football's biggest star and the last person you ever want to see, joins the club. as tensions rise between you two and the lines between frustration and fascination blur, you wonder: can you truly resist the man you've sworn to hate?

PART ONE

mallorca is a great place to let loose, have fun, bask in the sun. mallorca is not a great place to be stuck in a meeting with your ex-one night stand and his lawyers, discussing the nitty gritty of his salary and bonuses.

It’s little over a month after kylian’s presentation, and only a couple days after the men’s first team won the super cup in warsaw. you and a handful of others from the finance team flew out to mallorca for the match, and most importantly, for the post-game meeting with the club's leadership. that in itself lasted two hours and was draining, but last minute, you got dragged into this impromtu session with kylian and his lawyers. you don't even know why, to be honest. you're not familiar with the finer points of his deal, since that was your boss' responsibility.

anyways, here you are in one of the conference rooms in the hotel where the team's staying, completely zoned out as your boss speaks. your eyes zero in on kylian, who's just as bored as you, albeit hiding it way worse. he's absentmindedly doodling on a notepad while his lawyer next to him listens attentively to your boss. he's left handed? what a pick me, you think.

as if he can hear your thoughts, kylian glances up and shoots you a wink when his gaze catching yours. you're even more annoyed now. after you reminded him about the disappointing night you shared, you expected at least a little embarrassment from him the next time you saw him. but no, he was completely unfazed when you walked into the room and shook hands with him and his lawyer, and now he's being playful, maybe even a little flirtatious with you. the man is truly shameless.

"...so that will be the figure you'll receive as a bonus if you ever win the ballon d'or as a real madrid player" you catch the end of your boss' words.

"let's hope that's never happening" you mutter under your breath.

you freeze when you realize you've said that louder than you thought.

kylian’s eyes twinkle in amusement. “sorry, what was that?” he asks, leaning back in his chair and twirling the pen in between his fingers, clearly enjoying your slip up.

"n-nothing" you stammer, avoiding looking at your boss who's going red with anger.

your boss continues droning on and on about sums and figures, and an hour or so later, when he declares the meeting finished, you slip out of the room quickly. you don't want to exchange another word with him at all.

a while later you’re at one of the hotel lounge areas, staring blankly at yet another excel sheet when your boss slides up to you with a solemn look on his face. 

“we need to talk” he says.

you know exactly what he’s going to say. in fact, you’ve been anticipating this conversation ever since all the players returned to training and the season started.

you hold up your hand. “before you start, i want to say sorry for what was said when... when he visited. it was totally unprofessional, and i should’ve kept my mouth shut. I’m honestly really lucky you were the only one who overheard.”

he rubs the back of his neck, a relieved look on his face. “ i'm glad you brought it up, y/n. honestly, who cares how long it took the guy to get here, or how much he cost? the important thing is he's here now. he's gonna win us games, and he's sure as hell gonna bring in a lot of cash. so don't dwell on the past, okay?"

you nod along. you don't tell him that a few months ago, this would've been your perspective as well, and you don't say the real reason you hate kylian, because, well, it would be a little tmi to share with your boss, wouldn't it? nonetheless, you enthusiastically express your agreement, ready to move on from your blunder.

"oh, and please, try and make amends" he adds. "i've heard through the grapevine that he mentioned to the coaching staff he wasn't happy with the reception he got from a certain someone in the finance team"

"he didn't mention any names, nor did he file a complaint" he quickly adds at the panicked look on your face. "but you have to be careful with big personalities like his... just apologize if you get the chance, and then keep your head down" he pauses, sighing. "you're my best analyst, y/n. i don't want you to get into trouble over something like this"

"i understand" you reply, voice steady even though you feel anything but. "i'll handle it. whatever it takes to smooth things over. thank you for letting me know"

after he leaves, you bury your head in your hands, groaning. what did i get myself into? you think

a couple days later on a warm madrid evening, you find yourself at the front door of a pretty villa on the outskirts of the city, one hand ringing the bell and the other holding a bottle of wine. you're here for a dinner party hosted by rafael, one of the physiotherapists working in pintus' team. he's a decade or so older than you, but you two struck an unlikely friendship a couple months ago when you were the only two people to join the book club set up by hr to 'enhance company culture'. he's kind and easy to talk to, so it was a no brainer for you to accept when he extended the invitation.

the door swings open, and rafael greets you enthusiastically, giving you a small hug and ushering you in. as you follow him inside the house, you nod hellos to the few familiar faces you see, though you don't recognize most of the people because you don't work with them directly.

"why don't you get yourself a drink?" rafael says as he guides you to the living room, where there's an assortment of drinks laid out on a table. "i still have to finish up in the kitchen. make yourself at home ok?"

you nod, nervously glancing around as he walks away. you’re not socially anxious, but you’re not used to being the youngest person at a social gathering by several decades, either. you start pouring yourself a glass of wine but pause when you hear a familiar laugh.

you glance up, and of course he's here.

kylian stands in the corner of the room, drink in hand, casually leaning against a wall. he's deep in conversation with brahim, laughing at something he said. you're immediately infuriated by the casual confidence he exudes, the magnetism that seems like second nature for him. he's dressed in a simple black t-shirt and jeans, and you're horrified at the wave of attraction that hits you when your eyes catch the way the fabric clings to his bicep, or the way his fingers grip his glass. you're just ovulating you think to yourself, trying to remind yourself of the horrible night you shared – something you should never want to repeat.

you look away before he notices you staring, heading over to a group of people that seem friendly enough. you start chatting with clara, a lovely older lady who works as a receptionist at the training center. when you mention how old you are, her eyes light up.

"oh, there's a couple boys your age here. you have to meet them, they're the sweetest." she starts leading you towards another corner of the room, and your heart sinks a little when you realize who she wants to introduce you to. sure enough, clara stops in front of kylian and brahim.

"kylian, brahim – meet y/n" clara beams.

brahim greets with a warm handshake, but kylian only stares with narrowed eyes, eyes scanning your face for something.

"I take it you two know each other already?" clara asks, pointing between you and kylian.

"yes. we know each other" kylian says, voice cool.

" how wonderful!" clara says, blissfully unaware of how you know each other. she turns to you with a smile. "then y/n you must already know how much of a gentleman kyky is. the other day, he gave my grandson a signed shirt and a tour of the training center! he made that little boy's year, i tell you"

a gentleman? you almost snort. that must be a bad joke.

kylian glances at you, waiting for your reaction, his gaze almost daring you to contradict clara's words.

"that's...nice" you force out weakly.

clara leans over and pinches kylian's cheeks. "he's a real sweetheart our kyky. such a kind soul."

kylian shrugs humbly. " i'll never say no to kids. they're special"

clara coos even more, completely charmed by him, before excusing herself and walking off to greet a friend who just arrived. you grow frustrated as you watch her go – how can someone who left you feeling so insignificant be seen as this perfect figure by everyone else?

"your strap" kylian mutters, suddenly leaning closer.

"huh?"

without another word, he reaches up and adjusts the spaghetti strap of your top that had slipped off your shoulder. his fingers brush lightly against your skin, and without meaning to, you hold your breath. the sensation is infuriatingly gentle, his touch lingering longer than necessary. you don’t let out the breath you're holding until his hand leaves your skin.

"wait, how do you guys know each other again?" brahim, who was watching closely, asks rather curiously.

"old friends" kylian responds quickly.

brahim looks between you two suspiciously, then seemingly decides to let it go. he claps kylian on the back. " so, y/n. think we'll be back to back champions of europe now that this guy's joined?"

"depends" you shrug, taking a sip of your wine. your mind is elsewhere; you're still recovering from his hand on you.

kylian's jaw tightens in annoyance. "why? you don't think i can pull weight?"

" i didn't say that" you say smugly. "but out of everyone in the squad, you do have the lowest success rate in that particular area"

brahim, sensing the tension, quickly changes the subject before kylian responds. they start talking out about recovery routines after matches, and you zone out completely.

when rafael announces dinner is ready, you get a lightbulb moment: this is the perfect opportunity to politely apologize to the guy, as your boss suggested, so he doesn't get you fired. you say sorry tonight, and then you stay out of his way forever. because no matter how much he hurt you, confronting him every chance you get is definitely not worth losing the job that you worked so hard to land.

you stride over to his corner of the table and pull the chair right next to him. he only turns to look at you when you sit down, and it's comical how the smile on his face is completely wiped.

"hi" you say sweetly.

"...hi?" he peers at you suspiciously.

"listen, i–"

"you have a stain right there" he smirks, pointing at a small wine stain on your chest. " honestly, how many tops do you go through in a day? do i need to lend you some cash for the dry cleaners?"

your jaw drops. did he just call you poor?

"why do you stare at my boobs so much?" you whisper back, unable to help yourself.

"what?" he scoffs. "i don't do that"

"you do" you mutter. "only explanation why you notice every fucking imperfection on my clothes"

"do you want me to stare?" he smirks.

"no thanks" you say "i'd rather chew denim"

"pity" he says, flashing you a grin. "i thought maybe you wanted a re-do of that night in paris"

you look at him like he's crazy. "why would i–"

"i'm probably the best you've ever had" he shrugs.

you snort. "quite the opposite actually"

he physically cringes for a second before rearranging his features into a look of casual confidence and winking at you. "okay, that wasn't my best moment. but it's exactly why we need to have a redo"

you stare at him confused. one second he's insulting you, and the other he's hitting on you? you don't understand this man at all.

you don't responding but instead focus on the toast rafael is making to the whole table. you two don't speak for the rest of the dinner, him conversing with brahim and you with your seat neighbor on the other side. at some point, he excuses himself from the table and doesn't return.

at the end of dinner, you find your happy and satisfied, both with the food and the company (well, excluding kylian). you didn't manage to apologize to him like you planned, but whatever. he'll forget about you soon enough; at least that's what you hope.

before you leave, you wander upstairs to look for a bathroom to freshen up. the house is big, with the first floor lined with several closed doors. there's no sign of where the bathroom might be, so you decide to try your luck with the room closest to the stairs.

you stop dead in your tracks at the sight in front of you when you push the door open. kylian sits on the edge of the bed in what seems to be rafael's bedroom, judging from the pictures on the bedside tables. he has his phone in his hand, completely absorbed by whatever's on the screen. his head immediately snaps up at the sound of the door opening.

you frown. “what are you doing in here?”

“watching a game” he says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

“you can’t go a couple hours without football?” you snort, leaning against the door frame. “you really are dedicated”

“my little brother’s playing” he says quietly. “it’s is his first game with his new team”

you sense something in his tone, a hint of longing and vulnerability. for the first time, it hits you: he's new here. madrid might've been the dream, but he's alone in a new city, away from his friends and family. he’s probably missing his loved ones, you realize, but you quickly shake the sympathy away. I’m here to deliver a fake apology and leave you remind yourself not feel bad for him.

you swallow, shutting the door behind you. he raises his eyebrows, but he locks his phone and meets your gaze.

"kylian" you start your practiced script while you take a seat next to him on the bed. "i just want to say i'm really sorry for what i said the day of your presentation. it was uncalled for, and not to mention unprofessional. we may have an...unpleasant past, but that's not an excuse for the way i handed things. so, again, i'd like to apologize and put that behind us, if you're willing"

he stares at you for a long moment then bursts out laughing. "that's the fakest apology i've ever heard. did they threaten your job or something?" he pauses, eyes gleaming as he leans forward and clears his throat, putting on a childish voice. " 'kylian, please say yes to this apology i'm only saying because my boss told me to' "

"that's not what i sound like" you say, face burning.

"you're right. your voice is way more high pitched" he smirks.

you close your eyes, trying to keep the irritation off your voice. " oh my god, kylian. can you just say we're good so we can move on with our lives?"

the smirk on his face is replaced by furrowed eyebrows. "are you listening to yourself? you're literally scolding me for not accepting your apology"

"well what choice do i have?" you grit your teeth. "you're not listening to me!"

"because of how you act, y/n" kylian raises his voice. " you go around insulting me in front of my new teammate, even my fucking lawyer. you think you know me but you don't"

you hadn't realized it, but you're sitting much closer to each other, faces inches apart. the tension between you two is thick, and for a moment you swear you see his eyes flicker down to your lips briefly. you don't have time to dwell on it though because his phone suddenly pings loudly and you both jump apart.

kylian's face spreads into a smile as soon as he sees the notification on his screen.

"ethan assisted a goal" he announces, tone full of pride. he lets out a triumphant laugh, and your anger slightly subsides at the happiness in his voice.

"do you miss him?" you ask after a moment.

"yeah. a lot" he admits, not meeting your eyes.

there's a moment of silence, and you're about to awkwardly change the subject when he continues, voice unsure. " i've lived away from my family before when i was younger, but never in a different country. this is new. i kind of feel... lonely"

"don't we all?" you murmur.

