#going to force the entire party to make plans with his limitations in mind

[kinthulou]

Disability in TTRPG: Nerf Your Rests

So I love to think about how to represent disability in my ttrpg, yeah? As a disabled person, this is super important to me. And I may have just figured out how to nerf long rests (via D&D 5e mechanics) in a way that's entirely representative of my actual lived experience with chronic pain and fatigue. Folk are welcome to use this in their own games, as a way of explaining their own disability to others, or to adapt to other systems or to their own experiences. But for now, I present to you: the Chronic Pain & Fatigue Long Rest. Per standard long rest rules, taking a long rest replenishes the following: 1. Hit Points 2. Hit Dice 3. Spell Slots Choose two. If you choose to replenish Hit Points, you may only do so by rolling whatever Hit Dice remain from your day's pool. You will always replenish Hit Points first, and replenish Hit Dice second. If you have one or more levels of exhaustion, you may either: 1. Choose one from the replenishment list and remove a level of exhaustion. or 2. Choose two from the replenishment list as usual, and keep the level of exhaustion. Optional, but related rule: You have resistance to healing magic and items, and only regain half the HP you would otherwise be granted by the spell or item. You may be thinking, "Why would I use these rules? They seem complicated and risky?" Well, yes, but also they can provide an approach to gameplay that's all about clever resource management, and also a lot of people actually live like this every day and maybe we'd like to be able to engage with said clever resource management in a way that's fun for once. Maybe we need a safe and controlled way to practice asking for the accommodations we need, or to gently teach our friends how crucial those accommodations actually are. And maybe some of us just really like our characters to be disabled like we are, so we can still explore the fantasy of going forth and exploring dungeons and fighting dragons and completing adventures in a way that feels genuine to ourselves? Idk, man (gender neutral). Do with it what you will. But I'mma be out here nerfing some long rests.

(As always, please work with your game master on any nerfs. They need to know you want to do this, and need a chance to warn you if the game they have planned might not jive with these mechanics, or to help you change things to fit what you both want out of the game.) (Also, if you're not playing a caster, replace Spell Slots with some other resource replenished on a long rest. Or something else! Get creative with it!)

[solxamber]

Project Love - Rollo Flamme x reader

When your eccentric professor pairs you and Rollo up for a study on attachment types, you didn't realise how much it would change your lives.

Rollo Week Day 1! (also Rollo anon I hope you're seeing this).

It was just supposed to be an easy, laid-back semester. But no, the universe decided to throw you into the one psychology class known for ruining lives—and not even in the fun, dramatic, reality-show way. No, this was the kind of class where you could leave the semester with a full-blown existential crisis.

You didn’t even like psychology, but here you were, forced to take this professor’s class because all the others were full. To make matters worse, this wasn’t just any class; it was the dreaded experimental psychology class. The one where the professor was famous—not for his teaching, but for ruining lives in the name of academic study.

The rumor mill had been vicious: forget about traditional exams or group projects; no, this professor made people participate in wildly invasive experiments to "explore the human mind." And by "explore," it meant pushing boundaries until they snapped. You'd heard stories of students breaking up with their partners, dropping out, or crying in public. So, naturally, this was the class you got stuck in.

You thought they were joking, but the moment you walked into the room, saw the professor standing there with his glasses reflecting the overhead lights like some kind of horror movie villain, you knew. This wasn’t going to be good.

You look around the room, praying that maybe you could sit somewhere inconspicuous, keep your head down, and survive. But of course, the only seat open was next to that guy. The one who looked like he’d rather burn the entire campus down than breathe the same air as everyone else.

Oh no.

Rollo Flamme.

Your brief interaction with him was limited to vague campus rumors, but the gist was that he hated everything and everyone. He probably had a master plan to rid the world of all things fun—carnivals, birthday parties, and smiles. Which was ironic because the moment you locked eyes with him, all your social anxiety kicked in, and you smiled automatically. Like a reflex.

For a moment, Rollo froze. And then, something strange happened: instead of the scowl you expected, his expression softened, almost imperceptibly. He didn’t smile back, but you could see the flicker of surprise in his eyes, like your smile had thrown off his whole mood. In fact, as you sat down next to him, you noticed that he kept glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, like he didn’t know what to do with the fact that you smiled at him.

That smile, as far as he was concerned, was the cutest thing he’d seen all year. He wasn’t about to say that out loud, of course, but the thought definitely lingered.

You blinked at him, expecting some kind of verbal response, but before the moment could get any weirder, the professor clapped his hands, demanding everyone’s attention. You flinched, and so did Rollo. Not a great start.

“Welcome, students!” the professor announced with far too much enthusiasm for someone about to ruin lives. “This semester, we’re going to be conducting real-world psychological experiments again!”

You and Rollo exchanged a look—his full of concern, yours full of dread.

“And our first project,” the professor continued, “is an experiment to see how different attachment styles interact in relationships! You will be paired based on your attachment style, and for the next few months, you’ll be living together, learning to navigate these dynamics firsthand!”

What.

Living. Together?!

You wanted to raise your hand and ask if this was some kind of joke, but the professor’s manic grin told you he was dead serious.

He handed out some papers, one of which was an attachment style quiz. You skimmed through the questions, trying to focus, but your brain was already spiraling. Living with a stranger? No way. Not happening. Maybe you could drop out before the end of the class?

You finished the quiz, hoping against hope that this was just an exercise and not a real commitment. But then the professor came back, holding a clipboard with everyone’s results.

“Ah! You’re a secure type. Congratulations, that’s the healthiest attachment style.” He beamed at you like you’d won a medal. “And Rollo…” The professor glanced down, “You’re anxious-preoccupied. Interesting!”

You glanced at Rollo, who was currently gripping the sides of his desk like it was the only thing keeping him from a full-on nervous breakdown. Great.

The professor’s grin widened. “Well, this is perfect. You two will be paired together for this experiment. I’m sure this will be a very educational experience!”

You wanted to protest, but the professor moved on, pairing up the other students. You felt like the ground had just opened up beneath you. Live together? With Rollo Flamme? For a whole semester? How were you going to survive this?

By the end of class, it was official. You had to relocate to a new dorm today. It was like some twisted version of “new roommate bonding,” except instead of awkwardly sharing a bathroom schedule, you were forced to bond over psychological trauma.

The move itself was a nightmare. You were dragging your bags down the hall, trying not to collapse from the weight (both literal and emotional). By the time you finally managed to get all your stuff into the new dorm, you felt like throwing yourself off the nearest cliff. Or at least dropping out of school. Either would be fine.

You flopped onto your bed, groaning. “I swear, if I survive this, I’m never taking another psych class again,” you muttered to yourself. You were two seconds away from reconsidering all your life choices when Rollo appeared at the doorway, looking perfectly fine, not a hair out of place, and holding… pasta?

"I... thought it would be good to have something ready," he said, looking anywhere but directly at you. "Since we’re... apparently in a relationship. For the semester."

You blinked, completely stunned. After everything that happened today, you had not expected this. But you weren’t about to complain. In fact, you could feel a huge wave of relief wash over you. If you had to be stuck in this bizarre experiment, at least it was with someone who had a functioning kitchen and the decency to make dinner.

"I have never been more grateful for a pasta dish in my entire life," you said, dropping into the nearest chair. "I’m so happy you’re the one I got paired with, Rollo."

Rollo looked pleased, though he kept his expression neutral. He quickly sat down beside you, mumbling something about “it’s just dinner.” But you could tell he was trying.

As you sat there, eating the surprisingly delicious food Rollo made, you realized that maybe this semester wouldn’t be as bad as you thought. Or maybe you were just delirious from exhaustion.

Either way, at least you weren’t going to starve to death while this crazy project unfolded.

The first week of living together, and you're hit with a revelation: How the hell is this guy the one with his life together? Rollo Flamme, the same dude who almost gave you a whole monologue about chaos and anarchy the first time you smiled at him, is actually the most functional human being you've ever encountered.

His laundry’s always done, his side of the room is spotless, and somehow, he manages to work on his research without looking like he’s two seconds away from a nervous breakdown (unlike you, whose fourth cup of coffee is practically a security blanket at this point).

And here you are, the so-called "secure" attachment type, flailing around like you're barely hanging on to life. How was he not the secure one? This was messed up.

To make matters worse, Rollo is also incredibly polite. Always holding doors open, saying "thank you" after even the tiniest favor, and offering you a perfectly folded blanket when you passed out on the couch mid-cram session. He'd be the perfect roommate—if you were running a bed-and-breakfast. But for a relationship? Oh, no. This man had walls built so high around him, you’d need a rescue helicopter to even get near his emotions.

You weren’t about to let this continue, though. You had time. You were persistent. You’d break through that fortress if it killed you.

One day, you sat next to him in the living room, where he was working on his latest research paper. Curiosity got the better of you, and you peeked over at his screen. Magic, naturally. Specifically, how magic is dangerous and needs to be controlled more. You made an offhand comment about how he might actually be onto something—“Yeah, some people really don’t know how to use magic responsibly, it’s like handing a toddler a blowtorch”—and that’s all it took.

Rollo’s eyes lit up like you’d just complimented his entire worldview.

He turned to you, eyes wide, rapid-firing questions about your beliefs on magic regulation, ethics, and societal impact. For the first time since you met him, Rollo was genuinely invested, his polite, aloof demeanor melting away as he engaged with you on something that clearly mattered to him. You could practically hear the mental ding ding ding of his brain going, "Finally! Someone gets it!"

By the end of that conversation, the fortress had cracked. The walls weren’t all the way down, but you were inside the outer gates now.

The next day, the roles were reversed. You were on your fourth hour of staring at your own research paper, and the words on the screen were blurring into nonsensical strings of letters. Panic was creeping in, and you were halfway through reaching for your trusty fourth cup of coffee when—slap! Your hand was swatted away.

You looked up, highly offended, only to find Rollo standing over you with a disapproving frown. The audacity.

Without a word, he set down a glass in front of you. Some kind of healthy drink. You stared at it, not trusting it, and he raised an eyebrow, wordlessly daring you to refuse. He'd probably whipped it up himself—fresh, nutritious, and annoyingly sensible.

Grumbling under your breath, you drank it, because at this point, you might as well lean into the chaos of this semester. Surprisingly, it wasn’t bad. It tasted like nature and rejuvenation, or whatever health blogs promise, and you actually felt... better? You powered through your project, and the next morning, you woke up feeling—get this—good. No post-caffeine crash, no impending migraine, just clear-headed and ready to tackle the day.

Your joy was so overwhelming that you practically skipped into the kitchen, like a Disney princess who’d just had her life together for the first time. And there was Rollo, cooking breakfast like the absolute enigma that he was. Naturally, you wandered over and, without even thinking, gave him a back hug while peeking over his shoulder into the pan.

“Smells good,” you said, completely oblivious to the way Rollo froze, spatula in hand, his whole body going rigid.

In Rollo’s mind, you were some sort of divine being who had descended from the heavens to test his resolve. The second you wrapped your arms around him, his brain short-circuited. You were so close. Too close. And soft. And you smelled like whatever magical soap you used, which was currently wreaking havoc on his ability to think coherently.

Why were you like this?

Was this another experiment to see how fast you could make his heart explode?

He tried to maintain his composure, flipping the food in the pan with shaky hands while silently praying you’d release him before he combusted on the spot.

But no. You just kept on, completely oblivious to his suffering, chatting about your day while casually hugging him like it was the most normal thing in the world.

You ate breakfast like nothing was wrong, even thanked him with another hug before running off to class. Meanwhile, Rollo was left standing in the kitchen, staring after you like a Victorian gentleman who had just witnessed an ankle. The moment you were out the door, he crouched on the floor, hands covering his blushing face, mentally calculating how much more of this he could endure before he cracked entirely.

This experiment was going to be the death of him.

It was supposed to be a quick night out. A few drinks with some classmates after a grueling day, nothing crazy. You'd told Rollo you'd be back by 11 pm, tops. Maybe you should’ve accounted for the "one more drink" and the "just five more minutes" that inevitably pushed things to 12:30 am. And as fate would have it, your phone decided to die right around the time Rollo was pacing the floors of your shared dorm like a nervous cat, eyes flicking to the clock every five seconds.

By 12:01 am, the texts started. First, a gentle, "Hey, where are you? Still out?"

By 12:15 am, it escalated to "Are you okay? You said you'd be back by now."

At 12:20, "Should I come get you?"

By 12:25 am, he was borderline feral. "Why aren't you answering??" followed swiftly by "I'm about to call the authorities."

When he finally called and got the "unreachable" message, he nearly tipped into full-blown panic mode. His heart was doing triple time, his thoughts spiraling. What if something happened?

He was seconds away from convincing himself that you’d been kidnapped by a gang of magically-enhanced thugs when, to his immense relief, the door creaked open.

You strolled in like it was just another night, smiling at him, completely unaware of the mini-apocalypse happening in his brain.

"Hey! Sorry, my phone died—"

"You’re late," he interrupted, voice tighter than the grip he had on his phone.

You blinked. "Yeah, but—"

"No, do you realize what time it is? Do you know how long I’ve been waiting?" His voice cracked, frustration evident, and you could see the tension practically radiating off him. His shoulders were rigid, and his hands shook ever so slightly as he ran them through his hair. He’d always seemed so calm, so composed, but this was the first time you were seeing the cracks.

Before you could stop yourself, your own irritation bubbled up. "I was just out for a couple hours, Rollo, it's not like I—"

But then, you saw it. His breathing was uneven, his whole posture screamed tension, and there was a slight tremor in his hands. Your words trailed off, dissolving in your throat.

He looked ready to combust, and not because he wanted to win an argument. He’d been worried. That realization clicked into place, and your frustration evaporated. He wasn’t angry—he was scared.

You stepped closer, quickly closing the gap between the two of you, and before he could say another word, you reached out and pulled him to you. His head rested on your shoulder, and for a second, he went completely still, as if surprised by the contact. But then, his rigid frame began to loosen, his shallow breaths slowing as he allowed himself to relax in your hold.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, your hand running gently through his hair. “I should’ve found a way to let you know. My phone died and I didn’t think—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you like that.”

For a moment, the two of you just stood there in the middle of the room, his face pressed against your shoulder as he took deep breaths, gradually calming down. His grip on your sleeve tightened for a moment before he slowly pulled back, clearly feeling a little sheepish.

“No, I... I overreacted,” he said quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s not my place to—"

“Stop that,” you interrupted. “Experiment or not, we're in this together. You’re allowed to worry. I should’ve told you somehow. I get it now.”

He looked at you, relieved but still unsure, before nodding. You’d come to a resolution—a better understanding of each other.

That night, you both settled on the couch, and you insisted on watching a horror movie to distract from the emotional rollercoaster of the evening. It was one of those ridiculously low-budget flicks with bad special effects and even worse acting, but it did the job.

You sat next to him, his hand gripping yours a little tighter than usual, but you didn’t mind. You leaned back, content, while the garbage horror played in the background, his fingers still interlocked with yours like an unspoken promise that things would be okay.

The next thing that happens makes you realize that the previous night’s breakthrough was only just the tip of the iceberg. Because, apparently, when it comes to Rollo, "issues" aren't fixed with a single comforting hug and some popcorn-level bonding.

It’s a chill afternoon, and you’re gaming in the shared area, completely immersed in your screen. You’ve been stuck on the same boss battle for nearly an hour, so you’re laser-focused, fingers flying over the controls like your life depends on it. You barely register it when Rollo asks something—something mundane, judging by his soft tone—but you’re too preoccupied to catch what it was. You only give a noncommittal grunt in response, eyes glued to the screen as your character slashes through another wave of enemies.

When you finally finish the round (victoriously, might I add), you glance up, stretching your arms, and catch sight of Rollo sitting across the room, looking... incredibly uncomfortable? He’s fidgeting with his sleeves, brow furrowed, biting his lip like someone just asked him to solve world hunger. You blink.

“Rollo?”

He jolts a little, startled by your voice, and looks over at you with wide eyes. You tilt your head. “Did you ask me something earlier?”

His response is instant: “Oh, no, it’s fine! You don’t have to—uh—I didn’t mean to bother you.”

Now that gets your attention. You pause your game, your controller forgotten, as you sit up a little straighter. "Wait, what? Bother me? Rollo, what are you talking about?”

You watch as he shifts awkwardly, his shoulders tight and his gaze flicking between you and the floor. It's the same nervous energy from the night before, except now it's wrapped in a weird layer of... guilt? What the hell?

You toss your controller aside, standing up and walking over to him, and without a second thought, you plop down on the couch right beside him. “C’mon, what’s up?” you coax, nudging him gently. “What did you want to ask me?”

For a second, he doesn’t answer, staring at his hands like they're the most interesting thing in the world. But you don’t move, waiting him out. After a few long moments, he lets out a sigh, almost resigned.

“I thought… I thought you were mad at me because I asked you a question, and you didn’t answer.” His voice is so quiet you almost don’t hear it.

You blink. Once. Twice. And then, the realization hits you like a ton of bricks. Oh, no. He really thought you were mad at him because you didn’t respond right away? Because you were busy gaming? You bite back a groan of exasperation, but not at him—no, at the fact that this poor guy is carrying around enough emotional baggage to fill a whole fleet of U-hauls.

“Rollo,” you say softly, scooting closer. He doesn’t look up. You reach out and place a hand on his arm, giving it a light squeeze. “I wasn’t mad. I didn’t even hear you, I was just really into my game.”

He finally lifts his head, and you can see the hint of skepticism in his eyes. “You’re sure?”

“Positive.” You give him a smile, trying to make it as reassuring as possible. “I wasn’t ignoring you or anything. I just... you know, lost track of everything. It happens.”

It’s like watching the air slowly deflate out of a balloon. Rollo’s shoulders visibly sag with relief, and he takes a deep breath, exhaling like he’d been holding it in for way too long. “Oh. Okay. That’s… good.”

You grin, giving him a playful nudge. “What, you thought I’d throw a fit over something like that? C’mon, give me some credit.”

His lips twitch, almost like he’s fighting back a smile. “I don’t know. You can get pretty intense when you’re gaming.”

“Fair, but I’m only intense about winning.” You flash him a cheeky smile. “Which, by the way, I did.”

His mouth quirks up at the corner, and just like that, the tension in the room finally dissolves. He’s not exactly laughing, but he’s definitely less tense, and that’s a win in your book.

You mentally add “reassure Rollo he’s not annoying” to the growing list of things you need to keep an eye on while living together. Clearly, you’d be doing a lot of emotional heavy lifting in this experiment. But hey, at least you’d have an extra hand when it came to back hugs in the kitchen.

