#anything remotely like it. its less than an hour long. but the level of care and quality put into it is WELL beyond the level of any scooby

[broke-on-books]

Me trying to figure out how long it took to make Scooby Goes Hollywood for maximum emotional impact and getting nothing from Google

Do we think it took longer than three months

[hopelessrromantix]

where i've been

TLDR: Life sucks and so does the government. Half my family got hit with some pricey medical bills plus our normal rent, so donating or sharing this would be beyond appreciated.

I know you’re all thinking “Roman! You haven’t written anything in a month, what’s going on?” First, valid question. Second, dear GOD where do I start.

Let’s keep things simple. This past month has been the literal definition of hell for me. Everything started off fairly normal, until my two remaining grandparents started having frequent hospital trips. My father spent most of his time caring for them, living mostly at their house. Given that he works most in our house, he wasn’t having an easy time. He ended up developing what his doctor said was “stress tremors”, to the point that he went on disability.

Well, even after my grandparents were a bit more stable (though still on close watch)... they continued anyway. Eventually it got so bad my mother drove him to the hospital one night and what do you know, brain tumor.

Queue several days of our family wondering what the everloving fuck we’d do without my Dad. It was several days of my dear mother (note the sarcasm) trying to control everything, my brother trying to continue school, and me taking care of the house and our pets.

We got the scans back not long after and, cue sigh of relief, the tumor was benign. It still seemed to be draining the life out of my father, though. The nurses and doctors were absolutely floored because his tumor was absolutely huge but he had no headaches. Imagine a baseball in your head. Yeah, exactly. He did however stare at the wall for hours and had a hard time getting out more than a few words. It’s probably one of my most heartbreaking memories to watch the strongest person I’ve ever known reduced to a husk on a hospital bed.

Brain surgery came soon after. He made it through and is currently in recovery. He’s speaking actual sentences, though he’s still got tremors and needs a lot of help. Still, I’m just happy to have my father.

That same week, we noticed my cat acting off. We have two of them and my cat, Gallifrey, is a talkative sweetheart who’s attached to me at the hip. But he was meowing differently and acting weird and all around not normal. One vet visit later and we find out he has kidney disease and pancreatitis. He’s being treated for it (new food, possible meds, regular fluid injections, etc.), but he’s still not himself yet. Talk about my life falling apart. This on its own my family couldn’t even begin to afford. The government seems to hate disabled people and paying for numerous doctor’s visits wasn’t remotely in our paper thin budget, much less the meds and treatment.

It was a lot all at once, and not even close to what we expected. Gallifrey is only 7 and my father didn’t show the typical signs of a brain tumor. So, I guess the universe thought “Y’know, this is a perfect time to kick Roman in the fucking balls”.

Routine testosterone blood test, just monitoring… until I got a call from the doctor. Turns out I have some untreated issues that none of my previous doctors caught. In fact, the only reason she caught it was because it was so severe. According to her she was shocked I’m still up and kicking and not in the hospital for a blood transfusion. Apparently my red blood cell count and oxygen level is insanely low, and she asked me to take a Covid test (negative), so it turns out it’s a completely different issue. I’m still in the process of diagnosing it, so that was a fun little addition. With my chronic pain and my mother in denial, I sleep most of the day and am in constant pain the entire time.

I’ll be real, I’m not a fan of asking for money. It’s not something I like, but it’s something I have to do. The amount of treatment we need, my dad, Gallifrey, and me, is more than we can hope to afford on our salaries (thank you, American healthcare!). The medical process in this country is a joke.

I’m asking y’all to help me out. Sharing, donating, whatever. Everyone around me has been kind and supportive, and I'm beyond thankful for that. If you can’t donate, please send it, share it, do whatever, I'll take absolutely anything. If I’m honest? The number I’m asking still won’t cover it, but anything is helpful.

Thank you for reading this far, thank you for sharing, for donating, for being kind, for absolutely everything.

I also understand that the internet is a horrible, despicable place, so I can give any breakdowns of what the money would be used for and give any medical info (not releasing family names or locations) to provide proof. The page includes a lovely little x-ray of my father’s head so you get to see the absolute insanity. If this isn’t enough please let me know and I can link anything else needed to confirm that yes, I am actually having the worst time of my life.

All in all? Thank you.

Donate here if you can <3

[banqdanfnfic]

which, as they kiss, consume | jjk

you just wanted to get a tattoo from your boyfriend

pairing: tattoo artist!jk x reader

genre: established relationships au, tattoo artist au, smut

word count: 4k

warnings: unprotected sex, biting, making out, grinding, licking, nipple play, jk has a lip ring, oral (f receiving), fingering, shy jk and oc, sexual tension, slight choking, slight aftercare

♫ : Streets by Doja Cat, Candy by Doja Cat

♡ Aesthetics: Playlist | Moodboard

He visibly chokes on his glass of beer as he almost snaps his neck to meet your gaze. He could say that you were awfully drunk and hence the sudden confession out of the blue, but behind your heavy lidded eyes, Jungkook could sense that you were serious.

“You what?”, he gulps abruptly, moving closer to your face, doe eyes pleading to repeat yourself.

“Yes Kook. I want that tattoo on my breasts. I’ve decided”.

It’s not that Jungkook didn’t have experience in his career with inking on different parts of a human body. He just had never given a tattoo to someone who is romantically associated with him and the thought of seeing you half naked made him chuck down the rest of his drink in one go.

The most physical he had ever gotten with you was a kiss shared occasionally since it’s only been over two weeks you had started dating. Okay maybe you made out once in his car but that’s it. It never got to the point of shedding clothes or anything intense.

“Are you sure?”

You giggle at the sudden hoarseness in his voice and nod positive. Ironic how his aura never matched his personality. His inked skin, athletic body proportions covered in black monochrome bad boy outfits gave out default energy that he is a local heartthrob with multiple chicks wrapped around his finger each night and a heavy demeanor to carry in his smirk.

You were one of those believers until Jungkook asked you out in the most hopeless romantic way possible after constantly visiting the café you work in, a few shops besides his parlor. He was a gentleman with respectful boundaries, warm hands to hold yours and sweet sensual kisses though you are pretty sure he probably has a good game.

For any outsider it looked like those cliché bad boy and shy girl love stories, but for real both of you were a good percentage of introverts.

Jungkook runs his tongue around his lip ring while he is stressfully ruffling his dark locks into a mess. He is trying to explain his reasons to postpone your decision considering how shy he got at this point. But then that’s exactly why you were requesting him with soft eyes, it would be so uncomfortable to be shirtless in front of anybody else. Or maybe it’s your way of saying the relationship is open for higher levels of physical affection.

After debating around in vain, he finally hums and clears one of his slots for his beloved client.

Friday approaches way quicker than you assumed and now your heart is beating in your throat. Right after you are done cleaning the tables, you have to make it to Jungkook’s parlor for your appointment.

Running on three hours of sleep, black under eyes even after a decent amount of makeup, you groan as you check yourself out in the mirror. You opted for a simple shirt and skirt (also known as the outfit you bought for occasions with Jungkook), light beach waves resting on your shoulders. Hoping that a few cups of coffee will save you, you stride across the street to stop before the infamous parlor he worked in. Hopefully the full body shave and chocolate body butter has kept its excellence on your skin below the clothing.

The door chimes as it opens with a dragged creak on the musky wooden flooring. It felt like an otherworld where air smelled like men’s perfume and faint tint of cigarettes. In other words, intoxicating.

You ask the first person you meet at the reception, one of Jungkook’s companions at the shop and he assists you to his cabin located at a comfortably remote location.

His space is hidden with a simple black curtain. You are met with Jungkook’s back facing you, working determinately on a client’s arm and cares to spare a glance only when the guy with you is informing him about your presence.

“This will be over in a few”, he grins to your face and goes back to focusing his coil on the skin of a woman in her late twenties laying down his chair. The vibration from his inking machine fills in the silence and you excuse yourself to sit on a small black couch beside them.

This was the first time watching him at work and now you can understand why people rumored so much about his attitude because damn it is intimidating.

Brows knit together and inked muscles flex as he drags the needles around for finishing touches. Meanwhile you can pretty much smell the drool from the woman who is shamelessly checking out your boyfriend. Though you are pretty sure Jungkook gets such glances more than he can count every day, you can’t help but feel jealous. Partly because of the childish possessiveness and partly because you want to be the reason behind his dark eyes and intricate concentration, in profession or not.

To stop from mentally throwing daggers on the client’s way, you grab a random fashion magazine from the side table and flip through pages, though other four senses are inclined on your man. With a close attention to his low sigh you conclude that he is done.

The customer with now a fresh tattoo on her arm is discussing random useless topics to get him to talk, a very vain job realizing how Jungkook doesn’t bat a friendly lash at anybody, especially to those who hit on him. To be honest a large part of the ink business was linked with the obsession to attractive people who worked here, even if it meant trading an area of your skin. You grip the edges of the magazine a bit hard, not able to contain the sanity particularly at the high pitch voice she mumbles in before finally leaving his cabin.

A little excited and a lot nervous, you stand up as Jungkook bids goodbye to the third person.

He is quick to notice your discomfort, though not sure if it was the woman or the thought of finally getting the tattoo, he knew you were nervous and surviving in several cups of espresso by the dark circles slowly showing through the faded layers of your concealer. But nothing pulls down the opinion he has about you, beautiful and simple, no dramatics attached.

“Hey are you okay?”

You nod as soon as you sit down on the black tattoo chair, shifting a little to find a comfortable position. He is taking out a box full of equipment and fine needles, already making you break a sweat at the side of your forehead.

But more than that, it’s the way he is sharp and professional that catches your attention more.

You have never seen Jungkook this serious before. The choice of his vetiver perfume digging through your nostrils was driving you insane. If he doesn’t smile soon, you are going to melt into a puddle at his gaze.

“Are you nervous?”, he smirks this time, a newfound reason for your worsening gut health.

It’s mostly going in cycles at this point. Every bit of his skilled motion causes a vigorous hormonal reaction which initiates his next set of effortless teasing.

“I’m a little nervous”, you say, fiddling with your freshly painted nude nails.

“Me too”

It’s something you least expect to come out of his mouth observing how confident he looks right now. He basically has you cornered with his gaze. But whenever he had been truthful about his emotions it felt like a hug.

“I can take off my shirt too, so that we are even. Is that okay?”

He said it so softly like he is handling a child and the duality of the situation had your mind fogged and limbs frozen for a few minutes.

“Yeah it’s okay” It’s far beyond than okay. It’s great actually.

Jeon Jungkook is ripped, a Greek God sculptured masterpiece covered in self designed artwork you are more than happy to wake up to every morning. He hears you gulp at the feast before your eyes while he discards his black t-shirt to a nearby chair.

Now you don’t know if this whole thing is supposed to warm your heart or make you play several erotic fantasies like a movie before your eyes.

Both of you share a small smile while his long fingers are tugging at the hem of your shirt and pulling it up over your head.

He almost wishes you don’t opt to wear a bra but he is met with lacy black, a-bit-over your-usual-budget fabric hugging the roundness of your breasts.

It seemed like you were way too competitive about today. Anything less than complete awe from Jungkook for you was straight disappointment, you don't want anything less.

Well it seems like it did from how blown his pupils were at this point. He peels his gaze off your chest with a sharp gulp to look at your eyes suddenly devoid of any fear and staring back at him with all ease. He is filled with an exapnse of warmth and he isn't sure why does spending just a little amount of time with you had such a grip on him. He can’t wait to propose the idea of getting a couple tattoo together soon and as far as you know how Jungkook is, he is very serious with his body art so apparently he does trust you a lot already.

“Where exactly are you trying to get it?”, his voice is a lot deeper suddenly as he waits for your fingers to guide to his canvas.

You softly trace the spot at the upper circumference of your right boob, “Here”.

You suck a breath through your nose as his own fingers are mimicking your gesture, lightly pulling down the lace to inspect the fitting of the design at hand.

These violent delights have violent ends

And in their triumph die, like fire and powder

Jungkook traces each word on your burning skin, now leaning dangerously close which was questioning your control to put your palms flat on his pecs. He doesn’t notice that though, his mind is busy creating his own fantasies about the women under him.

After two minutes and twenty four second long of inspection and mutual thirst, Jungkook is selecting a bunch of needles to set into the rotary machine. Five fine sharp like a painter's brush moves in and out at a set regularity as Jungkook tests it out.

The next of his actions had you flushed into a pool of crimson. He gently lifts up your resting torso with one hand while the other is unclasping the hook of your bra, making you half naked for the sake of the tattoo.

"I'm going to start", he says shyly.

You still have time to save yourself from the growing phobia for the object, but another unlogical part of your brain says it's a piece of cake considering you have a whole distracting full course meal in front of you.

It stings at first. Well, okay it hurts like hell but your face is devoid of any indication, except your right hand is gripping on the rim of the chair for dear life.

Jungkook on the other hand had never felt this much diversion of mind during his work. He knows that you are probably hurting very badly, especially for a first timer. He is biting into his lip ring, trying to get this over with for the well-being of your pain and his hormones.

After he had scribed one word into your dermis, you are no longer able to contain the ache so you give out a small squeak out of your glossed lips and the vibration of the machine at his hands stops as he looks at you.

"You want me to stop? ", he is relaxing his face as he cups yours with one hand. You don't want to answer that question, but the drumroll of the current situation is making your heart flutter and everything about the little burn on your chest is forgotten.

"No. It does hurt but I'll be fine I guess", you whisper. His breath is mixing with yours slowly as he is leaning more towards your face. If it isn't for a kiss then you are likely to be disappointed.

"It'll be over before you know it. I'll make it quick", and then he kisses you, a small act to get off the pressure of sexual tension between your bare upper bodies.

Before you think of any tongue in the act, he is breaking off the contact and returns to his position on your chest. He misses the pout that forms on your mouth but right now both of your heads are in cloud nine.

The pain starts again, only this time you are busy reliving how his lips felt in yours; soft, firm and controlled.

You gasp when you feel one of his hands cupping your right breast to further his design but it's lowkey an act empowered by lust which is straining behind the so called professional eyes.

You just sit there flustered out of your mind and then Jungkook is suddenly squeezing, full palm hiding your breasts like it's a protected treasure, but he isn't showing the slightest facial expression other than determined eyes and his lower lip caught between his teeth.

Fuck you can't take it anymore. Jungkook can feel your nipples harden against his hand and his brain isn't helping much to concentrate on the design. But by the grace of some positive karma left on his side, he makes it through the long text and when he is letting go of your chest and standing tall, your skin is popping out with redness on the places the text lays embedded.

He fishes out a mirror for you to look.

"It looks beautiful thank you Jungkook", you smile.

"Can I give you one more tattoo on your left one?", he asks while you are contemplating whether going through the pain is worth it, not to mention you really want to get back at a private space with Jungkook as soon as possible.

"It won't hurt I promise", and then he is kissing you a lot filthier than before; all tongue and teeth, while his hands are grazing on the skin of your waist, pressing a little firmer than before.

The coldness of his lip ring rivaled around your mouth, and you try sucking on it to which Jungkook responds with a growl and pushes his body adamantly against yours.

Skin to skin, you are lost in euphoria of everything happening and finally, you roam your eager hands around his body, to his pecs and the definition of abs.

As your fingers scraped against his scalp, Jungkook is biting eagerly down your jawline to your collarbone and continues his ministrations at a particular spot which is bringing out melodic moan variation from you.

He is going down your skin, licking on your left boob before he starts planting violet tattoos as he had promised. As if it couldn't get better, he is massaging the right breast, in a way to soothe pain.

He loses it when you stutter his name, but he is just a fucking tease when it comes to making love and doing anything in a public space is the last thing he wants to do. There isn't much room for all that he wants right now.

"Why did you choose this particular tattoo Y/n?", he rasps while he is planting small pecks on his artwork, and you reply when he is finally eye level with you

"I just felt like it's a good one", your breaths are uneven and mostly caught in your neck. He pecks your lips before speaking, "Those are lines from Romeo and Juliet".

He takes your hands to trace over a line of text among the many designs on his chest.

which, as they kiss, consume

"We pretty much have a couple tattoo now Y/n", his breath is matched with your pace and you are not very sure how to respond to this new knowledge.

"That's… hot"

You break into giggles along with him, he just can't stop dragging his lips around your skin, but he isn't able to word his feelings right now either.

"I have some aftercare healing ointment for the tattoo at my place, wanna come over?" Now that may be a little lame of an excuse to get his little friend out of his pants but you are too unfazed to analyse any of that.

His hands find place on your ass under the skirt as soon as the door to his apartment closes, and before you know it, you are in his bedroom, sitting on the soft mattress and tongue lost devouring each other.

While eagerly getting rid of every article of clothing, Jungkook notices that you don't have your bra on beneath the shirt, so it's probably back at the parlour, but none of you have the slightest care for it, might as well make an excuse with it later to fuck you in his cabin.

He is pushing you farther towards the headboard, him on top, grinding sensenslesy while your lips mould with his. Though he has his whole body pressed against you, you can't seem to feel his weight at the slightest, every one of his actions were just balanced and perfect.

As Jungkook goes down on you, his smile is evident against your skin, finally able to find out how every one of those scenarios in his head will come to look like. He lets out a satisfied hum being finally able to suck on your tits, your fingers finding place on his hair, twisting it out of stimulation.

His pelvis is flushed harshly against yours, grinding and rubbing against your pussy for as long as he is rejoicing the feeling of moving his tongue around both the nipples.

He stops rubbing after some point and you whimper at the loss but his fingers are soon to meet your core as a quick apology. All your later moans are muffled on his mouth once again.

Feeling the controlled movements of his fingers on your clit, you dig your nails down on his toned shoulders. It's becoming impossible to reciprocate his lewd movements of tongue on your lips at this point as the excitement between your thighs is growing every passing second.

Your mouth remains slightly parted as he removes his face to watch you squirm underneath, lips swollen, deep red and glossy from all the saliva.

He pecks at the shell of your ear before going down past your navel.

You haven't had much heads in the twenty years of your life, most of the guys being completely against the idea which made you feel insecure to bring up the topic in bed, but Jungkook does it like his life depends on it.

He growls at the sight of you dripping into his sheets and he seems to enjoy the idea of being the influence behind it. But none is going through your head at the moment, not the metal on his lips grazing against your folds, or the fact that Jungkook is grinning each time you cry his name, it feels unreal to feel something like this.

His mouth is wrapping against your entrance and he is balancing your lower body on his palms to help him reach the right depths inside you. While all you can muster up is the strength to grope the bedsheets in your fist and close your eyes at the pleasure.

Jungkook brings his head higher to give some attention to the throbbing clit, catching it between his teeth and triggering the bundle of nerves just the perfect dose to have your hips jolting up to his face.

He can't take it himself when you are now whining and chasing for your release, so he is slightly humping against the bed to get some friction.

He licks a slow stripe up till your abdomen and slowly raises to your face, already fucked out and dishevelled to keep up with his dominant orbs.

He swears he had never felt so much warmth and care for sex with any of his previous partners, in relationship or not, all he could think is how good can he treat the pleading eyes underneath him.

"Is there something you like that you want me to do?", he says, fingers grazing once again to your crotch to not deny you from his contact. Only this time he is exploring the tightness of your pretty cunt with two skillful fingers.

Is there? You are not sure. Or in other words you are too caught up at the sense of him fingering you. It's not like you had enough experience or people who cared enough to ask that question. It astounds you that never in this entire foreplay he asked for any favor for himself.

"I'm not sure…", you whisper and then maybe you have something on your mind " um I guess I would like to be choked" Okay this felt embarrassing.

He smiles before sliding his free hand from your lips to your neck, and applies slight force, careful to not hurt you in the slightest bit.

"Is that fine?"

"Yeah", you muffle through the decreasing course of air.

He pulls up your face by the throat to attach lips once more. He just can't seem to get enough of kissing you senseless. Then, the tip of his long ignored cock is teasing the length of your pussy twice before it's stretching you out to the brim.

Bodies flushed and hot, his pace is deep and slow, making sure to kiss the cervix every time he is inside.

He watches as your eyes close shut and flutters around whenever he is grazing against your sweet spot. Both of your ears lost and eager for the moans looming out of each other, his more like what he sounds at the gym. Nice observation Y/n.

In this span of sexual energy you shared, you can make some obvious conclusions. Sex with him was surreal, both in terms of domination and the care he had. Rocking against him and keeping up with his hips was attainable— Compared to the intense eye contact he tries to hold, or the way he cups the side of your face and rubs the pad of his thumb on your cheeks while he kisses you during sinking back in, or the way his eyes glow at the beauty of your body open for him. It makes you feel special and it's difficult to respond to these gestures when you never felt this way before.

Jungkook could tell that from your face, but he hopes he lasts with you enough to help you know the worth you hold. You couldn't think too much about anything when you are busy squeezing around his length and coming twice in the first ten minutes.

By the third orgasm Jungkook is nearing his own and he pulls out to pump a few times before coming on your stomach.

"Was it okay?", his voice is all over the place, still balancing his body on his arms while you are amazed by his strength.

"It was amazing Jungkook", you smile. You have known a lot about Jungkook over the few dates you spent with him. That he likes literature, classics and philosophy, designs tattoos as a subconscious thing, that his game is A-1, and he likes working out almost three hours a day. Good for you. But it wasn't until now you know him to be gentle, like he is afraid to crush you under a feather touch. You don't know him as someone who is staring deep into your face after a good fuck, speaks nothing, smiles widely, and plants a peck on your forehead before getting off the bed.

He does the honors of cleaning both of your bodies with a towel, it's not like you have any strength left in you anyway. And then pulls out an ointment from the bedside table and plops next to your body.

"There. You need this to protect the tattoo", he takes off the nozzle and applies a required amount against the words on your chest and massages against them.

"Now go to sleep Juliet", he mocks, pulling up the sheets over you both "good night".

You snuggle against his hard chest, kissing his pecs before resting on it, "Good night Romeo".

thank you so much for reading!! please leave a feedback!!

★ taglist: @pjmochii (dm, ask or comment to enter the tl!)

★ credits: @/rainbeary on spotify : songs that'll make you feel everything's in slow motion playlist

★ banner & boards: by me :)

a/n: this is my first time writing smut and i basically died of second hand embarrassment during the process. pardon for my untalented ass, i tried this wip continuously for a week and i seriously don't think it could get anything better though it's probably not much.

© banqdanfnfic 2021, all rights reserved. do not modify, translate, or repost my works. modification, translations, and/or redistribution of my works on any platform is strictly prohibited.

[jiminisnotavirgin]

A+

Pairing: professor!taehyung | collegestudent!reader

Genre: smut

Description: A one-on-one video call with your hot, college professor takes a surprising turn.

Words: 3.8k

Warnings: inappropriate student/teacher relations, mutual masturbation, fingering, clit-stimulation, and innapropriate language.

Note: After much anticipation, I hope this is my return to the writing part of the lovely fanfic world. Here’s a little something mischievous and self-indulgent (clearly!). I started writing this when quarantine and remote-learning first began last year and I returned to it earlier this week. Let me know what you think :) I hope you enjoy A+. Love, Phoenix.

Email after email, document after document, the light from Taehyung’s laptop shines bright blue across his features. The hours go by and the sky grows darker but he remains at his desk, only taking small breaks to lighten the strain on his eyes. His chair creaks as he leans back and glances outside the window. Like most nights lately, only the stars keep him company tonight.

His courses shifted to an online-only remote format due to the need for social distancing. Despite the initial confidence he displayed to his boss and colleagues over the change, Taehyung is more unsure than ever. Frustration sneaks its way into his mind like a viper wrapped around its squirming prey. His life has turned into a turbulent sea of e-mails and complaints from upset students. What’s the best way for him to support his students? How can he assure them that their mental health is more important than any essay or assignment they’ll ever complete?

A sudden knock at the door steals his attention. Jungkook, his roommate and best friend, leans against the doorway with crossed arms. “Professor Kim,” he begins with a smirk. “Do you have a minute to speak?”

“What’s up?” asks Taehyung, ignoring his friend’s use of the name his students address him with.

“Did you see Jimin’s text? He invited us over for drinks at his apartment. Are you coming?”

“Can’t,” answers Taehyung. His computer glows in his peripheral vision. “I have—“

“Emails to write, work to do. I get it, you’re a busy man.” Jungkook shrugs. “I thought I’d ask anyway since it’s Saturday night.”

“Maybe next time.” Guilt floods Taehyung’s chest and makes it difficult to look Jungkook directly in the eye. Not only is he a shitty professor but he’s a shitty friend, too.

