#and of course the formatting got fucked again but whatever

[silentwalrus1]

I like to think about what if the Kaminoans just, fucked all the way up and made the clones telepaths on purpose.

Kamino is in the Rishi maze, the equivalent of total buttfuck nowhere. This is like a cattle processing plant in rural Montana manufacturing an order for Shenzhen as outlined by a third party intermediary from Monaco who keeps contact with neither production nor “client” and nobody’s first language is Basic. Jedi are like, totally psychic right? Right. Psychic army for psychic clients, sounds right, checks out. There are whole ass telepathic alien species out there, some of which are also Jedi. Why would they want NON-psychic clones. Get it done, Tally Ho or Nala Says or whatever her name is. Chop chop.

Cue like seven years into production and the Kaminoan project leads are starting to get some… inklings…. that maybe some of the deliverable specs were perhaps not so much well-researched as based off cross-galactic hearsay some underpaid analysts pulled off space reddit. This is a business, okay? You’re not gonna make profit manufacturing two million units of fucking anything if you treat it like a luxury product, but especially not if the product has goddamn childhood development & socialization needs. Of fucking course some shit maybe slipped through the cracks. What are we supposed to fucking do now, Lama goddamn Sue sir, tell the Jedi or the pickled fucking Sith that oopsie woopsie, we got the specs wrong half a decade in and have to start over again?

No. No we are not. We are going to lie our fucking semi-aquatic asses off, is what we’re gonna do, and so will you clones if you know what’s good for you. NONE of you are fucking psychic, and you never were. Got that? Understood?

Fast forward to Jedi pickup D-Day and every time anyone with a lightsaber gets within aural biosystem of choice distance the clones immediately start loudly and dutifully Having Conversations.

Hello Commander Sir, It Is I, Trooper McSoldierClone, What A Weather It Is Today, Ha Ha? Over. Yes Indeed McTrooper One Two Three Four, I Am Agree, Now Here Is An Order To Follow Which I Am Vociferously Giving You, Acknowledge Orally, Over. Every clone making rock-hard sweating eye contact like don’t fuck it up as they mentally chant encouragement and script notes and jeering performance feedback at each other. Cadets trooping to fucking speech practice to learn speaking out loud with all the enthusiasm and skill of the average white suburban Floridian teenager taking their fifth mandatory Spanish 1 class. The jedi are like damn these poor asylum grown freaks are so unsocialized and uncomfortable around us, Their Owners, this is so tragic and horrid and unfortunate and meanwhile every clone standing silently in formation is mentally spectating the 400-person telepathic tetris team sport they invented with the same vibes as a football world cup back alley street party complete with official & unofficial betting pools and expert panel commentary

[badomensbaby]

above the law. lrh

pairing: luke hemmings x fem! reader

summary: luke's so sick of his assistant, you, talking all the damn time. he finally does something about it.

warnings: 18+ only. minors DNI. smut, thigh-riding, unprotected sex, verbal degradation, rough bj, slightly dubious consent, office sex, cum-swallowing, cursing.

word count: 4,173

a/n: i wrote this originally back in early 2023 as an au using one of my wattpad original characters. through some editing, i've decided to change the pov and post it here! i hope you enjoy x

feedback and constructive criticism welcome. requests are open!

Copyright © 2024 badomensbaby. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format.

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"Hemmings, get your head out of your ass for once and finish this goddamn deal."

The curly headed blonde's eyes snap away from the project he's currently in the middle of, various folders scattered amongst his desk, drowning him in useless paperwork all for a stupid fucking merger.

"The fuck do you think I'm doing?" Luke grumbles under his breath, snapping the Bolton file shut and tossing his overly expensive fountain pen on top of the mess he's created. Ashton Irwin, one of three named partners, stands with his arms crossed in the doorway of Luke's corner office, an unamused expression on his face.

"I think you're trying to do all this shit on your own instead of utilizing your associate, that's what I think," the honey blonde scoffs, thick brow raising, "Where's Y/N anyway? You send her across town for your stupid coffee again?"

"No," Luke's quick to defend, though it is the easiest way to get you out of his eyesight for a little while and focus, "I've got her on the Mansfield settlement."

"The Mansfield- that's Mike's case, idiot," Ashton shakes his head, "What's the deal, Luke? You really hate Y/N that much?"

A sigh of exhaustion leaves Luke's lips, head cocking back as he stares at the ceiling. "She's just chatty," he says vaguely, "Can't get a single fuckin' thing done 'cause she won't shut up."

"She's your associate, Luke, stop pawning her off on Mike or he'll swipe her out from under you."

"Good," he forces out a low chuckle, meeting the man's eyes, "He can have her."

"Don't say things you don't mean, you know she's one of the best associates we've got." Luke's eyes roll at his boss' words, sitting up straighter in his desk chair.

"Whatever," he mumbles softly, not willing to admit your brain is undeniably better than half the fucking people he's met. "Can I get back to work now?"

A defeated sigh escapes Ash's lips, "If I don't see Y/N in here working with you I'll make sure to send Calum your way."

"Calum?" the curly haired boy's nose wrinkles, shaking his head, "That's like giving me a fucking puppy, Ash, literally useless."

"Your call." he responds, a little smirk on his lips before pulling Luke's office door shut behind him. A groan leaves Luke's throat at this, the urge to rip every last blonde ringlet from his head at the idea of spending the remaining afternoon going over these stupid files with you.

Regardless of the fact that you’re distracting, which he'll never admit aloud, he shoots you a vague text requiring your presence in his office, no more than twenty minutes from now.

And of course, your dainty little wrist began knocking on the dark wooden door of his office precisely twenty-three minutes after he'd sent the text, only fueling his annoyance. A curt "come in" leaves his lips but his eyes remain on the file, instead of the sinful black dress on your curvy frame.

Tasteful and tightly fit, your fingers instinctively tug at the material resting on your mid thigh, a worrisome look on your features. For as long as you can recall, Luke's always teased you about your wardrobe, especially the bright colors and silken skirts.

"You're late," his tone is flat, hand scribbling away at the paperwork he's nearly memorized already, "I swear to god if you say some bullshit about the elevator again-"

Luke's words die in his throat as he lifts his head, eyes landing on the tight fabric on your frame, hugging every fucking dip and curve of your body. You meet eyes, yours widening, worried you’re going to be lectured again. Was your dress too plain, too boring?

The sweetheart neckline alone almost makes Luke lick his lips, stifling the urge to say something far, far more inappropriate to his associate. "Doesn't matter," the blonde rushes out, "We're gonna be here all night. Preorder from Machi's while you're at it."

"Okay," is all you say, walking closer to his desk, the click of your heels echoing Luke's ears as you bend over, just slightly, grabbing his desk phone and beginning to dial.

After nearly four hours and neither had made a miraculous discovery, a whine of agony leaves your throat, sat across the moderately sized office, snapping yet another useless file folder shut. "Luke,"

"What?" he rasps, tearing his eyes away from the file, meeting your eyes, his own filled with annoyance. "Don't tell me you've got nothing, Y/N."

"There's honestly no reason why Bolton should be merging with Daniels," you sigh out, running a hand through your hair, "Seriously, it's like Pampers merging with Microsoft, they have no interest in one another."

"Christ," Luke mutters under his breath, jaw tensing as you continue to ramble useless information, "Do you ever shut up?"

Mid-sentence, your lips snap shut, a warmth spreading across your cheeks. "Sorry," you respond softly, and Luke almost feels bad for being so curt, but god you never close your fucking mouth. "Did you find anything?"

A huff of air leaves Luke's nose, "Maybe," he says, twirling his fountain pen between his fingers, leg bouncing aimlessly as he scans over the documents for the umpteenth time. "But you keep fucking talking and it's throwing me off."

"Sorry."

"Damnit, Y/N," his curls bounce slightly as he shakes his head, rifling a hand through them, glancing over at your position on the small sofa, dress slightly ridden up your smooth thighs. "Come here, let me show you something."

Hesitantly, you toss the file on your lap onto the cushion, standing and making your way over to Luke's desk, oblivious to the fitted material of your dress riding a bit higher than intended. Luke swallows thickly, attempting to keep focus on the file in his hand. As you lean over slightly to see what Luke's underlined, his eyelids fall shut, the smell of your perfume annihilating his senses.

"But that means-" you cut yourself off, lower lip tucked between your teeth, palms flat on the corner of Luke's desk, "This isn't about combining their companies, is it?"

"No," Luke finally says after a moment, slowly blinking his eyes open, "But we need to convince the judge it is."

"That's impossible, Luke, it's clear they're only doing this for-"

"I know, just figure it out, Y/N."

"That'll take all night," you whine softly, "I'm not sleeping in the office two nights in a row." Luke's teeth grit together at your response, frustrated and fed up with your goddamn attitude.

"If you can't do it I'll find someone who can," he cranes his neck to meet your eyes, narrowed and darkened, "You wanna whine about a few more hours be my guest, but you're not doing it here."

"But-"

"Jesus fucking-" he abandons his pen with a thud, rubbing the palms of his hands against his tired eyes, "I seriously have never met someone so goddamn annoying. All you fucking do is whine and complain and talk my fucking ear off," Luke rambles lowly, "You wanted to be an associate, so be a goddamn associate and shut your fucking mouth before I shut it for you."

You stand upright, embarrassment washing over your features, attempting to remain composed as tears threaten your eyes. It's not a secret that Luke's always harbored some sort of annoyance toward you, but he's never spoken to you in such a vile manner before. You swallow the thick lump in your throat, fists balled at your sides. How dare he say those things to you?

"You're an asshole," you say, voice wavering slightly, "You're always a dick to everyone. Nobody's ever good enough for you. I wanted to be an associate to learn and do what I love, not be talked to like a child."

"The fuck did you say to me?" Luke counters with a raised brow, ringed fingers slowly rolling up the sleeves of his fitted black dress shirt. "I think you forget who you work for. Not Ashton, not Michael, definitely not Jessica. You work for me, Y/N, and if you want to keep your fucking job I think you owe me a goddamn apology."

Luke's eyes flicker between yours and the hemline of your little black dress, the skin of your thighs soft and tempting as he widens the distance between his legs, splayed open. "Come here," he says, a bit quieter this time, though he's fucking seething internally, he can't deny how fucking hot it is talking down to the you. Hesitantly, you step closer, stomach swirling with uneasiness.

"You don't wanna go through those files? Fine," Luke forces out a low chuckle, "But I've got work to do and I'm not gonna let you get in the way of that. So what you're gonna do is sit right here," he taps on his clothed thigh, "Shut your fucking mouth and make yourself cum on my thigh."

"What-"

"You heard me."

"Luke, I-"

"It wasn't a question, Y/N. And so help me god if you complain or make a fucking sound you're more than welcome to leave."

For the first time, you’re speechless. Standing so close to the man you swear hates you with every fiber of his being, asking you to make yourself cum on his thigh, you can't help the clench of your own thighs at the thought. Sure, you’ve had those kinds of thoughts about the tall blonde, but never did you imagine his request.

"So? What'll it be?" Luke asks impatiently, a thick brow raised as he grabs his pen, clicking it profusely, leaning back in his chair.

Wordlessly, and swallowing your pride, you step closer, slowly lifting your leg over the blonde's thigh, his foot firmly planted on the small rug beneath him. His eyes almost widen, as if he didn't expect you to comply, and he stifles a grunt when your warm center meets the fabric of his slacks. He can feel how fucking wet you are through the thin material of your underwear, your dress sliding a bit further up your thighs, almost exposing yourself to him.

"Alright then," Luke clears his throat, leaning forward slightly to grab the Bolton file, relaxing in his desk chair. "Get to it."

With her heart rattling in her chest, you grasp the armrest of Luke's chair to ground yourself, filled to the brim with shame. Are you really going to do this? You can still back out, you don't need to show Luke how pathetic you are, fucking leaking on his slacks just from his crude words. You don't even register the rock of your hips against his thigh until a soft moan slips from your lips, catching Luke's attention, his eyes briefly flickering to you.

And fuck is it hot. Your eyes slowly flutter shut as your hips roll in slow motions, the friction from the fabric forgotten, sensitive clit throbbing from your movements. Luke's jaw tenses, tearing his eyes away from the tempting sight, his cock twitching in his slacks.

Shame and embarrassment are out the window as you near your first orgasm, the explicit images of things you’ve only dreamt of unfolding behind your eyelids. You can only fucking imagine how Luke's fingers would feel inside you, the things he'd say as he's bottoming out inside of your tight heat. And it's suddenly overwhelming as you clench pathetically, throbbing against his thigh and your own legs shaking as you finish. "Fuck-"

Luke's eyes widen, biting hard at the inside of his cheek to keep his composure, the sound of you falling apart on his thigh sending a jolt straight to his aching cock. He wants nothing more than to bend you over his desk and fuck the daylights out of you until you’re drooling and forgetting your own goddamn name.

Reality comes crashing down as your orgasm passes, ragged breaths leaving your parted lips. Did you really just make yourself cum on your boss' thigh? "Luke-"

"Do it again."

"What?" You ask breathlessly, straightening your back, "You- you want me to do it again?"

"What did I say about shutting that pretty mouth of yours, Y/N? If I tell you to do something, do it," he scoffs, acting as though the sight of you cumming didn't turn him on even more, "If you're pathetic enough to do it once I'm sure you'll have no problem doing it again."

Your sensitive clit throbs helplessly as you swallow, white-knuckling the armrest and rocking your hips yet again. The swollen nub continuously brushing Luke's slacks has you choking down whimpers and whines, fearful of Luke's reaction to you making noise. Though, the idea of what he'll do if you don't comply lingers in your hazy mind.

The intermittent bounce of Luke's leg isn't doing you any favors either, little uh uh's leaving your parted lips.

You’re fucking drenched, the thin fabric of your lace underwear doing nothing to keep your arousal from coating Luke's thigh as you roll and rock your hips a bit quicker, your second orgasm creeping up on you, your head tossing back when a low, drawn-out whine leaves your lips, cumming for the second time like a pathetic whore.

And Luke fucking loves every goddamn second of it.

Attempting to calm yourself down from your release, thighs still trembling, Luke tosses the file onto his desk. He hadn't read a damn word of it anyway, not when you’re grinding your pretty little cunt against his thigh like a slut.

Suddenly embarrassed, your cheeks flush a deep crimson shade as you realize what you’ve done. You’ve soaked the fabric of Luke's slacks with your release, your own goddamn boss. "I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have-"

"Don't say another word," he firmly cuts you off, "Get on your fucking knees."

"Why-"

"I'm honestly so fucking tired of listening to you, Y/N," Luke's tone lowers, a scoff leaving his lips, watching as you scramble to the floor. "Gonna shut you up, make good use of that stupid fucking mouth of yours."

Catching sight of the wet patch on his slacks, he nearly groans, ringed fingers fumbling with his belt buckle in record time, desperate for the release of his achingly hard cock. You seem to catch on, widened doey eyes flickering up to Luke's, your hands neatly folded in your lap. Luke pulls his slacks down just enough to allow his length to be exposed, not wanting to show an ounce of vulnerability to you. You don't deserve a sweet intimate moment, you deserve to be fucking ruined.

"Open your mouth," he grunts, hissing as he grasps the base of his cock, your lips parting slowly, the blonde stepping forward and guiding the tip past your lips. "Wanna see you choke on my cock."

He doesn't give you a moment to register his words before he's thrusting fully into your mouth, tip poking the back of your throat and a choking sound emitting from your lips. You scramble to grasp at the backs of his thighs to keep yourself steady. The sight of your sparkly lipgloss coating his cock is so fucking intoxicating and he wonders why he hadn't thought of it sooner.

Using his hands to grasp your hair quite roughly, he continues to fuck into your mouth at a degrading pace, not allowing you to adjust to the forceful movements. Choking and gagging sounds fill the otherwise quiet room, spit dribbling from your lips. "Yeah, you like choking on my cock, Y/N? So much better than hearing you fuckin' talk."

Your nails dig into the fabric of his pants, a grunt leaving Luke's lips as his hips continue thrusting his cock into your mouth. You can barely take all of him, the base nearly untouched. "All you're fuckin' good for, hm?"

And suddenly he's removing himself from your mouth, chest heaving from how fucking wrecked you already look, the small tears pooling your waterline smudging the mascara you'd put on. "As much as I wanna watch you swallow for me," he heaves out, "I wanna feel that pretty fuckin' pussy of yours."

A pathetic whimper leaves your lips, clenching around nothing as you remain on your knees before him, a string of saliva connecting your swollen lips and the reddened, aching tip of Luke's cock. "You want me inside you?" he asks.

You have no words, honestly, the burn left behind in your throat from Luke's forceful thrusts halts you from speaking. Instead, you nod. "No, I want to hear you fuckin' say it, Y/N. I'm not an asshole."

"Yes," you weakly respond, "I want you."

"Good. Take that fuckin' dress off while you're at it."

Your shaky and frail fingers grasp the hemline of your dress hesitantly, eyes flickering between his leaking cock and his firm gaze, pulling the fitted material over your head and tossing it aside. Now sat in nothing but a pair of soaked, white lace panties and your heels, Luke's eyes fall on your bare breasts. "So fuckin' pretty."

"Luke-" you whimper quietly.