It starts out innocently enough. You cancel a study session with Rollo—no big deal, right? It’s just one meeting, and you’ve got other commitments. You shoot him a quick text, fully expecting him to be fine with it.

But when you see him later that day? Oh boy.

Rollo looks like he’s just received news that the sky is falling. He’s pacing slightly, his expression carefully controlled, but you can feel the dark cloud of tension radiating off of him. It’s not like he’s outright mad at you, but something’s off. You tilt your head, watching as he fidgets with his sleeve, not quite making eye contact.

“Rollo? You good?”

He freezes for a second, then gives you a tight-lipped smile that’s about as comforting as a broken umbrella in a hurricane. “Fine,” he says, in the most not fine way possible.

And then it clicks. This guy’s not just upset about canceled plans—he’s taking it personally. His anxiety is in full swing, and you realize this is way deeper than you thought. Suddenly, his every movement seems loaded with tension, like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. And you're hit with the revelation that maybe—just maybe—Rollo’s not as emotionally stable as you first assumed.

So, after a beat, you decide to do the responsible thing and sit him down for a proper chat. You want to know why he’s so upset over something so trivial, but of course, the moment you bring it up, he’s immediately defensive.

“I don’t need you psychoanalyzing me,” Rollo snaps, his voice sharp as he crosses his arms. “I’m fine.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Rollo, you look like I’ve personally betrayed you by canceling a study session.”

And just like that, he launches into a tirade about how he’s not mad, he just doesn’t appreciate people dismissing his feelings, and maybe you shouldn’t be taking this whole experiment so lightly. Normally, you’d be ready to bite back with a snarky comment—because, hello, it’s one study session—but something stops you.

Instead of fighting fire with fire, you let him rant. You sit there, quietly absorbing his words, your expression calm, even though internally, your temper is flickering. After he’s done, his words hanging heavy in the air, you take a deep breath.

“I’m not trying to psychoanalyze you,” you say softly. “I just… I want to understand.”

And that’s when you see it—his defenses waver, just for a second. He stares at you like he’s trying to figure out if you’re genuinely concerned or just playing mind games. Slowly, that rigid posture of his deflates, and he lets out a long, weary sigh.

He starts talking. About his brother, the trauma, the way he’s carried that weight for years. His words are raw, and as he speaks, you feel your heart twist in your chest. You’re not sure when it happens, but at some point, you find yourself holding him, your arms around him as he finally lets himself be vulnerable.

It’s then that you realize, in the middle of all this emotional chaos, that you’ve fallen for him. Hard.

After a while, when the room has grown quiet and he’s calmed down, you pull away gently, but not too far. “I’ll make us some tea,” you say, your voice soft.

Rollo doesn’t protest. He just nods, sitting there, still processing everything he’s just shared with you. You head to the kitchen, your mind whirling, but your hands working on autopilot as you boil water and prepare two mugs.

When you return, you set the tea down in front of him and take a seat across from him. The air between you feels different now—softer, more open. For a moment, you both just sip your tea in silence, letting the warmth of the moment settle in.

But then, without really thinking, you reach across the table and take his hand. Rollo looks up, slightly startled, his eyes meeting yours.

“I just want you to know,” you say, your voice quiet but firm, “that I’m not doing this just for the experiment anymore. I like you, Rollo. I know this was supposed to be temporary, but… I don’t want it to be.”

He blinks, taken aback, and for a moment, he’s too stunned to speak. His grip tightens around your hand, though, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. There’s a soft blush creeping up his cheeks, but more than that, there’s an overwhelming sense of relief in his expression, like he’s been waiting to hear those words all along.

“I… uh, I like you too,” he mutters, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. “If that… wasn’t obvious.”

You laugh, because of course you do, and before either of you can second-guess yourselves, you kiss him. It’s soft at first, tentative, but it deepens, the tension from earlier dissolving in the warmth of the moment.

Fast forward to the next day, and you two have a midterm check-in with the professor. You’re supposed to give him an update on how the experiment is going, but the moment you and Rollo walk into his office, looking all soft and lovesick, the professor just knows.

He peers at the two of you over the top of his glasses, takes in the way Rollo hovers near you like a protective shadow, and how you’re practically glowing. He doesn’t even bother asking any questions. He just nods, like he’s solved the world’s greatest mystery.

“Full marks,” he says, scribbling on his grading sheet. “I don’t need to hear a report. Just… submit a written one later. Excellent work.”

He’s smiling like a man who’s just unlocked the secrets of the universe, and you and Rollo exchange a look—half amused, half relieved. You walk out of there, knowing that somehow, this ridiculous relationship experiment has turned into something real.

By the end of the semester, you’ve somehow transformed from a procrastinating, caffeine-fueled mess into a finely tuned academic machine. Rollo’s influence on you has been nothing short of miraculous. You’re actually doing your readings ahead of time, submitting papers early, and your stress levels have dropped to the point where you don’t even twitch when the word “deadline” is mentioned.

Conversely, Rollo looks a lot less like he’s one passive-aggressive email away from an aneurysm. Your laid-back attitude has rubbed off on him just enough that he’s no longer muttering about society’s collapse over breakfast. A win-win, honestly.

And now, here you are. The final stretch. Tomorrow is your big joint presentation in front of the psychology class. After that, you’ll be free to go back to your regular dorms, and all this could be just a memory.

But you’re not worried. Why would you be? You confessed your feelings to Rollo weeks ago. He confessed back. Clearly, you’re in a relationship now. Right?

Oh, you sweet, naive fool.

The morning of the presentation, you and Rollo arrive at class, fully prepared to crush it. Everything goes smoothly, and by the time the professor finishes grading you, he’s practically buzzing with excitement. He’s so impressed with your development as a couple that he actually suggests the two of you join his extended study on attachment styles.

“Uh, no thanks,” you say, waving your hand like you’ve just been offered a ride on the Titanic. “I’ve seen enough of my own emotional baggage this semester to last a lifetime. I don’t need a sequel.”

The professor blinks, clearly not expecting you to decline with such flair, but he chuckles and lets it go. “Very well. Full marks, both of you.”

You and Rollo exchange satisfied glances. You’ve done it. It’s over. But as you walk back to your shared dorm for what might be the last time, you notice Rollo’s usual calm demeanor has slipped into something… different. He looks serious.

You figure it’s just post-presentation exhaustion, so when you get home, you flop onto the couch and playfully tug him down to join you. “C’mon, what’s up? We aced the project. You should be celebrating with me!”

Rollo doesn’t flop. He sits—very stiffly, very deliberately—beside you, eyes focused like he’s gearing up for a serious talk. “I need to ask you something.”

You grin, all relaxed and oblivious. “Shoot.”

He takes a deep breath. “What… what exactly are we?”

Oh no. Your brain blue screens. You can hear the windows error noise in your head as everything you thought you knew crashes and burns.

"EXCUSE ME?" you shout, staring at him like he’s just asked if the Earth is flat.

He looks a little startled, but he holds firm. “I mean… I know we’ve been spending a lot of time together. And we’ve shared things. But I don’t think we’ve ever really—”

You grab him by the shoulders, full-on shaking him like a soda can. “I LIKE you, Rollo! I confessed! You confessed! We’ve been cuddling and everything! I thought we were DATING!”

Rollo is frozen, staring at you with the wide-eyed expression of a man who’s just been struck by a bolt of lightning. His mouth opens and closes, but no words come out. You, still gripping his shoulders, feel your energy drain all at once. You stop shaking him and just sit there, both of you dumbfounded, staring at each other in complete silence.

Then, without warning, you burst out laughing—so hard that you actually tip off the couch and crash onto the floor, gasping for breath.

Rollo blinks down at you. “Are you… okay?”

Through your hysterics, you wave off his concern, already rummaging through your pocket. “Wait, wait, wait—hold on.”

Still lying on the floor, you pull out a ring pop from your pocket. With dramatic flair, you drop down onto one knee in front of the couch. Rollo’s eyes widen even more as you present the candy ring to him, grinning like an absolute maniac.

“Rollo Flamme,” you begin, in the most theatrical voice you can muster, “will you do me the honor of being my partner? Romantically. And in crime.”

Rollo looks at you, at the ring pop, back at you… and then lets out the longest sigh you’ve ever heard. “You’re impossible.”

You just smile up at him, unbothered. “You love me anyway.”

He pauses, still clearly baffled by your entire existence, but there’s a soft smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah… I guess I do.”

He takes the ring pop, slides it onto his finger with an amused shake of his head, then leans down to give you a quick, sweet kiss. You bask in the victory of it all, still half on the floor, but your heart is soaring.

“Now, can we please cuddle on the couch like normal people?” you ask, hopping back onto the cushions, dragging him down with you.

Rollo, ever the good sport (and clearly exasperated), finally gives in, pulling you into his arms as the two of you settle into the couch. You both stay like that for the rest of the afternoon, the weight of the semester’s insanity finally lifting as you enjoy the most peaceful—and weirdly victorious—cuddle of your life.

Masterlist

this was actually inspired by this absolutely insane (and probably unethical) study i was a part of during a psych elective. we had to take a compatibility test and the worst compatible pairs had to pair up for the rest of the semester. it was hell on earth.

[krahka]

14, 19, 26 and one of your choice from the character ask prompt!

14: What hobbies does your Tav have?

Back in Limbo, Gnathe liked to make things that were outside their duties as an anarch. Toys for children, tiny models of buildings and creatures, sculptures of the people they cared for, that sort of thing. On the material plane, matter isn’t as responsive, and for a while they thought they couldn’t shape it at all. They’ve figured out something like it though, carving, painting, smithing. Shaping with their hands instead of their mind. The disconnect from their materials is unpleasant, but it forces them to look at things differently. Limits can keep you fresh, keep you from becoming complacent.

Zirseth likes looking out at the sky, tracking the clouds, keeping an obsessive eye on the weather. He finds both the unpredictability and the inevitability comforting. This is part of his devotions to Talos, so not exactly a hobby, but aside from all the murder, Talos is all he’s got.

19: How do you think they'll meet their end?

Gnathe’s post-game goal is to figure out what Orpheus does that disrupts the illithid hive mind, harness it for themself and use it to free every last mind flayer in the multiverse from the elder brains’ control, and basically be to them what Gith was to the People. I can see a lot of people wanting to kill them once they knew of this plan (maybe even Orpheus, lol), and a whole lot more wanting to kill them once they actually start doing it.

Zirseth would like to die by a thousand lightning bolts. Kneeling in a burning building, thanking Talos with his few remaining breaths as he asphyxiates in the smoke. Nothing would make him happier than to stand outside in a tornado as the winds flay the skin from his unworthy flesh. What Zirseth wants doesn’t matter; it never has.

26: What animal best represents your Tav?

Gnathe is an octopus. Constantly shifting, moving, planning, squeezing through the smallest holes imaginable to escape to freedom.

For Zirseth, I think a Pallas cat? He's a poor little meow meow, but also he’s always thinking about arson.

28: Is your character the de facto leader of the party? Or do they consider someone else to be the leader?

Gnathe is incredibly stubborn. Once they’ve picked a course of action, they will pursue it without doubt or hesitation. If you want to complain, that’s nice, but it’s not going to change their mind. Best you can hope for is that they trust you enough to take advice sometimes.

Zirseth does not consider himself in charge, like, in a cosmic sense, but also, anyone trying to keep him under control or direct him on any particular path is going to find it extremely difficult. Even if the plan is “kill them all,” he might end up including you in the “all” plan, and it won’t be something he can tell you about ahead of time. He gets to be the leader entirely because everyone else is afraid of him, not because he wants to be or has anything resembling good ideas.

[amischiefofdeets]

BILL CIPHER

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CHARACTER SUMMARY

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Demon from the 2nd dimension, Bill is a creature motivated by his own boredom, determined to escape his prison and wreak havoc in the 3rd dimension now that his own is destroyed. He'll do whatever he has to in order to be freed into the real world - including manipulation, possession and even killing if he must. There's no doubting he is utterly insane.

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MUSE DETAILS

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Name: Bill Cipher Nicknames: Bill, 'triangle guy' Race: Demon Born: [UNKNOWN] Age: [UNKNOWN] Height: Varies based on form. Gender: N/A but uses he/him pronouns Sexuality: N/A Location: [UNKNOWN] Occupation: N/A Abilities: Capable of invading dreams, possessing others if a deal is struck, when corporeal there is little he can't do - though he is still bound to the rules of a deal being needed to possess someone or invade their mind outside of their dreams.

Scars: N/A Tattoos: N/A Alignment: Chaotic Evil Goals: Take over the universe, create chaos Hobbies: Tormenting others, people watching Likes: Chaos, the obscene and grotesque, having control, being worshipped Dislikes: Control, rules, 'pretty' things Mental state: Entirely insane Disabilities: N/A Reputation: Ultimate villain, the guy is powerful and insane. Family: Scalene - Mother [Deceased Euclid - Father [Deceased]

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VERSES

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#HAUNTING - Set while Bill is still stuck between dimensions, even before canon.

Bill thoroughly enjoys manipulating people, especially when it means getting closer to his goal of escaping the Nightmare Realm and wreaking havoc. Whether or not your character knows it, they might be useful to his plan and he just might try sweet-talking or threatening them into doing what he wants.

#WEIRDMAGEDDON - Set during the weirdmageddon event.

Bill's party has begun and he has every intention of taking it worldwide, tearing apart boring normalcy in favor of chaos. Unfortunately for now he is trapped inside, Gravity Falls won't let him have his fun and that means he needs to find some way of fixing that issue.

#RECOVERY - Book of Bill

Limited knowledge here, as I'm waiting on my copy but I know enough and don't mind being corrected should I miss details. Bill is currently undergoing indefinite therapy, he's being forced to face things from his past that he's either incapable of facing, or lacking remorse for. The jury is out on whether he can get better. Ideas for threads, given the limited ability to make contact: - Bill is forced to return to Earth, powerless, and must 'make amends' for the things he's done. He has no idea where to even begin with that. - Perhaps Bill is granted time to explore the dreamscape, given he can't do anything seriously harmful any longer. This would be good for meeting new people as he could just be wandering through various dreamscapes.

#PROTECTOR - Completely AU.

Bill can't exist without power and he's running short, the only way to get more is from a living thing. The catch: it has to be given willingly. Having to resort to desperate measures, Bill sets out to make a deal with someone. -- He'll become their protector, their helper, for as long as they live their natural life. In return, they have to offer their lifeforce to him on their deathbed. Can he find someone willing to make a deal?

#REGRETS - AU set during Weirdmageddon.

Coming into the real world has a lot of perks, he is more powerful, capable of doing practically anything he wants to do. The problem? -- Suddenly he's FEELING. Two dimensional beings have flat, two dimensional feelings and guilt isn't one of them. How is he going to handle these new emotions? Can he be forgiven for what he has done?

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TAGS

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Main tag - Headcanons - Ask tag Likes - Aesthetics - Musings - Wardrobe

RELATIONSHIP TAGS

TBA

[wheeler-things]

Okay this isn’t quite what you were suggesting, because it’s crows not Sun Summoner and tracker, but also there are six Party members and this post may or may not have sent me on a tangent about who I would put in what role for a Crows AU. Fair warning though, I did read the books, so there may be spoilers if you’re only a show enjoyer.

El’s the team’s heartrender. But rather than coming from Ravka, she’s Kerch. Basically in Wylan’s place in terms of running away from her well respected Mercher papa, who experimented on her and told her that her mama was dead (but actually she’s in a hospital). She was almost drowned in the harbour before being found and taken care of by…

Mike as the Kaz equivalent. He’s good at planning, at seeing five steps ahead of everyone else, and deeply loves his friends… but isn’t always the best at showing that (especially as he gets older). Also, Mike can be ruthless against the Upside Down (ie. with the idea to torch the hub), so it would be interesting to see a darker version of him who was okay with turning that ruthlessness against people. Especially in the context of his very black and white view of things. Plus, the touch aversion leading to a scene like the failed airport hug makes sense in the context of a world with limited or no homophobia, and fighting with a weighted cane is at least vaguely similar to fighting with a sword.

Obviously this makes Will a (very loose) equivalent to Inej. But obviously a lot of Inej’s story wouldn’t work for Will because a fair bit of what’s going on with her ties into her Suli culture/ethnicity, and the rest of it ties into her indenture at the Menagerie which… is a backstory that I understand is intended to make readers uncomfortable, but which I am personally not okay with assigning to a character that has been played by a real life minor the entire time the show has been running so far. So in light of that, other than that he’s in the Wraith role (which I do think works— Will is canonically very good at hiding, so I think that could translate to light feet and disappearing into shadows), he’d have his own backstory. WHICH. If we want to take the show’s timeline and suggest that the Crows are existing at the same time as the issues in Ravka… secret Sun Summoner!Will who maybe doesn’t know what he is yet?? His dad’s terrible, so he very much could be originally from Ravka but forced to get out by his mom and older brother when Lonnie figured out what he was (or at least that he was Grisha in some capacity) and wanted to send him to the Little Palace in exchange for the rest of the family living an easy life. I don’t have all the details in mind, but I think it could make sense for Joyce to protect him by sending him away if she knew he was a Sun Summoner and knew he would be used as a weapon by the Darkling (Henry??). I don’t quite know how this leads to him ending up in Ketterdam and down on his luck enough to fall in with Mike’s crew, but still. This would also open the possibility that, similar to Inej, a significant portion of his motivation was the desire to find his brother and mother again.

Dustin’s the demolitions expert. With that being said, I do think it would be funny if he had a bit of Jesper’s backstory in terms of liking gambling a little too much (he has such an excitable personality, and he was the only one of the group I could even maybe see being in that position) and falling into a life of crime while his mom thinks he’s at university. He’s still Dustin, though, of course— clever and upbeat and a little bit full of himself. Steve and Robin could also totally work in a local shop where he tends to hang out when not on the clock with Mike.

Lucas is the charming, impossibly good sharpshooter and secret durast. He could be Zemeni or Ravkan, but either way, was kidnapped by a father/son pair of Fjerdan drüskelle (Billy and Neil)— basically a very warped version of Nina’s backstory. On the way to the Ice Court for “trial”, the drüskelle met up with Neil’s wife and daughter, and this leads to Max meeting Lucas, helping him escape, and the two of them running away from Fjerda together (and falling in love). They end up in Ketterdam, but due to some sort of severe miscommunication, Max is locked in Hellgate, which Lucas is now trying to get her out of, leading to him getting involved with Mike’s crew. Yes, this does mean that I’m suggesting an “I. Should. Let. You. Die.” [punctuated by CPR] scene with Max and Mike. Yes, this does also mean that I’m suggesting a Max who could and would beat any of the other Party members in a (fair) arm wrestling contest.

i am just a casual enjoyer of s&b so i am ill equipped to do this but i am begging someone to write a grishaverse byler au like please please please i’ll give you everything i have

[1994sunflower]

hey! i was wondering if you could write on where they f*ck whilst on a call with the rest of the band and they tease her?