Jungkook finally steps inside the room, occasionally tinkering with Taehyung’s things until he reaches his desk. “Whatever. I’m just worried about you, that’s all.”

“Why?”

“Why?” Jungkook’s already-large doe eyes go wider. “Because all you do is sit at that damn computer all day!”

“I have to teach classes online, what do you expect?”

“It’s not healthy. You barely even leave your room to eat.”

“Who are you, the food police?”

“No, I’m your best friend,” Jungkook answers. “When was the last time you did anything fun? Or normal? You’re twenty-six, Tae, not a hundred and six.”

Taehyung sighs. “I can’t think about any of that right now. Actually, I should get back to my work...”

Jungkook takes the hint and leaves, but not without shooting a glare that makes Taehyung regret his choice of words. He can’t worry about it right now though—not when he has a call planned with you in about two minutes.

He was surprised to see an email from you in his inbox yesterday. You’re one of the students that hasn’t reached out all semester unlike most of the others in his courses. He knows just what kind of student you are: the type who floats through classes quietly but still gets high marks. You’re an older student. You fade into the background by avoiding the attention of your peers but your work stands out, therefore, you do too. He recognizes it because he was that student, too.

Taehyung opens the app for the call, expecting you to pick up after a minute or two but you answer within seconds. “Hello,” he greets you.

You tuck a stand of hair behind your ear and speak but no sound follows the movement of your mouth. He waits but nothing changes.

Taehyung clears his throat. “I think your microphone is off,” he says and types the same words into the chat box at the bottom of his screen.

You squint as you bring your face closer to the monitor. “Can you hear me now?”

He smiles. “Perfect. So, how are you doing? How’s the semester been so far?”

You shrug. “It’s been okay. I’m just trying my best, you know? What about you?”

“Pretty much the same. There’s nothing to do besides read and grade assignments.”

“I wanted to talk to you about the midterm, actually...” your voice fades out and your eyes drift away from the camera. He digs through his memory for what you wrote but his mind comes out empty-handed.

“Let me pull it up on my computer.” He searches through his saved files and documents.

“Oh, you don’t have to do all of that.” You pause for a few seconds. “It’s about my grade.”

“Let’s see... B-plus. Nice work.” When he looks away from your paper, he catches you frowning.

“Could you give me some feedback on it?” you ask.

“I left a few comments on the side,” he answers, eyes still glued to the document. He exits the window and focuses on your face once again. “I wouldn’t worry too much if I were you. You’re a lovely writer.”

“Not good enough if I can only get B-pluses,” you answer with a sigh. Taehyung sits up in his chair, surprised by your shift in tone.

Are you looking for an explanation? A justification for the grades he’s given you? “Most students would be satisfied with a B-plus in an almost graduate level course.”

“With all due respect, sir, I’m not your other students.”

His brows twitches. “Oh?”

“I don’t know how to say this without sounding like an arrogant jerk but I’m not used to getting anything lower than an A on my papers. The fact that I’m about to graduate and can’t hack yours is pretty... frustrating.”

He presses his lips together. “I don’t know what to tell you.” What do you want to hear? Can anything he’ll say wipe that glare off your face? It’s interesting to see you lose your cool after all this time.

You refuse to back down from the challenge. In this impromptu staring contest, your brown eyes penetrate his through the computer screen.

Taehyung decides to give in. Slightly. “One thing I will say,” he continues, “is that I’m particularly tough on my best students. If I gave you an A-plus on every essay you handed in, what would you work up to? There’s no doubt about the strength of your writing.”

Your expression changes immediately. “Oh,” is the only word that leaves your lips. The lines of anger decorating your forehead smooth out as your mouth eases into a relieved smile.

It’s in this moment that Taehyung finds himself looking at you. Truly looking at you.

There’s something about the determination in your face as you plead your case, as though nothing else in the world matters more. Your glossy, heart-shaped lips possess a reddish tint that reminds him of cherries, or rubies. Even through the pixels on the computer screen, you retain the same freshness he remembers from a few months ago, if not more now.

All this time on the computer has gone to your head, he thinks to himself. Perhaps there’s still a chance for him to catch up to Jungkook and the others.

A giggle erupts from your side of the call. “So my papers are good? And here I thought I wasn’t good enough for you.”

“I didn’t mean to make you suffer,” he murmurs and runs a hand through the waves in his raven hair. His eyelids flutter closed as he sinks into his chair and stretches his arms. Finally, a meeting he can consider a success; a meeting where the student leaves the call less frustrated than when it began. He prepares to end the call and log off for the night.

Then he hears it.

It’s faint and quiet and quick but he hears it, as if all sounds in the world were turned off and yours was amplified. The sound echoes in his mind as though you were right there beside him: “If only you knew how you make me suffer.”

This progression of thoughts occurs in a matter of seconds. By the time he’s processed your statement, his eyes have been forced open and any chance of relaxation for the rest of the night disappears into thin air.

“What?” he asks, voice betraying the casualness he wishes to exude.

“Oh, nothing.” You blink innocently, long lashes fluttering like a pair of butterfly wings. “I just care about your opinion, Professor Kim, if you can’t tell.”

“Right...” His eyes trail to the messy display of pens and papers spread out across his desk—anything to avoid your gaze. Its intensity has multiplied a thousandfold and threatens to melt him like a popsicle in the sun. He ignores the surge of anxious heat flowing through his veins.

“I mean,” you continue, lips pursed. “Who doesn’t love hearing a little bit of praise every once in a while, right?”

Your statement hangs in the air for what feels like an eternity. His shirt suddenly squeezes his torso. His pants suffocate his thighs. The room feels like a furnace and dizzying all at once, but the tension in the air keeps him in the moment.

“What are you doing?” he finally asks.

All the blood drains from your face and your limbs freeze. You hold your hands up in the air. “I’m sorry, professor. I didn’t mean to—“

“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” warns Taehyung. A new fire fuels his gaze. With his thick brows, chiseled face, and beautiful black hair to match, your professor is a flame and you’ve been dying to get burned since you first laid eyes on him.

You pull off your hoodie and toss it onto the ground behind you. With a small tug of your index finger, you adjust the spaghetti straps of your pink tank top, underneath which you wear no bra. Your nipples prick at the thin fabric that stretches with each of your breaths.

“You deserve so much more than a little bit of praise,” he murmurs, erasing any doubts over your advances towards him.

“I do?”

“Mmhmm. Especially since you’ve been such a good girl.”

This man couldn’t possibly be the same one that lectured your class all semester. Something sinful replaces the innocent, awkward mannerisms you’ve grown to know over time. No more does he hesitate with his words or actions. Instead, he leans towards the camera with his shoulders pushed back. You’re greeted by his neck and the tan slope of his chest that hides beneath the loose collar of his button-down. You want nothing more than to rip off his shirt with your bare hands. For now, you can only imagine what lies beneath.

“Good girls deserve rewards,” he says with a swipe of his tongue across his plump bottom lip, snapping you out of your daze.

“What should I do?” you ask and glance at your closed bedroom door. Fortunately, you locked it before the call started. You don’t want any intrusions from your roommate.

“You should wind down and take care of yourself. You’ve been working so hard.” His eyes dart down to your tank top. “Close your eyes and imagine it’s me worshipping your chest.”

Your eyes fall closed as your hands drift to the hem of your top. Your fingertips graze your stomach and stop when your skin begins to slope up into the mounds of your breasts. “What would you do if you were here with me right now?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “I’d make it my mission to kiss every part of you but first, I’d focus on those beautiful breasts of yours. They’d fit in my hands perfectly.”

With your left hand, you grasp one breast and tighten your grip just the slightest bit. The squeeze forces a sigh from your lips and although your eyes are closed, Taehyung struggles to control his own breathing as he watches you begin to unfold. With the other hand, you bring two fingers to your mouth and coat them in saliva only to bring them down to your nipples which harden with each squeeze and stroke.

Taehyung swallows in anticipation. “Just like that. Keep going.”

“Wait, what about you?” you ask, voice raspy and slightly out of breath.

“What about me?”

“I’m not the only one who deserves a reward.”

“Watching you wriggle and writhe in desire is enough for me.”

You cross your arms. “Nope.”

He chuckles. “What do you suggest I do, then?”

“I want you to fuck yourself with your hand and imagine it’s my pussy squeezing the life out of you.”

Your words knock the air out of Taehyung’s lungs but he manages to recover quickly. “You may be a good girl but you’ve got a dirty mouth.”

You smirk. “What are you going to do about it?”

The sound of his metal belt buckle clinks from his end. “Touch yourself right now. Play with your clit and we’ll see if you’ve still got that nasty mouth of yours when you’re begging me to cum.”

You raise your brows. “I fully intend on cumming at least once in your presence tonight, professor, whether I have your permission or not.”

“Call me Taehyung.” He takes a moment to reflect on the current situation versus the dynamic you had only minutes ago. “Why now? Why did you initiate—”

“My grades go above all else. I didn’t want to jeopardize any of that,” you answer. “And I also waited for your sake.”

“My sake? If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were doing this to secure your grades,” he muses.

“Nothing boosts my ego like getting an A-plus based solely off my hard work,” you answer. “Fucking my hot professor is for my own personal pleasure.”

You description makes it sound so typical, just another everyday thing like washing the dishes. Are you using him? Deep inside, the thought of you using him arouses him. He wants to be used by you.

“You’re gorgeous,” he whispers, suddenly absorbed by you and the way you carefully orchestrated this interaction. How long did you think about this moment? Were you afraid of rejection?

“I know. Everyone likes me but I always want what I can’t have.” You wink. “Life’s more fun that way.”

Fun. “Enough talk. Let me see.”

“Yes, of course,” you stutter, caught off guard by the sudden shift in conversation. You don’t mind his demands or commanding tone. In fact, you invite them.

“Slide back,” he instructs you. “I want to see everything.”

You swallow and obey immediately, rising to pull your chair further away from the camera. You take the chance to slip off your sweatpants which leaves you in nothing but your underwear and tank top. Your underwear isn’t fancy but it’s what’s below that he’s interested in.

You lower yourself onto the seat, not bothering to keep your legs pressed together. You spread your knees slowly, as if your legs were a book with pages waiting to be read.

“Good. Open up more and show me how bad you want it,” he says. The smile in his voice urges you on.

Your hand creeps along the stretchy waistband of your underwear. The material works against you, forcing your wrist against your pelvis and the area you so desperately wish to touch. You have to be patient since you seek to milk this moment for as long as possible.

Your middle finger searches for any sign of dampness and you gasp when you find a small pool already built up at your core. When you look back at the monitor to see what he’d like you to do next, you watch as he adjusts himself into a similar position to yours.

“Your turn. Take off your shirt,” you instruct.

He raises his eyebrows. A mischievous smile dawns on his face. “Why?”

“Because I said so.”

“So demanding. That’s what got us here in the first place,” he remarks but proceeds to unbutton his shirt.

“I’m not afraid to go out and get what I want.”

“I know, and I admire you for it,” he says. His shirt begins to crinkle as he unbuttons lower and lower until eventually, the front parts to reveal his chest. His abs are soft and his warm honey skin looks smooth. You wonder what it would it taste like.

As he rolls up his sleeves, you observe every movement of his hands. They’re large. One of the first things you noticed about him when he spoke in class and lead discussions. You always wondered what his hands would look like if they were doing something else entirely... Now, your fantasies have come to life.

You force your jaw closed but he’s already caught you staring. “Like what you see?” he asks through his low lids.

“Oh, please. As if you don’t know you’re attractive as hell.”

A low laugh emerges from the man and you smile. If only you could bottle it up and keep it. When he reaches into his pants, you follow along, taking the slick from your finger up to your clit in one smooth stroke. You hum and bite at your lips to contain your reaction.

He shakes his head. “Don’t hide it. You sound beautiful.”

Your other hand starts to wander as you go to work on your clit. From your head to your chest, you seek something to ground you as your soft bud puffs with pleasure. No longer does it hide, tucked away beneath the crevices of your lips. You grind against it using your hand and a slow swivel of your hips from left to right.

“You’re doing so good. I’m so proud of you,” coos Taehyung. “Your body was made for this. For pleasure.”

The sight of him gripping the base of his cock is almost enough to send you over. A light glaze of sweat builds on your forehead but you make no effort to wipe it. Taehyung wishes to feel the heat of your body on his. It’s probably better than anything he could ever imagine.

Perhaps now more than ever, he longs for the days before the virus took over and broke everyone apart. He misses those times so much he could cry, especially since he took them for granted. At the same time though, he thinks about the effort those close to him have made to keep in contact. Even old friends he hadn’t spoken to in years called to catch up with him. His students have stuck out the most out of anyone. One or two of them don’t even own laptops but they show up to class on time and bring their A-game. He believes he should take a note or two from them.

As he studies you, the way you squirm in delight, and the way your body responds to the ministrations of your hand, a wave of relief washes over him. If it weren’t for these circumstances, he wouldn’t have had this moment with you.

“Taehyung,” you moan, bringing him back.

The sound of you calling his name shoots heat straight to his cock. With the precum glistening at the top, he grabs his cock and works the tip using his thumb. “Fuck. Look at what you do to me,” he groans at the sensitivity.

“Please,” you take in a breath and continue, “t-tell me more.”

If praise is what you want, praise is what you’ll get. “You’re so hardworking in everything that you do. Look at you now. Touching yourself just for me.”

“Yes, yes.” You moan as your fingers settle into the one position that feels like you’ve struck gold.

“How far inside can those fingers go? I bet you can put them in real deep.”

It’s as though your hands were waiting for his approval. You slip inside your clenching, gaping hole using two fingers. They slide in easily but the initial stretch is foreign since it’s been so long.

Taehyung groans and for the first time tonight, you begin to see him lose control. His cool exterior sinks into the pleasure of his hand—and of you—leaving him a sweaty, desirable mess. His hair sticks to his forehead and his stomach clenches with each stroke of his hand. He moves slowly, trying to match the pace of your hand. You pick up speed and allow your body to move against the rhythm of your hand. Your insides feel warm and soft and slippery. You close your eyes and imagine he’s the one fingering you with those gorgeous hands of his.

The rubber band of pleasure in your stomach begins to stretch. The squelch of your pussy grows louder with each passing second.

Taehyung is well-endowed but never did you imagine his dick would expand so much in length and girth. He could spear your pussy in one fell swoop, destroying your insides and anything else that gets in his way.

“Taehyung, I’m close,” you say with a sigh. You barely have the energy to speak.

“Fuck, me too,” he adds. “I’m almost there. Cum with me.”

His hand travels from base to tip and each part of the journey is smoother than the last. He massages each vein and ripple and moves even faster when he catches a glimpse of the uneven quiver of your thighs. Heat churns in his stomach and all he can do is chase it desperately. He needs it like oxygen, to breathe in the sight of you along with the pleasure of his nether regions.

The rubber band snaps. It strikes you in waves, each crash stronger the last. You let the waves overtake you and succumb to the burst of pleasure spreading through your limbs. You pull out your hand and clench around nothing as the sensitivity forces your legs closed.

Just when you thought things were over, Taehyung makes a request: “Taste it.”

You waste no time in taking your fingers to your mouth, gliding your tongue on the pads of your fingertips, and spreading the salty fluid in your mouth. All you can focus on is the heavenly sight of Taehyung coming. Each breath he lets out comes with a moan. You swear you can feel the vibration of his low voice against your own chest. His hair covers his eyes but you know they’re closed in pleasure. He intakes one sharp breath before it finally takes him over.

He can feel nothing but release. Release of stress. Release of work. Release of anything except you. As white spurts of cum squirt from his dick in a messy stream of strings, all you can think about is the beauty of his body.

“This was fun,” you admit with a smile. “I’m glad my attempt didn’t flop.”

“No, that would’ve been a huge mistake on my part.”

As you look down, your eyelashes brush the top of your cheeks and you bite your lip in anticipation. “I know I’m graduating and all, but we should do this again sometime. If you’re interested.”

He rests his elbows on his desk and brings himself closer to the camera. With his hand holding the side of his face, he takes in the sweet sight of you. “Did you enjoy it that much?”

“Oh yes. In fact, unlike some people, I’d give you an A-plus.”

[1-800-seo]

1-800-SEO presents: — Where Is My Mind?

genre: dystopia/slight angst/escapism

pairing: Johnny Suh/Gender Neutral Reader

warnings: IV’s/needles, intravenous use of narcotics, bad coping mechanisms, alcohol use, depictions/descriptions of poverty to a degree, implied sexual activity, dreams

word count: 2506 words

in affiliation with: @127-mile ‘s

drive in fic collaboration

summary: Based in a future where your wildest dreams can be lived in for a few hours through intravenous methods, vices and virtues blur. Scraping by is all you can do, and escapism is all you live for. Maybe that will change when you meet him. (Loosely based on Inception.)

The familiar haze of mental fog clouds your mind, it coats the edges of your thoughts like a viscous syrup. You find yourself in a wheat field, the golden crops stretching for as far as the eye can see ahead of you. The swirling breeze passes over your hands and you feel it tickle, a sensation you’ve not felt in a long time. After taking a crisp piece of the surrounding plants into your hands, you feel each and every texture it offers with a fingertip. It’s not like you’ve ever touched real wheat before, you want to imprint it to memory. With the piece of crop still in your dominant hand, you turn your head, body following its arc too, and your eyes meet a cottage. The building just exudes a comforting energy, it's homely even when your real home is nothing alike. The trees that are positioned off to the side of the cottage provide the right amount of shade, one side of the house has full direct sunlight and the other is gently shaded, but in a comforting way. You drop the wheat and make your way over to the cottage. As you make your way up to the front door, following the perfectly placed path, you take in the smell of the decorative flowers that adorn the surrounding gardens. The smell of real flowers is something you’re not used to. Finally upon reaching the door, you outstretch your hand to grasp the door handle. The moment your skin makes contact with the sun-heated metal, a blinding hot white shoots across your vision, and pulls you out.

Waking up is never easy, but it’s not like you’re not used to it. The moment you open your eyes you are met with the same dingy apartment as almost every other wake up. Your arms feel weak from lack of circulation as you reach across to pull out your IV. It doesn’t sting, you’ve done this so many times, it’d be surprising if it did. As your eyes adjust to the light you start to make out the time, it’s displayed on the heads up view of your plexi-wall, and reads 11:36PM. Stars, it’d been 7 hours since you last ate, and your body is definitely letting you know as it starts to wake up from its lulled state. You shift your wobbly legs away from the crusty office chair you were sitting on and begin to make your way over to the food dispensary. You hold your palm over the sensor as a silver sachet slides out and into your palm. You make quick work of depositing its contents into a bowl and mixing it with hot water, your hunger spurring you to be swifter.

Before you know it, all of the food has been devoured, your stomach full, and the night is ready to be conquered. You have no desire to leave the flat, nothing calling you besides money to leave the (lack of) comfort of your home. But of course, money always beats out desire, and so you hastily put on your shoes and proofed jacket, grab your safety umbrella and backpack, and leave. Things had to be paid for, and your credits were seriously running low, if you wanted to continue with your expensive hobby, it meant scrounging. You’re not dumb, you knew that daydreaming wasn’t a cheap, safe, respectable, or even remotely healthy hobby to have, but at this point it was escapism, freedom from pain, and so you’d do anything for that sweet peace.

Once you’re at street level, you put up your umbrella. At this point it’s better to be safe than sorry, the acid rain warning that you saw on your dash ringing out in your memory. It never used to be like this, acid rain was once unheard of, but in the last ten years pollution came to the point that even the water cycle couldn’t be trusted. That’s the joys of living in urban scum, you think to yourself. Your ears register the faint sounds of sizzling rain droplets on your umbrella and you're grateful for it now. Your pace quickens, and after a blur of around 20 minutes walk, you arrive at your workplace.

Workplace was definitely too light of a word to call the building that stands before you. The imposing structure juts out into the dark with brightly coloured lights on its each corner, signalling its presence, as if it was easy to miss without the lights. The commonplace sound of thumping bass echoes about the street for meters, and it only gets louder as you walk up the stairs and into the building. A sign reading ‘Sondaero LivingSpaces’ greets you, but you know full well the people here are barely living. Oh no, this type of place is home to some of the most prolific daydreamers; well, the most prolific for the underground scene. You step through a set of large doors and out into the main courtyard. It’s an indoor park, filled with neon bioluminescent plants, and jarringly placed speakers. If this was any other establishment, the sea of ravers surrounded by people daydreaming on cot beds would be jarring to you, but you’re so used to it that you couldn’t care less; or more so, you’re plainly desensitised to it.

You find your way out onto the dancefloor and surround yourself with people - the more people the better, it just makes your job easier. Safely hidden in the palm of your hand is a biometric chip you crafted yourself. Implants are a little drastic in your opinion, especially when cosmetic, but this was a necessary thing to you considering it earnt you money. The function of the chip worked like this: every person is assigned biometric numerical values by the government of their country, this is to make controlling their finances easier without having a physical device like a debit card or a mobile phone. Instead each user is assigned these numerical values based on their facial bone structure, and the chip's job was to scan this using minute sensors. All you had to do was simply wave your hand in the direct vicinity of their face, and await results - those results being the chip draining their bank account of credit and depositing it into yours. The waving part is complicated in normal use, but when at a club, where wild dancing is the norm, it makes hand movements so much less conspicuous. As you imagine the small amounts of money gradually making its way into your account a man approaches you to your side.

The guy has long-ish dark brown hair, with eyes of the same colour and a tall stature. He begins dancing near you, slowly moving closer and closer towards your vicinity. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t attracted to this man, he was objectively good looking, and the smirk he was wearing on his face was hard to ignore. Before you know it, he’s leaning in your ear and shout-whispering: “hey, do you wanna get a drink with me, angel?” The confidence in him to skip all normal greetings is astounding to you, but in some ways that makes him even more attractive to you, so you whisper-shout back “yeah!” and lead him over to the bar by the elbow.

After you have a few drinks in you, dancing becomes thoughtless, and swaying and grinding on the nameless man is even easier. “Yo, what’s your name?” You ask over the pulsing beat. His response is a finger trailing up your spine with the words ‘Johnny’ leaving his lips. Maybe those disquieting thoughts aren’t only silenced by daydreaming, maybe this could be another outlet. That thought curls in your mind, the wispy tendrils of a coherent thought fading like a misty night.

A few more drinks in your systems leads you to going home with the man, but your memories fade away as the night (or should you say early morning?) carries on. It passes by in a blur and the next thing you know you’re being startled awake by a cat sitting on your chest, with an unearthly headache.

Once you finally manage to extricate yourself from the cat’s grasps, you sit up and immediately notice the sleeping form of Johnny next to you on the tatami, his chest rising and falling with each breath. As quietly as you can, you tiptoe up off the tatami floor, acknowledge the ache throughout your entire body and move towards his kitchenette for a glass of water. Unbeknownst to you, Johnny apparently has a rudely noisy water purifying outlet attached to his faucet, and it decides to make itself known the moment you hover your palm over the on sensor. Johnny quickly stirs awake at the noise, and he sleepily opens his eyes in your direction.

“Wha-what’s going on?” He asks, squinting as his dark eyes adjust to the light. “Oh, I’m sorry, I was just trying to get some water.” You respond, tottering back over to the tatami, glass of water in hand. “Um, I’m sorry, I don’t really remember much of last night, did we uh- what did we do?” You’re aware your question was haphazard, but the incessant hangover looming in your head has your thoughts less than clear.

“If you are wondering if we had sex, the answer is yes, but the only thing I remember is waking up covered in… unsavoury stuff...so that certainly was a way of knowing how. I also know that apparently at some part of the night we decided to dream ‘cause I had to tidy up the gear earlier, but to put any worries at bay, I’m clean and vaccinated so...yeah.” He finishes the end of his sentence, trailing off. Well, at least the mystery man is somewhat of a gentleman, and he’s not gonna give you anything nasty which is always a good thing. You realise his late night cleaning must’ve turned to yourself at some point considering you are somewhat dressed and clean, but you can’t find it in you to care, you’d come to this shameful point so what did a bit of aftercare matter.

“Oh ok, and thanks for letting me know. I’m clean and fully vaccinated too.” You respond, unsure how to act around him. Perhaps he feels your apprehension, and in answer he pats a spot on the tatami next to him, just away from his cat too. You make your way over to the spot, feet padding on the floor as you go. “Your cat’s cute, they decided to sit on my chest this morning. Despite knocking the breath out of me, they’re pretty charming.” Johnny’s eyes widen at this knowledge before throwing his head back and letting out a hearty laugh. It’s somewhat comforting to hear such a genuine laugh; it takes your mind off the world of insincerity around you.