"what do you mean?"

you sigh, shrugging. "i think it's more common than you think. we're all lonely in our own little ways. whether you've moved to a new country or not. some of us just hide it better"

"do you– what about you? have you ever felt like that?"

you think back to the months you couldn't get out of bed. when you felt like no one understood you. yeah, you definitely know what lonliness feels like.

you nod wordlessly. he doesn't ask more questions, which you appreciate.

you clear your throat. "what do you miss most from home?"

a small smile starts playing on his face. " i miss my niece and nephew. here look–"

he taps his phone and shows you the wallpaper on his lock screen. it's a picture of two adorable little kids, a boy and a girl, grinning widely at the camera.

"aww" you coo. "they're so cute!"

"i know right?" he stares at the picture fondly, a slight look of longing on his face.

you didn't expect he'd be the type to wear his heart on his sleeve, especially given his playboy reputation. you think back to clara's words from earlier in the evening, about how good and kind he is, and something tugs at your heart. the thought slowly creeps in: maybe one awful night wasn't enough to fully know someone's character. maybe there's more to him than what his exterior showed.

"i'm sure they're super proud of their uncle kyky, killing it at his dream club" you say teasingly.

he chuckles. "i feel like a part of you just died calling me kyky"

"oh absolutely" you mutter with a deadpan look.

you catch his gaze and you both burst lout laughing at the same time, the sound filling the room. wow, have his eyes always been this sparkly? without thinking, you lean in a little closer. he mirrors your movement, and this time you're absolutely sure he eyes your lips. as the laughter fades, the air cackles with tension, with potential. but just when you think the space between you two is about to vanish entirely, the sound of approaching footsteps jolts you.

instinctively you grab kylian by the arm and pull him towards the walk in closet. you've just managed to get both of you inside the small space and close it when you hear the sound of the bedroom door opening.

someone, who you assume is rafael, shuffles around the room while whistling softly to themselves. meanwhile your eyes adjust to the darkness in the closet, and when you realize your back is pressed up against kylian's front, you try to move away. except there's no space to move.

lovely, you think.

the sound of the footsteps get awfully close to the closet and suddenly you feel kylian's fingertips land on your hips. your breath hitches, and you feel him tense up behind you. the smell of his cologne fills your senses, and you're immediately transported to a stuffy club in paris– the heat, the music, the feeling of his hand on your thigh, the way his lips grazed your neck in the backseat of the car. you remember it all. but just as suddenly, kylian snatches his hand away, snapping you out of your reverie.

"sorry" he whispers. "i didn't mean to. i - sorry"

you tense again when you feel something poking your behind. is that...? you get your answer when you feel kylian shift around uncomfortably. this could not get more awkward for you.

a few moments later you hear rafael leaving the room, and you immediately walk out of the closet, flushing furiously.

your mind whirls, searching for something to say that could distract from the very obvious.

"so, about the apology. am i forgiven?" you blurt.

he scratches the back of his neck. "well, you've made it very hard for me–"

"i can tell" you smirk, glancing down at the bulge in his pants.

"– but we're good" he finishes, ignoring your comment. you, however, don't miss the embarrassed look on his face.

you stand there awkwardly for a second. you think about the fact that he's confided in you that he feels lonely, and you get an idea.

"do you want to grab some desert some place else?" the words are out your mouth before you could second guess them. "you know how the spanish love their late dinners. i have a spot i could show you" you put on grin, hoping he sees this as an olive branch.

"oh" his face immediately twists into an apologetic expression. "i can't tonight. i have to get up for an early meeting in the morning. sorry"

"no worries" you say casually, but a small part of you deflates. at least you tried.

"right" he says "well i should probably head home. and good call back there, by the way. would've looked super weird if rafael saw us in his bedroom all by ourselves"

"yeah" you say, tone even. "super, super weird"

you make sure the coast is clear before heading out of the room and making your way downstairs. after you've both said your goodbyes and thanked rafael, you find yourselves at the front door, him waiting for his driver and you for your uber.

"i could drop you off, you know" he offers. his tone is polite, like you're a stranger he's just met and not someone who he's had heated arguments with. it makes you feel weird.

"it's fine" you wave him off with a smile.

when your uber arrives, you turn to him to say goodbye. you hesitate for a second, a part of you hoping he'll change his mind about getting desert or maybe ask again about dropping you home.

but he only says "i'll see you around"

"see you" you say, and you walk over to the car.

at home, late at night, you're sleepless. you think about the almost kiss. the awkwardness in the closet. you toss and turn, but you can't get kylian out of your mind. you replay every word you said to each other, every touch you exchanged.

but that bubble bursts the next morning when you come across a picture on your instagram explore page that makes your blood boil. it's a paparazzi shot of kylian and a scantily clad woman leaving a club late at night. the caption reads, real madrid star kylian mbappe seen leaving club with mystery blonde

the timestamp reveals it's from last night. the same night he refused your kind offer to spend time with him. you feel deceived, disappointment and anger simmering inside you. you can't believe you were starting to like the guy, that you almost opened up to him.

you send the post to his instagram account, typing out a quick message :

hope she got better sex <3

tags: @kyliansonlygf @ynkfreeastheocean @scottishthistle @user6373738 @lucysantos6-blog @tuliptopiasstuff @kennasutopia @cinderellawithashoe @akiracim @kymb-10 @germanapples @loonworld @ajsboys @whateveryouloser @greyishbach

[genericpuff]

oh boy it's that time again

when rachel posts 'video progress' of her work and we proceed to dissect it like a frog in 9th grade science class

like ok first the caption of "is persephone the chicken and hades the egg" makes no fucking sense except to anyone who overthinks it and goes "wait is that a reference to the popularly-perpetuated version of the myth where persephone went down to the underworld willingly and hades didn't actually exist???" because if it is ima scream lmao

but MORE IMPORTANTLY-

Here's the transcript of what she's saying in the video:

"I think I've always wanted to write Hades' and Persephone's story because obviously I really like them. It's like very much a chicken and egg situation because I think in the beginning I thought that I was going to use a very abstract black and white style, and I realized it wasn't very enticing or fun for me, um... and I started drawing these very like vibrant characters and as I drew them I understood more about the story the more that I explored the art style, um and I guess an example of that is, y'know, Persephone is like a very bright color um, and the Underworld, is a very dark dark blue, and so when she says she really sticks out so it's just environmental uh processes like that that really helped inspire the direction of the story."

(despite her expanding on the "chicken and the egg" bit it still doesn't make sense imo lmao)

But what we're seeing isn't S1 LO, it's actually from S3 of LO:

But um... you notice anything interesting about the screenshot I just showed you?

That literally looks NOTHING like what we see in the final panel. At the VERY least I think this goes to show how overcooked it becomes in post-production, when they add the canvas layer and hypersaturate the shit out of the colors, but even the blending technique just isn't matching up?

A lot of what she's doing in this video also feels very... non-existent, like she's brushing her pen around but very little is happening so it feels more like her just putting down random brush strokes to try and make it seem put-together but really she's just kind of pushing colors around and/or doing nothing. Especially when, again, what she's painting here looks nothing like the final picture (so at best it's a lot of wasted work??)

And knowing what we know about the assistants drawing the characters separately so that Rachel can rearrange them in the final episode layout... I don't wanna call foul play here, but this feels like yet another attempt on Rachel's behalf to make her process seem more involved than it is by simply redrawing a scene for the performative aspect of it all. It's like the "sketches" in the books looking way too 'clean' for the final product and giving the impression that she just sketched over the final panels to make them look pretty enough for print.

I also wanna mention that for some reason she's drawing this on her iPad when she owns a Cintiq. It could be because she was drawing this while abroad in the US for her conventions last fall, but despite clearly being ahead of schedule, she still wound up drawing the final episode the night of-

Oh yeah and btw there are like a million clipping layers for what looks like just a simple drawing of Demeter. And this lines up with our previous theories about her using like 128549021809 layers for literally one character.

And aside from all that her commentary, as always, is very nothingburger, just a bunch of word salad. Like she's literally trying to explain LO's color theory as "well Persephone is bright pink and the Underworld is dark blue so she sticks out! That's all you need to know!"

IDK, I'm not coming to any sort of ironclad conclusion based off this one video, but it does feel like yet another desperate attempt to prove that she does work on LO and doesn't just leave it all to her assistants to do at the last minute. But like... she's kind of screwed in that argument either way, because even if she draws the majority of panels in LO, that just further proves the argument that she's stopped trying.

[simplyholl]

The President’s Pet

Summary: Trying to survive in the Void, you find yourself in President Loki’s possession.

Pairing: President Loki x F Reader

Warnings: Smut. 18+ Only. minors DNI. CNC. Dom Loki. Rough sex. Biting.

This is darker than what I usually write.

W/C: 1.3K

A/N: This idea came from the wild WhatsApp ramblings of me and @wheredafandomat

See my Masterlist here

You run as fast as you can, Alioth was too close for comfort. You had survived two days in the Void, and you intended to make it a lot longer. “Follow me!” A tall man said, running beside you. “I’ll help you.” You look behind you, the giant cloud monster was gaining on you. You didn’t have a choice.

You follow him underground to his hideout. As soon as the entrance door shuts behind you, two other men surround you, tying you up. “She will do nicely. I heard the President is bored with his whore. She will make a great addition for him. She will ensure our protection for at least a month.”

You struggle against them, but it’s no use. The man you shouldn’t have trusted leads the pack as they carry you across the vacant land. When you reach their destination, you’re thrown to the ground in front of a man sitting on a makeshift throne. He’s wearing a suit with a tear near the shoulder, horns on his head, his dark hair frames his face so beautifully. You notice a button on his suit jacket that says “Loki for President”.

You wonder what his story was before he got pruned. He looks at you with a sinister smile. Rising to his feet, he grabs your hair at the nape of your neck lifting your face to meet his gaze. “Oh, I like her.”

With the clap of his hands, another woman is brought out. “Give her to Alioth, I’ve grown tired of her.” Your new captor continues, “Bring this one to her new room.” You’re lifted to your feet and brought to a tiny room. A bed and a cage are the only furnishings in the room.

You sit on the bed waiting for the man who now controls your fate to give you instructions. He keeps you waiting for what feels like hours, but it could be mere minutes. Time seems to move differently in the Void. He enters the small room, strutting over to you.

“I am President Loki. You belong to me now. What happens next is entirely up to you. If you sign this paper-“ A flash of green shines in his hand as a sheet of paper and a pen appear. “And you’re a good little pet, I will care for you. You will be fed, safe, and rest assured, I take care of what is mine. Any jewelry, clothes, sweets, any frivolous thing your heart desires. If my men find it out there, it will be yours. If you disobey me, you will be punished.”

He gestures to the cage. He hands you the paper. You take your time reading it carefully. Basically it says if you please him sexually, you will be safe, more importantly alive. “Apparently, you run this place. What’s with all the paperwork? You could just have your way with all the women who turn up here.” He thinks about your question for a second before answering.

“Consent is still important, even here darling. You make the choice. You can agree or be Alioth’s next meal. I need you to satisfy my needs. You need me to stay alive. We could have a mutually beneficial relationship here.”

He smiles and you see the politician in him. How he used his charisma to climb social ladders in his own timeline. You take a moment to study his face. He is the most handsome man you have ever seen. You weigh your options. It could be a lot worse. He could be hideous. This will ensure you’re alive for a little longer. You sigh, “Give me the pen.” You reach toward him as a wolfish grin appears on his face.

You hear the thud of his boots on the floor outside your door. This is the second time he’s come in to bed you. He was rough, leaving bruises scattered all over your body. You were still sore from last night, but you would be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy it.

You want to be the best he’s ever had. That way, he won’t get bored of you so easily. You quickly strip your clothes, laying on the bed spread for him like a feast. He spots you immediately, nodding his approval.

“My perfect little slut, this is how I expect to be greeted from now on, understand?” “Yes, sir.” He removes his belt from his pants, slowly pulling it from each loop. You place your hands in front of you, ready to be tied up. He did the same thing yesterday.

He fastens the belt around your wrists tightly. You watch as he undresses. He gets on the bed, presenting his fingers to you. “Suck.” You take them between your lips sucking and licking them. When he’s satisfied, he pulls them out rubbing your clit with his saliva covered fingers.

“So wet for me.” He observes. “Yes sir, only for you.” He drags his cock against your lips, and you open for him. “Let me use your pretty mouth, pet.” You take him in slowly, your wet tongue traveling his thick length.

You moan around him as his fingers explore you. He grabs your head, making you take him all the way to the back of your throat. Your nose hits his pelvis, drool drips down your chin. He watches as you struggle to take him. You choke when he thrusts forcefully.

You let your jaw go slack, letting him fuck your face. You whine when he removes his fingers from you. “You look so beautiful choking on my cock.” He tells you, his thumb caressing your full cheek. You feel his cock pulsing on your tongue. You know he’s close. You suck your cheeks in and he empties in your mouth.

You swallow most of it, leaving some in your mouth. You stick your tongue out, showing him the release you saved before swallowing. “Thank you for cumming in my mouth, sir.”

“That’s my good girl.” He praises. “Good girls get rewarded.” He pushes you against the mattress, raising your belt restrained hands above your head. He licks a stripe up your neck, rough fingers pinching your nipples. He bites down on your shoulder, you cry out reaching for him.

He slings your arms back up with force. He spreads your legs, settling between them. You gasp as he buries his face between your thighs. He tugs on your clit, you writhe underneath him, bucking your hips up into his face.