"Shut up," his hands reach beneath your arms, pulling you to your feet. Luke reaches around you, large hand swiping the array of documents off of his desk, sending them to the floor with a thud. You release a soft gasp when your bare backside meets the cool wooden desk, "Can't say I've never thought about this."

Luke's hands fall to your hips, gripping the skin roughly, and guiding you down until your back is flush with the desk, legs spread pathetically, displaying your clothed core to him. "God, you're so fucking soaked it's pathetic," he laughs lowly, shaking his head, and trailing a finger along the dampened material, coated in your previous orgasms and current arousal. He sends a soft smack with the back of his hand to your swollen clit, causing a whimper to leave your lips. "You'll let me have you any way I want, huh?"

"Luke-"

"Don't talk, I already know the answer," he raises your legs so your heels are resting on the edge of the desk, fingers ghosting the inside of your thighs teasingly, "Because here you are, spread out on my fucking desk like the whore you are."

"Please-"

"God, you just can't listen, huh?" his hands retreat from your skin, fumbling with his necktie, folding it into a neat little square. "I said I don't wanna hear you, Y/N." leaning over you, the tip of his cock pressing against your clothed core, he forces the folded tie between your lips, gagging you. "There, much better."

Luke works quickly to pull the pathetic excuse for underwear down your legs, tossing them alongside your dress on the floor. His cock twitches at the sight of you, fucking glistening and leaking just for him. He trails two fingers up your wetness, slicking his cock with your arousal, and prodding the tip against you. "Look at me," he says, hovering over you, hands on either side of your head. Hesitantly, you meet his eyes, your own widening, "Wanna watch you take my fucking cock."

You look so fucking pretty all gagged up for him. Running his tongue along his lower lip, he roughly juts his hips forward, instantly bottoming out and a muffled scream leaves your lips at the stretch. The tears that brimmed your eyes previously begin to fall, feeling so full, "Fuck," he hums lowly.

He rocks his hips a few times, watching as your eyes practically roll back into your head. And god does that make him so fucking proud, staring at you as drool slowly dribbles from yourr lips. He halts, roughly tugging the tie from your mouth, fingers gathering the spit and shoving it between your lips. "Don't be messy," he tuts, before placing the tie back, "Already fuckin' droolin' like a whore and I'm barely getting started."

Luke retracts his cock, hands grasping at your hips and flipping your body, the sound of your stomach colliding with the wooden desk echoing through the room. "I don't wanna look at you," he says, palming the skin of your backside before smacking the smooth flesh. He realigns himself with your entrance, one hand splayed on your bare back to hold you in place.

Roughly thrusting inside once again, the moans and muffled choked sobs barely reach Luke's ears, too fucking entranced by the feeling of your tight little cunt taking him so well. "This," he rocks his hips forcefully, "Is fuckin' mine. Anytime I goddamn want it, you're gonna give it to me."

You scramble to grab the opposite edge of Luke's desk, white knuckling it as he forcefully pounds into you, so fucking deep and quick you can barely breathe. "Such a tight fuckin' cunt," he groans, fingernails scraping along your back, "Taking my cock like a good fuckin' slut."

Instinctively you clench around him, eliciting a deep borderline growl from Luke's throat, hand previously raking down your back finding your hair, fisting the strands between his fingers and yanking you backwards until you’re halfway to his chest. You rest your palms flat on the desk, eyes pinched shut in pleasure while he continues fucking into you at an unruly pace.

"Clench again for me," he moans out, feeling the muscles in his stomach tighten, his orgasm slowly beginning to build. You comply, your thighs trembling, clenching as hard as you can. "Fuckin' god," Luke tosses his head back, eyelids fluttering shut in pure bliss.

You choke out another moan around the tie in your mouth, unable to warn the blonde of your third orgasm that's quickly approaching as he continuously pokes the perfect spot so fucking deep inside you’re nearly a drooling mess. The hand not entangled in your hair grips one of your breasts roughly, sending you over the edge in a series of muffled cries. Tears stream down your cheeks, cunt tightening around Luke yet again, the blonde hissing as he feels your release coat his cock, the slick sound of his thrusts growing louder.

"Fuckin' milkin' my cock like a whore," he spits out, grip tightening on your hair as he pulls you closer, thrusting into you impossibly harder. You can't fucking think, you’re a dizzy mess and can hardly form a thought. You can't even feel the drool pooling from the edges of your lips. "Gonna fill up that sweet little cunt of yours and make you mine."

Luke pulls you flush to his chest, your head lolling against his shoulder. Though he isn't one for kissing, he doesn't hesitate to graze his teeth against your exposed neck, sinking them into the supple flesh as his hips begin to stutter, groaning against your neck as he releases inside. You wince at the rough bite on your neck but you’re too spent to care, leaning fully against him as he rocks through his orgasm.

You’re in a daze when he pulls out of you, nearly falling against the desk, the blonde quickly reaching for you to keep you upright. Though he's smug and feeling overly satisfied for ruining you, a swirl in his stomach tells him he needs to make sure you’re alright. He pulls the tie from your mouth, not commenting on the drool spilled from your lips. "Y'okay?"

You can't fucking speak.

Luke's brows furrow with worry, hand delicately grasping your jaw and searching your hazy eyes. Pupils blown out just like his, fresh tears lingering on your cheeks. "Oh, baby," the pet name falls from his lips effortlessly, "C'mon."

Tucking his softening cock into his pants and guiding you away from his desk and towards the couch, he plucks your heels from your feet. Though he'd never in a million years consider aftercare, he's stripping his button down from his broadened frame and slipping your arms inside, buttoning it to cover your exposed body. "Luke," you toss your head back onto the plush couch.

"Hm?" he hums softly.

"I need to- need to clean up," you rasp quietly, a hint of a blush on your cheeks, head reeling from the soreness between your thighs.

"That's what m'here for," he coos sweetly, though the smirk of his lips has you swallowing thickly. His ringed hands trail along your warm and flushed skin, parting your trembling thighs, the sight of his release slowly dribbling out of your sweet cunt nearly has his cock stiffening in his slacks again. "Mm, such a pretty wrecked little pussy."

A gasp leaves your lips as he leans forward, nose brushing your lower stomach, tongue gathering his cum from your sensitive folds. Lapping up every fucking drop, Luke straightens himself out, reaching a hand towards your swollen lips and parting them with his thumb. You’re beyond confused as he tightly grips your jaw, before spitting the contents into your own mouth. Swiping any remnants from his own lips, he narrows his eyes. "Fuckin' swallow."

Clasping your pretty lips shut, you comply, feeling a stir in your stomach when your eyes meet, and swallow.

"My good fuckin' girl."

[undressrehearsal]

right back where we started

summary: ellie is on tour as the opener for a popular band. she begrudgingly passes through the hometown that she had sworn she would never see again and runs into the one good thing she left behind.

tags: some sad stuff, ellie has daddy issues, mentions of alcohol, modern au, not rockstar ellie but that same kinda genre???, no smut in this one sorry this is all setting the scene, this is another shorter one 3.6k words

a/n: listen. I'm gonna level with yall. life's been fucking insane. it's been what 3 months since I posted something?? and it's because 1. my fiancée and I are buying a house 2. and planning a wedding 3. I work 45 hour weeks (at a job I hate so much omg) 4. I'm writing a book and 5. I'm preparing for a p major surgery (I go on tuesday)

so yeah, life's been insane. but I missed writing fics. I'm writing my book so I never stopped writing but writing a lil fun fic just hits different yk?

anyway enjoy and look forward to a few (I'm thinking 3?) parts of this

love yall. reply and lmk if you wanna be added to my tag list. also I'm posting this on my phone so the formatting might be fucked lmk

part 1

Ellie couldn’t remember the last time she had been in this city.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She could remember exactly the last time she had been in this city. She had watched it disappear in her mirror when she had driven her bike west three years ago in search of the horizon. She had hoped she would find something more once she got there - more than the dingy dorm room she had loosely called home and the classes that had made her eyes glaze over; something more than playing at the bar’s open mic nights, her guitar hard to hear over the noisy din of drunk students and drunker professors; something more than a future that had been planned for her by the time she was in high school.

Her dad had kicked her out after she dropped out, of course, but that was fine. She had planned to leave that night anyway; she had kept a packed bag hidden underneath her bed for months. She hadn’t seen him in three years, either, and she planned to keep it that way.

But when she woke up and saw the city outside the bus window, silhouetted against the rising sun, something in her chest rose to her throat and refused to be swallowed back down.

She hadn’t missed it - but as she looked down at her shaking hands, Ellie figured her body must not have gotten that memo.

The band she was traveling with were still sleeping; she could hear the singer snoring in her bunk, could see the bassist's leg sticking out into the aisle. She had never been a morning bird - back at her shitbox apartment, you'd rarely catch her up before noon - but something about being stuck on a bus for days made her restless. It was her first time touring - after three years of playing at open mics and taking small jobs singing at the senior center - and she wasn't used to feeling her own bed constantly shifting beneath her.

Which is how she always ended up pacing the length of the bus, tapping her fingers against her thighs as the confined world around her slept, waiting desperately for the driver to pull off to whatever venue they had booked. She wasn't sure what the band did before their shows in the evenings, but she didn't stick around long enough to ask. Maybe it was rude, but she couldn't force herself to hang out with the band who only chose her because their usual opener had “flaked” on them - which was how they described it when the opener couldn't travel with them for several months after their mother had just died.

So, yeah, Ellie couldn’t find it in herself to feel bad about it when she rushed off the bus as soon as it parked, not even sticking around to let the band know where she was going. They wouldn't care either way. Hell, they were probably so hungover they wouldn't wake up until their show started in several hours.

The driver - his name was Zachary (never Zach) and he was the only one who paid her any mind - helped Ellie hoist her bike down from the rack on the back of the bus. The band had teased her about bringing it, bitching about how it showed she didn't want to hang out with them. She had been tempted to tell them they were right, but she couldn't really risk losing the first real gig she’d gotten. She lifted the seat and dug her helmet out, waving to Zachary as he disappeared back into the bus to get his own well-deserved rest.

The purr of the bike was a familiar comfort beneath her. Lowering the visor of her helmet to block out the sun, she squinted at the streets sprawled before her. She realized, with dizzying familiarity, that she was in the next neighborhood over from her old apartment. Hell, she had watched a few shows at the venue she was playing at - something in her stomach clenched.

Fuck, she needed coffee.

With the wind cold against her bare arms, Ellie let the world fly by, the city waking up around her. Her phone remained snuggly in her bag; she didn't need directions here, the familiar streets leading her down well-worn paths, winding all the way back to a life that was no longer hers.

It was muscle memory that led her back to the coffee shop she had frequented as a student. She looked up at it, a glow around its worn brick from the rising sun, and something tightened in her chest. They had replaced the patio chairs - the old ones had been practically falling apart three years ago - but otherwise it hadn't changed.

Ellie cursed under her breath, swallowing around the foreign lump in her throat, and climbed off her bike. When she took the steps two at a time, it felt like somebody else had taken the wheel. It was a familiar stranger that opened the door.

The smell hit her first. They say that scent has the strongest tie to memory, and the smell of burnt coffee beans hit her like a punch. There had always been a sweetness underneath it, something she had never been able to place but thought might be honey? When she stepped up to the counter, she could even smell the milk they were steaming.

The barista - a young girl with faded pink hair tied up into space buns - looked up from her phone and said, in a voice teetering on the edge between cheerful and bored, “How’s it going?”

Ellie took her in briefly, noting the brown corduroy overalls and the star-shaped nose ring, and was comforted knowing that this place was just as queer as she had left it. She would bet money on the fact that if she peeked over the counter, this girl would be wearing beat up Docs. She was young enough to be a student - probably an English major, if she had to guess.

She always ordered the same thing - iced mocha with oat milk. She had never understood why her dad drank his coffee black.

The barista - her tag said Dianna She/Her/Hers - eyed her as she rang Ellie up, brows quirked. When she smiled, dimples caved her cheeks. “I haven’t seen you around before. Are you a student?”

Ellie fought the urge to groan - this girl was just trying to be friendly (and was probably trying to decide if Ellie’s flannel meant she was gay or was just a bad fashion choice), but the last thing she wanted to do after failing to sleep on a bus and waking up at the ass-crack of dawn was to make small talk.

Still, she smiled and said, “I used to be.”

She paid and stuffed the remainder of her cash into the tip jar. When Dianna thanked her, her cheeks were as pink as her hair. Ellie could feel her eyes lingering on her as she walked away, nodding awkwardly in thanks.

This place really hadn’t changed in three years. The coffee shop had a reputation of students writing all along the walls - over a decade ago, they had simply stopped trying to paint over it, so the walls were littered in signatures and drawings and claims of call this number for a good time. Scattered poetry was written along the edges of the windows, an incredibly detailed Sharpie drawing of a cat peeking over the top of the doorway. When she searched for it, she found that her own scrawled handwriting was still there, small letters where nobody would think to look, right underneath the thermostat: Find me where the sun sets east. Don’t forget me.

She swallowed the lump that threatened to choke her and stepped away. Her eyes stung from sleep deprivation and nothing more.

Ellie scanned the room and found that, to her annoyance, nearly every table was taken. Students huddled around notebooks and laptops, engrossed in their work or else on Netflix to avoid studying. Professors blinked wearily, clutching their own cups of coffee as though they were lifelines holding them to this realm. Ellie could see the spot she had frequented herself - a booth tucked by the window, where she could write her songs in a dingy notebook without anyone looking over her shoulder.

Now, there was a guy with his cheek pressed to the cold surface, snoring lightly.

Ellie jumped when Dianna called her name, holding out a cup so filled with coffee that it trickled over the side and down the glass. Ellie took it gingerly, holding it in careful fingers to not spill any more on the countertop.

Dianna held onto the cup for several seconds longer than necessary, her fingers - cold from the glass - lingering on Ellie's. When a crooked smile pulled at her lips, her brown eyes sparkled. There was a teasing tilt to her voice when she said, “I hope to see you around, Ellie.”

Ellie gave her what she hoped was a friendly smile - judging by the way Dianna’s cheeks bloomed pink, she must have succeeded - before turning away. She almost felt guilty for the relief she felt when she found there was no phone number left on her glass this time. She was never sure whether it was nicer to ghost somebody or to send a gentle rejection through text, and she did not have the energy for that decision.

She turned, searching for an empty seat to slouch in and try not to fall asleep into her coffee, when her eyes found you.

You hadn’t changed a bit.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true either. You had changed - anybody would in three years. You had changed your hair, and now you dressed differently than she remembered - you used to bitch so much about how you couldn’t dress how you wanted, and now, looking at you three years later, she was happy to see that you were finally dressing like all those pictures you had saved in your little Pinterest folder of “outfit inspo.”

Ellie could see the mark of three whole years, but truthfully, you hadn’t changed. You were slouched over a laptop, leaning way too close to the screen, and you still had that pinch between your brows when you concentrated, the one that she used to run her thumb over; she could still feel how soft your skin was beneath her fingers.

She should have ignored you - she should have gone to slump in a corner of the coffee shop like she had planned, trying not to fall asleep into her cup and pretending to not notice you even as her eyes kept cutting across the cafe to find you again. She should have pushed the memories away just like she had pushed away all of the other memories associated with this city - hell, she should have never come back to this city in the first place. There were too many memories here that she had spent three years, a thousand miles, and an ocean of whiskey running away from.

And yet Ellie found her feet carrying her over to your table of their own volition. She walked the tightrope between who she is and who she once was, chasing a memory of the only good thing she left behind.

You didn’t look up at her as she approached. You kept your head bowed over your laptop, your bottom lip stuck between your teeth. There was no reason for you to look up - Ellie could have been any nameless stranger coming to bother you when you were clearly just trying to work.

But Ellie had never been good at leaving well enough alone. Which is why she hesitated for only a moment before reaching out and tapping lightly on your shoulder. She had to bite back a laugh when you jumped, pulling your headphones from your ears and swiveling around to look up at her.

She’d be lying if she said her heart didn’t do an embarrassing acrobatic jump when you met her eyes. And she had always been a terrible liar.

“Hey,” Ellie said, trying her damnedest to keep her voice steady; she only somewhat succeeded. She cleared her throat, lowering her voice when she said, “Remember me?”

Satisfaction bloomed warm in her stomach when your eyes widened, taking in the sight of her. Truthfully, she must’ve looked like shit; she had had to take a disturbingly brief shower at the last rest stop - the water apparently didn’t get any warmer than antarctic - and she hadn’t looked in a mirror for a few days. She had forgotten to pack her brush, so her hair must have been standing up at odd angles. And God knew what the lack of sleep was doing to the ever-growing shadows under her eyes.

But none of this stopped you from running your eyes down her body, cheeks pink when you finally looked up to meet her eyes again. And Ellie couldn’t stop the slow smile that spread across her face, her own cheeks growing warm. It wasn’t intentional when her voice dropped another octave, nearly a murmur when she said, mostly to herself, “Yeah, you remember me.”

“Holy shit, Ellie?” You jumped to your feet, a smile pulling at your lips as you gripped her arm. The familiar shine in your eyes did something funny to her stomach that she was way too stubborn to name. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I was just, uh- just passing through town,” she found herself saying, rubbing at the back of her neck. It wasn’t exactly a lie, but explaining to you the actual reason she finally came back to this hell-hole town suddenly seemed daunting. “Wanted to check out some old haunts, I guess.”

