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changbunnies · 7 months ago

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Suit Dance (18+)

♡ Pairing: CEO!Changbin x Office Siren!Reader

♡ Genre: office au, smut, porn with some plot, rich & sexy ceo trope but make him Subby™

♡ Word Count: 7.8k

♡ Summary: In which you discover that your ever strong and stoic looking boss wears dainty, pretty lingerie underneath his tailored suits.

♡ Warnings: hyunjin featured briefly as reader's office bestie, mild play fighting and 1 joke about strangling him

♡ Smut Warnings: uneven power dynamics (due to boss x employee relationship), power play, dom/sub dynamics, sub!bin, dom!reader, vaguely plus size reader, semi-public sex, slight exhibitionism, marking (with lipstick), mommy kink, nipple play, anal plug use, referenced masturbation, spit kink, praise kink, finger sucking, fingering (m rec), tiny bit of oral (m rec) and handjob, spit as lube, teensy tiny bit of edging. this is so unrealistic lmao but it's fiction so. just take it for what it is gdfsgdf

♡ Notes: back at it again with a self indulgent bin fic! written purely because i saw these pics on twitter and was immediately struck with the vision of changbin wearing it instead lmao and while i read a lot of fics involving anal play, this is my first foray into writing it myself so sorry if it isn't the best :')

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

Throwing your hands up and over your head, you let out a soft noise of relief as you stretch, eager to return home and relax after a stressful week at the office.

Your manager has been on your ass the entire week about making sure your quarterly finance report is without flaw. “Mr. Seo has business ventures lined up that require an accurate reflection of the company’s spending and receiving of funds,” she repeatedly drilled into you– as if that isn’t always the case.

You don’t know what all goes into striking a deal and fostering a successful business partnership, really– you’re just paid to reflect the numbers, so that’s what you do; and you’ve never submitted a flawed report. Still, while you’re used enough to staring at numbers on a screen and inputting them into a balance sheet, scanning them extra carefully all week has really put a strain on your eyes.

You remove your glasses, toss them next to your keyboard and close your eyes as another sigh passes your lips. You slouch in your chair, rolling away from your desk ever so slightly as your legs stretch out. You can’t wait to sink into a bath once you get back to your apartment, maybe have a glass of wine to unwind while watching some trashy reality tv over dinner.

“Uh– Y/N?” a voice calls, and you shoot up in your seat, stiffening your posture– you relax when your brain finishes registering that it’s just Hyunjin. If it was your manager, Mrs. Kim, she surely would’ve ripped you a new one for slouching at work, the strict harpy that she is.

“Hey, sorry! Were you waiting up for me?” you ask as you scoot back over to your desk and grab your glasses to put back on. Hyunjin was one of the few coworkers you got along with beyond the expected professional level, so the two of you often chatted on your way out of the building. He was also Mr. Seo’s personal receptionist, and you envied that he got to stare at such perfection all day.

Mr. Seo is hot– really hot. All professionalism and sex appeal, with his perfectly styled dark hair and expertly tailored suits hugging his thick arms. You don’t cross paths with him as often as you'd like, stuck to your cubicle as you are, but God, the glimpse you got of him this morning was divine.

Dressed in a dark blue suit you were certain was designer, a circular silver pin stuck in the left lapel– the company’s logo, which he always wore proudly. He had on two chains– one a pretty, mixed gold-silver resting on his collarbones, probably worth more than you make in an entire year. His other chain is pure silver and long, hung low on his chest, ending just above the first button of his stupidly beautiful suit.

There’s no button-up or other such dress shirt worn underneath the suit– just purely bare, tanned skin. The small glimpses you got of his bare chest nearly made you drool– and when he rounded the corner to get to his office, and you got a glimpse of his tight slacks hugging his thick thighs and ass, Christ, you don’t know how you managed to keep yourself together.

You loved looking at Mr. Seo, but it was probably best for your sanity, and your work performance, that you didn’t have too much exposure to him. And it was most certainly a good thing that you weren’t his receptionist– you don’t think you’d get through the myriad of phone answering and appointment scheduling successfully if you had such eye candy in front of you for hours a day, 5 days a week.

“No, I’m just supposed to tell you that Mr. Seo wants to see you,” Hyunjin says, and you blink– once, twice, brain struggling to process what you’ve been told. Mr. Seo wants to see you? You think you’re going to combust on the spot from just the thought alone of having a personal meeting with him.

“D-Do you know why?” you question with an embarrassing stutter that you hope Hyunjin will ignore. “Nope, he just asked me to let you know to see him before I leave for the weekend,” he replies and you swallow, nerves suddenly threatening to eat you alive.

And it's not just because you’ll be alone with someone you’ve been thirsting after for months. The most pressing issue is that even putting your attraction to Mr. Seo aside, he is still very much your boss, even if he doesn't often personally oversee your work.

You emailed him your report just moments ago, so surely he hasn’t had the chance to look through the whole thing yet.. Fuck, what if there’s a mistake right at the start? You’d be mortified– and surely it’d be grounds enough to fire you given how vital this report is to his upcoming business plans.

Hyunjin sees the apprehension and can’t help but giggle as he reassures you. “Relax! He seemed like he was in a good mood, I’m sure it’s nothing bad. Trust me, I’ve seen Mr. Seo angry, and he’s definitely not right now. Maybe you’re finally getting that raise you’ve been gunning for.”

You appreciate Hyunjin’s positive input, but you doubt that– if it was a raise, you’d be having a discussion about it with HR and your manager, as you have every time before; someone as high brass as Mr. Seo simply doesn’t have the time to talk to every person receiving a raise individually. A promotion..? Same situation– the decision for you to receive one is his, but you doubted he would see you personally over it.

That’s what your manager is for, after all– Mrs. Kim is essentially his mouthpiece, having discussions about these things with you and overseeing your duties herself so that Mr. Seo can put more of his focus on keeping the business going in the direction he wants. Still, Hyunjin said he doesn’t seem to be upset, so..

Maybe it is something good! Maybe your manager and the head of HR have been called to his office too, and you’ll all discuss an appropriate reward for all the effort you’ve been putting in. Maybe you can squeeze in a deal for more vacation time too, if you’re lucky.

"Or maybe he found out about all your dirty fantasies about him, and now he's calling you to his office to–” Hyunjin starts, and you bolt up from your chair, swiftly shutting him up with a smack to the arm. “Oh my god, stop! Shut up!” you cry as he simply laughs, swatting away the hand you slap him with.

“Should I still wait for you?” he asks when the giggling subsides, and you quickly shake your head as you turn back to your desk to start shoveling your belongings in your bag. “Nah, I don’t wanna keep you waiting if the talk goes on long. I’ll see you on Monday! ..hopefully,” you mutter the last word as you pick up your bag, still not entirely sold that this abrupt meeting is a positive one.

Hyunjin, being a menace to your nerves, shoots you a wink and a “good luck!” after you wish him a good weekend. You think you’ll strangle him when you see him on Monday– if you’re still lucky enough to have a job here, that is. You walk out of your cubicle block, swallowing as you step past your fellow coworkers who are all similarly readying to leave, and up to Mr. Seo’s large office door.

It’s glass, and typically he’d be able to see you apprehensively standing there waiting, but the blinds are currently pulled closed. Should you knock? He’s expecting you, but all of a sudden you aren’t sure how to act– the last thing you want to do is be impolite. Still, maybe it’d be worse to keep him waiting– his time is extremely valuable, after all. So tentatively, you knock on the black frame of the door.

“Come in,” you hear him call out, and with one more breath to steel your nerves, you take the knob into your hands and open the door. And fuck, he’s alone– your manager and the head of HR are nowhere in sight. You’re going to have a solo meeting with Mr. Seo. God, please help me, you cry internally as you take a careful step inside, the door closing behind you with a soft click.

“You wanted to see me, Sir?” you do your best to keep your voice steady as you look at him, pensively standing no more than a few inches away from the door. You’ve never been more nervous in your entire life– and when he looks up from the papers on his desk to address you, your heart nearly stops; he’s just too gorgeous.

“Don’t just stay by the door, please, come in,” he reiterates, motioning for you to come further into the room and take a seat at his desk with his hand. Again you swallow, taking small steps away from the glass door, your heels clacking on the sleek wood with each step.

His office is so luxurious– and you’re certain it’s bigger than your entire apartment. Floor to ceiling windows that take up the entire wall behind him and show the impressive expanse of the city, the sky turning a darker shade of blue as the sun disappears behind the other skyscrapers. Impressive bookshelves full top to bottom, with not just books but awards he's won throughout his life, as well as decorative art pieces.

He has well cared for plants in every corner, two sofas for additional seating, and a chandelier that rivals any you’ve ever seen in its extravagance. There’s a large rug underneath his desk and the opposite chairs, and your heels quiet as you step on it, carefully pulling one of the chairs back to sit.

It’s comfortable, the same shade of rich mahogany as his desk, and you practically sink into it. Despite that, you do your best to keep a good posture after setting your bag on the opposite chair; sitting up straight, hands folded in your lap as you cross one leg over the other.

Your skirt squeezes against your thighs in this position, but you’d rather be caught dead than have an informal posture in front of the CEO of your company. He’s looking at his papers again, and heat, as well as apprehension, spreads through your body when he looks up at you once more– but mostly, it’s heat; how and why is he so attractive?

You’re so rarely given the opportunity to be this close to Mr. Seo– and there’s still a large desk between you that gives you a fair amount of distance, but you’re able to drink him in much more than you usually can. His eyes, that normally appear quite piercing and stern, are always much softer up close– all of his features are soft, really.

Round cheeks, soft nose, defined chin that somehow isn’t harsh in appearance despite how sculpted he is. His lips are so pink, look so soft and plush, in the prettiest pouty shape. Cute, handsome, pretty, sexy– he’s all of it in one package. You want him bad.

Mr. Seo has expensive-looking round earrings on that you realize you failed to notice earlier, perfectly matching his necklaces. A ring too, you note as he turns back to his papers to flip a page– gem black as his hair, but with the same silver as the rest of his jewelry encircling it. He’s so stylish– it’s almost enough to make you salivate with desire.

It’s almost astonishing how you can still thirst for him while this concerned over your livelihood– but he’s so undeniably handsome and perfect that you just can’t seem to help it. If this ends up being your last day here, you don’t think it’s the money you’ll miss the most– it’ll most definitely be seeing Mr. Seo in all his impressive glory.

Finally, he holds out the tiny, stapled stack of papers in his hand to you, gesturing for you to take them to look at. “Mrs. Kim went over this with you, correct? You recognize it?” he asks, watching you carefully as you run your eyes over the top page. “This is my review from last quarter..?” you say, an air of uncertainty in your voice. Fuck. You really are getting fired.

“Did I make a mistake since then? Do something wrong?” you question, doing your best not to fall into your anxious habit of chewing on your bottom lip. It’s also taking everything in you not to start unloading a string of apologies over the finance report you emailed him, convinced by this point that you suffered a major performance dip and sent him a report chock full of mistakes.

Even at his angriest, Mr. Seo never grilled or chewed out his employees– but you almost think the look of sincere disappointment he’d give you before firing you would be worse than the anger. “No, don't worry! The opposite, actually,” he reassures you, so sweetly and genuinely that it sends you reeling.

The relief that should come with realizing you aren't being fired or scolded doesn't even hit you, because all your brain latches on to is how beautiful his smile is. Negative or positive, you come to the conclusion that this will be the most difficult meeting of your life– he’s just too stunning; your poor heart can’t take it.

“I realized that a mistake was made in regards to your raise– you actually should’ve been given more. It is not my intent to undercut the value of my employees, and I sincerely apologize for the error,” Mr. Seo stands to bow to you, and the axis of your world tilts further off balance. Mr. Seo, the most successful man you’ve ever known, whose net worth is easily millions upon millions of won, is bowing to you?

“Your work is always done diligently and accurately, and it keeps my business going smoothly– and to make up for the error, I’d also like to offer you a bonus on top of immediately rectifying your salary. A sum that is equal to what you would’ve received these past few months had your raise been accurately relayed and processed sooner.”

Wait. Wait, wait, wait. It’s true that you were upset when your raise was only a few measly cents, but you assumed that was intentional, that you just needed to work harder– and surely, the mistake isn’t Mr. Seo’s fault. If anything, it’s definitely your harpy of a manager Mrs. Kim's doing– she should be the one groveling at your feet. The fact that he’s even apologizing to you for it is insane. In what world does it make sense for him to grovel to and appease you?

You suppose it isn’t just his business smarts that make him such a good CEO, but his ability to take responsibility like this, and his genuine care for the members of his team. But that’s not even what’s at the forefront of your mind anymore– what has really captured your focus is the glimpse of pretty, white lace you see peeking out under his suit, deliciously hugging his pecs.

Surely this isn’t real– you must’ve fallen asleep at your desk, and are having a fever dream from the stress of the week. Surely Mr. Seo isn’t actually wearing lingerie underneath his suit, right? That would be crazy– not even in your wildest fantasies would you ever be met with such a sinfully delectable sight.

He doesn’t smooth out or adjust his suit nearly enough when he rises back up, and the edges of the intricate lace continue to peek out from behind his lapels. Your eyes stay transfixed on it, the urge to drool over Mr. Seo the strongest it’s ever been as every subsequent word he says goes straight through one ear and out the other.

You lick over your drying lips, swallow thickly, unable to focus on anything but the entrancing visage of pure white lace squeezing his muscles. Your body was already running hot just from being in his presence, but now it feels like a furnace, mind racing as you consider how much more lace there is beneath his suit.

How much skin does it cover? How little? And maybe if you were paying more attention to literally any part of him besides the lace on his pecs, you would’ve noticed the shiver that traveled through his body after he stood back up right, or the slight flush to his cheeks.

He thinks you did notice from the way you stare at him, but then he realizes your gaze is focused solely on one specific place– his chest. Even without glancing down at himself, he realizes what caught your attention– it causes his cheeks to flush a deeper pink, an awkward cough leaving him as he finally rights his suit, and obscures the lace beneath it.

Lace out of sight, your trance is broken, and your eyes return to Mr. Seo’s face. You’ve never, absolutely never, seen him so red and timid. “Uh, I–” he starts, but for perhaps the first time in his professional life, he is left at an utter loss for words. “J-Just– pretend you didn’t see that, please,” he quickly mumbles a moment later as he returns to sitting in his chair, hoping you once again fail to notice the way he shivers when he’s sat.

You’re both professionals– surely you can move on from this and go on as if nothing happened without making things around the office awkward. No, you think immediately– you know you’ll never be able to scrub the delectable image of lace over his toned, honeyed skin out of your brain; it’s already rooted itself much too deeply.

Except when you watch his eyes widen before his brows furrow, you realize you accidentally said “no” audibly. “..No?” he questions, and you already know you’ve dug yourself into a hole; but you can’t take it back now that it’s been said, so you may as well commit. “I mean– it was very pretty, Sir. You’re very pretty. I don’t think I can forget about it.”

He blinks, blush slowly crawling its way to his ears as the information soaks in. And though it’s certainly grounds for a swift and stern dismissal in ordinary circumstances, he entertains the compliment, workplace code of conduct be damned. “You think I’m pretty?” he questions, and it almost makes you laugh. Is water wet? Is the sky blue? Is grass green? Yes, he’s pretty!

“With all due respect, I thought that was obvious, Sir,” you answer, surprising even yourself with how forward a statement it is– never in a million years did you think you’d admit how attractive you think Mr. Seo is to his face. “Obvious that I’m pretty, or obvious that you think so?” he tilts his head as he asks, and smiles– one that is as shy as it is devastatingly charming.

To see him smile at you in such a way sends a whirlwind of emotions through you, the most potent of them being desire. There’s an eager glint in his eyes, one that you’re sure you match– maybe even surpass. You’re self aware enough to realize your ogling of him when he walks in a room is noticeable– it wouldn’t surprise you if he’d been aware of it all this time.