President Loki’s large arm lays against your stomach, holding you down. He dines on you like you’re the first decent meal he’s had in ages. Considering where you are, it’s probably true. His tongue lashes against you, he’s not gentle. It’s almost like he’s punishing you with the skilled muscle.

You feel your orgasm building. You look down at the beautiful man between your legs, wishing you could hold onto his horns for support. The band low in your belly snaps and you fall apart, shouting his name. He bites your inner thigh as he removes his face from your center. You shutter with anticipation as he parts your legs slowly.

He plunges inside you, bottoming out immediately. “It’s too much.” You tell him, feeling way too full. You’re still sore from last night. “You can take it.” He confirms by pulling out and thrusting back in harder this time. He lifts your leg to his broad shoulder, this new angle making him drag deliciously against the special spot inside you.

“Tell me you love taking my big cock.” He commands. You moan as he looks over your bruised covered body, appreciating his handiwork from the night before. “I love your big cock, sir. It’s all I can think about.” You stroke his ego as he sets a brutal pace. “Good fucking girl.” He growls.

“I want to see this pretty pussy dripping with my cum.” He reaches between you, pinching your sensitive clit. “Please cum inside me. I need you to fill me up, sir.” You beg him. His thrusts grow sloppy, then he spills inside you releasing with a grunt. He pulls out quickly, rough hands spreading you apart.

He collects the cum dripping out of you with his long fingers, pushing it back into you. “You were so good for me.” He coos. “Don’t clean up yet. I’ll be back to do it later.” A hot plate of food and mouth watering desserts appear with a green flourish. “Don’t tell the others I can do that.” He winks at you, magically putting his clothes back on before leaving.

Tags

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[thewertsearch]

@manorinthewoods asked: We're still midway through Act 5, but I'd like to ask - what do you theorise will happen in the rest of A5 and in Acts 6 and 7 of Homestuck? ~LOSS (7/6/24)

It's an interesting question. We're coming up on the halfway point of the comic, but our current main plotlines - namely, Murderstuck, the Blackout, the Green Sun and the Scratch - all feel like they'll be wrapped up in a thousand-ish pages, along with the kids' session and the Act itself. The question of what's next is beginning to present itself, and I have a few thoughts.

My main prediction is that back half of the comic will be extremely English-centric. As the man behind Scratch's schemes, he's going to be revealed as the 'true' villain who's ultimately responsible for the current crisis, as well as crises yet to come. I think he'll elbow Perfect Jack out of the primary antagonist's position - and honestly, his chief minion is already more intimidating than Jack.

To contrast Noir, I think English will be a less instinctive, more cerebral villain. His choice of Scratch as a lieutenant suggests that he's more about carefully laid plans than open aggression, and his absence from the Felt Intermission suggests he prefers to hide in the shadows, weaving a web of conspiracy that would put Vriska to shame.

As a result, I expect the next arc of Homestuck to be more about information warfare than flashy displays of power. Our heroes will need to advance their understanding of the multiverse's wider cosmology, as they come to terms with what English is, what he wants, and most importantly, how to stop him.

The later arcs of the comic will involve discovering a glitch in spacetime that can break through English's supposed invincibility, while English works to keep the protagonists in the dark about his weaknesses. How this weakness could manifest, I can't say - but I do think Spades Slick will be directly involved in his demise.

Outside of English, I think the world of Homestuck will expand in other ways, too. It might finally be time to make contact with other Sburb Players, since our current sessions aren't going to be habitable for much longer. We might even be leaving the 'session' framework behind entirely, and travelling through the Furthest Ring to parts unknown.

I know these aren't very specific predictions, but it's hard to be specific about events which are thousands of pages away. I still don't know how the Pen-Pal fits into everything, for example, or why Gamzee is so important to the story.

I guess we'll find out together!

[yelena-bellova]

Heartfirst: A Ted Lasso Story - Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen: All That You Are

Plot: A chaotic press conference precedes a match that ends in violence.

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: f!reader, language, minor violence

A/N: I’m gonna chalk this week’s chapters up to having some free time and also being really motivated to get to the next few. Phew, let me tell you…this is the last chance I’m giving y’all to breathe. The final act kicks off in the next chapter and we don’t stop till the very end…so everybody enjoy the fluff and the jokes while you’ve got them 🙃

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged and, as always, enjoy!

————————

AFC Richmond’s hot streak just…kept…going.

They were killing it, both at matches and training. More importantly, they were happy. Joyful, even. Which meant everyone else was too.

More and more fans started showing up to watch training till eventually, the stands were packed. Y/n had begun to come out more often, genuinely enjoying watching the boys practice, and had found a way to make it a PR matter. She helped get the crowd riled up, engaging with them and encouraging them to cheer and chant for their players. She’d collected whatever merchandise they had a surplus of, pens or coffee mugs usually, and made a game of handing them out to the fans that came. Ted had encouraged her to keep doing it, it only further fostered the atmosphere he wanted to create.

Y/n hurried upstairs one day in particular, having missed the alarm set on her phone while she was hauling a bag of freebies from the gift shop to her office. She was never late and felt like she was going to burst into flames for being so.

“Whoa,” Ted called, just a few steps behind her, “Someone call Allyson Felix. Let her know she better watch her back.”

Y/n hung back on the landing to catch her breath, falling back in step once Ted caught up. “We ran out of the mugs the other day but I’ve got coasters and coozies for this afternoon.”

“Ooh,” Ted exclaimed, “You’ve been killin’ it in the swag department, missy. Everyone’s a little more hyped knowing they get a prize just for participation.”

Y/n grunted, “Trophies for doing nothing is also why my generation hates work, so don’t applaud me yet.”

They entered Rebecca’s office laughing only to find the atmosphere contrasting their good moods. Spread out on the couch, Keeley had her face buried in Rebecca’s lap.

“Uh-oh,” Ted announced his presence, “When girl-talk turns into girl-hug, you know that either means something horrible’s happened, or absolutely nothing at all.”

“Please say nothing at all,” Y/n set her purse down and grabbed the takeaway box Rebecca had ordered for her.

“Jack’s ghosting Keeley,” their boss explained.

“Oh, no,” Ted frowned.

Y/n sunk into the cushion beside Keeley, rubbing her shoulder as the blonde snuggled back under Rebecca’s arm.

“First, she wants to go on a break,” Ted recounted, “And now the old digital Irish goodbye. Which is a term I never really understood. ‘Cause I got a buddy back home named Seamus O’Malley, and that son of a gun hugs folks goodbye for, like, twenty minutes before he leaves anywhere.”

Y/n smiled down at her salad. The last few months may have softened her, but decades could pass and Ted would remain the same.

“Yeah,” he looked to Keeley, “Sorry to hear about that. Hey, I did make you some biscuits, you know, just to soften the blow.”

“Oh, thanks Ted,” Keeley took the pink package from him and opened it. Her eye blew open, “What? There’s like forty quid in here.”

“Well, I didn’t know you were gonna be here till this morning,” Ted explained, “No time to do anything special so I just tossed a little cash in there.”

Keeley nodded, “That is very sweet. Thank you, Ted.”

“Ain’t nothin’ to it but to do it,” he shrugged, turning to Rebecca, “Hey, boss. You mind if I skip the press conference today? Michelle and I got these parent-teacher meetings I don’t wanna miss.”

Rebecca shrugged and smiled, “Of course, Ted. Family first.”

“I appreciate it.”

“So…” Y/n trailed off, “Who’s next in line?”

A metaphorical lightbulb went off over Keeley’s head. “We could have Roy do it,” she suggested, “I know he hates that stuff, but he is really good at it.”

Y/n struggled to see the “good” part of how Roy handled the press. On her last count, he’d cussed out no more than six reporters.

“I mean, you know, fine by me,” Ted replied.

Rebecca agreed, “Great idea.”

“Look at you,” Ted smiled at Keeley, “Heartbroken, but still kickin’ butt.”

“I mean, I’m not heartbroken,” Keeley fidgeted in her seat, “It’s more like heart-bent.”

“Heart-bent,” Ted mused, “I like that. It’s a great title for a country song. You know, like,” he began to sing, “I’m heart-bent, in my apartment, ‘cause all that you left, was your fart scent.”

“Alright. Goodbye, Ted,” Rebecca cued him up to leave, though Keeley was laughing and Y/n was smiling through a bite of spinach.

“And now that you’re gone,” Ted continued on his way out to the hall, “I wrote this song, ‘cause all you left was, the smell of your farts.”

Y/n pointed to the door with her fork, “Speaking on behalf of our homeland, we can do better than that.”

Rebecca snorted and Keeley rested her head on Y/n’s shoulder.

“Right,” she held out her hand, “Show me.”

Keeley handed it over and Y/n bore witness to the mile long chain of texts her boss had sent their boss. It was embarrassing to say the least, but Y/n wasn’t about to kick Keeley when she was already laid out.

“Wow,” she strained as she scrolled.

“I know,” Keeley moaned.

“It’s like a river,” Y/n mused as she surfed the rest of the blue bubbles, “Can you promise one thing?”

Keeley hummed.

Y/n handed her phone back, “No more. She’s the one that stomped on you, she gets to do the groveling.”

And grovel she should. From what Keeley had told Y/n, Jack had handled their conversation regarding the video leak and the so-called “statement” horrifically. Jack seemed offended that Keeley had dared to have a meaningful relationship before her. It was jealousy where jealousy didn’t belong.

Whereas Y/n was still struggling to comprehend Jamie and Keeley ever having been together.

“I won’t, I won’t,” Keeley threw her phone on the other side of the couch, “I’m done.”

“Good,” Y/n nodded firmly.

“And that’s all you’ve got to say?” Keeley asked with a raised brow, “Nothing else?”

Y/n purposefully filled her mouth with a far-too-large bite of lettuce. She had plenty to say on the matter, Keeley knew damn well, but she was determined not to do so unless there was a confirmed break-up. After all, Jack was still their boss.

“Nope,” she mumbled.

Rebecca and Keeley descended into a fit of snorts.

Later, the three women were were seeing Keeley out to her car. Roy was just coming down the hall when they came off the last step.

“Oh, speak of the devil,” Rebecca said.

“Okay,” Roy replied before looking to his ex. An awkward silence came about for three seconds, though it felt like much longer. “Keeley.”

“Roy,” she nodded back to him.

Rebecca, blissfully, pulled them out. “So I need you to fill in for Ted at today’s press conference, if that’s okay.”

Roy didn’t hesitate in his reply, “Fuck no.”

Keeley, Rebecca and Y/n were just as unflinching as they waited for the answer to change.

“I mean,” Roy backtracked, “Why can’t Ted do it?”

His eyes went from woman to woman, waiting for one of them to answer or crack or…something.

Or nothing.

“I mean,” he pasted an unnatural grin to his face, “I’d love to.”

Y/n pointed a finger and nodded.

“Wonderful,” Rebecca replied, looking to Keeley and Y/n, “Shall we?”

The three of them left Roy in the hall, waiting for the inevitable reaction.

“Fuck,” he said rather loudly.

“I heard that,” Rebecca smirked.

“You still have my word,” Y/n remarked to her boss, “Send me up there, I’ll give them all they want to know. Sell everybody out. We’ll be on every front page in the country.”

Rebecca laughed, though Keeley missed it entirely. She was too busy glancing back at Roy.

—————————

Later in the afternoon, with the press conference a few minutes away from starting, Y/n swung by her office to pick up the notes she’d jotted down for Roy.

As she grabbed her notebook, she noticed there was a tea sitting next to her laptop.

She picked it up and examined it. It had come from the café, her name was written on the side in the big loopy handwriting Delilah, the barista, used. Assuming she wasn’t being set up to be poisoned, she took a sip and accepted the anonymous kindness.

Y/n made it down to the press room, meeting Higgins in the back and waiting for Roy to enter.

The door opened, and Beard walked through.

Y/n’s face dropped, “Um…”

“Where’s Ted?” Higgins asked.

“Where’s Roy?” Y/n corrected, “He’s supposed to be filling in.”

Beard took his seat at the desk, “Good afternoon. I know you all were expecting Ted, but he couldn’t make it today. I, however, will be happy to answer any and all questions, so,” he gestured to the desk filled with recorders and phones, “Fire away.”

Y/n took a breath, it wasn’t so bad. Beard, while not always the most sociable, was well-spoken and highly intelligent. He might have even been a better choice than Roy for his mood alone.

She regretted every thinking such a thing within two minutes.

“Look, man,” Beard sat back in the chair, “We can debate all day, Zeppelin versus Eagles, but one thing that is absolutely not up for debate is Walsh versus Page.”

“Oh, come off it,” the man fired back, “You honestly think it’s Walsh over Page?”

Y/n whispered to Higgins, “How did this go so far off the rails this fast?”

“I don’t know,” he replied.

She handed him her tea, “Hold this.”

Y/n quietly and calmly exited the room, breaking into a light jog in the hall and up the stairs. She knocked on Rebecca’s open door but didn’t bother to be invited in.