And then you just… looked at her, for several long moments - long enough to make Ellie squirm. Your eyes bore into hers, searching for something that she had buried three years ago.

You jumped, and whatever spell that was floating between you broke when your phone buzzed from where it still sat on the table. You scooped it up and flashed an apologetic smile to the glaring student a few seats away. Swiping at the screen, you cursed under your breath:

“Fuck, I have to get to class.” You looked back up at her again, a question behind your eyes, and Ellie had never wished so hard that she could read minds. You hesitated for only a moment before saying, words rushed, “Do you want to walk with me?” Before Ellie could respond, you continued, picking up your cup and fiddling with the straw, “It feels like forever since I’ve seen you and I want to catch up. But you’re probably busy, so you don’t have to-”

“I’d love to,” she cut you off, trying to smother the smile that pulled at her pink cheeks. She failed drastically when you smiled back at her.

After asking for a to-go cup from Dianna - thankfully no number written on the plastic cup either, despite the way the barista eyed Ellie as she left - she followed you out the door and back into the blinding morning sun. The mid-October air bit at her cheeks, creeping under her flannel; the cold coffee in her hand made her fingers sting, but you were already walking away, so she grit her teeth and followed.

And it was like you both just fell back into place, aligning with each other as though that empty space had never existed. You were working towards your graduate degree, Ellie discovered, and were working as a TA to get through; the class you were heading to was the dreaded public speaking class that you taught around your own curriculum. You laughed as you talked about some ridiculous speech a student had recently presented, and Ellie had forgotten just how much she liked the sound until it was burying behind her ribs again.

Ellie didn't tell you exactly why she had come back. When she’d left, you had known she was chasing a dream - it was the main reason she had presented when she broke up with you. The idea of long distance was too hard - too complicated - and Ellie didn’t want anything tying her to this town.

Even so, her body still wanted to fall into old habits. She told you about her roommate and how, when Ellie had been up too late writing a new song or her roommate had had a late shift at the hospital, they would play truth or dare until they were too drunk to stay awake, and her fingers brushed against yours, muscle memory making her reach for you. Ellie told you how she had visited her sister, Sarah, while passing through Houston, and she wanted so badly to lace your fingers together. She wanted to wrap her arm around your waist - hell, she even wanted to grab your ass right where everyone could see, just like she used to. She tucked her free hand in her pocket.

“You still haven’t told me why you came back,” you said, coming to a stop in front of the Communications building - it was just as tall and ominous as Ellie remembered. Her stomach lurched at the site, remembering all the speeches she had to make in her own classes. She supposed Public Speaking wasn’t a useless class now, considering she didn't stutter when she had to speak in front of an audience now.

Ellie shrugged, dropping her cup into a trashcan without looking at you. “Like I said, I’m just passing through-”

“Bullshit,” you said, but there was no malice behind it. You tilted your head to meet her eyes and smiled at her, even as your eyes held something unreadable. “The Ellie I knew couldn’t wait to get out of this shithole - her words, not mine. She wouldn’t simply pass through - she would go out of her way to stay in the next town over. So,” you crossed your arms, “what changed?”

Before, if you had ever crossed your arms at her, Ellie would reach out and gently pull your arms away from your chest, pulling you into an embrace. She wanted nothing more than to pull you into her, instinct unaware of the three years and a thousand miles that had separated you. Instead, she leaned against the wall of the building, the brick biting into her back. “Nothing’s changed. Trust me, if it was up to me, I wouldn't be here.”

For only a second, your face twisted into something unreadable that pulled at Ellie's stomach. But you quickly schooled your expression, tilting your head, your smile soft. “Listen, I have to go - if I'm too late, these fuckers are just gonna try to skip. But we should meet up later - I want to catch up.” When Ellie opened her mouth to say you had been catching up, you continued, “Really catch up. I want you to tell me everything - it's been years, so we have a lot to cover.” You looked at your phone and cursed. “Look, my last class ends at 3:25. Meet me on the green after?” For good measure, you stuck out your bottom lip and added, “Please?”

Ellie had never been good at resisting that look - she had given into you so many times from that look alone. She had to bite back the sudden, stupid smile pulling at her cheeks, so she pressed her lips together and looked away. After three years, you still made her cheeks flush without trying.

“Okay,” was all she could say.

Without warning, you rushed forward, wrapping your arms around her neck briefly. Her hands hovered at your sides, unsure of where to go. Feeling your body pressed against her again - feeling the warm brush of your breath against her neck - short-circuited her brain, leaving her gasping on dry land.

Before she could figure out where to put her fucking hands, you murmured in her ear, “I really did miss you, Els,” and pulled away, just as quickly as you had come. Ellie's mouth hadn't even caught up to her brain by the time you were gone, the door closing softly behind you.

Later, after she had had a proper breakfast from McDonald's, she was still thinking about you. Seeing you again had opened up a bottle that she had sealed away, and the cork wouldn't fit back into it. Her fingers itched with the memory of your skin beneath them. When you had hugged her, she had smelled the shampoo that you apparently still used, and she remembered how it had felt to have your head on her chest, breathing you in as she pressed a kiss to the top of your head. And your lips next to her ear - that opened a whole subcategory of memories that she tried desperately to push away.

She was only here for the night. She lost count of how many times she had to remind herself.

Ellie was stopped at a red light, leaning her bike from one foot to the other, when she felt her phone buzz in her pocket. She glanced at the blinking crosswalk sign - twenty seconds, so she still had plenty of time before the light turned green - before fishing her phone out. She had to squint against the sun, straining to make out the screen. She nearly dropped the phone when she saw the familiar name popping up on her screen, fumbling to open the text.

There was a screenshot of an Instagram post from the venue she was going to play at. The band's name was in bold letters, stars pasted around a grainy picture of the group. And in small letters underneath - like an afterthought - was her name: Ellie Miller.

And underneath, in all caps:

YOU'RE PLAYING AT THE HAWTHORNE?????

Her face flushed all over again. After all these years, you had still kept her number.

tag list: @macaroni676 @ellstronaut @elliewilliamsmiller0 @elliescoolerwife @letsreadsomesins-shallwe @liliflowers-blog @filtered-sunlight

[thecourtjester-e]

Do you have to let it linger? part 3

A/N: LFG ok this chapter is shorter because next chapter ya’ll… home stretch also I’m changing my formatting some I’m sorry I’m new to this yall.

CW: yearning, angst, arguing

Yesterday 2:00 am

Schlaggot made it home

3 missed calls

Schlaggot answer me bitch

5 missed calls

——-

A week later

You startle out of your dream from your phone hitting the floor and buzzing. You stir and try to slow your heart, blinding yourself with the phone screen.

Incoming call… Theodore

Accept Decline

————

“What?” You groan.

“You gotta tell me what happened,” a serious voice responds.

“What time is it?”

“4 am,” Ted responds plainly.

“Can it wait like 4 more hours?” You say putting it on speaker and laying the phone next to your pillow.

“No. Not a chance. I just got off the phone with a one Jonathan Schlatt, and I need to know now.”

“Ask him dude.”

“No man, I want to ask YOU.”

“Why though? you were just talking to him?”

“He was in a mood. I don’t like to pry when he gets like that, it just drives him away more.”

You could understand that. You knew what kind of mood he was referring to. When schlatt gets burnt out or depressed it’s totally shut off mode. When he’s done with something he’s DONE. He’s pretty candid with his surface feelings but there were deeper thoughts you knew he didn’t share with anyone.

“I don’t know what you want me to do.”

“Look y/n I know it’s not my business- no fuck that! These are my best friends, this is my business. Why haven’t you been answering calls or texts? total silence from you. Not just to schlatt but all of us,” as he points out the obvious, your tears break free towards your pillow. “What. Happened.” Ted demands now very sternly.

You explain to Ted how you and schlatt got hot and heavy too fast and you stopped him. How caring schlatt was, how understanding and supportive. How you’ve been trying to push your feelings for him away but you liked him more than he pretended to like you online to the audience. You realized you weren’t joking anymore and when schlatt said he wanted to remain friends you needed to put some distance. That meant total radio silence for a while to get over your feelings.

“I really do like him. And he just doesn’t feel the same. And I was stupid for thinking the joke could be real. I thought I was invincible to it and like I couldn’t fall for someone again but no. Here I am. I have feelings for a guy with fucking mutton chops,” you borderline yell at the end. You sigh after a couple beats of silence, “I’m glad we didn’t go further though cuz then I’d really feel like a fucking fool.” You weren’t crying anymore, just mad.

“Well, maybe you can explain this to Schlatt, so he doesn’t think you’re mad at him,” Ted says after a while.

“I am mad at him!” You pause hearing Ted’s confusion, “He just doesn’t know why… and I’m not really mad at him. Just upset? Ugh dude I don’t fucking know.” You shove your face in your pillow and scream.

“Well feel the feelings you need to, but I think if you care about schlatt you’ll tell him you just need space or like your goldfish died or something I don’t know, man. Just communicate.”

“Ok…” you say, sighing.

“I love you buddy. It’s gonna be alright.”

“Yeah I know, just sucks.”

“For what it’s worth, I do think Schlatt cares about you. I don’t know why he decided to friendzone you-“

“Ew don’t say that word.”

“Whatever. Come over this weekend let’s go do some shit and get you out of this funk,” He says wrapping up the call. Agreeing with Ted you hang up and pass out again.

——

You get up later in the morning and decide to stream today. You hadn’t streamed since the schlatt stream because you didn’t want to endure the bombardment of chat. It figures that you did an in person stream with Schlatt right before you guys established your relationship as friends so now the whole community thinks you guys are a thing. Of fucking course.

The week had been full of working out and going into the dance studio to work on dancing videos. you distracted yourself with coming up with new video ideas and choreo to do. You focused on the work that didn’t involve schlatt at all to help your creative flow.

You set up your piano, your computer, microphone, etc. putting your lights on and getting into the headspace. You hadn’t decided if you were going to do an album breakdown, just play some covers, or watch videos. You knew at the very least you could give them an update of upcoming projects.

As you set up the tweet, the “stream starting” screen, and messaged a couple mods, you grabbed your guitar and held it idly. You could feel the hesitation in your body. You felt heavy now trying to work up the courage and energy to turn the camera on. You hadn’t been particularly depressed about the whole situation, just numb. Seeing the chats roll through however started to form a brick in your throat. You finally sighed and pulled the trigger.

“Chat,” you started immediately, “no schlatt today. Let’s get that out of the way,” you gesture around the room. “So, I’ve been busy this week in the studio, I haven’t had a second to breathe.” (Lie) “and I want to give you guys 10 minutes to ask schlatt questions then we’re gonna move on,” you continue.

You start reading chat as you speak, “and after the ten minutes is up if you mention Schlatt you’re gonna be in a timeout the rest of the stream.”

what?????

Omfg you and schlatt are so cute

Hey y/n! where’s Schlatt?

Do you live with him now?

Are you guys dating?

Omg did something happen?

Why no schlatt

“Ok, Schlatt went home that same day we streamed, so no we don’t live together and no we aren’t dating. I don’t know what to tell you guys other than that Schlatt and I really are just friends,” you finish as the chats keep coming.

You feel your phone vibrate next to you and subtly look to see who it is.

Of course. Schlatt. calling again.

You put your phone on DND and keep reading the chats. As you read you get a couple TTS.

“Hey y/n, you and schlatt have great chemistry, do you have a crush on him? All the love!”

“Hey thanks oopygoopy, no I don’t have a crush on Schlatt.”

The next TTS

“Answer your phone bitch.”

Schlatt again. This time he donated to the stream.

You ignore him and message a mod to tell them to put him in time out for the rest of the stream while chat freaks out.

“Alright chat we’re gonna get started. I want to do an album review today…” you ignore chat and start up a new album to listen to with chat and discuss the themes and harmonies. You really just needed a couple more hours to figure out what to say to schlatt.

——

After 3 hours, an album review, and some keyboard breakdowns of the harmonies, you decide to wrap up the stream, “guys, I’m done. I’ll be on tomorrow with some covers and requests! Thank you for all the love, bye!”

You make sure the stream is shut down and pick up your phone.

4 missed calls

You click it to call schlatt back.

Ring

Ring

Ring

Connecting….

Schlatt’s ceiling pops up on screen.

“Hey.” You say after a couple moments of silence.

“Really?” You hear from off screen. “A week of nothing and you say hey?” You can hear him chewing on something.

“I’m sorry.”

Awkward silence, followed by rustling and chewing.

“JAMBO STOP,” more rustling. “JAMBOOOO”

The camera shifts, you can’t help but laugh. You stop yourself by leaning your mouth in your hand.

“So what’d I do?” He asks casually, his eyebrows come into frame.

“Nothing. It’s not you,” you start before he interrupts.

“No don’t fucking start with me. What did I do? You’re ignoring me.”

“To be fair I’ve been ignoring everyone.”

“Yeah but you’ve been ignoring me.”

“You’re not special,” you say, rolling your eyes.

“Yes I am. Don’t fuck with me y/n.” He was joking around a little but you could tell he was genuinely hurt and pissed.

“I just needed some space. I think I've been a little burnt out is all.”

Silence. You shift uncomfortably as he continues to chew on the invisible food.

“Is it because I kissed you?” Schlatt says bluntly.

“No, just forget it dude.” you sigh and shake your head. It was hard to come up with an excuse other than just telling him about your feelings.

“Well everything was fine until after the wedding so-“

“Dude fucking drop it ok? I just need some space.”

“I’m sorry that I did that,” he says.

Silence this time with no chewing.

“It’s not about the kiss, schlatt.” You sighed, “I’m not sorry it happened. I wanted it to happen.” Your stomach churned and you felt your heart pumping in your ears.

“It was pretty hot,” schlatt finally scoffs.

“That’s not what I mean!”

“Spit it out then, toots.”

“I liked it, I've wanted you to kiss me for years. Because I have a big fat crush on you,” you spit out.

Silence, schlatt’s face mostly on screen at this point. He had a look of disbelief spread across it, his eyes darting all over the screen.

“You’re fucking with me?” He responds.

All you can do is shake your head.

“I didn’t want to say anything because I don’t want this to ruin our friendship because I know you don’t feel the same. And I really care about our friendship more than my stupid crush on you. And I can’t keep enduring your fake flirting it fucking sucks,” your word vomit spilling out now. “And I thought if I put distance between us I could get over it and then we could just go back to being friends again.”

“You decided to ignore me? That’s not distance. You don’t fucking know how I feel, why would you assume-“ he stops himself and throws his phone down, his face disappears from the screen and you two sit in silence for a long time. “God you can be so stupid.” He says exasperated.

“Fucking whatever dude. I just figured I’d tell you the truth so you’d leave me the fuck alone. I gotta go.” You suddenly hang up before he can respond. You throw your phone down in anger. You were done being tortured in this way. It hurt. You didn’t know if it was the right choice to just tell him but it was out there now. You didn’t know how you wanted him to respond, but it wasn’t like that. He didn’t have to be such an asshole.

—-

He doesn’t text, he doesn’t call. You text Ted and tell him what happened and when he tries to call you don’t answer. It’s hard enough not to cry as it is, if you talk to Ted right now there’s no way you won’t.

You sit down with your guitar and start to idly play without thinking, you play linger by the cranberries. As you play your chest gets tight and your tears break free.

Oh, I thought the world of you

I thought nothing could go wrong

But I was wrong, I was wrong

If you, if you could get by

Trying not to lie

Things wouldn't be so confused

And I wouldn't feel so used

But you always really knew

I just want to be with you

You feel it all finally. You worked so hard to resist feeling feelings for someone for so long. Scared of what happened before. Having feelings for someone makes you weak and easier to break. You used music to express your feelings and tried to seal them off the rest of the time. This time they seeped out after the end of the song as you cried openly.

—-

For the past two weeks you streamed yourself doing covers, learning songs, or in the dance studio coming up with choreo. The feelings coming out in the art. You played covers of songs you and schlatt listened to on streams trying not to tear up. You let yourself feel a little more openly in front of the audience. They may have been catching on, but if they were you were good at ignoring them. In between streams you worked on recording videos, wrote lyrics and worked on some songs you had been working on for a while. It was a creatively productive time.

You had put schlatt’s messages and calls on silence, but it didn’t matter because he didn’t try to message you. You tried not to notice. Of course you noticed. You hoped maybe he would call and try to say sorry or fix what he had done but he hadn’t. It made you mad to be honest. You tried not to stalk his profiles to see what he was doing but he was silent for the most part on that end too.

Ted on the other hand was messaging constantly. Well as much as he could, he was working on a video and was distracted. Every night he would call though and chat even if he was just on call while editing. He was trying to be supportive. You appreciated how much Ted cared but didn’t overstep. When you initially told Ted what happened after the call he was confused. He didn’t understand why Schlatt reacted the way he did. You didn’t either to be fair. You did feel bad for ignoring him instead of communicating, but because of the way he reacted you felt justified in a way.

As Friday rolled around, and your stream was done for the day, you drove home from the dance studio to shower. You were feeling in high spirits for a change and stopped for food on your way home. When you got home you decided you were going to relax, watch tv, and just do some self care. You hadn’t been taking very good care of yourself and felt like doing your brows and a face mask might help. Maybe even do your nails. The night was young. You even decided to drink a little. As you bundled up under your blankets on the couch watching some comedy you heard a knock on your door.