I hope I did this request justice it was sosososo hot to think about.

in which ashton and calum listen

Michael declined the ringing phone for nearly the fifth time in only a span of a few minutes. He did it without thinking about it, frustration more than anything bubbling up as he didn’t even bother looking at who was calling him or wondering why they were doing so so much. It didn’t matter.

Not when you were looking up at him doe-eyed with his cock in your mouth. You had paused, a twinkle of annoyance in your eyes at the disruption. Sucking your boyfriend’s big cock was always enjoyable and always left you dripping wet and moving your hips against the air behind you from how turned on you were, how much more you wanted. But not when you were interrupted every few minutes. You always stopped, just to give him space to answer if he wanted, you always thought of him. But he just pushed your head down to take him further again like he had done all the past times his phone rang.

“Suck.” He commanded you to continue.

Michael’s tattooed hand tangled in your hair and took a hold of it roughly, almost painfully but all you did was let out a moan around him and feel your pussy clench emptily. Your boyfriend bucked his hips almost imperceptibly at the vibration of your sound before he pushed your head down, forcing you to take him completely until you gagged around his length. By the groan and silent fuck, yeah, love your mouth so much he let out as he threw his head back to fall against the wall behind him, you were sure that was his goal.

Michael was sitting on his bed, his back against the wall the head of his bed was on. For once, he was the naked one as his legs spread enough to fit your small body between them. You were still fully clothed but on your knees on his mattress and bent over, ass in the air, to be level with his crotch. Your hand was fisting the part of his cock you couldn’t fit inside your mouth, though not being able to wrap your hand fully around his girth. But somehow, seeing your small hand and mouth failing to be able to take all of him, how big he was in every sense of the word compared to you, just made him twitch in your warm, wet mouth.

You had begun bobbing your mouth up and down along his length again, sucking him eagerly and letting your tongue flatly lick the underside of his shaft and kiss his tip. Your hands twisted around his base as his hand tightened its hold in your hair as you moaned around him. His groans, eyes closed as he focused completely on the pleasure his good little girlfriend was giving him, and sometimes breathy praises keeping you going animately. Until his phone rang again.

You whined as you pulled yourself off of him with a lewd popping sound and a strand of spit connecting your lips to his bulbous tip. And as he stared at that erotic scene in front of him, he wanted to break something for being denied you.

“Who is it?” You pouted, like a child being denied her favorite toy. Your hand, still around him, moved along his dick, jerking him off almost distractedly as you waited just to finally be able to take him in your mouth again like you were practically drooling for.

You already missed his size in your mouth, having to open wide to adjust to it, the feeling of his sensitive skin, twitching and hardened, and the pleasured sounds you could arouse from him.

Michael growled in frustration, his eyes telling you just how angry he was at the disruption to his enjoyment. It was the same cold and angry look many poor souls saw right before getting beat up. For the first time, he picked up the phone that was laid next to him and actually looked at the Caller ID.

“It’s fucking Ashton.” His voice was gruff. He was going to murder his best friend. If it was anyone else he might’ve already started making plans as to how. His finger was already hovering over the decline button, having half a mind to turn it off completely when he tugged you closer to his shaft again. Already missing the warmth of your mouth and the feeling of your breath against his sensitivity. “Just keep-”

“Answer it. Maybe it’s important.” He wasn’t sure how to tell you that there was little much of anything else he considered more important than having his girlfriend suck him off right then and there.

But he only mumbled before swiping to accept the call. If he didn’t, you’d be worried like the sweetheart you were and besides, he never could deny you.

It didn’t mean he’d be happy about it. He put his phone on speaker and held it up just a few inches away from his mouth. “What the fuck do you want? You better have a good fucking reason for calling me right now.”

He saw the way you frowned at his meanness but he ignored your look, he could only be so good before he reached his limit. His mind was still focused on the way you still pumped him; he was still so hard.

“Okay, geez dude. Sorry!” Ashton didn’t sound sorry at all, actually. “Not like we haven’t been waiting for you for the past twenty minutes or anything.”

Michael wasn’t sure what he meant by that. But he did know that if his too-kind girlfriend’s mind started to wonder too, then you’d feel so bad about distracting him from whatever meeting his friends thought they had together that you’d stop completely. And he couldn’t allow that. Not when he hasn’t even cum yet.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He answered, half paying attention as he took a hold of your arm, pulling your body so that you were completely bent over again, your mouth just inches from his tip.

You were gazing at him with uncertainty, no doubt thinking about the fact that he was still talking to Ashton and how impolite it would be to disrupt his conversation with his friends. Especially at how embarrassing it would be should you be caught. But Michael couldn’t give less of a shit, his priorities were set. Whether it was impolite or whether Ashton or Calum would know what was going on or not.

Michael just ran his fingers in your hair, hoping to relax you a little, to silently tell you it was okay and to just continue what Michael so deeply wanted you to. Just like he was weak for you, you were helpless but to do what you both wanted.

Your mouth took him in again, paying special attention to his tip, kissing and licking at it especially before wrapping your tempting lips around him entirely. The pleasure was almost dizzying. So good. He almost felt his hips twitch when you hallowed your cheeks. His eyes closed again involuntarily, so utterly at peace with the feeling of your tongue on him as you did your best to fit most of him in your mouth. Almost forgetting he was on a call. Not really caring once he did remember. His girl was the only thing on his mind.

He almost couldn’t process it when Ashton scoffed, “Bullshit. I reminded you this morning before I left.”

Michael’s eyebrows furrowed in genuine confusion before Calum spoke up, voice just as loud as Ashton meaning they were sitting right next to each other. “We were going to pre-game before the party at my frat? Ring a bell? You said you were down.”

There was a vague memory in Michael’s mind of Ashton telling him something about that, about not forgetting, that it was tonight. He remembered nodding dismissively, he wouldn’t forget. But he also remembered how easily that all left his mind the moment you arrived, bouncy and beautiful as always. With a mischievous glint in your eyes that he always felt giddy at seeing because it was so rare for you, knowing what was to come, what you would be whining for. And he was never one to deny you anything.

The slurping and filthy gawking sounds that came each time you sucked and moved up and down on his shaft were growing both in number and volume the more into it you got. Even some of the moans that accidentally escaped you at how much you loved to have your boyfriend’s cock in your mouth.

The sudden silence coming from the other end of the line should have been enough to tell Michael that his activities were being discovered. But either Michael didn’t notice or didn’t care. He never moved to take himself off speaker. But he took notice when you grew alarmed and shy at being caught at something so personal and lewd. His hand went to the top of your head, a silent way to tell you not to stop.

He let out an unashamed groan, “I’m not going. Y/N came over.”

Honestly, with what Calum and Ashton were imagining right then, they couldn’t blame him.

“Fuck dude, are you-?”

As if to answer the unfinished question, Michael thrusted up into your throat enough for the gagging sound to reach the speakers on his phone, enjoying the feeling of you choking around him. But it really wasn’t with that goal in mind. Your newly tentative movements, due to you being very aware of possibly being caught, had slowed you down much more than Michael wanted.

But Michael had no problem taking control when needed. His hand was pulling you up and down onto his length by your hair. Thrusting up into you with the rhythm he put upon you, his head thrown back, eyes closed at the pleasure. Feeling your fingers press against his naked thighs was enough for him to shiver. By the time he had both of his hands in your hair, keeping you still, you were already whimpering against him. Apparently your pretty little mind had glazed over the fact that he was still very much on the call, forgetting the shyness that had taken over you a few second ago. That Calum and Ashton were still very much listening.

“Fuck, that’s it. Just like that.” Michael’s rough voice praised, strained because of the pleasure, made it clear he didn’t care either. It wasn’t like it was the first time they’d heard you two go at it. “That’s my girl, take my fucking cock.”

His hips began to thrust into your small throat, perfectly molded to fit his cock, and only his. He had trained your throat for that. He thrust deep, hearing you gag and feeling your throat close around him with each time his tip reached the back of your throat. He kept himself there, pushing your head down deeper, forcing himself further back in your throat. It was sadistic and he could hear your muffled sounds and the tears prickling your eyes but as you looked up at him through your lashes, holding onto him tighter and your hips swinging behind you, he knew you were just fine to be like that. His toy to fuck.

When he finally relented, letting you pull away enough just to breath, he heard the choking, stuttering breath you took. His cock was dripping with your spit but that didn’t deter you from moaning around him as you savored the taste of him and his pre-cum when you deep throated him again.

It was then that Calum and Ashton seemed to get past the shock and dry throats. It was hot. To imagine you, sweet and gentle you who they knew was too small to take anything of Michael’s easily, doing something so dirty while being treated so roughly had them hard just hearing it. Imagining it.

“Shit, is she sucking you off right now?” Calum’s voice came through the nearly forgotten phone at his side and Michael couldn’t help the pride in his eyes as he looked down at your tiny figure in between his legs doing just that.

He yanked at your hair roughly, pulling you off of him enough for him, and his friends over the phone, to be able to hear you whimper, lips against the head of his cock. You almost looked pathetic. And he felt his almost painful hard-on at the sight.

Michael looked at you when he spoke directly to his friends, “Yeah. She lets me fuck her throat like a fucking slut, too. She’s so good with her mouth.”

“I bet, if it sounded like that” Both Calum and Ashton groaned in unison, they really couldn’t blame Michael for bailing on their plans now.

Somehow, hearing all three of them talk about you like you weren’t even there had your pussy trembling even more than before. Your smile was broken from the rough way he had taken your mouth but you still obeyed him when he tapped your lips with the head of his dick. Opening your mouth and taking him to the hilt, until your nose touched his abdomen before you pulled back and did it all over again.

You barely heard the mumbled good girl from his lip. But it wasn’t until you heard Ashton’s voice that you froze, as if reminded that you were being listened to. All the dirty things you had just done, were done in front of an audience.

“Didn't know your girl was so needy.” His usually friendly and sweet tone suddenly sounded teasing and demeaning. “I probably should’ve though. Always the ones that pretend they’re so innocent that like it rough.”

Michael smirked down at you, his eyes never leaving yours making it known how purposely he chose his words. “You should hear what she’s like when I’m inside her.”

Your entire body burned. You wanted more, needed more. Just like you did when you arrived to his home, horny and needy. When he told you to get on your knees and work for it, though you had already been crawling towards him on the bed.

Now driven by the hitches of breath you hear over the phone, their silent groans. You didn’t care anymore that his friends were listening to how much of a whore you were, listen to each lewd sound of you sucking off your boyfriend or even more. Maybe it was a testament to his corruption of your pure person, to one who cared only about him, and getting fucked by him, to care about modesty - someone who delighted in the thought of others being witness to just how good you were for your boyfriend and just how good he made you feel.

When you released him from your mouth, you were sure your wetness was dripping all over his sheets.

“Daddy,” you whimpered, your soft cheek resting against his hard dick, looking up at him with begging eyes, “please.”

Neither could deny the way their hands went to palm themselves through their pants at the sound of you so softly, high pitched, called your boyfriend such a dominant title. You heard a chuckle from the phone followed by a mocking laugh.

“Aww, she’s begging. How cute.”

“Just fuck her, mate. Put her out of her misery.”

Maybe you should be pouting at their teasing but if it got your boyfriend to stretch you open, you welcomed the sting of humiliation that followed their words. Being seen as nothing but a fucktoy at the moment.

Sharing this intimate moment with you was only because they were his best friends. It was the only reason he’d given them this glimpse that they should be honored to be guests to. But one he was using not so subtly to boast, how lucky he was to have you, how only he could give you pleasure. That you were his, sucking his dick, fucking him. No one else could have you. Even them, no matter how close he let them get. No matter how much they wanted to.

Michael looked almost arrogant when he took you by the back of your thighs, pushing you up until you were stranding up. Enough for your clothed pussy to rub against his cock. The sensation was enough for you to start grinding on him. You’d waited for so long, you couldn’t even remember how long you’d been blowing him before the phone rang. There was still spit on your chin to prove it.

You yelped when you felt him spank you but his eyes showed almost no emotion which caused you to clench your walls. He looked so hot under you, the tattoos on his upper body under your hands and his dick erect for you. “Let them hear how good you can ride me, little one.”

His thick fingers pushed your panties to the side just enough for you to sink down on him. You were so wet, he slid in with ease despite your tight walls. Especially excited at the rare opportunity to ride him. A satisfied moan left you, eyes almost rolling to the back of your head at the feeling of being split open by his thickness. Finally.

Michael stayed laying down, gazing up at his girlfriend, looking so little as she bounced on his lap feverishly. Groans left him as he let you set the pace, pleasuring yourself using him. But despite you being on top, it was very clear who was in charge by the bruising grip he had on your hips as he helped you move up and down his length. You were so small, even the width of your body was only half of his broad one.

The sound of skin slapping echoed throughout the room each time your thighs met when you sheathed him entirely inside of your drooling cunt. Your skirt was pushed up, around your waist worthlessly, giving Michael a clear view of where you were connected.

“So-ngh-so good, Mikey. Feels so good.” You were babbling on him, your back arching. Breaths coming out short. Every once in a while, you ground against him, swiveling your hips. “Y-you fuck me so good. Love your big cock, daddy, feel so full!”

“Fuck, she is a slut.” You weren’t even thinking straight with how dizzy the pleasure made you to recognize who said it. But you weren’t out of it enough not to hear the ‘slicking’ sounds over the phone that made it clear Ashton and Calum had given up modesty with each other and were pumping their cocks to the hot sounds of you getting fucked by their friend. Which just made you move your hips faster.

“Hear that?” Michael grunted out as you kept riding him. “They can hear how much of a fucking cock hungry whore you are.”

You were shaking your head at his words, whining as if to deny them but you kept moaning and riding him faster, clamping down on him with your walls, suffocating him in the best way. You felt each drag of his cock against you. He moved you forward by your hips to heighten the delicious sensation of feeling you against and around him, hissing. “You’re so fucking tight.”

It was only when you leaned down, your face just a few inches away from Michael’s so that your hips were what moved his cock in and out of you that Michael saw the large blush adorning your face.

He sat up without you expecting it. The only reason you didn’t fall was because of his arm that wrapped around your waist. Your small hands landed on his strong, tattooed shoulders instinctively.

Even on his lap, straddling him while still grinding on his cock, Michael was taller than you. It was instinctive when you opened your mouth and let him slowly, sensually, let a glob of his spit drop onto your tongue. You almost moaned when you swallowed it but the gentleness ended when he spit in you again, faster this time and you felt a sharp slap to your cheek following it.

You distinctly heard the curses that left the phone at the visuals they imagined of Michael slapping you around, manhandling you in whichever way he pleases.

“Don’t tell me you’re getting shy. After showing them how much of a messy cockslut you are. Fucking me during a phone call…dirty fucking girl. Can’t think of anything except daddy’s cock. You like that they’re listening to how good I fuck you, don’t you?” Then his grip on your waist tightened enough for him to start thrusting up into you. Hammering into your poor little cunt at a rough, fast pace - even more so than the one you had set for yourself. He groaned deeply. You cried out, gasping and writhing in his arms as he pounded into you mercilessly. Broken sentences were the only thing that could leave your mouth. You felt him so deep inside you.

You already felt that heat in your belly, the sign of your release keeping up on you as your big boyfriend used your body. It felt so good, the pleasure you had been vying for all day. The way you tightened around him, hips stuttering was enough to tell Michael you had cum, along with how much wetter you’d gotten, your cum mixed in with each thrust as he continued pummeling into you within stopping. It’d been building up for so long, you couldn’t be blamed for cumin so quickly.

The back of your thighs and his were drenched. But your scream was enough to tell Ashton and Calum know how you had creamed all over Michael’s dick. Their hands moved faster as they jerked themselves off, their minds focused on you.

You couldn’t even think coherently, your eyes half closed and mouth open to stream out moans. Let alone being able to wrap your mind around Michael handing you his phone and pushing it up to your ears, off of speaker but loud enough that he, so close to you in position, could still hear the two boys at the other end of the line. His hips still thrusting into you, so deep that he bottomed out into you each time.

“Tell them what I’m doing to you.”

And then it was your moans being filtered directly to them, the distant sound of slapping skin the only other thing Calum and Ashton could hear as you bounced up and down on his fat cock.

It was embarrassing, especially being able to hear Ashton and Calum’s groans, knowing they were witnessing this weak, dirty part of you so different from how they usually saw you. Your breath hitched.

But it was Calum’s sweet voice, drenched in a gravelly arousal, that you heard first, “Go on. Tell us how good you’re getting fucked in front of us.”

You didn’t answer right away - you couldn’t. It was too much. Hearing his voice in that moment, commanding you to follow your boyfriend’s orders. Knowing that you had him weak just with your sounds. It was a thrill. And your face was fucked out at the feeling of the circumstances as you moaning as you were racked by Michael’s rough thrusts. Your submission so cute to watch, and hear, unfold.

Your hand could barely hold onto his phone, fit for his larger hand not your trembling one. “H-He’s fucking m-my pussy so deep. C-Can’t—so rough. Gonna cum again.”

You sounded as fucked out as you looked.

Ashton spoke next, sounding almost amused with your inability to work your brain while being stuffed with your boyfriend’s dick. “Yeah? Feels good?”

Your sounds of agreement were muffled. “S-Sososo good. Mikey’s so big! He’s stretching me open. H-He always makes me feel so good, only he can fuck me. My pussy is his. I’m his. Only a slut for him.”

You were cut off by your own squeals; as if to reward your words that made Michael feel so boastful and powerful, he raised the shirt that was still on your body. Until it uncovered your bra-covered tits to him. Even then he just roughly pulled up your bra, not bothering to even remove it. Just enough to give him access toy our bare chest, jiggling up and down with his sharp thrusts. He all but smothered his face as he encased his mouth around your nipple.

All you could do was arch your back, pushing your tits further into his mouth and his head further into them. One of your hands went to hold the back of his head gently to hold him there as you took pleasure as he sucked your tits while his arm around you pushed you as deeply and closer into him as possible.