“Hi,” she greeted quickly, “Um, did something happen to Roy in the two hours since he was last seen?”

Rebecca’s brow lowered, “No, why?”

Y/n thinned her lips to a line, “You might wanna come downstairs.”

Without question, Rebecca followed her down and into the press room. Things had taken another turn in the minute Y/n had disappeared for.

“That is not what I said, Gary,” Beard angrily pointed to the reporter in question.

“I have your quote right here,” Gary chuckled.

“You did say it, Coach,” another on agreed.

“Stay out of this, Lloyd,” Beard snapped.

“Don’t shout at Lloyd,” Sarah, another reporter, said.

Y/n flattened her palm against her forehead.

“You said, and I quote,” Gary looked down at his notes, “‘Joe Walsh is a better guitarist than Jimmy Page.’ That’s what you said!”

Beard leaned back in his chair, exasperated by the fight he’d started. “Fine! I said it,” he spread his arms out in defeat, “But what I meant was that Joe Walsh, underrated. Jimmy Page,” he got stuck on the last word in his rage, “Overrated!”

The room was arguing amongst itself.

“I mean, Joe Walsh is a poet,” Beard went on, “Jimmy Page is a fucking court stenographer on Adderall.”

As the room digested the answer in shock, and amusement, Y/n reached out to Higgins, retaking her tea and taking a large swig as if it were wine.

“Are you out of your mind?” Gary laughed, “Page could beat Walsh with one string.”

“What do you mean, beat him?” Beard replied angrily, “It’s not a competition, man. It’s art, you fucking Neanderthal!”

Y/n, Higgins and Rebecca surged forward at the same time.

“Hello,” Rebecca cheerily announced, trying to draw the attention to herself while Higgins grabbed Beard, who was still arguing with Gary. “Hello! Hello!”

Y/n acted as a shield for Higgins as he walked Beard out of the room, dropping him in the side hall. But not before Beard could get in one last insult.

“‘Stairway to Heaven’” is a glorified fingering exercise, and you all know it!”

Higgins smiled at the press as he shut the door, Y/n blindly reaching behind to help him push against Beard’s weight.

“I can’t think of the last time I was able to be here with all you absolutely…” Rebecca spoke loudly over the noise of Beard still yelling into the door. Y/n and Higgins blocked his face from view. “Just brilliant members of the press down here in the pressroom. So with that in mind, I would love to take some questions. Come on,” Rebecca spread her arms welcomingly, “Absolutely ask me anything.”

“Oh, shit,” Y/n mumbled. This wasn’t any better.

Marcus from The Independent announced himself when Rebecca nodded towards him.

“Hello there, Marcus,” she greeted, “How are you?”

“Very well.”

“Good, good.”

“Miss Welton,” Marcus asked, “In your opinion, who’s the greatest classic rock guitarist of all time?”

Rebecca stuttered a bit, stuck on the question that had her blanking out on any rock she’d ever listened to.

“The, uh…” she struggled, “The…guy from Cream.”

Higgins snorted, Y/n buried her head in her hand as the pressroom quietly and collectively laughed.

“Uh…” Rebecca began.

“I think,” Y/n came to stand beside her boss, grinning abnormally large, “That in the wake of our recent wins, we’re all still a bit hazy from the excitement. I think we’re going to call this for the day, but we’ll be ready and waiting for you after the match this Sunday against Brighton. Thank you so much!”

Y/n placed her hands on Rebecca’s back and marched her towards the door.

“Uh, Ms. Y/l/n,” Marcus spoke up, “Care to comment on who you think the greatest guitarist is?”

“Keith Richards,” Y/n answered, “Purely because he’s still standing.”

Whatever reaction she’d caused, she didn’t hear them. Her and Higgins had gotten Rebecca safely out into the hall.

“Sorry about that,” she shuddered.

“You’re alright,” Y/n patted her shoulder.

“‘The guy from Cream,’” Higgins giggled.

“Yes, all right,” Rebecca twisted to face Higgins, “Don’t start with me, Leslie! I panicked,” she took a seething breath, “I’m going to murder Roy Kent.”

“If you don’t, I will,” Y/n exhaled.

“Look, Roy not doing press is just Roy being Roy,” Higgins stated.

Y/n gestured to the door they’d just come out of, “And look where it got us.”

“Well, I am sick of Roy being Roy,” Rebecca spat, hands on her hips, “So it’s time for Rebecca to be Rebecca.”

Without another word, she marched off in the direction of the training room. The boys would nearly be done with their afternoon workout.

“Oh, yes,” Higgins agreed, “Absolutely- I couldn’t,” he turned with Y/n to watch Rebecca strut away from them, “Yeah. There you go. Yes! Ooh!”

Y/n breathed a laugh, if anyone rubbed off on her from Richmond, she hoped it was Rebecca. There was a fierceness inside her that Y/n had never possessed in her life, but she’d have liked to.

“Stay for the aftermath?” Higgins asked.

“Oh, definitely,” Y/n nodded. She wasn’t going to miss the opportunity to stare down Roy.

Quick enough, Rebecca marched back up the stairs, Roy following thirty seconds later. While Higgins’ best frown was still his worst smile, Y/n glared at the coach unflinchingly. He did his best to ignore them both on the way up to Rebecca’s office.

“Another day,” Y/n mumbled, her and Higgins heading their separate ways for the rest of the afternoon.

As she walked down the hall, some of the boys came out of the training room. She high-fived them before coming up on Jamie, bringing up the rear.

He flicked the cup of tea, still in Y/n’s hand, and smirked. “Cheers.”

Y/n looked back and met his waiting gaze, the two of them sharing a smile. The days at Nelson Road grew more unpredictable the further into the season they got, but some things were as constant as breathing.

——————

The day of the Brighton match started as normal as any other. Y/n made the familiar trek to the owner’s box, taking a seat between Keeley and Higgins, and braced for the ninety minutes of nerves she both hated and loved.

“Oh, it’s Jack,” Keeley announced as she scrolled her phone. The three of them sat to attention as they waited to hear the text, “She’s saying that she’s in Argentina…for the next couple of months.”

“Ouch,” Higgins commented. Y/n scoffed while Rebecca pulled Keeley into her side.

“Well,” Keeley took a breath, “I think our break is actually an ‘up.’ So now that Jack is officially my ex,” she looked between the group, “Please feel free to say any of the things that you didn’t like about her.”

Rebecca sighed, “Well-“

“Ooh,” Higgins chimed in, “Her handshake was way too firm. You know-“ he groaned and grunted as he imitated the action, “I get it. You’re friendly. Good riddance.”

Y/n bit down on her bottom lip, trying to keep the comments from flying out her mouth.

“Something you’d like to say, Y/n?” Keeley asked knowingly.

Shaking her head, she tried to go the diplomatic route. “Just want to watch some football.”

Keeley slowly nodded, staring out at the field with her.

“And she’s a fucking asshole,” Y/n muttered as low as she could to let only Keeley hear it. They smiled to one another.

Right off the bat, the Greyhounds were struggling. Isaac, usually so focused, was off his game. He cost them a goal kick and earned Brighton a corner instead. It wasn’t like him and the fans were letting their displeasure be known.

Even worse, when Colin lost an easy goal, Isaac went after him. The two of them argued until Jamie and Sam, playing peacemaker, held Isaac back from following Colin any further.

Y/n frowned, something had to have happened before the match. The boys were far more in sync than this, and they sure as hell didn’t fight each other.

The first half ended on the heels of Dani just nearly making a goal, only for Brighton to block it. The score was 1-nil as the Greyhounds trudged back to the locker room.

Higgins, Y/n, Rebecca and Keeley went silent as the fifteen minute break began. There wasn’t anything to say.

Y/n’s eyes were glazing over the crowd on the opposite side of the stadium when a commotion started. She followed the noise to the tunnel to see Isaac, leaping into the stands and grabbing one of the fans.

“Oh my gosh,” she mumbled. Keeley, Rebecca and her all rose to their feet.

With the distance, the scene could hardly be seen properly, but it appeared that Isaac was holding the fan by the shirt and yelling in his face. The ref had never pulled the red card out so fast. It was unprecedented and unacceptable.

Higgins rushed out his seat, the women moving to make room for him down the aisle. Y/n’s eyes followed Roy as he helped Isaac down and started shouting something to the security guards.

The scene died down as quickly as it began. The fan was escorted out of the stadium and the Greyhounds disappeared into the tunnel.

“What the hell was that?” Rebecca finally asked.

“I don’t know,” Keeley breathed.

Internally, Y/n began to feel some sort of panic build. She couldn’t decipher the complexities of it, all she knew was she had to move.

“Where are you going?” Rebecca asked as Y/n slid past them.

“I don’t know,” she mumbled Keeley’s same answer, already climbing the stairs.

She hurried through the suite, past all the fans opening social media to post that they’d witnessed the fight themselves. Past all the fans in the concourse exclaiming how McAdoo was about to fucking kill the twat. Y/n couldn’t hear any of it as she made for the personnel-only entrance into the building.

When she made it to the empty hall outside the locker room, she faltered. Her immediate reaction would be to run in, but she knew it was far from appropriate. Her hand instinctively reached toward the door, even with feet of space between her and it. She couldn’t.

Nearly as soon as she’d thought it, Isaac came bursting through the door, unaware of her presence as he stalked to the boot room. He slammed that door shut and Y/n flinch at the sound.

Ten seconds later, Roy came out much more peacefully, but still with purpose.

Y/n stepped forward, her movements and her voice hesitant, “Hey-“

Roy could see the concern etched deeply in her face and touched her arm as he passed. “I got it.”

It wasn’t often that Roy wasn’t scowling, wasn’t speaking like he smoked a pack of cigarettes a day. For him to speak softly, to voluntarily comfort someone, he had to have meant it.

Y/n stood frozen as he shut the door to the boot room, all the pieces of her reaction making sense suddenly. After Isaac had attacked the fan, her first thought hadn’t been about PR. It hadn’t been about the clean-up her and Keeley would have to do, the stress of it all. It hadn’t had anything to do with what the internet would think or the fans or anyone.

Her first thought was to wonder if Isaac was okay.

She knew by now she cared about AFC Richmond. She had a special affection for Rebecca and their weekly tea. Keeley had cracked her way past Y/n’s gates simply by being herself. Ted was the nicest slice of home she could have gotten.

This was different. This was caring so deeply for the team that she was standing in the hall, unmoving until she knew they were all alright.

It was no longer about letting them in, Y/n knew, it was about how deeply etched in her heart they were.

She waited, waited, the whole fifteen minutes, hearing only the muffled mumbles of the team’s conversation through the doors. When they cheered and exited the room, their spirits seemingly lifted, none of them even noticed her against the wall.

Y/n moved to stand outside the boot room, catching Colin and Trent as the last ones to exit the locker room. Trent threw her a small salute that she matched, before heading out to his own seat. She still wasn’t leaving until she knew all was well.

Eventually, Roy came out of the boot room with Isaac in tow. The disgraced captain glanced up at her as he passed, Y/n made a point to squeeze his arm. He didn’t flinch at her touch, but didn’t make a point of lingering as he headed to the locker room to wait the game out.

As Y/n inhaled, Roy nodded, “He’s alright.”

“Okay,” she whispered.

The two of them walked back to their separate paths, Roy heading out to the pitch and Y/n heading back to the owner’s box.

The match turned around after that, tremendously so. The Greyhounds had hit the pitch united once more, particularly Colin, who’d assisted in both goals that had led them to victory. Balance seemed to have been restored, and while Isaac would still be the most memorable part of the game, Colin’s efforts wouldn’t be forgotten.

And, as always, Y/n’s work began the moment the ref called it.

There were strict instructions from both Keeley and her to Higgins not to grab any of the players. They’d no doubt be asked about their captain’s actions and none of them needed to deal with that stress. Ted was the only one who could comfortably handle it.

They waited with Rebecca in the back of the room, Higgins and Trent joined them at the last minute.

“He’s on his way,” Higgins said.

“Thank you, Leslie,” Rebecca replied before turning to Keeley and Y/n, “You gave Ted some talking points?”

Keeley frowned, “No. I haven’t done that in a long time.”

“Not for a while,” Y/n added.

The side door opened before Rebecca could truly begin to worry. Where Ted should have strolled in, Roy did instead.

“Fuck,” Y/n whispered, punctuated by a gag from Higgins.

Roy took a seat at the desk, staring down the entire room. No one was wearing their surprise well.

“Yeah, alright, you got me today,” he growled, “Any questions?”

Every reporter’s hand went up, all of them shouting to get Roy’s attention.

“Fucking hell,” he mumbled before pointing to one of them, “You. Five-o’-clock shadow head.”

Gary, self-proclaimed Jimmy Page fan, stood up. “Coach Kent, do you or the organization condone what Isaac McAdoo did today?”

“What a stupid fucking question,” Roy was quick to reply, Rebecca, Higgins and Y/n all screwing their eyes shut. “‘Course we don’t. What Isaac did was awful. He was lucky he only got a red card.”

“Okay,” Gary relented, “So why’d he do it?”

Roy chuckled, looking like he was nearly about to say something before stopping himself. Instead of cursing or snarking, he settled back in his chair.