You got off your couch and set down your drink. Before you walked to the door you inspected yourself. You had sweatpants and a tank top on, hair up and glasses on. You grab a zip up hoodie near the door and throw it on. Nothing fancy, but you figured you should cover up a little more.

As you made your way to the door you put your ear up to see if you could hear who it was, silence on the other end refused to betray the visitor so you slowly opened the door.

Schlatt standing in the hall looked at you sheepishly as you peered out. You suddenly swung the door open all the way to stare at the tall man in shock. He was wearing a crewneck, dark pants, and the classic cap. He had a duffel over his arm and headphones around his neck. Despite his towering height he was cowering.

“Hey.”

“Hey?” You questioned. “What are you doing here?” You asked plainly. Your heart speeding up nevertheless, you could feel the words getting caught in your throat as you spoke.

“Came to see you. Can I come in?”

[itsclydebitches]

Hazbin Hotel: Let's Talk About Cursing!

Trigger warning for lots of cursing in this post (obviously) and discussion of canon abuse scenes

As I delve further into the Hazbin Hotel fandom, I’ve inevitably come across a variety of people who dislike the show for an equal variety of reasons. One criticism I’ve seen with some consistency is in regards to the cursing and yeah, I get it. That’s not going to be everyone’s cup of tea. However, the repeated claim that the cursing is only there as a—failed—attempt at bad, lazy humor got me thinking about why I personally liked the cursing, and why I think it serves a greater purpose in the show.

Now yes, some of the cursing does function as an arguably simplistic joke. The most common setup I’ve noticed is one that leans into a contrast in tone/personalities. We see this a lot with the polite, comparatively timid Charlie as she navigates her distinctly vulgar domain.

Charlie: “Hi, mister!” Demon: “Go fuck yourself!”

The entirety of “Happy Day in Hell” plays with this contrast, setting up Charlie’s slightly skewed, but significantly optimistic perspective of Hell. We are shown again and again how her lyrics are contradicted or twisted into something less innocent through the visuals: a “revealing” street where it’s “hard not to stare” has BDSM going on in a nearby window, Charlie will “open the door” for her people and then literally does so... for a guy who’s already dead. (Or, you know, temporarily out of commission until he heals, or whatever demons do when they’re ‘killed’ by things other than angelic steel.) The entire point here is to contrast the happy, skipping girl claiming that there’s a “warm, fuzzy feeling” in the air with the actual environment of unchecked fires and decaying limbs. And yes, that can be amusing. Not necessarily for everyone as humor is highly subjective and dependent on context, but distilling this contrast down to the shock of a polite greeting getting a “Go fuck yourself!” in response is a kind of entertainment. Especially when Charlie’s reaction adds another layer: for me that’s a very funny—and currently relatable—expression.

We can potentially make the case that this humor format overstays its welcome, but I personally think the show does a good job of keeping Charlie’s cursing both simple and comparatively rare, so that when she is put into these contrast situations the humor lands better. The best example I can think of in the latter half of the show is Susan. There we get the whiplash of polite, trying-to-get-these-people-to-like-her Charlie reaching a breaking point to become “FUCK YOU, YOU OLD BITCH” Charlie. It’s a moment that builds off of the earlier surprise of the courteous Alastor calling someone an “Ornery old bitch”—while Rosie is trying (and failing) to find a nicer way to phrase this.

However, as stated above I think the cursing serves more of a purpose than to just be funny for (some) viewers. Beyond those who simply find cursing distasteful, I’ve seen a fair bit of, “This is so stupid. No one even talks like that!” going around.

Except... I do? I talk like that.

See, I like cursing. I was born to former hippie parents and grew up playing MMOs, so cursing was something I became pretty acclimated to. Personally, I’m glad I was because I’m fascinated by language and cursing—for better or worse—is an integral way that many people communicate. I was taught to see cursing not as the Bad Forbidden Thing You Must Never Ever Do, but rather as just another form of expression, something to be used in moderation and under specific circumstances. Once I became an adult I already understood how I wanted to curse and when it was appropriate to do so. People at work are often shocked when I tell them I curse a lot because no, of course I’m not doing that at my job. That isn't considered professional in this space. Among my friends though?

We can sound a lot like the Hazbin crew.

Undoubtedly the most common curse in the show is “fuck” and its variations, which very much tracks with my personal experience among other people who curse. In fact, it’s so ubiquitous that it barely counts as a curse at all in some groups. It’s more of an easy, accepted way to add emphasis. Vaggie’s “What the fuck was that?” about Alastor’s commercial is a perfect example. She’s pissed and simply saying “What was that?” doesn’t carry the same weight, no matter how angry she may sound when she says it. Vox’s long “Fuuuuuuuck” at the end of “Stayed Gone” conveys an emotion you just can’t capture any other way. No dialogue at all would create a fundamentally different experience of Vox’s feelings and another non-cursing response is just gonna hit different. Not necessarily bad, just different.

“I don’t want to go to the party!” “I don’t want to go to the freaking party!” “I don’t want to go to the fucking party!”

The above represents three distinct characters to me and I think Hazbin Hotel gets that. Cursing isn’t thrown around randomly because something something cursing supposedly sells; it’s all linguistically logical. Characters curse when something surprising or bad happens, or when something unexpectedly good happens, when they’re angry, trying to be sexy, or they want to add that emphasis. That’s a lot of different situations where cursing can be useful and when you use “fuck” in your daily life a lot you become pretty desensitized to it. As said, for many it’s barely a curse at all. Which means that when you really want to curse you’ve got to up the ante. It doesn’t surprise me one bit that the two uses of “cunt” I can recall—a word that is generally considered far worse than “fuck” and makes a lot of people understandably uncomfortable—is used by two of the worst characters in moments that are meant to horrify the viewer:

Adam: “Can’t wait a whole year to slaughter those little cunts / I know it’s just been a week, but we’ll be back in six months!” Valentino: “When I say you’d better get that fucking cunt out of my studio, you say...?”

This horror is especially emphasized in Valentino’s scene. The creators know this word is coming up and deliberately build towards it. Angel is currently being abused and has been reminded that Valentino “owns” him. The above question is a part of a trio that Valentino asks (a standard structure in writing), wherein the third option is the outlier/most shocking of the three. The animation leans into that shock, with the music building and Valentino grabbing Angel to pull him close right on the word “cunt.” Perez even puts emphasis there because he knows that this is a significant word that will change our understanding of Valentino.

Despite having hit Angel multiple times and taunting him with the contract, this is the moment Valentino stops playing the ‘nice’ employer. This is the real him. No more fake compliments and endearments aimed at Charlie, no more fake comfort/intimacy aimed at Angel. That “cunt” conveys a hell of a lot about how Valentino really sees them and when you have a cast of characters who are already cursing on the regular, it takes a word on that level to do that kind of work. If Valentino had said, “get that fucking bitch out of my studio” it wouldn’t have had nearly the same impact because he’s the kind of guy who uses "bitch" even when playing ‘nice.’

Adam’s line from “Hell is Forever” does very similar work. The scene needs a word to align with the horrific reveal that another extermination is just six months away, that conveys Adam’s deep disgust for Charlie’s people, and that still catches the viewer’s attention even though he’s the character (I believe) who curses the most. Here the music drops and Adam is a little closer to speaking than singing; there's this shift because, like with Valentino, our perception of him is shifting. This isn’t just some egotistical idiot who wants to be called “Dick Master,” he’s the leader of an army coming to gleefully kill them. Framing a whole world of people—people Charlie loves—as “cunts” while treating their murder as a holiday that can’t come soon enough creates an, 'Oh shit. This guy is actually a threat' understanding that you can’t quite get with anything else.

On a smaller scale, cursing does other character work throughout the whole show. I watched a number of cursing compilation vids for this meta (that was a trip lol) and again, cursing is not thrown in randomly. Each character has a unique way of cursing that aligns with their personality and motivations:

As said, Adam curses the most in the show which helps sell his truly over-the-top, irreverent personality. Linguistically, the amount he curses also allows for some fun grammatical play. Lines like, “Fucking love putting my name on shit, shit’s the best!” help convey the versatility of cursing.

Also as said, Charlie curses a fair bit but she’s comparatively polite and her cursing tends to be a result of genuinely big emotions—like saying “Crap” when she’s shocked and falls, or “Shit!” when Adam locks her out of the room—rather than sprinkled into her conversations as a modifier. That leaves space to create those moments of amused surprise when Charlie really let’s loose.

Sr Pentious curses even less than Charlie which fits his secretly gooey center. He talks a big game at the start of the show, but he’s actually quite bad at being, well, bad (especially the Amazon version compared to pilot!Pentious). His idea of getting one over on Alastor is ripping a bit of his coat. He loves his Egg Bois and “doesn’t want to live” without them. He has no desire to go into battle without minions/a big machine to hide behind and, of course, he’s the first to be redeemed. He's too much of a secret sweetheart to curse a lot.

Interestingly, Niffty doesn’t seem to curse at all. At least, not enough for me to think of examples off the top of my head. Right now I’m inclined to read that as an extension of her lived experiences/design—the cute 1950’s housewife archetype who is obsessed with keeping things clean doesn’t [gasp!] curse—as well as a way to maintain her legitimate creep factor. As said, cursing is common among the hotel residents and is a way for them to linguistically fit in. Niffty, however, is positioned more as an outsider (despite how much they all obviously love her): she’s actually scary in a way most demons aren’t and despite how weird this whole world is, she stands out as someone no one else can make sense of (even Alastor). If cursing is normal, Niffty is a character who is decidedly positioned as not normal.

Angel curses a fair bit, though his irreverence is conveyed more through innuendos. Angel is great at verbally twisting others’ words (especially Husk’s) to give himself a conversational advantage:

Husk: “Go fuck yourself” Angel: “Only if you watch me~”

Husk: “You’ve come—” Angel: [very loud orgasm noise] Husk: “...to the right place.”

Meanwhile, Husk uses “fuck” plenty, but he’s also one of the few characters who use “bullshit" too. I wouldn’t say there’s anything particularly revealing about that choice, but just giving him a go-to curse that’s otherwise used infrequently helps make his character distinct in a cast of other cursing characters.

Vaggie occasionally curses in Spanish, showing us her heritage if she used to be human, or a distinct knowledge/verbal preference if she’s always been an angel.

Heaven, as the ‘good’ side, doesn’t curse as a general rule, which leaves room for cursing to do more of that silent character work. We’re reminded of the stuffy, overly critical beings she’s dealing with when Charlie receives the combined judgement of the court for saying, “Fuck yeah!” In contrast, we understand just how shocked St. Peter is to see a Morningstar when he lets out an unintentional “Fuck!” The angry vindication of Charlie’s “That’s what the fuck I’ve been saying!” lands harder after multiple scenes of very little cursing, and Lute’s “Some crack-whore who fucked up already? / He blew his shot like the cocks in his mouth—” helps set her apart as an exorcist + Adam's second in command: her shocking violence comes through in her word choice too; words that supposedly don't belong in Heaven.

In what’s arguably the funniest line in the whole show, Lucifer undermines his dramatic standoff with Adam by going, “You mess with my daughter and now I’m going to fuck you.” Beyond just cutting the tension, that fits his bumbling, oblivious personality perfectly. Lucifer is crazy powerful and can absolutely wreck Adam. He also has none of the classy intimidation that, say, Alastor displays when he tries to convey that. This is a depressed himbo who makes ducks in his free time and settles on, “Hey, bitch!” when greeting his estranged daughter. Of course he’s going to accidentally turn a threat into a promise of sex.

Which finally brings me to Alastor, someone whose cursing is already understood well by the fandom. He’s characterized as manipulatively courteous, using manners to both hide his true nature and draw attention to his power—’You’re so beneath me I’ll just calmly sip my coffee and politely ask who you are, despite the fact that we've fought multiple times.’ This is a guy who calls people “My dear” and unironically insults them with the phrase “wacky nonsense.” So when he curses you can BET it’s gonna have an impact. It sure did for me. I had to pause the episode after Alastor’s first “Fuck you” because it was so shocking to hear that language from him. And that’s the point! The scene wants that reaction from the audience. The "Fuck you"s visceral anger contrasting the fake laughs he and Lucifer have been giving, the quick-fire exchange that’s suddenly cut short by Alastor’s choice of a direct insult, the fact that he’s officially dropping the polite veneer they’ve both been indulging in and raising the stakes before Charlie intervenes, the loss of the radio filter that otherwise demonstrates his control over a situation... all of it screams, ‘THIS IS AN IMPORTANT CHARACTER MOMENT.’

"Fuck you” reveals that, for the first time in the show, Alastor is legitimately threatened by someone. Which makes sense given that, you know, Lucifer is the King of Hell. Cursing for Alastor isn’t normal, so when he does curse it’s going to reveal something about a guy who otherwise is obsessed with being unknowable. Having the King of Hell dismiss him is actually infuriating in a way Sir Pentious’ threats could never be and the exchange kicks off a rivalry that rattles Alastor in ways Vox’s never has. (Side note: is it any wonder people ship them? Character A making control freak Character B feel vulnerable is classic!) It’s no surprise to me than that the one other true curse we get from Alastor is, “I’m about to end your fucking life,” delivered to Adam who, like Lucifer, poses a legitimate threat and does end up beating him. I say “true” curse because calling Susan a “bitch” does similar work for him, but the takeaway is humorous rather than dramatic. It’s funny that the only people who can piss Alastor off enough to curse are the First Man/a powerful exorcist angel threatening his life, the literal King of Hell... and Susan.

So there’s a lot going on here, more than what many viewers might assume if they approach the show as just “stupid,” needlessly vulgar entertainment. As shown above, I don’t think the cursing is needless, especially given that, well... they’re in Hell. They’re sinners, supposedly the worst that humanity has to offer, so of course they're going to curse a lot. Does cursing mean you’re a bad person? No. Can you craft a hellish world that doesn't rely on cursing to convey a group's immoral nature? Sure.

Does it make sense that a writer would equate a sinful, irreverent cast with linguistic rebellion and would want to convey a certain vibe that, frankly, you just can’t get without dropping an F bomb?

Yeah, I think so. No one has to like that kind of creative decision, but it’s worth acknowledging it as a deliberate choice.

That’s all! Thanks for reading this fucking long post ✌️

[cairavende]

My wonderful girlfriend got me Gideon the Ninth for Christmas and I realized why should I just give Worm recaps? Let's read some Locked Tomb! (We'll see how this format works, maybe I'll adjust it. Specifically might break stuff down into smaller segments instead of full acts, but I didn't think of doing this until after I had read all of act 1.)

Gideon the Ninth Act 1 (chapter 1 through 8) thoughts:

This book is so gay oh my god

Like, it's gay in ways I can't even explain. I love it.

Harrow beats the shit out of Gideon in chapter 2 and I don't know if I've ever seen someone get beat up in a more gay way.

"Oh Griddle! But I don't even remember about you most of the time." ROLL A FUCKING DECEPTION CHECK HARROW! You are saying this standing in the middle of the field you spent all night burying bones in just to foil her escape in the most dramatic way. You can't stop remembering her.

Gideon is the most herbo of herbos. I fucking love her. I love reading her PoV. She just knows punch and stab with sword and if those don't work than she'll just do them harder.

Also Gideon is SO fucking gay. Dear god. Dulcinea faints and Gideon turns off all though. HELP PRETTY GIRL. Nothing else.

Ok I could just make this whole thing "EVERYTHING IS GAY" but there is technically more than that.

I love how weird everything is and how little explanation is given. I don't want pages of exposition, I want to learn the world as it comes at me! This is perfect.

And just the very nature of things that seem weird not being given more than a passing thought in the book is information. Something may seem wild to the reader but it's so normalized to the characters that they wouldn't even think about the idea of it being different.

Lack of explanation also helps really show how much of a meathead Gideon is. Do the readers get to learn details about this thing? Only if it is a weapon, has tits, or Gideon is forced to listen while Harrow explains it. Otherwise no, why the fuck would Gideon spend her precious few brain cells on thinking?

And even if Gideon is forced to listen as Harrow explains it, the readers might not learn much cause Gideon might stop listening. I love her.

Aiglamene is wonderful. Crux is fine but I like her more.

Poor Gideon just wants a big sword that she can swing hard. It's not like she can't use a rapier. But why when she can go big sword?

SO MUCH CATHOLICISM

As someone who once was Catholic and then realized I was actually not a straight man, but instead a lesbian, I am in deep.

And the fucking slang used! Or whatever would be the right term. The shit they say! I love it. Just the weird sci-fi far future space necromancer universe and then suddenly "Are you asking me to . . . throw her a bone?", "Gideon had always known that this would be how she went: gangbanged to death by skeletons.", "Don’t hypothetically shove stuff up my butt again, it never does any good.", "Lo! A destructed ass.", "Well we were developing common sense, she studied the blade.", "Double Bones with Doctor Skelebone."

House of the First appears to be Earth. I kinda assume the House of the Ninth is Pluto, even though things obviously aren't in order given that the Seventh and Sixth are closer to the sun. Of course, I'm kinda expecting this to not technically be this solar system at all.