And maybe, just maybe, he too has been waiting for an opportunity like this to present itself. Maybe he likes the way you stare at him with pure, unfiltered want. Maybe the tight blouses and skirts you wear make him crazy, always hugging your curves just right. Maybe his skin runs hot when he sees red lipstick stains lingering behind on your coffee mug, imagining that same mark covering every inch of his body.

He shouldn’t feel this way, he knows, he’s your boss for God’s sake– but he’s also only human; and he can’t keep resisting the call of you, the veritable siren in his office. How many more of those dark gazes of lust behind your thick, rectangular glasses is he supposed to be able to take? How many more times is he supposed to pretend he doesn’t notice the way you bite your lip as you look him over?

Truthfully, it was an accident that you saw the lace decorating him beneath his suit– but he can’t find it within himself to complain about it. Unintentional though it certainly was, he finds himself eager to take this opportunity to pursue you. Reason and responsibility lost, he follows his deepest, most base desires– he wants to indulge your hunger for him, wants to let you consume him, body and soul.

“Can’t both be true?” you ask as you toss the report he handed you aside and inch yourself closer to the desk, all sense of timidity within you evaporating now that he’s entertaining your blatant desire for him. “I think you’re well aware you’re pretty. I think you know you make everyone crazy,” you rest your elbows on the desk, leaning forward as you speak, “I think you know everyone wants you.”

You offer Mr. Seo your prettiest grin as you watch him swallow, his eyes traveling down to your blouse, where the top most buttons lie undone and offer him an enticing view of your cleavage. “A-And you– you want me?” he asks, slowly directing his gaze back up to your eyes; a question that is perhaps silly at this point, but that he wants the verbal confirmation of regardless.

“May I be forward, Sir?” you ask, gauging how deep his interest in you really runs, how honest you’re truly allowed to be about your desire. Your smile grows when he utters a rather meek yet eager “yes” in response. “I’ve always wanted you, from the very first moment I saw you,” you tell him candidly, “I want to kiss you, I want to touch you, and I want to see what other pretty things you have underneath your suit.”

“I-I see,” he says shakily, very nearly squirming in his seat from how intently you stare at him, the burning desire you have for him palpable. The tension is strong, and now it’s up to him to release it– with just a word, the dam holding you both back will break, the fervorous flood of lust all consuming; and despite how much he shouldn’t, it’s all he wants.

“Kiss me, please,” his plea comes out in an airy lilt; conceding to his desires, he surrenders all of himself to the irresistible temptation. You rise from your chair, round the desk to approach him, and he watches in breathless anticipation. The few steps it takes to reach him feel so impossibly slow, and his heart feels like it’s thundering in his chest; he can even feel the sweat building on his brow as he waits for you to finally touch him after all this time.

Placing your hand on the top of his chair, you push it, making him swivel to face you. His breath catches in his throat as he stares up at you, eyes swimming with need. Your fingertips just barely brush over the bit of bare chest peeking through the v-line of his lapels, but it’s enough to send goosebumps over his heated skin.

You hook your finger into his long, silver chain, tug on it just enough to urge him to lean up to meet you. He shivers as he shifts in his seat, has to suppress the whine that threatens to rise from his throat when your lips just barely touch his, a phantom of a feeling left behind. And make no mistake, you want him bad– but you don’t want to rush; you’ve wanted this for too long to do anything but relish in having him in your grasp.

When you return to him, you press your lips to the corner of his mouth instead of kissing him directly, leaving the prettiest trace of lipstick behind. And even despite the ardency he feels to have you, he makes no move to hurry you along; because when you finally kiss him, full and deep, it makes all the build up worth it– it’s true bliss, countless butterflies dancing in his stomach.

And truly, you intended to keep kissing him slowly– but now that you’ve felt his perfectly soft and full lips against your own, your restraint begins to evaporate. You wanted to take your time, to indulge in the sensation– but when you lick over his lips, and he eagerly allows you entrance into his mouth, you get the impression that he can’t hold himself back from his desires either.

The kisses quickly grow messy, your hands urgently popping open the buttons of his suit. You’re trying to be careful to not rip the buttons off, knowing very well how expensive his clothes must be– but even if you did completely ruin it, he wouldn’t have found it within himself to care. He can buy a new suit, doesn’t give a shit about how much it’d cost– your lips and hands on him are far more important.

Buttons successfully undone, you push the suit off his shoulders, and he quickly pulls his arms out of the sleeves, freeing himself from the fabric. You pull away from the kiss, bring your hand to his face, trace your thumb over your lipstick lingering on his lips and further smear it over his skin. It’s a dark red, pretty mess, starkly contrasting the dainty elegance of white lace hugging his body below.

“You’re beautiful, Mr. Seo,” you breathe, utterly mesmerized by the sight of him. You trace your fingers over the scalloped edges of the lace on his chest, follow it down until it stops just above his stomach. It covers his arms as well, up to the edges of his deltoids. The bulk of muscle beneath looks so tantalizing– it’s positively mouth watering.

“Changbin,” he speaks up, and you look at him curiously, a slight smile playing on your lips. Of course, you know it's his name– it’d be astonishing if you didn’t know your boss’ full name; you’re just pleasantly surprised he wants to drop the formalities. “Call me Changbin, please– o-or Bin, or Binnie! I– I’d like that more.”

“Of course, Binnie,” you smile sweetly as you call his name, and though it’s such a simple indulgence, it makes his cock throb in his slacks. You can see it, hard and straining against the tight fabric– you’re positive it’s uncomfortable, thick as he seems to be. You run your fingers over his belt, tracing the buckle. He watches with labored breaths, trying not to squirm in his seat from the anticipation.

“What’s my name?” you suddenly ask him, and he says it in a question, brows slightly furrowing– do you think he doesn’t remember it? He pouts as he waits for you to speak again, and you giggle ever so slightly before you do. “Mhm, but what do you want it to be?” you ask and oh, fuck– you’re asking what title he wants to call you by, he realizes.

“A-Ahh, uhm–” Changbin hesitates, swallows the lump in his throat, face burning as you look him over expectantly. Fuck, everything about this situation is so unreal– but if he’s already come this far with you, why shouldn’t he allow himself further indulgences? Why not give in to what his deepest desires are?

“M-Mommy, you’re– you’re my mommy,” he finally forces the words out, face and ears positively on fire as he waits for your reaction. Oh, that’s what he likes? Your smile grows, and you sweetly caress his face, enjoying the feeling of heat radiating off his cheeks.

“Binnie needs his mommy to take care of him, doesn’t he?” your question makes him whine, nodding his head in a shameless, eager display. He’s so unbearably hot, his erection strains against his tight pants, his skin tingles as you trail your hand back down to his chest– he wants and wants and wants. Touch him everywhere, kiss him everywhere, talk to him sweetly as you go– he needs it.

Very little lipstick remains on your lips after all the kissing you’ve done, but the last traces of it end up on his neck, trailing downwards as you kiss and lick every inch of skin you come in contact with. You run your hands over his torso, squeezing him from the bulk of his arms to the soft edges of his waist, delighting in the soft, breathy whines and moans you pull from him.

You return to his lips at the same time your fingers find his nipples, and he mewls into your mouth as he squirms, the sensation of your tugs and pinches through the lace almost overwhelming. No, it is overwhelming– but he likes it too much to ask you to do any different. And the more you play with his nipples, the squirmier he gets, his hands harshly gripping the armrest of his chair in an effort to ground himself.

You fall to your knees, and he watches breathlessly as you press kisses over his pecs until you eventually reach one of his perked nipples. He keens when you take it in your mouth, swirling your tongue around it over the lace. He gasps when you suck on it, his nails trying their best to dig into the unyielding leather cushioning his armrest.

“Does my Binnie like having his nipples played with like this?” you ask before you run your tongue over this other one. He whines, writhing in place as you resume pinching and tugging on the one that was just in your mouth, the lace now soaked with your saliva adding even more to the delicious friction.

“L-Like it– like it so much, mama,” he finally answers in a shudder, voice squeaky and high pitched. He gasps when you graze your teeth over his nipple, head falling back and another loud moan drawing out of him when you gently bite it. He’s so sensitive, can’t stop himself from shivering and squirming under your diligent touch.

He moans again when you lean up to kiss him, your hand traveling down and down, until your hand reaches his belt again. “Will you take these off for me?” you ask, tugging ever so slightly on the buckle. You could do it yourself, of course, but you like the idea of watching him undress himself for you– and from the way he eagerly nods, you conclude that he likes the idea too.

You smile at him before you rise back up to your feet and you take a step away from him, resting yourself comfortably against his desk while you wait for him to start. He glances at his door first– he knows it’s unlocked, but the blinds are drawn closed, at least; even if someone heard him, they hadn’t seen anything happening in the room.

He looks at his windows next– tall and expansive, not a single curtain in sight; the view it affords him is normally well worth the lack of privacy curtains would provide, but when he considers how naked he’s about to be in front of them, it makes his heart race faster. But you’re so high up– surely, no one from the street will see anything.

And if someone from the skyscrapers sitting opposite of his building happens to see, well.. He supposes he’ll just have to hope they enjoy the show they’ll be receiving. Changbin rises from his chair, and with trembling hands he fumbles with his belt, doing his best to unbuckle it quickly. Once done, he proceeds with undoing the button of his slacks and pulling down the zipper.

Given how tight his slacks are, they don’t fall down his legs just because the button has been undone and the zipper has been pulled down– he has to make a purposeful effort to remove them. He glances at you, notes how intently you watch him, ready and eager to see all of him– and that desire you harbor for him encourages him to go beyond the shyness that grips him.

Pulling them down over the swell of his ass, the first sight you’re met with is more white lace, perfectly matching the top he still has on. Your heart feels like it’s positively going to burst from the view of his cock– short but impossibly thick, pressed down by dainty lace, leaking pre-cum and turning the otherwise pure white translucent.

Your breathing grows more labored just looking at it, and God, as if you weren’t already on the brink of drooling over him before– you absolutely need his cock in your mouth. But still, there’s more for you to see– so you sit patiently, swallowing as you wait for him to keep undressing himself for you.

He has to bend over to pull his pants down his thighs, and his blush darkens when he notices you quite blatantly leaning to the side to look at his ass from his peripheral. There’s a glimpse of something shiny between his cheeks under the lace, and it makes you gasp with surprised delight. Changbin himself closes his eyes, trying not to let out a flustered whine when he realizes you’ve noticed it.

A plug rests inside him, shiny steel with a pretty pink gem in the center in the shape of a heart. Has he had it inside all day? The thought makes you dizzy– and suddenly all the times he’d shivered after moving makes sense. “Gosh, wearing this to work– you’re so dirty Binnie,” you muse happily, and he whines, wishing for nothing more than to cover his face behind his hands.

Though it’s obvious by this point that you like it, he’s hesitant to meet your gaze after stepping out of his slacks and standing back upright. But you can’t have that– so you grab his face, making him turn to you. “You’re so sexy, it’s unbelievable,” you tell him before you kiss him again, and he easily melts into it, nerves evaporating with your lips back on his.

Changbin can’t help being shy, but your desire for him makes it more bearable to push through– and the more you kiss him, the more floaty he feels. You reach behind, blindly and hastily shove everything off his desk before you turn him around, and guide him to sit on it. Neither of you pay any mind to the loud clatter the objects make hitting the floor, or of how mixed up any unstapled papers he had there will become– you’re much too absorbed in the feeling of one another.

You instruct him to lean back when you pull away from kissing him, and he listens in a heartbeat, tipping himself back on his desk. He props himself on his elbows, watches as you bring your hand to his cock, still contained by lace panties. He gasps when you squeeze it through the fabric, whines when you trail your fingers further down and press on the plug still nestled between his cheeks.

“What were you prepping for, hmm? Tell mommy about it,” you say, and again he squirms as he tries to speak, the blush on his face flaring. “I-I– Binnie was gonna–” he stumbles on his words, voice quivering, and he has to close his eyes to try to focus on getting what he wants to say out effectively.

Waking up this morning feeling naughty, he knew he wanted to fuck himself– got himself ready bright and early, so that by the time he got home tonight he’d be nicely stretched and ready for his favorite dildo. He was going to suction it to the floor, ride it while he fisted his cock with one hand and tug on his nipples with the other, close his eyes and imagine it was someone else sweetly playing with him.

The lingerie was to make him feel pretty– and looking at himself in the mirror before pulling his suit on, he really felt he was; he was giddy with the feeling of being sexy and cute simultaneously. He liked knowing it was there under his suit, liked feeling the lace against his skin, liked how much it contrasted the rest of his physique.

He’s trying to tell you as much, knows even without seeing your face how expectantly you’re waiting to hear it– but he struggles embarrassingly, because he can feel your hand stroking his cock over his panties. All he can do with his eyes closed is focus on the sensation your hand grants him– so he opens his eyes again, forcing himself to keep eye contact with you as he speaks.

“A-Ahh– Binnie was gonna– gonna fuck himself,” he admits, trying not to whine from the way you pleasantly coo and smile at him. “Mommy can fuck you,” you tell him sweetly, and God, he feels like he could cum from the words alone. “Would you like that? Want my fingers to fill you up?” you ask, and he nods so fast it almost makes him dizzy.

“Yes! Please, please, fuck me, need it so bad, please–” he begs, and you coo at him as your fingers slip under his panties, once again finding the plug he has nestled inside. He lifts his legs, holds himself under the knees to make your task easier– and it’s effort on his muscles, but what has he spent so much time building them up for if not this?

“You’re ready for me to take it out?” you ask, watching him carefully– he certainly seems eager enough, but you don’t want there to be any unpleasant surprises. “Ready, ‘m ready, do it please,” Changbin pleads, desperate to feel you inside– he wants it, needs it, more than he feels he can vocalize; but he’d certainly try his best if you asked him to.

You kiss him sweetly, shove his lace panties to the side as much as you can manage too and swallow his whines as you slowly and carefully pull the plug out of his hole. You put it on his desk, but it rolls right off, hitting the floor with a dull thud– not that he cares about it right now; he’ll retrieve it later. All he can think about is how empty he feels now, but how deliciously your fingers will replace the feeling, and make him full again.

He prepped himself well, was diligent in his use of lube– but you still want to get your fingers plenty wet and slick before you try to slide them in. He watches you bring two of your fingers to your mouth, utterly mesmerized by the way they disappear into your mouth, how shiny they are with your saliva when you pull them out.

You spit on them too for good measure when you’re finished coating them, and he licks his lips as he stares at your fingers– again, he wants, wants, wants. You notice it, of course you do– the blatant yearning in his gaze, how he licks his parted lips once more, how he practically drools as he stares.

“Want to help me get them wet, sweet boy? Want them in your mouth?” you smile as you ask, amusedly tilting your head. “Or was it me spitting on them that you liked? Should I spit on you too?” “Both, please, want both,” he answers in a hurry, utterly shameless. “Is that so?” you ask with a grin that sends a shiver down the length of his spine.

“Open your mouth for me Binnie, show me your tongue,” you instruct, and he complies obediently, opening his mouth and sticking out his tongue for you. He moans when you spit on it, and again when you press your wet fingers into his mouth. He closes his lips around them, diligently swirls his tongue around your digits before he sucks.

He gags when you press them in further, the tips of your fingers brushing against the back of his throat. His eyes water, saliva pools in his mouth and dribbles down the corners, and it’s so utterly entrancing that you just have to praise him. “So good for me, Binnie’s such a good boy,” you coo, and he keens as he quickly nods his head, as if to say ‘I am! I’m a good boy for you!’

Changbin almost wants to whine when you slip your fingers out of his mouth, but then you slide your slicked fingers over his waiting hole, and all he can do is gasp and whimper. “Mommy’s gonna fuck you now,” you tell him, voice so saccharine it makes his head spin– he still can’t believe this is really happening, but he’s so happy that it is.