“When I was first coming up through Sunderland, there was an old-timer on the team,” Roy began, “Local guy. He and his wife were about to have their first kid. So during training one day, I made a joke that statistically, I was probably the real dad. And the boys fell about laughing, but he went fucking nuts. He battered me. Properly. I had a black eye, chipped tooth, three broken ribs…I couldn’t play for six games. He got booted off the team. After that,” Roy shook his head, “No club would go near him.”

“Then in the summer, after I could breathe again,” he went on, “I bumped into him in a pub. And I got the chance to say sorry for my stupid fucking joke. And he got to tell me he and his wife had lost the baby a month before all that went down. He hadn’t told anyone. Kept it all inside.”

The room had fallen hush, save for the occasional click of a camera.

“Look, I get that some people think if they buy a ticket,” Roy’s voice regained its strength, “They’ve got the right to yell whatever abusive shit they want at footballers. But they’re not just footballers. They’re also people. And none of us,” he dragged his finger across the room, “Know what is going on in each other’s lives.”

“So for Isaac to do what he did today, even though it was wrong,” Roy pointed to his chest, “I give him love. And as for why he did what he did,” he leaned closer to the microphones, “That’s none of my fucking business.”

That was it. There was nothing left to say. Roy had handled it with more grace and patience than anyone could have expected.

Y/n smiled to herself, “Okay.”

“Next question,” he called to the room, which erupted back into shouts and flashes, “Yeah, new Trent.”

“Coach,” Marcus spoke up, “Let’s talk about Colin Hughes.”

“Yeah, he’s a hell of a player,” Roy answered, “And a great man. I think we’ve underused him.”

“I think you’re right,” Marcus said.

“Glad we agree,” Roy replied, “I prefer you to old Trent.”

The room laughed before Roy called on the next reporter. Rebecca and him shared a look of acknowledgement, this was making up for his ditching of the last presser.

Roy went on answering questions a few minutes longer before abruptly calling it. As everyone was saying their goodbyes for the evening, Y/n caught him in the hall.

“You did good,” she complimented.

Roy grunted a little, still bad at taking praise about anything other than his professional abilities. “Sorry if I…made your job harder the other day.”

She shrugged, “No more so than anyone else. You’re just more of a dick about it.”

Having said it with a smile Roy knew Y/n wasn’t serious…totally. His lips quirked up ever so slightly.

“Night, Roy,” Y/n said, hitting his arm as she walked past him.

“Cheers,” he replied, heading his own way.

—————————

While the day was a victory, Jamie was exhausted. Some of the boys had gone out to celebrate, he was one of the ones who decided heading home was more appealing.

A ring of the doorbell dragged him off his couch and into the entryway. He opened the door, his chest both filling and draining at the sight.

Y/n was leant against the frame, a soft smile on her lips. She held up a paper takeaway bag.

“I won’t tell Roy if you don’t,” she promised.

Jamie chuckled under his breath and moved to let her in.

It wasn’t just the match that’d worn Jamie out. Colin’s confession in the locker room was…heavy. Weighing most on Colin, of course, but when the celebratory noise had died down and Jamie was left to his own thoughts, he found they were louder than normal.

Y/n showing up only acted as an amplifier.

Here was Colin, hiding away one of the biggest parts of himself. Forced to keep the person he loved in the shadows for fear of the public’s reaction. He couldn’t hold them, couldn’t be seen with them, couldn’t claim them. The person who meant everything to him.

And here was Jamie, with the woman he cared about most standing before him, feeling the weight of his privilege.

“Samir was working tonight,” Y/n announced as she slipped off her shoes, “He kept asking me if I was buying for us both. I think he slipped in some extra-“

She was cut off by Jamie, wrapping his arms around her in a full embrace.

Jamie wasn’t good with words. He was barely good with feelings. And expressing them was a whole other matter. What he did know to be true was that Y/n was the singular most important person in his life. Whether he’d realized it before or not, he wasn’t sure. But it was suddenly crushing him, he was overwhelmed by his affection for her. She was the best part of his worst times, the highlight of his days. The literal sunshine lighting up the darkest parts of him, the parts everyone else looked at and ran from. But not her, never her.

Y/n stumbled a bit, Jamie steadying her as he tugged her to his body. It wasn’t like they never hugged, but this felt different. The whole day had been so emotionally charged, she wasn’t surprised that he was feeling some of it. She wasn’t sure what had happened in the locker room between halves or after the game, but whatever it was had done something to him, and she apparently was the solution.

The truth was, Jamie was the first person Y/n hadn’t tired of being there for. She wanted to save him at every possible opportunity. To be there for him in whatever way he needed her. Lord knows he had done it enough for her. He’d looked at her ugliest parts and matched them, the two of them somehow growing together through their horrible histories. Some relationships were easily replaced, but there could never be another Jamie.

Y/n slid her arms around Jamie’s back, stealing some of the comfort for herself.

Jamie rested his chin on her shoulder, shutting his eyes and letting the moment wash over him. The world could stop, just for a moment, and it would be there when they broke apart. But for now, Y/n was all he wanted to feel.

They stayed in the hall, clinging to one another, having only unwrapped the first layer of what all they felt meant.

—————

Heartfirst Taglist: @lalla-04p @optimisticsandwichgladiator @makingmunson94 @taytaylala12 @storysimp @sokkigarden @lightninginab0ttle @poohkie90 @alipap3 @verra-nerevarine @shineforever19 @spaceagechimera @burnafter-reading @qardasngan @cyberpvnk-enthusiast @sogoodtoheritsvicious @buckybarnex @angelsunflxwer @blueanfield @thewildestwonderland @sablecities @oxxolovemelikeyoudooxxo @strawberryacethingz @mentalistfan @tortilla-maria1 @katdahlali @for-fuck-sake-im-alive @glitterquadricorn @jamieolivia27 @imvibin69 @katlizada @lil-tracys @fanaticalfantasist @heyitz-julia @cactajuice @peachyy-tea @notalxx @rockchickrebel @anxiety-prime-max @loveforaugust @jellycolors @actuallybarb @heletsmelovehim @lovinnscarletknight @imfalling-inlove @leslieiscrying @meg-ro @littlemisssunshine192 @beboldbebravethings @maydayfigment @spencerreidsbookclub @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @lemoonandlestars @im-a-weirdo-for-life @mindless-rock (tags cont. in comments ❤️)

[clarisse0o]

Camp Wiegman - Part 4

Ona Batlle x Lucy Bronze

Alternate Universe : Military School

Words : 6k

Masterlist

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Monday, October 12; 9:20 AM - In Class

Exactly one week ago, I left Barcelona to join this school. I am slowly getting used to this new environment, even though it's not easy every day. Right now, I'm in my second hour of class, chatting quietly with Alexia. She is no longer as uptight and serious as she was at the beginning. We laugh and talk a lot. It's become a bad habit since we tend to lose focus on the lessons and get scolded by our teachers. Our laughter mingles with the sound of footsteps echoing in the hallway. The thick walls pick up every sound when the door is open. No one pays attention until there's a knock at the door. Silence reigns, except for my laughter, which I can't suppress. This earns me a stern look from my teacher, who walks towards the door to invite the unknown visitor in. He wouldn't have needed to bother when I see that it is my furious supervisor. Everyone shrinks back as she visually scans the room until she locks eyes with me. Her eyes narrow and turn black with anger. Alexia has to nudge me to stop my hysterical laughter.

“Sorry for the interruption, Mr. Smith,” she begins without averting her eyes. “I just need to take a student who won’t be returning for the rest of the day. Could you inform your colleagues?”

“Oh, uh... Yes, of course, Miss Bronze.”

Even my teacher is intimidated by her. Pathetic. I understand better why my reputation has skyrocketed in just one week. Most people already know me as the brave student who dares to stand up to the commander. I am tired of this charade. I look to my neighbor for support, but she seems paralyzed by what’s happening. She recoils when Bronze slams her flat hands on my desk, making me jump. Our faces are just inches apart when I turn my head towards her.

“Hey!” I exclaim indignantly. “Be careful with the school property, come on!”

“Shut up, Ona. Just shut up if you don’t want to make me even angrier,” she threatens. “Pack your things. Now!”

She’s really fired up today! I’ve never seen her this angry or heard her use such a disdainful tone. I smile as I gather my things. I must not have been quick enough for her because she grabs my bag from the floor and starts packing my notebook herself while I collect my pens in my pencil case. I barely have time to close it before she snatches it from my hands and throws it into the bag. She shoves it against my chest so hard that my chair slides back from the impact.

“I hope you're ready because I won't spare you today. Move it, let's go.”

I barely have time to put on my camo jacket and sling my bag over my shoulder before she pushes me down the aisle to lead the way. I don’t resist and, more importantly, I don’t talk back. I barely dare to when she’s calm, so doing it now would be like challenging the devil himself. I’ve spent enough time with her last week to know her coldness and strength. I clearly don’t measure up, mentally or physically. I wait in the hallway while she apologizes for the disruption to my teacher. When she rejoins me, I instinctively lower my head to avoid her eyes. I might have pulled off the best trick of my life, but facing her imposing presence, I already dread what’s coming next.

“I don’t know how you managed to do what you did, but you’re in deep trouble!” she scolds.

The thought of denying it crosses my mind, but it wouldn’t help. My silence prompts her to pull my arm to move forward. She still holds me the same way, but this is the first time she’s hurt me this much. She’s really furious. I struggle to keep up with her pace. I say nothing, fearing she might speed up if I complain... But then, damn it, I shouldn’t just take it!

“It’s not like I didn’t warn you that I’d get revenge.”

She stops abruptly, making me instinctively step back after bumping into her. I regret my words the second her icy green eyes pierce through me. I swallow hard.

“You’re really just a poor idiot!” she spits. “You don’t understand anything! You want to play the one who’ll face the worst revenge? Fine, let’s play then! Now I don’t want to hear a word from you until I say so!”

My eyes widen in surprise. I already regret my unnecessary provocation. We reach the first floor of the instructors' dorms. She releases her painful grip only when we arrive at room 7. She roughly pushes me into the room I’ve recently become familiar with. I barely avoid falling headfirst due to her strength. It seems I deserve it now that I see the state of her place. Her room has the same furniture as mine. The only difference is the layout. She has a double bed – which looks more comfortable than my single bed – and her wardrobe stands next to the window. As for the desk, it’s on the opposite side.

“You’re going to tidy up this mess!” she exclaims. “I want everything back in its place! Not a single thing out of order, understood?”

“Don’t you like your new room? I think it’s pretty nice.”

“Don’t push me, Batlle. You don’t even realize what a slippery slope you’re on.”

Oh, I realize it, but it’s worth it. It’s all her fault. I warned her I would get revenge for what she made me endure.

“You shouldn’t have taken my phone and computer!” I retorted.

“And you shouldn’t have disrespected your superiors!” she raises her voice. “Clean up this mess!”

She drags the desk chair to the entrance and sits down. I watch her for a moment, quickly understanding that she will stay here until I finish. I sigh as I assess the extent of the damage. Her anger is justified, but so is mine. I rummaged through her stuff as much as she did through mine to find my hidden electronics. I am proud of my revenge idea.

Our relationship has deteriorated since the shower incident. She hasn't stopped punishing me for the slightest infraction. The first was for being late to my sports class on Thursday morning. As expected, I was sent to Bronze's office. Her decision was radical... I had two hours of personal training doing laps around the field.

Add to that my morning delays, which my bed continues to cause. For that, I got dishwashing duties in the cafeteria on Thursday and Friday after every meal. The upside was being assisted by Leah, who received the same punishment from Engen, Bronze's partner, for skipping classes. Time passed faster. We even ended our last day with a water fight that Bronze interrupted. I thought we would extend our punishment, but in the end, she just scolded us for being soaked and told us to clean up our mess.

I accepted all of this without complaint because it was expected. What I couldn't tolerate was her confiscating all my electronics behind my back just before the weekend. It didn’t take me long to notice and tell her what I thought. She justified her action by keeping her cool. It turns out she had learned about my inattentive and provocative behavior in class. She wanted to make me reflect over the weekend when my outing pass was denied. However, my cheekiness made her change her mind, and she decided to return my things at an unspecified time, more precisely when I had calmed down, according to her.

Because of her, I was irritated all weekend to the point of conducting my little investigation during her absence. My first idea was to find her room to recover my belongings. The problem was, I found nothing while searching it. I then changed my plans, not wanting to waste the opportunity. I knew it would drive her crazy to know I was here, so I emptied her wardrobe and all her drawers, scattering everything around. Surprisingly, I discovered nothing valuable. I expected her to look for me earlier this morning, but she must have been absent since it was Engen who checked our room. It’s a shame because Bronze missed my first-ever achievement of being ready on time. It takes me a good hour to finish cleaning her room. I intended to collapse onto the desk, but she stops me in my tracks.

“Uh-uh. Change the sheets on my bed while you’re at it.”

“You’re kidding?”

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

“I’m sorry, OK?” I grumble. “I get it, I crossed the line! I just wanted to get my laptop and phone back!”