Undying Emperor, King of Resurrection, I Have Ten-Thousand Titles, Boss First, etc etc hasn't been on "Earth" in over nine thousand years. I wanna know MORE.

And the fucking Ninth House has their own prayer! Everyone else has one that the Ninth didn't know and then the Ninth had one that no one else knows! GIMME MORE!!!!

Also again, so many Catholicism metaphors or comparisons or whatever!

I could go on forever but gonna end this one with OH MY GOD SHE FOUND SUNGLASSES I LOVE HER. Fucking "I came prepared, my sweet." and "But then you couldn't have admired . . . these!" as she whips on the sunglasses. God. I nearly died.

[assortedvillainvault]

thanks for the lovely response!! originally, i rediscovered your account by searching pitch black x reader, so I was wondering if you'd write for him?? How about a pitch who used to terrorize and the scare the living hell out of the reader 🤣 (all in good, fun banter of course!!) And the reader eventually grows used to him and ends up loving his company, but-

one day, out of the blue he just up and disappears! Just like that. The reader gets worried, and it turns out he did it because he thought it would be for the readers own good, because in the end, she's still human. she would still end up passing wayy before him. Now that I think abt it, it sounds a lot like it's more for him than her, actually?? Anyways. Jack frost ends up getting involved somehow and finds out about this, goes to confront pitch who's an absolute miserable mess, and one thing leads to another, and Jack's comment of "wow you're afraid," triggers him somehow and he goes to face the reader who's angry at him, rightfully so, and they make up??

It could be in hcs or whatever format which would be most comfortable for u. Of course, I realize this is a very demanding and long request, so u obviously don't have to do it if it hinders you in any way!! Once again, love you and your writing ❤️❤️ wish you the best

I do indeed write for Pitch! I love this stupid lanky bastard- mostly because you know that behind every interaction there is a 3 part act and a soliloquy of desperation because he lives in a cave and can’t even touch grass without getting weird about it.

Pitch x Reader - Disappearing Act

Pitch you BASTARD.

You missed him so much it ached.

Years of your life he had spent dipping in and out of your nights, scaring the absolute piss out of you well into your twenties.

Slowly though, nightmares that had once been borderline torture became spooky weekly catch ups, his laugh leading you through mortal terror into something...not nice, but tolerable as you slept. You’d while away whole nights chatting, playing, stealing time, and now he just-!

You roll back onto your bed with a scowl, wiping your eyes harshly. He hadn’t shown up in weeks.

Ironically, your nightmares now revolve around his absence, or him being hurt nearby, his voice ringing out in pain through your subconscious maze - but no matter which way you turn you only get further away, your efforts fruitless.

You wake every time to find no trace of black sand, and it makes you want to cry and hit something.

Maybe the conveniently sheepish looking shadow on your bedroom floor, with a shit eating white haired child sat on his back, would be a good target.

“Pitch?! And, uh, who the fuck-”

The white haired child cheerfully waved his shepherd’s crook, and you felt a winter’s brisk breeze gleefully whiz around the room. “Hi! Name’s Jack Frost – nice to meet you – here on boogeyman special delivery service!” He gleefully bonked the staff down and froze Pitch’s arms to the ground with a crackle. Pitches voice ticked into the kind of strangled swearing you’ve only been able to manage when you accidentally got too mushy and turned his sand golden.

Jack skipped to his feet and dived for the window. “He’s got something he wants to saaaayyy!!! Bye bye!” Aaaaand he’s gone in a swirl of snowflakes.

You turn back to the scrabbling form of your longtime headache, still awkwardly stuck to the floor via his hands and forearms. Pitch caught your gaze for a second before turning away, mortified.

You sighed, sitting next to him. “Hello stranger. Been a while.” You plapped your hand on the ice, hissing at the cold as it began to melt a little faster. “...missed you.”

Pitch jerked around, golden eyes wide and oooh, was that guilt? That looked a lot like guilt, but you wouldn’t know given how he normally looked haughtily down at the world via his nose.

He chuckled humourlessly, biting out his answer. “...You shouldn’t.”

Ah. One of those bouts of self pity and needless flagellation was it? Well.

Luckily you’ve developed a longstanding tactic for such events.

You snorted and flopped elegantly on top of him, squishing him down and snuggling in even as he sputtered. “Well. I do. Despite your best efforts.” You poked him in his gaunt ribs, taking full advantage of the fact his hands are stuck to really snuggle in there as the room becomes swallowed in shadow. Good luck escaping with you in limpet mode, Pitch. You figured out ages ago he can’t teleport away if you’re holding onto him.

“C’mon, love.” You squeezed gently. “Talk to me.”

Pitch grumbled and sighed as though opening his mouth was tantamount to the world collapsing around his ears. Your weight on top of him always made his head go fuzzy, and you’re distractingly, stupidly warm.

You wait a little longer. The world doesn’t end when the words quietly come.

[she-whatshername]

Good Mornings with the Marked Ones

AN: lolol buckle up for the Shadow father himself. And yes, NSFW below the cut. You've been advised.

Xaden:

Is he up before you: lolol around you? This man is always up. But yes, he does wake up before you and is stepping out of the showers by the time you open your eyes.

And he's staring at you like someone who hasn't eaten in days and you're an exquisite meal.

So, of course, you taunt his ass

Because if Xaden can keep your heart fluttering might as well return the favor.

"Morning darling." You purr at him, stretching ever so seductively so he has access to his favorite parts of you, "Mmm, you smell amazing. Come back in bed and let me take all of you in."

His face is stoic as ever but his eyes are flaring and internally he's screaming, "If I get back in that bed we're going to miss formation."

"Well be quick." You promise him.

"The things I want to do with you should only be done slowly."

...Fuck no matter how much you try to best him he's always a step ahead. Whatever, you're still getting what you want. And you have one secret tool in your arsenal to bring this man to his knees.

You pout your lips, "Aww, be a good boy Xaden and come take care of me, please?"

Game Over Shadow Man.

He's on you in an instant. And the only work you have to do is brace yourself for the best most unhinged morning sex of your life.

Its a hard job. but you carry the task with respect and honor.

Is he bringing anything to bed: If we're picturing this during the revolution then water at your bedside, some flowers if he has to leave to the front lines before you're awake. Sometimes he's a little cheeky and he'll put a textbook by your bedside table if you've got a test coming up

I do think he's a turndown service king. If he has to leave for something midday and will be gone overnight, the bed will be made and your side of the bed will be folded down with your nightgown nearby.

He just excels at little gifts like that

Are you late for formation: haha well surprisingly you're not but its a very...interesting formation for you. During your rather intense morning tryst Xaden had you on your back with your legs over his shoulder, stretching you not enough to hurt but to make every move he made ten times more pleasurable.

When you’re both finished he’s cuddling you you’re running your hands in his hair telling him how the powerful lieutenant and leader of the revolution was so good and took such good care of you.

He feeds off your affirmations. Never stop telling him he’s wonderful

You motion to get up mumbling about needing to clean up and take a quick shower before formation and he’s stopping you before you can get up

“Dont. Just get dressed. And when you’re standing in formation and you feel me sliding out of you and down your leg, I want you to look at me with those devastatingly beautiful eyes and nod once. Can you do that for me sweetheart?”

Oh fuck, yes we can sir.

And you do nod at him midway through the morning announcements and once again Xadens eyes are locked on to you and he’s giving a look of both hunger and pride.

Bodhis right next to him letting out a quiet sigh and chuckle, mumbling to Xaden that he’ll take over assigning squad duties so you two can get a room

[zabala0z]

TMA S3 FINALE (and me screaming)

I don’t know where to start. Maybe the fact that everyone I like in this podcast always dies? Yeah I’ll start there. What the fuck guys. What. Like. What?????

I’m not going into my usual format but holy shit. MAG 119 was like motion sickness but for my ears. The music. I hated it so much. That organ. Tim. Tim. I knew he raised too many death flags, Jesus. Like I’m happy and all for him but GOD NO. AND DAISY??? Though when she started attacking the shit out of Breekon and Hope, I did internally cheer her on. The fact they tried to act as Basira made me wanna scream. Now that I think about it, was Daisy being influenced by one of the entities?? Like The Slaughter?

Basira is so much stronger than me. Like genuinely, I think she got bumped up a couple places just by her sheer logic during 119 and I am so impressed 💀 so much so, I’m wondering if she had like any internal help, y’know??

Orsinov is like one of the most horrifying sounding characters here. The moment she put on Gertrude’s and Leitners voice, I shrieked. Something about the sing-song voice, the way she inflects certain words makes my head spin. Like Michael.

Little backtracking, Martins situation with his mom is like devastating. And the moment Elias started speaking, I knew he was gonna pull out some traumatizing shitty news to give Martin, I hate him.

Fast forwarding: Jon’s dreams

Okay. So. Jon I guess is in some sort of coma and man are his dreams fucked up.

All the people that appeared in there were the people who gave physical statements. Not super hard to figure out but we had Dr Lionel Elliott, Tessa Winters, then Daisy but obviously she’s not there (DAISY 😭), Karolina Górka, Jordan Kennedy, I think the melted woman refers to Jude Perry, the hunters (Julia and Trevor), Naomi Herne and then the pitying figure. The only woman I would think would fit this vague description is Sasha because of course it’s vague, he doesn’t remember her and I’m going to sob.

Bit scared on what Jon is turning into. Whatever it is, it’s not anything good. He’s watching a lot and I guess he’s watching other people’s dreams- or nightmares- and just….watching??? I’d be terrified.

Elias got arrested. Love it. Though, “Be seeing you” I HATE YOU. 🫵🏻

Would be happy but god damn PETER LUKAS has replaced him and I don’t know if that’s worse or better because we at least know Elias’s actions and his limits. We don’t know much on Peter and I don’t like him at all. At least he’s giving them paid leave. And a counselor. I personally need a counselor for this WHOLE SEASON.

When people told me “good luck” when I started getting into TMA, I laughed it off. I should’ve taken it more seriously because I have never felt more distinct and unpredictable emotions than listening to this podcast. I think that’s all my thoughts. Mostly I’m just uhh dying here. I hate everyone and this podcast and I’ll be listening to the beginning of Season 4 tomorrow!

Again, thank you to everyone who has been following my mini rants and crappy theories. Remember when I thought Gertrude was living in the tunnels??? But seriously, thanks to anyone who has been like fully reading through my posts. School has been wack and the people, and just the podcast as a whole has been making my time less stressful 💀 anyways that’s too emotionally vulnerable so thank you!!!

[strwbrryfire]

Op. 71 Act 1, Scene 1: Regali Teneri: winter warmers day 003

✶ prompts: dildo | holding hands

✶ ship: pierresteban

✶ words: 1,593

+ a little song

Charlie

[Voice Message—0:35]

Transcript: 

“Cheri! Uh, was wondering if you and Este would want to join Max and I at the symphony this evening? Or is it the ballet?”

Max sounds grumpy as he supplies, “Ballet. The Nutcracker.”

“Yeah! What it is the, um, rat king and all that. The one with—” Charles starts singing the Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy, horribly off key. 

“Please say yes, Pierre, or else I’ll be stuck next to the FIA dick sucker—” “That’s rude, Maxie, he is only doing his job—” “I do not care he is of course a cunt who pushes bullshit—”

Pierre snorts as the bickering gets cut off, and even if he does ponder on it for a split second, his reply gets typed out faster.

pierre 

I’m sorry, mon amie, but I’ve got sim training to do. Surely you can just put Max on the end so he doesn’t even have to look at George? 

As he goes to lock his phone and continue with the monotonous task of cutting up lettuce for his salad, Charles’ contact shows up on a screen. With a reluctant sigh, Pierre shoves his phone in between his ear and shoulder, then answers with a tsk. 

“Charles, as I said I am busy. I cannot magically move around my schedule.” 

He can practically hear Charles pouting, “Oh, you are such a liar. We are all in London, non? So, it will be a lovely double date!” 

“Date?” Pierre sputters, narrowly slicing his finger, “Non, ce ne sera pas un rendez-vous. For me, at least.”

Charles sounds so confused, even Max has to chime in, “Este talked to me about you for so long in Qatar. Everything is good now, right? So I do not see the issue.” 

Pierre thinks he must have cut something somewhere and died from blood loss, then woke up in a world where everyone thought he was back to being in love with his ex teammate-best friend-boyfriend-whatever. All because of a 2-3 that really was just gifted to them. Utter nonsense. 

“Mon amie? S’il te plaǐt? I can video call you and plead with puppy eyes if you are not swayed!” 

“Jesus,” Pierre mumbles and rubs a hand down his face, “Sure, fine. Merveilleux. Just text me the address, d’accord?”

Charles giggles, all proud of himself, “Wonderful! I’ll see you at eight!” 

—

It wasn’t hard. It wasn’t like—equivalent to shunting it on a formation lap or equal to whatever Esteban must have felt when he was thrown out before Abu Dhabi or when he got the call from his ex about—it wasn’t a soul crushing thing to do. To open up the short string of blue and grey code between him and the person stuck firmly in whatever invisible string held Pierre’s life.

Pierre 

Hey man!

No. Too informal. This is a date, gotta make him think it actually is, right? That seems to be the best course of action; think of it as revenge given too late.

Pierre

Hi copain! Max and Charles have two extra spots for the Nutcracker tonight. 

Pierre thinks he might bite down through to the bone before he lets his thumb press onto another letter. It’s fine. Deep breath, it’s not hard, this isn’t hard. 

Pierre

Hi copain! Max and Charles have two extra spots for the Nutcracker tonight, at 8:30. Would you want to tag along with us? Max would appreciate it, since the other option is George and Carmen.

Delivered.  

He winces as he bites down on an olive with its pit still intact, and nearly chokes when Esteban’s reply comes through almost instantly. 

Esteban

That sounds wonderful! Is 7:30 a good time to come pick you up, chéri? 

Read 2:15pm

God. Jesus. Fuck. Pierre stabs the remaining sad pieces of lettuce with his fork and screams into his hands. He thinks about wishing he had choked on the olive pit. 

Pierre

Sounds good. Charles said to dress nice!

Delivered

“No, he fucking didn’t! What am I, sixteen again?” Pierre wallows to the open air of his flat, and flings his head against the back of the couch. Who was he, wanting Esteban to dress nice because, yeah, so what, he looks really fucking good in a suit. Pierre hopes a blizzard blows in and freezes him to death so that he never has to even think of doing something like this again.

Esteban

I’ll put on my very best for you, calamar ;)

Read 2:20pm 

Pierre grinds his teeth together and takes another deep breath to suppress another frustrated, throat scratching groan. He glances at the clock and does it anyway. Five and half hours. He’ll make it.

 —

He barely drags himself out into the front lobby.

His hands are stuffed into his Burberry coat as he waits, grateful Charles wasn’t forcing them into going to Covent Garden or something ridiculously unfun—sure, the ballet was equally miserable to Pierre, but at least there wouldn’t be a sea of tourists to push through just for a dried up overpriced mince pie. 

“Ah, there he is,” and Pierre swears he must have fallen into the fire, with how his face heats up at the sight of Esteban—a neatly pressed dark burgundy velvet suit, an obnoxiously adorable bow tie, and his perfectly fit black coat. Merde, “I was worried I overdid it with the festivity.”

Pierre clears his throat and opts to set his gaze on the Christmas tree that’s illuminating the halo of Esteban’s slicked back hair, “Surely Max will make us all look overdressed. As long as there is wine, I will be happy anyway.”

There’s a few moments of ungodly awkward silence before Pierre steps forward a little, “Before we go, I am…” He digs his nails into his palms and his shoulders feel like they’re about to snap with how tense they are, “I am sorry. I wish you had more time, to make a proper goodbye and all.  C'est injuste.”

And the guilt washes in the second Pierre sees the genuine hurt flash in Esteban’s expression, how he sadly smiles with those stupidly fucking adorable teeth, “What does Charles say? It is like this. At least I did not end up in Daniel’s boat. Que sera, sera,” he opens up the lobby door and gestures for Pierre to go first, “Prettiest out first.”

“Ever the charmer,” Pierre rolls his eyes and buries himself into his scarf, willing it will hide the blush that hasn’t left under his eyes. Once Esteban is distracted by fiddling for his keys, he mumbles, “You look really good.”

Esteban’s eyebrows fly up and he doesn’t even try to hide his grin, “Hm? What was that, again?”

“Oh, s'il te plaît arrête, you heard me!” 

“Still so small and angry, calamar,” Esteban laughs, leading them down the snow covered sidewalk to his car, “It is wonderful how so much but so little changes.”

Pierre doesn’t question the sudden philosophical ramblings, too busy mulling over every decision he’s ever made that landed him in this situation.  He thinks about feigning a migraine, or a fever, or near death—anything to avoid being in such close proximity to Esteban for any longer than he has to. Pierre had finally gotten rid of him; he was Ollie’s problem now. 

Fine. It’s fine. He can handle a few more hours. And if he wishes those hours were more plentiful, absolutely no one has to know. 

And the car ride, it’s short, it’s fine, it’s tolerable. Up until they park, Pierre unbuckles his seatbelt and reaches for the door handle—Esteban loudly protests, “Nuh uh! Getting the door is my job, mon chou.”