“I apologise for Ten, he gets cuddly in the mornings.” Johnny picks up his cat to give you more space, Ten’s legs sprawling wide in the air before being put down to safety.

There’s something so warm and familiar about Johnny’s presence, it has you naturally leaning into him, and his arm comes to rest around your shoulders as your head gently leans on his chest. The feeling is just so warm and despite knowing you don’t know him well, it almost feels like you do. It feels like a lover long lost, and now he has returned a warm feeling spreads throughout your chest. It’s almost inexplicable, and if you were to try to justify it to anyone other than yourself, a wave of embarrassment would certainly wash over you.

Looking down at you, he meets your eyes, and they seem somewhat fond; not what you were expecting to see. “Do you fancy dreamin’?” He asks, still maintaining eye contact? “Hmm, sure, hopefully I’ll remember it this time.” You reply with a smile and he reciprocates.

Before you even open your eyes you’re met with the sensation of skin on skin. Beneath your fingertips you feel, what you suppose is a firm chest, and when you open your eyes your suspicions are confirmed. Your hands are resting on Johnny’s taut chest, and of course this is what an unscripted dream with the two of you looks like. You feel that you are naked too, and his hands rest gently around your waist, a relaxing gentle weight reassuring you he’s still there. You meet each other’s eyes and the tension is palpable in the air. He dips his head down and kisses you, lips melting together with ease. His hands move from their placing and trail down to cup the small of your back, your bodies meeting infinitely closer.

The two of you move together like jigsaw pieces slotting into place, there’s no conscious thoughts, only the two of you existing in this dream space. Part of you can feel Johnny’s thoughts swirling as you share the hazy unstructured scape. There’s hints of lust mixed with a sleepy mindset, probably left over from waking up moments ago in the real world. He’s set on being a lazy lover right now, selfishly devouring you with no haste in any of his actions, just taking these moments for himself. He can feel your thoughts just as much as you can feel his, he knows you’re feeling relaxed with him and he’s pleased at that, he knows how good you feel right now and he’s proud. He wants to use all of this time to make you feel good. You’re both in agreement that losing yourself in each other is ever so easy, and so you both fall into the other's grasps.

The second time you wake up, Ten is resting on your feet, warming them from the slight chill of the room. Johnny had roused quicker than you, and he’d already removed the IV from your arm. You spot him winding up the fluid bags and putting them into the insulated case they reside in. “How are you feeling?” He asks whilst disposing of the needles in the marked sharps box. “Good, lighter than usual. I’ve enjoyed spending time with you, albeit mostly imaginary.”

The floaty feeling remains in the forefront of your consciousness. Despite feeling lighter, less burdened, you’re aware that you need to change your vices. Constantly daydreaming, forming relationships through them, isn’t healthy. Continuous escapism isn’t a way to live; numbing yourself over and over again won’t solve anything. With a new fervor to gain meaning in your life, you rise from your place on the tatami. “What are your plans for today, John?” You ask, perhaps vices and meaning aren’t that different from each other.

long time no see! this is my penultimate fic :(( hopefully u guys enjoyed it! I know it’s not like my usual style and is somewhat offbeat but I hope it makes sense hehe <3

[fangirlandiknowit101]

Here's the sad pining sasuke i wrote last night... it's not finished and who knows when/if i'll finish it. university AU, not edited and there's some naru//hina and sasuke//OC bc i couldn't think of a canon character that fit. The texting part is also weird bc i wrote it all very fast lol. i'm sharing bc why not *shrugs*

xxx

It hurts, to look at them.

Sasuke can’t help himself. Naruto is his best friend, after all, and he’s not yet so desperate that he’ll avoid him. It’s worse, somehow, that he can’t even dislike her.

She’s good for him, he thinks, when he’s feeling particularly self-deprecating. Her hair is dark and her skin pale as porcelain, and that’s where the similarities end between him and Hinata.

Sweet, and so patient with Naruto. Soft-spoken, but not a pushover. Impeccably dressed, always, no make-up needed to outshine any girl beside her. A picture perfect couple, that’s what they are. It wouldn’t be so bad if he didn’t have to watch it unfold from the front row.

How her shyness turned to surety, how her eyes would catch on Naruto and look away before, but now – now she looks at him like he belongs to her, soft smile on her plump lips.

Sasuke can’t even hate her, and he wishes he could.

It’s not her fault that Sasuke is the way he is. She doesn’t know, isn’t doing it on purpose. And yet, there’s a stab to Sasuke’s chest every time she takes his hand, every time Naruto tucks her silky hair behind her perfect ear.

Naruto will kiss her cheek and Sasuke will be looking, always looking. His face devoid of emotion, his voice carefully neutral. He can’t be mean to Naruto’s girlfriend, though he wishes he could. Maybe if Naruto got mad at him and pushed him away, Sasuke would be free to move on.

It’s more likely that Sasuke would apologize and do better, and he’d rather spare himself the embarrassment.

Sometimes he imagines that Hinata will find out, that she’ll start treating him with suspicion, watch his every move with her wide eyes. Feel threatened by him. But Sasuke is no threat. He’s tired and hurting, but he’s not a homewrecker. It would be a lot easier if Naruto didn’t keep nudging him in Sakura’s direction.

It’s not Sakura’s fault, either. She’s dreaming of something she can’t have, and the similarities make him sick to his stomach.

Sometimes he thinks he’ll date her, live the lie to the fullest. Give her what she wants, since he’s doomed anyway. He doubts he’d last long, though. If he had even the slightest bit of interest in women – but when he looks at her, there’s just no attraction. He’s not sure how no one’s noticed yet. It’s not like he’s that good of an actor. He thinks the only reason no one’s figured it out is because he’s so deep in the closet, and they’re all so heterosexual. Why would they suspect he’s gay? It suits them better if he isn’t.

“Oh, I didn’t realize it was that late already,” Sakura says beside him, breaking him out of his thoughts.

The bar is lively around them, but the music is at a bearable noise level. She’s looking at her phone, frowning. On the other side of the small table, Naruto pouts.

“It’s not late!” he objects, the beer in his glass sloshing around as he waves his hands around. “We just got here!”

“We’ve been here for three hours, I think,” Hinata says, leaning her cheek on his shoulder.

Sasuke wonders how she manages, the way he moves around so much. Perhaps her body is as soft as her voice, easily following him.

“I told you I have to get up early tomorrow.” Sakura sighs, irritated. She fishes her bag up from the floor, putting her phone inside it. “I really have to get going.”

“I’ll walk you to the station,” Sasuke offers. Not because he particularly wants to, but he’s not in the mood to subject himself to third-wheeling Naruto and Hinata. “I should get going, anyway.”

“What?” Naruto looks disappointed, more disappointed than when Sakura announced her departure. “I thought you were free tomorrow.”

Rolling his eyes, Sasuke swallows down the last of his drink.

“Doesn’t mean I want to stay up all night,” he counters with, easing out of the booth. “I still have to study.”

“You study too much,” Naruto mutters, giving Hinata a smile like an afterthought when she squeezes his arm.

“Maybe if you studied at all you wouldn’t need to panic before every exam,” Sakura nags at him, coming around the table to wait next to Sasuke. “Some of us care about our grades.”

“Nerds.” At least Naruto looks a little happier, and Sasuke hates to think that it’s because he thinks anything’s going to happen between him and Sakura. “Don’t get lost, you two!”

They say their goodbyes, and Sasuke tries to pretend he doesn’t notice how Sakura’s cheeks fill with color when they step outside the bar. She’s put a jacket on, but Sasuke’s fine in his sweater. It’s not cold enough that her blush can be blamed on the weather.

“Thanks for walking me,” she says, hefting her bag higher up her shoulder. She’d joined them straight from the library, researching her latest paper. “You didn’t have to.”

“It’s fine,” he tells her, hands tucked into his sleeves.

He doesn’t want to run the risk of her attempting to reach for his hand. As much as he dislikes her attention, it’s safer if she thinks he’s just playing hard to get. He won’t have to explain, then, why he hasn’t outright told her to give up. He should, he knows. But Naruto would just nudge him towards some other girl, would bother him about it until Sasuke started going on actual dates. It’s touching, how worried he is over Sasuke potentially being lonely.

Too bad Naruto himself is the cause of it.

“You’re not doing anything tomorrow, then?” Sakura asks, stepping aside as they meet a group of half-drunk businessmen. “I’m working until five…”

It would be so easy to invite her out. To suggest a movie, or trying out that new café near campus. To watch her eyes light up with hope, watch her mouth stretch into an excited smile.

“I really do need to study,” he says. “And I’m almost out of clean clothes.”

None of it is a lie, technically. He’s just not sure he’ll actually do either of those things tomorrow.

“Oh.”

She tries to hide her disappointment, and Sasuke is an expert by now at pretending he doesn’t notice. They walk the rest of the way in silence, waving a quick goodbye at the ticket gates as Sakura’s train is due to arrive in just two minutes. Sasuke buys a drink from a vending machine and takes small sips as he waits for his own, mindlessly scrolling through social media. He almost ignores the text Naruto sends.

> Wanna hang out tomorrow?

He contemplates it. On the one hand, yes, of course he wants to. On the other, having an entire day to himself has its appeal.

> I’ll be busy

> Ooh, with sakura?

The train arrives, and Sasuke snags a seat next to a couple too caught up with each other to pay attention to him.

> No

> Got studying and laundry to do

The reply is instant.

> That’s too boring!!! I’m coming over for lunch

> Whatever

He pockets his phone, and stares down at the bottle in his hands for the rest of the trip. It doesn’t help against the warmth rising in his chest. At least he doesn’t do this to Sakura – doesn’t invite himself into her space, ignorant of her feelings. It doesn’t make him feel better.

xxx

Sasuke doesn’t have a lot of friends. He’s got Naruto, and then there’s his small group of friends from high school. Naruto is the only one who still lives nearby. Rather, Sasuke had ended up staying in Konoha like him. It’s a big enough city that most of his classmates are strangers, although slightly less so in their second year. He stayed with his parents for his first year, but when one of his cousins moved abroad for work he took the opportunity to stay at her apartment instead. It’s closer to his university, and if he, potentially, wanted to bring a guy home then no one would know.

He doesn’t think his parents would mind, but there wouldn’t be any privacy. He relishes in it, and Naruto does, too.

“I should just move in with you,” Naruto groans, spread out on his couch. “You wouldn’t believe how annoying my mom was this morning.”

“I think I can believe it,” Sasuke tells him, cleaning up after their lunch. “And just to be clear, I’ve never said you’d be welcome to live here.”

“Stingy,” Naruto grumbles. “How long is your cousin gone, anyway?”

Shrugging, Sasuke dries off the counter just for something to do with his hands.

“A year at least. We’ll see. So it’s not like I’ll be living here forever.”

“But still!”

“Where would you even sleep?”

Naruto happily pats the couch. When Sasuke scowls at him, he simply grins.

“Come on,” Naruto says. “I want to watch a movie.”

“I wasn’t lying when I said I need to study.”

Still, he gives in too easily. Naruto lifts his legs to give him room, dumping them all over Sasuke’s lap once he sits down. It’s things like this that makes Sasuke’s heart refuse to give up. He leans his elbow on the back of the couch, cheekbone pressed to his closed fist. He doesn’t say anything when Naruto picks a drama at random, letting him comment on the plot as much as he wants. Watching movies with Naruto is certainly never quiet, and he winces as Naruto kicks his legs as he shouts his anger at the main character.

When the movie ends, Naruto doesn’t start a new one. Instead he chews on his bottom lip, playing with the remote. Sasuke considers getting up to use the toilet, maybe suggesting going to the corner store for snacks, but then Naruto clears his throat suspiciously.

“What?” he asks, irritated when Naruto takes his time.

“So, how are things going with Sakura?”

He resists the urge to pinch his nose. He still lets out a heavy breath, not quite a sigh but close enough that Naruto frowns.

“I mean,” Naruto continues, “you could just ask her out. She’s definitely going to say yes.”

Sasuke shifts, uncomfortable. Naruto’s legs are still on top of his. His socks have little frogs on them.

“I’ve told you I’m not really into the idea of a relationship right now.”

“Uh-huh.” Naruto rolls his eyes, pushing himself up and finally removing his legs, crossing them at the ankles instead. “Sounds like excuses to me.”

“Just drop it, Naruto.”

“But if you get together things will be so much easier,” Naruto insists, poking at his arm. “We can go on double dates, and stuff.”

Sending him a glare, Sasuke pulls a leg up to his chest. It won’t prevent Naruto if he decides to get comfy on his lap again, but it might make him think twice at least. Naruto’s only wearing shorts, and all that naked skin isn’t good for his heart. It’s definitely too cold for it, but Naruto’s never been one to care about the weather.

“We already go places together.”

“Yeah, but it’s not the same!”

Sasuke pinches his lips, looking away. If he’s not careful, those large blue eyes will convince him to cave in, and then he’ll find himself with a girlfriend. He does a lot for Naruto, but there are limits.

“I’m not going to ask her out,” he mutters, knowing it will only lead to more questioning.

Sure enough, Naruto makes a noise of protest.

“But you haven’t rejected her either!”

“She hasn’t asked me out either.”

“It’s obvious she likes you.”

“That’s her problem.”

Naruto kicks at his thigh, using his heel. He looks properly annoyed now, as if Sasuke is a petulant child, refusing to do what’s best for him.

“If you got over yourself for a minute, you’d realize what a catch she is!”

He doesn’t reply. Let Naruto think he’s just stubborn, or an asshole, or whatever. Let him think Sasuke’s just stringing her along, keeping her attention while refusing to commit. It’s better than the alternative.

“Leave it, Naruto,” he warns, getting up and moving to the kitchen. “We’re not talking about this.”

At least Naruto doesn’t follow him, though it doesn’t make much of a difference. The apartment is small, no wall separating the kitchen from the living room. He searches through his cabinets, locating a forgotten bag of wasabi peas. He throws them at Naruto’s head.

“Eat these and shut up,” he says.

To his relief, Naruto does as told.

xxx

He picks up the call from Karin half-distracted, mind still stuck on a question for tomorrow’s seminar. As usual, she doesn’t wait for him to say hi, making her wince with the volume of her voice.

“Do you have any idea how tiring it is to listen to Naruto whine about you?” she starts with, the background noise suggesting she’s outdoors. “Can’t you just tell him you’re gay and put me out of my misery.”

“No thanks.” He drops his pen on his desk, rubbing at his eyes. He regrets not going to the university library, at least then he wouldn’t have been able to pick up the call. “Was that all? I’m kind of busy.”

“You know, this is exactly why I moved away,” she continues, ignoring him. “I thought I could get away from all the high school-level drama. Just get yourself a boyfriend, and go on those stupid double dates my cousin is so desperately yearning for. How hard can it be?!”

He can feel a headache incoming, and he rubs his fingertips between his brows. Naruto had sulked for hours the day before, until Sasuke got sick of it and threw him out. It was definitely backhanded of him to call Karin and complain.

“If you really wanted to be left out of it, why are you calling me? That’s the opposite of not getting involved.”

“Because it’s really painful and I’m morally obligated as the only person with functional brain cells to tell you to move on. Juugo’s too nice to say it and Suigetsu would give you terrible advice and sit back and watch. I’m being nicer to you than you deserve.”

“By telling me to move on,” Sasuke deadpans, wondering why his parents couldn’t have settled down somewhere else.

“Well, someone has to do it! Clearly I’m the gay cousin in the family, so you’re screwed. Might as well get over it and get laid.”

“I really hate you sometimes, you know that?”

She huffs at him, traffic and broken conversations filtering through the phone. There’s the jingle of a shop’s door, and the noise cuts off.

“Your pining is just getting sad,” she eventually replies, distractedly. “Trust me, I know my cousin. He’s not worth it.”

Something unpleasant churns in Sasuke’s stomach. He wants to argue with her that he is worth it, but he doesn’t want to land himself in an hour-long lecture if he can help it. He rolls his neck, making a face. She’s got a point, but he doesn’t enjoy hearing it. His life would be a lot simpler if he could find someone who made him forget about Naruto. He’s just not sure it’s fair to expect someone to instantly replace a lifetime of friendship.

“I don’t think I should have to come out just because Naruto irritates you,” is what he says instead, leaning back in his chair. “What if my parents find out and disown me? You want to be responsible for that?”

“Sasuke,” she sighs, “your brother is literally gay and your parents love his boyfriend.”

“So?”

“Stop. Making. Excuses.”

He bites his cheek, holding back a denial. He’s not worried about his parents, he’s worried about Naruto’s reaction. That things will change between them. That he’ll think Sasuke has feelings for him, which would be correct but would also ruin absolutely everything.

“I’ll… consider it,” he concedes, after a long silence, during which Karin has finished buying whatever it was she needed.

“Really? Because I’m going to hold you to that.”

He sighs.

“Next time I’m not picking up when you call me.”

xxx

A few weeks pass, and not much changes. Naruto still takes up too much space in his head and life, Sakura continues to drop hints but refuses to make the first move, and Hinata is still as lovely as ever. She doesn’t seem to have much of a personality other than being Naruto’s girlfriend, but to be fair Sasuke hasn’t precisely paid attention or tried to get to know her. Naruto’s birthday is drawing closer, and he can’t bring himself to do anything to break the status quo before then.

He’s been considering it, though. It would be a relief to stop pretending. He can’t imagine himself finding a boyfriend, though, because where would he even meet someone? It’s too awkward to use a dating app, and he’s not precisely social. He doesn’t have any experience, either, if you don’t count those childish games they played sometimes when they were younger. And that one time Naruto kissed him by accident when they were twelve.

Because of this, he’s really not expecting it when one day in class, just as the lecture ends, his eyes fall on the messenger bag that the guy next to him has just finished packing. There’s a rainbow pin on it, and Sasuke blurts out his question before he can stop to think about it.

“Are you gay?”

He only lifts his eyes from the pin when the surprised silence stretches out a bit too long. Their eyes meet, and the other boy is staring at him like he’s not sure how to react.

“Uh,” he says eventually, fingers clenching around the bag’s strap. “I mean, yes? But if you’re thinking about the pin it’s just a regular rainbow…”

He trails off, and Sasuke feels his cheeks heat up a bit. He can’t believe he just asked, when he himself has gone to such lengths to make sure no one made such assumptions about him.

“Sorry,” he apologizes. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“It’s fine.”

Maybe he should know the guy’s name, but he doesn’t. He’s pretty short, hair dyed a light brown and glasses perched on his nose. Cute, but Sasuke’s not sure he’s his type. He’s not sure he has a type, other than Naruto.

“Are you gay?” the guy asks him, eyebrows rising above the frame of his glasses.

Sasuke licks his lips. He could say no, but to what end?

“I am,” he forces out, breathing in a deep breath.

“Oh.” There’s red color blooming on the other boy’s face, his eyes flickering to the side for a moment. “I was kind of hoping, but, um… I mean, hoping sounds weird! Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting you to ask outright.”

When Sasuke stands up, he realizes he’s almost a head taller than him.

“I’m Sasuke,” he offers, clicking his laptop shut and slowly sliding it into his bag.

“I know. I mean! I’m Hiroshi. Nice to meet you.”

Sasuke nods, and awkwardly turns to leave. Hiroshi stops him with a hand to his arm, though, and Sasuke swallows nervously as the turns back. He’s not interested in Hiroshi, not really, but he’s never been asked out by a boy before and the novelty of the situation is getting to him.

“Do you, um, are you busy right now? We could have lunch?”

He weighs the pros and cons in his mind. As nervous as Hiroshi looks, there’s a determined glint in his eyes that sways Sasuke over.

“Okay,” he says, and just like that he’s doing what Karin told him to do.

He’s trying, at least.

xxx

Over the course of a week, including having coffee together and a visit to the aquarium, Sasuke learns a lot about Hiroshi. Or Hiro, as he likes his friends to call him. They don’t have too much in common, but they’re both gay and studying agricultural economics. Once Hiro gets over his initial shyness, Sasuke finds he’s got a great sense of humor and won’t hesitate to poke fun at him.

It’s a breath of relief, to spend time with someone who doesn’t know him from before. He didn’t realize how much he needed it – just being able to be himself, without constantly keeping himself in check.

He can’t fool himself to think it’s enough to replace Naruto, but maybe he doesn’t need to replace him. Maybe it’s enough that Hiro seems to like him. He doesn’t really think about it, when he invites Hiro over on a Saturday night, after they’d had dinner at a nice udon place.

“Oh, wow,” Hiro says as he steps into Sasuke’s apartment, making an impressed face. “Nice place.”

“It’s my cousin’s, so no need to sound so impressed.”

Hiro rolls his eyes, taking off his shoes and jacket and following Sasuke inside.

“Alright, I’ll try to keep it in,” he teases, sitting on the couch when Sasuke motions him towards it. “But it must be nice, to have your own place like this. The dorms are fine, but I can’t exactly bring guys there.”

Humming his agreement, Sasuke grabs two cans of soda from the fridge, handing one of them to Hiro when he sinks down on the couch next to him.

“Want to watch something?”

Hiro nods, and Sasuke brings the TV to life. He’s not expecting anything to happen – they’ve only known each other a week. He’s still coming to terms with having a friend other than Karin he can talk to like this, and she doesn’t really count since there was never the potential for anything to happen between them. Hiro is… potentially someone Sasuke could date. At least there’s nothing wrong with him, not yet, and Sasuke’s easing himself into the idea of getting to know him better.

He finds a movie at random, some sci-fi that doesn’t look terrible. The movie turns into background noise as they talk, Hiro’s eyes watching his face more than the screen. It’s nice, in a new, exhilarating way, to have a guy’s attention on him like this. He’s not sure what to do with it. When Hiro moves closer, knee touching Sasuke’s thigh, hand resting on the back of the couch and occasionally touching his neck, Sasuke can’t find it in him to move away.

It feels like a secret, shared between the two of them. He thinks of Naruto for a long moment, allows himself the pain lacing through his chest as he imagines light brown hair replaced with blond, dark eyes replaced with blue. Then, he pushes it away, tells himself he can have this. The emotions are only his own.

It’s all happening too fast when Hiro grows bold, leaning in to press their mouths together, but he doesn’t care. It’s no one’s business if he spends the evening on his couch with a boy in his lap, a boy who isn’t his best friend.

The pain is easier to swallow if he tells himself that he’s the only one hurt.

[the-sympathetic-villain]

L’Appel Du Vide - Chapter 2

AO3 | First | Previous | Next | Masterpost

Description: Logan has been captured by a government agency who researches human with  supernatural powers. Able to manipulate the world with his mind and tell what others  are thinking, Logan finds himself in one of the most high security  government prisons in the country that's run by a sinister Dr. Emile  Picani.  After several long months of deprivation and torture at the hands of Dr  Picani, a devilish-looking man with scales on his face will break into the  prison looking for Logan's less than friendly bunkmate, but will he be  too late? Prompt by @LoganIsACoolTeacher on AO3

Endgame pairings: Lociet, Intruality, Prinxiety

Word Count: 3323

Chapter Warnings: Blood, Crying, Depression, Casual Suicidal ideation, Depriving someone of food, Captivity, Solitary confinement, Knife, Threats of violence, Swearing, Mentions of abuse/torture, Injuries, Panic Attack, Food (Let me know if need to add anything!)

---

    The first night, Logan screamed himself hoarse well into the middle of the night. His body ached with misery, as he yelled and pulled at his restraint. His wrist was bruised and he could feel a this stream of blood dripping from where the metal had cut into his skin but he kept fighting until his body collapsed with exhaustion and he was forced into a restless sleep.

    Agony burned in his chest as the long hours dragged by in absolute silence. Being alone was a rare experience for Logan and one he adamantly avoided. While the sound of the constant chattering of strangers thoughts would probably sound nightmarish to the average person, he'd grown accustomed to the comforting presence of others' thoughts. He was used to the white noise, and though he knew it was irrational, the sudden silence growing nearly painful with every hour that passed.

    The second night, the isolation started to dig its claws into the corners of his mind. The restraint on his wrist limited his movement to only a few feet around the bed and so far, he'd spent hours staring into the empty window on the far side of the room. Anger twisted in his stomach at the thought that he was likely being watched through the one-way reflective surface and he felt like screaming at his silent observers until his voice gave out, but the previous night’s experience had already proved that effort would be futile. Expending the energy would only make him hungrier.

    All he could do was wait.