“Yes.” You clenched around him at the sensation, as if to force his thick cock to stay inside you, so tightly Michael’s drilling into you grew slower as he fought against your walls. But eventually, he picked up his pace again. Until you could barely breathe with how fast he was fucking up into you, his pace bruising and his cock hitting the spots that had you weak. You barely heard his growl of Mine against your skin. His tongue swirling against your tits, biting at them gently.

It was so hot.

For the second time, you could feel the tension again as your release crawled closer. Your moans were louder than before, this time directly into the phone speaker not that you had any trace of bashfulness anymore.

“Fuck listen to her.” Calum said, you could practically hear the breathy way he talked. His head thrown back as his hips thrusted into his own palm, desperately imagining the way your hips would move, the way your cunt would be soaked. His hand tightened around himself to mimic your tightness. “You sound so fucking hot.”

He was only saying that because Michael couldn’t hear him. He had to make do with teasing you with his words, making you feel exactly what you were doing to him. And that’s just what his words did. You whined, grinding into Michael desperately at the praise.

“Bet you look so pretty like that.” Ashton said as he spit on his palm before returning his hand to his cock, “Riding a cock that’s too big for you. Like letting yourself be used like a fucking toy, don’t you?”

“Michael!” You moaned out his name even as you listened to his friend’s words through the phone. You were so close.

But Ashton wasn’t done. “You’d feel so fucking good, so tight. Michael was right. Such a needy slut, fucking her boyfriend in front of his best friends and liking it. Making him miss his plans.”

“And here we-fuck-thought you were such a good girl, smiling and innocent.” Ashton’s hand moved faster against himself.

You were whimpering at his words, at his teasing. “I’m s—orry. I-I didn’t mean t-to.” You slurred, “Just needed him.”

“Y-Yeah? You didn’t m-mean to?” Calum mocked your stuttering cruelly. Sounding so similar to your mean boyfriend and you felt yourself at once have tears settle in your eyes at the humiliation and get impossibly wetter. The lewd squelching each time Michael moved in and out of you was loud. It was too much. The sensation of Michael driving into you and just how good his friends’ teasing words felt.

“It’s okay, you can’t help yourself.” He continued, cooing at you teasingly. “You’re just a brat who only thinks about cock - bet you even like that we’re getting off on you. Thinking about how good you’d look bouncing on our cocks. We’d fuck you good just how you like it. Too bad Michael never learned to share. You’d like that wouldn’t you?”

“‘m not! ‘m not a brat ” You moaned, heart thumping rapidly at what he was suggesting. You could almost see their own big cocks in their hands. You licked your lips. Michael really had turned you into a cock-addicted whore. “I’m a good girl. I’m Mikey’s good girl.”

“Hmm…” Ashton grunted, “Prove it. Keep moaning nice and loud. I’m so fucking close. You’re going to cum again aren’t you? So fucking messy.”

“Say our names when you cum.” Calum chuckled and you heard Ashton’s incredulous laugh right beside him as your cheeks burned. You couldn’t. You wouldn’t. You’d only ever moan Michael’s name, the man who was fucking into you so well like only he would ever be able to do. But the thought of it set a fire in your belly all the same.

And almost as if Michael could hear what he had said, his eyes narrowed in concentration and possessiveness despite everything. “You’re mine.” He grunted out, “All fucking mine. Gonna let them hear how I fuck my cum into you. How you’re built to only take my cock and cum.”

“Yesyesyes, give me your cum, daddy. Please, cum inside me.” The words of all three of them were enough to have you cumming around your boyfriend’s girth almost immediately. Dropping the phone all together and leaving Ashton and Calum to cum into their own hands at your words, imagining it on your skin instead, at the now more echoey sounds of your moans of completion, repeating Michael’s name almost like a mantra in the haze of pleasure.

Even as his hips continued to slam up into yours, despite your overstimulated core. Until he held you still, biting at your skin with a deep groan as he released inside of you. Thick ribbon of cum filled you completely, with pleased sounds leaving your mouth at the sensation.

Only then did he let you fall back on the bed, weak and tired. Finally letting go of your tiny body he had been holding close to him, keeping you on his cock. He had given you exactly what you wanted, what you arrived to his house knowing he could give you. And the experience was so much hotter than you expected, especially with his friends’ teasing and dirty words that showed you just how hot they saw you.

Michael watched as you laid there, legs open with a mixture of both of your cums trickling down your leg. His cum that couldn’t fit inside you, white at your entrance. The sight drove him wild.

But he controlled himself from abusing your sensitive cunt again. He had to handle something first. He picked up the abandoned phone, the one you set aside because you would drop anything and everyone for him. Always.

He didn’t even have to speak when he put his phone up to his ear as you laid there silently, mind fuzzy. Both of you were breathing heavily from the exertion of the rough fuck. Ashton spoke before he had to.

“Don’t brag, dude.” And Michael couldn’t help the smirk that formed on his face. It was exactly what he wanted to do, the feeling of pride swelling inside him. He had just fucked his hot girlfriend, knowing his two friends wanted her, wanted to be him. Claiming her in front of them as she claimed herself as his to them.

“Seriously, it’s bad enough we had to jerk off while you got your dick wet.”

Michael scoffed, “Just be grateful I even let you listen, assholes. Don’t interrupt me next time.” He paused before he decided to rub it in a little more, “At least you could actually make her wet. She felt so good around me.”

“Fuck you, dude. We did a lot more than just make her wet.” Calum said, not unkindly. He was already trying to clean himself off. “Can’t believe she even let you cum inside her."

“Yeah don’t forget she’s mine.” Michael said, the possessiveness back in his tone. They were lucky to even just be given a glimpse of you in that intimate moment. Given to them because Michael trusted his best friends but also just so Michael could show off how lucky he was to have you, how satisfied he was always with you. A reminder of how much you didn't need anyone else with him around. All their fantasies of you were for nothing because it was only ever Michael that could have you whenever and however he wanted, the one who could claim you inside and out.

And while Ashton and Calum dominated you, because of the freedom Michael had allowed them to, they knew better than to push their luck with your boyfriend. They were just happy with themselves for calling at the moment they had, accidentally stumbling into a scene that they refused to leave willingly once they had realized. It was better than any porn they’d ever seen.

Michael’s chuckle caught them off guard, he seemed to be in a good mood after having sex. Not that they could blame him. “Have fun at your party.”

Not that they could. Not after getting such a small taste of you and knowing they wouldn’t be thinking of anything else but how they dreamed of you in that situation, your sounds, what you let them be a witness to and what you let your boyfriend do to you, to claim you in front of them. What it meant that such a sweet, naive looking girl could be tainted to become such a submissive slut, unbeknownst to everyone else. It was hot and they doubted a party could hold their attention or desire at all compared to it.

But Michael knew that. That’s why he was still laughing, tauntingly.

[tnystrk-exe]

Estocolmo 3

Hannibal x Reader

Masterpost

First Chapter

Warnings: 18+ thigh riding, in a public setting, degration, cockwarming

Word count: 6k

Chapter Three

Maybe you hadn’t thought through about going to Hannibal’s dinner party. In the moment you had just missed the sound of his voice. His touch… Okay, you were motivated by other things than how much fun you would have at this little dinner party of his.

However you had to pull a lot of strings and work extra shifts, just so your bosses would even consider letting you off for a couple days. You were a valuable worker, one that would damage them to lose, but pettiness didn’t know any bounds. The stress was adding up. Still you trudged through it all. Not one to ever want to end up on Hannibal’s bad side.

You didn’t like making the perfect, polite ones angry. Loud anger you could handle. You were used to it. Quiet anger was just upsetting. He’d be upset you let him down, but he wouldn’t say it right. A soft sigh followed by a half meant it’s okay would probably be the most he’d give you. Disappointing him was a no go.

“I can’t wait for you to leave.”

“You’re so good at making me feel loved.”

“You know I do!” She laid back in your bed, arm’s comfortably behind her head, “But since you planned yourself a date. I did too.”

You grabbed clothes and threw them into a small duffel bag. “The chick from work?”

“God I wish. Can't work up the courage.”

“Don’t tell me you called up Reggie,” you laughed.

“Don’t tell me you got called up by Hannibal,” she mocked your voice. “Look! We’re a team! You can get dicked by someone that doesn’t deserve you. And I’ll romance a very pretty woman the entire weekend.”

“When is she getting here?”

“I’m shooting the text the second you’re out that door.”

You sighed, “You replace me so easily.”

“Oh baby,” she cooed, “Remember who’s leaving who.”

“A couple of days. You could be lonely for a few days.”

Alex walked you out. Stressing that you had to text her throughout your drive. It was only a three hour drive, but a lot could happen within that time.

All in all it wasn’t a bad trip. Monotonous without your usual partner in the passenger seat, but not bad. Your nerves bit at you. Hannibal’s social presence really was everything to him. Your head ran though countless ways you could mess up the night. Ultimately you wouldn’t, you knew that, but your brain sure did like to torture you with the idea.

“Everything will be fine,” you told yourself as you parked alongside the manor. Staying in the car for a moment you built yourself up. It was Hannibal. He knew about your home life. How you took your coffee. The things you’ve allowed him to do to you. Probably some understanding of things that he hadn’t done to you yet. A knock on your window pulled you out of your thoughts.

Opening the door you got out of the car.

“You weren’t thinking of running away, I hope,” Hannibal greeted.

“I wasn’t. Nerves,” you admitted. “It’s usually just the two of us, y’know…”

“Darling,” he scoffed, adjusting a piece of your hair, “I have no doubt in my mind that my companions wouldn’t adore you as much as I do.”

You moved to grab your bag, only for Hannibal to immediately take it from you. “You say that now, but that’s only because you’ve become accustomed to that certain charm I have at three in the morning after a night of studying. I’m not sure I can be as adorable to all of your friends.”

“Anyone that thinks otherwise has no place in my home.” Hannibal grabbed your hand in his own, leading you to the manor.

Once the front door closed, he wasted no time pulling you close. The kiss was long and rough. Both attempting to make up for lost time in the limited minutes you had. A soft moan from you made him press you against the door, the bag that had been in his hand long forgotten. His hand pressed lightly against your throat as he pushed a knee in between yours.

It was a long while before he pulled away. He rested his forehead against yours. “I’ve missed my favorite plaything,” He spoke into the shared air, “You’ve been away so long.”

“Your favorite?” You asked, looking at him dazed.

He smiled, mischief in his eyes. “I’d wager they couldn’t kiss you so well you’d look at them like they hung the stars after.”

“I do not!”

“Of course you don’t, darling.” He picked up your bag. “Come, we should start getting dressed.” You followed Hannibal up the stairs to his room. Apparently yours too, at least for the next couple of nights, since he emptied the contents of your bag into an empty dresser drawer. “You’re more than welcome to explore if you do get uncomfortable. I know meeting a sea of people can feel overwhelming.”

“I’m just afraid I’ll be out of place.”

“You’re exactly where I want you to be,” he disappeared into the walk-in closet, “The other’s are decent enough people. However, it makes sense that such divine beauty doesn’t fit in amongst commoners. I’d never dream of you finding yourself their equal.”

You walked over to examine the drawings he had hung on the wall next to his bed. “I’m not sure I’m worthy of such high thought.”

He came back, placing the suit and dress onto the bed. Standing behind you, he wrapped his arms around you, resting his head on your shoulder. “I really do mean it, beloved. You’re strong and intelligent. As much as I’d like to, you won’t allow me to pull strings and help you. That’s more than most of the crowd coming over tonight. They haven’t faced hardships like yourself and I. Don’t allow yourself to be treated less than and, please, tell me if anyone makes you feel that way.”

You turned your head, kissing his cheek. “I’m not sure I believe it, but I’m grateful for the thought.”

“I simply must make it my mission to prove it.” He inhaled deeply, “You’ve changed your perfume?”

“I liked the one you bought,” you said simply, getting out of his arms, you looked at the dress he had gotten you. The piece of fabric was easily the most expensive thing you owned now. It didn’t match his suit, but the two certainly complimented each other. “You really didn’t have to.”

“I want to,” he went to open another dresser drawer, pulling out a small box, “Consider it all a graduation present. You worked hard and deserve a reward for it. We didn’t get a chance to see one another before you left.”

“You’ve had these since then?” You asked.

“Of course. How could I resist an opportunity to find you a gift? And with Alex so graciously allowing me to buy you a dress, I figured tonight would be a wonderful time to give you your gift.” He opened the jewelry box.

“Hannibal,” you gasped quietly, the jewelry glimmered brightly, “It’s beautiful.” Usually you weren’t one for objects, but this was also the most thoughtful thing you’ve ever received. Hannibal had taken the small bits he knew of you and picked out the perfect pieces of jewelry for you. It was the feeling of being known so well that made it special.

“The second I saw this set I couldn’t help but think of my darling girl. Would you like me to put the necklace on you now?”

You quickly shook your head, “After I get dressed, please. I wouldn’t want to risk dirtying it while I’m getting ready.”

“In that case, I’ll show you where you can get ready.”

You grabbed the things you needed to make yourself look presentable and followed Hannibal to the bathroom. To your surprise he started to undress after he hung up his suit and your dress. You shrugged it off and set your stuff on the counter, you were more than comfortable with him and you and Alex had taken to doing similar in your cramped bathroom early mornings. The shower turned on while you took out your makeup. His humming filled the otherwise quiet room.

When you were pleased with how your makeup looked, you moved on to fussing with your hair. The shower shut off and your eyes wandered briefly in the mirror. You watched the show as he dried off his chest and followed the towel up as he dried his hair. He caught your eye, brow raised, you shrugged and sent a wink his way.

You got undressed, tossing your clothes in the hamper as you did. Walking over to the dress you felt the fabric between your fingers, studying the intricate pattern that was sown on to it.

“You don’t like it, darling?” Hannibal asked as he buttoned his shirt. “There’s another in the closet, but I was hopeful you’d like this one. You'd look stunning.”

“Admiring,” you stated simply, “Wait there’s another?”

“There’s a show, I’d like to see tomorrow. I figured it could be an outing for us.” He checked himself over before styling his hair. “This is ‘Making it worth my while’ as Alex said.”

“Han, you know better than to listen to Al.” You sighed, “I’m grateful, I honestly am. It’s just embarrassing. I really can’t give you anything in return.”

Hannibal came over to you, holding one of your hands in his. “They’re simple trinkets of my affection. In the end they all mean nothing. YN, you grace me with your presence and time, which is something that can never be repaid in form. I hold you dearly, your time is more than I deserve.”

You stood on the tips of your toes kissing him gently. There was all the time later for a rougher touch. Now you just wanted to feel him pressed close against yourself. A brief flick of thought asked if you really wanted this to just be a fleeting thing between friends. Pulling away, you gave him one final kiss to the side of his mouth.

“You’re allowed to give me one gift a month,” you teased, as you grabbed his tie and set to work on tying it for him. “You’re not my sugar daddy, as much as Alex wishes you were.”

“And you’re welcome to set as many rules as you’d like when it comes to this. However, what’s forcing me to follow them?” His hands grazed along your sides, “We both understand who makes the rules, don’t we little one?”

The part of you that had become accustomed to that particular tone, faltered slightly. “Hannibal, we’re not always in sessions,” you reminded him as you tightened the tie, “You can’t just have your way.”

“Why not?”

You shook your head, annoyed, “Or you can do what you’d like. It’s your wallet after all.”

“I’m sorry,” he apologized immediately, “I don’t want to offend you.”

You let it go, there was no use to fight over this. “It’s okay, you’re only teasing right?”

“May I please see you in the dress?” He asked, lightening the mood.

You turned, returning to the piece of elegant fabric. Carefully you pulled it on. He really was excellent when it came to fashion. The dress hugged the right places and accentuated everything wonderfully. Hannibal stepped behind you once again. Zipping the back for you, his fingers trailing up as he did. Carefully, he moved your hair to the side as he fixed the necklace in place. Dipping his head down, he kissed that spot on your neck he had quickly learned turned you to putty in his hands. You leaned against him, angling your neck to give him better access as a soft moan escaped. His teeth grazed gently against your neck, he seemed to toy with the idea of making a mark before backing away. As much as he’d enjoy to see it blossom, he knew you had many first impressions to make.

You whimpered at the loss of contact. Suddenly realizing just how much you had missed him.

“I know, little one,” he sighed, pressing a kiss on the side of your ear, “but we have a night to get through. After this, I belong to you. We will have all tomorrow for each other.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

-

The dinner party was beautifully done. Of course it was. Hannibal never spared any expense, let alone when he was trying to impress. He had introduced you to a couple people, they were nice enough, but you just couldn’t find a connection with them. You definitely steered clear of Bedelia. That woman was intimidating to a whole other degree. Definitely someone you could actually see Hannibal going after. You wondered why he didn’t.

An hour into the dinner party, you slipped away. He had said you could explore and honestly, without him you weren’t much for conversation. You had already gotten a snide look for saying you worked at a bar on nights, but they didn’t hold much interest for you either. All the conversations you had heard were meaningless droning. People constantly trying to one up another or bragging about something new they acquired or some business deal.

So it was safe to say no one noticed your absence. Well maybe one extremely observant man.

You found yourself in his library, taking residence in a nook next to a window. Hannibal’s sketch book in your lap as you looked over his drawings. Each drawing looked like he must have spent hours on it. You marveled at his talent, watching the range go from almost romantic to grouesome. Some things could be recognized as his take on art pieces, and landscapes, while others seemed to be originals. The originals were darker in nature, but you supposed it made sense. He saw death as something comforting and could be considered beautiful. Of course it would translate into his pieces.

The door opened, revealing the man that occupied your thoughts at the moment. “Is everything alright, darling? No one bothered you, I hope.”

You smiled up at him. “I’m fine. I just wanted a break, I’m getting a little bit of a headache.”

“Oh?” He touched your forehead with the back of his hand, “Are you feeling well?”

“I’ll go back in a moment,” you promised himas you brought his hand down to press a peck onto it, “Go enjoy your party.”

“They can keep themselves entertained for a while.”  He took a seat next to you, pulling you to rest against him. “I could use a moment too.”

You couldn’t stave off the smile that played on your lips to get to have him to yourself. He made you feel comfortable and honestly you were out of your element at this party. Hannibal rested his head against the wall. That left his neck vulnerable and you couldn’t resist placing a kiss on it.

“Why must you insist on acting up when we are alone, darling girl?” He hummed quietly, his hand entertained itself absentmindedly drawing things on your thigh.

“I missed you,” you insisted. “Not just like that. We used to spend a lot of time together.”