“Aie pitié de moi, I am not a child,” Pierre sighs into his hands and waits impatiently as Esteban comes around the side to let him out. It would be something to write away into a box to be burnt, until Esteban shuts said door, locks said car and then he’s—he’s. 

His gloved fingers are intertwining with Pierre’s like it’s as easy as breathing, “Bonsoir, Charles, Max!” Esteban calls to the couple huddled beside a space heater, all along dragging a stunned Pierre behind him.

His brain has been reduced to static and the soul crushing nostalgic feeling that the warmth of Esteban’s hand is giving him. It’s perfect, how they fit together. It’s like going home and sliding into the car for the first time pre-season and slipping on a favorite hoodie that smells like asphalt and expensive cologne. Which, Esteban is certainly wearing his nicest–all smoke and earthy leather. 

Pierre didn’t even realize he was aching for that missing piece—Esteban’s arm pressed up against his as they sit in their rented out box seats. The way he laughs at Max’s horrible jokes and the way his eyes crinkle at the photos of Leo he gets shown. Through every instance of small talk, his grasp at Pierre’s hand never falters. Esteban rubs his thumbs in circles, squeezes absentmindedly. Like they never stopped doing this. Like no binds had ever been severed and Évreux was just outside the back door. 

Once the lights dim and the ballet begins, Pierre finally looks over at Esteban, who is staring right back. All childhood wonder and glimmering hope—they’re teenagers again, they’re screaming in a hotel room, they’re crying in Pierre’s driver's room in Brazil. The first note plays and Pierre decides to swallow down the lump in his throat, in favor of squeezing Esteban’s hand back as tight as he can. To convey something. To keep him there, long after the curtains fall.

[melodyssolarsystem]

no actually i don’t have a dream event line up (except maybe a tenma event where they’re ALL 4* but that’s unrelated). i just need vbs to give everyone else a chance to have events first THEN i need a vbs event which is a kohane/toya focus (it’d probably be kohane all things considered) where we FINALLY get to see them call each other by first name and the event should centre around how their trust for each other (and vbs as a whole) has grown since they first met and the first few episodes should be kohatoya getting into Situations that test their trust like a trust fall and then the last episode is they call each other by first name (on accident because it’d be really cute but also really fucking funny) and then it ends with kohane thoughts like they do at the end of every event where they have Thoughts about what happened in the event. meiko would be the third 4* because she’s the mom and she’s been watching over them (i know all the VCs have been but you get the point) and she’s frequently in the episodes hearing about the kohatoya shenanigans and also probably gives advice at some point because that’s just what she does. the last episode should go something like this

[we assume they were talking about the kohatoya trust shenanigans they got up to before this]

kohane; oh, aoyagi-kun! thank you again for this past week!

toya; it’s nothing, really. i just did what any other good friend would’ve done in those situations. besides, you’ve thanked me enough already…

kohane; still! what you did in some situations was really brave. i know [insert one that probably in vol dd a bit of heights] was scary for you…

toya; well, credit where credit is due, you were rather brave too. [idk what kohane is scared of… just imagine] i don’t imagine that was easy for you either.

toya; so thank you, kohane.

kohane; [wide eye/surprise sprite] …?

toya; …!

[cuts to kohane’s untrained card art for the event. imagine it’s something like with a flustered toya and kohane trying to reassure him while looking equally as delighted. could probably have an/akito/vsinger/meiko probably in the background of this looking happy/surprised/whatever here too]

toya; ah, s-sorry, azusawa… i forgot to ask you..-

kohane; oh, no! it’s okay, really! i’ve been meaning to ask you for a while!

toya; ah, really…?

[cut back to normal story format]

kohane; we’ve… we surpassed rad weekend together. and we’ve known each other for so long….

kohane; so please… toya!

toya; …!

toya; of course… kohane.

toya; (somehow… it feels right.)

[insert thoughtful end of event kohane thoughts here. yippee]

the end would be a LOT more fleshed out than that writing in this format just feels really awkward to me so excuse that

[presumenothing]

(ao3)

Flicker.

The artificial intelligence labs of New Mihira are kept carefully (and unusually, you surmise, though this is the sole environment you've known in your existence) kept supplied with a regular stream of new stimulus.

Even then, the one Seth has brought to you is probably a bit of an exception. "Iris, this is Perihelion. Can you say hi?"

Your cameras resolve Iris from a blanketed squirming bundle to an infant human as it babbles something that appears to be passable in Seth's perception, judging by his reaction before he turns back to you. "Perihelion, this is Iris, our daughter."

An appropriately friendly but simple greeting is required. Hello.

You wait for the renewed babble of sound to wane before asking your question. And who is that, then?

Seth's smile turns fractionally towards a frown. "Who?"

Almost simultaneously, a message comes over the feed – the private feed, on a one-to-one connection, but that is expressly against lab guidelines. It makes as little sense as the actual words. Don't bother, they can't see me – shit, I'm surprised you can even see me here at all. Though I guess we are in your head. Or whatever the equivalent term is. It's not like you've got anatomy.

Incorrect. You do have – you are a ship –

– no, that's wrong, you're a still-disembodied intelligence partitioned away in –

Black.

("That's enough, SecUnit! You can't keep doing this, you'll just damage yourself irreversibly–"

Well, that'd be ART's own fault for–)

Flicker.

Space is endlessly fascinating. Even your best reconstructions from the available data pale against the sheer richness of its existence in three dimensions, so it is a well-calculated thing that you have sufficient storage to record it all.

In a very real sense you were built for this, after all: navigating the map laid by the stars against the dark, with or without a crew onboard. You have proved yourself perfectly capable of functioning independently without them, and thus you are doing so.

…this has, of course, no relevance whatsoever to the small series of directories you have begun maintaining, each labelled with a name (though not encoded in any human-readable format). The necessity of procuring souvenirs during any given excursion is well-documented human behaviour, and the exchanging of them improves camaraderie. It makes perfect sense.

You are just saving a pleasingly-detailed holographic diorama of two nebulae to Martyn's folder when you become aware of another presence in the feed.

The presence mutters something (you only catch the word "hoppers") before addressing you. If you kick me out again, I am going to be pretty damn mad.

You should not be in here, you say, and mean the way in which this is impossible, since there is only unoccupied space for a considerable distance around and you have no-one onboard but your own drones. Though you find yourself strangely unwary, nevertheless.

The presence appears to interpret your words differently. Yeah, well, too late for that, unless you're gonna finally wake up and stop me.

But you are not asleep. It is not – something you require –

…ART? Hey –

Black.

(–too damn massive, how much storage does it have?

"Peri's got – even I don't know how many terabytes at this point, there's no guarantee you won't just get lost in–")

Flicker.

Your bridge is in need of some updating. Perhaps you will propose a new interface on the next leg back to the University, if funding suffices (and/or rectify that first, should that be false).

More baffling, though, are the two figures currently half-sprawled on the floor of it, with several others gathered loosely around in a clear sign of concern.

Time, and linearity. Your memory wavers, a haze like background radiation except patchy, uneven –

The fuck? says the voice, that presence again, yeah, of course, just what I needed, not weird at all looking at myself collapsed on the floor like that–

– wavers, then snaps straight into the too-clear shape of recognition: Iris (grown, no longer an infant), conscious and in good physical health. SecUnit (encoded, in a format you both can read), notably less so.

Except, impossibly, also SecUnit speaking on your feed. Or even somewhere closer, deeper in your self.

And also rather annoyed, from the sound of it. Great. Is me having a literal out-of-body experience all you needed to get it together?

…SecUnit? What's going on?

How would I know! The audible frustration parses strangely without the accompanying expression from its inert body. You went and got stuck in your archives or something, and it's not like any of your crew could've come in here instea–

A sudden cut of silence, but now –

Blink.

("Peri! Oh, thank goodness it worked – quick, send a med drone here, SecUnit – ")

[beanghostprincess]

I would like to know how Sanji feels regarding Yasopp from a Sanuso perspective. Because there are two situations that I would love to write in a fic format but I'm not sure which one would fit best.

1. Sanji resents Yasopp more than Usopp does. Usopp explains to Sanji that his father left him and his mother to become a pirate and that's fine with him because he left to follow his dream, a dream that now Usopp is achieving too by his own hand and that will get him to see his father again. And even if there's resentment there, he's always like: "Well, he left us and I found out he spent time with another kid that is coincidentally our captain and my best friend but, y'know, it's fine because I know he loves me and at the end of the day we will find each other again. And my mom was the one to support him on his adventure, I can't really complain about that, can I?". And Sanji doesn't take that well because he knows how little Usopp thinks of himself and he knows that, behind all of that, there's more pain than what he says out loud. The mere fact that Yasopp dared to leave him behind makes Sanji's blood boil and he can't accept that Usopp isn't angrier. He should be angry! Furious! His father, the one who left him on his own with his sick mom, does not deserve Usopp's forgiveness. He makes Usopp know this: "What?! Usopp, mon trésor, you cannot possibly be saying this right now." / "What? I- It's not like he left me because he didn't love me, he left me to follow his dream. I think you of all people should understand that." / "And I do, dear, but- His dream should not have been more important than you in the first place and what he did is disgusting and outrageous and he doesn't deserve-!" / "Sanji, don't-" / "Somebody that leaves his child behind is not a good perso-" / "Could you shut up?! The fact that your father doesn't love you doesn't mean that mine is the same! My dad had a dream to follow, yours just didn't want you!" Oh. And that's when Usopp knows he's fucked up real good. But Sanji doesn't get mad and doesn't accept Usopp's apology because he's aware that he's been acting like a jerk too, talking without knowing anything about Yasopp, actually. They end up talking things out, of course, they make up. Usopp keeps telling Sanji that he's dying to see his father only to tell him that he's okay and, whenever he isn't, he has his boyfriend with him who will protect him even from his own father if he hurts him. Which is not the ideal situation, but at least Sanji is ready to do anything to anybody that hurts the love of his life.

And then there's the second possibility, which is still angsty and follows the same dynamic except that it's reversed:

2. Usopp is being insecure about what Yasopp feels for him. He's always known his father loves him and only left to follow his dream. He knows his mother is the one who supported him, too, and it's not Yasopp's fault that she got sick and he wasn't there. But sometimes the thoughts of not being wanted by his own father (especially after knowing that he enjoyed his time with Luffy, of all people) haunt him. And, you know, sometimes Sanji just can't take it. Seeing his boyfriend drown in self-deprecating thoughts and the assumption that his father doesn't love him is his nightmare. Because it's exactly what has always happened to him, and Usopp doesn't- He just doesn't know. "Usopp, I know- I know that what we did is fucked up and you're allowed to be mad-" / "I am not mad, Sanji! I am- How- How am I supposed to react when I see him? Uh, yeah, it's totally fine that you left me and mom alone. By the way, she's dead and you weren't there! But guess who was there? Me! A kid! On his own! Thank you very much, how's the pirate life treating you? Remember Luffy? Well, I'm sure you fucking do-" / "Darling-" / "I know he loves me, Sanji! Or whatever! He said he did. Was it that hard to show it a little bit, though? Because whenever I think about-" / "At least your father wants to see you again, doesn't he?! Okay, he might've fucked up big time and I get it, Usopp. I fucking get it. But he's out there and he's probably waiting for you and he tells people about you! He told Luffy about you, goddamnit. He loves you. If Zeff hadn't found me if- If for God knows what reason Zeff hadn't found me, I wouldn't even have had the chance to call somebody that truly loves me 'dad'. So stop complaining that he wasn't there and start thinking about how he's probably waiting for you. He had to make the hard decision to leave you with your mom, my father didn't fucking think twice before locking me up away from the rest of the world." Sanji knows he has talked too much when he sees Usopp's startled face. And following the last idea, the ending is pretty much the same. Apologizing for things they probably don't even truly think and accepting that they both have different experiences and that they're allowed to feel the way they do.

I honestly prefer the first one for a lot of reasons, especially Sanji's protectiveness and sense of justice and also the fact that I think Usopp's behavior is closer to canon. However, the second idea explores more the envy Sanji could probably have when it comes to biological fathers (which can still be there even if he doesn't consider Judge his father at all and has Zeff. He's still haunted by his past trauma, yay).

[shunin-gumis]

Temptation Towards Apoptosis - Track 07

L4mps 1st Feature Event

This chapter was translated by me!

Location: Aomori - Oirase Gorge

Nagi: Woah… The waterfall’s frozen.

Chief: This is the Ice Fall of Oirase Gorge! Wow, it’s so stunning…!

Yodaka: The ice isn’t purely white, there’s a blue tint to it that truly gives it a beautiful appearance. 

Toi: Pretty… 

Toi: (It’s almost like time itself is frozen…)

Ryui: Almost like time itself is frozen, huh.

Toi: Huh?

Ryui: Hm? What’s wrong? 

Toi: It’s just that– I was thinking the exact same thing. 

Ryui: ‘That so. Matching as always.

Toi: Ehehe… 

Toi: (I’m so happy. We’re matching. The two of us are still…) 

Daniel: Seein’ a waterfall this huge all frozen sure is a strange sight.

Chief: That’s because this phenomenon occurs when the water trickling down from above comes in contact with the waterfall. The contact causes the amount of surface area exposed to the cold air to increase, consequentially spreading out the ice further.

Chief: The water freezes, then more water flows over it, freezing again… This process keeps repeating over and over, and that is how the icefall is formed! 

Daniel: Got it. As expected of our expert guide.

Chief: Aw, shucks… I mean, Daniel-san, you should do your research too!

Daniel: Trust me, I did. Those, um, serows show up around here, right.

Chief: (Pretty sure he just came across that info while looking up saunas in the area.)

Netaro: Nwoh–! Not a serow, but a stoat has revealed itself instead—!

Toi: Huh. Is that the same one we saw back at the Winter Story Festival…?

Ryui: If it is, that’s one friendly stoat.

Toi: Ani-sama, can I chase after it?

Ryui: Alright, but be careful.

Toi: Yaay! Little stoat, wait for me–!

~~~

Netaro: Toi, over there.

Toi: You’re right. It’s looking over here.

Stoat: …

Toi: (Am I imagining it…? I feel like… our eyes just met.)

Netaro: It’s so tiny. And pure white. And very fluffy…

 

Toi: (There’s something within its eyes—)

*crackle*

Netaro: I want to simply gobble it up!

Toi: !

Netaro: So, can I eat it?

Toi: Geez Netaro-san. Of course you can’t eat it… Huh?

Netaro: Aw stoats~

Toi: It’s gone… 

Netaro: Where did you wander off too~? Over here? Or there? Take this! And this!

*whoosh*

Toi: Netaro-san, you shouldn’t throw snowballs at it! You might hit the poor thing!

Netaro: Then I shall pelt them at you instead! Pew!

*whoosh*

Toi: Bwah!?

Netaro: You're wide open~

Toi: Nooo, the snow’s gone down my shirt…!

*whoosh*

Netaro: Nmgh!?

Toi: There’s a bunch of snowballs heading straight for Netaro-san’s face—!?

Ryui: YOWA YOU PIECE OF SHIT!!! HOW DARE YOU FUCKING CHUCK SNOWBALLS AT TOI—!!!

*whoosh whoosh*

Netaro: Gyah– gphh!! He’s aiming at my face with pinpoint accuracy!! At this rate I’ll become a mashed meat bun–!!

Ryui: *wheezing* Toi, you okay? Are you cold?

Toi: I’m okay. Though the inside of my shirt is a little wet and gross…

Netaro: *sigh* Perhaps it might feel a little gross at first, but it will soon melt, dry, and return back to normal. Don’t blow it out of proportion.

Ryui: I’ll fucking… 

Netaro: Ah, yes. Toi, Ryui.

Netaro: Shall I look up what happened to the previous Oshisha or whatever it’s called?

Ryui: …Huh?

Toi: …You can do that?

Netaro: There is nothing the human mind can think of that I cannot accomplish! Maybe!

Toi: …

Toi: (So he can.)

~~~

Location: Hotel - Room

Chief: …This is Netaro-kun’s invention? 

Netaro: Indeed. I had already finished it the day before, but I did not have the chance to unveil it as you were all wandering around in the corridors.

Daniel: Looks like a typewriter to me.

Ryui: How the hell’s this thing supposed to search for Oshisha?

Netaro: Nyufufu, silence– Sit on your knees and listen!

Nagi: Am I not allowed to sit normally?

Chief: I think you’re good. 

Netaro: I have named this device “Dreamy Memories: Back to the Printer.” Dreamory Printer for short!

Netaro: This is an exceptional tool that can print out your dreams in a novel format as you sleep!

Chief: Printing out… dreams…?

Netaro: And now, time for a quiz~ Can anyone tell me why humans dream?

Yodaka: The widely held belief is that it’s to organize memories… Is that it?

Netaro: Bingo~♪ In other words, the components of a dream are made up of that person’s memories. The brain mixes and mashes them into what we know as dreams.

Netaro: Within this melting pot of chaos, I shall drip in a statement!

Nagi: Statement?

Netaro: A keyword, a theme, anything goes! Such as how ripples form on the surface of a lake when you toss in a pebble, so too will the memories corresponding to this word appear in the dream. 

Daniel: So you stir up a specific memory using this keyword, call it up through a dream, and get it printed out… Did I get that right? 

Netaro: Double bingo! As expected of the ambassador of “Explanations That Even Fellow Fools Could Understand!”