    The third day, he'd woken to find the restraint on his wrist had been released while he'd slept. He blinked, unsure of what this new revelation meant for him. Rubbing his sore wrist, he sat up to scan the quiet room. The door remained closed, and likely locked, but somehow a container of water has found its way into the room. He stepped off the bed, glancing cautiously at the one-way mirror as he approached the glass jug sitting at the base of his door. He was aware of the danger. Tampering with his water supply would be a simple way to entrap him or drug him, but his thirst quickly overrode any hesitation he had. They were his only access to resources and he knew he'd have to give in eventually or risk simply dying of dehydration. Not to mention, quite frankly, if the people in this place decided to kill him, he had little recourse in stopping them. No amount of bargaining would change that fact that he was at their mercy.

    Next to the water, he found a fresh change of clothes. The sight of fresh white hospital-like clothing brought a bitter taste to his mouth as memories of the night before came rushing back. He hadn't seen a hint of another person since the doctor had left him, taking with him the only people who might be even remotely sympathetic to his situation. He brushed his thumb over the stiff fabric picturing the faces of the two other prisoners who'd been dressed in the same sterile uniform as he now held in his hand. Still, he changed his clothes, feeling a new level of numb as he changed in front of the window.

    Numbness had settled in fully by the fourth night. The hunger left him too weak to stay focused on anything for long. The water provided for him sustained his body in only the barest sense and he could feel his willpower draining away as he spent more time curled in his bed, mind blank as he succumbed to the silence. That night, a particularly sinister breed of depression had taken root in his mind, pushing him toward the precipice of giving up. Dark, self-destructive thoughts clouded his mind as finally drifted off to sleep, making his abrupt awakening all the more jarring as he opened his eyes to find a sharp blade pressed to his throat and a shadow with glowing purple eyes looming over him.

    “Move and I'll slit your throat.”

    Pure adrenaline flooded over Logan at the familiar voice. The man who'd nearly strangled him the first night straddled his chest, silhouetted against the dark room by the eerie red light. Logan swallowed, barely breathing as he as he pressed himself backward, tilted his head away from the blade.

    “You will answer my questions.”

    A whimper escaped Logan’s lips, but he forced a small nod, hardly daring to move under the delicate pressure of the sharp blade.

    “Why's Picani interested in you?”

    “I don't kn—”

    “Find a better answer.” The man's hiss sent chills down his spine as the knife moved up Logan’s neck. “The other night, you blew me back into the wall like a goddamn ragdoll. What’s was that?”

    Logan sucked in a shallow breath as he struggled to keep his weak body breathing. “Tele—telekinesis.”

    “Do not fuck with me right n—”

    “I’m not—” Logan breathed, closing his eyes. “I can move things with my mind—”

    The blade pressed against his throat with a preciseness just short of drawing blood. “If that were true, why haven’t you blasted me again?”

    “I—I don't control it. I never learned how.” Logan blinked, surprised as the blade released a touch of pressure. He blinked, staring up at blank expression on the man's face as he continued.

    “Picani’s guard said you'd feed on me.” The man growled his disbelief as he glared down at Logan. “Explain.”

    “I don’t know what he was—"

    “Not good enough.” The man's deep voice growled above him as the blade returned to his throat. "If you don't start talking, I'll—"

    “Please—” Logan whimpered as the sharp nicked his throat and a thin line of blood dripped down his neck.  “—It's not what you think.”

    “Then explain,” The man’s eyes flashed dangerously as he continued but the pressure of the blade eased slightly. “before I start to get impatient.”

    Logan swallowed, feeling a wet streak trail down his face. “Others’ thoughts—I hear them.”

    “Are you telling me you feed on my thoughts?”  

    “No—“ Logan whispered as tears flowed freely down his face. “Please, I don’t know how it works but I can’t—It doesn’t hurt anyone. I wouldn't hurt anyone. Please—”

    Logan clenched his eyes shut, stifling a terrified whimper as the blade moved up his neck. His heart pounded in his chest until the blade lifted slightly from his throat and a wet sob escaped his throat. He sucked in a breath as the man leaned back, knife still pointed in Logan's direction as he continued in a hushed tone.

    “Are you listening to my thoughts right now?”

    “N—no,” Logan breathed, avoiding the man's eyes. “I'm too weak. I can’t—I can’t do anything.”

    The man was quiet for a long moment, eyes glinting in the red light as he stared at Logan. “What'd he do to you?”

    “Who?”

    “Picani,” The man's voice softened slightly. “The doctor, I mean. What's he done to you?”

    “I—I’ve been kept alone and—” Logan bit his lip, uncertain about sharing the true depths of his weakness. “—and I haven’t eaten. Anything that fuels my power, he's taken it from me. I can't—I can't hurt you."

    The silence hung in the air for a long, tense moment before the man spoke again, knife still inches from Logan's throat.

    “Close your eyes.”

    A chill crept up Logan’s spine at the seriousness in the man's voice. “Please, don't—”

    “Don’t argue.”

    Logan swallowed the lump in his throat as the glisten of the blade pointed at him inches from his face. Stilled trembling and tense, he let his eyes flutter closed.

    “Move your hands where I can see them.”

    “I'm already blind—”

    “I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

    “Fine.” Logan muttered as he rested his head back on the pillow, lifting his hands in apparent surrender. After a moment, he could feel the bed shift as the man climbed off the bed in absolute silence. Logan strained his ears, but he was unable to trace the man’s careful movements after he stepped onto the flow. He slowed his breathing and forced himself to remain still, unsure of how the man would react to even the smallest twitch.

    “If Picani finds out I have a knife because you rat me out, I will not hesitate to kill you with my bare hands.”

    Logan bit his lip, body shaking as he gave a stiff nod. “U-understood.”

    “Telling him won’t protect you.” The man continued gruffly. “It will only put me in danger.”

    “I won't tell him.” Logan swallowed. “You have my word.”

    “Your word doesn’t mean shit to me.”

    A bitter from twitched at the corner of Logan’s lip. “The man dropped you back in here in the middle of the night, while I was weak and defenseless, knowing full well that you'd already made one attempt on my life. I'm not so much of a fool to believe him my ally.”

    “Picani was hedging his bets that you'd appeal to my good will.”

    Logan let out a huff, dropping his head to his chest. “Well, it appears he made a miscalculation.”

    “Perhaps.” Virgil sighed quietly after a moment. “Or perhaps not. You can have this, but I want you to give me back the wrapper, so I can hide it later.”

    A small object struck Logan’s chest, causing him to flinch back with a sharp breath. His muscles tensed as his eyes cautiously fluttered open to reveal the ominous sight of the stranger’s eyes glinting at him through the darkness. Slowly, he sat upright, maintaining eye contact as he turned his head down to stare at the protein bar in his lap.

   “Don't make a mess.”

   Glancing cautiously up at the other man’s stiff form, Logan leaned forward to tear at the wrapper. He wasn’t sure what had brought about the sudden change of heart, but he wasn’t about to waste his first chance for food in three days. His hands shook as he attempted to tear into the difficult piece of plastic, growing  desperate as the man above him tensed.

   “Hey, be careful!” The man held up a hand, stopping as Logan flinched at his volume.  He paused, giving Logan a quick sympathetic look before edging closer. “Listen, hand it over for a second.”

   Logan hesitated, gripping the bar tightly as if his life depended on it.

   “Listen, dude. It's all yours, I swear.” The man whispered with a wary smile, holding up his friends as he dropped down on the side of the bed. His movements were slow, as if he was suddenly deliberately making an attempt to be non-threatening. “Just let me open it for you so you don’t make a mess. I don’t want to get backlash for helping you out. Okay?”

   “Okay.” Logan whispered after a moment of tense silence, keeping his head bowed from the man's gaze as the man took the bar from his hands. “Thank y—”

   “Don't thank me.” The man cut him off sternly. He made quick work of tearing the wrapper open before offering it back to Logan. “What's your name?”

   “Logan.”

   “Okay, Logan. Mine's Virgil.”

   The man whisper filled the air as he waited patiently for Logan to take the bar from the wrapper. Logan took a quick bite, watching the man in his periphery as he chewed the small offering of food slowly. His body ached for him to finish faster, but he didn't want to be caught off guard if the man suddenly changed his mind.

   “Listen, I'm sorry.” Virgil muttered as Logan took another bite. “I know I must have scared the shit out of you just now.”

   Logan blinked up in mild surprise at the man's change in tone, still wary of the man's anger as he swallowed his first bite.

   “You were being cautious.”

   “That doesn’t suddenly make any of this shit okay,” Virgil muttered as he crumpled the wrapper into his pocket and stared at his lap. “The way I reacted is straight fucked, but you got to know that Picani only keep his most dangerous subjects this deep into the labs. You're not the first piece of fresh meat Picani’s dropped in my bunk—And when I heard the guards talking about you feeding on me, I panicked.”

   “I assume the doctor has given you plenty of reason to be wary of newcomers.” Logan whispered, still slightly unnerved by the man's choice of words. “H-how long have you been here?”

   “Long enough that I stopped counting the days.”

   Virgil absently ran his fingers through his hair as Logan took in the sight of the man for the first time. His white attire seemed dirtier than before, especially next to the stark white color of Logan’s matching attire. Logan’s eyes tipped up to the man's face. Fresh bruises covered his face and arms and large pieces of gauze appeared to have been haphazardly applied to his head and around his elbows in a poor attempt at first aid for whatever injuries he sustained over the last few days.

   "W-where did they take y—”

   “Don’t ask.” Virgil interrupted abruptly, glancing at the fearful look in Logan’s eyes as he cut him off. He paused, briefly considering the harshness his words before looking up at Logan. “You'll find out soon enough and trust me, you'll wish you never found out.”

   “The doctor—He hurts you because of your powers.” Logan observed, curling his knees to his chest as Virgil’s dark gaze turned back to him. “Doesn't he?”

   Virgil blinked up at him. "How did you—"

   "I saw you starting to turn invisible before the doctor walked in on us." Logan bit his lip, looking shyly at his lap. "Just after I blew you back into the wall."

   "Huh, well, its not invisibility." Virgil huffed, dropping his shoulders as he pointed up at the red lights. "I can manipulate light. It's the reason for all of those."

   "What?" Logan furrowed his brow, glancing at the strange lights.

   "I can't shift red light as easily as the rest of the spectrum." Virgil muttered bitterly. "They put these in here to make sure that Picani always knows where I'm at."

   "And he hurts you because of these abilities?"

   "He runs tests." Virgil blinked, looking up a the fear Logan was barely concealing behind his eyes. “Picani’s a bastard and this—” Virgil muttered, looking disgusted as he stared at his bandages before glancing over at Logan. “—is nothing. He's done much worse to me when he gets worked up. He says its about figuring out how I do it, but if you ask me, he just gets off on hearing me scream.”

   Logan's skin tingled with fear and he could feel tears growing in his eyes as he swallowed past the lump in his throat and nodded. “I felt like that might be the case.”

   “He owns us. We’re not even people to him.” Virgil’s words fel from his lips absently as he rambled. “And when Picani gets a new subject, he's miserable. He a whole new level of sadism and miser—Shit.”

   Virgil paused as Logan sucked in a sharp breath, shaking from the overwhelming series of events from the last few nights.

   “Hey, don't panic.” Virgil jolted upright, turning to rest his hands on Logan’s shoulders. “Wait—No, no, just breathe with me. Don't panic.”

   Logan sucked in a ragged breath as Virgil rested a hand on his chest, applying a gentle pressure to help ground him. His throat ached as he tried to suppress another sob and Virgil curled an arm around his shoulder.

   “You are going to get through this, Logan.” Virgil hushed him urgently. “God. I'll help you but you need to stop. You can't lose it now.”

   “I—I’m sorry.” Logan felt himself tugging on his hair as he whispered between ragged breaths. " I'm s-s-sorr—"

   “It's okay.” Virgil whispered insistently, tightening his grip on Logan’s shoulders. “You're going to be okay. Just get your breathing under control.”

   Logan nodded, body aching as he suppressed the overwhelming panic seizing his muscles. Slowly, through Virgil’s gentle touches and kind words his breathing returned to normal and his muscles started to relax.

   “There you go.” Virgil let out a sigh, leaning back. "You did okay."

   “I'm sorry.” Logan whispered between pained breaths. “I'm being irrational—”

   “Don’t do that to yourself. Your reaction is the only thing that makes sense in this godforsaken place,” Virgil’s eyes tipped sympathetically towards Logan in the dark, flashing with the knowledge of their grim reality. “but you can’t afford to be emotional here. You'll get hurt if you do this around the wrong people.”

   Logan paused, feeling his breathing slow a bit at the kind look in Virgil’s glowing purple eyes. “Thank you for your help.”

   “I mean it. You can't react like that with the doctor.” Virgil whispered, roughly wiping away the streaks of tears off his cheeks. “The doctor will exploit every fear you show him. You have to be stronger than him.”

   “O-okay.” Logan whispered, still trembling as Virgil talked him through his panic.

   “Find a place in your head that you can disappear to when you’re in his hands.” Virgil stated with a pitiful smile as he stared at Logan’s distant stare. “Whatever you do, don’t show him what you’re feeling.”

   “I will—um, thank you for the advice.”

   “It's nothing.” Virgil muttered quietly. “Consider it an apology for waking you up with a shiv to you throat. Alright?”

   Logan sucked on his lip, curling his knees to his chest. “It's fine. I realize now why you acted in such a manner.”

   "It's not fine, but whatever." Virgil shrugged as his lip twitched with guilt. “but either way, you look like shit and I think you should get some rest.”

   “I'm not sure if I’ll be able to sleep at this point.”

   “You need to try. You need whatever energy you can get to get through tomorrow.”

   Logan blinked up at the serious tone in Virgil’s voice as he slid up on the bed and faced the door.

   “I'll keep an eye out and wake you before Picani and his goons show up. Okay?”

   “S-sure.” Logan whispered, chilled by the seriousness in Virgil’s voice.

   “You can trust me on this, Logan.” Virgil paused raising an eyebrow at Logan. “There’s not much I can do to protect you, but at the very least, I won’t let Picani catch you by surprise.”

   Logan let out a breath as Virgil patted the bed next to him. Stiffly, Logan slid over to him and slipped underneath the thin blanket. Uneasily, he rested down on the pillow next to where the Virgil perched, staring at the door. “Thank you, Virgl. I—I know you don't have to help me.”

   “I want to.” Virgil muttered under his breath almost to himself. His voice was so quiet Logan nearly didn’t catch the end of his statement. “I never meant for anybody to get hurt.”

   Logan blinked, considering Virgil’s words as a deep exhaustion crept over him. He leaned his head back on the pillow, staring up at the distant look in Virgil’s eyes as he stared at the closed door of their cell. He sighed. Falling asleep next to the stranger who'd had a knife to his throat only minutes seemed like an impossible feat but only a few short minutes had passed before the exhaustion began to outweigh his anxiety. He could feel his eyelids dropping even as his heart fluttered with fear of the man next to him. This had to be a mistake and Logan was well aware of that fact. Yet, as his mind drifted off to sleep, he found himself easing to sleep with the madman with the knife next to him anyway.

---

Author’s Note: That’s it for now, but hopefully it won’t be too much longer before we get to here more about these poor boys. Thanks for reading, and again, if you want to be on the taglist, all you have to do is let me know!

General Taglist:

@justanotherhumanstuff @im-an-anxious-wreck @shadowyplaidpurseegg

[completeotometrash]

Secret Love (Jumin Han Fluff)

(WARNING): Spoilers for Seven’s route, implied nsfw. Read at your own risk.

Part 1

Word count: 2.4k

(She/her) pronouns.

.................

For years he has hopelessly longed for her. There was never a second that he thought she was anything other than ethereal beauty. Like a graceful and refined goddess, she blesses his vision. Though Jumin Han is not one to express his feelings or be interested in art for that matter, somehow, she makes seeing both so much clearer.

 He can recall the day she entered the RFA chat room, the way she presented herself. He is still amazed with how daring and bold she was. Everyone loves her for it. At the party, she wore a beautiful red dress that flattered her every curve and did wonders for his wandering mind. But it was not her body that truly earned his attention, rather, her charisma; the way she adapted and took advantage of every opportunity. They got along surprisingly well and even scheduled dinners to enjoy together so they could keep in touch. But she was never too close. He knows he is a busy man; he has no time to indulge in romantic affairs. Even with that aside, from his knowledge she does not share the same feelings.

 So, they stayed strictly platonic.

  Another year passed; another party was thrown. That time she truly outdid herself. Over a thousand guests were brought in, triple the usual. She slaved away to ensure that it was a great success; and that it was. She did not appear to be overworked, the smile on her face that traveled up to her eyes was magnificent. He found that to be a beautiful quality, the ability to stay positive. His heart hammered in his chest harder than it ever had. That night he found himself unable to sleep. He tossed and turned for hours but the exhaustion never came.

 Finally, there is now. He has watched her grow more successful and gain the respect of everyone around her in less than three years. Her parties have raised millions of dollars that has all been donated to charity.

 They talk every day in the chat rooms, but it never satisfies the urge to speak to her. To hear her voice. As he normally would not act upon this, his fingers are already dialing her number. She picks up only seconds later.

 ~~~

With poise, she brings the glass of wine to her lips, one he specially ordered from a famous brewer located in Europe. After a small sip, she licks her bottom lip. He watches her reaction that seems to be a pleased one with the grin that follows.

 “It’s exquisite, Jumin. Some of the best that I’ve ever tasted!” She chuckles giddily, setting the glass down. He tries a sip of his own and agrees.

 “I’m glad you enjoy it. Would you like the winemaker’s contact information?” He takes another sip before adjusting his collar. She nods, trailing on about how she should invite him to the party as a guest. Her enthusiasm does terrible things to his body. Jumin finds himself heating up and wanting to take off his jacket.

 He doesn’t, of course. He has self-control.

 “So why is it that you would rather meet here at my estate than go out?” As he enjoyed her company and greatly prefer staying home himself, he could not help but ask. She has only visited his home once before, a brief exchange to deliver something.

 She fixes her posture, crossing her right leg over the other. “Honestly, I just wanted to enjoy you and our time together without anyone being around. As much as I love going out with you, I prefer just relaxing together on a less formal level.” She glances around only to look down at her hands, “Also, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious about what your apartment looks like.” She nervously laughs, rubbing her hands together.

 He swallows, his throat becoming tighter. Such honesty in her statement making him feel a little bashful. Taking a deep breath, he stands. “If you’re interested in my decor, I can show you around.” In a way, he takes pride in the way he keeps his house tidy. He has a modern dark theme with all the newest gadgets on the market. She happily obliges, standing beside him.

 ~~~

“The view is breathtaking.” She stares out the window with astonishment, finishing her glass of wine. He agrees, but only watches her.

 “Yes. The city is quite beautiful in the afternoon while the lights are lit. I made sure of that while searching for my apartment. I’ve found that Elizabeth the Third enjoys the view as well.”

 She cackles, shaking her head. “You know, you’ve got her spoiled. It’s actually really cute, just how much you care for her.” Turning to face him, her head tilts to the side. “You’re a good host. We should do this more often.”

 Revealing a small smile of his own, he looks down at her. “I appreciate your words and agree that we should do this more often. I find myself enjoying your presence in a less formal environment nice as well.” A small moment of vulnerability.

 She gasps, excitedly clapping her hands. “One day, maybe we can do some wine tasting while watching a movie!”

 Jumin takes her empty glass and refills it and his own. “I don’t see why we can’t do that now unless you have plans for tomorrow. It’s getting rather late.” He checks the time on his watch. “If not, I’ll have a ride set up to safely escort you home.”

 “I don’t mind staying. “

 Despite having the movie ready and being situated on the couch nearly an hour ago, it was never started. Sitting side by side, he talks with her instead.

 “I’ve always wanted to visit Rome and see the Sistine Chapel! The art there is so beautiful.” She leans back, seemingly more relaxed after two glasses of wine. He too feels the effects of the alcohol.

 “That is one place I have not been yet. As I’ve never been one to care for art, I’m sure your company there would be nice.” Jumin freezes, realizing the gravity of his statement as her eyes grow wider. There’s the crippling fear of her suddenly being repulsed by him. Mentally, he scolds himself for possibly making her uncomfortable. “I apologize if that was too-”

 His sentence is stopped yet again, but this time she is the one to do it. “In the future I’d love to go with you. What is the fun in traveling alone, anyways?” She smiles, rubbing her head. “Shall we start the movie now?”