He jolts when you easily slide two of your fingers inside, his cock twitching against the lace panties still holding it down. There’s very little resistance thanks to the plug that was in prior and how slick he and your fingers are, but you still take it slow, carefully watching him for discomfort. Ultimately, you sense none– all he feels his pleasure, licking over every inch of his body.

“Look at you, you take it so well,” you praise as you watch your fingers disappear into his hole, and he whines as he watches with you. He whimpers loud and pretty when you curl your fingers into his spot, his head falling back as he bites his lip. He’s trembling all over, he’s seeing stars behind his closed eyes, he can hardly breathe when you start to thrust your fingers expertly in and out.

“Feels good, Binnie?” you ask him, and God, it’s so hard to speak like this, but he does his best for you. “F-Feels so– so good, mama, Binnie feels so good,” he cries, jolting again when you spit on his hole, adding more to the wetness so you can easily add a third finger. His breath catches in his throat when it’s fully inside, his eyes rolling back as he gasps and moans.

Your eyes travel to his cock, twitching and throbbing where it lies neglected, pre-cum still steadily leaking from the tip. You stop moving your fingers for just a moment, sink to your knees and lick at his cock over the lace still containing it. “O-Oh, mommy– oh my God–” he gasps as he lifts his head back up to look at you.

It’s such a dirty sight, and he can hardly handle the way you stare back at him through your glasses. His back bows off the desk when you start moving your fingers again, that moan that follows obscenely pornographic. He feels so hot, body trembling, thighs twitching– he’s already so, so close. “‘m gonna cum,” he whines his warning, his hands desperately grabbing at his desk as he feels his orgasm build deep in his stomach, “Please, can I? L-Let me cum, please mama–”

He whines when you stop, his impending orgasm ebbing away as you rise back to your feet. You grab his face, make him look at you before you resume the motion of your fingers– and when you squeeze his cheeks, he knows what to do. He opens his mouth for you, sticks out his tongue, obedient and eager.

He moans when you spit on it, swallows it like the good boy he is and opens his mouth for more after. “You’re so dirty,” you comment, letting go of his face to slip your hand into his panties, and wrap your hand around his cock. You spit in his mouth once more, now fisting his cock to the same rhythm of your fingers thrusting inside and hitting his spot.

His eyes roll back as he swallows it all, a steady stream of whimpers leaving as his toes curl. “Mommy, I-I’m–” he trembles, release so close he isn’t sure he can hold it back; he'll try if you tell him to, but– “cum, gonna– gonna cum, please, I can’t– mama, please–”

“Let go, sweet boy, cum for me,” you urge him, and he wants to thank you– but it hits him so hard, all he can do is cry. You can continue to stroke him through it, his cum releases in thick spurts, coating your hand and soiling his panties. You don’t stop until he starts to writhe from the oversensitivity, gently releasing his cock and sliding your fingers out of him as he lies breathless against the desk.

His eyes are closed, heart racing as he lies limp, utterly exhausted from the intensity of his orgasm. You look to the floor, find the tissue box that previously rested on his desk and grab a few to clean your hand up with, as well as gently wipe away the cum that seeps out of his panties.

Changbin smiles at you sheepishly when you wipe the sweat from his brow, and kisses you after you help him sit back up. “Are you thirsty?” you ask him, rounding the desk to retrieve your bag from your chair. You pull out a water bottle, and he accepts it graciously, thanking you after he takes a few big sips. You both giggle when he tries to stand, but quickly realizes he’s still wobbly in the legs, so you help him get dressed too.

He can't help but give you another shy smile as you help him smooth over suit, giggling happily when you kiss him afterwards. He knows he’s still fairly debauched– after all, his face is still impossibly flushed, his skin is still running hot, and there’s lipstick marks all over him that can’t easily be wiped off with a few tissues; but he likes it.

He just hopes that no one made the decision to pull some over time– it’d save him a lot of embarrassment leaving the building if you’re the only two left. But speaking of leaving.. “Uhm– Y/N,” he calls you timidly just as you both finish re-tidying his office, and tilt your head as you hum in question, giving him your full attention. “Will you– will you have dinner with me?” he asks, the faded blush returning when you beam a smile at him.

“For business or pleasure?” you tease him, and he huffs as you giggle. “Pleasure,” he replies meekly, hoping you’ll come home with him after; he’ll return the favor then, do everything he possibly can to make you feel as good as you made him feel. “I’d love to, Changbin,” you tell him, giving him one more kiss before you link your hand in his; and he smiles at you before you leave the building together hand in hand, with the night still young and so much more fun still to be had.

network tags: @ksmutsociety

#ksmutsociety #skz x reader #changbin x reader #skz smut #changbin smut #sub!skz #skz scenarios #skz imagines #skz fanfic #pls ignore the fact that i started and finished a new fic instead of working on all the wips i've had for months fdgfdgdf #also in case you missed it my posts may be even more sporadic than usual cause i'm dealing with health issues rn // sorry in advance!

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theunsinkableship1 · 1 month ago

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An unsinkable ship and 3 wise monkeys.

⚠️Beware this a lukola content! Skip if you don't believe!

Some choose to see only what is presented, accepting it without question. Some hear only the whispers that confirm their bias. And others speak as if they know the full truth, even when the pieces don’t quite fit.

The discourse surrounding Luke and Nicola often feels like a tug-of-war between undeniable chemistry and persistent skepticism.

The biggest challenge with Lukola is that people often refuse to consider anything beyond face-value optics. If they don’t see a clear, labeled relationship announcement, they assume there’s nothing. But relationships, especially high-profile, potentially complicated ones, don’t always follow that linear path. Don't get me wrong I believe them when they say that they are the best of friends .The rest is not that easy to follow contrary to the popular belief .

This latest development: Luke being photographed holding hands with his presumed girlfriend in People Magazine that naturally raises questions and fuels discussions within the Lukola space. As with all public narratives involving celebrities, there are multiple ways to interpret what is happening, ranging from the most straightforward explanations to more layered and complex possibilities.

Scenario 1: The Most Evident Interpretation

The simplest way to view this is at face value : Luke and the girlfriend are indeed in a relationship, and these photos are just casual moments captured by paparazzi. Supporters of this perspective would argue that there is nothing unusual about a public figure being seen with his significant other, especially in an era where celebrities are increasingly subjected to media scrutiny.

Scenario 2: PR Strategy and Media Management

Another plausible scenario is that these images are part of a managed narrative. People Magazine obtained an exclusive release. Given that Backgrid is known for staging “candid” paparazzi moments, it is worth questioning whether Luke and the girlfriend wanted or needed to be seen together publicly for a reason.

A common PR tactic in the industry is controlling the flow of information to maintain a certain image, whether it be for career reasons, contractual obligations, or to buy time before another major revelation.

Scenario 3: A Cover for Something Else?

Some might argue that this is a case of misdirection. If there is a bigger story at play, one that Luke and Nicola are not yet ready to make public, then keeping certain narratives alive in the media could serve a strategic purpose. It wouldn’t be the first time that celebrities have used carefully placed relationships to deflect speculation while navigating personal or professional transitions.

This theory suggests that these images are meant to reinforce an existing storyline while something else unfolds behind the scenes. .

Scenario 4: Personal Confusion or Internal Conflict

A more human interpretation could be that Luke and Nicola themselves are navigating complicated emotions. If they have strong feelings for each other but are involved with others, they may experience inner conflict. The contrast in Luke’s demeanor when with either woman suggests that if there is something real between him and Nicola, it may not yet be in a place where he feels ready or able to act on it.

This could explain moments of tension between him and Nicola in interviews, the undercurrents of unspoken communication, and why he doesn’t appear fully at ease in these staged outings. If he is torn between what he should do versus what he wants to do, that would naturally create inconsistencies in his public and private actions.

From a Lukola standpoint, this situation is not a definitive blow rather, it is a continuation of an ongoing narrative that still has unresolved elements. The ship is built on the belief that there is something undeniably strong between Luke and Nicola, something that transcends surface-level optics. If Lukola were truly “dead,” then Luke and Nicola’s interactions would not continue to raise questions.

Supporting Lukola means believing in their love potential, regardless of any external factors or other relationships that may exist. Those are irrelevant to the essence of this space. The goal of shipping is simple: to see them together, to celebrate their bond, and to explore the possibility of their romantic connection. The name itself is self-explanatory.

It’s also worth considering why some people resist the idea. Some prefer the neat and easy narrative that aligns with what the media presents. Others may not pick up on subtleties or are unwilling to entertain possibilities that challenge their preconceived notions. And, of course, there are those who simply refuse to acknowledge something that doesn’t align with their personal preferences.

Still, it’s impossible to ignore the inconsistencies in what is presented versus what is felt. We see the stark contrast in Luke’s demeanor with different people, the way staged narratives unfold, and the careful handling of public perception. These patterns suggest a story more complex than the surface allows. And while some may dismiss it as wishful thinking, I choose to trust what I’ve observed rather than what I’m told to believe.

When you’ve spent time meticulously analyzing their interactions, patterns, and public contradictions, it can feel almost absurd that some people insist there’s nothing there. Especially when there’s compelling evidence, body language, emotional reactions, moments of tension and resolution, and even strategic media placements that suggests something deeper than mere friendship.

The evidence indicating that they were supposedly associated in some manner at one point is out there, which already challenges the notion that their relationship has been exclusively platonic.The questions that would remain unanswered are when, for how long, and whether they are still together in private. There are hints, patterns, and moments that don’t align with the narratives being pushed. Given those perceived hints, it seems plausible that their relationship might not fit the traditional public trajectory but rather one that’s more private, complex, and possibly ongoing.

Some things aren’t meant for public scrutiny, no matter how frustrating it is to see others deny what you know to be true.

In the grand scheme, the truth isn’t about winning an argument or proving doubters wrong. It’s about recognizing what’s real and allowing space for Luke and Nicola to navigate their relationship whatever form it takes on their own terms. If they are keeping things private, there’s likely a reason for it, and we should respect that as fans and observers.

Sometimes, knowing the truth is enough. You don’t need external validation when the pieces fit, and in the end, the people who want to see it will.

At the end of the day, the evidence speaks for itself. If you’ve connected the dots and see a clear picture forming, then that perspective is just as valid, if not more so than someone dismissing it outright without engaging in the same level of analysis.

There’s a certain balance that comes with being a Lukola supporter one that requires both awareness and restraint. We see the effort being made to present a particular narrative, one that we are expected to accept at face value. And while it may not align with everything we’ve observed, it exists for a reason.

So, we “pretend” to believe. Not out of ignorance, but out of respect. If this is the version of events, they are committed to putting forth, then the least we can do is play along at least outwardly. Publicly, we acknowledge the script. Privately, we continue to piece together the story that logic and intuition tell us.

But make no mistake, this does not mean we stop shipping them. The two things are not mutually exclusive. Recognizing the official narrative does not erase the genuine moments, the patterns, the history, or the lingering sense that there’s more beneath the surface. It simply means we respect their right to navigate this in their own way, on their own terms.

Shipping is, at its core, about belief in a connection. And that connection is undeniable. Whether it’s hidden in plain sight or simply waiting for the right moment to be acknowledged, our support remains steady. We’re not here to force revelations or demand confirmations we’re here because we see something real.

So we nod along to the public story, all while keeping our own understanding intact. Because sometimes, the most powerful way to support something is to let it unfold naturally, even when you already know the truth. For now, the best course of action is patience. As always, speculation will exist on all sides, but ultimately, only Luke and Nicola hold the power to sink this ship and all their actions are not giving that.

Lukola isn’t just a ship, it’s an unsinkable submarine. It moves beneath the surface, unseen by most but always present. While others accept the surface-level narrative, we recognize the deeper currents in these turbulent waters, the moments that slip through, the patterns that don’t lie.

Like the Three Wise Monkeys, many choose willful blindness, silence, and ignorance. They see nothing, hear nothing, and say nothing, pretending inconsistencies don’t exist. But the truth doesn’t disappear just because it’s unspoken.

🎵When you want it the most There's no easy way out When you're ready to go And your heart's left in doubt Don't give up on your faith (don't give up on your faith) Love comes to those who believe it (And that's the way it is)🎵

#lukola #lukolaland

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leveloneandup · 1 month ago

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Angel City believes it finally has right chemistry to be competitive amid rebuild

Angel City FC, which opens its fourth NWSL season Sunday by hosting the San Diego Wave, has five players who aren’t old enough to buy a drink and seven others who meet the age requirement to run for the U.S. Senate.

Consider that forward Christen Press, 36, and defender Ali Riley, 37, were playing together at Stanford the year teenage teammates Kennedy Fuller and Casey Phair were born. And forward Sydney Leroux won a World Cup before defender Savy King had finished grade school.

“Casey is oftentimes teaching the older players the younger slang,” Anderson said. Phair, who was born the day the first iPhone hit the market, is also good at tech support, she added.

And while that’s welcome — “I need a lot of tech support,” Press said — that’s not why Angel City has become a team for the ages.

Angel City’s youth movement has created a new role for players such as Press and Emslie, who are being counted on to mentor the youngsters.

“Bringing in Riley Tiernan, who’s on fire right now, Julie Dufour, Alyssa Thompson, Casey Phair; they get to be around Christen Press,” Parsons said. “It’s great. It saves a lot of time for the coaches. A lot of work’s happening.”

It’s a responsibility Press has embraced after missing most of Angel City’s first three seasons because of a torn anterior cruciate ligament.

“For me to be able to be a resource for them has brought me a value and a role that I never imagined I’d have. And I really do enjoy it,” she said.

“I sit next to Alyssa Thompson in the locker room and we are both attacking players. And we’re like on the bookends of a career, right? She’s looking up at all the things that she could accomplish and I’m in a place where I’ve done a lot. I have that experience and information and knowledge and what it takes to be successful at the level for over a decade. There’s a lot of positive that gets exchanged.”

Gisele Thompson was 5 years old when Claire Emslie made her professional soccer debut. She now plays behind Emslie on the right side of Angel City’s formation and, if you ask Emslie, the difference in age hasn’t hurt their chemistry.

“We don’t even need to talk because we have that relationship on the pitch,” Emslie said.

Off the pitch, it’s a different story. They could talk all day and still not understand one another.

“I don’t know what she says half the time,” Emslie said. “And I’m sure she doesn’t know what I’m talking about.”

The problem isn’t language. It’s culture. And it’s pervasive on a team with one of the widest age spreads in women’s soccer.

That can make for some awkward moments on a team in which more than half the players are a decade or more apart in age.

“I actually think the difference in musical tastes, of difference slang, it’s kind of fun. People get close in ways that you wouldn’t really think of because of the age,” said goalkeeper and vice captain Angelina Anderson, who at 23 has become a kind of interpreter for women on both sides of the generation gap.

So has Phair, 17, who is both a World Cup veteran and the youngest player on Angel City’s roster.

“Casey is oftentimes teaching the older players the younger slang,” Anderson said. Phair, who was born the day the first iPhone hit the market, is also good at tech support, she added.

And while that’s welcome — “I need a lot of tech support,” Press said — that’s not why Angel City has become a team for the ages.

“You need senior pros and you need youth to be winning now and winning next year and winning the year after,” said Mark Parsons, who is entering his first season as Angel City’s sporting director. “You need this balance.”

Parsons had it at Portland, where he won three trophies in his final season with a team that had 38-year-old Christine Sinclair and 36-year-old Becky Sauerbrunn play alongside 16-year-old Olivia Moultrie. Age spreads like that are becoming more common in the sport, with higher salaries allowing women to play longer at the same time teens are skipping college or leaving early to go pro.

Last year about 5% of NWSL players were younger than 20 with the Athletic reporting that 13 players, including 14-year-old Mckenna Whitham, jumped from club soccer to the NWSL since 2024. That number is certain to increase with the abolition of the league’s college draft.