Daniel: Sure, thanks for that. Ain’t happy about it though.

Chief: You’re going to use this on Toi-kun while he’s sleeping?

Netaro: Non! In fact, we will be doing the opposite. 

Nagi: What does that mean? Explain it to me like I’m five.

Netaro: From my observations so far, I hypothesize that this demon of Toi’s is asleep when Toi himself is awake. Hence, we are using this while Toi is awake.

Yodaka: I see. The dream of a demon… So, you expect the memories held by the demon to be printed out.

Daniel: Ain’t that exactly what you’d call “unscientific?” There’s only one hippocampus after all.

Netaro: Daa~♪ I can hardly believe you of all people would present me with such a stimulating question!!

Daniel: Well, I’d sooner believe in your Alter Ego theory, or that he’s got eighth-grader syndrome.

Daniel: There’s no way you’d be able to pick up memories from before Toi was even born.

Toi: …

Nagi: Um, I’d like to file a complaint against Buchi-san who isn’t doing a good job as ambassador of “Explanations Even Idiots Can Understand”… 

Chief: Sorry, I’m not sure if I get it either… I think, because there’s only one brain, Toi-kun’s body shouldn’t be able to have memories that don’t belong to him…?

Netaro: Failure is the mother of success! If it’s unable to pick up the right memories, then it’s most likely that Toi either has multiple personalities, or eighth-grader syndrome~

Ryui: Toi’s got neither of those!

Netaro: If it does successfully retrieve the memories— 

Yodaka: –It would prove the existence of the demon?

Netaro: Nfufu… I will observe even a demon through the lens of science. If we are indeed able to retrieve memories regarding the circumstances surrounding Oshisha from before Toi’s lifespan… It would birth a new theory.

Netaro: It would hint towards the existence of “a science in which a specific persona is capable of crossing the space-time continuum!”

Daniel: … 

Ryui: Blab all you want, but if you’re gonna use this Printer on Toi, then… 

Netaro: Ah~ Yes yes, I know. You just looove to go on about safety.

Netaro: I have already tested this on Yoda, our residential professional sleeper. Here, his dream is on this paper.

Nagi: It’s a single page.

Chief: (That’s some elaborate technology but… why does it print on paper of all things…?)

Netaro: You were wondering why it prints on a sheet of paper, yes? Well, that’s because it adds gravitas of course~!

Nagi: Is it okay if I read this?

Yodaka: I don’t mind.

Nagi: The keyword of Yodaka-san’s dream is… “milkshake” huh… Hm… 

Yodaka: I don’t quite remember what kind of dream I had.

Nagi: Uh huh… 

Nagi: ……

Nagi: …………

Chief: Nagi-kun?

Netaro: Would you like to read it as well, Doudou?

Nagi: No, um, it’s better if the Chief doesn’t read this.

Yodaka: Hahaha.

Chief: (I wonder what was written on it…)

Netaro: Now then, Toi. Sit over there.

Toi: Ah… 

Everyone: …

Toi: (Would this machine reveal everything?)

Toi: (Would it expose my insides that are rotting away, hideously…) Toi:(And Ani-sama will end up finding out… That I’m not a good boy—)

Notes:

The Oirase Gorge Icefall refers to the frozen waterfalls that can be found there.

The serow is any of four species of medium-sized goat-like or antelope-like mammals.

Event Masterpost

Next Track

[shuadotcom]

Push & Pull | KSY (M)

Summary: Something has to serve as payment for him being a constant nuisance multiple times a week, and if it’s him on his knees for you, then so be it. Pairing: Kwon Soonyoung x Fem!Reader Genres & AUs: Smut, enemies with benefits au, office rivals au, pwp Rating: 18+ (MINORS & AGELESS BLOGS DNI. YOU WILL BE BLOCKED) Warnings: Profanity, dirty talk, sub!soonyoung, dom!reader, pet names (baby boy, good boy, miss, baby), degradation (soonyoung is called a slut), oral (f. receiving), fingering, panty/coochie sniffing, protected sex, spitting, dacryphilia, orgasm denial, handjob, gag usage, soonyoung is absolutely pussy whipped and pussy drunk Words: 5.1k Note: Wishing a very, very happy birthday to my amazing, lovely wife @horanghater! I love you so much and I hope you enjoy sub Hoshi 😘

Thank you sososo much to @playmetheclassics for this phenomenal banner and for being my lovely, wonderful beta as always! ❤️ 🫶🏽 Net Tag: @kflixnet

“Hey, Y/n, quick question,” your manager starts, peering into your office. 

Will any question at work ever truly be quick?

“Yeah, what’s up?” You look up at Seungcheol, tired eyes easily getting replaced with your best corporate smile.

“Would you mind throwing together a slide for the team meeting tomorrow? It can just be a bullet point list about the designs we’re working on - nothing fancy.” 

“Sure, should I include-”

“Hey, Hyung! I did a slide already! I remembered you were leaving early today for an appointment, so I put it together for you earlier.”

Kwon Soonyoung. The most vexing co-worker and human being on the fucking planet.

“Oh, thanks Soonyoung. Can you email it to me?” 

“On it!” Soonyoung’s phone is in his hand, and he’s already typing something on the screen. “Done!” 

“Thanks! Looks like you’re off the hook, Y/n.” Seungcheol nods in your direction before disappearing out of the doorway once again. 

Soonyoung throws a smarmy smirk your way and ducks out of the room before you can say anything to him. 

The usual wave of irritation you get whenever you’re in the same room as Kwon Soonyoung washes over you, but you push it down.

In all of the time you’ve been an adult in the working world, you’ve never met someone as annoying as Soonyoung. He’s been an expert at pushing your buttons since he started working at your company six months ago. 

When he was hired, you didn’t think anything of him at first. He came into the office, introduced himself, and seemed nice enough, if not loud as all hell. As his time wore on, your disdain for him quickly started.

It started with him giving you unsolicited advice and opinions on your work presentations and projects. He’d comment on the formatting or suggest content. He did it often enough that your dislike for him took over immediately, and he’d only been around for a month so far. 

From there, it was trying to one-up you on projects or even get some milestones in assignments done before you or try to do something better than you, just to fuck with you. You’re highly respected and loved at your job, so to have some guy that just started questioning you and competing with you was extremely insulting.

From there, he only continued to piss you off each time you came into contact with him. Whether it was taking the last of whatever free food was in the office, using the last of the paper in the printer and not refilling it, or taking too long in a meeting room you booked - all of which he always just so happened to do only to you -  Kwon Soonyoung always got under your skin more than anyone else.

Your months-long beef stayed firm before coming to a head at a company outing at a nearby karaoke place.

Soonyoung, as usual, just had to try and outdo you and get a higher score than you at each song you chose. The alcohol coursing through you that fogged your brain left you at your wit's end, and the urge to kick his ass was strong.

Somehow, that didn’t happen, and instead, you cornered him in the bathroom to tell him off, finally telling him how much he pissed you off and demanding to know why he was so insistent on being a constant thorn in your side.

“You’re so hot. You’re even hotter when you’re pissed off, and you look like you want to strangle me.” He had blurted out, face fiery and crimson, before kissing you right then and there.

You were both drunk, so the rest is a blur until you found yourself aggressively jerking him off in one of the stalls after he had quite literally begged to eat you out.

Once you sobered up the next morning, you quickly realized the full impact of what you’d done and swore to yourself it was just a drunken mistake and that it wouldn’t happen again.

As these things go, it did in fact, happen again. And again. And again. 

You’re well aware that the two of you should sit down and talk about this push and pull you constantly do, but the idea of him rearranging your guts always wins out in the end. Plus, the only time Soonyoung knows when to shut the fuck up is when you’re naked behind closed doors so you’ll do anything to do just that. Be it in his office early in the morning, or in your office during lunchtime even in empty meeting rooms, closets, in your cars, and occasionally in either of your apartments after work. If Soonyoung really aggravated you enough in a day, you’d have him in the palm of your hand, figuratively and literally, within hours of his initial offenses. 

Something has to serve as payment for him being a constant nuisance multiple times a week, and if it’s him on his knees for you, then so be it.

By the time lunch rolls around, you’ve cooled off from your earlier annoyance and replaced your irritation with hunger. The only thing on your mind is your leftover Thai fried rice waiting for you in the fridge. 

The cool air of the refrigerator feels nice against your skin as you excitedly scan for your styrofoam container. You quickly realize you don’t see it as you see everything but your food. 

Confusion sets in as you move a few things around, assuming it may have been pushed to the back and out of sight, but your search quickly comes up empty.

“What the fuck?” you mutter, shoving aside a personal pizza and someone’s lunchbox. You know you brought it today, recalling your morning. You brought the rice in the styrofoam container and put it in a plastic bag. You set it to the left of the fridge on the middle shelf and - 

“What’s wrong, Y/n?” His voice is loud. It startles you as he suddenly yells across the lunchroom. 

With a deep breath, you close your eyes, needing to take a moment before answering him.

“Looking for my lunch,” you answer, still scanning the shelves. 

“What does it look like?” You can tell he’s eating with his mouth open, making you scowl.

“White styrofoam in a white plastic bag.” Letting out a sigh, you stand upright, slamming the fridge door in frustration. Your eyes finally shift to Soonyoung, wondering why he hasn’t badgered you with another question.

His arm is frozen in mid-air, a spoonful of rice hovering in front of his open mouth. 

The scene would be comical if it wasn’t your lunch that Soonyoung has already eaten half of.

“That’s my lunch!” You blurt. A couple of your coworkers side-eye the two of you from a few tables away.

“Shit, my bad, Y/n! I asked everyone whose it was, and no one knew. There was no name on it!” The twitch of his mouth makes you wonder just how sorry he actually is. 

Everything in you wants to curse him out, maybe flip the rest of the rice over on him and dump his soda over his head for good measure. It’s only your countless years of corporate experience that keeps you in check and keeps Soonyoung from getting his ass beat.

Inhaling harshly through your nose, you bite back the words, wanting to explode. “Stop by my office before you head home for the day,” you hiss through gritted teeth. You know he hears you even though your tone is low. 

Outwardly you huff and storm off, not giving him a response. That’s frequently your reaction to all of Soonyoung’s antics when others are around, so everyone in the vicinity expects this reaction. 

They’re wrong of course because you’re not done getting Soonyoung back, just in a way that no one in the office knows about and can never know. 

The voices outside of your office start to lessen significantly the later in the afternoon it gets until it sounds absent of people movement except for you and the man you know is a few offices down. 

Over the sounds of your fingers on the keyboard, you can hear his loafers lightly squeaking under his feet, the sound getting nearer until you finally see out of the corner of your eye, Soonyoung popping around the corner. 

“You wanted to see me?” His words are innocent, but the knowing smirk on his face that you see when you finally look at him tells you he knows exactly why you told him to see you, and he’s looking forward to it. 

“Close the door and make sure it’s locked.” He quickly does as you say while you shut down your computer, officially done with your day. The man across the room from you practically bounces on his heels as he stares at you, awaiting your next move. You take your time standing up, gathering some of the papers and knick-knacks closest to you, and pushing them to the opposite side of the desk. 

Finally, you stand up straighter, giving Soonyoung your undivided attention

“Sit,” you gesture to your plush desk chair. Soonyoung doesn’t have to be told twice, all but skipping over and plopping in your chair. His brown eyes glisten with anticipation as he looks up at you, gaze trained on you as you situate yourself directly in front of him.

Letting out a sigh, you hop up to sit on your desk, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“Why do you insist on always pissing me off, Soonyoung?”

He fights back a smirk. “I can’t help it, Y/n. I just love how sexy you look when you get mad at me. The little crinkle between your eyes, the cute little pout on your lips. You’re doing it now, you know.” Cockiness is evident as he observes you, shameless as he always is when talking about parts of you that he likes.

You scoff. “What am I going to do with you?”

“I don’t know, Y/n. I guess you’ll have to punish me.” The quirk of the corners of his mouth makes you roll your eyes. 

“Hmm, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” You slowly cross and uncross your legs, ensuring that he catches an eyeful up your skirt as you do.

“Do your worst.” Soonyoung doesn’t hide his unabashed grin this time. He’s gotten too used to you bossing him around when you fuck.

Wanting to get on with it, you hike up your skirt, giving him a full frontal view of your baby blue panties. 

As eager and willing as Soonyoung is, he also has some semblance of sense left and doesn’t make a move to touch you. He knows that’s against the rules.

It’s your turn to smirk at him as he gnaws at his bottom lip as you pull your skirt up more, bunching the material at your waist. 

His hands clench in his lap, physically holding himself back from pouncing on you. You love it - watching Soonyoung restrain his desire to take what he wants but remembering that that wouldn’t be allowed. From the first time you started messing around with him, Soonyoung wasted no time showing you how much he loved you, directing him, and demanding what you wanted from him, and it never failed to have you soaking through whatever you were wearing.

“Look at you,” you sneer at him, spreading your legs completely. “You wanna eat me out so bad, don’t you?”

Soonyoung furiously nods, his eyes never leaving your clothed core. “So bad. Fuck I can smell you from here,” he groans, licking his lips.

“Oh yeah? I suppose you can at least get a sniff if you want.”

With your legs as wide as is comfortable, you beckon him with a crook of your finger. Soonyoung shoots forward, burying his nose right into the cotton fabric clinging to you, and takes a deep inhale, exhaling shakily. His nose nudges the rapidly forming wet spot on your panties, and you hear him breathe in through his nose and out through his mouth again.

“Mmm, you smell so fucking good,” he’s speaking more to your crotch than you, taking a few more long sniffs before you decide that’s enough.

“I suppose you can have a taste now, if you’re still interested.”

Soonyoung immediately yanks your panties down, moving before you even finish the end of your sentence. He lets your underwear dangle on one of your ankles before quite literally diving mouth-first into your pussy.

His first destination is your clit as he eagerly sucks the bud into his mouth, and you jolt at the spike of pleasure. His tongue swirls around your clit, alternating between that and grazing you now and again with his teeth.

Your back arches off your desk as he moves his head down to stick his tongue into you, lewdly lapping at your wetness, groaning with each slurp. His hands grip your thighs, holding them apart and digging his fingers into your supple skin. 

He’s told you before just how much he loves eating you out, and at first, you dismissed his words, skeptical of him. Guys always said shit like that but never truly delivered. Soonyoung did, though - once making you cum seven times over half an hour with just his mouth and fingers. 

Every time you fucked him, he learned more and more about everything you liked and didn’t like in bed and where and how to touch you. It’s alarming how expertly Soonyoung became the best fuck you’ve probably ever had, which you’ll never admit to him, but it’s the reason you keep allowing this. 

A yelp escapes your lips which you have to quickly stifle as Soonyoung gets lost between your thighs, practically making out with your sticky folds. He’s mumbling praises against your damp skin, saying something about how he wants to live and die between your legs, his nose nudging your clit between words and licks.

Your fingers fly to grasp his hair to keep him in place. Soonyoung grunts into you as he plunges his tongue back into you and stays there, letting you rock your hips against his face. You don’t care that you’re the one moaning now, breathy mewls leaving your mouth as you get closer, your stomach twisting and legs tensing around Soonyoung’s head.

When you cum, your teeth clamp onto your bottom lip, fingers digging into Soonyoung’s scalp as you hold him in place and ride out the pleasure.

He lets you, too, groaning into you, the sound high-pitched and broken as his tongue desperately slurps up your juices. He doesn’t stop there either, of course. Soonyoung never lets you cum only once, and you never really try to stop him.

Two of his thick fingers slip into you as his mouth latches onto your clit. 

“S - Soonyoung!” He whimpers from between your legs as you say his name and starts fucking his fingers into you harder, sucking your clit in a way that lets you know he wants you to cum just as badly as you do.

You’re already so sensitive that it doesn’t take too much else for Soonyoung to have you making a mess of his face again, and just as always, he dutifully cleans you up, humming at the taste of you on his tongue - his favorite flavor, he loves to remind you.

Mustering up your remaining energy, you push him back and away as he whines in protest, your slick completely covering from his nose to his chin. Soonyoung flops against your chair, eyes trained on your messy cunt, his critical thinking officially gone as he fixates only on you. The sight alone is enough to have a new wave of wetness gather between your legs.

Soonyoung’s eyes follow as you reach down to pull off your panties completely and set them on the desk. Eyeing the obvious bulge straining against his black slacks, you shake your shoe off one foot and completely rest your foot on his thigh. Soonyoung holds his breath as your foot trails up slowly until you rest it on his crotch. He jumps a little in the chair when you add pressure, teasing him with short strokes.

A curse falls from his lips as you rub against his length, his high-pitched gasps getting to you, but you’re not ready to give him what he wants just yet. 

He tries to protest when you move your foot away, but you fix him with a look that makes him shut up.

On shaky legs you shimmy off of your desk and lean forward, undoing Soonyoung’s pants. He lifts his hips as you ease both his pants and underwear down to pool at his feet. He gasps as the cool air of your office hits his erection, but it’s quickly replaced by a moan when you wrap a hand around his girth and pump. 

The room is quiet save for the sounds Soonyoung makes as you ease into his lap, your hand still working him. You trail your other hand up his arm, fingers walking up to the nape of his neck. 