 He inhales sharply, lifting the remote and pressing play.

 ~~~

When the credits roll, he shifts, ready to go to bed. Seemingly, she’s already passed the point of exhaustion, eyes closed and chest heaving slowly. Jumin wonders how long she has been asleep and whether he should wake her. He yawns, standing up. It’s dark and it would be dangerous to send her home at this time. That is what he tells himself, at least.

 That night he brought her to his guest room, now being unable to forget about it. She went home early the next morning and insisted that she leave immediately. The next day he was given a gift from her, an apology for her accidentally falling asleep. If she gave it to him in person, he would have returned it, she need not apologize for something a friend should do. Although, he cannot help but feel flattered by it. She gave him a navy-blue tie from one of his favorite brands. The material is soft against his fingers; he incorporates it in his outfit for the party.

 The day of the party comes quickly, it is at a different location his time because it’s become much vaster. The area is loud, everyone talks cheerfully with each other. Business owners negotiate and bond over shared interests. The same brewer he told her about that was invited to the party was so flattered that he gifted several bottles of his product for it. He notices it being served at the bar.

 Jumin continues to scan the room, firstly wanting to congratulate MC. He walks around until he feels a tap to his shoulder. It’s a very excited Saeyoung.

 “Jumin! We’ve been looking for you.” Seven steps back, motioning for Jumin to follow. He rounds the corner and immediately notices a familiar tuff of teal hair. He joins the circle, adjusting his sleeve.

 “Good afternoon, everyone. The party seems to be a success.” He pops into the conversation in his own giddy way. His excitement doesn’t show, it almost never does.

 “Jumin, greetings! We’re glad you could make it.” V smiles wholeheartedly, nodding his head in his companion’s direction.

 Yoosung smiles as well, chiming up when he sees him. “The party just gets better every year with MC! She’s just amazing at what she does.” His eyes glimmer with adoration. 

  Zen crosses his arms, looking around. “Of course, she works her ass off every year, and it pays off. I worry about if she doesn’t take time to relax.” It’s no surprise that Zen worries for her well-being, the multiple lectures in the chat rooms prove just that. 

 “I’m sure she takes time for breaks; she also knows that we’re here to help with the guests of needed be.” Jahee pushes up her glasses, “Good afternoon, Mr. Han.”

 Jumin straightens his posture, “Where is MC at?” His mind returns to its original concern, craving to see her again after their last meeting. 

 Jihyun places a hand on his shoulder playfully. “She left a few minutes ago to give her speech on the stage, she should be there any moment now- “

 Ironically, at that moment, the sound of the mic booms through the speakers, silencing the room.

 Jumin is left speechless when he spots her. She wears an elegant dress that reaches just below her knees. It has a V-cut front with golden embroidery; being tight around her hips. She screams utter elegance, and he cannot look away.

 Awkwardly, she readies the mic, smiling at everyone in the room. A part of him wishes he were the only one to see it. She looks around, taking a deep breath. “Thank you to everyone who could be here and join us this evening; your presence today means a lot.”

 Her eyes catch his own, everything feels like it’s in slow motion now. All but his heart that has seemingly quickened its pace. He wants to pull her to the side, to hold her close to his chest so she can physically feel exactly what she does to him. She touches her neck, smiling a little wider. That same smile that absolutely captivates him. Even as she looks away, he cannot stop his own lingering stare. She looks so ridiculously happy, so pure- beautiful. 

 Jumin only realizes he was holding his breath when everyone begins applauding her speech around him. He joins, swallowing gently to bring himself back to reality. To his right is an open balcony, one that he quickly moves to catch some fresh air.

 It’s brisk outside, but it helps his body cool down faster than it would in the crowded room. He knows the best thing to do is wait and speak to her with a clear mind, urges aside. Taking a deep breath, he holds it until his lungs burn. Feeling almost ashamed of himself, disgusted with how greedy he feels tonight. He moves out of the view of the party, standing alone and gazing upon the city lights. 

 “Hey stranger.” There is a shuffling noise as the presence of another accompanies him. Jumin glances to his side, MC is looking him up and down. “It’s unlike you to leave a room like that, are you alright?”

 He is fine, in the physical sense, so he nods his head in retaliation. “Yes, I found myself getting hot and needed the fresh air. I’d like to congratulate you on the party, yet again, it was a success.”

 She places her head on her hand, sighing exhaustedly. “Thank you, that really means a lot to me. I’m so glad you think so. I have been so stressed out lately because of it. I’d also like to thank you for last week, you didn’t have to let me fall asleep, let alone take me to your guest bedroom.” She grins sheepishly, tucking her hand beneath his tie. “I’m also happy that you liked your gift, I saw it and thought about you.” Her fingers softly glide along the fabric.

Her lips are a burgundy color, he cannot help but notice as she comes closer. He wonders if she thinks the same way as him. Jumin looks into her eyes to see if he can find the answer there. Instead, she simply wraps her arms around him, swaying from left to right gently. There is no music, but she makes her own rhythm. “You should dance with me.”

 Her hand is now in his, his arm cradling her back and pulling her closer as they move in unition. He finds himself speechless, only focused on the steps she makes. He thinks of all the ways he could confess to her, forgetting just why he had never said anything in the past. Because when he sees her now it’s almost as if he had been struck by Cupid’s arrow.

 He stops moving, lips parting open as he looks down at her. He wants to speak, but the words do not come. His mind is suddenly blank. Her eyes flicker for a moment before her head comes closer, he can feel her hot breath against his skin. By instinct, he tilts his head to the side, drawing in like a magnet.

 Their lips join finally when she stands on her toes. She tastes sweet, better than even the finest of wines. He immediately pulls her closer, years of pent up feelings releasing themselves in a single kiss. His hands are traveling everywhere on her body that he has ever longed to feel. When his tongue glides against her lower lip she gasps, running a hand through his hair. He moves his lips elsewhere, peppering kissing along her gnaw and down her neck.

 Jumin speaks between breaths. “I’m tired of pretending that I don’t want you.” His voice is low as he continues, now kissing her shoulder. This only makes her blush and forcefully hold back a moan.

 Right as his lips meet the scratchy fabric of her dress, he pulls away completely. “If you feel the same way, meet me at my apartment after the party.” There’s a sincere look in his eyes as he gazes at her, he’s softer than usual. His hands adjust his coat and hair before he walks back inside, disappearing from her view.

[extremelyblackandwhite]

handmaid - 03

PAIRING: mob!sebastian stan x ingenue!reader

WARNINGS: age gap

A/N: i love writing ingenue readers, it’s my absolute favourite thing. i hope you enjoy xx

NEXT CHAPTER

The contract.

That goddamn contract had haunted Y/N throughout the whole night. There were several points that not only made her even more scared of the myth that was the mob boss Sebastian Stan, but made her fear for her own safety if she were to slip outside those rules. On the other hand, several other points stated and talked about terms she’d never really heard of. It made sense to her why no one dared oppose him, if she was being completely honest, she didn’t feel like opposing him. Things were different in his family than the tight knitted Forrests, more technical even, all held up by blood contracts that made it sound like she herself was selling her soul in order to serve him.

This was not the way things had been taught to her. No. She had always been treated as almost a foster daughter of Mr. Forrest, going to the same prestigious schools as his daughter, attending the same events, being cared for the same way with only the price of making sure Gwen kept her feet on earth and was safe enough by constantly having her by her side. The Stans had an almost hierarchic way of doing business with the family itself being at the top while the employees stood right at the end of the pyramid. She couldn’t blame them for that, after all, they had held the highest rank in all of the families for over a century, but it still wasn’t free of criticism. 

Gwen had returned from her date with the mysterious guy with a spring on her step, and purple hickeys on her neck and collarbones. She had just sighed at the sight, rolling her eyes at the very much engaged woman’s behaviour. Y/N didn’t want to blame her or shame her into at least trying, fully knowing it was common for mistresses and affairs to occur in the mafia. However, Gwen was her friend and she’d rather have her try to at least be friends with Sebastian. Nevertheless, that probably wouldn’t happen and she should probably prepare herself to discuss the contract with someone who could possibly kill her and make it look like an accident. Could she even amend a contract? She didn’t know, but she was gonna try.

With all the might she could, she strutted towards his office, taking a deep breathe in. You’re a powerful woman, Y/N, she told herself. Powerful woman, Catherine Tramell levels of power. With all that, she knocked on the door, mumbling his name and wondering if she could run away had he not heard it. Sadly he did, telling her to come in. She opened the door, shaking like a leaf on a windy night. There he was, sprawled over his office chair like a king in his throne, slightly unbuttoned dress shirt.

     - Miss Y/N ... - her name rolled off the tip of his tongue just like honey, sickeningly sweet. Sebastian observed her too, her sleep filled eyes from what he guessed due to waiting for Gwen and her oversized baby pink dress which he was sure probably had belonged to Gwen too. - How can I help you?

     - I’m here for the contract. - she walked to his desk, contract in hands.

     - Did you sign it? - he questioned, pointing at the chair so she would sit down instead of spending the whole time on her feet. Not that he didn’t enjoy to see her standing.

     - Not really, I have a few questions. - she bit onto the skin of her bottom lip, placing the contract on top of his desk. - I also don’t agree with some points of this agreement.

    - It’s a contract, Miss Y/N. You sign it or you don’t sign it, we don’t discuss it because I have better things to do. - he put both his elbows on top of his desk but she instead opened the contract, pointing at one of the first bullet points right at the top. 

    - The subject will not pursue any legal action. Why would I pursue any legal action and why would I not be allowed to pursue it? - Sebastian chuckled, leaning against his chair with the most unnerving grin ever seen. 

    - Well, angel, if you were to pursue any legal action against me you wouldn’t win and considering your prior employer didn’t pay you ... I don’t think you have enough money to get good enough lawyer to fight mine. Even if you did, I own the jurors, whatever you did, I would still win.

    - I would still like the ability to sue you. - she crossed her arms. - Please. 

    - No, that stays. 

    - If that stays then this point ... - she changed to a different page, looking for the sentence she had highlighted the prior night. - The subject is to carry a firing weapon and receive training if untrained. This point leaves. 

    - That is also a hard no. It’s for yours and Miss Forrest’s protection.

    - Isn’t that what the weirdly suited man’s for? - his name was Christian and he constantly followed Gwen and Y/N around. Based on what she had noticed, he had at least two guns in his belt and was constantly annoyed at something. 

    - Alright, angel. How about you do the training and I don’t force you to carry around a gun? - he took a pen from his perfectly organised pen holder filled with the same matte coloured black pens. That type of organisation and colour matching was only seen in office supplies magazines. He turned the contract to himself, crossing it out and writing the newly discussed point. - Anything else?

    - When you said that all your employees must be submissive to orders ... how would you describe submissive? - Sebastian took a double look at her, wondering if she was teasing him but no. She had the most confused look he’d ever seen on someone’s face and he wondered how sheltered she was from the world she lived in. - Mr. Stan? 

    - Pardon me. - he woke up from his thoughtful state. His early morning brain did not dealt well with the words submissive followed by Mr. Stan in the same sentence, specially coming from her. - I think I would describe it as the dictionary describes it, Miss Y/N. Additionally, I believe I told you to call me Sebastian.

    - Yes, sorry. I just ... I don’t wanna, I don’t feel comfortable with the idea that I have to do everything you tell me to do. 

   - With all due respect, Miss Y/N, you are a handmaid. You’re a female servant and being a servant means you do everything you’re told.

   - Means I do everything Gwen tells me to me and even with that, it goes through some critical thinking. My loyalty does not lie with you until you’re married to Miss Forrest. - in any order circumstance, he would’ve had her punished for that snarky comment. However, this was Y/N and not only would the Forrests take it as an insult, he did not want to hurt such a precious little innocent thing. - So I would like that removed. 

   - I must say, Miss Y/N, you’re a good negotiator. - he crossed the point out, wondering if he’d ever regret it before handing it the pen back to her. - Now, would you please sign it?

   - Oh, alright. - she put the pen’s top up to her mouth, mindlessly bitting on it as she read the contract all over again, something Sebastian choose to advert his gaze from. His gaze only returned back to her as he heard the scribbling pen being put back on his desk. - I have a question. 

   - When don’t you have a question, Miss Y/N? - he put the pen back in its holder, filling her contract along with the rest of his staff. 

   - Can I decorate my room? - she played with the hem of her dress, back again to bitting her lip. - Not that I don’t like your taste I ...

   - I didn’t decorate it myself, Miss Y/N. You can do whatever you please with your room as long as it doesn’t disturb its safety and over wall construction design. 

   - Thank you. - she gave him that cheek to cheek smile, getting up from the chair and moving it back to its initial state.

   - I hope to see you at the engagement party tonight, Miss Y/N. That is, if you’re not covering for Miss Forrest’s affairs. 

   - It’s a party, I’m sure she’ll attend. 

She closed the door behind her, letting go of the air she had been holding in like a nervous little kid. Her hands flew to her cheeks which were severally heated up, but at least she had gotten half of what she wanted and that was worth the whole nervous scenario that would probably haunt her during sleepless nights. Nevertheless, she had gotten her way and right now she had enough strength in her to go awake up a very grumpy sleeping Gwen. 

Y/N walked into her bedroom, opening the door quite harshly to see if it would wake up sleeping beauty but she remained still in her slumber, as if the very loud noise wasn’t even there. Annoyed, Y/N grabbed the remote from her dresser, pointing it towards the windows so they shades would give way for the natural light to enter in. That seemed to do the trick as Gwen hissed like a cat, hiding her head under the duvet which Y/N unceremoniously pulled away from her. 

    - Rise and shine, Gwen. - she held the duvet in her hand as Gwen raised her head, giving her the scariest glare she’d ever seen. - Next time don’t stay out until 5 AM. Don’t you have an engagement party to get ready for?

     - Shopping does sound like a great idea. - she sat down on her bed, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. - How do the hickeys look?

     - Like you were mauled by a bear. What do you even do with those boys that gets you looking like a TV hero after a fight? - they were fresh hickeys and just like any bruise they looked very red, starting to turn purple. Y/N might’ve never gotten a hickey but as a rather clumsy person, she did understood bruises very well which meant in a few hours that same hickey would start becoming very ugly. - Can’t you act like an engaged woman?

    - Can’t you act like less of a prude? - she grabbed her phone, turning it on to check for messages. 

    - Hey, I’m not a prude. - Y/N whined like a child, taking her phone away from her too. - Please go take a shower, put some makeup on those hickeys and get ready for lunch.

    - I wanna go shop for a new dress, Y/N. We can probably go and have lunch somewhere in the Upper East. - she wrapped herself in one of her countless satin robes. - I’m sure you can convince the Big Bad to allow us to go.

     - No. I covered for you last night and he caught me. I’m not gonna ask him for anything, you ask him, you’re his future wife.

     - C’mon, Y/N. What’s the worse he can do to you? - she could think of several things he could do to her that all ended up with her at the bottom of a lake sleeping with the fishes or whatever method of deposing he preferred. - He can’t kill you, that’s bad practice. 

     - No Gwen, you talk to him. I’m not gonna ask him anything after he caught me lying. - Y/N pulled the duvet back onto the bed as Gwen stepped into her wardrobe, looking at what to wear. - I’ll go grab my bag, I guess. 

     - I’ll talk to Sebastian, stop being such a scared little sheep. - Gwen screamed as she walked out and into her bedroom. Y/N eyes immediately scanned the room from side to side, wondering if someone had heard and thankfully no one had heard such thing.

She returned to her bedroom, taking note of a few things she would’ve grabbed from the shop to make it a bit more homey, maybe a nice dusty pink throw and some nice pillows. Yeah, that would make it look so much better.

Y/N grabbed her bag, putting her purse and phone in it before going down the stairs where a very annoyed Gwen was standing next to Sebastian who constantly had the same stoic look that made anyone want to immediately bow down.

     - Sebastian is coming with us. - Gwen shot him a glare for which he didn’t mind too much. 

     - If you’re gonna behave like a child, I’ll treat you like a child. - Y/N just followed them onto the lift, exchanging an uncomfortable look with the chauffeur as Gwen huffed, understanding she was not gonna have her way with this. 

The journey to the Upper East Side shopping street was even more uncomfortable. Everyone was mostly quietly, Gwen unhappy with not getting her way which was foreign to her, the chauffeur who barely spoke to begin with, Sebastian in the front looking over some papers and Y/N trying to turn invisible. Soon enough they were on the street with Y/N following Gwen into Prada, her favourite shop, along with the security guard while Sebastian took off to go somewhere else.

Going into expensive stores was something Y/N was used too but it still made her feel wildly out of place. From the clerks handing them expensive champagne to Gwen going over several newly in. She walked out in a red bodied dress that flared out from her waist, giving a little twirl.

    - Does this dress say forced engagement or not? - Gwen asked, shaking her hair a bit for volume. - I need a matching mask.

    - I thought you said covering your face was sacrilege. - Y/N leaned against the comfy coach in the changing room.

    - It’s a masquerade party. It’s really in right now, besides, a man in a mask is always entrancing.

    - Please don’t make out with someone at your own engagement party.

    - Alright, Y/N ... - she turned around. - I really don’t need your criticism right now.

    - I’m ... I’m sorry. - she bite onto her lip, getting up from the coach, picking onto the skirt of the dress. - I’ll wait with Amos outside. 

Gwen crossed her arms, watching her leave. Y/N knew for a fact she wasn’t being critic out of meanness alone, she just didn’t want her friend to be gossiped about in mob circles. She was a smart girl with capacity to take over her father’s place if it came the time to do so, however, Y/N guessed maybe her opinion wasn’t called for. 

She stepped in outside to stay with the very silent security guard. Did his contract say he couldn’t speak? Y/N didn’t know, at least it was better to be there without having Gwen wanting to have her head on a plate.

    - Found a dress already? - she turned to where the voice was coming, finding Sebastian waiting by the parked car. 

    - Oh, no. I have a dress at home, besides ... Gwen will probably buy two so if she doesn’t like the one I choose, I can always wear the one she doesn’t. 

    - Do you always let Miss Forrest pick what you wear? - he cocked his head to the side. - And you had an issue with being submissive to orders?

    - It’s not the same thing. - she crossed her arms, rolling her eyes.

    - Did you just roll your eyes at me? - he chuckled darkly, noticing how one of her hands came to rest upon one of her heated up cheeks. - Have you ever had a piece of clothing that wasn’t a hand out?

    - My school uniform was mine, I still have it, very soft dress shirt. 

    - Come on. - he snapped his fingers for one of his security men to follow him. Y/N scrunched her face, holding her bag as she walked behind him until he stopped in front of a store front which Y/N recognised as one of Gwen’s favourite shops to go in. Oscar de La Renta. - We’re getting you first new piece of clothing. 

    - I can afford a napkin from Oscar de La Renta. Much less a dress.

    - Consider it a gift from me. 

    - I can’t ... - she was interrupted by his phone ringing. He took it off his pocket, face lines intensified as he noticed the name on it. 

    - Stephen, make sure Miss Y/N gets a dress. 

    - Wait, Sebastian, I don’t need ... - he picked up his phone stopping her mid sentence. She stood there, watching him walk down the street on the phone. Biting her lip, with a little naughty smile, she entered the store with the security guard behind her.

Time to buy a dress. 

taglist: @sideeffectsofyou​ @lilya-petrichor​ @xoxohannahlee​

[ddarker-dreams]

Online Love. Yan Shigaraki x Reader [Part 5]

Shigaraki has never had a full grasp on understanding others.

It’s never presented itself as an issue before, due to his unique lifestyle that doesn’t require him to rely upon others to the same extent most do. He doesn’t need to bend himself to the will of others. If anything, people need to mold themselves to his liking. 

There’s no place for coquettish remarks and hidden agendas for the people around Shigaraki. He wouldn’t care for it, and they’d be cut off without a second thought. 

So where do you fit into that? 

He doesn’t know himself. The black and white relationships that stay in neat, understandable boxes for him are all but wrecked by your presence. Where his underlings bite their tongue and present themselves to his liking, you feel no obligation to do the same.

You live as you please, speaking to him as you please. The rules he’s used to don’t apply to you, you don’t even know they exist in the first place. If anyone acted as you did towards Shigaraki, they’d undoubtedly be killed for it. 

There’s a fondness that’s reserved solely for you. 

Even so, he can’t help but feel aggravated at how you’ve been treating him lately. The past three days have been a miserable stretch, his mood taking a turn for the worst. Not due to anything you’ve said to him, no, but because of the opposite.

You haven’t messaged him in seventy-two hours. 

This has never happened before, in the entire time he has known you. In the past three days you’ve not logged onto any of your games, responded to his messages, or uploaded on social media. He’s aware of the fact that you’re physically fine -- a bit of stalking ensured that nothing had happened to you.

A part of him almost wishes that was the case, so he could make sense of it. It would be undoubtedly easier to digest the situation, and he could get you out of the situation with ease.

But the aspect of the unknown is what troubles him the most. His mind wonders pathetically, grasping at any straws to make sense of why you’ve been living your life normally; just without him. 

Staring at his monitor in the dim light of his room, Shigaraki grimaces at the blinking cursor in front of him. Coarse fingers hover over the keyboard, wanting so desperately to seek you out; but unsure of how to go about it. He wants to demand an explanation. 

Were you really able to live your life peacefully without him? Did Shigaraki delude himself of the symbiotic relationship he once believed you two shared? 

His teeth ache from the hours spent grinding together, neck raw from constant scratching. Sleep has all but evaded him, as he spent hours painfully waiting for you to come back to him. For things to go back into the routine he was used to. 

Your absence serves as a reminder of how much he needs you. 

Narrowing his bloodshot eyes, he abruptly stands from his trash covered desk and stalks over towards the door. How dare you ignore him, how dare you treat him like this! Did he mean nothing to you all along? Have you just been waiting for the chance to cut him off, having been secretly disgusted by him all along?

Fury masks over any secret feelings of hurt, Shigaraki intent on demanding Kurogiri to warp him over to you. He’d get an explanation one way or another. Even if he had to pry it from you. Staying idle any longer would surely be the death of him.

Before he opens the door, he hears the custom alert. The one that he had set for you, so he could always know when you were messaging him. 

Shigaraki’s mind goes blank as he goes back over to his computer. He wonders if it was imagined, only to be disproved by a message from you on his screen.

From: [First] 2:06 AM

hello tomo-kun

That... that’s it? Mouth slightly agape from confusion, Shigaraki’s mind races with countless responses. Ranging from cruel words directed at you for ignoring him for so long, to inquiring about what even caused it in the first place. But none of them are typed out as he delivers an equally mundane response. 

To: [First] 2:06 AM

Hey

Anyone else would’ve been facing the wrath of hell right now, but Shigaraki manages to contain himself. Knowing that you haven’t forgotten about him or discarded him was enough to momentarily distract him from his previous rage. Biting his finger nails that were already short from countless hours of similar activity, he awaits your response. 

From: [First] 2:10 AM 

i’m sorry that i haven’t been around... 

From: [First] 2:11 AM

i’ve been having kinda a bad time lately with some stuff. but if it’s okay with you can we play some comp? i kinda just wanna take my mind off it. if you’re not busy that is 

It isn’t concern that he feels, but an undying curiosity. If something major had happened to you, like a death of a loved one, he would’ve known about it by now. What could’ve happened that upset you this much that he wasn’t alerted about? 

Shigaraki silently ponders to himself. Maybe he needs better scouts. 

To: [First] 2:12 AM 

Whatever you want, idm

An immediate response. 

From: [First] 2:12 AM

thank u, i appreciate it

From: [First] 2:13 AM

aaa i feel so dumb. im sorry im sure i worried you. i just havent been in the mood to talk to anyone. its nothing like crazy or anything im fine, just some life stuff 

Shigaraki’s never been the best at comforting people, as it’s a task that he’s never been given. He can barely take care of himself, much less anyone else. But in situations like this, he feels you’re supposed to offer something. Only for you would he stretch himself in this way.

To: [First] 2:15 AM 

What happened 

It might seem like a lackluster response, but to anyone who knows Shigaraki it would come as a surprise. People’s personal affairs have never interested him in the slightest, but you’re a unique case. 

From: [First] 2:16 AM

wellllll its kinda stupid but ig it doesnt hurt to tell you lmao 

From: [First] 2:17 AM

ive... ive had a crush on this guy for a long time. we’ve known one another for a few years, stuff like that. anyways i worked up the courage to ask him out and he got upset at me. saying stuff like im ruining our friendship. it was just really bad, and ever since then ive been on auto pilot 

The word crush hits him like a ton of bricks. He’s incapable of focusing on anything else in that moment, as time all but comes to a stop. His breathing uneven, and hands shaky; he sits back from the light of his screen. Disgust isn’t the right word for it, it doesn’t begin to describe the barrage of emotions he’s experiencing. 

You liked someone. You liked someone that isn’t him. 

Even if he actually wanted to, he couldn’t fake a decent response to your message. All along he’s been under the impression that you may return his feelings. That all the little gestures meant you treasure him on the same level he does you, and that you would one day be his. 

Hours spent daydreaming of you sweetly confessing to him come to mind, as his vision goes red. 

It doesn’t matter how. He’s going to find out who this cesspool of human waste is, he’s going to savor tearing each limb from their body and take pleasure in his screams of agony. Shigaraki will take care of this individual personally, wanting them to suffer in the same way he has. 

There isn’t any way you could like someone else. This all has to be a joke, a cruel prank with an eventual punchline. There’s no other way to make sense of it. No one else could be even remotely deserving of your affections other than him, and no one will ever have them if he could do anything about it.