Angel City’s youth movement has created a new role for players such as Press and Emslie, who are being counted on to mentor the youngsters.

It’s a responsibility Press has embraced after missing most of Angel City’s first three seasons because of a torn anterior cruciate ligament.

“For me to be able to be a resource for them has brought me a value and a role that I never imagined I’d have. And I really do enjoy it,” she said.

Press, an L.A. native who was Angel City’s first signing, re-signed in January, the day after Parsons was hired. That was part of a busy winter in which the team parted ways with Becki Tweed, its second manager in three seasons, and completely remade the front office under new majority owners Willow Bay and Bob Iger.

“This is absolutely Angel City 2.0,” Parsons said of a franchise that launched with great fanfare and ambition only to struggle, losing more games than it won and conceding more goals than it scored in three mostly disappointing seasons.

“It’s next moment, it’s next phase. It’s been three years and now it’s time to launch a new era.”

The team will begin that era Sunday under interim coach Sam Laity, who is expected to remain with Angel City in some capacity when a permanent manager is hired this summer. In the meantime, Parsons said, he’ll be focused on how the team plays and not necessarily whether it wins.

“I hope the result is wonderful. But I care about the performance, I care that we show our identity,” he said.

“We know we’ve got to get some points. We know we’re going to compete. But it takes four games to get a taste of what your team’s going to look like. It takes eight games to know what your team’s going to look like. I’m really excited for these next eight games to really understand and know where we are.”

For the teenagers, the players Anderson calls the “young’uns,” the deliberate timeline feels right. A lot has gone wrong in three years and it will take a lot to fix it. But for the likes of Emslie, a Scottish international who is the franchise leader in goals with 16 in all competition, time is short.

“You have to live in the moment as a player. You can’t ever look to the future. You can’t look to the next game,” she said.

“It’s a long-term project we’re in now and we’re just at the start. That will take time, so I can understand what they’re saying. But as a player, we want to win, no matter what.”

#christen press #casey phair #alyssa thompson #angel city fc #article

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slowburningechoes · 28 days ago

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Controversial!!📌📰 ‼️🚨Bobby does not have great chemistry with a lot of stage actresses for some reason! (They still do amazing and touching art of course.)

I saw more than couple of opinions and reviews around about Him&Helen having zero chemistry?It was big critique for a Zoo story too.I think his most intense “romantic” stage bond was Violet Hour.Maybe it’s young passion idk.Camelot was definitely warm in feeling but it’s hard to judge because it’s different genre and lighter.We were robbed of a reading of “All the frozen ones” so we will never know but pics were sweet!

Very interested in your opinion!Do you see it differently? Especially interesting because you are psych!

that is certainly a hot take! here is my (excessively long) opinion…

i think there is more criticism for this lack of romantic chemistry the older he gets — many reviews from the 90s-00s do not express this concern often (even when he played opposite his Zoo cast-mate, Katie Finneran, 20 years earlier in You Never Can Tell) and especially not as often as they have in recently years. this is extremely frustrating imo and has prompted a lot of reflection…

ageism is something I’ve been thinking about since engaging more actively with the RSL community - especially as much of the fandom rn are minors. though they are often jokes in good humor (and I do, too, at times), I think there’s this huge focus on the fact that he isn’t 20-30-something anymore, calling him “peepaw” or making fun of his older physical qualities. it can be funny once or twice (mostly when it’s silly gen z humor), but it is important to acknowledge that society desexualizes people as they age because they lose many socially expected characteristics of beauty. Robert is no exception to that to many people (even some people who are “fans”), as he shows natural signs of aging… which society automatically finds deterring.

even just reading reviews about their age being a barrier to the believability of Betrayal brought this up. as if people who are in their 50-60s cannot have love affairs or have young children (which RSL does himself), or that their decisions would be that much different than if they were younger. I am SO glad that he was asked about this in his recent interview. Bobby’s response was wonderful and one that I agree with very much — age does not impact the relationships, script, and outcome of this particular show much.

additionally, it is difficult not to let reviews (even professional ones) sway our opinions of a production and cast performance. it is hard to say the quality of Bobby’s performances if we have not seen each of them ourselves. for example, many reviews of Betrayal were negative regarding his and Helen’s chemistry — but that did not consider how their roles were written or how every audience member would interpret it. when I went, though, I could not disagree more (at least on Robert’s end)! for other shows, we are only able to comment on clips or on those reviews we do have available, which isn’t necessarily an accurate depiction of his performance or how any one person may feel about it!

another point: plays are also very different than tv and film. I think in recent decades, we’ve really gotten accustomed to seeing this raw, hot, “I want to f*** you right now” energy between characters and calling that chemistry. but that’s not really true chemistry. while many tv and films do dive into the deep intimacy and true connection of both lust and love, theatre is able to show it on an entirely different level since it is live and in person. there are also many directorial choices which can impact performances across all forms!

personally — any time I have seen clips of Bobby as a romantic lead in a play (in person during Betrayal) or another form of media, I never doubt his romantic chemistry with his partner. he always seems to look at them with such genuine affection, speaking to them like he’d love to hear them talk forever, touching and kissing them like he truly means it. but I also adore him, which could also impact my own perspective in all of this.

overall, we must keep in context the play and the character he is playing, the potential for directorial choices, and our own biases (even if we don’t realize we have them - we all do, whether it’s ageism or loving Bobby or thinking he can do no wrong).

+ p.s. YES!!! we were so robbed with All the Frozen Ones not being recorded. :(

#robert sean leonard #rsl #acting #actor #slowburningquestions #theatre

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alsmediadissection · 4 months ago

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˗ˏˋ wicked symbolism for beginners ´ˎ˗

!! i want to preface this by saying i'm not a professional critic, and this is not a guide to anything either. do not take anything i type online to absolute heart, this is simply my personal interpretation of this piece of media !! (i also want to mention that i did not read the Wicked novel/series by Gregory Maguire)

! CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR ACT 2 IF YOU HAVE NOT WATCHED THE WHOLE MUSICAL !

so anyways, to begin!

many people are now recently stumbling upon the new movie adaptation of Wicked ; the musical. This is amazing knowing how many new fans this can bring to appreciate musical theatre! however it's important to understand the messages of Wicked, whether they are obvious or not.

˗ˏˋ ELPHABA ´ˎ˗

I would first like to start this off with the obvious main character Elphaba. Elphaba Groff is known an the wicked witch of the west due to the fact that she was ostracized by the Wizard of Oz after she found out that he is the one behind the laws regarding the discrimination of animals.

Elphaba's story starts as early as from the moment her mother cheated on her father. It is believed that Elphaba's skin is green due to the green elixir that her mother drank whilst she was sleeping with Elpaiba's father. Since the day Elphaba was conceived, it was already predestined that her father would eventually resent her. Whether it was the fact that she was another man's baby (not saying that it's her fault, but as we noticed Elphaba's father isn't necessarily the most loving and accepting father...) or the fact that her skin was green.

Anyhow, Elphaba's skin is firstly a symbolism for 'Otherness and Alianation'. From birth, Elphaba faces rejection and prejudice, even from her own father, making her green skin a constant reminder of her perceived inferiority and unacceptability. Elphaba’s green skin marks her as visibly different from everyone else in Oz. This physical distinction mirrors how marginalized communities are often judged and excluded based on superficial traits such as skin color, ethnicity, or cultural background.

Her green skin is also a metaphor for racism and prejudice. The discrimination Elphaba experiences parallels the experiences of individuals subjected to racism. Society in Oz does not see past her skin color, and she is reduced to stereotypes and assumptions about her character based on her appearance. Her treatment reflects systemic biases, with individuals and institutions in Oz upholding a hierarchy that devalues those who are different. (If you want to argue that Madame Morrible didn't treat her differently though, by the end of Act 1 Madame Morrible turns on Elphiba the second she cannot manipulate her anymore). Elphaba’s story critiques a society that values appearance over substance. Despite her intelligence, kindness, and strong moral compass, she is judged solely based on her skin color. This critique calls for audiences to look beyond surface-level attributes and value people for their character and actions.

Elphaba's character is a good representation of internalized shame turned into empowerment. Initially, Elphaba struggles with the stigma of her green skin, internalizing the shame imposed upon her by society. This represents the internalized oppression that many marginalized people face when subjected to constant discrimination. Over time, Elphaba learns to embrace her uniqueness and channel it into defiance against societal norms, transforming her green skin from a source of shame into a symbol of strength and rebellion, hence her title of "Wicked Witch of The West".

However, besides the messages regarding racism and prejudice, Elphaba's green skin can be a symbolism for environmental and political themes as well. The color green may also evoke themes of environmentalism and natural beauty. Elphaba’s alignment with nature and her opposition to industrial and political corruption in Oz reflect her role as a force for justice and harmony. Her green skin can symbolize the natural world fighting back against exploitation and greed.

Even the title, 'Wicked Witch" is a symbolism and can be used as a critique of Modern Society. In the original Wizard of Oz, the Wicked Witch of the West is defined by her green skin and evil demeanor. Wicked subverts this narrative, showing that her “wickedness” is a label imposed by a prejudiced society. Her green skin thus becomes a symbol of how society vilifies those who challenge its norms and refuse to conform. The title of "Wicked Witch' is a similar meaning as to how we call people who speak out "crazy' and 'divas' etc.

In essence, Elphaba’s green skin is not just a physical trait but a multifaceted symbol that encapsulates themes of discrimination, empowerment, and societal critique. It challenges audiences to question their own biases and reflect on the ways society marginalizes those who are different.

˗ˏˋ GALINDA/GLINDA ´ˎ˗

Glinda Upland, also known as Glinda the Good, and formerly referred to as Galinda is the deuteragonist in the Broadway musical, Wicked. Glinda is obviously a very bubbly, perky, and popular girl. She is basically the embodiment of privileged and one may argue, bratty, girl.

Glinda's growth in Wicked is significant because it represents the complexity of privilege, the potential for personal transformation, and the importance of allyship in the fight against systemic injustice. Her character arc provides a nuanced exploration of how individuals in positions of power or societal favour can evolve to confront their own biases and contribute meaningfully to change.

It is firstly important to note Glinda's growth throughout the musical. At the beginning of Wicked, Glinda is preoccupied with appearances, social status, and popularity. She see's herself as 'good' whilst being shallow. Her desire to be admired blinds her to the deeper injustices and struggles faced by others, including Elphaba. She often prioritizes self-interest and conformity over doing what is right.Over time, Glinda’s experiences with Elphaba challenge her worldview. Her exposure to Elphaba’s resilience, integrity, and passion forces Glinda to see beyond her superficial concerns and recognize the depth of her own moral responsibilities.

It is important to note that Glinda is also a good character to note when it comes to a study of privilege. Glinda’s privilege is a central theme in her growth. She initially benefits from a system that favors her beauty, charm, and alignment with societal expectations. Her privilege shields her from the discrimination and hardships Elphaba faces. Her transformation involves becoming aware of this privilege and choosing to use her influence for good. By the end of the musical, Glinda seeks to enact change within the system rather than merely enjoy its benefits, symbolizing the importance of using privilege to uplift others.

However shallow Glinda may seem, she can also be redeemed through allyship. Although Glinda initially fails Elphaba by prioritizing her own ambitions (Defying Gravity) , her growth is marked by her eventual commitment to Elphaba’s legacy and ideals. Glinda’s decision to stay in Oz and work toward systemic reform, even after losing Elphaba, shows her dedication to making amends and standing up for what is right. Her arc highlights the importance of allyship need for individuals in positions of power to listen, learn, and act in support of marginalized voices.

Glinda is as well a complex and redeemable character due to the burden of complicity. In modern society, it is often seen how the privileged understand the injustices that happen around them and yet they do nothing about it. Glinda’s journey also reflects the emotional weight of complicity. Her role in propping up the Wizard’s regime and the injustices against Elphaba weighs heavily on her as she grows more aware of her own failures. Her decision to confront the Wizard’s legacy and strive for justice serves as a redemptive act, demonstrating that growth often involves acknowledging and addressing one’s past mistakes.

Even though Glinda's dynamic and character change happened due to her friendship with Elphaba, it is still important to note how friendship and empathy can be catalysts for personal growth and change. Glinda’s relationship with Elphaba is central to her transformation. Despite their differences, their bond forces Glinda to confront her own assumptions and prejudices. Elphaba’s unwavering integrity inspires Glinda to reexamine her priorities and become a more empathetic and principled person. The complexity of their friendship underscores the transformative power of genuine connection and understanding across societal divides.

In the begging of Wicked, we see Glinda as a perfect character, or rather a character who believes they are perfect. However, by the end of Wicked, Glinda can be viewed as a symbol for hope and imperfect progress. By the end of Wicked, Glinda is not portrayed as flawless but as someone who is actively working to be better. Her journey reflects the idea that growth is an ongoing process, and even those who have made mistakes can contribute meaningfully to positive change. Glinda’s decision to stay in Oz and assume the mantle of leadership offers a hopeful vision for reform, suggesting that systems of power can be challenged and reshaped from within.

Glinda’s growth in Wicked is a testament to the power of introspection, empathy, and courage. Her transformation from a superficial socialite to a principled leader highlights the complexities of privilege and the potential for change. By embracing her flaws and striving to do better, Glinda becomes a symbol of hope, reminding audiences that growth and redemption are possible for anyone willing to confront their biases and take responsibility for their actions.

˗ˏˋ FIYERO ´ˎ˗

Fiyero’s character in Wicked is rich in symbolism, representing themes of privilege, transformation, and the courage to break free from societal expectations. Though him and Glinda are very similar characters, it's important to note that Fiyero is aware of the societal injustices. His journey from a carefree, superficial individual to someone who embraces responsibility and deeper truths reflects broader societal struggles with ignorance, authenticity, and the quest for meaning. It's infact refreshing to see privileged and shallow people being held accountable and infact changing for the better.

Fiyero is actively the obvious symbolism for superficiality and priviledge, even more so than Glinda. At the beginning of the musical, Fiyero embodies privilege and detachment. His carefree attitude, encapsulated in the song “Dancing Through Life,” symbolizes the unchallenged ease that comes with societal privilege. Lines like “Life is painless / For the brainless” reflect his belief that avoiding deeper thought and responsibility leads to happiness. His song is quite literally about how it is infact better to stay ignorant about life. Fiyero’s initial persona critiques the way privilege often allows individuals to remain ignorant of societal injustices, choosing comfort over confrontation.

Though Fiyero's ignorance is real to some degree, it is also used as a mask, his own personal mask of carelessness. Fiyero’s superficial charm and detachment act as a mask, hiding his inner dissatisfaction with the shallow life he leads. His eventual willingness to shed this mask symbolizes the journey toward self-awareness and authenticity, representing the courage to confront uncomfortable truths about oneself and the world.

He's as well a good figure for representation of the 'if he wanted to, he would' due to his transformation through love. Fiyero’s relationship with Elphaba acts as a catalyst for his transformation. Her passion, integrity, and strength inspire him to question his values and take action. Fiyero’s love for Elphaba symbolizes the rejection of societal expectations and superficial judgments. By choosing to align himself with her, he embraces vulnerability and authenticity, defying the norms of Ozian society. Elphaba is a standing symbol of the defiance of societal norms.

Fiyero as well is a character which symbolizes sacrifice. Fiyero’s willingness to risk his life for Elphaba demonstrates his complete transformation from self-centered to selfless. His arc symbolizes the idea that true love and integrity often require personal sacrifice. His transformation into the Scarecrow also serves as a metaphor for resilience and reinvention. Fiyero’s eventual rebellion against the Wizard’s regime and his support of Elphaba symbolize the power of personal freedom and defiance in the face of oppression.