“It has been a long time. I’m sorry about that.”

“I had your number too. I’m not completely out of blame.”

“Well, you’ll find a way to make it up to me.” He tugged you closer, “You’re too far.”

You straddled one of his thighs, placing your hand on his shoulders. “I’m sure you have a couple ideas of how.”

“A couple.”

Leaning in you caught him in a kiss. His hand started to trail lower, you caught him by the wrist before he got to his destination, placing his hand back on your hip. With his original plan voided, he bounced his thigh against you, the hands on your hips helping you grind down. You couldn’t help the moan you let out. Letting him continue until you remembered the party happening not so far away.

“Hannibal,” you whined against his lips, “Not right now.”

“But you sound so sweet, darling, don’t mind them.” He continued his earlier assault on your neck, this time not thinking twice before sucking his mark onto it. “You look so beautiful tonight. I know you can give me one before we’re missed, you’re always so good for me. Don’t you want to be good?”

The growing lust clouded your judgement. Hannibal’s soft words and the gentle but perfect rhythm he was working on made it hard to find any reason to argue.

“Yes, daddy,” you sighed softly, “I want to be good for you.”

The door opened again, followed by a dramatic gasp, “Hannibal, having dessert before the rest of us?” The strange man eyed you, “Plan on sharing?”

Hannibal had been quick to tug down the dress that had rode up, keeping you safe from prying eyes. “Unfortunately, I’m not one for sharing. If you don’t mind waiting in the hall. I’ll meet with you in a second.”

“Oh, I’d much prefer to stay. Hello, what’s your name? Is Hannibal keeping you entertained?”

You hid your face against Hannibal’s shoulder, your face burning to the touch.

“Shy thing isn’t she, daddy?”

“I really must insist you leave now,” Hannibal said, the anger evident in his voice.

“Fine, killjoy.” You heard retreating steps and the door closed again.

“Of course out of everyone to find us it was the gossip,” he sighed to himself, dropping a kiss to the top of your head, “I’m sorry about that, love.”

“I told you not now,” you said, pulling away and going back to your seat beside him.

“I know. I’m sorry,” he kissed the back of your hand, “I thought we’d have a couple more minutes before someone looked for us, let alone find us. Let me handle this and then you’ll never see him again.”

You nodded. “Can I go to the room for the night? He made me feel… strange.”

“Darling,” he cupped your cheek, a sad look in his eyes, “this is your home more than anyone else out there. Don’t let him ruin the night for us. I’ll make sure he’s gone and stay by you the rest of the night. Does that sound okay?”

And true to his word he was, he had escorted the man out quickly once he found him. However the Gossip was apparently a fast worker, because a couple people did give you lingering looks. Though they were quick to save face if they so much as thought Hannibal noticed. Whatever they thought didn’t matter. You were two grown, consenting adults that enjoyed each other’s company, be damned what others thought. Throughout the night you kept telling yourself that, hoping to cut the embarrassment short. A couple times you caught yourself, thoughtlessly intertwining your fingers with Hannibal’s when you were less than sturdy. Each time he squeezed your fingers gently, quiet reassurance that he was there for you.

-

You woke up the following morning. Hannibal was still asleep beside you, it must have been early. He looked sweet in the mornings. Relaxed, not as stiff as he usually was, his hair sticking up in places he’d immediately flatten out once he woke as he greeted you with that deeper more accented voice that accompanied the mornings. You pressed a kiss to his chest, before carefully removing the arm that was sprawled across your stomach.

Looking at the clock, you considered the time. There was enough if you worked quickly. Standing up, you grabbed one of your shirts and shorts. After freshening up, you made your way down to the kitchen.

It was different. You hadn’t toured much of the home, let alone know where anything was, but you gathered your bearings fast enough. The things you needed had been placed somewhat similarly to his old home and you set everything onto the counter. Protein scramble, fruit, and pancakes seemed like a good option today. The pancakes, he had taught you to make when you asked where the box mix was and obviously he wouldn’t stand for you not knowing how to make something so simple from scratch.

Your phone played music as you set to work, washing the used dishes along the way so there wasn’t too much of a mess.

As you were plating the food, you heard Hannibal call out your name.

“Kitchen!” You called out.

He was quick to meet you, “Darling, I could have made you breakfast. You should have stayed in bed with me.”

“I couldn’t sleep any more and you looked too sweet to wake,” you poured two cups of coffee and prepared them to both of your liking, “Figured why not play domestic for a while.”

“How did you like it?” He asked, walking over to take the cup from you.

“Eh well you know, the domestic life,” you shrugged, feeding him a cut strawberry, “I like to let my partner sleep in on Saturday’s and make them comfort breakfasts. Sometimes they ruin breakfast in bed by coming down too early, but what can you do?”

He chuckled around the bite of strawberry, “I’m sorry, beloved. I’ll stay put next time.”

“Yes, you will.” You stood on the tips of your toes to press a chaste kiss to his lips. “But I’m not too angry at you. I enjoy your company.”

His fingers toyed with the hem of your shirt. “Aren’t you usually sporting my shirts on these mornings?”

“I didn’t want to ruin one of them.”

“You couldn’t ruin a thing if you tried. I’ve got more than enough for you to steal away when you go back home too.”

“I only took them, because someone made a habit of messing up my shirts.”

“And your reasoning for keeping them, little one?” He grabbed the plates, “Come along, the mornings have been wonderful recently.”

You grabbed the cups. “You should’ve come and picked them up the same way I had. It’s your own fault they aren’t back where they belong.”

The afternoon was spent in each other’s company. Hannibal had insisted he’d wash the remaining dishes and asked you to pick up his sketchbook and pencils from the library since you were going to find yourself something to read. You did as asked, before returning outside. Setting his things on the table, you went to go sit in a sunny spot of grass.

It wasn’t long until Hannibal rejoined you outside and took a seat.

You glanced up curiously after a while, he was sketching away.

“Anything I can do for you, beloved?” He asked, not looking up from his work.

“Just watching.”

He hummed in response.

Some unease settled in your stomach when you remembered why exactly you were over here. What was the harm in voicing it? “Hannibal?” You waited until he looked up at you, “You’re okay that we haven’t slept together yet? I mean… I know that’s why I am here.”

It was true, the lingering looks you had gotten at dinner, paired with the small embarrassment of realizing one of Hannibal’s love bites got to bloom in front of them all threw you off at night. You had tried to let yourself go, let him have control of you for a while, but you couldn’t go past taking off some clothes and letting your hands feel the other. He didn’t mind when you didn’t want to do more. Always the gentleman. Instead he settled you against his chest, an arm keeping you close, quiet conversation and long breathtaking kisses filled the night.

“I’m not one of those little boys you’ve found,” he stated, seeming to be mildly offended, “I enjoy our quiet moments just as much, if not more. Sex is something else we could do together, nothing more. It’s not everything, little one. You’re not here for that purpose. What I enjoy is your company and I’ll take it any way you give it.”

You tilted your head looking at him closely, he mimicked you, narrowing his eyes at you playfully. That made you laugh softly, you decided he was being honest and not covering up his disappointment with sweet words. Patting the grass next to you, “Sit with me.”

“YN…”

“Please?” You asked, sweetening the pot with a pout.

He shook his head but gathered his things, soon joining you. Resting your head on his shoulder you looked at what he was sketching. The scene was you at the present moment. Half faced toward him, book in hand, completely relaxed, and more perfect than you ever dreamed of being.

“That’s an exaggeration, I’m not that beautiful.”

“That’s where we must differ, my love,” he kissed your temple, “Try as I might I’ll never be able to draw you with the dignity you deserve. It’s a poor imitation of the way I perceive you.”

“You’re a ridiculous man,” you said fondly, “Though I suppose I’d like to keep you around a while longer.”

“Suppose” he scoffed, “ You’d be lost without me.”

You stuck your tongue out at him childishly and went back to your book.

-

“Darling, I do adore when you take care of yourself, but we’ll be late if you don’t hurry,” Hannibal said, leaning on the bathroom’s door frame already dressed for the outing.

“It’s not my fault you always manage to get the bath perfect,” you groaned, getting out of the bathtub.

Hannibal walked over, grabbing a towel on his way. “I’ll run you another later.”

You took the towel, drying yourself off. It was nice to see a rare impatient Hannibal. There was more to that calm and collected demeanor he usually had. “You’re cute when you’re excited about something. Where are we going?”

“I got us tickets to the opera.”

“Really!” You lit up at that. When he talked about the shows he had seen before, he’d get so much more animated. It would be nice to experience one with him. “Which one?”

“Die Entführung aus dem Serail,” he answered, taking you in with a smile, “but darling, your excitement may go to waste, I’m afraid.”

“I’ll be quick!”

With you keeping your promise and Hannibal’s quick driving, it didn’t take anytime to make it to the opera house. There was time to spare and Hannibal socialized a bit, introducing you to other regulars. You exchanged pleasantries and let Hannibal control the conversation as you looked around the place. Some people you recognized from last night. One person you saw nod towards you whispering something to his companion.

“I didn’t think he’d be one for cradle robbing,” you caught the man say, as he eyed you up, “Lucky man. Reckon I could steal that little piece away?”

You subtly moved closer to Hannibal, feeling the heat rise to your face.

Hannibal turned his attention to you when the others started talking amongst themselves. “Are you alright?” He asked quietly, tucking away a strand of your hair that fell out of place.

“Yeah. I’m great,” you lied, knowing he’d probably take offense to any minute comment made about whatever kind of relationship the two of you had.

“Are you certain?” The tone of voice saying he knew you were hiding something. He always seemed to read you so easily. In that he knew you’d continue to deny anything. “Would you like to go to our seats now? The show should start in a couple of minutes.”

“Yes, please.”

Hannibal grabbed your hand in his, leading you away from the crowd. To your surprise he took you to a private balcony above the rest of the audience seating. “Since, it’s your first time, I figured privacy would do us well. No distractions,” he paused for a moment, “No one to get into that pretty little head of yours.”

“I just don’t enjoy all the looks and comments,” you sighed, allowing him to pull you down onto the seat with him. “I love spending time with you. It’s just soured by people that don’t mind their own.”

“It’s not ideal, but we mustn’t let them ruin our nights. With this kind of community, people make assumptions and talk. Darling, I really do insist you tell me when someone makes you upset.”

“I know, I know. Guess I should have braced for it more. I’m just not used to these kinds of things. When we’re alone it’s easy to just exist together. Just us.”

“I understand completely. However, I do enjoy that we finally got to leave the house. You look absolutely breathtaking tonight.”

You smiled at that, “Well, you do seem to have an eye for what suits me.”

“That, I do.”

Leaning your head on his shoulder, you breathed the comforting scent of his cologne, “I’m sorry I let them get to me when we're supposed to be enjoying our time together. It’s not fair to you.”

“They get annoying,” he gave your thigh a gentle squeeze, “Of course you’d take offense for us. There isn’t much we can do besides understand that we’re here for the right reasons. Though, it does get under my skin to see you affected so under my care.”

Soon the crowd made their way to the seats and the lights dimmed to near black. When the music started Hannibal whispered translations into your ear. You got caught up in the story between watching the characters go through their woes and Hannibal’s gentle voice guiding you through every detail. It was easy to see what Hannibal saw at these events. They really were thrilling to watch. Still it wasn’t so much the show, but getting to know another side of the man in question.

You looked at the man beside you, a happy smile plastered on your face. “Thank you for bringing me, Hannibal.”

“Anything for you, my love.”

“Your love?” You challenged teasingly.

A couple times he had thrown around the pet name. You didn’t take it for much. He was a sweet, old fashioned man, you had decided to believe. A sweet nothing that neither of you minded. Still you couldn’t deny the slight softness you felt from the moniker.

“You’ve promised yourself as all mine before,” he reminded you, “and I take no issue in claiming what’s mine.”

“That was said when I was drunk on you.”

“Deny all you’d like, sweet girl, you’re still mine.”

Hannibal tilted your head up slightly to kiss you. You couldn’t find it in yourself to care about why the music crescendoed in that moment. Not when he was kissing you with more passion than you had ever felt. He had a way of making it feel like you were the only beings in existence. Hannibal bit at your lip, asking for more, and you gave it to him without a thought. You’d do whatever he wanted at that moment. Still you couldn’t help grabbing his wrist when his hand found it’s way up your dress. He swallowed the helpless moan that slipped past your lips greedily.

You pulled away from him, your hips grinding onto his hand on their own accord. “Hannibal, I-“

He hushed you, “You’re missing a very important part of the show.” His hand didn’t let up from its ministrations as he continued to translate for you.

You went to cover your mouth with your hand, but Hannibal stopped you short, placing it back at your side. A quick mummer of be good was all he offered, not once stopping the pace he had set. You choked back the moan when he pressed against a spot that had been long neglected since the last time you paid him a visit. The music being so loud was your only safe haven, still, you pressed yourself further into Hannibal, hoping to hide yourself further from any wandering eyes that might look away from the show. Embarrassment and lust built with every thrust of Hannibal’s fingers. The former was getting increasingly easier to ignore as Hannibal pulled you closer and closer to your end. Pressing your face against his neck, you bit at the skin there in a cheap attempt at revenge for what he was putting you through.

Hannibal’s fingers stilled. A quiet chuckle met your ear when he heard your whimper of protest, stopping your hips as you attempted to help yourself. “Such an easy thing to toy with, you're nothing more than my own personal whore.” He didn’t miss the throb around his fingers at those words. “You’d let me use you however I’d like wouldn’t you?”

You gave a lazy nod as he brought his fingers up to your mouth. Eager to please him, hoping he’d let you finish, you opened your mouth and sucked his fingers clean. Behind your back, you felt him working himself out of his pants. Taking his hand away he adjusted your dress higher before pulling you on to his lap. With his other hand the head of his cock teased your clit, you forced yourself not to complain, knowing he’d go on longer if you did. When he finally pushed into you, you couldn’t fight off the moan of contentment as he filled you completely. Turning your head, you caught him in a languid kiss, caught up in only him despite the performance going on.

“Please?”

“What do you need?”

“You.” You shifted your hips slightly, “May I please move?”

“I’m sorry, little one,” you caught the slight upward twitch of his lip when you looked at him in disbelief, “I’d rather use you at my leisure.”

You whined in frustration, leaning against him knowing he’d play a cruel game. This time he offered no translations, keeping you entirely focused on the feeling of him buried deep inside of you doing nothing to help relieve your need for him. When you did manage to distract yourself, he circled your clit and gave a few sharp thrust, just enough to bring you back where he wanted you. His hand continued, changing the rhythm every so often so you’d stay aware of your position.

“I’ll be so good,” you begged helplessly.

“And yesterday you had been so against it despite having our privacy in the library,” he reminded you, pushing in and out of you in a too slow pace, but at least he was moving, “What was it that was missing, hm? The audience that could look up and see me using what’s mine?”

You didn’t know what had changed. Not truely. Maybe it was the couple of glasses of wine you had drunk throughout the day. Perhaps it was just finally getting what you had wanted for so long. Honestly, you couldn’t find yourself to be curious enough to find out.

“I wanna cum,” you told him, swallowing the embarrassment.

“I don’t know, darling, you’ve tried to find comfort with others. I really can’t say I approve of the notion. Suppose, I could just use you for your worth and leave you dry.” He groaned into your ear as you clenched around him, he sped up his thrust, “There’s my good girl, you like the sound of that?”

“Hannibal, please,” you whimpered, “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

“Beg for it.”

“I’ll never look for anyone else again. It was so stupid to think anyone else could make me feel as good as you.” Your breath hitched when he struck deeper, “I've been so desperate for you.”

“That’s all so very sweet, but that’s not exactly what I want to hear.”

You whined quietly as you tried to figure out the right combination of words to get you what you wanted. “I’m just yours… No one else’s… You’re the only one, I’m so sorry…”

“See? Was it so hard to apologize for your misconduct?”

You shook your head.

He pinched your thigh. “Words, darling.”

“No, daddy,” you moaned, as his hands guided your hips to move with him, “But I’ll be good for you now.”

“I still don’t think you deserve to cum, you pathetic thing.”

“You’ll let me?”

Hannibal’s hand grabbed your jaw roughly, making you look at him. “Next time I won’t be so generous. Understood?”

You swallowed down the slight twinge of fear that had worked its way into your system. “Yes, sir.”

He pushed your face away. “Work for it yourself.”

Tag list: @charc0al-grey @songofcosplay

[nebulablakemurphy]

Miss American Pie

Chapter Two: The Perfect Partner Project

Warning!: This series features a romantic Yelena Belova x Fem!Reader pairing. Please keep scrolling if that’s not for you. 💜

Summary: After you’re freed from Dreykov’s control you team up with Yelena and Natasha to take down the red room.

Chapter One : Chemical Subjugation

“I thought you had a jet?” Yelena cocks her head to the side, as you approach the decrepit helicopter.

“I asked for one.” Natasha mutters, under her breath.

“This isn’t a jet.” You add, the closer you get, the worse it becomes.

“I realize that!” The man who’d been standing with his back to you whips around to defend himself. This must be Natasha’s friend. “But you know what you didn’t give me? Time. Or money. I’m not made of jets.”

“Aww, he’s sensitive.” Yelena coos, “I see why you keep him around.”

“I’m not sensitive.” He protests.

“Of course not,” you smirk.

“Listen you-“ he breaks off. “Who are you again?”

“Y/N Y/L/N,” Yelena introduces you, climbing aboard. “She’s my partner….” She shrugs, “you name it really.”

“Partner works.” You chuckle, joining her in the cockpit.

“If you say so,” Yelena waves a dismissive hand. Getting a feel for the controls.

“Wonderful,” the man acknowledges your title.

“Thanks for the ride, Dick.” You salute him through the front window.

“It’s Rick,” he calls back.

“I know.” You give him a thumbs up. Waiting until he turns back to his conversation with Natasha. Taking the opportunity to lean down, kissing the top of Yelena’s head.

She cranes her head back to see you.

You nuzzle your nose against hers, until an exaggeration throat clearing tears you apart.

“We don’t have time for this.” Natasha, of course.

Yelena scowls at her, “yeah, yeah.”

Breaking Alexei out of a maximum security prison using only an earpiece, stowed inside of an action figure is a terrible plan. Nearly as bad as using him for information on how to locate a facility that’s impossible to find, run by a man who’s too slippery to kill.

That doesn’t stop you though. Generally speaking it’s going well. Until one of Yelena’s shots triggers an avalanche.