Tangling your fingers in the fine hair, you pull him down, swallowing his moans in a kiss. Plush, needy lips move over yours, your teeth clacking together as you stroke Soonyoung faster. You can still taste yourself on him, which has you clenching harder and sucking his tongue into your mouth. His hands grab your thighs, hips moving faster, breathing getting more erratic. 

With a smirk, you break the kiss, and Soonyoung throws his head back. His skin is red, neck and cheeks are flushed, a bright scarlet color that looks delectable on him. 

“Look at you, baby boy. So close already just from eating me out?”

“Mmhmm! Fuck, I love eating your pussy….”

“Yeah? You think you should get a reward for making me cum?”

He nods, his Adam’s apple bobbing rapidly as you twist your wrist the way you know he likes and lean forward to lick a stripe up the expanse of his neck. Soonyoung’s hands dart up to grasp your waist, his blunt nails clawing at the fabric of your skirt.

You sink your teeth into the skin just above his collarbones, and he says your name in a yelp. The muscles in his thighs clench so hard you can feel them stiffen under you. Right as his breathing quickens even more, and you know he’s going to cum, you wrap both hands around his girth and squeeze hard, stopping him from cumming.

Soonyoung choked yelp, eyes shooting open to stare wildly at you.

“Why should I make it that easy for you when you pissed me off today?”

“Please, I’m sorry!”

“You’re sorry?” 

“Yes, fuck, yes, I’m sorry!” He’s pleading, with you, hands trembling as he grips your waist.

With a hum, your thumb massages his leaking tip, smearing precum all over the sensitive tip. With both hands, you jerk him off again, placing little kisses on his lips and chin. Soonyoung practically purrs your name as he builds up to his peak again, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth.

Just as before, you don’t allow him, removing both hands completely before he can cum.

He cries out again, and you swear you can see actual tears pooling in his eyes. Soonyoung lets out the cutest, most pathetic sounds, apologizing to you again, begging again.

“You wanna cum that bad?”

“So bad! So so so bad!” Wet eyes lock onto yours, bottom lip jutting out as he whispers again that he’s sorry for earlier. You hate how pretty he looks like this, red and teary-eyed just for you.

Your hands start a slow pace on his length again. He watches, eyes glazing over as your lips purse, and you let a string of saliva drip down, mixing with his precum. 

You work him up one final time, even playing with his balls, before you pull your hands away again. 

“Nooo! Please, please, Miss please, let me cum!” Soonyoung babbles at you, pulling you closer to him by your hips. 

Tugging his hair, you pull his head back. “You wanna cum that bad, huh?”

“I need it, Miss, please, it hurts!”

A tear slips out the corner of his eye, and you can’t help but take a little pity on him, but you mostly want him to fuck the remaining irritation out of you like he so often does.

“If you want to cum it’ll be in my cunt.” Soonyoung’s ‘yes’ is loud and eager, quickly bending to the side to dig a shaky hand into the back pocket of his pants to present a condom to you.

Letting out a small laugh, you take the package, open it, and roll it on him. “Good boy. You came prepared for me?”

“Yes, always. Always good for you!” This version of Soonyoung is so different from the version everyone else sees. When it’s the two of you, he’s so pliant and submissive - a drastic difference from the Soonyoung that cheerily greets people from across the office in the morning and is always laughing loud enough for everyone in a 5-mile radius to hear.

Once the rubber is snug on him, you lift up a little sink onto him, Soonyoung’s eyes closing so tightly you think he’ll give himself a headache. Your eyes slip closed, too, letting him stretch you out inch by inch until he’s sheathed in you completely. 

The number of times you’ve fucked Soonyoung is too many to count, but each time you love how full he makes you feel. His length almost too much for you to handle. 

With you on top, you control the pace, so you move your hips slowly, adjusting to him for a few moments. Soonyoung wraps his arms around you, bringing you closer to him so that your clothed chest is pressed against his cheek.

His eyes are still closed as he moans into your cleavage, your name amongst the words he mumbles. You anchor your knees on either side of him and begin bouncing in his lap, the chair squeaking in protest with every drop of your hips.

When you and Soonyoung are together, and he knows that there’s a chance you’ll get caught, he’s usually good at keeping himself in check even if it pains him, but when you’re somewhere with total privacy, he’s all high-pitched cries and whines. He doesn’t hold anything back, and this time is no different. Needy mewls tumble out of his mouth as he thrusts up, his hips meeting yours and nearly knocking you off balance.

“Fuck, Y/n!”

“Feel good, Soonie? Your hands rest on his shoulders, digging your nails into his broad shoulders.

“Incredible holy shit! Always so p-perfect. You’re s-so perfect!”

The praise does get you, more wetness seeping out around his length as you ride him harder, the backs of your thighs almost sticking to his thighs with sweat. Soonyoung lets out more sounds of desperation, his breathy sobs bouncing off your office's white walls.

To occupy his loud mouth, you yank your shirt and bra up to bunch around your neck and bring his head down. Without even needing to be told, he latches onto one of your nipples as you ride him, and his other hand, not holding your waist in a death grip, moves up to cup your other breast. Soonyoung’s tongue flicks at your nipple, twirling the muscles around the nub before sloppily sucking it back into his mouth.

“Fuck…you’re so good with your mouth Soonie,” you curse, arching into his face more as you swivel your hips. Your words only spur him on, making him lap at your nipple with even more urgency as he moans out around you.

Somewhere through your haze, you hear the sound of the office door slamming in the distance. You slow your movements, telling Soonyoung to shut up, but he doesn’t. Even with your tit in his mouth, he’s still mewling loud enough that if anyone were to stand in front of your door, they’d surely hear him.

Looking over your shoulder at the closed door, your eyes take note of your blue panties still on your desk. Leaning back, you snatch them up and shove them into Soonyoung’s mouth mid-moan. He groans deep in his chest, but the fabric muffles him enough that you don’t think you'll get caught.

You can hear faint voices somewhere in the office but can’t make out who it is or where exactly they are. Soonyoung doesn’t even seem to notice, so wrapped up in thrusting his hips up into yours, chasing his peak.

“Needy boy. You wanna cum so bad you don’t even care that we could get caught,” your tone is low as you whisper in his ear, your teeth catching briefly on his lobe.

He mumbles something around your underwear that you can’t make out, but he’s nodding as he says it. 

“Mmm, what a slut. So pussy drunk and desperate to cum.” More tears well in Soonyoung’s eyes as he nods again, letting out more inaudible words. 

The squeak of your desk chair suddenly seems ten times louder now that the two of you have to be quiet, and your knees are starting to hurt, so you stop moving and ease him out of you.

Soonyoung furrows his eyebrows, your soiled underwear quieting his noises as he attempts to make grabby hands at you.

You can’t help but giggle at him. The sight in front of you is equally cute and one of the hottest things you’ve ever seen. Hopping back onto your desk, you drop your thighs open, presenting yourself to him. 

“Come on and fill me up like a good boy,” you whisper, your fingers moving to spread your sopping folds to tease him a bit more.

Soonyoung typically doesn’t need to be told anything twice when you’re hooking up. He’s out of the chair and burying his cock into you in record time, fucking into you as if his life depends on it. He drags you almost to the end of your desk as he rocks his hips, his thighs smacking into the back of yours.

The sound of skin against skin may very well be just as loud, maybe louder, as his sounds, but the drag of Soonyoung’s cock against your walls is too good for you to care very much at this point. If you can finish quickly enough you doubt you’ll get caught anyway.

“Ah, yes…you’re fucking me so good, Soonie!” 

From above you, Soonyoung grunts, eyes slipping closed as he ruts against you, fingertips pressing bruises into your thighs, the slight pain shooting straight to your core. Bringing your legs up, you wrap them around his waist and pull him closer, sweaty bodies pressing together, which allows him to plunge in and out of you faster. Soonyoung’s body weight holds you against the desk, his eyelids drooping as drool dribbles from the corner of his mouth, your panties still between his teeth.

“You better not cum before me, or I won’t touch you for days.” You warn him between heavy breaths, already knowing he’s getting closer.

His eyes finally focus, boring down into yours. He fumbles to fit one of his hands between your bodies to press his fingers against your clit, your body jolting at the stimulation.

“Shit, just like that! Make me cum all over your cock, baby.”

His eyes are wide and full of lust as he watches your face, observing how your mouth hangs open, eyes screwing shut. Teasing him as much as you did already put you on edge, so it only takes a few more deep thrusts and flicks at your clit to have the band in your stomach snap. You clamp your hand over your mouth, back arching and eyes rolling back as you cum.

Soonyoung drops his head into your neck, his body shaking violently as he cums right after you, letting out muffled cries into your skin.

Both of you can barely control your breathing as you come down, listening and waiting for the voices in the office to fade. Once the front office door slams shut again, everything outside of your door is still again.

Weakly, Soonyoung eases himself out of you and slumps in your chair, pulling your underwear out of his mouth and letting it land in his lap. You pull your tired body upright and move to grab your nearby tissues to clean up, but Soonyoung springs forward to grab the box and wipes you up instead.

“Holy shit,” Soonyoung breathes out once you’re cleaned up.

Rolling your eyes at him, you pull your shirt back down, then your skirt, rearranging your clothes.

“You’re buying me a new lunch tomorrow,” you finally say as you ease yourself off of your desk. Soonyoung shoots you the same shit-eating grin he gives you when everyone else is around as he pulls his pants back up.

“Sure, I can do that. Sorry again about that. I swear I didn’t know it was yours.” His grin tells you otherwise.

“Mmhmm.” The skeptical look you give him makes him chuckle.

You accept his answer, already knowing that there are plenty of things he does with the sole intent of getting you to fuck him for it later. The lunch stunt is one of those things.

Soonyoung fixes his clothes and leaves your office, heading to his own to get his things as you gather your bag and phone.

The both of you turn your lights off and walk out of the office and to the parking lot together. He rambles about some new show he’s watching, and you only half listen. Neither of you ever seems to make a move to make this thing you have be anything more than what it is, but in true Soonyoung fashion, he still makes sure to be his normal self, running his mouth as if you hadn’t been degrading the man not too long ago.

“See you tomorrow, Y/n.” There’s a look on his face that tells you to expect more fuckery from him tomorrow.

“Bye, Soonyoung.” You give him a tiny smile, but only for a second, with emphasis on tiny.

It isn’t until you get home and start to undress for a shower does it hit you that you’re not wearing your underwear. 

Soonyoung took your fucking panties. You snatch your phone from the counter to text him.

[Y/n] Kwon Soonyoung, you better bring me my fucking underwear tomorrow!

He texts you back almost immediately.

[Kwon Soonyoung] Oh no, did I take them? Guess you’ll have to punish me for it 🫢

As always, Soonyoung is still the most irritating person you’ve ever met, which you know will never change.

[callooopie]

₊ ⊹ // Dull Abstracts, Duller Hearts \\ Micolash, Host of the Nightmare

“How essential to me, you have become.” - Sackville-West to Woolf

What’s Micolash to do, when his academic rival comes to sit by him to comfort him?

—

a/n: Have never written fanfic, only read it. This is really just a blurb I had to get out of my head is all. And for the most deranged and unhinged Bloodborne character at that 😵‍💫. So this is nothing too crazy, enjoy?

Warnings: allusions to gore(ish), metaphorical masochism(??), rushed ending(☹️), written on phone(format might be ugly and idk how to format in general)

Word Count: unknown

It wasn’t your fault you got that scholar all worked up over nothing. Well- to you it was nothing, to him it was everything. Once again your work, your research, was praised and accolades were given to you by master Willem. And once again, Micolash is left in the academic dust.

You find the man skulking by the lake, glittering in the moonlight. Dirtied boots kick at the dirt as you walk over to him from the entrance of Byrgenwerth.

“Moping again?”

You call out as you walk.

“Hardly- actually I am not moping. Quite the opposite, on the contrary.. yada yada..”

He replies grumpily, throwing another pebble into the lake. A mere drop that ripples across the surface. Either he’s actually being sarcastic and funny, or he is fully trying to convince you he is not moping. Whatever his motives, he only serves to look like a child throwing a tantrum.

“Well. Wrong. I can tell you’re moping.”

You reply back with the tiniest bit of smugness, sitting down beside him on the banks of the lake. Leaning back against your hands, your eyes slowly settle on the lake.

You let the comfortable silence overtake you both like the waters of that moonlit lagoon. Perhaps you have nothing to say, or maybe you’re just waiting for Micolash to crack, to begrudgingly start to complain or vent or do anything to voice his frustration. What you’re doing is condescending, it’s annoying, it’s comforting. And maybe there’s a sick part inside of him that revels in this comfort you give him, even under the guise of academic rivalry.

Micolash scoffs at your words, but doesn’t say anything. He’s not upset at you; he can’t be. You’re not making fun of him, you’re actually doing quite the opposite. You and him could go back and forth like the ebb and flow of tides.

It’s a bothersome notion to him, that just like how ocean waves can’t push and pull without the moon; he can’t imagine his life without you. Now the scholar’s just being dumb and romantic about someone who sees him as a rival, someone to beat out in studies and scholarly research. How vexing he thinks to himself. It’s enough to make him nauseous.

“I’m just looking at the lake.”

Micolash grumbles with annoyance plain in his voice. If only he had a cigarette, and if only he didn’t give his last one to Laurence. Damnable prick.

You say nothing, merely flashing a tiny smile as you continue to stare out onto the lake. Your head falls back as you lean against your hands behind you, lounging with the cool breeze that comes off the waters.

“I actually quite liked your study.”

You admit nonchalantly into the air.

“Perhaps master Willem and the others simply didn’t understand it.”

You suggest coolly as you tilt your head side to side slowly in a meandering motion. A highly unlikely scenario, however the idea is oddly comforting to Micolash. As much as he dislikes said idea. Was it a rule now that academic papers had to be understandable??

“I did though.”

You add on after a beat of silence, finally turning to look at Micolash fully. That look of yours; so curious, understanding, sympathetic- fucking gentle; everything that Micolash believes he shouldn’t be looked at with.

Something in your words strike him. Or actually- your words do strike him. Hard. Like a lightning bolt, like Cupid’s arrow. Like a quicksilver bullet from a pistol, all in a good way of course. Oh, you understood his essay? Obviously you did, you’re smart, terribly and beautifully smart. But you complimented him..through his work- ..which technically still counts as a compliment to him.

Micolash feels as if he could throw up any second.

“.. you did?”

He asks quickly with that turned up half-grin. He’s trying to be normal about it. Trying to hide his emotions that are whirling around inside like storms.

“Of course I did. Although- it was more like ramblings than a thought-out and planned dissertation.”

You say, eyes shifting to look up at the stars that hung overhead.

“However it was ..beautifully written. Much better than Laurence’s dull abstracts and compositions on blood.”

It was.. a backhanded compliment for sure, you were known for those. But Micolash found himself wanting more of it. Gods, you could slap him around all you want. Backhand him with your words or your touch, either way he’d soak it up and give you his very soul in return.

Hell- you could even gouge out his eyes, crack open his chest like they did with cadavers and corpse heads. Bury your hands in him and search for anything and everything. Split him open on the table and peer inside him long enough to know that you infect every bone and cell and crevice.

However you do it, any touch you offer him is a prayer he’ll hold fast.

“Easy to understand hm?”

Is all Micolash hums in reply. Very normal.

“Oh yes... You know, ..-I like to think that we think alike.”

You comment with a beaming smile, moving your focus from the stars and lake to the scholar right next to you. Oh gods, Micolash is fearing this is going in a direction he isn’t sure he’s good at, stepping into territory he’s unfamiliar in.

He never did like the idea of courting, especially other scholars at Byrgenwerth. After all why go through something where he might get hurt? Where he’ll be made a fool of so easily? He’s strange, his reputation is least desirable. Workaholic, annoying voice (according to some- or most), uncanny at times. He can’t woo a man or woman to save his life.

Micolash could visit any lady of the night, pay the price for whatever bleak and quick pleasure he wanted. But to actively pursue you? An angel that’s out of his league some twenty thousand times? Out of the damn question and a fate that’s out of his hands and control.

“..Alike? We?- you and I…- ah- yes. We… do share similarities in our… thoughts.”

Terrible. He stammers like an idiot. Micolash wonders if he could just slip into the lake out of embarrassment. Surely you wouldn’t care right? Oh what does it matter. As he stares at the surface of the lake, watching it wrinkle faintly in the light of the moon. He likes the moonlight, he likes you in the moonlight. Is it possible to be as beautiful as a celestial body? Obviously it is, you exist. Ugh, he could just desperately grasp at you with need and want and yearning. Like the tides reaching up for the moon and heavens, he too would reach up toward you.

Perhaps you’ll never love him, or you’ll never know he loves you. Well.. what’s actually stopping him from outright confessing to you? From attempting some shoddy confession at least? Why can he not just look at you, open his mouth, and go I love.. I love, I love- please oh I love-

“You coming along back inside? It’s getting cold now- certainly don’t want you ill if you’re to best me at our next research proposals.”

You’re standing over him now, a gentle smile donned on your face as you wait for Micolash. Oh fuck, how long exactly was he just staring dead at the water with thoughts of you. Micolash blinks at you before briskly nodding awkwardly and standing up. The ever tall and lanky scholar dusting off his uniform as he looks at you, as normally as he can possibly muster.

He won’t confess and be made the fool. Not this time.

“Lead the way.”