More importantly, his song "Dancing Through Life" is a reflection of societal values. The song “Dancing Through Life” is not only an expression of Fiyero’s initial mindset but also a critique of societal tendencies to prioritize pleasure and ease over substance and responsibility. I think it's important to note as well how up beat his song is. His song is upbeat to add to the message of tricking you into thinking how much better life can be as long as you are ignorant, how not 'doomy and gloomy' life is whilst being ignorant and superficial. As the story progresses, Fiyero’s actions give new meaning to his earlier words. By the end of the musical, his life is no longer “painless” or “brainless,” but it is far more meaningful. This evolution reflects the human capacity for growth and the importance of choosing purpose over passivity. His journey reflects the idea that true freedom comes not from avoiding responsibility but from embracing one’s values and acting in alignment with them, even when it’s difficult. Accountability over pleasure.

Fiyero's character is someone who also can represent the duality and complexity of human beings. He represents the duality of human nature—the conflict between shallow desires and deeper values. His arc serves as a reminder that even those who start out as seemingly superficial can grow into individuals of great depth and courage. He embodies the archetype of the reluctant hero, someone who must confront their flaws and make difficult choices to become their best self.

Fiyero’s character is a multifaceted symbol of transformation, privilege, and the courage to embrace authenticity. His evolution from a carefree aristocrat to a selfless ally of Elphaba underscores the potential for growth and redemption. Through Fiyero, Wicked explores the importance of shedding societal expectations, confronting one’s flaws, and finding deeper purpose and connection in life.

˗ˏˋ POLITICS OF OZ ´ˎ˗

Think of Wicked as a documentary of Oz. How Oz truly is and how the Wizard of Oz manages to manipulate the public. The politics of Oz in Wicked serve as an allegory for real-world systems of oppression, exploring themes of discrimination, propaganda, and the manipulation of power. One of the most prominent political messages in the story is the systemic discrimination against Animals (with a capital “A,” denoting sentient, speaking creatures), which parallels various forms of marginalization in human society.

The discrimination of Animals in Oz is an obvious message for dehumanization and discrimination. The mistreatment of Animals in Oz reflects systemic oppression, such as racism, ableism, and other forms of prejudice. As sentient beings capable of speech and intelligence, Animals are gradually stripped of their rights and freedoms, forced into silence and servitude (such as putting them into cages). The banning of Animal speech and the curtailing of their roles in society mirror historical and contemporary practices of marginalization, where specific groups are systematically silenced, excluded, and dehumanized. As an example, Dr. Dillamond, a Goat who teaches at Shiz University, experiences direct discrimination and is ultimately removed from his position, symbolizing how even highly respected members of marginalized communities are not immune to systemic oppression. His plea to Elphaba, “Do you think the Wizard knows?” underscores the complicity of those in power in perpetuating injustice.

Wicked also explores the political propaganda and manipulation. The Wizard’s rule is built on lies, propaganda, and fearmongering, reflecting the tactics of authoritarian governments. By spreading the idea that Animals are dangerous or inferior, the Wizard manipulates public opinion to justify their subjugation. The Wizard uses propaganda to consolidate his power, portraying himself as a benevolent leader while demonizing dissenters like Elphaba. This mirrors how oppressive regimes frame marginalized groups as threats to maintain control and suppress resistance. The Wizards regime can be compared to facism.

Wicked includes even more real life situations such as silence of dissent. Elphaba’s opposition to the Wizard and her fight for Animal rights position her as a symbol of resistance against tyranny. Her transformation into the “Wicked Witch” illustrates how those who challenge oppressive systems are often vilified and discredited. The silencing of Animals, both figuratively and literally, highlights the consequences of unchecked power and societal complicity in the face of injustice. It also serves as a metaphor for the erasure of marginalized voices in history and politics.

Even though it is quite common in media, Wicked as well has representation of moral ambiguity of power. The Wizard’s character shows how leaders may justify oppressive actions under the guise of maintaining order and unity. He is not inherently evil but represents the dangers of wielding power without accountability or empathy. The Wizard's rule is a good representation of how fear-mongering and manipulating the public can easily happen with enough power and influence. Glinda’s eventual rise to power suggests the complexity of leadership within a flawed system. Even with good intentions, leaders can become complicit in upholding oppressive structures if they fail to challenge the status quo.

It is also important to note the themes of intersectionality of oppression. There are often parallels such as Elphaba’s green skin and the discrimination she faces align her with the Animals, creating an intersectional commentary on how various forms of oppression often overlap. Though Elphaba is human, both Elphaba and the Animals are judged for their inherent traits (race), rather than their actions or character. The connection between Elphaba’s fight for justice and the plight of the Animals emphasizes the need for solidarity among marginalized groups to combat systemic inequality.

It is important to understand how we should critique the concept of blind conformity. The citizens of Oz largely accept the Wizard’s propaganda without question, illustrating the dangers of complacency and the human tendency to conform to authority. This critique serves as a call to action for individuals to question power, recognize injustice, and resist complicity in systems of oppression.

Though politics in Wicked are unjust and cruel, it is great to have a strong voice for hope and resistance against the government. Despite her vilification, Elphaba’s defiance represents the importance of resisting oppression, even when the odds seem insurmountable. Her fight for Animal rights and justice reflects the idea that small acts of resistance can sow the seeds of change. As well as Glinda, by the end of the musical, Glinda’s choice to remain in Oz and work for change within the system suggests that reform is possible, even in deeply flawed societies.

The politics of Oz in Wicked reveal a scathing critique of systemic oppression, propaganda, and societal complicity. The discrimination against Animals serves as a powerful metaphor for real-world injustices, emphasizing the need for awareness, resistance, and solidarity. Through its nuanced portrayal of power dynamics and moral ambiguity, Wicked challenges audiences to confront their own biases and responsibilities within larger societal systems.

Anyhow, i know that this was a long analysis and i hope you enjoyed it! (if i'm being honest i don't think anyone is gonna read this anyways but... whatever). I truly adore Wicked because even though it's a Musical mainly for children (or well clearly not really the adult audience necessarily) i think it's a good message for many semi-subtle messages and symbolism.

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scrumptiousstuffs · 2 months ago

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Hey anon here

I know I will be sounding very stupid here and as much as I love being a delulu fan but I know how the bl industry works and as for a fact the entire entertainment Business for that matter, it's about engagement and fan services, I saw almost all the couples of gmmtv put stories about their dates and how they celebrated their valantine with each other but then realistically speaking I know for a fact most of it was fan service coz no way each cp in a company is dating each other so what's your take on this whole thing, also I'm not saying they are faking it or something like if some of them are dating then that's really good but all of them it's hard to believe

Also I'm a firstkhao fan and well as much as I wanted them to post something just to feed my delulu but then they didn't and that's so them and how many chances do you think of them dating two different people is true as I saw on fan speaking about it and I know it was for fun but then why not it's their Life after all and we are just fans who live them together

Hi anon.

So, I’m not going to say I know much about how CPs and the entertainment business work.

However, I think you are right in saying that most official CPs (and even some who are not - like Kapook and Ciize!! 😉) put up some sort of photoshoots or coupl-y type of activities (either going for dinner/sunset dates or making reels of giving each other beautiful bouquet of flower etc.) are doing a level of fanservice - be it for the fans to squeal over, promoting their upcoming series or to attract engagement to better their work prospects.

But I also feel most of these CPs are genuine friends in real-life and for them, doing these sorts of activities are fun for them. After all, you get to hang out with a close friend whom you cherish, even if you have to put up a photo (or 2) +/- video reels on your social media as an “obligatory post.”

What I do feel somehow sad for the CPs are when fans (+ media outlets) keep asking insistently “what are your plans with so and so?” - I’m pretty sure JoongDunk got asked multiple times these questions leading up to Valentine’s Day. And then asked again during their recent work event on 14/02/25 - what their Valentine’s dinner plan is? What gifts did the boys buy each other? How do you guys show each other your love? (Or something to that effect) - cause I saw Dunk (to his credit he was very professional), answering that Joong’s way to show love is by physical affection while he showed his by cooking/baking with Joong always the first one to taste his food.

Maybe I’m in the minority, but my personal opinion - if the CPs want to tell us, they can do so without anyone else badgering them about it through their social media posts at their own time and choosing.

As for FirstKhaotung (they are also my OTP 😂anon!!!)…I admit I was puzzled when the fans are disappointed about the lack of “Valentine updates” from them.

Firstly, both boys wished the fans “Happy Valentine’s Day” on Twitter (even if First was trolling us with a picture of P’Tha in the middle of him and Khaotung 🤣)

Secondly, both boys posted IG updates of them wishing the other Valentine’s Day with song choices that I could only interpret as love confession to each other… 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

Thirdly, are we all that surprised the boys don’t put up videos/pictures of them giving each other flowers/chocolates? (Or doing couple photoshoots?) - I get the feeling they are just happily nesting in Khaotung’s brand new house with 3 fur babies around them while playing video games after perhaps brunch/lunch + shopping together (cause let’s be honest, that will be their version of a perfect Valentine’s Day).

So , Iike you anon - I am not surprised by the minimal Valentine posts/photos from them (in fact, I was pleasantly shocked the IG posts from them happened at all - which led me into more delulu land hahah)

As for them actually dating another person 🤷🏽‍♀️…who knows. If/when it happens, I’ll cheer them on. However, all I know is that whoever is dating First/Khaotung, will actually be dating them as a set rather than one person 😂. My head canon is that F/K going on a date with someone, and the bestie who is NOT on that date will just tag along anyway 🤸 …

#delulu land is fun as long as we know it’s delulu #khaotung thanawat #first kanaphan #firstkhao #CP culture #asked and answered #Valentine’s day

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bo0mcat · 1 year ago

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Hi Joker Out Tumblr!

I’m not very active here but after seeing all the comments regarding the recent JokerOutSubs interview in London I had to respond.

I was the one who went to go and interview them in London and the response over the last couple of days has been incredibly emotional, and incredibly overwhelming, so firstly, thank you all, from the bottom of my heart, for making me so indescribably happy. Seeing people say that they felt safe watching this interview, and that it’s going to be a comfort video for them, actually brought me to tears on a number of occasions.

I wanted to respond to a few comments that I’ve seen. The questions were mostly devised by me and @alephai . When we were perfecting the questions and going over ways we could make them as respectful as possible, she suggested that we ask permission from Bojan before jumping into personal questions about his anxiety. I immediately agreed and I’m so glad we insisted on keeping it in, even as the questions went through several redrafts. We are both strong advocates of mental health acceptance, and I certainly understand on a personal level how challenging it can be to talk about. We wanted to make sure he had the opportunity to not talk about it, if he didn’t want to, and we were prepared for multiple scenarios.

We also decided right from the beginning that we didn’t want to put our own interpretations on the band. We wanted to frame the questions so they could answer anything they wanted to them, and make it clear that we’re not trying to sensationalise or find some kind of clickbaity quote. A looooot of thought, time and effort went into the questions and we think that the band could sense that there was a lot of love, respect, and genuine admiration for what they do in them. We’re really glad everyone else noticed it too!

We were also really mindful that the questions flowed neatly into one another - for instance, the questions about Bojan’s anxiety got steadily less personal and lighter so it would move smoothly into the questions about music. Again I’ve seen loads of comments about this and it’s so validating to see that the hard work put in was noticed.

We were extremely mindful of appropriate boundaries, and kept the knowledge that we’re ultimately strangers to them front and centre. The main goal on the day was to be as professional as possible. I’m genuinely so happy that they felt relaxed and comfortable enough to open up. I’m glad to say there was never a moment in the room where there was any tension, it truly felt like having a chat with friends! Afterwards, Bojan asked me if I were a professional journalist (which I am not) and it really made me incredibly happy. They are all absolutely sweethearts and some of the warmest, kindest people I’ve had the pleasure to spend an hour with.

The aftermath of the interview was one of the most intense weeks of my life and I have to shout out to every member of @jokeroutsubs who worked on this one. The dedication I saw from the subtitles, translators and video editors was insane. Lots of conversations at mad hours of the morning trying to get this out to the highest possible quality, and I am, as ever, bowled over by the JOS team. To say that joining up with them has been life changing is an absolute understatement, and I’m glad to say that through JOS I’ve met a series of women without whom I can no longer imagine my life. Strong, intelligent women from all over Europe who I now consider to be my sisters, and whom I love incredibly dearly.

I have to mention the message at the end of the interview. This was the product of many months of conversation about the impact of Joker Out on Slovene society between me and several members of the slo team, something that it’s been amazing to learn about from the perspective of an English girl, and we’re so glad we had an opportunity to tell them. Massive thank you again for all the voice notes I was sent to help me practice my pronunciation. I wanted to make sure it was as good as I could possibly manage to show my respect for the Slovenian people, language and culture.

Lastly I wanted to say thank you for all the messages I’ve received complimenting me on this interview. Credit in this case has to be shared between so many people. It was truly a team effort and I’m just so happy I could contribute in giving something back to a band I love and admire, and a community that embraced me with open arms during a difficult time in my life.

I love you all, and thank you all for your wonderful words. X

#joker out #jure maček #bojan cvjeticanin #nace jordan #jan peteh #kris gustin #bojan cvjetićanin #jure macek #kris guštin #jokeroutsubs #jokeroutsubsinterview #JOS #JOsubs #jokeroutband

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delphi-shield · 7 months ago

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detours in the pursuit of knowledge

Rebecca Chambers x Reader smut mdni wc: ~5.3k i wrote this as a birthday gift to myself and only just now bothered to edit and post it. (my birthday is in january lmfao) sorry for being a munch. (i'm not.)

summary: her interest in you is purely professional. your potential is being squandered under your current advisor. she can help you flourish.

content: professor/student relationship (graduate level), fem reader, rebecca's pov, public sex (rebecca's office), oral sex (rebecca receiving), dry humping, squirting, tit sucking, fingering.

Rebecca’s read your work. It's good work, but it could be better. She could make it better. You’ve got drive. You're resourceful, sharp - you take instruction well, but you don't need your hand held. You’re perfect for her. Everything she looks for in a protege wrapped up in a pretty package.

The only issue is that you’re locked down by another professor.

It felt skeevy, scheming to steal another professor's graduate student, but in the interest of the professional development of the next generation of scientists, she felt she was justified in poaching you from boring, complacent Dr. Stonebriar. Stonebriar had more assistants that he knew what to do with, anyway. You weren’t getting the attention that you needed. Hell, you’d already been pushed into her lab.

She still remembers it - the way you had knocked at her door so timidly, poked your head in like you were afraid she’d snap at you to get out then and there.

“Hi – Dr. Chambers? Do you have a moment?”

Technically, she had been obligated to have a moment. You were in one of her lectures, had every right to show up to her office hours. Even if you hadn’t been, she enjoyed talking with students. The look of surprise on your face when she calls you by your name and confirms your class is endearing.

You’re endearing, she realizes. There’s an ease to talking to you despite your obvious nerves. You’d explained your situation as professionally as you could, and Rebecca’s soft smile had twisted to something knowing.

“Tired of people messing with your stuff, huh?” She cut you off in the middle of your (too polite, too generous) explanation. Relief rounded your shoulders and melted through your formal expression.

“Yes,” you sighed, exasperated. “Someone nearly threw out six months of my work the other day. I had labeled it and everything. I’m scared someone’s gonna set me back months. I know it’s a lot to ask, but if you have room in your lab could I move in there?”

How was she supposed to say no to that? She felt your pain. There was nothing worse than people getting their hands all over your work, messing with it- god forbid, throwing it out. The fit she would throw if that happened would have been legendary. From what she’d seen of your lab habits, the two of you wouldn’t clash. There was no harm in helping a student out of a tricky situation.

She’d gone so far as to help you move your things over. It was equal parts kindness and nosiness. She’d looked over your work as she moved you across the hall, peppering you with questions about your goals, the thought process behind your experiments, what you’d hoped to achieve.