“You don’t get it at all,” she says in a dismissive tone. “You’re just trying to weasel your way out. If you really understood the lesson, you wouldn’t be talking back!”

I stay silent, faced with the truth. Her words won’t make me regret my actions. I step back as she gets up from her chair. I expected her to do something, but she just walks past me to get new sheets. So she wasn’t joking. I don’t hide my boredom.

“Come on, make my bed,” she encourages. “Then we’ll leave.”

“Again?” I sigh.

“You’re mine for the day. I plan to make you endure things that will make you think twice before pulling your next stunt.”

I go to her to get a sports uniform that she hands me. It's a new one that she must have picked up from the stock. I lock myself in her bathroom, a room I hadn't even thought to check. It's newer than mine. It has a sink with a larger countertop and a big mirror. My small shower cubicle doesn't compare to her huge walk-in shower behind the toilet. I stop making comparisons and place the clothes I'm wearing next to her sink to replace them with sweatpants, a t-shirt, and my jacket. I might need it if we stay outside. I don't linger and rejoin Bronze, who hasn't moved from her spot since earlier.

"What should I do with my uniform?" I asked.

"Where did you put it?"

"Folded next to the sink."

"Leave it there; you'll put it back on later."

I nodded, and she jumped off her desk. We headed out to the multi-sport fields. I didn’t wait for her orders to go to the edge of the field, ready to run. Her grip finally stopped me.

"We’re not starting with that today. First, you’re going to do fifty push-ups," she ordered.

"What? But there’s mud everywhere!"

"So what? At least next time, you’ll remember not to mess with me."

"Please-"

"No, Ona. Stop arguing! I’m already very patient with you, so don’t ask me to be even more patient because it’s not possible!"

"I can't do them..." I finally admitted in a whisper.

"Pardon?"

"I’ve never managed to do them," I said louder, avoiding her eyes.

"Well, you’re going to learn now. Come on, get on the ground, I'll help you."

I sighed but obeyed, looking for a spot with less mud. I could only blame myself for this punishment. My knees weren’t spared, but at least I avoided stains on other parts. I fell onto my hands and extended my legs to stay elevated. It was hard to hold. Even more so when I felt my supervisor's hands on my waist. I tensed, but I held on to avoid making her pull back immediately.

"Relax. I just want to position you correctly, okay?" she said.

I nodded at her explanation. I tried to relax, but it was hard. Her presence was unsettling. One of her hands slid under my belly while the other was on my shoulder to straighten me up.

"Don’t move your back. I’m going to reposition your legs, so try to hold your position."

She unexpectedly grabbed one of my ankles. My body reacted by keeping it on the ground. Again, she asked me to let go. Once I did, she brought my ankle closer to the other until they were almost touching. When she announced I was good, my arms gave out. I ended up flat on my stomach in the mud, growling in frustration.

"It’s okay. You’re just not used to working your arms," she explained. "Try to get back into position like I just showed you."

I nodded and got back on my hands and feet. My position must have been correct since she didn’t have to adjust much. Just my back, which was rounded again.

"Do them with motivation. I’d like you to find a regular rhythm if possible."

"It’s going to be hard," I mumbled.

"That’s the point. I want you to feel your body heating up tomorrow and think of me, remembering why I made you do this."

"I get the lesson, Bronze," I tried.

"No, you don’t. Do something like this again, and it’s going to be worse for you. It won’t just be push-ups and laps around the field next time. Do we agree?"

"Yes..."

Throughout this, I was still holding myself up on my arms. They started to shake from lack of strength. Bronze was no longer angry, but her voice remained firm. She wanted me to submit, and she was getting it. I was at her feet in every sense of the word. I was on the verge of giving up, but she ordered me to hold on. I really had to dig deep mentally to manage it.

"I want you to understand that if I give you a sanction, it’s not for my pleasure. Every punishment has its reasons."

"I understand..."

"No, not yet," she replied. "But it will come."

"I’m telling you I un-"

"I said no," she cut me off harshly. "Do you understand that I’m not against you?"

My silence spoke volumes about my thoughts. No, that I didn’t understand. To me, she was holding me back, so she was against me. I just wanted to be left alone and live my life. Bronze did the opposite by always coming down on me.

"Then you don’t understand," she concluded. "You’ll understand the meaning of your sanctions when you accept that I’m not the villain. Anyway, let’s get back to where we were. Start your push-ups. You’ll even count them out loud for me. I’ll reduce them to thirty since it’s your first time. Okay?"

"Yes, Bronze."

"Let’s go. One!"

I groaned at the sound of the first number. I bent my arms and pushed to try and lift myself. In vain. I fell pitifully to the ground. If I had been in Bronze’s place, I would have laughed at myself, but she didn’t. Instead, she encouraged me to try again with more effort. I’d like to see her try! If she had my body, she’d understand my struggle. I didn’t doubt hers was very athletic. I tried again, putting all my strength into it. I shouted the number in a victorious cry when I managed the push-up. I was back on the ground the next second. I felt my morning was going to be very long...

Monday, October 12; 1:10 p.m. - Bathroom.

I was washing my hands for the second time to remove the dried mud that was hard to get off. The sky had been clear this morning, but yesterday’s rain hadn’t spared me. I had just finished my punishment. Bronze was leaning against the sink next to me, watching me with a mocking smile. I didn’t see what was funny. I was covered in mud, both my clothes and the few inches of visible skin. Don’t even mention my face. I had fallen countless times during the push-ups. My record was probably three in a row.

"Are you okay?" she asked cheerfully. "Let me help you."

"No, it’s fine."

"Oh, stop being a killjoy and let me help."

She tore off a piece of paper towel meant for drying hands and wet it. I tried to take it, but she slapped my fingers. I realized too late that she had trapped me between the faucet and her. I grumbled as she wiped the wet paper on my face.

"I could have done it."

"I’m trying to be nice; can’t you tell?"

I smiled slightly, averting my eyes. I let her continue, crossing my arms. She might be nice in real life, but not with me.

"Stop pouting."

"I’ll pout if I want to."

"Child."

I looked at her indignantly. I doubted an instructor had the right to insult a student. She probably allowed herself because it was unlikely anyone would believe me if I reported her.

"I give myself every right with you, and you’re probably right. No one would believe you."

"Did I speak out loud?"

"It seems so," she smiled. "Don’t move; I’ll be right back."

It was hard to leave with my face dripping water. She got another paper towel to dry my face before throwing it away. I looked in the mirror to admire her work. I thanked her as she washed her hands. I would have liked to change before eating, but Bronze had made it clear it wasn’t possible if we still wanted to be served. It would be the last straw if we couldn’t eat when she planned to keep me this afternoon. I wouldn’t last without something in my stomach. We arrived at an empty cafeteria. Fortunately, the cook offered to reheat a meal for each of us. He probably felt sorry for my appearance. I went first in line and greeted the staff I had recently worked with. They were all super nice. Once served, I went to my usual spot among all the empty tables. I flopped down on my chair, taking a deep breath. This break would finally let me relax. The soreness was already setting in. At the same time, she hadn’t gone easy on me. She had pushed me to the limit, though she admitted holding back. It was a good lesson. I wasn’t going to anger her anytime soon.

"Can I sit?"

I swallowed my bite with difficulty, nodding. I hadn’t expected her to join me. After all, it was just the two of us. It would be ridiculous to eat at two different tables. My break would be less restful than I had imagined.

"I’m here if you ever feel the need to talk," she said, surprising me.

I look up at her two emeralds that disturb me so much. She shows no hint of joking. This isn't the first time she's told me she wants to help. It seems she still doesn't understand that I don't want it, that I can't. It's beyond my strength.

"No, it's okay, thanks. It's not my thing."

"But it would do you good."

"You don't know me, you have no idea," I retorted coldly.

"You're right. So tell me about yourself."

"I don't see why it matters to you. It's been a long time since anyone's taken an interest in me. It's not going to change now."

"I care about you. You owe me that much after what you've put me through. Let's start with something basic. Do you have a passion, perhaps?"

She never gives up. I just found someone even more stubborn than me. I didn't think it was possible. I relax my shoulders and resign myself to answering her.

"I like art. Sometimes I draw."

"Draw?" she repeats, surprised.

"Yeah... It lets me express myself on paper and clear my head," I argued.

"But you don't have any drawing supplies in your room."

"I knew you searched my room!" I exclaimed.

"I didn't search, she rolls her eyes, exasperated. I just looked for your devices."

"You searched!"

"Okay... I searched if you want. Now answer me. Why don't you have any drawing supplies?"

"I thought I'd have access to downtown, but that's not the case."

I've only been here a week, but I admit I miss my pencils. It was my way of clearing my mind before sleeping. Now I listen to music or go on the computer. At least... I used to.

"When can I get my things back?" I asked.

"I don't know," she replies. "We could make a deal."

"A deal?"

"Yeah, we've made one before. I'm ready to give them back to you in exchange for something."

"It depends on what you're proposing..." I said, skeptical.

"Okay. Hmm... How about I give you your things back on Friday if you're on time every morning this week?"

"Really?" I asked enthusiastically.

"It's not the end of the world, is it?" she asks, tilting her head. "I'm not even asking you to stop your other nonsense. Just to be ready in the morning."

"Deal," I agreed, extending my hand.

She looks surprised at my quick response. She shakes my hand firmly. I wouldn't have agreed to the deal if I wasn't sure of myself. I know I can do it.

"And if I fail?"

"We'll extend the deal to the following week. Again and again until you succeed."

"I'll succeed."

"You seem very confident," she says with a smile.

"I practiced making my bed perfectly this weekend," I tell her. "It shouldn't be a problem anymore."

"Well, we'll see if your training pays off. In any case, keep it up, I prefer this behavior."

I smile shyly, lowering my head. I'm not used to being praised. It was quite the opposite in recent years.

"Miss Bronze, I've finally found you!"

I straighten up as I see the director approaching us. Bronze was her entire focus until she saw me. She furrows her brows and turns back to my supervisor when she reaches us.

"Ona has been causing trouble again by not being in class at this time?"

"You could say that," she replies. "Nothing too serious."

Why is she lying? I turned an instructor's room upside down - hers, to be exact. I don't think Wiegman would call that "nothing too serious." She just sighs.

"Fine, if you say so. Are you busy this afternoon?"

"I decided to keep Ona with me," she admits. "Do you need me?"

"Actually, we're missing quite a few things for tonight's meeting. A buffet was supposed to be arranged, but nothing is going right. I'd like you to make a trip to town."

I observe the exchange attentively. My supervisor seems annoyed. She has a habit of running her hand through her hair when something displeases her. She must not appreciate Wiegman changing her plans at the last minute.

"Alright, but I have one condition."

"Which is?"

"That you allow me to take her with me," she says, pointing at me.

I'm as surprised as Wiegman by her request. Nothing would make me happier than for her to take me to town. All I want is to get out of this place, even for just five minutes. The director doesn't share my enthusiasm judging by her expression.

"Is that necessary?"

"Yes," she says, crossing her arms. "I want to keep an eye on her."

"Fine, but you'd better be careful. This is the first time I'm allowing a student to leave the establishment in the middle of the week."

"That's my intention, mam," she replies promptly. "I prefer knowing she's with me rather than leaving her alone here, unsupervised."

"Alright, I trust you anyway. Here's the list of what we need," she says, handing it to her. "Thanks again."

She turns away without waiting for a response. I can hardly believe what just happened. Bronze asked for me to accompany her to town. I can't believe it. I'm going to be able to leave this place! I thought she wanted to skin me alive after what I did to her.

"Wipe that smile off your face," she says, which makes me lose it. "I just don't want to leave you alone. You lost my trust the moment you entered my room."

"I promise you I regret it. At least... Not at first, but now I do."

"Whatever. You've just earned having me more on your back. It's time you got used to my presence, Ona, because you and I won't be parting from now on."

I swallow hard. If she intends to make me regret my mistake, she's already succeeded. She lets me finish my dessert before we clear our trays. Not knowing what to do or where to go, I follow her. We first return to her room where she asks me to put on my uniform.

"Put the one you're wearing in my laundry basket. I'll have it washed."

"When will you stop giving me orders?" I muttered under my breath.

"When you stop doing things your own way."

I thought she wouldn't hear me... I was wrong! She surprises me by giving me a kick in the butt to prompt me to enter the bathroom. I don't hesitate to go. I can finally take off these clothes. I put everything in her laundry basket, as she asked, then I put on my uniform. I come out fixing my messy hair. Bronze is waiting for me patiently on her bed.

"Can we go?"

"Yep."

We head out, passing the cafeteria on foot. I discover a place behind the gym hidden by trees. It's a large parking lot. Bronze unlocks a car from a distance with the key. I think I'm dreaming when I see the orange lights flashing on a black Audi A5.

"Is this your car?"

"Whose else would it be?"

"Well, I don't know... Maybe your boyfriend's."

She smiles slightly, shaking her head. I get into her car, forgetting her answer. I'm in an Audi! I've always had a soft spot for this brand. It has an undeniable class. To think my supervisor owns one. I'm jealous. The interior is equipped with black leather seats more comfortable than my own bed. It has just the right amount of space. I love it! She drives without exceeding second gear to reach the entrance. I'm sure she has a sports package given how the car purrs. I have no doubt when she takes off furiously down the street, leaving me completely pressed into the seat.