He will figure out what to do with you and your betrayal later. For now, only this apple of your eye has his attention. Countless cruel ideas flood his thoughts like a tidal wave, a malicious grin breaking out onto his face. 

Shigaraki will make them pay.

[firewoodfigs]

Hey Friend, I know I'm a bit late with this but how about - "an answer to the prompt ‘fevered forehead kisses’" Thanks. :)

here you go, friend!! this one’s for you and @brucestephenbucky, who both requested an answer to the prompt ‘fevered forehead kisses’ :) 

[also, this turned out to be longer than expected (~3k words), so it’s on ao3 as well! for easier reading, all that stuff xD]

Summary: In which Riza is down with a cold, and Roy is both anxious and painfully oblivious. Also, Roy has to conquer his greatest nemesis yet: carrots. (young Royai) 

~x~

Riza Hawkeye always woke up by sunrise. This was an immutable fact of life; as unchanging as the fact that the sun would rise every morning from the east. Not once had Roy seen her sleep in — not even on the weekends.

But today was different.

The sun had already risen long ago, and the roosters were back with their awful crowing. And even the morning dew that embraced the paltry patches of yellowing grass outside with timeless regularity was starting to evaporate by now.

Still, Riza was nowhere to be found.

Roy’s first thought was that she’d gone on one of her routine grocery trips. But Riza Hawkeye was the human incarnation of efficiency, if nothing else. Unlike his sisters, who had an uncanny tendency to get distracted by other things along the way (because apparently every girl loved shopping on a biological level, or so they claimed), grocery shopping was something she could easily complete in about a half an hour or less.

And it had been nearly two hours since he’d waited idly by the fireplace for Riza to come in through the front porch with that shy, contented smile that she always wore in the morning.

Believing that this might’ve been a rare, life-changing occasion where Riza wanted to experience the wonders of sleeping in, Roy therefore took it upon himself to prepare breakfast for the both of them. Typically, this wasn’t preferable, as he was only capable of making two things that were remotely edible: toasts, and eggs. (Not even fried eggs. Boiled eggs, because those were impossible to screw up.) To make up for the slightly burnt toast, Roy brewed a sweet, soothing mixture of chamomile tea with cinnamon.

Then he laid everything out on the dining table and hoped for the best.

Fifteen minutes passed. Breakfast was beginning to cool down. The mugs were no longer steaming; in them only a lukewarm stillness that reflected his lonely, worried expression.  

Roy bit into the burnt edge of a piece of toast, consulting the grandfather clock down by the inordinately large hallway.

The empty hallway.

Ten-hundred hours.

Roy sighed into his tea. Ten more minutes, he decided. Ten more minutes. If Riza wasn’t down by then, he’d go upstairs and check on her instead.

In the end, Roy found himself dragging his feet up the old, creaky stairs. He balanced the tray delicately on one hand, and knocked at her door gently with the other.

“Miss Riza?” Roy called softly, deciding against dropping the honorific. (Riza might’ve given him permission to call her by her first name, but she still was not taking the liberty of addressing him as such.)

Silence.

Roy knocked again.

The tray wobbled precariously.

“Miss Riza?”

A groan resounded from the other end, before he heard footsteps padding softly towards him. Then the door opened to reveal Riza in all her pale, half-awake glory.

To say that she was a mess was a bit of an understatement. Her hair was uncombed and completely disheveled (very much unlike her usual self); cheeks flushed a deep scarlet — a stark contrast against the sickly pallor of her countenance.

“Mister Mustang,” Riza rasped weakly. But her demeanour was quick to shift once she caught sight of the tray in his hands. Instantly she straightened like a soldier standing at attention, back straight and shoulders tense. “I’m so sorry — what time is it?”

“You have nothing to apologise for,” Roy reassured hastily. “It’s about ten —“ Riza’s eyes widened, and her mouth opened like she was about to admonish herself for not getting started on her endless list of chores earlier, “— but don’t worry about it. Are you sick?”

A shiver wracked through her petite frame, one that she tried miserably to conceal by wrapping her thin arms around herself. “I’m not,” Riza lied unconvincingly. “I —“

“Have a lot to do, I know,” Roy interjected, biting back a sigh at her stubbornness. God, the girl really needed to get her priorities straight. “But you’re obviously unwell. And besides, I already made you breakfast. I didn’t do such a bad job, see? I even managed to make you your tea just the way you like it...”

“I — thank you,” she muttered, turning away to sneeze daintily into the crook of her elbow. “But really, it’s just a minor cold. You didn’t have to...” Riza trailed off as another shudder assaulted her.

Roy pursed his lips, somewhat bemused by her insistence (and poor attempts at deceit). He cleared his throat and straightened, imitating the tone that his indomitable sisters used whenever he was trying to wriggle his way out of drinking some weird, medicinal concoction. “It clearly doesn’t sound like a minor cold. You should rest before it gets worse.”

“But...”

“No buts, Miss Riza.”

Roy set the tray down on her bedside table, then strode back to where she was. Gingerly, Roy put a hand on her shoulder. When she didn’t flinch from the contact, he gently guided her back towards her bed. Riza didn’t protest. Instead, she was quick to settle back down, clutching onto her blankets for dear life — as if the short walk to her door had sapped her of all her energy.

“Just rest, okay? I’ll take care of everything else.”

Evidently too weak to argue further, Riza nodded and coughed into a fist. “I’m really sorry for the trouble —“

“You have nothing to apologise for,” he nearly exclaimed, a little frustrated by her self-deprecating logic. In what universe was it someone’s fault for falling sick — something that was not even within one’s realm of control? “Just let me know if you need anything, okay? A doctor, medicine, whatever. It’s what friends do for each other.”

“Friends...” she mumbled, eyes averted — in embarrassment? He couldn’t tell. Despite the remarkable progression in their relationship, Riza Hawkeye was still very much an enigma.

“Friends,” Roy affirmed, fluffing the coverlet a little before leaving hastily, his own heart pounding in his throat.

~x~

Roy spent the rest of the day dusting the window panes, sweeping the carpeted floors and drying the laundry in between studying for his upcoming test. More than once he’d spotted Riza coming down the stairs, meandering around the hallways aimlessly like she was inspecting for non-existent dust under the guise that she was just about to pour herself another glass of water.

Roy was quick to see through her excuses, however, and had ushered her back into her room with a full jug of water instead. Every hour or so, he’d go up to check on Riza, a warm cup of freshly-made ginger tea in his hands (a remedy that his aunt swore by, despite its repulsive taste) and constant reassurances that he was doing just fine with the chores.

When evening-time came around, Riza appeared in the kitchen, eyes bleary and nose pink. Roy withheld the urge to roll his eyes.

How stubborn could one person get? And was there — no, would there ever be a point where she’d come to spare a thought for herself? To put herself ahead of others?

Probably not, he thought wryly.

“I’m a lot better, really,” she sniffed, huddling an old, tattered shawl around her for warmth. (Roy made a mental note to get a new cardigan for her — one that was thicker; more suited for unfortunate days like these. Maybe a pink, fluffy one that matched her secret femininity.) “I should start making dinner.”

Right. He’d completely forgotten about that.

“I can take care of that,” he said. Riza quirked a brow at him, unconvinced. Roy shoved his wounded ego back down his throat and tried again. “Really. I’ll just make up a simple stew for us.”

What could possibly be so hard about throwing a few ingredients into boiling water, right? He’d just have to wait for the ingredients to work their magic. And if they didn’t, then he’d have to trust in the mythical powers of sesame oil and salt to save the day. Or so he’d gleaned from his sisters’ numerous mishaps in the kitchen and Riza’s incredible cooking.

“... Please don’t trouble yourself, Mister Mustang.”

“Nonsense. You’re always troubling yourself for my — for our sakes,” he insisted, guiding her towards the living room. Riza opened her mouth like she was about to protest. And Roy scrambled for a better argument. Something that might work on her desire to avoid causing trouble to others at all costs, perhaps? “Think of it this way. You’ll be - um, it’ll be worse if you pass out in the middle of the kitchen while cooking.”  

After a long, contemplative moment, Riza relented and stepped back hesitantly. “Try not to burn anything down.”

This was a remarkable challenge, but Roy Mustang was not one to back down from challenges. Instead he nodded, solemn. “I won’t.”

Riza nodded, settling herself on the old rocking chair by the fireplace for warmth. The evening was remarkably chilly tonight, however, and so Roy tucked his coat securely around her, ever thankful that his reclusive hermit of a teacher did not choose to grace them with his presence at that moment.

Then he scurried back into the kitchen like a mouse and began rifling through the lower compartments of the fridge.

To his dismay, Roy found the following items: corn, cabbage, and carrots. Naturally he despised them all, since they belonged to that vile, disgusting category of food known as vegetables.  

But carrots. God, carrots were the worst of them all. Those malicious sticks of bright orange clearly hated him with a deep-seeded passion, and so did he. Things never turned out well whenever he was forced to work with them in the kitchen.

Unless one considered multiple cuts and band-aids ‘well’.

Still, he was determined to make Riza a decent, hearty meal tonight. (Or maybe not ‘hearty’ -- that implied that he was a good cook, which was a little ambitious. More like edible, perhaps.)

Inhaling deeply, Roy rolled up his sleeves and set about to work once he found Riza’s little recipe book. But determination soon melted into frustration after he’d chopped up cobs of corn and sliced potatoes and had to face his greatest adversary in the world: carrots.

And after a lot of groaning and grunting and wheezing, Roy somehow ended up peeling more of his own skin than the carrot’s; a feat he hadn’t even thought possible until now.

… Like he said, they really hated him.

“Damn it,” Roy cursed softly under his breath, not wanting to wake the sleeping blonde. He quickly rinsed them under running water, then rummaged through the cabinets for a box of band-aids.

Torn between mild amusement and self-pity, Roy stuck them over the numerous cuts decorating his poor fingers and sighed.

Well.

Nothing like a few lacerations to prove his gallantry, right?

Still, Riza’s fitful, shuddering frame was all the motivation he needed to conquer the menacing abomination. At least most of them were chopped up by now, even if they looked nothing like the neat wedges that Riza usually managed to cut them into.

But it was all the same in one’s stomach, he reasoned.

Mindful to not set the kitchen ablaze, Roy got back to work and began dumping everything into the pot.

~x~

By some miraculous stroke of luck, the kitchen was still intact about an hour later. Roy popped back into the living room with a wooden tray holding two bowls of vegetable soup, billowing clouds of steam curling around his face.

“Hey,” he called gently. Riza cracked an eyelid open, still semi-conscious. “I made us some soup for dinner. Think you can get up for some?”

“I - oh,” Riza mumbled. Her face fell slightly as she adjusted herself on the seat.

Roy got the nagging feeling that she was about to apologise once more for not helping.

“I mean, it’s not the best, but it tasted… edible,” he cajoled. Barely edible, actually. It’d tasted bland, sort of watery; but Roy had been too afraid to add in more salt or seasoning for fear of screwing the whole thing up entirely.

One could only hope that the cold had muffled her taste buds.

“Thank you,” she said softly. They ate together in companionable silence; metal clinking gently against ceramic as the fire crackled.

Roy resisted the urge to scrunch his face up at the blandness of it all.

Riza, on the other hand, did not appear to have any qualms about the simple fare; she made no comment on his ostensible lack of talent in the kitchen. Instead she flashed him a small, grateful smile that warmed his heart immensely.

“How are you feeling?”

“A little better, I think.” Almost inaudibly, Riza added, “Thank you. For all of this, I mean. I really appreciate it.”

Roy beamed. “It’s no problem. Like I said, you’re always doing so much for our benefit. It’s the least I can do.”

Roy got up to clear the dishes before she could, once they were done with dinner. By this point, however, Riza was clearly too tired to argue. She waited by the fireplace as he rinsed the bowls; a shivering cocoon of blankets and soft sneezes.

And like a panicked mother hen, Roy started fussing. Without warning he helped Riza up, bringing her close so that she could lean on him for support. She was dangerously warm to the touch, he realised. It seemed her fever hadn’t broken yet, and he could feel the goosebumps trailing up her skin as they walked.

“Mister Mustang,” she called feebly, flushing scarlet.

“Hm?” he asked, oblivious to the heat crawling up his own neck.

Gently, he led Riza up the stairs and guided Riza back into her room.

“Are you sure you’re alright? I can go get a doctor or something, if you need…”

It’d be hard to get one at this hour, especially out in the isolated countryside, but the boy was willing to do anything to help his friend feel better.

“N-no. I’ll be better once I get some rest, really,” she said, almost pleadingly as she nestled underneath the inviting coverlets.

Catching sight of her wide and frightened eyes, Roy instantly swallowed his earlier words. “A-alright,” he said worriedly, caught in a bit of a dilemma himself. “I’ll stay with you, then. Just rest, okay?”

Feverish and utterly enervated, Riza offered him a tiny, hesitant nod and drifted back to sleep.

~x~

For the rest of the night, Roy stayed by Riza’s side like he was holding some sort of sad, long vigil, changing the damp towel on her forehead every hour or so. But her fever did not subside. If anything, it only got worse. Delirium was starting to kick in. At some point she’d started muttering imploringly for her — mother?

Roy’s heart shattered.

How many ill, lonely nights had she endured aloneafter her mother’s passing, all because she wanted to avoid inconveniencing her negligent father? Riza was strong, yes, maybe even almost to the point of being invincible. But she was still very much a child. She was only thirteen, for heavens’ sake! Yet the girl always carried herself with an independence and maturity that far exceeded their peers’ — the sort that could only have been derived from hardship and misfortune. And Roy found himself feeling something akin to guilt and sympathy and admiration, for a girl who’d been forced to grow up far too soon because of her predicament.

Overcome by some profound, unknown emotion, Roy leaned forward and brushed her damp, matted fringe aside to press a chaste kiss on her forehead.

“Get well soon,” he murmured.

Riza fidgeted slightly. For a moment, Roy thought she was about to regain consciousness. And all of a sudden he became acutely aware of what he had done: he’d trespassed some unspoken boundary and kissedher.

Roy recoiled sharply like he’d been struck. He leaned back into his seat, running a hand over his scruffy hair and crossed his arms decisively over his chest; an exercise of self-restraint. What was he doing, anyway? Taking advantage of his friend in her sleep? 

God forbid he do so! Roy had grown up learning that women were to be treated with utmost respect. The importance of chivalry had been indoctrinated in him from the time he’d learnt how to walk, and he was not about to engage in any sort of funny business. Nope. Definitely not.

(He would be lying, however, if he said Riza wasn’t adorable while she was asleep like that.)

Fortunately for him, Riza was sound asleep. She was still shivering, though, so Roy drew the blankets up and readjusted the towel on her forehead. A soft sigh escaped her lips as she rolled over on her side.

Content that he was able to bring his friend some comfort, Roy lolled back into the seat to take a short nap, not seeming to mind in the least the inevitable stiff neck that awaited him.

Beside him, Riza let out a small smile as she tugged his coat closer around herself.

[newstfionline]

Monday, September 20, 2021

Biden’s Entire Presidential Agenda Rests on Expansive Spending Bill (NYT) Biden’s entire presidential agenda is riding on the reconciliation bill being crafted in Congress right now. No president has ever packed as much of his agenda, domestic and foreign, into a single piece of legislation as President Biden has with the $3.5 trillion spending plan that Democrats are trying to wrangle through Congress over the next six weeks,” Tankersley writes. “It is almost as if President Franklin D. Roosevelt had stuffed his entire New Deal into one piece of legislation, or if President Lyndon B. Johnson had done the same with his Great Society, instead of pushing through individual components over several years. If he succeeds, Biden’s far-reaching attempt could result in a presidency-defining victory that delivers on a decades-long campaign by Democrats to expand the federal government to combat social problems and spread the gains of a growing economy to workers. If he fails, he could end up with nothing. As Democrats are increasingly seeing, the sheer weight of Mr. Biden’s progressive push could cause it to collapse, leaving the party empty-handed, with the president’s top priorities going unfulfilled. … If Mr. Biden’s party cannot find consensus on those issues and the bill dies, the president will have little immediate recourse to advance almost any of those priorities.

Child care in the US is a ‘broken market,’ Treasury report finds (Yahoo Money) A Treasury Department report this week characterized the U.S. child care system as “unworkable” as Democrats push reform that experts say is an “overdue and critical investment.” The average American family with at least one child under age 5 uses 13% of their income to pay for child care, according to the report, nearly double the 7% that the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services considers affordable. Additionally, less than 20% of the children eligible for the Child Care and Development Fund—a federal assistance program for low-income families—are getting that funding. “Child care is a textbook example of a broken market, and one reason is that when you pay for it, the price does not account for all the positive things it confers on our society,” Treasury Secretary Janet Yellen said in a statement on Wednesday. “When we underinvest in child care, we forgo that; we give up a happier, healthier, more prosperous labor force in the future.”

Inspiration4 Astronauts Beam After Return From 3-Day Journey to Orbit (NYT) After three days in orbit, a physician assistant, a community college professor, a data engineer and the billionaire who financed their trip arrived back on Earth, heralding a new era of space travel with a dramatic and successful Saturday evening landing in the Atlantic Ocean. The mission, which is known as Inspiration4, splashed down off the Florida coast at 7:06 p.m. on Saturday. Each step of the return unfolded on schedule, without problems. Within an hour, all four crew members walked out of the spacecraft, one at a time, each beaming with excitement as recovery crews assisted them.

Haitians on Texas border undeterred by US plan to expel them (AP) Haitian migrants seeking to escape poverty, hunger and a feeling of hopelessness in their home country said they will not be deterred by U.S. plans to speedily send them back, as thousands of people remained encamped on the Texas border Saturday after crossing from Mexico. Scores of people waded back and forth across the Rio Grande on Saturday afternoon, re-entering Mexico to purchase water, food and diapers in Ciudad Acuña before returning to the Texas encampment under and near a bridge in the border city of Del Rio. Junior Jean, a 32-year-old man from Haiti, watched as people cautiously carried cases of water or bags of food through the knee-high river water. Jean said he lived on the streets in Chile the past four years, resigned to searching for food in garbage cans. “We are all looking for a better life,” he said.

Three Weeks After Hurricane Ida, Parts of Southeast Louisiana Are Still Dark (NYT) For Tiffany Brown, the drive home from New Orleans begins as usual: She can see the lights on in the city’s central business district and people gathering in bars and restaurants. But as she drives west along Interstate 10, signs of Hurricane Ida’s destruction emerge. Trees with missing limbs fill the swamp on either side of the highway. With each passing mile, more blue tarps appear on rooftops, and more electric poles lay fallen by the road, some snapped in half. By the time Ms. Brown gets to her exit in Destrehan 30 minutes later, the lights illuminating the highway have disappeared, and another night of total darkness has fallen on her suburban subdivision. For Ms. Brown, who works as an office manager at a pediatric clinic, life at work can feel nearly normal. But at home, with no electricity, it is anything but. “I keep hoping every day that I’m going to go home and it’ll be on,” she said. Three weeks have passed since Hurricane Ida knocked down electric wires, poles and transmission towers serving more than one million people in southeast Louisiana. In New Orleans, power was almost entirely restored by Sept. 10, and businesses and schools have reopened. But outside the city, more than 100,000 customers were without lights through Sept. 13. As of Friday evening there were still about 38,000 customers without power, and many people remained displaced from damaged homes.

Favela centennial shows Brazil communities’ endurance (AP) Dozens of children lined up at a community center in Sao Paulo for a slice of creamy, blue cake. None was celebrating a birthday; their poor neighborhood, the favela of Paraisopolis, was commemorating 100 years of existence. “People started coming (to the city) for construction jobs and settled in,” community leader Gilson Rodrigues said. “There was no planning, not even streets. People started growing crops. It was all disorganized. Authorities didn’t do much, so we learned to organize ourselves.” The favela’s centennial, which was marked on Thursday, underscores the permanence of its roots and of other communities like it, even as Brazilians in wealthier parts of town often view them as temporary and precarious. Favelas struggle to shed that stigma as they defy simple definition, not least because they evolved over decades. Paraisopolis is Sao Paulo’s second-biggest favela, home to 43,000 people, according to the most-recent census, in 2010. Recent, unofficial counts put its population around 100,000.

The barbecue king: British royals praise Philip’s deft touch (AP) When Prince Philip died nearly six months ago at 99, the tributes poured in from far and wide, praising him for his supportive role at the side of Queen Elizabeth II over her near 70-year reign. Now, it has emerged that Philip had another crucial role within the royal family. He was the family’s barbecue king—perhaps testament to his Greek heritage. “He adored barbecuing and he turned that into an interesting art form,” his oldest son Prince Charles said in a BBC tribute program that will be broadcast on Wednesday. “And if I ever tried to do it he ... I could never get the fire to light or something ghastly, so (he’d say): ‘Go away!’” In excerpts of ‘Prince Philip: The Royal Family Remembers’ released late Saturday, members of the royal family spoke admiringly of the late Duke of Edinburgh’s barbecuing skills. “Every barbecue that I’ve ever been on, the Duke of Edinburgh has been there cooking,” said Prince William, Philip’s oldest grandson. “He’s definitely a dab hand at the barbecue ... I can safely say there’s never been a case of food poisoning in the family that’s attributed to the Duke of Edinburgh.” The program, which was filmed before and after Philip’s death on April 9, was originally conceived to mark his 100th birthday in June.

Relations between France and the U.S. have sunk to their lowest level in decades. (NYT) The U.S. and Australia went to extraordinary lengths to keep Paris in the dark as they secretly negotiated a plan to build nuclear submarines, scuttling a defense contract worth at least $60 billion. President Emmanuel Macron of France was so enraged that he recalled the country’s ambassadors to both nations. Australia approached the new administration soon after President Biden’s inauguration. The conventionally powered French subs, the Australians feared, would be obsolete by the time they were delivered. The Biden administration, bent on containing China, saw the deal as a way to cement ties with a Pacific ally. But the unlikely winner is Britain, who played an early role in brokering the alliance. For its prime minister, Boris Johnson, who will meet this coming week with Biden at the White House and speak at the U.N., it is his first tangible victory in a campaign to make post-Brexit Britain a player on the global stage.

Hong Kong’s first ‘patriots-only’ election kicks off (Reuters) Fewer than 5,000 Hong Kong people from mostly pro-establishment circles began voting on Sunday for candidates to an election committee, vetted as loyal to Beijing, who will pick the city’s next China-backed leader and some of its legislature. Pro-democracy candidates are nearly absent from Hong Kong’s first election since Beijing overhauled the city’s electoral system to ensure that “only patriots” rule China’s freest city. The election committee will select 40 seats in the revamped Legislative Council in December, and choose a chief executive in March. Changes to the political system are the latest in a string of moves—including a national security law that punishes anything Beijing deems as subversion, secession, terrorism or collusion with foreign forces—that have placed the international financial hub on an authoritarian path. Most prominent democratic activists and politicians are now in jail or have fled abroad.

The Remote-Control Killing Machine (Politico/NYT) For 14 years, Israel wanted to kill Iran’s top nuclear scientist. Then they came up with a way to do it while using a trained sniper who was more than 1,000 miles away—and fired remotely. It was also the debut test of a high-tech, computerized sharpshooter kitted out with artificial intelligence and multiple-camera eyes, operated via satellite and capable of firing 600 rounds a minute. The souped-up, remote-controlled machine gun now joins the combat drone in the arsenal of high-tech weapons for remote targeted killing. But unlike a drone, the robotic machine gun draws no attention in the sky, where a drone could be shot down, and can be situated anywhere, qualities likely to reshape the worlds of security and espionage.

Israeli army arrests last 2 of 6 Palestinian prison escapees (AP) Israeli forces on Sunday arrested the last two of six Palestinian prisoners who escaped a maximum-security Israeli prison two weeks ago, closing an intense, embarrassing episode that exposed deep security flaws in Israel and turned the fugitives into Palestinian heroes. The Israeli military said the two men surrendered in Jenin, their hometown in the occupied West Bank, after they were surrounded at a hideout that had been located with the help of “accurate intelligence.” The prisoners all managed to tunnel out of a maximum-security prison in northern Israel on Sept. 6. The bold escape dominated newscasts for days and sparked heavy criticism of Israel’s prison service. According to various reports, the men dug a hole in the floor of their shared cell undetected over several months and managed to slip past a sleeping prison guard after emerging through a hole outside the facility. Palestinians in the West Bank and Gaza Strip have celebrated the escape and held demonstrations in support of the prisoners. Taking part in attacks against the Israeli military or even civilians is a source of pride for many Palestinians, who view it as legitimate resistance to military occupation.

Jaw-dropping moments in WSJ's bombshell Facebook investigation (CNN Business) This week the Wall Street Journal released a series of scathing articles about Facebook, citing leaked internal documents that detail in remarkably frank terms how the company is not only well aware of its platforms’ negative effects on users but also how it has repeatedly failed to address them. Here are some of the more jaw-dropping moments from the Journal’s series. In the Journal’s report on Instagram’s impact on teens, it cites Facebook’s own researchers’ slide deck, stating the app harms mental health. “We make body image issues worse for one in three teen girls,” said one slide from 2019, according to the WSJ. Another reads: “Teens blame Instagram for increases in the rate of anxiety and depression ... This reaction was unprompted and consistent across all groups.” In 2018, Facebook CEO Mark Zuckerberg said a change in Facebook’s algorithm was intended to improve interactions among friends and family and reduce the amount of professionally produced content in their feeds. But according to the documents published by the Journal, staffers warned the change was having the opposite effect: Facebook was becoming an angrier place. A team of data scientists put it bluntly: “Misinformation, toxicity and violent content are inordinately prevalent among reshares,” they said, according to the Journal’s report.

[snarkybluechristian]

Villainous: Reform School Chapter 36