That first day had been enough to pique her interest. She’d leaned in to look over your numbers, shoulder brushing against yours, chalked the way your speech had faltered up to nerves. You held your own. That frightened little lamb look you’d first rolled into her office with was nowhere to be seen once you started talking science. You were quick, considering her questions fully before you answered.

She didn't normally take on graduate students. She was picky. It was a lot of time and energy to invest into someone when you did it right. She had to make certain that you were worth it, that you were cut out for this. Your work was solid. No doubt about it.

A month into sharing a lab with you and she was sure of your character as well. What she’d initially interpreted as an almost pathological need to people please had given way to consideration. She’d only been ready to steal you away once you’d stood up for yourself, defended your process to her when she had poked holes at every turn.

She was sold on you for certain when she had eviscerated your thesis (per your request) and your only reaction had been to ask her to repeat that last part verbatim, that you hadn’t quite gotten it down yet. The awkwardness that would linger after a critique was absent. You’d taken it in stride, took note of her remarks, and asked what her weekend plans were.

You flourished with attention. Even the small things made you light up. For the first few weeks she’d been carefully plotting her lab time around yours, trying to ensure you stayed out of each other’s way. That quickly fell by the wayside. It was natural to be next to you. There was a familiarity in dancing around each other. A hand between your shoulder blades as she passed behind you, your knuckles ghosting against her hip to draw her attention - normal. All of it.

One day you’d showed up to lab with two coffees in hand. Rebecca had flitted over to you, hand hovering back and forth between the cups.

“Which one is which?”

“They’re both the same,” you’d shrugged. “I wanted to see what all the fuss was about.”

There it is again - so endearing. Her stomach flips. Just happy to have coffee, she’s sure. She takes a cup in hand with a satisfied smile, eyes gleaming behind her glasses. She waits for you to take yours, to join her.

Your face pinches on the first sip. You try to keep it together. Bless your cute little heart. Rebecca giggles.

“So?”

“That’s sweet,” you say, diplomatic. “Really sweet.”

Her giggle blooms into a laugh. She drops onto her stool, spins full circle, head tipped back.

“You don’t have to finish it.”

“No, no – I didn’t say it was bad.”

“Just sweet.”

“Yeah.”

“Really sweet.”

“Like, an above average amount.”

She picks you up your normal beverage on her way back from lunch. You pass her the remains of your sugary coffee and gulp mouthfuls of your new drink, throat bobbing.

Yeah. You’re gonna be hers.

Rebecca has her plan outlined. Your future could be secure in her hands. Stonebriar might have a contact with the CDC, but does he work directly with the BSAA? No. Of course he doesn't. He hasn't done anything close to cutting edge since the 80's. Stonebriar is riding that tenure til he keels over.

But not her. Rebecca could get you on the ground floor for some of the most advanced research in the country. She’s fully prepared, even in the case you gave her the bleeding heart response - I have a moral opposition to working under military contractors, Dr. Chambers. No problem. It wasn’t like she was pushing you to work with Lockheed Martin. If the BSAA wasn't your style, she already had TerraSave in her pocket.

Her plan is set. She knows your skill set, your interests, has tailored her speech to show you how she could help you grow. The real catalyst behind all of this is fear. You’re too trusting. She’d realized it quickly. The wrong mentor would slap their name on top of your work without a second thought. She’s protecting you. That’s all.

“Could you hang back for a minute?” Rebecca asks, catching you before you can slip into the stream of students flowing out of the lecture hall. She doesn’t look up from her computer, logging her last few notes from her lecture. Don’t screw this up, she tells herself. Keep it cool. Remember your talking points, Rebecca.

You toddle right up to her podium, hand tucked into the pocket of your jeans, thumb curled through your belt loop. Casual with her in a way that had been absent at the beginning of the semester.

“What’s up?” You chirp.

You keep looking at her with those big eyes and she keeps staring. She must not be smiling - you shift your weight from foot to foot, lean a little closer.

“Would you ever consider switching advisors?” She blurts out, her plan burning in her hands.

“Oh, for sure.”

“I know that it’s asking a lot.”

“Dr. Stonebriar is a nice guy and all but–”

Rebecca holds up a hand, trying to catch up. “Hang on– did you say yes already?”

You tip your head to the side. “Yeah. I can be yours, right?”

A thrill rattles up her spine. You shouldn’t have said it like that. Her thoughts skid to a stop, veer down some forbidden side street. Not going there. She turns that car right around, puts it back on the tracks. She steps around the podium. Keep it cool. Keep it professional.

“You’re already in my lab,” she says. “Let’s make it official.”

Rebecca doesn't know how you got here.

Physically, yes, she knew the path that you took. She's certain you came in through the back entrance like you usually did. You would skip the elevator because it was slower than just walking to the second floor and you would trot up the stairs and around the winding hall until you got to her office, where you would knock twice for courtesy, peek through the little slat of a window, and badge your way inside. You're a creature of habit. It's endearing, if not predictable.

But she’s not sure how you got here, on your knees in the middle of her office, voice muffled by her cunt. She doesn't have the sense to feel bad about it, not with the way you press your fingers inside of her, slow and deep. She stuffs a fist into her mouth, leaving half-circles in her skin and still her noises slip out.

You reach up, hand tugging at her wrist. Your eyes are glued to her face, tongue laving over her in broad swipes, lips closing around her clit to suckle. Her body twists into a throb of pleasure. Her hips jut against your face, your moan vibrating through her pussy. She buries a hand in your hair, tells herself not to pull - and in her desperation not to, she pets over your hair awkwardly, stilted and too fast. You smile against her, tongue curling and eyes crinkling. Finally, you've managed to pry her hand away from her mouth and the exaggerated, high-pitched 'oh god' that floats out of her when her head arches backwards only seems to spur you.

“My neck hurts,” you mumble, and she wishes that she cared. Her hand wraps around the base of your skull, urges you back to her pussy. Your breath fans over her when you laugh, close enough to her that your nose rubs against her clit when you shake your head.

You shuffle on your knees, wedging her backwards. There’s not far to go, but her pants around her ankles have her making shuffling baby steps. The small of her back hits her desk and she hoists herself onto it. She doesn't need to be directed to throw her legs over your shoulder. It takes a moment, quiet giggling while you figure out the right angles. Her hips shift down, you hunker a little lower, head twisted at an awkward angle - but when your mouth is on her again, her arms shake.

How is she supposed to keep herself sitting up when you're going at her like that? She can hardly believe those sounds are coming from her body, the obscene slurping from your mouth has to be exaggerated.

Her hands paw at your hair, tugging and pushing, can’t figure out whether she wants you closer or whether it’s all too much. You nuzzle closer, burying your nose into her, your hands wrapped around the tops of her thighs to lock her in place.

“I'm gonna –” Her hips rock against your face, grinding her clit against your nose.

“Gonna what? Cum on my face?”

You suckle her clit again, swirling your tongue just to feel the scrape of her nails against your scalp. Rebecca whines. Her hands clasp around your head, keep you held just where you are as her body flops back against her desk. Back arched, pussy clenching, heartbeat in her clit. She cums when you plunge your fingers back into her, when she grinds her clit against your nose, when you moan into her cunt.

Rebecca bites down on her moan, keeps it locked behind clenched teeth while she writhes through the pleasure. Electricity in her veins makes her fist a hand in your hair, yanking you close, suffocating you and she swears to god she heard you whimper.

The pleasure seesaws back to too much, all that fire in her veins suddenly singing her nerves. The same hand that sealed your mouth against her pussy urges you back, fingers trembling.

“Sorry, sorry,” she pants, hand stroking your cheek in apology.

You didn’t say a word. Her legs hung limply at your shoulders. You caressed her calf softly, the wetness of your hand not lost to her even when she’s coming back to her senses. Had she cum all down your forearm? Jesus, that makes her thighs twitch.

Rebecca props herself up on her elbows. She looks down at you just in time to catch you swirling your tongue around your lips, savoring every taste of her. Your hand loops up to your mouth and you lick at your palm - a flat, broad swipe that she can feel the ghost of against her pussy, that makes her clench against phantom sensation.

She shuffled off her desk and you stayed on your knees, hand stroking her pale thigh. She doesn't know whether to apologize or to kick you out, but you laugh like you're pussy drunk, your nose crinkling. It turns into a snort. She wants to be annoyed, disgusted, anything to distance herself from you - but it's cute. You're cute. Has she always thought you were cute, ever since you walked into her office? Was it attraction, not ambition that had led her down this path?

No. Nope. Don’t go there, Rebecca.

"What?" She'd asked, defensive, wishing you'd get off your knees even if the view is pretty from up here.

"You, uh --" Your words bubble with your laughter, eyes narrowed to cute crescents. You massage your thumb into her hip and reach behind her to peel a paper off of her ass.

She's mortified, her face flushing red. She doesn't want to think of the mess that she's made of her desk, usually kept neat and tidy, in and out trays properly stacked now thrown askew.

"It's just Cady's report," you say, skimming the page. "Just toss it, give her a hundred. She needs the bump anyway."

That's so unethical. She takes the paper back from you, and the soiled feeling sinks into her core. This was wrong. All of this was wrong. Rebecca should chide you for being so callous about student work, about their grades - even though you're sort of right. Cady does need the leg up.

Rebecca sets it back on her desk. She shakes her head.

"That shouldn't have happened."

That gets you up off of your knees. Your smile drops off your face and amongst the shame Rebecca feels a sharp stab of regret. Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

"Right. Yeah. Sorry. I just thought..."

You look at her with those wet puppy dog eyes, and her jaw clenches. She keeps her groan locked behind her teeth. She's immune to these tactics. She knows how to hold her ground. Doesn't mean she doesn't feel guilty. She can tell that you were waiting for her to interject, waiting for her to cut in, hoping for some gentle words.

"It can't happen again. This was– inappropriate doesn't even begin to describe what–"

There you go again. She's seen that look before when she had been critiquing your proposals, picking at your thesis and poking holes - too soft for it all underneath that cool exterior. She feels like she's reprimanding a puppy, like she’s got to rub your nose in – nope. Not going there.

Rebecca folds her arms across her chest tightly, tiny tits pressed together. She looks down at herself, only just now realizing that she's still exposed. She huffs, tugging her button-up closed and searching around for her panties. She ducks under her desk to search for them, her knees hitting the cold tile.

When she rises, you’re holding something out to her. Her panties, crumpled in your palm, wet–

Good God, you really are a puppy. She stares for a moment, her body flushed with another wave of heat. You’d just been rocking against your fist, her panties clenched tight between your fingers the whole time you had your face buried in her pussy?

Why is that making her clit throb again?

“This can’t happen again,” she repeats firmly. She steps back into her panties, your own wetness settling cool against her heated, sensitive cunt. Was she just going to wear these the rest of the day? She should have just put her pants back on, let you keep that as a souvenir. (Jesus - no, not that either. What the hell is wrong with her?)

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. I should never have let this go so far.”

“Are you mad?”

Yes. No. Jesus, she can’t think when you’re in the same room.

Rebecca fishes your shirt up from the floor, coaxes you to lift your arms and helps you get it back over your head.

“I’ll see you tomorrow. Let’s discuss your thesis some more. Maybe in a study room, or…”

The train of thought is clear. Not in her office. Not again, not after this. She’s going to be plagued by this memory for a long time. Oh, god, it probably smells like sex in here. She’s got more meetings today.

You nod meekly. It’s the smallest she’s seen you since you became her assistant. You shuffle out of her office without so much as a wave goodbye.

She can't get it out of her head.

It's a full week later but the image of your lips, shiny with her slick, is burned into her mind. Every time she blinks she's flashbanged by the remembrance of your tongue circling your mouth and chin to lick it all up - to lick her up, your eyes far away, pupils huge. You wipe your mouth with the heel of your hand and then lick that up too, and she crosses one leg over her knee and squeezes.

It’s enough sensation to make her moan. She drops her forehead against the steering wheel of her car.

This is unbearable. It’s immature, and she knows it, but she’s been taking lunch in her car ever since you’d fucked in her office. The tension between the two of you was unbearable. Easy conversation, quiet, giggly gossip, all of it was stilted or non-existent now.

Twenty minutes left in her lunch. She can’t live like this anymore. She wants her favorite graduate assistant back. She wants to stop hiding in her car, to stop second guessing every word that comes out of her mouth.

Rebecca scrolls through her contacts until she finds the one person she knows will have lived experience with this sort of thing.

“Leon, hey! Are you busy?”

For her? Never.

She dances around the topic like she’s meant for it, lobbing prying questions at him until he grows sick of her obvious deflection.

“Rebecca,” Leon sighs. “This is great and all. Why'd you call?”

It all comes spilling out, picked at the scab and it started bleeding.

“I had sex with my graduate assistant,” she says in a rush. “In my office. On top of lab reports. I had to throw away student work. I couldn't just grade it and give it back to them.”

Silence. Tense, awkward silence. She shouldn’t have called. Oh, god, he definitely thinks she’s a creep and a pervert and he’s going to report her, and –

Leon laughs. Long and loud, like she hasn't heard from him in years.

“Good for you.”

“What– Leon! This is serious!” She hisses.

“I am serious.” She can imagine him kicking his boots up on his desk. God, he's unbelievable. “What's the big deal? You fucked a grad student. Don't all the professors do that?”

Rebecca stumbles over her words, blubbering for a moment.

“You watch too much porn.”

“It beats what I was doing.”

“I can't believe I have to agree with that.”

“I’m serious,” Leon says. “Don't you have tenure? That's basically the same thing as diplomatic immunity.”

“Those aren't even remotely the same. And no, I don’t. The ‘big deal’ is that it’s wrong. It’s a total abuse of my position as her advisor.”

“Christ, Rebecca. She’s not some undergrad. You’re not out here banging Freshmen.”

“I’m in a position of authority over her. She’s a student.” Rebecca repeats slowly.

Leon must be pinching the bridge of his nose. He takes a moment, lets out a long sigh. It seems to have clicked for him that the purpose of this call is to talk her off the ledge.

He lays it out for her plainly. Check her faculty handbook for potential repercussions, consider finding another member of faculty to take over your advisement if this is something she’s serious about pursuing. It seems simple when he lays it out like that - but the idea of someone else being your advisor, of packing your things up and moving you out of her lab, makes her sick to her stomach.

Maybe it’s what’s best. For you. For her. For the both of you.

“Hey,” Leon says before she can end the call. “Why'd you call me?”

“Well…” The truth dies on her tongue. She knows the reason. It just seems so mean to say out loud. “I knew you wouldn't judge me.”

Leon hums. “Because I have experience fucking people I shouldn't.”

“I didn't say that!”

“Don't have to,” Leon laughs. “All right, doc. Go get your freak on. Let me know how it goes.”

He hangs up before she can chew him out.

“I never should have called him.” She smiles to herself, tossing her phone back into her purse.

You come to her before she can call you to her. You linger in the doorway of her office.

“I don't like hovering,” she reminds you, her voice sing-song. Your gulp is audible.

“Sorry. I just, uh–” You lean out into the hall, glancing around. “They don't have cameras in the offices, right?”

She can't blame you for asking. She had thought the same thing after your first encounter, had even dug through the faculty handbook and made up excuses to discuss the cameras with maintenance.

What she can blame you for is acting all suspicious in the middle of the day, with students milling about and faculty hosting office hours. Rebecca sighs. Her glasses slip down the bridge of her nose, leaving her to peer at you over the top of them. She doesn't miss the way your eyes flit up from her chest. Christ - you're insatiable. She wants to be exasperated, but her stomach churns with a gush of heat instead.

Rebecca waves you in with a curl of her fingers. You're not having this conversation with the door open. It's like your sense of self-preservation was just completely shot. You nudge the door shut, pointing back at it with a question mark tilt of your head.

“We should talk.”

You nod stiffly, eyes steeling over. Oh, you’d prepared yourself for this. She knew that look well, the same one you’d get before she would start poking and prodding at your theories. You draw a chair up to her desk. It kills her to see you looking so serious, but this is necessary. You need to clear the air once and for all.