"It's mine," she snapped.

"So, no boyfriend then?" I asked playfully. "Not surprising, given your commanding attitude."

"Shut up," she retorted with a slight smile. "I might not know much about you, but you know nothing about me."

"Exactly, I told you something about me. You could do the same."

"No. I don't trust you anymore, and anyway, the rules forbid me from talking about my private life."

I sighed in frustration, settling into the seat. The trip continued in silence as I distracted myself with the scenery. Only houses passed by. It’s always better than the dilapidated walls of the camp. I'm seeing Manchester for the first time. I was so on edge when I arrived that I didn’t pay attention to the outside. We arrived at the supermarket parking lot, where she parked with a view of downtown buildings in the distance. She got out of the car while I looked at the supermarket. It seemed huge, almost double the size of the one I'm used to in Barcelona. I jumped when Bronze knocked on my window.

"Move it, we don't have all day."

Always so friendly... I unbuckled the seatbelt that still held me hostage as she opened the door for me. I grabbed what I recognized as a shopping cart token.

"Where should I get this?" I asked.

"We're going together; I’m not leaving you alone."

The opposite would have been strange. We grabbed a cart at the entrance, and unsurprisingly, I was the one tasked with pushing it. We entered the supermarket. I discreetly observed Bronze, who was busy reading the shopping list.

"Are you from here?"

"None of your business."

"You seem to know the place..."

"Stop."

"You're not funny," I sighed, leaning on the cart.

"I'm not particularly trying to be. Stand up straight, you're not a pasha."

I groaned in frustration. It seemed she decided to go back to being the unpleasant officer. I observed the environment I missed. I hadn't had any social contact for a week. It was mostly old people, but it was still better than the annoying faces of the camp students who kept staring at me. I was brought back to reality when fingers snapped in front of my nose.

"Stop daydreaming, Batlle. Let's go."

I sighed, walking beside her. She kept my pace, giving me time to notice that there were a lot of people for a Monday afternoon. We went aisle by aisle, as they came. We stopped whenever we found something on the list. The cart gradually filled up with towels, plates, drinks, snacks, and biscuits. The guests for tonight's meeting would be well-treated. I wished I could be in their place.

"Wait here, I forgot something in the next aisle."

I nodded. Anyway, I couldn't go anywhere without her. She was driving, and even if I wanted to leave, I didn't know the city and had no money or phone. I wouldn't get far. I watched Bronze until she was out of sight. I sighed in boredom. Shopping with an instructor was far from fun. The worst part was that she hadn't spoken since I insisted on getting information about her. That was stupid. I took advantage of her absence to lean on the cart and scan the surroundings. My gaze stopped on two young people in particular. They were the only ones I'd seen since the beginning. One of them was covered in piercings and tattoos. Nothing too extreme, just enough. I observed their hands seeking each other. I straightened up suddenly. I couldn't believe it! How could they do that in a supermarket! It might have gone unnoticed by others, but not by me. I felt suddenly shaky. Damn... I should never have seen that. The young man who had grabbed the merchandise continued his route as if nothing had happened. The other must have felt someone watching because he turned his head towards me. It was now or never. My hands were trembling. I stood up from the cart. I needed to talk to him, to negotiate to get some too! Just as I decided to go, a strong hand on my shoulder dissuaded me. I turned to see Bronze with a disapproving frown.

"Where were you planning to go?"

I slightly parted my lips, searching for a quick excuse. She looked up at the dealer. I did the same and saw that the guy I was about to approach was fleeing. Damn, he must have been scared!

"I... Well, since you were taking your time... Um... I wanted to see where you were."

"Don't bullshit me!" she snapped coldly.

I widened my eyes, not expecting such an excessive reaction. She understood everything, no doubt about it.

"Walk ahead," she said, pushing me from behind.

My hands clenched around the cart. I couldn't stop trembling. So close to the goal... I was frustrated and had messed up again. Bronze knew. The situation was even tenser than before. We made one last stop to get the final item on the list.

"If you've come this far, you better avoid relapsing," she broke the silence.

"Hmm."

"I'm serious," she frowned. "You don't need that crap to feel good for a short while."

"What does it matter to you? I have the right to do what I want."

"No, you don't have that right since I'm with you. And maybe I care because I'm worried about you!"

"Worried about me?" I scoffed. "Don't bullshit me! No one has worried about me for a long time. I don't need your pity, thanks."

I sped up, trying to find the registers alone. Bronze told me to slow down, but I ignored her. I just wanted her to leave me alone. Unfortunately for me, she caught up quickly.

"You really need to stop being so stubborn! I'm responsible for you, OK? And yes, I worry about you! You'll have to deal with it."

She sighed when she got no reaction from me. I didn't even flinch. I couldn't help it if I didn't believe her. Words are easy to say. It's another thing to back them up. She just guided me to the register when she realized she wouldn't get anything from me. I'd had enough arguments for today. I helped unload the items onto the conveyor belt when it was our turn, then did the reverse. When we finished, she paid with an envelope Wiegman had given her in the cafeteria. We loaded the car, then I returned the cart. The drive back was silent. Thankfully the trip was short because I couldn't stand the situation any longer. It was all my fault, and to top it off, my hands were still shaking.

"Give me your hand."

I shook my head vigorously. I didn't want any contact with her, especially since we were supposed to be on bad terms. But she didn't give me a choice and took my hand herself, slipping hers into mine by force. I hated my body for betraying me. I was supposed to refuse being touched, but I had no strength left. I was mentally disturbed, and my body decided to seek comfort from the person I hated the most at that moment. I hated her for being who she was. I hated her for daring to touch and care about me. And yet, I also hated her when she let go to shift gears. I could have done without her little smile, letting me know she understood that I needed her. I'm so contradictory. My tremors subsided during the ride. We arrived at the camp. She turned off the car after parking.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah... Thanks," I managed to get out with a tight throat.

"Let's take it easy for the rest of the day. You'll help me set up the meeting room, and we'll take the chance to talk and lower the tension between us. Okay?"

I nodded, and she smiled back. Maybe my day wouldn't end as badly as I thought. I was grateful she didn't continue with punishments. I couldn't imagine doing anything physical after this episode. Once again, I was mentally and physically drained because of her. She'll be the death of me one day, for sure!

[cherryxsang]

𝙼𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝙳𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚁𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 - 𝙲.𝚂𝚊𝚗

CEO!San x Employee!Fem!Reader

Genre: smut

Word count: 3.1k

Warnings: semi-public sex, San is a playful dom, fingering, finger sucking, cum eating kind of?, punishment, spanking, dirty talk, sir kink, penetrative sex, masturbation, San gives the reader instructions

◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡

You had always had a huge crush on your boss. How could you not? He was sweet, witty and charming, with the face of an angel and, you could assume by the way his suit fit around his toned muscles and thin waist, the body of a demon.

It was for this reason that you actually looked forward to doing your paperwork every day, only if it meant going up to Mr. Choi’s office and handing it to him. Every time your desk phone rang, you answered with your nicest voice, hoping to hear Mr. Choi’s classic honey-voiced greeting, “There’s my favorite secretary,” on the other line. Your heart would stutter, and upon being called to his office, you would check your hair and your lipstick in the reflection of your phone, practice your cute smile and then get up.

It was for this reason that you actually looked forward to doing your paperwork every day, only if it meant going up to Mr. Choi’s office and handing it to him. Every time your desk phone rang, you answered with your nicest voice, hoping to hear Mr. Choi’s classic honey-voiced greeting, “There’s my favorite secretary,” on the other line. Your heart would stutter, and upon being called to his office, you would check your hair and your lipstick in the reflection of your phone, practice your cute smile and then get up.

And then there he would be, charismatic eyes scanning over his computer, his chin on his palm and his pen between his teeth. Every time, he would swivel in his chair to face you, never breaking eye contact as the two of you spoke. Most importantly, he would always sit with his legs spread wide and lean back in his chair with his hands on his thighs, making the way his dress pants tightly fit all the more noticeable. 

That posture drove you fucking crazy. He looked so smug, yet so approachable, like he was just waiting for you to climb onto his lap. It took your every last inch of self-control and dignity to keep your eyes on his face. When your eyes did wander, which was probably more often than you’d care to admit, you would walk away dripping.

As professional as he acted, Mr. Choi was not oblivious, nor was he totally innocent. There had been times you had caught him staring. Others in the office had jealously pointed out that sometimes his smiles toward you seemed a little too big. At office parties and other events, Mr. Choi was known to be a bit of a flirt. For the most part, he singled you out, asking questions about your life, giving you an occasional touch on the arm, offering to buy you drinks and show you around various places in town.

As professional as he acted, Mr. Choi was not oblivious, nor was he totally innocent. There had been times you had caught him staring. Others in the office had jealously pointed out that sometimes his smiles toward you seemed a little too big. At office parties and other events, Mr. Choi was known to be a bit of a flirt. For the most part, he singled you out, asking questions about your life, giving you an occasional touch on the arm, offering to buy you drinks and show you around various places in town.

Although nothing had ever happened, there had always been an unspoken understanding between the two of you. Mutual feelings to some degree.

It was a Friday evening, just after 5:30. Most of your coworkers had left by that point. You realized that you had to stay late after some paperwork had slipped your mind until the last minute. Once you finished your work, you made your way to Mr. Choi’s office. You planned to leave it on his desk where he would see it on Monday.

As you pushed open the heavy wooden door and took a step inside, what you saw made you freeze in your tracks. It was Mr. Choi’s large, muscular back, wearing only a tight and revealing black tank. You briefly saw the way his muscles tensed before his broad shoulders rotated to face you. You glanced at his face, which showed surprise and confusion, then down at his tightly clad chest, and back up.

Your brain was screaming, “Just apologize and close the damn door already,” but you were frozen in place, staring with your mouth wide open. Though you should have felt guilty, your body couldn’t lie as your insides heated up to the point of melting, sending you on a tingling buzz.

Mr. Choi chuckled at your shock and began to move slowly toward you. You realized, feeling so small and stupid, that only now had you noticed just how broad those shoulders really were, and how tall he was. You felt he was towering over you, especially as he made his way closer.

Finally, you snapped out of it, and he was standing right in front of you. Looking down at your flustered face, he smirked, cocky, and let out a chuckle. He spoke quietly to not be heard around the office, “Caught me changing.” You gulped. “You’re so shy, y/n?”

You unconsciously closed the door behind you. “I-I’m sorry, sir. I’m just surprised to see you like this.” He took another step and your heart pounded faster. He looked focused, like he was trying to read you. “Do you always change in your office, sir?”

You could hardly finish your question before Mr. Choi responded, “Can I kiss you?”

“Okay.”

Another cocky smile lit up his face and he lifted a gentle hand to brush your hair out of your face. He seemed eager, willing to waste no time as he leaned down to your face, seeking out your lips. As Mr. Choi’s lips softly pressed against yours, you had no inkling that it was your boss you were kissing. As far as you were concerned right then, Mr. Choi—San—was a man, nothing more, nothing less.

Having already thrown your position out the window, you dove in. You opened your mouth, giving San’s tongue the freedom to do as it pleased. Gently grabbing his waist, you walked backwards, pulling him with you until your back crashed into his door. You giggled when you hit your head and San did the same in a way that felt slightly teasing.

San pulled his mouth away and he spoke softly again, but still firmly with that deep, sweet voice like butter, “Tsk. Naughty thing… Now…” He tapped your lips with his index finger, watching expectantly for you to let him stick two fingers inside your mouth. “Are you ever gonna learn how to knock or am I gonna have to bend you over this desk and teach you?”

You moaned around his fingers, looking up at the tall man with puppy eyes. His words made you throb with need. “Mmhmm,” you answered, swirling your tongue around his digits.

San pulled his fingers away and looked at you serious, asking, “Do you want to do this?”

“Yes,” you rushed to say, closing your eyes tight, embarrassed to see his reaction.

“Just tell me if you wanna stop,” was the last thing he said before taking the next step, entering the point of no return. Your professional relationship was officially ruined from that point forward, but fuck if you cared at all.

He slammed his lips back into yours, biting and moaning around your lips while his hand traveled down your work blouse, fingers tugging at your waistband. He shoved his hand inside and you stood with your legs slightly spread, your back pressed against the door. His fingers, still wet with your saliva, immediately landed on your swollen clit, rubbing gently back and forth. You moaned into his mouth, instinctively grabbing a hold of San’s wrists, one of which was down your pants, the other pressed against the door beside your head.

When he pressed a little harder on your clit, you moaned in surprise and closed your thighs around his hand. He let out a soft chuckle, this one unmistakably teasing. “When you’re at home…” his movements sped up, “…lying in your bed…” then they stopped and slid to your entrance, “…do you imagine it’s me?” His voice was shaking and breathless, desperate by the time two of his slender fingers plunged inside of you. “Doing this?”