“Woah.” She marvels at the scene before you, her masterpiece. “Now this would be a cool way to die.”

“Yeah,” you holler back, sarcastically, over the chaos.

“You were getting no where with your tiny guns.” Yelena points out.

“Slow and steady wins the race,” you remind her.

“Fast is better. Solves problems.”

“And clearly creates new ones.” You jerk your chin toward the mountain.

“Get us out of here!” Natasha’s voice blares through the headset.

“I’m on it.” Yelena assures her. Moving into a better position for extraction. “Watch the side window.”

At her request you shuffle to the main ship. The prison guards are still putting up a fight. Inmates running in every direction.

“Alright, Natasha’s with us.” You confirm, once she’s secured her place on the black hanging rope. “Circle between the walls on your left to grab Alexei.”

“Yeah, no problem.” Yelena snarks, steering the plane away from another explosion.

“You’re doing a great job.”

“Don’t lie to me!”

“Fine,” you huff. “The spot is tight and the angle is bad. I don’t know how you’re gonna pull this off.”

Yelena is silent, processing the information. “Lie to me a little.” She amends.

“You got this.” The blinding wall of white threatens to swallow Alexei whole. You’re holding your breath too as the rope moves past the metal bridge he’s standing on.

“Well?” She yelps, impatiently.

“I don’t know. I can’t see.” Once the snow and ice clears, you spot two figures carefully scaling the rope. “Yelena?”

“Hmm.” She hums, expecting the worst.

“I knew you had it.”

“Yes,” Yelena sighs, before falling into easy laughter. More invested in this than she will ever admit.

————————————————————-

Unfortunately, entertaining as Alexei may be, he has next to no information about Dreykov.

Instead he drawls on and on about how the man wronged him. Stuck him on that “boring mission” in Ohio. Then tossed him in jail and threw away the key because of…hair? A party?

You weren’t entirely sure. You excuse yourself to the vacant seat beside Yelena. Giving her thigh a reassuring squeeze.

Full lips twitch up into a grin.

“Tell us where the red room is.” Natasha grumbles.

“I have no idea!” He shouts, and then in Russian. “Why don’t you ask Melina?”

“Mom Melina?” Yelena whips her head around.

“We thought she was dead.”

“You cannot kill a fox that swift,” Alexei sucks in a breath.

You choke on your own saliva.

“Ew.” Natasha winces.

“What?” The man shrugs. “She was the master mind. His architect.”

“Are you telling me that Melina works for the red room present day?” Natasha leans closer.

“Yes,” he nods. “Remotely, outside Saint Petersburg.”

“I don’t think we have enough fuel for Saint Petersburg.” Yelena decides, after checking the needle on the gauge.

“We’ll make it.” Alexei waves away her concern.

“Ok,” Yelena mutters.

You look over at her.

“We’re not going to make it.” She mouths, with a shake of her head.

You smirk, closing your eyes and relaxing into the seat. It’ll be nice while it lasts.

Before long you’re falling into a controlled crash, at the Saint Petersburg city limit.

“So,” Yelena jumps out onto the dirt. “Are we there yet?”

“No, you will know when we are there.” Alexei begins snorting like a pig.

——————————————————————-

You take a seat in the chair opposite Yelena inside Melina’s humble abode. Her pigs can be heard carrying on out in the yard and Alexei’s early snorting makes perfect sense now.

Your eyes dart around the three women at the table uncomfortably as noises continue erupting from the bathroom. “Everything alright in there?” You bellow, loud enough for your voice to carry down the hallway.

Another groan is the only response.

“Let’s drink,” Melina’s voice breaks the tension. She fills each of your shot glasses in turn.

“Thanks,” you raise the clear liquid and toss it back. Feeling it burn it’s way down your throat before going back for another.

After a moment a clunking from the doorway calls your attention.

“It still fits.” Alexei announces, having stuffed himself into his old costume.

Melina whistles, with a slow clasp as he approaches the seat at the head of the table. “I never washed it once. Come eat.”

He hums a tune under his breath, reliving days gone by. “Look at us, family back together again.” If you didn’t know better you’d think it was sweet, he seems…happy.

“Well,” Melina swallows, dishing mashed potatoes onto his plate. “Seeing as our family construct was just a calculated ruse that only lasted three years, I’m not sure we can use this term anymore.”

“Agreed,” Natasha perks up. “So here’s what’s going to happen-“

“Reunion then.” Alexei offers instead. “I want to say something right off the bat.” He says to the woman who’d once been his wife. “You haven’t aged a day. Just as beautiful and supple as the day they staged our marriage.”

Melina moves closer, “you got fat, but still good.”

“I just got out of prison,” he confesses, “I have a lot of energy.”

“Ooohooo.” The older woman exhales.

You can’t help the bubble of laughter that forces its way from your chest. Covering your mouth with your hand as Yelena takes another shot.

“Please don’t do that.” Beside you Natasha looks physically ill as she protests. Swallowing down her disgust she begins again. “So listen. Here’s what’s going to happen.”

“Natasha don’t slouch. You’re going to get a back hunch.” Melina flicks her fork in Natasha’s direction.

“What? I’m not slouching? I don’t slouch.”

“Eh, listen to your mother. Up! Up!” Alexei joins in.

“I told you, I don’t want any food.” Yelena pushes her plate away.

“Eat a little something Yelena, for God’s sake.” Melina says, piling food onto her plate.

Yelena groans.

“Are you kidding me? Stop it all of you. This is ridiculous.” Natasha bites out.

“Me? I didn’t do anything. That’s not fair!” Yelena argues.

“It’s true, she’s just sitting there.” You shrug.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Natasha roars, effectively silencing the room. “You’re going to give us the location of the red room.”

Melina purses her lips, avoiding the topic. “It’s like when you told them they could stay up to catch Santa Claus.”

“That was fun!” Alexei recalls. “Look out girls, he comes down the chimney. And when the cookies are gone you know he is there.”

Melina clicks her tongue.

“What? I want them to follow their dreams, shoot for the stars girls.”

“No good.” Melina disagreed.

“Killing Dreykov isn’t a fantasy. It’s unfinished business.” Natasha looks between the two of them.

“You cannot defeat someone who commands the very will of others.” Melina says, softly. “You never got to see the culmination of what we started in America. After the perfect partner project was rejected, we took a different route.”

“The perfect partner project?” You repeat, racking your brain. You’ve heard that somewhere before.

“Why’d Dreykov scrap the project?” Natasha’s voice cracks like a whip.

“I don’t know.” Melina’s eyes dart down to her plate.

You can see that she’s lying.

“That’s when we turned our focus to chemical subjugation.” Melina continues, “the control is so profound that when the subject is instructed to stop breathing. They have no choice but to obey.”

Yelena shakes her head. Perfect lips turned into a frown. Hazel eyes glistening with tears as they meet your own.

“That’s enough.” You warn the older woman, seeing the expression. The last thing you want to do is cause her anymore pain.

“No.” The blonde insists. “Tell me more about the partner project.”

“Yelena, we don’t have to do this.” You shake your head.

“Yes, we do.” Yelena slams her fist against the table in frustration.

“The extraction was messy to start. A high profile missing children’s case in North America. But the bond was very strong. Enhanced through targeted conditioning and subliminal messages. Until something happened that Dreykov did not anticipate.”

“What happened?” Natasha wonders.

“The girls became…attached.” Melina’s mouth twitches, “so they were separated.”

“Do you know who they tested on?”

Melina’s guilty eyes land on you. “I am sorry.”

“No,” you suspected, maybe. Somewhere in the back of your mind. You spent the first six months in the red room under solitary confinement. Rapidly and rigorously conditioned in a matter of weeks instead of years. Preparing you…for her. The teenager girl you couldn’t stand, the woman you eventually came to love.

“You,” Yelena laughs, although it’s not particularly funny. “Us.”

“Yelena-“ you reach for her hand across the table.

“Don’t,” she snaps. “Don’t tell me that it will be ok. They stole your life because of me. I never asked them to do that. I never asked for you!”

“I know.” You assure her. None of this was ever her fault.

“That’s right, because you know everything. Don’t you, Y/N?” Yelena scoffs, her hands balling into fists on either side of her dinner plate. “You know what I think. You know what I feel. Look at you. Ready to come out of your own skin because I am unhappy. Prepared to move mountains, prepared to start wars.”

“Like you’re any better.” You challenge, she knows you like the back of her hand.

“That is my point!”

“I’m sorry that this happened.” Alexei interrupts. Surely gearing up for a ‘father of the year’ speech. “But we are here now. All together! Wasn’t that worth a few years of-“

“Shut up!” Natasha growls at him. “You are an idiot.”

No response.

She moves her attention to Melina, “and you’re a coward. You’re a coward. And our family was never real. So there’s nothing to hold on to. We’re moving on.”

“Never family, huh?” Alexei throws up his hands. “In my heart I am simple man. For a couple deep undercover Russian agents I think we did pretty great as parents.”

“Yes,” Melina nods her agreement. “We had our orders and we played our roles to perfection.”

“Who cares? That wasn’t real.”

“What?” Yelena’s voice breaks.

“That wasn’t real.” Natasha repeats for emphasis. “Who cares?”

“Don’t say that. Please don’t say that. It was real. It was real to me. You are my mother!” Yelena all but sobs. “You are my real mother, the closest thing I ever had to one. The best parts of my life were fake.” She pauses, drawing in a steadying breath. “And none of you told me.”

You swipe at the tear that escapes your eye. Traitorously running it’s way down your cheek. It was never fake. Perhaps arranged, but never fake. The way you want to wrap her up in your arms, protect her from her own sadness. The way your heart breaks in time with hers. That is real. It has to be.

She turns back to the woman who she considered a mother. “Those agents that you chemically subjugated around the globe…that was me too.”

Finally she addresses Natasha, “and you. You got out. It is impossible to escape. Are you going to say anything?” A pause. “No.”

She pushes her chair from the table, taking the bottle with her as she stands. Turning her back in the four of you.

“Yelena.” Natasha calls after her. Guilt eating away from the inside out.

“No.” Yelena dismisses her a second time. Moving into the next room and closing the glass doors behind her.

You look down at the plate of food in front of you, now lacking any appeal.

“I had no idea.” Melina whispers, wringing her hands.

“I’ll go to talk to her.” Alexei offers, rising to his feet.

“About what?” You hum, “how you handed her over to a life of pain and suffering at the age of six? How you experimented on her? How you didn’t come back for her? Yeah. I’m sure that’s just what she needs right now.”

With that you excuse yourself, back out to the front yard. Slowly circling the perimeter of Melina’s cottage. Not looking for anything in particular. Just killing time until someone produces information about how to get to Dreykov.

The blinding light that appears moments later catches you off guard. A team of men exit one of the three circling planes. Since you couldn’t find the red room, this is the next best thing.

—————————————————————

Waking up is disorienting, coming to from a tranquilizer always is. It’s bright, almost blindingly so. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust. You attempt to use your hands to cover them, only you can’t move your hands.

Leaning up as much as your restraints will allow you discover that you’re strapped to an operating table. And you’re not alone.

“Yelena?”

“Miss American Pie,” she drawls from a similar position. Neither of which gives you much chance to escape whatever fate awaits.

“You’re not allowed to die mad at me,” you grumble.

“I’m not mad at you.” She blinks slowly, as the surgeon marks a clean line at the perimeter of her hairline. “I’m just mad.”

“Yeah,” you let out a laugh, turning back to the light above the gurney. “Me too.”

“You are my perfect partner.” She murmurs, while gloved hands busy themselves with preparations. “I don’t know if that makes it better or worse.”

There’s a beat of silence between you. Acceptance…peace. “I love you, you know.”

At this Yelena smiles. A genuine, happy, smile. “I know.”

Something to remember her by.

The syringe at your neck releases a sedative into your blood and you fall asleep. One last time.

—————————————————————

Dying is peaceful, gently rocking in the ocean. Then swaying more violently, giving you the urge to be seasick. Your body should move with the force of it. But something holds you steady, something warm.

“Yelena?” You croak.

“Not quite, but there is resemblance, huh?” A different voice greets you.

“Alexei?” You realize, pushing yourself into a sitting position.

“That’s a girl, up you go.” He says, clapping a hand against your back.

“What happened?” You ask, “where’s Yelena?”

“Still inside,” Melina confirms. “Brought you here so you’d be safe.”

“Natasha?”

“They’re coming.”

You sigh, ready to jump out the open door of the hovering chopper.

“What are you doing?” Alexei demands.

“Going to find them.”

“Wait! Y/N, wait.” He pleads. “There’s something I must tell you. I tried to tell Yelena but I don’t have earpiece.”

“What?” Your brows furrow.

“Never mind that.” He shakes his head. “The point, is you were right. What you said about Yelena. We complete our mission, we move on. But losing her, losing my girls is my biggest regret.”

“I’ll tell her, don’t worry.” You give his shoulder a squeeze.

“Please let me finish.” He stops you again. “She carried your unconscious body through burning building, through explosions. This is not easy, you are very heavy.”

“Oh, Alexei!” Melina scolds him.

“Not that.” He amends, “you know what I mean. It is dead weight.”

You nod, “sure.”

“I look at you together and I see true love and I am happy. You are family now, and this time…we are going to stay together. We’re not leaving without you.” The older man says, helping you onto the metal grate of the falling red room.

Not a second later an explosion rings through your ears, sending Melina, Alexei and your get away vehicle spiraling to the ground.

“It’s the thought that counts,” you’ll make a new plan.

You run toward the flames and gunfire. “Yelena!” You call out, searching the surrounding area.

“Y/N,” Natasha finds you. “What are you doing?”

“I can’t find Yelena.”

“I thought she was with you.” The woman frowns.

“Well she wasn’t!” You bite out, fear and frustration getting the best of you.

“Don’t worry, we’ll find her. You go-“ the red head pauses. Her eyes focused on something behind your head.

You turn to follow Natasha’s gaze. Finding her. Yelena. The wild, unpredictable, firecracker of a woman. On the wing of the jet with Dreykov inside.

“Yelena! Stop!” You rush over, realizing what she’s about to do. Her staff poised at the propeller.

She pauses at the sound of your voice.

“He’s not worth it.” No one is worth it. Not when she is the cost.

Yelena smiles, eyes alight with mischief, “I love you, you know.”

“I know.”

Natasha tries to reason with her. “Don’t do it!”

“This was fun.” Yelena tells her sister, jamming the propeller and effectively destroying Dreykov’s jet. The force of the explosions sends her backwards, hurtling towards the ground with the remaining pieces of the red room.

“Put your pack on and jump.” Natasha tells you. Rushing for the nearest parachute. “I’m going to save my sister.” She dives head first over the edge, without putting on her harness.

“Not if I get there first,” you challenge. This would be a cool way to die.

Chapter Three: Bye Bye

[sailors-diary-for-elise]

Punishment (18+)

Whew here we go. First work posted. Was I expecting to post a pure smut filth work first? NOPE. But here we are. I will be putting 18+, more as a "this is a smut minors don't reblog or like" since I know I was far from innocent as a minor.

Warnings: pure filth. 100% smut, use of toys (a vibrator), language, edging, teasing, spanking (reader gets what she deserves), breast play and nipple play, bratty sub!reader, dom!Yunho, dom!Mingi, brat taming?, clit slapping, cum eating, blowjob (Mingi receiving), sir kink, deep throating, face fucking (reader receiving), hair pulling (reader receiving), fingering (reader receiving), orgasm denial (reader receiving), overstimulation (Mingi receiving), anal, double penetration, unprotected sex (wrap it up peeps).

Okay, so maybe you’d pushed your luck a little too far. You knew how much your boyfriends hated to be teased, especially in front of the others and you really should have chosen your outfit a little bit more carefully. After all, the shorts that barely passed your ass and the sheer camisole left nothing to the imagination. But sometimes, you just couldn’t help but push your usually energetic and goofy boyfriends’ buttons.

It had all started during the movie night that you’d sprung on the rest of the group, the only exception being San who was keeping your roommate busy in his own ways and had accidentally kicked you out. What San, Yunho, Mingi and the others hadn’t realized was that hearing everything going on between your roommate and San had left you feeling different, wanting nothing more than to push the limits of your boyfriends and see that dark side they had warned you of.

Walking through the front door of the dorms, you immediately run to Mingi’s room, peeking in to make sure he is still sleeping before pouncing on him. He wakes with a start, grabbing your hips and looking around slightly dazed and confused. You giggle, pressing kisses across his neck and bare collarbone.

“Wake up, baby” you purr in his ear, planting a light kiss to the skin right below it. Mingi groans below you, his grip on your hips tightening before you hop off of him, humming as you run back to the living room. Poor Mingi was left slightly confused and lost, wondering if he imagined your unusual wake-up call. Ruffling his hair, he walks out of his room, running right into Yunho. Yunho smirks at the younger boy, looking down at the tent forming in Mingi’s pants.

“So I see Y/n has already paid you a visit?” Yunho chuckles, almost feeling bad for the tired boy in front of him. Yunho himself had been your victim when you kept accidentally dropping things in front of him and bending down to pick them up. “Our girl seems to be in a mood today.”

Mingi groans, becoming irritated at the thought of having to deal with your bratty antics. “The fuck is wrong with her,” he grumbles, rubbing the back of his neck to alleviate the tension there. “Does she not remember the last time she decided to tease us both?”

“No idea,” Yunho shrugs slightly, a smirk slowly forming. “But a part of me wants to wait and see how far she’ll go to get her way. You game?”

“And what did you have in mind?” Mingi’s interest peaked, looking directly at his hyung.

“I say, we let the little minx think she has us,” Yunho starts, glaring at Mingi who actually growls at the thought of you having power over him. “only for a short amount of time, and then right when she goes to take control, is when we show her exactly who’s in charge.”

The shit-eating grin that passes over Mingi’s face is one that sends shivers down Yunho’s spine, making him almost regret voicing his plan. Almost. After all, he is the most dominant of the two boys. Mingi is about to retort when you come sliding around the corner, stopping directly in front of them in a posture that screams a challenge.

Your hands are crossed over your chest, hip stuck out slightly as you raise an eyebrow at the two men conversing.

“Are you two big babies coming? Or am I gonna have to ask one of the others to pay attention to me?” a smirk crosses Yunho’s face as well as yours, while Mingi scowls at you, counting in his head to ten in an attempt of not taking you up against the wall right then and there.

“Oh don’t worry princess,” Yunho grits out, Mingi pulling a strained smile and walking past you. “We would never leave you to your own devices.” And so the games begin.