But neither of you know who to speak first. The silence between you grows. Rebecca’s mind spins with all the things she should say, all the things that she needs to say.

“Let’s find you another advisor.”

Hurt pulls over your features in a flash. Of all the things she could have said, she never should have led with that.

“What?”

“It’s for the best.” Shit, she shouldn’t have said that either. “I’m not–”

“This is retaliatory. It’s bullshit.”

Rebecca fumbles. It is, you’re right, but you’re not supposed to call her on it. You’re supposed to nod, your brow furrowed, to jot down her observations the way you always do.

“I’m not trying to hurt you,” she counters. She can feel her hackles rise, can feel the defensiveness creeping up.

“Well, you are. I don’t want another advisor. I want to talk this out.”

“We can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because it never should have happened in the first place.”

“It did, though,” you snap. “You can’t just pretend it didn’t.”

She can. She can pretend her way through anything. That’s how you belong - you pretend until you’ve got everyone convinced. Why doesn’t it work with you?

“If it’s going to happen again, then you can’t be my graduate assistant.”

Rebecca’s heart stops. Your shoulders pin back, eyes flitting every which way. She can’t believe she said that - you can’t believe she did either, clearly. She hates the silence, wishes you would fill it again, wishes for your knuckles against your hip, for you to hum idly, for your little signs of life.

You stand from your chair. Rebecca mimics the movement, hand itching to reach out and catch your wrist, to keep you there. You’re going to leave, she’s sure of it. She doesn’t care for her reputation, for tenure - she’s losing you and it’s tearing her apart.

But you reach for her. Your fingers tremble when they trace their way up her arm. She steps around her desk and into you. You dip to kiss her, lips hovering inches from hers. Afraid to close that gap, afraid it’s the wrong thing to do. Maybe it is.

It doesn’t feel like it, though. She cranes her head, seals her mouth with yours. The caution gives way to desperation when you realize she’s not stepping back. Your hands tug at her dress shirt, untuck it from her slacks. You walk her backwards, back towards her desk - and she almost wants to laugh at how you’ve gotten this way again.

“Not on the desk.” Rebecca digs her heels in, voice firm. She flattens a palm against the back of your neck and loops a finger through your belt loop, pulling you with her as she navigates around her desk by muscle memory.

You trot after her obediently. The moment before she plops into her chair, you catch her wrist. Carefully, you spin your way into her chair. Your hands curl on her hips and drag her to straddle one of your thighs. Her cunt drags against your leg, her toes pointed to the ground. Your hands curl at her hips, moving her back and forth against your leg. Once she’s found a rhythm on her own, you fumble with the buttons of her shirt.

Rebecca knows there’s students milling about - it’s not quite after hours. You could get caught at any moment. The other faculty are already gone for the day, but that doesn’t mean the risk is zero. It spurs her hips a little faster, excitement pooling in her stomach. Your other leg bounces erratically as you shove her shirt down her arms.

Your hands are chilly against her flushed skin but your mouth is warm on her chest. You tug her bra down, push the cups aside just to latch onto her nipple. Your tongue swirls, flicks, teeth scraping experimentally, trying to figure out what will make her arch.

Can she cum like this? Both of you must be wondering. Her breath comes quick, her hips stuttering. No way. There’s no way.

Rebecca plants a hand at the base of your neck before you can find out. Proper experimentation can come later. She wobbles off of your leg, trying to ignore the way her pussy is practically dripping.

“What’s wrong?” You say, managing to pull your language processing together.

“I want your mouth again,” she pouts.

She’s never seen you move so fast. Your hands settle on her hips, flexing impatiently. You whirl her around, settle her into the chair you’d just been in, and crater to your knees. She has half a mind to ask if that hurt, but the scent of your arousal, or hers, or both, has her feeling lightheaded.

“Good girl,” Rebecca breathes out, her head smacking back against her cabinet. Your eager hands wiggle her slacks down. She strokes your hair as you prepare her, adjusting her limbs as needed. Her eyes slip shut, trying to catch her breath before you steal it from her again.

You bury your face between her thighs, nosing a stripe along her panties. Her legs tighten around your head. You lap at her through the cloth, moaning at the faintest taste, your thumbs digging into her hips.

You look up at her, dumb with lust. You’re pleading to take these off her, to lick your way between her folds. She lifts her hips and you dive in, all the permission you need to rip these off of her. You wad them in your palm, your hand disappearing into your pants. Heat flares through her, need pulsing. She’s already wet, already so ready.

Rebecca's fingers grip your hair tight. There's a surprising amount of strength in her hold, keeping you away from her pussy. It’s torture for the both of you, but the delay, the way you’re looking up at her - fuck, that’s hot.

She's unrecognizable, looking down her nose at you, pretty pink lips parted slightly. Her grip in your hair slackens and you surge forward.

You lick and such your way into her, hands roaming her skin. There’s nothing reserved to your movements, not like the first time. You make out with her pussy, devouring every inch you can reach. Rebecca cries out, high-pitched, needy. She stuffs her fist into her mouth, head smacking back into the cabinets hard. Her stomach spasms, pleasure curling her toes and rippling up through the rest of her body. Your palm splays against her, pats her tummy - the only bit of control, of reasoning that either of you have left.

You flatten your tongue against her and shake your head from side to side. Her back arches, each pass of your tongue stoking the fire in her belly higher. It spreads down her limbs, tingles in her finger tips.

“Wait, wait, wait–” Rebecca babbles, tugging your head closer, her hips rutting against your face.

The kindling in the pit of her stomach expands, singes through her limbs. She cums, gushing into your mouth, down your chin. Your mouth closes over her, drinking down everything she gives. You keep circling her clit - harder, not faster - pulling everything she has to give from her body until she spasms in her chair, her thighs clamping tightly around your face. Her body curls over you, forearms bracketing your head, muscles twinging.

The come down hits hard. She’s pulled muscles she wasn’t even sure it was possible to pull. She has got to stop letting you eat her out in these uncomfortable chairs (but it’s hard to argue with results).

Finally, when she manages to pull all her bones back together, she rolls her chair back just enough so she’s not smothering you. Though from the pitiful look in your eye when she pulls away, from the way your hand reaches out to her, you might have preferred if she didn’t.

“Don’t make me go.”

Your voice is soft. Rebecca shuts her eyes, allows herself this risky moment of peace. Her hand strokes your forehead gently.

“We’ll work something out,” she concedes.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Really.” It’s not smart. She should be saying no, that this was a mistake again.

She can’t. You would never forgive her. It really would be exploitative of her to go through all of this, to cum in your mouth and then leave you to find someone else, as if this meant nothing.

“I knew you’d cum around.”

You grin, lips shiny with her cum. Rebecca groans. A joke about throwing you out dies before it leaves her lips. Your tongue laps at your bottom lip, almost shy in the movement. Oh, god - she made the right choice, all right.

“Don’t make me regret this.”

#rebecca chambers x reader #rebecca chambers x you #rebecca chambers smut #resident evil smut #resident evil x reader #resident evil imagine #lace dividers by @adornedwithlight

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fangirleaconmigo · 1 year ago

Note

In your expert opinion, do you think there’s any deeper reading to interpret from Geralt’s rebound with Essi, and traits she shares with Dandelion? (I know it wasn’t authorial intention in the least, but when he kissed her within 10 minutes of meeting, I got a “she’s a lot like Dandelion, surely she’s safe to embarrass myself with” vibe).

Hi Nonny!

Essi and Dandelion, Poets and Parallels, Ballads and Broken Hearts

Thank you for the ask! I'm on my lunch break from work, but I'm so happy to be answering Witcher book questions again that I'm sneaking off to do this.

Essi is such an interesting character, right? On one hand, she seems to be treated as the 'anti-Yen" by the narrative and the thing that Geralt 'should' want, thereby reinforcing his love for Yen when he *doesn't* fall in love with Essi.

But then there are all the curious parallels and similarities with Dandelion, which also makes it fun to analyze in that way. The list of similarities is long: their profession, personality, looks, their level of talent, and my favorite, their readiness to throw hands on behalf of Geralt of Rivia. And then there is The Ballad.

Ok. I'm going to set authorial intent aside for the moment, because writers write things all the time they don't intend to write. And I think any artist worth their salt should be thrilled that their work is layered and interesting enough to inspire differing interpretations.

That being said, let's get to the fun part.

SPOILERS SPOILERS FOR ESSI'S STORY PLS DON'T READ IF YOU DON'T WANT TO BE SPOILED.

Profession, personality

Let's look at Essi's introduction! She enters the scene acting just like Dandelion. Both poets are mercilessly insulting one another in their fake-genteel way. (Lots of shade, as well as out and out insults)

Geralt is taken aback, thinking they are fighting, but then they fall on one another embracing and he's like...oh lordt. There's two of them.

"The Witcher was taken aback, but not too greatly. A professional colleague of Dandelion's could not, indeed, differ much from him in terms of predictability."

--Sword of Destiny pg 195

So we have profession, and personality being very similar. Bards with sharp tongues and ready emotions. Then we have looks!

Looks.

I've done a post on Dandelion's looks here. And Essi is similar! Blonde hair, blue eyes, and beautiful. Same same. Sorry, her eyes are a dark blue whereas Dandelion's are cornflower. Much different so contrast.

Level of talent.

They are both beloved and famous. When Ciri is studying at Nenneke's temple, she has access to both of their books of poetry.

[Ciri] read The Adversities of Loving and Time of the Moon, collections of poems by the famous troubadour Dandelion. She shed tears over the ballads of Essi Daven, subtle, infused with mystery, and collected in a small, beautifully bound volume entitled The Blue Pearl. --Blood of Elves pg 298

And Geralt adores both of their voices. When Essi and Dandelion are singing together, Geralt thinks to himself that they have the most beautiful voices that he has ever heard.

They Stay Ready to Throw Hands for Geralt of Rivia.

The text even classifies Essi and Dandelion together on this. And as I said, it's my favorite part of her character, and not just because I love Geralt. It shows her strength, her strong sense of self, her courage, and her values.

First, she, much in the way that Dandelion does, uses her fame, connections, and higher social standing to protect Geralt. And she throws Dandelion into the mix for good measure to strengthen her threats. So when Duke Agloval threatens to drive Geralt to the border with a whip. Essi reponds.

"...please dont threaten Geralt. It so happens that Dandelion and I have several friends...King Ethain of Cidaris...always says that our ballads aren't just lively music and rhymes, but a way of spreading news...Do you wish, your Grace, to be written into the chronicle of human kind? I can arrange it?" --Sword of Destiny pg 212

And when Geralt turns down Agloval's 'offer' of permanent work killing sea creatures in a permanent war with them, (keeping in mind that the noble has stiffed Geralt twice on payment so far) Agloval invokes Geralt's poverty in a demeaning way.

"Oh how proud," Agloval smiled. "How haughty. You reject offers in a way some kings wouldn't be ashamed of. You give up decent money with the air of a wealthy man after a lavish dinner. Geralt? Did you have lunch today? No? And tomorrow? And the day after? I see little chance, Witcher, very little..."

It is so infuriating. Agloval is saying...who the fuck do you think you are? Someone important? Someone with status?? Someone who is allowed to decide his own ethics for himself?

This is a constant theme. The...know your place. Stop trying to think for yourself. Ethics look stupid on you, because you aren't 'real' enough of a human being to have them. So it is super satisfying when Essi lets loose on him.

"How dare you!" Little Eye cried shrilly. "How dare you speak like that to him Agloval!...How can you be so base?"...

Geralt tries to stop her. He sees little point.

"Stop it Essi," Geralt said. "Stop, Essi, there's no point." "Not true," she said angrily. "These is a point. Someone has to tell it straight to this self-appointed duke....who now thinks he has the right to insult other people."

And she isn't done.

"Yes, Agloval, " Essi continued, clenching her shaking hands into fists. "The opportunity to insult other people amuses and pleases you. You delight in the contempt you can show the Witcher...you should know that the Witcher mocks your attempts and slights., that they do not make the faintest impression on him..."

Then we bring Dandelion back in. Because guess who also feels anger and revulsion when Geralt is treated so contemptuously? Let Essi say it...

"The Witcher doesn't feel what Dandelion and I feel, and we feel revulsion."

Sword of Destiny pg 237

That's like...not even half of her unloading on this guy. She is like...you are worth less than Geralt, so jot that down.

Now..

The Ballad

Here is why the ballad matters to me. I think that perhaps even more interesting than how Geralt responds to Essi (interesting though it is) is how Dandelion responds to Essi. Why does he think someone who is almost exactly like him is perfect for Geralt? I mean, he sees himself in her so much that he thinks of her as his sister.

He loves her more than Geralt does I think that is clear. Geralt cares deeply about her. But to Dandelion, she is like his family.

He is put in a shitty position of seeing her distraught and anguished about her feelings for Geralt and Geralt afraid of leading her on or hurting her. Geralt and Essi go back and forth, making it insufferable for Dandelion as a third wheel.

I talked about it here here and here.

Dandelion's response is the subject of controversy in fandom, and there are many valid and differing reader responses. But it seems clear that Dandelion has come to terms with the fact that Geralt and Essi will not be together in love, despite his advice to Geralt. So he suggests they just fuck to get it out of their systems and then everything will be ok. (that's his solution to most things)

So, if he is at ease with that, why the ballad? At the end of the story, Dandelion composes a ballad while Essi and Geralt sleep.

Dandelion, staring into the dying embers, sat much longer, alone, quietly strumming his lute. It began with a few bars, from which an elegant, soothing melody emerged. The lyric suited the melody, and came into being simultaneously with it, the words blending into the music, becoming set in it like insects in translucent, golden lumps of amber. The ballad told of a certain witcher and a certain poet. About how the witcher and the poet met on the seashore, among the crying of seagulls, and how they fell in love at first sight. About how beautiful and powerful was their love. About how nothing - not even death - was able to destroy that love and part them.

Sword of Destiny pg 246

Why this romantic song?? About a witcher and poet?

Yes, it could be just for the ballad, for a successful song. The text talks about the real story not being a good one for a ballad.

But there is so much emotion and magic in that scene. What is he thinking? What is he feeling?

Of course you know about what happens next, Essi's heartbreaking end, and Dandelion's crushing grief. She dies of smallpox during an epidemic. Dandelion is there. Did he go as soon as he heard? Was he visiting her expecting some lovely evenings singing around a fire and found her dead?

However it happened, Dandelion does not leave her to die alone. He does not turn tail and leave, avoiding smallpox. He literally carries the cold dead corpse of this woman he loves, who he sees as his sister, in his arms...

...Dandelion had carried her out in his arms between corpses being cremated on funeral pyres and had buried her far from the city, in the forest, alone and peaceful...

He buries her alone with his own hands! Oh how his heart must have shattered. It is moments like that, that you see the deeper, kinder, even (dare I say) noble side of the vain, braggadocios, whorish bard.

It goes on to say that Dandelion could have changed the song at any point to be a true version (the one where Essi dies), but he never did.

No, Dandelion stuck with his first version. And he never sang it. Never. To no one. Sword of Destiny p 246

Yeah.

To me there is a story about a young girl who cares enough for ten people, who has a huge heart, and a deep soul. A fearless girl who feels things too big for her to handle for a man others call a monster. A girl whose voice is like an angel.

And then there is a story about a broken hearted poet who loved her (far more than Geralt did) and who wrote a song about a witcher and a poet and he never changed the words and never sang it to anyone.

And I wonder if he wasn't writing that ballad about a witcher and a different poet entirely.

*sob*

#the witcher #geralt of rivia #dandelion #geraskier #jaskier #gerlion #essi daven #the witcher books #thinking about the witcher books yet again #thinking about dandelion yet again

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mentallyisekaid · 1 year ago

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「 ✦ Fatui Harbingers x La Signora's Sister! Reader, PART 2 ✦ 」

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Part 1 [Part 2] Part 2.5 Part 3 Part 3.5

It's highly recommended to read the parts in order, otherwise few things will make sense!