You moaned both at how his fingers felt, filling you and pressing tenderly against your sweet spot, and at how sexy his confidence was. How dare he assume that he was the subject of your dirty fantasies? And how dare he be right? “Yes, sir,” you said, smiling with feigned innocence.

San smiled back at you, his ego doubling in size. “Good girl.” He pulled his fingers out of you, leaving you feeling empty and clenching around nothing. You watched in shock as he lifted his fingers to his mouth and sucked them both clean. For a moment, you were embarrassed. You had never seen someone do that before and you wondered what it tasted like. Your worries were wiped away though by the satisfied moan that followed his actions. “Sweet. I knew you’d be. But now look at what you've done to me.”

Standing tightly sandwiched between San and the wall, you had to strain your eyes to look down. “Uh-uh,” he shook his head, then whispered, “Feel me.”

You carefully reached out to touch your boss’s hard cock through his pants, your jaw nearly hitting the floor when you felt just how much it was pushing against his dress pants. It was bigger than you imagined and desperate for attention. San busied himself with kissing your neck while you rubbed him through his pants.

You let out a few breathy moans, feeling the fire inside of you burn out of control. “I need you inside me,” you blurted out.

“Try again,” he said sternly.

You gulped. “Please, sir. I need you now. Please.”

He hummed happily. “Can I be rough?”

“Yes,” you practically shouted, excited by the notion of San having his way with you. You deserved it after all, having entered his office without knocking.

From there, a switch flipped in San. He grabbed your wrist and pulled you toward his desk. He sat you down on the cold wooden surface then lifted the black tank from his muscular body. You happily drank in the sight of his tan skin, his defined abs, his large biceps. But you were quickly snapped out of it when he said, “Take your clothes off, baby.”

You pulled your shirt off slowly and teasingly, watching San as he stared you down impatiently. You touched the waistband of your pants and said, “I’m gonna need some help with these, sir.”

San obliged, kneeling on the carpet to pull your pants over your ankles as you kicked off your shoes. Standing back up, San leaned over you and stoked your cheek, trailing his fingers to your neck and gently wrapping around it. With his face inches from yours, he firmly said, “Bend over.”

Without hesitation, you did as you were told, embarrassingly noticing the wet spot you left on his desk as you bent over it with your ass up in the air. San stood behind you, petting your ass and grabbing a hold of the squishy flesh. “You still need to learn your lesson first. Yes?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good.” He let go of your skin, soon replacing the sensation with a hard spank that made you squeal. Feeling your ass burn, San soothed it with a soft touch. “Shhh… We wouldn’t want somebody to hear you, now would we?”

Suddenly you remembered something, perking up. “Did you lock the door?”

“No,” he said flatly. “Anyone could walk in, just like you.” Another slap. He leaned down behind your ear and whispered, “That’s why you have to be quiet.”

“Yes sir,” you whispered. You felt your wetness dripping, and maybe San noticed too, because he kneeled down, his face just in front of your pussy. He ran a teasing finger from your entrance to your clit, giving you a few gentle strokes before his hand came down on your pussy in a light slap.

“Naughty girl,” he sighed. “Dripping wet, and I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

By this point your legs were shaking from the excitement. Your head dropped to his desk and you pleaded, “Please San, I need it so bad.”

Another slap to your ass, this one a bit harder. “What’s my name?” he demanded.

“Please sir,” you corrected yourself. “I need you to fuck me.”

“Tell me how much you want my cock,” he said. You thought you heard him fiddling with his belt. You tried to turn around, only for him to quickly say, “And don’t. Move.”

You whined, your aching pussy still clenching around nothing, impatient for satisfaction. “I don’t want it, sir, I need it. I need to feel your big, hard cock inside of me. I want you to fuck me and ruin me.”

That was when you felt his dick prod at your entrance. “Good girl,” he said before he moved his hips forward, his large dick slowly filling you up inch by inch. You felt your stomach flip when he brushed over your sweet spot, and the both of you let out a deep moan as San bottomed out inside of you. He seemed even bigger now that you could feel every inch of him.

“Fuck,” you moaned. “You feel so good.” He pulled out slowly, giving you time to adjust, before pushing back in. Hearing him try to suppress his moans and grunts made you wish you could see what his face looked like. Instead you closed your eyes and imagined it.

“Mm, so tight,” he sighed. He began to thrust faster, your insides fluttering each time as he repeatedly poked at your sweet spot. “So good and wet for me. I always knew you’d feel amazing.” As San’s hips crashed against yours, rocking you roughly against his desk, he held your waist and pulled you to him with each thrust.

You revelled in the sounds of breathy moans and skin-on-skin contact that filled the small office, in the drop of sweat that landed on your back, in the never-ending stream of pleasure that filled your body up to the brim. His dick thrusted so perfectly inside of you, curved in such a way that he hit all the right spots seemingly without even trying. It was the perfect size, big enough for you to wrap tightly around him like a glove but not too big. You let yourself get lost in the sweet feeling of San.

Until he spoke again. “Turn around,” he said, pulling out. “I want to see you when you cum.” You obeyed, your back sore as you straightened out, sitting on his desk again. You finally got to look at him again, hungrily taking in the sight of his reddened cheeks, slightly sweaty torso, and erect cock.

San grabbed your knees and spread your legs wider. He then put one hand on your back and leaned you back slightly, his other hand guiding his dick back to you. You smiled like an idiot when you got to feel his dick again, but San was, for the first time, not smiling. He was focused on nothing but sex. Pounding into you with a new aggression and fervor, he stared down at where your bodies melded together.

“Rub your clit,” he commanded, and you obeyed. You closed your eyes and moaned, your pussy tensing around San’s cock. “Does it feel good?” he asked.

“Mmhmm,” you squeaked out, focused on the orgasm that was just over your horizon.

“You feel so good for me, baby,” he panted. “Are you close?”

“Yes, so close.” And judging by the shakiness of San’s voice, you guessed he was just as close as you.

“Cum for me, y/n.”

You looked at San’s eyes, which were looking right back at you. The look on his face—serious, desperate, and pure sex—was enough to push you over the edge. You held San’s arms as you tightened around him, trying not to scream but surely making some pretty sounds as you let the waves of your orgasm take you over.

Each pulse around San’s dick strangled him in the best way, almost to the point that he couldn’t move, and the sensation of your orgasm brought him to his own. His body stilled and you felt his warm seed fill you as you rode the last fading waves of your orgasm. You dug your nails into his back and held him close, his choked moans flowing into your ears like music.

San’s head fell into the crook of your neck and you innocently petted his soft hair for a few moments as a soothing action for him as well as yourself after a thrilling and tiring experience. Once San had caught his breath, he looked at you, oddly smileless. He said about the last thing that you expected to hear from him, “Did we make a mistake?”

Whereas before you might have wondered the same thing, now with San relying on you to be shameless, you were. “I don’t think so,” you answered honestly, your thumb now mindlessly stroking his arm. “I mean…from a professional standpoint, yeah. But I don’t regret it.” You looked at San for agreement, but you were scared when you couldn’t find it. You looked at him closer, and said the words you wanted so badly to hold back: “Do you?”

San took only a couple seconds to think. Seconds that felt to you like hours. “No,” he shook his head, and he sounded sincere. But as he stared at the floor, you could tell there was something more he wasn’t telling you. “I just wish we’d done it right.”

“You mean-?”

“I know this is backwards, and we’re naked right now and it’s weird, but…” A smile crept up on him. “Can I take you on a date?”

“Yes,” you said perhaps a little too excitedly, because then you remembered: “But we can’t. We’d lose our jobs.”

“No one has to know,” he smirked. It made you laugh out loud. How could he be so over-confident as to propose a secret, forbidden relationship that would put your jobs at risk, mere seconds after a sloppy fuck? And how dumb were you for being completely on board?

Eventually, San helped you off of his desk. The two of you briefly cleaned up using a box of tissues San had handy, and you began to redress. You glanced at the time. 6:30. Surely everyone must have gone home by now. You turned around to see San putting on his evening clothes, this time for good, and started for the door. Shit, you thought. It really was unlocked the whole time.

Pulling the door open, you took one step before stopping dead in your tracks, your heart dropping as you saw a confused face peek up from a nearby cubicle. It was that guy. The kiss-ass who stayed late every damn night.

“Y/n?” He looked at the clock on the wall then back at you. “Were you meeting with Mr. Choi?”

You cleared your throat and tried to sound casual, not letting your post-orgasm shaky voice come out. “Yes, we were talking about…numbers and the time got away from us. He said he needs a few minutes of privacy and then he’ll be out.” You made sure San could hear everything you said before closing the office door. As you left the office, you tried to hide your red face and to think about anything other than the fact that your dumb coworker may have just heard you fucking your boss.

Sitting in your running car, you scrolled through your phone, responding to messages you received during work hours. A tap on your window made you jump. You rolled your window down.

“That was very cute, y/n,” San smirked, referencing your embarrassing conversation with your coworker. “This is going to be fun.”

◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡

a/n: shout out to @toxicccred bc i’m pretty sure this fic was all her idea!!! thank you bestie 🥰 also i have a tag list now!

tag list: @kitty4hwa

♡ tag list form ♡

© cherryxsang DO NOT REPOST

[yibocheeks]

Translated excerpts from the War of Faith livestream interview of the cast

Each of the cast members are asked to bring something which represents their character. Yibo brings an abacus pin, to represent one of Wei Ruolai's talents.

Wang Yang brings the fountain pen that he used on set, because his character has to sign a lot of important documents with this pen, and, "More importantly, during the scene when the disciple bows to his mentor, this is a very very important gift."

MC: There was a trending search before that said, "In War of Faith, the male and female leads do not really have any development of (romantic) feelings, they are all focused on their careers." Did you see this? Li Qin: I think that there can be many different types of feelings. And also, when the director had introduced the character to me, he wanted to showcase what a woman's thoughts and dilemmas might be in that era, that this would be more meaningful and more interesting. So...it is up to the audience's imagination. MC: So how would you describe the relationship between Wei Ruolai and Shen Jinzhen? Li Qin: They are comrades in revolution, and she is also the one who guides him on his path of changing ideologies.

The cast plays a game (near the end of the interview), where they point out who they believe fits the prompt.

Which actor is the most active -> Yibo MC: Yibo, why do you think everyone says you're the most active? Yibo: Then you'll have to ask everyone (MC prompts Li Qin) Li Qin: Because if you watch the bts you'll know. Like when he slides down the stair railings, it's rather unexpected.

Who do netizens call the Red Wolf (character from the cartoon Pleasant Goat and Big Big Wolf) -> Li Qin Li Qin: I don't know why everyone gave me this nickname (MC prompts Wang Yang) Wang Yang: Because she has a red dress, and sometimes she has a serious expression like a big wolf MC: Because she can be very serious when she's facing her enemies

Who laughs the most easily -> Li Qin Li Qin: The trio from the Central Bank are together on this, they're ganging up together (MC prompts Yibo) Yibo: She has a lot of scenes where she ends up laughing in the middle MC: She's very cheerful? Yibo: Yes...she doesn't realize herself Li Qin: My brother (Wang Yang) laughs a lot in the middle of filming, don't you see this in the bts? Wang Yang: I very rarely do, this happened once with Gao Lu. The rest, really, you laugh very easily on set. And when she laughs, she easily makes the rest of us laugh. Her behaviour is very cute. MC: That means, Qin Qin, you bring a lot of joy to the set Li Qin: They've already started, if not for Yang-ge today, they probably wouldn't gang up like this

Who is the most different from their character -> Li Qin and Wang Yang (2 votes each, then Wang Xueqi adds his vote for Li Qin) (MC asks Yibo why he picked Li Qin) Yibo: Because like we just said she usually...*looks down thinking* MC: Her joyful times? Yibo: Yes, but her role needs to be very serious, so there is quite a difference (MC asks Song Shuai why he picked Wang Yang) Song Shuai: Maybe because Shen Tunan is very serious and solemn. Usually Wang Yang is like a big youth in his spare time, so he leads us along Wang Yang: Because they are all young, and I have to bring up the mood on set. Because Yibo is quite shy, so I do this so that everyone can work together in a cheerful environment Lan Xiya: When Wang Yang-laoshi is on set, he's very amicable Wang Yang: Call me Yang-ge, don't call me Wang Yang-laoshi Lan Xiya: Wang Yang-ge...sounds so awkward (laughs) Wang Yang-ge, he's very amicable and leads us with his energy Wang Yang: Do you not agree (to Li Qin) Li Qin: I completely agree, I think they are very fair/unbiased

Who's the best at taking action -> Yibo and Wang Xueqi (2 votes each) (MC asks Li Qin why she picked Yibo) Li Qin: Because as you just watched, like when he plays games, he's very good, he's a quick learner and has a quick reaction time

Whose character would you want to be if you could choose anyone? MC: Secretary Huang chose Ruolai immediately without hesitation Wang Yang points at Song Shuai and MC asks: You want to be your own secretary? Wang Yang: I want to be like him so I can compete with Ruolai MC: So you think if it was you then things might not turn out the same Wang Yang: Definitely, at least I wouldn't waste my time being jealous MC asks Yibo who he would pick and Yibo says: I think Ruolai is pretty good