You’ve made it about 3/4 of the way through the movie, with pretty much the entire group crammed together to watch it. Throughout it, you’ve slowly grown more confident in your advances, fleeting strokes up Yunho’s thighs, a light tap over Mingi’s bulge which has hardened significantly, even going so far of knocking your cold drink on Yunho’s lap, causing him to hiss as you press tissues on the wet spot on his pants, smirking at the realization that it wasn’t just from the soda.

Mingi struggles to maintain his cool composure, pinching your hips if you try to grind on him and forcing a laugh at the death glare Yunho gives you once you finish “cleaning” him up. It’s when you reach beneath the waistband of his pants that he can’t take it anymore, tossing you off his lap and racing to his room. You squeak in surprise, pouting thinking you might have pushed him too far. You look at Yunho, who pays you no mind while scrolling through his phone, deciding in his own mind that your little games have gone on long enough.

He too rises, heading towards the bedroom and slamming the door shut, causing you to jump in your seat. Your pout grows, guilt and doubt filling your entire being. The movie ends and everyone works at cleaning up the mess, with you being lost in your thoughts. As soon as you finish, you walk over to the room, peeking in only to find it surprisingly empty. You walk in fully, noticing a tiny note on the bed attached to your- oh. That would be your bunny vibrator.

With a shaky hand, you pick up the note recognizing the handwriting as Yunho’s immediately.

Since you decided to be a brat, Mingi and I decided to have a little fun of our own. If you touch yourself before we get back, you’ll be punished. If you don’t, we’ll give you what you’ve been asking for all evening. The choice is yours, kitten- “big baby #1″

You scoff, picking up the vibrator. So they weren’t upset at all. They were probably just getting themselves off instead of bringing you along to join the party. Well, two could play that game.

You quickly strip yourself of everything except your undergarments, picking up the vibrator and your phone, pressing record to send to your boyfriends.

“Hmph. After all of that work I put into getting you guys ready,” you whine out, stomping slightly. “you both have fun without me? Well, just for that I’m going to take that little toy you left me and-” you never finish your sentence, your phone being snatched from you.

“And here I thought our little kitten could behave,” a rough voice says in your ear, nibbling on the lobe lightly while you shudder. “Go on and finish kitten. Mingi and I are dying to hear how you were going to ignore our simple instructions.”

“I-I, I h-have no i-ideA OW!” you squeak out, your ass being smacked by a firm hand.

“Spit. It. Out,” Mingi grunts out, walking in front of you to loom over your smaller, shaking form. “What were you about to do?”

Mingi’s jaw is clenched, his pupils blown and looking at you in a way that makes you shrink.

“Oh?” Yunho hums, laving his tongue across the outside of your earlobe before pulling it between his teeth. “What happened to all that confidence and attitude you had earlier? Cat got your tongue?”

“Or maybe it’s because you realize how bad you fucked up,” Mingi asks, his calm tone scaring you almost as much as when he first addressed you, chuckling darkly at how your entire body seems to vibrate, eyes closing as you unconsciously lean back into Yunho's chest. “Honestly, what were you thinking would happen, kitten?”

“Did you really believe we wouldn’t do anything about your little games?” Yunho hums, watching as Mingi pulls the elastic of your panties away from you before letting them snap back against your hips. “Thought you wouldn’t get punished like little brats deserve?”

You open your eyes and glare at the person teasing you from the front, biting your lip before deciding to see how long you can keep this up. A small smirk forms on your lips, and you practically purr your next sentence. “I was going to take that little toy, and shove it so far into my pussy that I’d cum quicker and harder than I ever have. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

The effect is instantaneous, although to an outsider it would seem as though nothing had changed between the three of you. But you could sense it, how both boys auras switched from controlled anger to borderline blind rage. It showed in how Mingi closed his eyes, his breathing heavy and shaky as if he were pulling a boulder behind him. It showed in how Yunho’s ministrations had stopped, fist clenching around the vibrator tightly. Your inner self was begging you not to push them over the edge, not to say what was on the tip of your tongue and seal your fate for this evening. But sometimes, you just don’t know when to quit.

“Well?” you say impatiently, reaching for the vibrator in Yunho’s hand and tapping your foot impatiently. “I’m waiting for an answer?” And that is the final straw for them both.

In an instant, your panties are left in a torn pile on the floor along with your now split bra, a gasp leaving you as the boys work as if they have one mind. Mingi latches onto your nipple in time with Yunho turning the vibrator on to the highest level, pressing it harshly on your clit. A scream almost leaves you from the double stimulation, but Yunho’s large hand covers your nose and mouth.

“You make a single sound babygirl, and we’ll make sure you don’t cum for an entire. Fucking. Month.” Yunho says firmly, emphasizing his point by removing the vibrator to smack your clit in time with each word at the end of his sentence. You almost scream again, biting your lip. “Good girl. Good to know you can listen at least some of the time. Right, Mingi?”

Mingi hums in affirmation, biting lightly on your breast before releasing the abused flesh from his teeth. He stands up straight, smirking while looking into your eyes.

“Oh I know she knows how to listen, hyung,” he replies, eyes dark and smirk ever present. “She just likes to make things difficult, don’t you babygirl? You like getting us both riled up so you can get the fuck of your life.”

You are unable to respond, the realization dawning on you that you maybe- no, scratch that. You DEFINITELY pushed your boyfriends way past their breaking points and weren't going to be walking properly for quite some time. Another slap to your clit brings you out of your thoughts, Mingi biting down on your nipple.

“Focus on us, babe. Otherwise you’ll end up worse off than you already are.” Yunho warns, pressing the vibrator harshly against you as your hips buck up in response, your teeth digging into your lip to the point of almost drawing blood as you nod weakly. “Good girl~ now. How should we punish you first, hmm? Should we edge you for hours with every part of our bodies except our cocks? Since it’s clear that you want them so badly-”

It was an accident, the picture Yunho’s painting affecting you so much that it can’t be helped when a loud and shaky moan slips past your lips. Time seems to pause for a moment as Mingi glances at you, the evil grin from before returning as Yunho lets out an inhuman noise. In an instant, you are bent over the bed, ass in the air with Yunho behind you and Mingi kneeling in front of you, keeping a hand under your chin to force you to keep eye-contact with him.

“You are gonna count each spank, not missing a single one nor stuttering. I want you to speak clearly or we start all over, understand?” Yunho grits out from behind you, rubbing your bare ass with one of his large hands, the other resting on the curve of your back to keep you from wiggling away. Not that you would.

“Y-yes sir- AH!” you cry out, back arching at the harsh smack against your right ass cheek, the flesh jiggling and stinging.

“I said, speak clearly. Now, count.” Yunho slaps your ass hard, switching to your left cheek.

“One-” you whimper out, trying to lower your head only to be stopped by Mingi. Glaring at you, Mingi tangles his hand in your hair to keep you in place. You are about to speak when another smack hits, this one on your right ass cheek again. “Two, Mingi please let me hide my face-”

“What did you just call me?” Mingi tightens his grip on your hair, tugging slightly and nodding at Yunho who tuts behind you. “I think this means she should have to start over Yunho~”

You shake your head, mumbling out apologies in desperation. “Please I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to it was an accident I swear-” you yelp as Yunho lands another blow.

“Don’t be rude. You are starting over and that’s final.” You nod in response, arms and legs trembling.

You aren’t sure how long it is into your punishment, but your legs barely have any strength left in them, your ass is on fire, and wetness has been dripping down your legs for the last few spanks. As the next blow hits, your arms give out and Mingi catches you easily.

“Twelve~” you pant heavily, peeking over at Yunho who smirks at your dripping core, massaging your bright red ass cheeks and cooing to you.

“Very good my dear~ we only had to restart twice! And look at you, you are dripping wetness all over the place.” Yunho chuckles darkly, running a finger up your thighs to gather some of the slick there. “Almost makes me wanna have a taste~”

When Yunho brings his fingers to his lips, moaning around them, your eyes trail to the tent in Mingi’s boxers, tongue running over your lower lips at the darkened circle where his tip is. Mingi chuckles, stroking a thumb along your lips, tugging on your lower one. Yunho continues to swipe his fingers through your juices, enjoying watching your reactions everytime he almost brushes your folds and pulling away, driving you insane with the need to be stimulated in some way. A broken whine slips out signalling that Mingi and Yunho achieved their mutual goal of teasing you as much as you had them, which was easy considering how sensitive you are to their touches on a normal day.

“Yunho? Think this brat has earned a taste of my cock? Or should we tease her more~” Yunho brings a wet digit to his lips, grinning as he sucks off all of the juices loudly, your heat trembling in response.

“I mean, I guess you could let her~ after all, she did take her punishment kind of well~” Yunho snickers at your offended expression as you look at him over your shoulder, pouting cutely.

Swallowing your pride, you look up at Mingi with puppy dog eyes, wiggling your hips as you speak in the most innocent tone you can. “Sir? Please let kitten taste your cock~ let me take you completely in my mouth, swallowing around your tip as it hits the back of my throat. Kitten wants sir to fuck her mouth~ kitten wants to please sir and help sir cum~ pretty pretty please sir?” Batting your eyelashes, Mingi bites his lower lip hard, asking Yunho silently to allow you to give him everything you just offered and more. Yunho responds by simply shoving your face closer to Mingi’s crotch, retrieving the vibrator and shoving it into you, turning it on as he pushes it deep into you.

Mingi quickly slips out of his pants and boxers, his red and angry looking cock slapping his stomach, sending precum across his abdomen. Moaning out at the sight combined with the vibrator’s unique shape hitting all the right spots in you, you lean forward and clean off the precum from Mingi’s abs, humming before taking the tip of his cock in your mouth and sucking eagerly. Mingi throws his head back, the hand in your hair tightening and shoving you down farther, curses and grunts slipping past his lips at the feeling of you.

Yunho begins curling the toy inside of you, refusing to give you the satisfaction of thrusting it into you. You moan around Mingi, hollowing out your cheeks and pushing your head down to the point that Mingi’s tip is resting in your throat. Mingi checks on you, waiting for the sign that he can finally begin thrusting. You tap his hips, whining out around him and fondling his balls. It’s this action that causes his restraint to snap.

Mingi starts snapping his hips into your mouth, gripping your hair tightly to guide you on his cock, grunting at the feeling of your mouth around him and your throat constricting. You let out mixtures of whines and moans, scraping your teeth lightly against his shaft whenever he pulls out and hollowing your cheeks as he thrusts in, trying to stimulate him as much as possible. Yunho continues to use the toy on you, his pants becoming tighter and tighter when your worst nightmare occurs, a cry being choked back. The batteries run out.

Yunho pulls the toy from you, spreading your lips to thrust three of his long digits in you and starting to pump them roughly, causing your eyes to roll to the back of your head. Feeling the knot forming in you, you try to signal Yunho of your release, not knowing if it’s to tell him to keep going and allow you to have the sweet release you crave, or stop him to prolong your time together. Unfortunately for you, he chooses the latter and rips his hands away from you, watching your body writhe in need of him. There isn’t much time for you to complain about your denied orgasm though, because Mingi’s cock is twitching in your mouth and his pace is becoming irregular, his own release dangerously close. Running short on air and tears stinging your eyes, you bob your head faster on his cock, hearing his labored breaths and muttered curses above you. You close your eyes, focusing on bringing Mingi to his release and swallowing hard, moaning around him as you feel spurts of liquid hit the back of your throat.

Eyes shooting open, you look up at Mingi, shocked at the whimpers and whines coming from him as he cums down your throat, encouraging you to milk him of his release until he practically rips you off of him, overstimulation becoming too much as he pants and glares at you. Releasing your hair, Mingi wipes your lips with his thumb, slipping it into your mouth and swallowing before mumbling a simple “swallow” and watching as you listen to him. You open your mouth and stick your tongue out, revealing that not a single drop of cum remains in your mouth. Mingi hums and pets your head gently, soothing the ache from his grip on your hair.

“Yunho-hyung, I think she’s finally earned the right to cum, don’t you?” Mingi purrs, slipping his hands under your arms to pull you up and turn you around to face Yunho, who eyes you hungrily. You gulp, batting your eyelashes at Yunho and jutting your lower lip out in a pout. Yunho strips off his shirt, tossing it to the side and reaching for his pants, pushing them down along with his boxers to reveal his hard cock, mirroring the way Mingi’s dripped earlier before you sucked him off. One of Yunho’s hands wraps around his cock, stroking himself to spread his precum. Smirking at you, he nods at Mingi, crawling on the bed and kneeling in front of you.

Mingi pushes you, encouraging you to kneel as well while he reaches into the nightstand drawer, pulling out a tube of lubricant and popping the cap open. Mingi presses his chest to your back, opening the cap and squeezing out the clear liquid and spreading it on his fingers and rubbing some over your asshole. You gasp at the cool liquid, clenching around nothing as Yunho slides his shaft between your folds to gather more slick on his cock. Yunho leans down and sucks on your collarbone, grasping your hip in one of his hands while the other lines his cock up with your seeping hole.

“Look at you, an absolute mess~ see, this could’ve happened a lot faster and smoothly if you had just asked us like a good little girl~ but you just had to misbehave, didn’t you?” Mingi purrs in your ear, slowly slipping his pointer finger into your ass and biting on the shell of your ear. You gasp in surprise, whining and rolling your head back onto his shoulder, your hands resting on Yunho’s for support. Yunho moves his mouth all over your neck and collarbones, biting and sucking marks anywhere he can reach. The very tip of his cock teases your entrance before slipping out again, leaving you a desperate and panting mess between them both. Your legs shake as Mingi stretches you out, carefully slipping in another finger and scissoring them apart deep inside of you. “Look how well she takes my fingers~ I wonder if she can handle us both fucking her at the same time? Should we test it out Yunho?”

“I think we should Mingi~ but let’s take it slow, wouldn’t want her tearing in half from both of us now would we?” Yunho chuckles, finally pushing his cock deep inside of you and stretching you completely. You moan loudly, gripping his shoulders tightly at the feeling of having something penetrating both of your holes. Mingi manages to fit a third finger in, spreading and thrusting them into you to prepare you for when his cock enters you. You moan out, tapping Yunho on the shoulder to signal him to move, hissing when he pulls almost completely out of you and pushing back into you, repeating the movement over and over painfully slow. You whine out, nails scraping down Yunho’s chest and leaving angry red lines, causing him to hiss and reach up, tugging you back by the hair and marking up your chest and neck as his pace remains unchanging. After a few moments, Mingi pulls his fingers out of you. Yunho freezes, his cock buried deep inside of your cunt and watching Mingi over your shoulder. You try to look at him, but Yunho grasps your chin and forces you to look at him. “Unless you don’t want to cum for the next week, you will focus on me, understand?” You nod but receive a slap to the outside of your thigh, prompting you to speak.

“Yes sir” You gulp, becoming impatient as you wait for them to continue. You hear Mingi squeeze more lube out, coating his cock and pumping it before lining up to your asshole. Yunho pulls you into a deep kiss, muffling your whimper as the head of Mingi’s cock pushes into you, slowly stretching you out. Mingi pauses periodically, ensuring not to hurt you since it’d been a bit since you’d taken both of them. With murmured praises and soft nibbles on the shell of your ear, Mingi finally bottoms out, barely keeping himself restrained from fucking you senseless right then and there. Panting, you shift your hips slightly, causing both boys to groan as one grips your shoulders and the other your hips, keeping you in place. A smirk crosses your features, and before Yunho can warn you not to, you clench around both of them, causing the last of their restraint to snap.

The grip on your hips becomes bruising as they begin fucking you roughly, making it so that as one cock pulls out of you the other one is ramming harshly into you. You practically scream out in surprise, nails digging into Yunho’s shoulders and your head laying back on Mingi’s shoulder. Mingi bites on your shoulder, a bruise surfacing instantly as his hips snap into you roughly. One of Yunho’s hands trails between you both, finding your core and rubbing at your clit. You’ve become a moaning and whining mess between them, not even bothering trying to gain any control of the situation or their pleasure, too far gone to function.

A tight coil begins forming in your gut, and you struggle to warn them. “I-I’m about to c-cum~ s-so close pl-please let m-me cum!” Yunho groans, rubbing at your clit faster.

“Go on babygirl~ I want you to cum all over my cock~ it’s okay, let go now” at his words, you scream out in pleasure, clenching around them both as a ringing fills your ears. You see white, and go rigid in their holds. It only takes a few more thrusts before they’re both cumming deep within you, their thrusts becoming shallow as they ride out their highs. Whimpering from the sensitivity, you tap on Yunho’s shoulder. Yunho and Mingi nod, pulling out of you. You sigh in relief, only to yelp in surprise when you get set on your back, wrists getting handcuffed above your head. You look up at them both, the sudden cruel reality of your behavior hitting you like a freight train.

“You honestly didn’t think your punishment was over, did you princess?” Yunho looms over you, a smirk on his features. You hear a drawer opening, and after some shuffling, Mingi comes into view holding a fresh set of batteries and your bunny vibrator along with your butt-plug. “Oh baby~ we’re just getting started~”

And that was the start of the longest night of your life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And so there it is! I hope y'all enjoyed it!

[amjustagirl]

Summary: Sakusa Kiyoomi's heart has always pointed north. He wonders if it's broken when it starts to point inexorably towards her. 

Set in the aftermath of The Astrophile, in the same universe as Storm Chaser.

Pairing: Sakusa Kiyoomi / f! reader

Genre: Fluff, angst, romance 

Wordcount: 7.8k 

Masterlist link here

A/N: Dedicated first and foremost to Ami @softsakusa, one of the first people to convince that my writing isn’t shit and that I should keep creating fics. 

This fic is also for all the readers who wanted a happy ending for the reader in The Astrophile (which sets out the backstory of the reader, Iwaizumi and Oikawa), and also follows the events of Storm Chaser (which follows the turbulent relationship of Miya Atsumu and now wife - I named her Kaiyo in this fic to avoid confusion!). 

Hope you like it - reblogs and comments are always dearly appreciated <3

It must be the worst meet cute of all time. 

That is – if he’s using that phrase correctly. It keeps appearing in the god-awful English movies Bokuto and Miya keep playing during team movie nights that makes him want to tear his hair out. 

But yes, he meets her at Miya Shino’s seventh birthday party, the birthday girl the apple of Miya Atsumu’s eye, the princess of his castle, the most perfect angel in the entire heavens - the list of pet names growing longer and longer the more the obnoxious setter prattles on about his daughter. 