505 placed Melanie on the couch of the living room and put a blanket over her while he walked over to the TV and used a remote to pick out a movie while Melanie laid down and curled up under her blanket in a ball of misery.

505 chose a movie, but after only a few minutes, a sad scene came up. Melanie sniffled sadly, and 505 immediately ended that movie and chose another movie.

The next chosen movie was even sadder than the movie before. The next chosen movie was even sadder than that. 505 kept flipping through movies, but every movie was sadder than the last.

Finally, when 505 was on the fifth movie, Flug came in with their pizza.

“Okay, guys, it’s dinnertime,” Flug said, putting the open pizza box on the coffee table and seeing Melanie still curled up in her miserable ball under her blanket. “So, 505, how is she doing?”

505 paused the movie, looked at Melanie, looked back at Flug, and shook his head sadly.

Melanie rolled over to face the couch and refused to look at Flug.

505 sat down next to Melanie and rubbed her back while looking at his dad to ask what he should do.

Though he wasn’t the most emotionally intelligent man, Flug partly wished he could help.

After wracking his brain for a moment, Flug suggested, “How about you get her some ice cream and some soda? I’m sure that’ll help her feel better.”

505 nodded his head excitedly and left the room to retrieve the ice cream, leaving Melanie alone with Flug.

Melanie rolled over on the couch, grabbed a slice of pizza, saw Flug looking at her, and quickly rolled back over to avoid looking at him.

“The pizza has spinach on it to help with rebuilding your blood supply,” Flug said, not knowing what else to say.

“Thanks,” Melanie said, without changing her position. “I’m sorry about flapping sand at you. I was really pissed off, and it was super childish.”

“Thanks, I guess,” Flug said. “But remember what we said about apologizing.”

Melanie remained silent and ate her slice of pizza.

Flug awkwardly sat down on the couch next to her. Melanie quickly moved to the opposite side of the couch to avoid being near him and sat down, continuing to eat her pizza until it was all gone.

Flug tapped his knees in a bored tic and asked himself, “What time is it?”

Before he could check his watch, Melanie sat down, checked her phone, and replied, “It’s almost 6. But I think it’s time for me to go home.”

“But we are home,” Flug said.

“No, I’m not,” Melanie replied sadly.

“Well, it’s the closest thing you have to a home for now,” Flug said. “Would you really be much better off with your family?”

“I could manage living with my biological family,” Melanie replied, sadly wrapping the blanket around her body. “I know however misguided they are they care about me. At least, I think they do. They abandoned me here.”

“And how would they make you feel?” Flug inquired.

“Less alone than I feel right now, though not as loved as I felt with my Nunja sisters,” Melanie replied. “I really want to be with them.”

“Perhaps, Black Hat will spare some of them,” Flug said, without thinking through his words.

Melanie’s eyes immediately filled with tears as she glared at Flug and then turned away to weep.

Flug looked away, searching for the right words to say for a second before he replied, “You can still save them…”

“What?!” Melanie asked, pausing her crying to look back at Flug.

“There is a way to protect all your Nunja friends,” Flug explained.

“Huh?” Melanie asked, not believing what she was hearing. “How?”

Flug looked Melanie in the eyes and said, “Give up.”

“What?” Melanie replied incredulously.

“It’s simple really,” Flug began. “You give up and comply with Black Hat. Give him whatever he asks. And it’s possible that Black Hat could show mercy to the rest.”

Melanie scoffed and replied, “Yeah, right. Since when has Black Hat ever showed mercy? And besides, even if I did reply, I’d still be betraying Lucy.”

“If you do as he asks, there are chances of him showing mercy,” Flug explained, pointing one finger into the air before laying his arm on the couch behind him. “Sure, you’d be betraying one of your friends, but you would be saving the rest of them.”

“Lucy’s my friend!” Melanie snapped back angrily. “She showed me the way out! It’s because of her that I now have another life, another family, and a relationship with God!”

“She led you astray and is getting what’s coming to her,” Flug retorted with an eye roll. “It’s her fault you’re in this mess.”

“Excuse me? You mind explaining those statements?” Melanie asked, angrily narrowing her eyes.

“Kasumi made you turn from your path as a true villain and from your real family,” Flug answered with a condescending sneer. “She put you in jeopardy and is ultimately the reason you’re being given all this punishment now.”

“I chose this for myself!” Melanie protested. “Just like Lucy did 20 years ago! She got away from Black Hat and that’s all I want, too!”

“And how has that worked out?” Flug asked coldly, looking at his gloves.

“It’s still worth a shot if I can be free from Black Hat!” Melanie retorted angrily. “I’d rather have my own life and my own mind than be another brainwashed lackey like you and Demencia! I want to be truly happy, not a slave constantly in fear for my life like you! Even if I were to give in, I gain nothing good from giving into Black Hat! He’s a bigger liar than Lucifer!”

“You really think so?” Flug asked skeptically.

“No, I know so,” Melanie replied. “And besides, I don’t regret what I’ve done. I’m happy about the people I’ve helped and the things I’ve learned and the relationships I’ve formed. I’m not going to give that up. It’s more than anything Black Hat could ever offer me.”

Flug breathed out a heavy sigh as he crossed his arms, looked away, and said, “Have it your way then. But the option still stands if you wish to save your friends.”

Too annoyed to come up with a reply, Melanie silently looked in the opposite direction.

Flug and Melanie sat there quietly ignoring each other until 505 returned to the room with soda and ice cream about a minute later.

“Oh, 505, you got ice cream!” Melanie exclaimed, happily breaking the silence. “Thank you!”

505 smiled at seeing Melanie in a better mood and sat between her and Flug on the couch.

For the next hour, the trio ate their pizza and ice cream and drank their soda until they were all satisfied.

Melanie and 505 chatted the whole time while Flug sat on the side and said nothing beyond the occasional comment until they were all done eating.

When the meal was done, Flug finally checked his watch, saw that it was almost 7, and said, “Oh, it’s getting late. It’s time to make our way to your room so that you can get ready for bed.”

“Why?” Melanie asked. “It’s not bedtime yet.”

“Well, your bedtime is at 8 tonight, so I think it’s time that you start getting ready,” Flug replied.

“Do I have to?” Melanie asked annoyedly.

Flug laughed to himself for a moment before he tersely replied, “Yes. Now, come on.”

Melanie rolled her eyes and leaned against 505 for a moment before she grabbed her things, got to her feet, and replied, “Alright. Let’s go.”

“You get her to her room, 505,” Flug said, getting to his feet as well. “Make sure she’s ready for bed on time. Alright?”

With a gentle smile, 505 got to his feet and quickly began ushering Melanie to her room.

“See you soon,” Flug said as 505 and Melanie left the living room.

Melanie said nothing, but 505 walked away with a gentle wave.

When he was alone, Flug took the opportunity to check the alerts from the probes he sent out to look for the seal while they were still walking back to the manor. He was studying their progress and the alerts they sent him when he caught something interesting from about an hour before.

The probes were set to identify any animal that wasn’t native to the island or the surrounding areas and to set an alert and launch a capture when such an animal was found.

Normally, Flug wouldn’t see the need to set the probes for anything other their specific objective, but the doctor had a hunch.

As such, the first probe Flug received an alert from caught sight of the seal for a minute, but the animal disappeared. None of the other probes caught the seal after that or sent any other alerts for anything unusual in water afterwards

However, at that moment, another probe in the air caught something interesting. A seagull surfaced from the ocean at the same spot where the seal had last been seen and flew into the air. That wasn’t unusual, but when the seagull flew past the probe, it had set off an alert and prepared capture nets because that seagull was identified as a juvenile European herring gull, a seagull that had never been spotted in the area before.

As if that wasn’t suspicious enough, as soon as the probe in the air began its pursuit, the young seagull turned its head to look at the probe following it and then began flying evasively to avoid the probe pursuing it.

Flug smiled wickedly under his paper bag. His hunch was correct. The creature Melanie was talking to was not just a trained seal. It was a shapeshifter in disguise, most likely another Nunja with supernatural abilities like Melanie was.

Flug watched the probe chase the seagull through the air until the seagull flew towards the island. The seagull then flew into the city, behind a building, and then it disappeared. The probe scanned the area for any sight of the seagull, but once it couldn’t find her, it returned to scanning the surrounding area.

Flug grunted in frustration as he sent out more probes to cover the island. He now knew that the intruder was a shapeshifter and there were probes all over the island and the ocean to locate her. But because she was a shapeshifter with an unknown level of capabilities, finding her would be extremely difficult. It was going to be a long night, speaking of which…

Flug checked his watch and sighed. It was time to put Melanie to sleep for the night before she got in anymore trouble. He sent a quick report of the probe’s findings and the appropriate clips to his and Black Hat’s computers before picking Melanie’s medication out of his pocket and heading to her room.

Flug sighed more contentedly. With Melanie out, that would be one problem dealt with for the night at least.

Back in her room, Melanie had gone into the bathroom. She quickly used the toilet, brushed her teeth, took a shower, brushed her hair, and changed into her pajamas, an oversized t-shirt and shorts.

When she was done, Melanie headed back into her room to sit on her bed and watch her laptop with 505.

Unfortunately, that was when Melanie heard a knock at the door.

Melanie gave an annoyed look to 505 before she said, “Come on in.”

Flug opened the door and entered the room holding a bottle of pills and a water bottle.

“What are you doing here?” Melanie asked, checking her phone to confirm her suspicions. “It’s not 8 yet.”

“No, it’s not,” Flug began. “But if last night is any indicator, the medication will not take effect for another 30 minutes. So, to ensure you go to sleep at your set time, you will be taking your medication early now that you’re ready for bed so that you’ll be asleep when your official bedtime rolls around.”

“What?!” Melanie exclaimed incredulously. “You gotta be kidding! That’s not fair!”

“Oh, I didn’t know we were supposed to be fair in here,” Flug retorted sarcastically.

“I don’t wanna take it,” Melanie complained. “It’s too early.”

“Keep whining and see what happens,” Flug replied with a sneer as he twisted the bottle of pills open and took a pill out for Melanie.

Melanie grumbled under her breath in French as she took the pill from Flug, dropped it in her mouth, and drank some water from the water bottle to wash it down.

“There,” Flug said condescendingly. “Was that so hard? You’d think after the day we had that you’d be jumping at the chance to go to sleep.”

“With the day I’ve had, I’ll be surprised if I fall asleep at all,” Melanie retorted.

“Yeah, well, despite the many admittedly negative occurrences today, mostly brought about by your behavior I might add, I think we’ve made some excellent progress,” Flug said, ushering Melanie over to her bed.

“So that’s what you call a day of inflicting psychological and physical trauma…HEY!” Melanie replied sarcastically as she felt Flug moving her hair to the side. “What are you doing?”

“Checking your stitches,” Flug said, pulling some more bandages out of his pocket to replace the ones Melanie had taken off in the shower. “They appear to be healing well.”

“Thank God,” Melanie said, reluctantly standing still while Flug put clean bandages over her stitches. “That’s one thing you’re good at, at least. You could be a doctor helping people instead of helping the evil demon god torture me. What a sad waste of talent.”

Flug sighed as he finished his work and said, “I’ll have you know my talents are well-utilized here.”

“Yes, I’m sure making my life miserable is very entertaining for you,” Melanie retorted semi-sarcastically.

“You could have it worse,” Flug argued. “It could be Demencia managing your re-education instead of me.”

“At least she wouldn’t drug me every night,” Melanie argued back. “Face it. You’re just as sadistic as Demencia is if not more. Don’t try to deny it. I know it’s true!”

“I only give you medication so you can sleep,” Flug replied.

“Because you don’t trust me to sleep on my own,” Melanie retorted.

“Your parents did say you had trouble sleeping,” Flug reminded her.

“Yeah, you just want to put me to sleep so I don’t cause any trouble,” Melanie argued.

In an effort to stop the arguing, 505 pulled down the sheets and gestured for Melanie to get into bed.

“I will neither confirm nor deny that statement, but I am pleased with the progress we’ve been able to make with you today,” Flug said.

“Yeah, whatever,” Melanie grumbled as she climbed into bed. “Going to sleep means I don’t have to deal with you at least.”

“Way to think positively,” Flug said sarcastically as he turned to leave the room.

Melanie plugged her phone in to charge and unlocked it to check it one more time before she went to sleep.

505 gestured for the phone. Melanie looked at him curiously but handed it over. The bear went on YouTube, picked out a video to play in the background, and set it on the bedside table.

Melanie listened and heard someone speaking in a soft yet pleasant voice.

“What is this, 505?” Melanie asked. “Is this an ASMR video?”

“It’s a bedtime story,” Flug called out from the door. “He’s trying to read you one to help you fall asleep. I play these videos for 505 when he can’t sleep sometimes.”

“Oh,” Melanie replied. “That’s very sweet of you, 505.”

505 nodded his head happily as he pulled the covers over Melanie and tucked her in under the blankets. He then climbed onto the other side of the bed and rested his head on her stomach.

Melanie rubbed his head and said, “Thanks, 505.”

Flug then flipped the lights off and said, “Goodnight, Melanie. I’ll see you in the morning. 505, I’ll see you after she falls asleep.”

505 grunted in agreement, raising his head from his spot on the bed.

“Yeah, whatever,” Melanie replied. “You can go now.”

With a final eye roll, Flug left the room and shut the door behind him.

[nazyalenskyism]

Can’t Fall in Love Tonight

Description: A modern Zoyalai political AU. Nikolai is running for office and Zoya is has been his right-hand woman since University. Feelings are finally realized and Zoyalai banter. 

A/N: Just Zoya and Nikolai being Zoya and Nikolai. I hope you enjoy, as always any feedback would be lovely, and the first chapter is under the cut.

Ao3: Can’t Fall in Love Tonight 

updated: Here are the links to chapter 2 and the final chapter, chapter 3!

Ao3 :Chapter 2

Ao3: Chapter 3

        “That’s unacceptable and you know it, don’t you?”

        “Y-yes ma’am.”

        Zoya resisted the urge to roll her eyes, dear lord, each new batch of interns was worse than the last. They had no backbone whatsoever, and when did it become part of her job to help them develop one? “So, if you know the criteria for all reports submitted to me, why didn’t you check with your supervisor that it had been done correctly? Why would you bring it to me without being sure?”

        “I-- I’m so sorry Ms.Nazyalensky, it won’t happen again.”

        She nodded curtly, “see to it that it doesn’t. We run a big campaign, and we can’t afford to have little things like this slow down the cogs of the machine. Double check all the requirements next time, because if you don't, there won't be any more chances, nor will you ever find a job with any political campaign again.” The kid, Paul-- no--Patrick, stared at her, his mouth wobbling, trying to find a reply. She’d given him another chance, why was he still standing there, acting like she’d already fired him? She opened her mouth, about to tell him to run back to his station when she noticed glinting gold out of the corner of her eye. Fantastic. The gallant hero riding in to save the poor intern from the stormy harpy. She knew the names they called her, and she didn't care in the least. There was a reason she had her job, and that was because she was the best, not because she was the nicest.

        “What Nazyalenksy means to say is that we constantly have to be updated with new incoming information that the format that you learned on your first day was created to save as much time as possible while conveying the information easily. Each individual on the staff has a significant role to play, something that seems as trivial as a document’s format has a big impact on the entire campaign. Your job is as important as mine, Pavel.”

        A hand clapped down on the young man’s shoulder as he replied, “really?” in an awed voice, mouth agape. Zoya fought to keep her composure again, these interns were always ready to bow down in front of their boss as if he were a king and they were mere subjects. A few words from Nikolai, a charming smile thrown their way and they were basically genuflecting.

        “Well, that’s not entirely true, I suppose. I do have to stand around and look dashing, the most difficult of my daily tasks,” the man said good-naturedly. This was typical Nikolai, when he was in front of the lower level employees, he was a commanding and kind boss. When he was before his biggest donors, he was a charming young man, telling lively stories about his time in university, his world adventures, how he’d sailed around the world in two years, anything that would ensure their support. Pavel stood rooted to the spot, this was clearly the first encounter he’d had with the Nikolai Lantsov, and he looked like he was close to passing out.

        “Run along now, Peter, and remember what I said.” The boy hurried away, too scared to tell her she’d called him by the wrong name, turning his head back to catch one last glimpse at Nikolai, paling as Nikolai raised a hand waving goodbye.

        “His name was Pavel, and you didn’t have to instill the fear of Zoya into him for his mistake,” Nikolai said, turning his head towards her.

        Zoya shrugged a shoulder noncommittally, “now he’ll never make the same mistake again. Where are we finding these new recruits, I swear we weren’t this incompetent when we did this.”

        “You, incompetent? Those words don’t belong together in a sentence at all.”

        “What about, Zoya’s unparalled talents save her incompetent candidate, Nikolai Lantsov from defeat yet again?” At that, Zoya saw slight tension creep into Nikolai’s stance. She sighed, they really couldn’t go more than an hour without yet another issue springing up, could they?

        “Perhaps that isn’t the most fitting phrase,” Nikolai said, tone shifting from easy and relaxed to all business. “Let’s talk in my office.” As he led the way down the hall of their headquarters, Zoya saw people stick their heads out of doorways to catch a glimpse of the golden boy, eyes wide, mouths agape. Zoya didn’t miss the looks towards her as well. Regularly she was their hardass superior who tolerated nothing less than perfection, but whenever their staff saw her go into a room alone with Nikolai, they got ideas that only added to the small, but ridiculous rumors that they were ‘a thing.’ She couldn’t care less, her job was to be his campaign manager during election season, and Chief of Staff otherwise— and so nearly half of her time was spent with Nikolai, heads bent over desks, trying to solve whatever new problem they encountered. Long after everyone had wrapped for the day, they would still be at the office, or retreat to Nikolai’s lavish apartment to continue working. She always went home after these late-night sessions, and nothing remotely scandalous had ever happened between her and Nikolai, but the rumors didn’t seem to care about facts. They were close, they always had been. She wasn’t about to act differently because of a small rumor. Unless their actions would negatively impact Nikolai’s image, she didn’t care. Still, Zoya swept the hallway with a cool glare, she was still their superior, and they didn’t have time to waste watching a man walk down the hall.

        By the time Zoya reached the end of the hall, Nikolai was gallantly holding the door open for her, and quickly shut it behind her. She didn’t particularly care for his office, it felt like a watered down, more palatable version of his home office, which was much more eclectic, filled with his personal hard-won treasures, not just that which looked the most interesting and professional. But she supposed, if anyone understood the importance of presentation, it was her. Her blue silk blouse with its delicate silver pearl buttons was paired with a sleek black skirt, and her usual heels were polished to perfection, not unlike Nikolai’s shining black Oxfords. “So, what is it?”

        “Zoya. It’s... It’s…” He scrubbed a hand over his face, and she froze, she hadn’t seen him this phased about something in a long, long time. Whatever this was, it couldn’t be good.

        “Just spit it out Nikolai, whatever it is, we’ll deal with it.”

        “We have reason to believe that Demidov has a new Campaign Manager.”

        Zoya felt her brows draw together, “that can’t be the whole of it, who is it Lantsov?” Nikolai looked at her pointedly and Zoya understood immediately, “no. No. No. Way. In. Hell.” She felt pure hatred course through her veins. ‘Any other problem, we could deal with-- any other problem than this. Why did it have to be this?’ She drew in a deep breath. She had been preparing to face him again for years. Not just to face him, but to beat him at his own game, and she knew that she could. She had learned a lot, grown, and become a force to be reckoned with. She was ready to beat him, and this time, she would.

        “Right then, what do you want our next move to be?”

        Nikolai looked up at her, his brows furrowed, she was almost sure that he was going to ask her if she was alright, which was the last thing she needed to hear right now. Instead, he shook his head slightly, clearing his face of all concern before drawing out files from his desk drawer. “We have to figure out their strategy. But before that, we have to tell the team. Demidov is definitely bringing his new manager to the charity ball tonight which means we’re all going to have to play nice.”

        Zoya snorted, “you can play nice Nikolai, I’ll be doing just the opposite.”

        “Zoya,” he caught her wrist as she turned to stand. “All of us hate him, but we can’t do anything in public today. I promise that we will find a way to get rid of him forever, but we’re not going to do anything to jeopardize future plans today, is that clear?”

        Her chest heaved, it had taken everything in herself not to let go and scream when she’d realized who Nikolai was alluding to, but she didn’t know if she could manage to do this-- to go through a 6 hour fundraiser while ‘playing nice’ with the man who had ruined all their lives. But she had a job, and that was to carry them through this election, to have Nikolai’s back, to ensure that they did what they could for the people they promised to serve, and she would not let him be the reason she didn’t fulfill her duties. She pursed her lips, nodding at Nikolai, “I won’t do anything to mess things up, but I sure as hell won’t be playing ‘nice’.”

        “I would expect nothing less of you,” Nikolai said with a genuine smile, tugging gently at her wrist, “if I wanted someone who would ‘play nice’ I wouldn’t have started working with you eight years ago.”

        “You didn’t start working with me, Lantsov, I started working with you. Without my intervention, you would still be in local politics.”

        “Semantics dear Zoya. If I hadn’t approached you in the law library, we would have never met.”

        “That’s wrong and you know it. We would’ve met when I ran for the head of the student body and beat you for the presidency. I would’ve loved to see you defeated by me. It’s fine, I guess watching you lose board game night every Friday for the last eight years is good enough.” She sat down, her wrist still in Nikolai’s grasp.

        “I don’t lose every time,” Nikolai frowned childishly, and Zoya had to suppress a laugh, she knew he was trying to up her spirits before they had to relay the bad news to the others. “I always win the strategic games, like chess, but you unfairly banned them.”

        Zoya leaned in, cocking her head at him, “we can’t all be boring like you Lantsov. What’s the point of a game night if half the group falls asleep by 9 PM?”

        Nikolai leaned in as well, “it’s not my fault none of you are worthy competitors, if you--” he was interrupted by a sharp knock on the door, causing Zoya to pull away sharply, yanking her wrist from him. Nikolai shot her an unreadable look before inhaling deeply, “yes?”

        “Mister Lantsov, I have Ms. Safin, Mr. Kostyk, Mr. Yul-Bataar and Ms. Kir-Bataar here, like you asked.”

        Nikolai and Zoya shared a look, this was it then. “Let them in.”

                                                                        ---

        “Zoya, come on, we’re going to be late unless we leave right now,” Nikolai glanced at his watch, the charity event started in 40 minutes and with the traffic it would definitely take them at least half an hour to get there.

        “I’m coming!” Zoya’s voice drifted down from the upstairs floor of his apartment. Zoya lived in a cozy apartment in Hell’s Kitchen that she had shared with Genya and Tamar, but when Tamar had started getting serious with Nadia, she’d moved in with the girl and they’d gotten married shortly after. Now, Genya and David were newly engaged, which meant that David was always over, and so Zoya was spending more time at his place, because as she liked to say, “if I have to sit through one more dinner where it’s just the two of them goggling at each other the entire night, I’ll take out their eyes myself.” After they’d broken the news to the rest of their inner circle, Zoya had asked if she could get ready at his apartment, and when he’d said yes, had gone home immediately to grab her things. He knew she felt unreasonably guilty, that she felt like she’d betrayed her friends by allowing Demidov to hire him, even though she’d had no way to stop it from happening. He knew she didn’t want to have to face Genya alone immediately after they had told her, and he knew that was why she’d sought refuge in his apartment for a few hours before the party. He wanted to tell her that it wasn’t her fault, that she couldn’t change the past, only work with him to better things in the future, but these were things she already knew, and she relied on him to help her to move forward, not tell her what she already knew.

        Nikolai looked at his watch again, now they were actually about to be late, “Time to go! Where are you Zo—” Nikolai felt his breath skip. While he’d been distracted, Zoya had begun to descend the stairs, looking ethereal in a silky emerald green dress, her hair loose, tumbling in ink black waves over her shoulders. He felt a bit like a school boy, his breath quite literally knocked from his chest for a moment. Teardrop emeralds hung from her ears, and matching clips held back portions of her hair. He thought Zoya in her favoured blue had been difficult to resist, but Zoya in green was a sight to behold on its own. Had he not been practiced in restraining himself from her beauty, he was sure he would’ve trailed behind her the whole night like a forlorn puppy.

        “I’m ready, I’m ready!” She called, hurrying to the door to slip on her heels for the night. “Hold this,” she grumbled, smacking her clutch into his chest as she breezed by him.

        “Ouch, you know you could be more gent--”he broke off, nearly gaping. Backless. Her dress was backless. Nikolai looked up to the heavens, it seemed less and less likely that he was going to survive tonight. He shook his head, trying to clear it so he could focus on their task for the night, although he didn’t know how he was supposed to focus on anything else when his Chief of Staff was looking like that. He sighed audibly and Zoya’s head snapped towards him as they slipped out the door.

        “What, you’re not looking forward to tonight?”

        “No. I am.”

        “What is it then?”

        “I’m just thinking about how you’ve out-dressed me again. People are going to start thinking I have no sense of style if you keep upstaging me like his,” he replied, grinning at her.

        She rolled her eyes, “you’re not used to it yet, Lantsov? I’ve always been better dressed and better-looking. Maybe it’s time you up your game.”

        “Oh,” he clutched his chest in mock despair, “how you wound me.” Zoya snorted at him before flouncing towards the elevator. He stared after her, he definitely would never get used to this.

                                                                ---

        They’d sat through the initial speeches, the extravagant dinner with its ridiculously small portions and now the dance floor had opened up and yet, they’d yet to see Demidov or the newest addition to his staff. Nikolai had convinced Zoya to dance after she’d spent the better part of the evening making sure Genya was okay, and that Nikolai spoke to all the people they needed to secure as donors, and charmed everyone who came within 5 feet of him. Now, finally he’d been granted a short reprieve in the form of a dance with his favourite harpy.