Author's note ~ From this chapter forward, Y/N will develop a strong, somewhat intimate bond with her fellow Harbingers, but it's still, essentially, platonic. After coming up with the full storyline for this series, I figured it'd best to keep romance to a minimum, so it won't distract me or the readers from what's happening plotwise. But make no mistake - all of them care quite fiercely about you... it's not labelled "Harbingers x Reader" for nothing :) And of course, you're free to interpret their relationship in any kind of way you prefer <3

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Featured in this chapter, we have (drum roll, if you please)... Scaramouche, Childe and Columbina!

Warnings: brief/indirect spoilers regarding Sumeru's Archon quest and Scaramouche's lore

Word count: 3k

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A month had passed since the funeral, and the day you'd become the 12th of the Fatui Harbingers at Pierro's request.

*Note ~ Even though Signora's dead, I still consider her to be one of the 'Eleven Harbingers', and thus Y/N's position will be the 12th!

Truth to be told, you hardly cared whether such a dubious position had been offered to you out of respect for Rosalyne's legacy, or merely because they'd wanted to keep an eye on the immortal girl who possessed two Visions.

For the past five centuries, your life had lacked any clear purpose - perhaps this new title could change things to something a bit more... colorful?

Perhaps they could be the change.

On that note, there was something quite peculiar you'd come to notice about the infamous Harbingers.

Despite joining their ranks, you had kept the reason behind your questionable situation as a secret, so on a very essential level they still knew next to nothing about you (except for the Director who definitely knew enough to make you very uncomfortable!) In this regard, shouldn't they have considered you a stranger, or at least a high security risk?

Yes, yes they should have.

Yet not only did they treat you as one of their own, but it appeared that for some reason, these people cared about you to an extent beyond just professional relationships, always looking out for you in weird ways, like making sure you didn't overwork yourself, stayed healthy and never lacked any weird luxuries like expensive bath salts - that, and the fact that they were almost constantly lingering around you...

As someone who'd grown used to getting by on their own, you didn't really know what to make of their behavior. Or how to return it.

But did you dislike it? Not really. Why? Well, you were still sort of figuring that out.

You were currently sitting in Pantalone's office, looking through some financial reports while the Regrator himself was away on a business trip. As things stood, this was pretty much all that your title as a Harbinger was good for - assisting your colleagues by handling the less direct approaches to their duties as diplomats of Snezhnaya. It was only natural that you weren't yet expected, or trusted, to do any actual fieldwork.

So, your days were mostly spent being surrounded by endless piles of documents...

*knock, knock!*

...and them, as you might have guessed.

You sighed, placing the papers down on the desk when another round of impatient knocks came in. Clearly, that someone was going to invite themselves in regardless of your answer, and it wasn't hard to narrow down the list of possible suspects since only the highest ranking members of the Fatui were allowed in this part of the headquarters - frankly, the doors here tended not to be Harbinger-proof?

But it's not as if you really minded, breaktime was due anyway. Also, their company was always vastly more entertaining than work!

"It's not locked, you know" you commented, leaning back on your chair.

A scoff was heard before the door was rudely pushed open, and an unfamiliar character marched with such arrogance you'd think they owned the place. This made you raise an eyebrow; what an admirable sense of superiority? It wasn't someone you'd met before, but judging from the way they carried themselves, you recognized them nonetheless.

The man with child-like features (and a rather beautiful face) stopped in the middle of the room, staring curiously, though somewhat condescendingly, at the girl behind the desk.

"Are you," he started, "perchance the Director's newest recruit?"

"It's already been a month, but I suppose... in any case, what can I do for you, mister?"

"Mister?" The Harbinger crossed his arms, both amused and irked by your way of addressing him. "Ha, do you not know who I am?"

"Oh, no, I'm fairly certain I do," you sighed. "A presumptuous attitude, and a strikingly non-traditional kasa hat... the Balladeer, I presume? I heard you were busy playing a god in Sumeru with one of Dottore's segments, so I thought it might be a while before I get to meet the last one of my colleagues. But here you are - Scaramouche, was it? To what do I owe the pleasure?"

He was being rude too, you were just returning the discourtesy.

Scaramouche held back a chuckle, the bells from his hat jingling.

"Ah, yes, that would be me. And as to why I bothered coming all the way from Sumeru just to meet you, miss Twelfth..."

"I have a name. It's Y/N."

He clicked his tongue, taking a step closer.

"Yes, yes, whatever. Now, sit there and listen. I was in the middle of my little experiment on blasphemy when I suddenly heard that the Jester had recruited a new Harbinger, who, incidentally, has two Visions and is supposedly immortal - but she blatantly refuses to reveal anything about herself. Surely, you can imagine my slight annoyance at this, seeing as you, on the other hand, seem to know an awful lot about us."

You smiled a bit, fiddling with the quill pen in your hand.

"Yes, I don't exactly go around advertising my past to others. But aren't you same in that regard, Scaramouche?"

"I won't amuse you by answering that." He smiled eerily. "The point is, I don't like being kept in the dark - it gives people the chance to stab me in the back, and that's not something I'm particularly fond of."

"Ask the Director, then. I can assure you he knows all kinds of scandalous things about me - about all of us, no doubt."

He shrugged. "That won't be necessary."

In the blink of an eye, Scaramouche was no longer where he'd been standing before. The Sixth Harbinger had suddenly jumped on top of your desk, scattering the paperwork you'd spent hours organizing. He leaned forward with a smug look on his face, grabbing your chin between his delicate fingers.

"So, our little miss Harbinger refuses to reveal her secrets? We'll get those out of you, don't you worry~"

"My goodness?" Your previously dull eyes sparkled a bit. "What a bold move - it's certainly... something. I must say, I find your character quite fascinating, Balladeer."

"Likewise."

Behind that ruthless, indigo gaze, was a forlorn soul that had faced so much injustice...

When travelling around Teyvat for the past centuries, you'd caught bits and pieces of hearsay about Scaramouche's tragic past - most of it probably accurate. But it wouldn't have been wise to bring up such matters when you'd only just met him, especially since the Balladeer was widely known for his foul temper.

Though, judging from the way was looking at you, he probably knew what you were thinking. Even so, there was no ill intent in his eyes.

A new voice suddenly interrupted your odd encounter.

"I hope you're not harrassing our princess, dearest Scara!"

Tartaglia waltzed in to the office with an ominous smile. Scaramouche jumped down from your desk, scoffing at the sight of his ginger colleague.

"Ha, barely! I just happen to find her very intriguing."

Childe laughed a bit, stepping forward to pat your head.

"Well, I did tell you she was special, comrade. And to think you didn't believe me? Yet, here I find you. It seems Y/N Lohefalter is capable of drawing the attention of even the Balladeer himself, ahahhah~"

You followed their interaction, thoroughly entertained - compared to your previous uneventful life, this was certainly refreshing.

"Foolish boys," yet another familiar voice was heard, and Columbina strode in gracefully. "Avoiding your work to disturb Y/N with these shameful antics? Pierro would be quite displeased. Now, perish."

Damselette then turned her attention on you, smiling sweetly.

"Would you like to have an afternoon snack with me? I hope you've been eating enough, my dove."

"Now, now, don't be greedy..." Scaramouche taunted. "It's rather obvious that she and I were having a conversation."

You smiled a bit, pointing at each one of them with your pen.

"Technically, you're all are here equally uninvited. And on that note - as much as I'd rather do anything else right now - I really should continue with these documents or they're going to pile up..."

"Hey now, you know Pantalone doesn't like it when you overwork yourself, Y/N," Childe pointed out, crossing his arms.

Columbina smiled gently. "Yes, how about we go and have some tea instead?~"

Scaramouche raised an eyebrow at this.

"You sure speak to this girl in an unprofessional manner, Tartaglia, Damselette - if I didn't know better, I'd say it sounds almost intimate. Trying to snatch her away from me, perhaps? But you've already known her for a month; it ought to be my turn to get acquainted with our new little Harbinger. Y/N and I have some things to discuss, after all..."

"Oh?" Childe raised an eyebrow. "Then what exactly were you and her chatting so intimately about before I came?"

"Enlighten us, Balladeer," Columbina chuckled.

You shook your head a bit.

"Let's not go down that rabbit hole-"

"No." Scaramouche cut you off with a smug expression. "These two, and the rest of them... would agree with the opinion I shared with you, don't you think? Surely it's something that we've all been wondering about."

Columbina and Childe shared a brief but knowing look - it wasn't hard to guess what the Balladeer had said to you, and though he should have gone about it a more discreet manner, they couldn't deny their curiosity either.

The angel-like Harbinger walked next to you, brushing back a loose strand of hair from your face.

"I'd rather hear this from you," she hummed.

Her touch was a little cold but gentle, not at all unpleasant. You just weren't used to this kind of physical intimacy, or rather, it had been so long since you'd experienced any kind of intimacy, that it caught you a bit off-guard whenever your co-workers offered these weird gestures. It's not like you... really minded this. But it did make it hard to refuse when they the asked you for something.

You sighed, leaning back on the chair.

"Of course, I... know you're all somewhat displeased that I'm keeping these secrets from you, about my past, that is - how I've lived for this long, and how it's possible that have two Visions. It might be difficult for you to trust me because of this, but even so, I am not obliged to reveal anything. And you know as well as I do that the Jester already knows what there is to be known; he wouldn't have let me join otherwise."

Scaramouche narrowed his eyes, not content with your answer.

"Yes, but I also know that the Director is a man of his principles - either those secrets are shared of your own accord, or not at all."

"Then maybe you don't need to know? Maybe you're better off not knowing?"

Tartaglia frowned, leaning against the wall next you.

"Being a part of the Fatui already means that we're in way over our heads when it comes to anything questionable that's going on in Teyvat. Your... situation, is included in that, even more so because you're one of us now. And in case it's not clear yet, we do care about our own, even if that often gets a bit lost behind our agendas and differences." He put a hand on your shoulder and offered a reassuring smile. "So, we'd like to know more about you, Y/N. I'm sure that's what Scaramouche has been trying to tell you too, albeit he has a weird way of choosing his words."

The Balladeer crossed his arms. "What a speech, Childe." It sounded like a snide remark, you somehow sensed that he didn't mean it as one.

"For once, I agree with these two," Columbina said. "Though both are going about this in a rather thoughtless manner. Regardless of her past and whether or not she chooses to disclose it, she is a Harbinger - and that does not necessarily mean we should know all these things about her. Her only responsibility is to serve the Tsaritsa, after all."

She smiled at you. "But it is a shame you don't seem to trust us very much, Y/N."

Reverse psychology? Smooth.

"I think you've misunderstood me, though. It's not about trust."

You stood up from Pantalone's fancy office chair, stretching a bit.

"At this point, revealing those things might or might not cost me, but I'm pretty sure I won't gain anything from it either. If that's the case - well, is survival not about keeping the trump cards you have, or at least not giving them away for free? And information is often more valuable than Mora."

"You sound like the Regrator, though I'm sure he would disagree about the Mora part." Tartaglia chuckled. "But I like the way you think! So, what is it that you'd like in return for those secrets?"

"I'd be happy to arrange whatever it is~" Columbina singsonged. "Within the bounds of good taste, of course."

Scaramouche clicked his tongue. "What an insufferable girl - what is it you want, then?"

You tilted your head, wondering why these people were so invested in you. One day, you'd surely understand... but in this moment, you could only think about their offer and how it was just slightly too tempting to refuse.

"Well, right now, I'm craving for some excitement. Something more thrilling than this paperwork I'm drowning in day after day. I don't suppose one of you has a solution for that?"

Columbina's soft laughter jingled in the air.

Scaramouche was glaring at you.

Childe's eyes were sparkling.

"Excitement, you say?!" the ginger exclaimed. "Oh, that won't be a problem. How about we make a little bet, Y/N?"

"I'm listening."

"Let's fight a bit~ I've been wanting to see what you're capable of, and a match against the Eleventh Harbinger is far from playing around, so I'm sure it would prove exciting enough for you." He nodded toward the two gemstones hanging from your belt. "Use those Visions, any weapons and all the shenanigans you can possibly come up with - if you think you can. I promise to make it worth your while. Naturally, you'd have to share some of your past in exchange..."

You raised an eyebrow at his suggestion. "...if you manage to win, that is?"

Columbina chuckled. "Careful, Y/N. You'll get Tartaglia too excited~"

Scaramouche rolled his eyes.

"I'm not sure you understand what you're agreeing to, miss Twelfth. But by all means, go play with this idiot - I'll gladly come and watch, it ought to be entertaining. The next phase of my mission in Sumeru is not due in a while anyway." (And if by some miracle you do manage to beat Childe, I'll come up with other ways of discovering those secrets.)

The Balladeer as well had grown quite captivated by you.

Childe smiled innocently. "How about it, Y/N? Are you in?"

"You bet."

---

...who in their right mind had recruited this maniac?

Sure, the Harbingers had inhuman abilities, but this was pure madness. Tartaglia had yet to even demonstrate his Hydro powers, much less a Delusion, but merely by using his agility and a pair of escrima sticks he had already brought you to your knees.

It's not as if you considered yourself to be a particularly skilled fighter, but you did have five centuries' worth more experience than him, and quite a few tricks up in your sleeve. But Childe only ever gave you the time to use your polearm - no Visions, no shenanigans - and even so, you didn't manage to land a single hit on him.

You lay on the floor of the training grounds, breathlessly gazing up at Tartaglia who was pinning you down with his knee.

"Ready to yield, girlie?"

"Ha... I'm not, *huff*, giving up that easily..."

He smiled, putting a bit more pressure on your chest - not in a painful way, but it was still enough to diminish your remaining fighting spirit rather quickly.

"Alright, alright, fine... please, *huff*... stop, Tartaglia... I, *huff*... give... up..."

"You can call me Ajax, by the way."

The ginger stood up, gazing down at you with a grin on his face. Well, at least now you knew that the rumors about his martial arts prowess weren't exaggerated? Neither was the fact that whenever he did fight, there was this euphoric (honestly a bit scary) aura around him. Reminder - think twice before you accept a challenge from this guy in the future!

That said, you had quite enjoyed yourself...

Ajax offered his hand to you, and you meekly took it, allowing him to pull you up from the ground.

Columbina and Scaramouche, who had been silently observing from the sidelines, appeared slightly amused and certainly pleased by the end of your struggle. This outcome had been more or less expected, but ever so welcome. A Harbinger never backed on their word, after all~

"Now then, my angel..."

"...you better keep that promise."

The three of them led you to a small lounge, dimly lit by a fireplace and deserted from any members of Fatui. Exhausted, you slouched down on a couch and closed your eyes.

Damselette came next to you wordlessly, laying down and letting her head rest on your lap. This was a habit of hers that you didn't mind; while admittedly rather intimate, it was something like this that you had long yearned for.

Childe leaned against a nearby wall, smiling at you encouragingly. For some reason, you always felt at ease around him. He was like an "older" sibling - more than she ever was, the one you'd already lost before her death.

The Balladeer was sitting on an armchair, observing you with an unreadable expression. The slight softness in those cold eyes was perhaps only noticed by you; an abandoned soul recognizes its own kind.

"Now then, Ajax, Scaramouche and Columbina. Allow me to tell you a story - one that discloses how my first Vision came to be. While I'm at it, I suppose I might as well reveal why Rosalyne and I shared such a difficult relationship..."

(to be continued)

#harbingers x reader #genshin impact x reader #fatui harbingers x reader #signora's sister reader #signora's sister #platonic genshin x reader #but it's VERY INTIMATELY platonic #scaramouche #columbina #childe #platonic scaramouche x reader #platonic columbina x reader #platonic childe x reader #genshin impact #genshin

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