        Zoya felt her pulse thrumming, her adrenaline had been high all night, and she just wanted the night to be over, the anticipation was tugging at her relentlessly. She’d agreed to a dance with Nikolai, and he looked especially the part of a prince tonight. She had to admit to that she’d had a moment of speechlessness when she’d seen him at the bottom of the stairs, the midnight black of his suit a stark contrast to his golden locks, and the gold tie pin and cufflinks he adorned highlighted the gold flecks in his hazel eyes. It was good that he looked handsome tonight, from a professional standpoint only, of course, people responded to beauty, they both knew that. She’d been around Nikolai, been his closest friend for long enough that she had made herself immune to his charms and looks. Still, she fought shivers when he placed her hand in his, the other sitting on the small of her back as he led her into a flawless waltz. As they began to gently sway to the soft string music, Zoya’s mind turned back to the issue at hand.

        “Do you see him?”

        “No. He’s probably waiting to make a dramatic entrance.”

        “Is that what you would do?”

        Nikolai hesitated, "I would never be in his position.”

        “You’re right. I just wish we knew what game he was playing. Or when he’d show up.” They passed a few moments in silence, both of them drawing closer together, content in the moment, until Nikolai saw a commotion out of the corner of his eye.

        “ I think your wish has been answered, Zoya dear.” Her head jolted upright just as the song ended. There, at the grand doors of the ballroom, was Demidov, looking the part as usual, and next to him stood a man dressed entirely in black.

        “Here we go,” Nikolai murmured. Zoya took his arm with one hand and grabbed a flute of champagne from a passing server’s tray in the other as they crossed the floor towards the men. Nikolai found David and Tolya’s eyes from across the room and gestured towards the ballroom door. They both nodded and Nikolai watched as they found Genya, Tamar and Nadia. Good, it was best that they all got out of here. Knowing the man, he would try to goad them with mentions of their friends, and Nikolai was not in the mood tonight.

        “Mr. Lantsov,” Demidov greeted them cheerfully, clasping Nikolai’s hand in a friendly handshake. “The always radiant Ms. Nazyalenksy,” he smiled, pressing his lips to her knuckles, not seeing the dangerous fire simmering behind her eyes. Only her true friends would ever be able to see how irritated she was by a man she deemed as, ‘having a backbone made of butterscotch pudding.’ He wasn’t fully aware what that meant, but Genya, Nadia and Tolya had agreed serenely when she’d first said it, so he supposed it must make sense.

        “Please, allow me to introduce you to my new campaign manager! This is--”

        “Aleks!” Nikolai exclaimed jovially, not missing the laugh in Zoya’s eyes. “My goodness, it’s been so long.”

        “You know each other?” Demidov said.

        “Oh yes, way back in my university days, but I’m sure you don’t want to hear that story, it’s far too long and features several ballads dedicated to my brilliance. It’s rather a production.”

        “I prefer to go by ‘The Darkling’,” Aleksander interjected coolly, inclining his head at Nikolai in acknowledgement, and resting his eyes on Zoya.

        “Oh,” Zoya started, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing any true emotion on her face. She brought a finger to her chin in mock-contemplation, though no one other than Nikolai and the Darkling would know it. “That’s a strange name, is it French?”

        “No, no. Zoya, I speak French, and whatever it is, it’s not French. Maybe it’s Russian?” Nikolai returned, looking thoughtful. Saints, he was a frighteningly good actor.

        She shrugged, “funny, I’m fluent and I've never heard that before.”

        “Is it not English, Aleksander?” Demidov questioned, clearly puzzled.

        The Darkling ignored them all. Instead he turned to Zoya, “Ms. Nazyalenksy, would you honour me with a dance?”

        “No.” Zoya enunciated clearly, looking directly at him. Nikolai laid a hand on her arm, a small reminder of their larger plan. His phone buzzed in his lapel pocket, and he glanced at it quickly, a message from Tamar, perfectly on time.

        “If you’ll excuse us, we have to take this,” Nikolai said holding up his phone, placing his hand on Zoya’s back, letting her know they were escaping this situation. Demidov nodded a goodbye as Zoya took a final sip from her glass.

        “It was so nice to meet you, Alexi!” she laughed, tossing her hair over her shoulder, clearly dismissing him as if she were a queen and he were a mere peasant.

        “Goodnight, enjoy the festivities Aleks,” Nikolai added, nothing but a polite smile on his face as they turned and started towards a sheltered alcove in the corner of the room.

                                                              ---

        Zoya paced back and forth, “I hate everything about this— how could anyone even think to hire him after what he did?” Nikolai frowned, there was a note of desperation in her voice, very unlike Zoya. He knew the crimes of the man as well as the rest of his inner circle, they had all been directly impacted by him, but he knew that Zoya had never forgiven herself for being young, taken in by his seemingly perfect ideology and being unable to see the rot that lay beneath it all. Others who were older, and arguably wiser had been fooled just as easily as they all had, yet Zoya wouldn’t forgive herself, she held herself to a higher standard, he knew what that was like better than anyone else. The reason he’d told her before he’d broken the news to the rest of his staff was because of this, he knew that neither him nor Zoya would ever let that man inflict anymore hurt upon their friends.

        “He did a lot to bury his crimes, only a few people truly know what happened. The general public views them as allegations, not definitive crimes.”

        “Why? They’ve seen the evidence.” Zoya snapped, “they can see it every day.” He could see that she was a tightly wound coil after the news and that she needed a distraction.

        “Shall we share another dance?”

        “What?” she snapped, “Nikolai, I’m not in the mood.”

        “Whatever you say, Nazyalensky, but if you don’t dance with me, I’m 98% sure he’s going to ask you to dance next,” he said nodding towards Kirigin, one of many men who constantly trailed them at functions like this in an attempt to catch Zoya’s attention for a second.

        “Oh god, my options are you and Kirigin?” Zoya rubbed her temples, as much as she wanted to go home and finish a bottle of wine on her own, she knew they had to stay until the party was over. “Fine. Lead the way Lantsov, but I will be stepping on your toes.”

        “I would expect nothing less from you, my ruthless Zoya.”

[oikoik]

—study buddy (t.kuroo)

warnings: fem!reader, suggestive content, dom!kuroo (🥵 ammi right ladies), teasing, pretty tame, poorly written, read at your own discretion

word count: 1.6k

a/n: this is lit the very first drabble/thing in general that I have ever written for kuroo and the first suggestive piece I’ve ever done, so please don’t be too harsh in feedback (however I do greatly appreciate constructive criticism)

You rubbed at your eyes for what seemed like the hundredth time in the past hour. The glare of the computer screen plagued the back of your eyes with a strain you knew would ache long after you completed the wretched assignment before you. Despite having a textbook and your notes at your disposal, the onslaught of questions were still laborious to say the least.

Taking a bit of a break, you stood from where you sat on the floor, after having found the chairs in the dining room too uncomfortable, and brought your arms high above your head. You relished in the stretch, the taut muscles of your back seeming to relax ever so slightly. University was no easy task, and with exam season quickly approaching, tension was sure to manifest in both physical and mental forms.

With a sidelong glance, you peer out the set of large windows. A thick strip of the evening sun beamed into the living room. You hummed in appreciation as you stepped into the warm patch, the comfort of such a simple action brought with it contentment.

A faint rustle came from across the room and you turned in time to see the familiarly styled mess of black hair duck in the entryway. The figure glances up after removing a shoe, a bright smiling reaching its way towards you.

"Hey, baby, how was your day?"

Kuroo stands with you in the rays of the slowly dimming sunlight, his arms wrapped loosely around your waist. You lean your forehead against his chest, the urge to hug all of life's frustrations out with him was nearly suffocating, but you were stopped in your tracks.

Pulling away from his grasp, you laugh gently at his slightly dejected reaction of you evading him. "As much as I love you, you smell awful, Kuroo."

A sheepish smiles crosses his features and he rubs the back of his neck with a chuckle, "oh, yeah, sorry. Coach ran us extra hard today." He leans down quickly to peck your cheek before grabbing his bag from the floor and retreating towards the hallway, "I'm gonna hop in the shower."

After he had disappeared, your attention returned to the study materials still sprawled across the coffee table. You inaudibly groaned, the incessant reminder that the assignment was due later that night was no motivator to get it done. Nonetheless, you persisted.

Twenty minutes passed and you were feeling a bit discouraged after seeing that of the sixty assigned questions, you had only made it through eight. An unwanted throb began to form in your temples and you found yourself once again pressing the palms of your hands against your eyes to at least attempt and relieve the dull ache.

"What are you working on?"

"Hm?" You craned your neck up to see Kuroo, freshly clean, standing directly behind your seated figure as he peered at the screen of your laptop. "Psychology. My professor gave the class a ridiculous assignment last minute."

You weren't sure what you were expecting, but it definitely wasn't Kuroo moving to sit with his chest pressed against your back, his arms hung across your midsection. Just as you were about to ask him what he was doing, his chin was resting on your shoulder. You could feel the coolness of his skin against yours, a few droplets of now cold water dripping onto your neck and t-shirt.

"Is it hard?"

"More time consuming than difficult, I suppose. It's just a giant pain in the ass." Another annoyed sigh came from you as you grumbled, "I've been putting it off all day and it's due tonight, so I guess I have no other choice, do I?"

The boy hummed in response, and you assumed he was just extra clingy today considering practice seemed intense. However, your mind nearly blank screened as you felt the ghosting touch of his lips against the skin of your neck, his warm breath fanning over the area. Goosebumps formed along your arms at the sensation and suddenly his close proximity felt overwhelming.

'There's no way I'm this needy after such a simple action, no damn way.' Your thoughts were interrupted when Kuroo's deep voice broke you out of your trance.

"Let me help you."

"Help me?"

You could hear the mischief in his voice as he explained, "I can offer some.. motivation that may encourage you to finish."

"And what would that be?..." In the back of your mind, you knew what he was hinting at, and the disbelief was still present until you felt his face nestle gently into the side of your neck.

Instead of verbally answering you, you felt the hand on your side loosen its grip before dropping to hover just above the apex of your thighs. Blood rushed to your face as you fully realized the antics he had planned. You could tell your cheeks and ears were tinged red with embarrassment. He knew you were easy to rile up, but never did you ever suspect that he would use knowledge in such manner.

"Kuroo… don't tease me." You knew begging would get you nowhere. Once his mind was made up, it took more than a few halfhearted words to get him to give into your pleas.

He ignored you completely, instead opting to read off a question on the screen. "What is the resting potential of a neuron?"

A shaky breath left your partially parted lips when you felt a delicate kiss against your shoulder. You shuddered at his tone as he spoke next to your ear, "Answer the question, baby girl."

You try to focus on keeping your hands steady as you types the answer into the blank space. Once you had finished, you shakily moved onto the next question, the presence of Kuroo pressed tightly against your back slowly driving you insane.

"Good job, baby, you're one question closer to your reward."

"Reward?"

"Mhmm… if you're a good girl and answer all of these questions correctly, I'll reward you for all your hard work. How does that sound?" His lips brushed against the shell of your ear. You swear you could feel your soul leave your body at what he was insinuating. Perhaps it was the promise, or maybe the nicknames and tone he was using to talk to you, but something in his words sent a jolt through your body that made your palms clammy.

You swallowed a moan as he left an attentive kiss to the skin below your ear, eyes closing involuntarily as the warm sensation in your abdomen grew stronger. He smelled so good, his hair and skin were so soft against your skin, and every trace of his fingers and graze of his lips left you breathless. Since when were you so needy after barley even being touched?

You managed to answer several more questions using this method, Kuroo's touches gradually becoming more straightforward after you started a new set of problems. To both your surprise and relief, you noticed there were only five more questions to be answered.

"What is the inability to recall faces called?"

A shudder left your body at the feeling of the tip of his tongue poking out to meet your neck as he placed a kiss there. Subconsciously, you leaned into his body even more, a silent plea for more. Just when you thought he was going to finally give you more than a lingering touch, he brought his lips to your ear, teeth nipping at the lobe. "F-fuck, Kuroo, please."

"What is the answer baby?"

It was a miracle you could even process a remotely stable thought with how Kuroo was occupying every one of your senses. Your arms felt weak trying to type out the answer into the keyboard, but a soft whimper followed as you were bombarded with another series of fleeting presses of his lips to the exposed skin of your neck and jaw, "That's my smart girl."

He granted you no time for repose before calmly moving onto the next one. "What are the six functional networks determined by resting-state fMRI?"

When you failed to make any sign of answering the question, Kuroo tsked from behind you, a stern slap to your thigh disrupting your daze. "Don't tell me my student is starting to slack off."

"Kuroo…" you weakly moaned.

"Keep going, you're not done yet."

You whimper, but begin to slowly type out the answers, biting your bottom lip as you tried your hardest to focus on the task before you and not the undeniable hardness you could feel pressing into your low back.

The last three questions are completed in record time, your restlessness meeting unbearable levels. After swiftly clicking the small blue 'submit' button, you turn in Kuroo's grasp. Now sitting in his lap, you're able to see the effects having to wait were also evident in the blush across his chest and ears.

"Please touch me, Kuroo. Give me my reward."

You sounded pathetic begging for him, but you couldn't find it in yourself to care anymore. Having gone nearly an hour with only fleeting touches, your mind felt hazy and your body craved the attention Kuroo promised you.

Sure enough, Kuroo was set on keeping his word and two large hands gripped at your hips, bringing them down to rub against the evident bulge in his sweatpants. It was pitiful how absolutely needy you had grown.

Kuroo leaned in close so his face was merely centimeters from your own, your lips threatening to touch as he spoke in a hushed groan, "You did so well, baby. I wouldn't expect anything less from my star pupil."

You could see the spark in his eyes as he stared up at you and you knew you were going to be in for a long night.

[reachexceedinggrasp]

Fated to Love You here reaffirming my long held conviction that no pure romance drama should be 20+ episodes.

This show is... really something. It is, in the fullest possible sense, A Lot. It starts out as an all-out screwball comedy wrapped around a troperiffic romance fluff plot. Wall to wall clichés, but not in a bad way; in a meta, self-aware, peak performance, finest Velveeta way. And if you’re not familiar with screwball comedy, think ‘light-hearted crack fic with slapstick and farce’. There is nothing believable or grounded about any aspect of it, it starts at Bonkers Level: Platinum and it only climbs higher as it goes on.

(On a side note, this results in the leading man being possibly the most memorable love interest in romcom history. His introduction scene is nothing short of batshit insane and you can't reliably predict how he will respond to anything. I have never seen a main character like this, he is all over the shop and utterly singular. Your first reaction to him is ‘wtf?’, your second and third reactions are ‘really?! this guy??’, your fourth reaction is ‘okay he do be mad hot tho’, your fifth and final reaction is ‘I cannot believe this performance exists, I have no idea what he is doing, but it is amazing.’

Appropriately(?) the actor who plays him is an uncanny Korean doppelgänger of Johnny Depp and- between the resemblance, the mannerisms, and the fearless total commitment to a bold as fuck acting choice with the very serious chops to back it up- I’m not convinced they aren’t half brothers separated at birth.

They do sabotage my happiness several times by starting to randomly style his (long, beautiful) hair very weird, fixing it right when the plot is rapidly circling the drain so he looks his hottest just as the show becomes briefly unwatchable, and then ruining him for the entire second half of the series by shearing it all off. WHY, my anguished cry goes up. Why do you do this?! Why does he have like seven hairstyles over the course of the show? Much later they even briefly give him that ubiquitous Kdrama Second Lead haircut with weirdly forward combed fringe in a solid straight line across the brow all the way back from the crown. It looks terrible on everyone and I hate it so much. This version was less bad than most but it is still bad. Anyway.)

So it’s an incredibly fun time to start but there are some problems with the tone and plot even in the first 9 episodes, including when the lovers start getting along really well right away and they’re both thoroughly decent people so there’s nothing keeping them from having a lovely time together making the best of the circumstances (forced/fake marriage). And, instead of introducing new conflict or advancing one of the dozen conflicts previously established and actually moving forward, there is a painfully contrived rehash of something they already dealt with which is then just never resolved. They make the hero leap to a conclusion his wife is nefarious after he’d already decided once that she isn’t (though it was completely reasonable for him to think she was- the fact that he decided to trust her so quickly just speaks to what kind of person he is), never try to find out more or talk to anyone about it, start pushing her away because of it, and have all this come to absolutely nothing. It only exists so he’ll stop being so incredibly nice to her and they won’t fall in love too fast.

You’d think they would have to eventually clear the air before the romance advances right? No. It wasn’t a real plot point, it was just a reset button to get them estranged and hostile again after they connect over their kindred spirits and we’ve spent a bunch of time showing how profoundly supportive and honourable our hero is. He’s being beautifully mature and selfless because he’s a really good dude (unusual for a romcom drama, right? for the main guy to be nice and considerate? to accept responsibility even if he doesn’t have to? Gun’s weird but he’s wonderful), but the writers need him to be cold and standoffish, so they just make him act like an unreasonable idiot for a while. He’s been thus far hugely proactive and direct and honest about everything, it’s one of his most prominent character traits, but suddenly he’s going to avoid confrontation in favour of being super passive aggressive?? Then the writers never solve it. Never! It just goes away. He got over it, I guess? He decided he doesn’t care if she’s a gold digger who deliberately trapped him? God forbid we have motivations that make sense and organic character drama, right? It's not like he didn't have totally valid reasons to be suspicious that could have led to legitimate conflict our heroine would struggle to vindicate herself from.

But anyway, apart from that kind of lazy bullshit, it’s a fine romance plot with extremely endearing characters who have great chemistry. They are fun and well-rounded and incredibly human despite all the silliness and OTT antics. Their relationship is hugely, hugely engaging and the dynamic is perfect, they really complement each other as characters and organically drive each other's arcs. There's the genuine depth and warmth and quiet pathos so often lacking from this kind of show. Things progress at a semi-reasonable pace. They work up to confessing their mutual feelings and get into some cute shenanigans before making out. It happens soon enough that you are not frustrated, but there's still plenty of build-up. Then- uh oh! We’re only 9 eps in and we have another 11 hours to fill with this fluffy plot!

Time for a bunch of absolute fucking nonsense. Time for our show, which has been so goofy and removed from reality it occasionally resembles a Monty Python skit, which has been so light it asks you to ignore the frankly incredibly fucked up implications of its premise for the sake of comedy (they were both drugged and proxy raped resulting in a pregnancy- the FL was a virgin prior to this and Gun had a girlfriend he wanted to propose to- and it was the FL’s family who did this to them: SUPER FUCKED UP), so farcical that it makes Some Like it Hot look like a gritty crime drama, that show to cover a bunch of serious heavy shit.

First, the rankest of melodrama. The families and the world all turn on our couple, but their love is true and will conquer all- UNTIL, he randomly collapses and gets convenient Soap Opera Amnesia. He’s forgotten their entire relationship and a series of coincidental pieces of misconstrued evidence, the machinations of his scheming ex girlfriend, the Soap Opera Doctor’s advice, and his closest confidants all going along with this conspire to make him believe (AGAIN) that his wife just wants his money.

This whole terrible episode is mercifully brief, but it just gets worse after his memory returns. This is where we get into the Noble Idiocy. The ‘pretend you don’t love them to “save them” from getting hurt by hurting them and making their important life decisions for them as if they don’t have a basic fucking right to decide that themselves’ kind. Which goes on for three FUCK years in the show. He wastes three years of their lives they could have spent together because he’s worried he might die young (in a terrible way) and doesn’t want to put her through that. And, of course, they inevitably get together later, so all he did was make it infinitely worse for her either way. To say nothing of how he thus couldn’t be there for her through the loss of their child. Possibly my most hated fucking trope of all time when done this way.

And, yep, you read that right. This show that has the single most batshit bonkers over the top slapstick I have ever seen in a kdrama, this show has a storyline where the fluffy romcom trope accidental pregnancy ends in massive trauma. Because she was standing around in the street after realising he does remember her (he continued to pretend he had amnesia after his memories came back, it’s all part of the stupid noble idiocy so I glossed over it) and gets hit by a car in the middle of their angst staring.

It is nearly Meet Joe Black levels of hilariously abrupt and incongruous.

so, blah blah, they lose their baby (there’s a very stupid whole thing about her telling everyone to save the baby instead of her- the baby is not far enough along for this to have been remotely viable. She is like 3 months pregnant. They all act like there’s a choice to be made between them and she’s mad at her husband for choosing to save her, but there was NO CHOICE. Either she lives or they both die! ffs I’m so irritated about this) and then he dumps her ~for her own good~~ because he loves her too much to make her go through losing him? So she loses him sooner?? right after their baby died???

Why do people in these stories always think being betrayed and abandoned for no reason and being incredibly angry at someone you love while also not getting to be with them is somehow less painful than making the best of your life together and then losing them against their will? ‘I will make her hate me and then she won’t be sad we broke up/I died!!!!’ is such a fucking galaxy brain take and I despise it with the heat of ten thousand suns. Fuck you, Spider-Man. You aren’t protecting anyone, the villains still know you love MJ and will still use her against you, you clod. Emotionally torturing the person you love is not going to make them not a target because the villains are not as fucking stupid as you two. Anyway.

Amnesia was right where I started fast-forwarding and skipping around (because I couldn’t bear it), but it only goes downhill from there. Maybe I would have toughed out more of the wretched middle part plot twist if they hadn’t cut all the hot guy’s hair off. If I’m going to watch total nonsense tedious melodrama, I need it to at least be pretty. I understand it was a Symbolic Haircut but damnit! Let me have this!

And it ultimately does the thing that kdramas seem obsessed with and which makes me want to claw out my own eyeballs with frustration. There’s a giant time skip, the female lead gets a personality transplant, all narrative momentum is lost, and the characters who eventually (at ENORMOUS length) get together permanently are essentially completely different characters with a completely different dynamic than the couple you were shipping for 90% of the story. It is so FUCKING unsatisfying and it is EVERYWHERE.

Not so much with this one because this one still had a lot of very romantic scenes late in the game, but most that do this, it’s also like all the romance is sucked out of the post-time skip episodes and the ending is a consolation prize instead of a triumphant culmination. Inevitably, the heroine abruptly cools off and is suddenly wary of the hero and wants this Important New Career she never mentioned until the penultimate episode but is now her one true life’s dream. What the apparently irresistible appeal is of these contrived separations and demure conclusions is I CANNOT FATHOM. I’m here for the fucking romance guys, you have not made Citizen Kane, please just indulge me with a big schmoopy finale.

And if not that, it’s frequently that there’s been so many random mood swings and so much shitty behaviour by the end that the relationship doesn’t make sense and you don’t know why they even bother to get back together.

I’m not inherently against all misunderstandings (they are the bread and butter of low stakes romance let’s be real) or attempts at noble idiocy from misguided characters, but the duration and seriousness of the drama these generate needs to be in proportion to how ridiculous they are. If your entire plot can be solved by a thirty second conversation there is NO REASON not to have and the continuation of the misunderstanding is a result of someone just NOT SPEAKING UP when any functional human being would have spoken up seven times by now IT’S BAD.

Do little cliff-hangers, whatever, but don’t draaaaagg out silly misconceptions into Shakespearean tragedy, it’s just wearying. It makes me hate the characters for acting like emotionally constipated toddlers with terminal stupidity. If there is so little trust, so little understanding, and so little basic patience between these people, they probably shouldn’t be dating, so try fucking harder, writers. And noble idiocy that is more than an impulse they fairly quickly see the error of is just insulting. You are not helping the other person, you are being domineering and selfish. I have a whole complex about wasting time and seeing endless parades of characters flushing years down the toilet for literally no reason gives me hives. Especially when the whole issue is about time!

(And, btw, so much of the plot is about how desperately the family needs an heir and everyone still wanting them to have kids the second time they get together- while the ~dilemma used to keep them apart is a GENETIC DISEASE which could STRIKE AT ANY TIME. Do you SEE THE PROBLEM WITH THIS WRITERS????? NO, I KNOW YOU DON’T. ommmmmmmmggggg that’s awful! So they’re just dooming more kids to Soap Opera Brain Disease? And maybe growing up without a father just as Gun did? And no one even considers suggesting adoption??? He never considers that he shouldn’t have biological children despite thinking he shouldn’t have a wife?)

ANYWAY. Please do watch the first nine episodes and the last three, it’s bananas. They are cute as fuck, Gun is The Best, and the tropey romance scenes are top quality. You don't get those things executed so well, it doesn't happen, so you need this in your life. The acting is of a calibre you never usually see in modern romcoms; these are people at the top of their game committing utterly and taking these characters completely seriously. In that way it is pure wish fulfilment for me as someone who loves romance and is almost always disappointed by popular romance media, and thus the show is incalculably special. But skip the middle. Just skip it. It's not worth the suffering. I find the tone whiplash honestly just this side of crass.

I’ve been thinking about it for over a week and I truly love the main characters so it did plenty right, but I just cannot with wedding the two things this show is trying to be together, especially when it goes so hard in two mutually exclusive directions. but also the Meet Joe Black sudden car accident device is not redeemable under any circumstances. Can we never do that again, please.