And apparently Miya Shino is a chip off the old block, and is as obsessed with volleyball as her father. Which means that he, one Sakusa Kiyoomi, is forced to turn up on a Saturday afternoon for a birthday party to teach a group of children roughly about the same height as his kneecaps how to play volleyball. 

There are plenty of other MSBY players that Miya Atsumu could have rounded up to fritter away a Saturday afternoon. Hinata, for instance - the sunny, fiery headed opposite hitter a perennial favourite with young fans. Or Inunaki - the liberio has an amiable personality that he certainly wouldn’t mind snot nosed children hanging off his arms like a walking, talking monkey bar. But no, Hinata is apparently busy on a weekend meditation retreat, and Inunaki is at his sister’s wedding party, so both of them managed to escape this travesty of a birthday party. 

That leaves him with Bokuto who’s practically a child himself, beaming, bumping balls at screaming children with one hand, the other hand lifting another child above his head. Meian’s here too but his own kid is somewhere in this gaggle of monsters anyway, so he’s here to carry out his parental duties – hopefully his presence might balance the sheer chaos he’s sure he’s about to face.   

‘Omi-omi you made it!’ Atsumu greets him with a slap to the back. 

Sakusa resists the urge to bare his teeth. Is this what hell is? Screeching gremlins underfoot, the nauseating smell of fried food permeating the air. 

And it’s probably because he’s still in a horrified daze at the situation he’s put himself in (which Atsumu is either too dense to pick up on or already immune due to the series of similar expressions he pulls at him on a daily basis), Atsumu manages to snap a party hat on his head, before he prances off in victory. 

Sakusa snarls, ripping off the red paper hat off his head. 

Why on earth did he agree to this again? 

‘Sakusa-san! Thank you so much for coming!’ 

His glare softens by a fraction. 

Miya Kaiyo, Atsumu’s long suffering wife approaches him, careful not to touch him, waving at him instead. He appreciates her thoughtfulness, so he thaws a little, giving her a slight nod in greeting. 

Right, she’s the reason why he’s here. 

He’s always been fond of her - competent, patient, intelligent, far too good for her idiot of a husband. Approximately a year ago, he sought her professional help with his accounts. He graduated with a business degree from Chuo University, so he can tell there is obviously something fishy that his manager is pulling with his finances, but the accounting courses he took weren’t in depth to pinpoint the problem. Miya Kaiyo, on the other hand, a trained forensic accountant with a nose like a bloodhound for fraudulent accounts, nailed down the problem within a week. So when she asked him after a game whether he’d be free to attend her daughter's birthday party, he hadn’t been able to turn her down. 

‘It was no problem’, he says stiffly, already itching to spray the whole place down with disinfectant. ‘I’m glad to be here.’ 

Kaiyo laughs at his obvious lie, tugging at his sleeve to seat him in a corner. ‘You don’t have to go play with the kids if you didn’t want to! I invited you so we could catch up, and besides, I did want to introduce you to someone.’ 

‘Hm.’ 

He doesn’t try to mask his reluctance this time. Kaiyo means well, he knows, but between her and his mother, he’s tired of having to fend off match making attempts. It’s not like he can’t get a date – he can and he has, it’s just difficult to find someone willing to put up with his prickly personality and busy schedule.

‘Well she’s not here yet, so you’ll have to wait. And while we’re waiting, tell me how’ve things been, Sakusa-san?’ 

Grateful that he’s not going to be forced into shepherding children into playing anything remotely resembling an actual volleyball match (he suspects he might have more luck teaching cats how to do the conga), he settles into his seat, mouth stretching into something resembling a smile. He lets her chatter about work, and they’re deep in a discussion about his plans post-volleyball (because he can feel the countdown on his career in his creaking bones, his aching sinews)  when Atsumu swoops in on him again, like a vulture seeking easy prey. 

‘What’cha doin’ with my wife, Omi-omi’, he slips a hand around Kaiyo’s waist mock possessively. 

She swats at him. He ducks, raising his hands in surrender. 

‘I enjoy talking to an actual adult sometimes, ‘Tsumu!’ 

‘Oh come on, I already have to share you with ‘Samu most of the time, now you’re leaving me for Omi-kun?!’

‘Dramatic ass.’ 

‘Please, you chose to marry me.’ He crows, flipping his hair. He looks ridiculous, he always does. Kaiyo seems to agree - 

‘And I wonder why sometimes.’ She retorts, Atsumu squawking indignantly at her response, hair ruffling like an offended chick. But Kaiyo ruins the effect of her words by laughing, leaning over to affectionately peck her husband on the cheek. 

Sakusa should be annoyed by this display of childishness, but for some inexplicable reason, a frisson of longing bubbles in his chest instead. It’s strange. Marriage or even serious relationships have never been something he’s actively sought. After all, it always seemed horrendously illogical to put all your eggs in one basket and hope nothing trips up – but his heart pays his mind no mind, and the strange sensation continues to trickle down his throat into his chest. 

He makes up an excuse to slip to the bathroom for a tactical retreat from this madness. 

Then he takes a breath. 

Rinse. Lather hands with soap. Rinse. Repeat again .

Familiar motions, bred out of a desire to do things right, transformed into an unbreakable habit. Cold water, washing away soap bubbles.

Right. Now he’s ready for another plunge off the deep end . 

He’s a foot past the threshold of the community hall where the party is being held when Miya Shino darts towards him. She’s very clearly her father’s daughter with his penchant for mischief because she dives between his legs, making him stumble in confusion. Then Meian Shugo’s eldest son Makoto barrels towards him, intent on reaching the ball held aloft in Shino’s hands. 

Athletic reflexes be damned in the face of a pair of hell-spawn. 

‘Shino!’. Kaiyo shouts. 

‘Makoto!’ Meian thunders. 

Sakusa flails, decidedly without grace, and in his attempt at not squashing the two little devils, he manages to do something even  worse . 

Much, much worse. 

He manages to trip over his feet and bump right into the woman Miya Kaiyo wanted to introduce him to (this, he finds out later). It’s a lost cause – he’s six foot two of pure muscle, dwarfing her by a mile, and she’s carrying a huge box in her hand. 

He ends up face planting directly into her chest. 

His brain short circuits at the feeling of plush softness and vanilla and – , 

‘Woah - Omi-omi, never thought I’d have to defend the honour of my cousin in law’, Atsumu laughs.  

The sudden flare of irritation at Atsumu’s words kickstarts his brain back into gear. Rearing back in alarm, he promptly topples over onto his butt. 

‘Uncle ‘kusa, I’m sorry’ Shino screeches, distraught. Makoto merely snivels. Kaiyo is evidently the only one with working brain cells, because she rushes over to help them up.  

The-woman-with-the-mysterious-box makes Kaiyo take the box first. It holds precious cargo - Shino’s birthday cake, he later finds out, but because she manages to cling on to it with admirable tenacity, it emerges more or less intact. Then she turns to him, still sprawled on the floor. He scoots away, still dazed. 

She offers him a steady hand. ‘Hello’, she says. ‘It seems we’ve gotten off to rather a bad start.’

There is a hint of mirth in her voice, but her eyes are kind.  

He takes her hand with a rare smile. 

Miya Kaiyo grins behind the cake box. It turns out her daughter is a better matchmaker than either her or (heaven forbid) her husband. 

It turns out that Miya Kaiyo wanted to introduce him to her cousin, newly moved to Osaka from Tokyo. She’s a sports journalist, used to cover volleyball even, but for some reason their paths never crossed. She too, is tired of her cousin’s well intentioned meddling, but asks him if he’d like to meet her for dinner one day ‘if only to get Kaiyo off her back, because she’s persistent’, and funnily enough, he agrees. 

He doesn’t mind making a new friend, he reasons. She seems decent enough. 

They go out for dinner on a Tuesday night. She doesn’t complain when he tells her that due to his diet planned by MSBY’s nutritionist, most restaurants are off limits. Instead, she asks intelligent questions about whether the sources of protein and fibre he’s relying on are varied enough, even suggesting alternatives like tempeh, a Southeast Asian soy product. 

He appreciates that. 

She doesn’t also fawn over the fact that he’s a professional athlete. That makes sense, considering she’s probably interviewed dozens, if not hundreds of individuals who are just like him. It’s nice - he’s tired of groupies who start dates off by staring at him starry eyed, but ending it with disappointment in their eyes when they discover that he’s just a guy who practices hitting balls enough to do it for a living. And best of all, she doesn’t mind that their conversation sometimes wanes into silence. She doesn’t seem to feel the need to fill empty spaces with inane drivel, nor expect him to entertain her like a circus animal. 

He likes that. 

So when the night ends, he asks her whether she’d like to have dinner with him again. ‘Just as friends’, he’s quick to clarify. 

‘Sure’, she nods, and they bid each other goodnight.  

They start having dinner every Tuesday night, subject to their erratic schedules. 

He enjoys her company. She’s thoughtful, bringing him home made baked goods like zucchini cake (low sugar, of course), sneaking him chocolate scones for his cheat days after she discovers his hidden sweet tooth. She’s considerate too, never blinking an eye at his compulsive need to make sure everything is just in order, even if the waitress stands behind them aghast when he insists on using disinfectant to wipe down their table. She doesn’t even call him paranoid when he passes her a bottle of sanitizer. 

Slowly, he finds himself confiding in her about things he’d maybe only tell his cousin, Motoya. Or at least, the things he would tell Motoya if the guy would only pick up his calls. 

‘Sorry’, Motoya texts back after a couple of missed calls. ‘ Practice has been brutal recently. 

In a remarkable display of restraint, Sakusa does not point out that EJP Raijin is below MSBY in this season’s rankings. 

So he tells her instead about how he’s contemplating retirement, how he’s trying to chart out his next steps career wise. She surprises him by listening to him gravely, pointing out that he can lean on his business degree to possibly land an office job in event management or with sports associations, putting him in touch with one overly excited Kuroo Tetsuro. He tucks her suggestions away carefully at the back of his mind.   

It’s nice to have a friend, he tells himself, his lips quirking ever so slightly when her hand grazes his as they walk down the street together. 

He invites her to the monthly gatherings that the MSBY players take turns to host for their family and friends, making the excuse that he needs a human shield in any event hosted by Miya Atsumu. She agrees easily, perking up at the chance to spend a Sunday afternoon with her cousin and niece - ‘ and Kaiyo’ll need help, especially since she’s pregnant’, bringing far too many cupcakes topped with the lightest, fluffiest cream cheese frosting he’s ever had the pleasure of tasting. Even Miya Osamu gives her a nod of respect after stuffing his face full of her cupcakes.  He, unlike his twin, has good taste.

Her brow furls into a concerned frown when he quietly sneaks himself a second cupcake. ‘You don’t have to force yourself to eat it just to be polite! I made it, so  I  know it has so much sugar and butter it would make your nutritionist weep. If you want, I snuck some zucchini cake in my handbag for you instead.’ 

He stubbornly shovels a large bite into his mouth. ‘I won’t tell if you don’t.’ 

She bursts into laughter, leaning forward to wipe away the smudge of frosting on the tip of his nose with her thumb. 

Miya Kaiyo shoots him a knowing look across the room, waggling her eyebrows in an eerie imitation of her husband. He fights to keep his face blank, refusing to feed her satisfaction, but fails, a hot flush rising in his cheeks. 

‘Traitor’ he mouths at her. Her smirk only deepens.

Fortunately, the gathering ends with no further mishaps, either to his physical well-being or his dignity. Makoto is packed off with Meian, the little boy whining for more time to play with Shino. Hinata and Bokuto prance off for some ridiculous buffet on the other side of town.

As for himself, he hangs back with her to help the Miyas put their house back in order, expelling an amused puff of a laugh from his nose when she forces the very pregnant Kaiyo to ‘stay still, for goodness sake!’  on the couch, dancing around the house with a mop, Shino trailing after her waving a feather duster with gusto. He refrains from telling the little girl that she’s more likely to spread  the dust than to actually clear it – at least she’s not causing more havoc this way. 

‘I can’t believe I could’ve ever taken this for granted, y’know’, Atsumu comments from behind him, mouth wide in a tender smile. ‘It’s the best feeling in the world to have a wife and kid who loves ya to the moon and back, welcoming ya home after a long day at work. They make everything worth it.’

He’s thrown for a loop at this rare display of emotional vulnerability from the usually obnoxious setter and for once, does not resort to hostility, choosing instead to acknowledge the blonde setter’s words with a tacticum nod. 

The Miyas’ apartment is far too chaotic for his tastes, with colourful toys scattered on the floor, mismatched picture frames of the little family on the walls, but laughter hangs in the air, and light spills from the windows, illuminating the warmth and love and fondness in every look and word the Miyas gift each other. 

His father gave him a compass when he was a child, as a present to celebrate his first match. His mother clucked her tongue because it’s a strange gift for a child - delicate, fiddly, its gold exterior tarnished with age. But his father chuckled and told him that he’s old enough to appreciate that the compass is his father’s, and his father’s father before that, an heirloom to remind their sons to work hard at everything they do, and to keep their hearts on course, pointing north. 

And Sakusa thinks he’s done that. He’s worked and worked and worked at perfecting his skills in his chosen sport. He’s accepted his solo course, so laser focused on carving out a career in professional sports leaves little time or space for intimate relationships. Not to mention the fact that watching the disaster of Atsumu’s early years of marriage from the sidelines, made him swear off similar heartbreak for himself. 

But there are times when he can’t help but feel a little lonely - when he has to struggle to find a date for MSBY events, when he has no one to celebrate the holidays with, when he goes home every day to his neat, cold apartment with space for only one occupant. 

The compass in his heart creaks. It starts to turn a few degrees just off-course. 

‘Do you ever wonder what it’d be like to get married?’ he asks her as he’s walking her home that night. 

‘I did, once upon a time’, she shrugs carelessly. He misses the sudden strain in her smile. ‘Why do you ask?’ 

He stays silent for a while, the length of the quiet street giving him time to properly ferment his response. He considers the effects of adding splashes of colour to his dull life, weighs it against his long cultivated instinct to avoid the potential chaos of any emotional entanglements. He finds himself suddenly craving the sweetness of cream cheese frosting, and wonders how it’d be like to come home to light, fluffy cakes baked by her hands. 

When they reach her apartment block, she tilts her head at him curiously, obviously awaiting his answer. He tugs his words together, strings his swirling thoughts into a decipherable sentence. 

‘Because Atsumu and Kaiyo seem happy together. And I wondered if we’d be happy together too.’ 

He watches her puzzle over his words, her brow furling into a confused frown. ‘And I wasn’t proposing, by the way’, he feels the need to clarify. 

She snorts. ‘I didn’t think so.’ With a directness that he very much appreciates, she looks at him squarely and asks - ‘Are you asking me out, Sakusa Kiyoomi?’ 

He meets her gaze. ‘Yes, I am. We’ve known each other for a decently long time for me to conclude our personalities are well matched, and we’re both mature adults who respect each other’s work schedules and commitments. And if you don’t mind that I can be overly blunt and quiet sometimes - ‘ 

‘ - which I don’t’, she interjects, with a chuckle. 

‘I think we might be happy together’, he concludes, with a small smile that’s becoming more common in her presence.

He allows her the space to turn his proposition over in her mind. 

‘Alright’, she finally says. ‘I guess we can give it a go’. 

So much for Atsumu accusing him of having a heart made out of tin. Flesh and muscle works overtime to pump blood into his cheeks as she slots her fingers between his and gives his hand a squeeze. 

Being in a relationship isn’t too different from what they had before. 

They still keep to their standing date to meet every Tuesday (schedules permitting, of course). But now he doesn’t have to make up excuses to ask her out on outings that aren’t food related. At first he tries his best to adhere to dating norms, arranging for romantic dates at candlelit restaurants, buying her massive bouquets that make her sneeze. 

‘It’s fine, Omi’, she tells him gently after they spend another uncomfortable evening in a dimly lit restaurant eating off plates too large for the laughably tiny food portions. ‘I’m happy just hanging out with you. You don’t have to go out of your way to impress me, I’m not holding on to any ridiculous expectations of you’. He stops after that, glad he doesn’t have to suffer another night trying to decipher which utensil to be used at which course, or having to put on starched formal wear to yet another stuffy restaurant. 

She’s noticeably happier when they accompany each other on trips to the supermarket, each holding a stack of coupons to take advantage of the latest deals. She shields him from any overly zealous obaa-sans with gusto, throwing elbows and using her grocery basket as a makeshift battering ram before they crowd close enough to him to trigger his anxiety. He helps her reach for things on the top shelf ‘to prevent her from scaling the grocery shelves like an overgrown teenager’ , he snarks. He’s worried his attempt at teasing lands wrong, but she snorts and thanks him good naturedly anyways. 

On the weekends, they develop a habit of meal prepping for the rest of the week at her apartment. His kitchen lacks the fancy mixers and blenders that she has, and in all honesty, his dark, spartan apartment lacks the sunlight and warmth that spills into her apartment from the windows, so it’s only logical that they should spend the bulk of their time there. It’s an oasis of calm for him, chopping vegetables and chicken into small cubes, sautéing them for the week ahead, while she bustles around whipping eggs and flour and milk together to form another delectable cake that they always end up sharing at the end of the day. 

He starts to dread matches away from home a little more than he used to. While hotel rooms are as spartan as his own apartment, he doesn’t have the option of heading over to her apartment to bask in her quiet warmth. His meals come in styrofoam boxes instead of the glass tupperware she stacks on her kitchen counter, and he turns up his nose at store bought cakes that his teammates offer him, only craving for those baked in her oven. He even starts looking up to the stands for a glimpse of her, only to remember that she can’t be there to cheer the team on. 

‘Cheer up, Omi-omi! We’ll have a home match next week’, Atsumu tells him jovially. 

‘It doesn’t matter either way to me’, he mutters resentfully, but the setter only grins.

‘Trust me, it matters a great deal to have the girl ya love cheering ya on, y’know?’ 

He stalks off to the changing room, ignoring the peals of laughter from the blonde annoyance he leaves in his wake.  

The tight coil of loneliness only loosens when he sees her waiting for him at the station when he returns. She ignores his protests to snag his suitcase away from him, the case looking comically large against her small frame, but she uses it effectively as a tank to force a path through the crowd, and drag him back to her apartment in no time. 

‘You need a home cooked dinner to make up for all those industrially prepared food you must’ve been eating this entire week’, she tells him, bustling around the kitchen, only stilling when he takes her shoulders in his hands. 

‘Are you happy?’ he asks, when he cups her face to carefully brush the dusting of flour on her cheek away.  

‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ She laughs, the sound fond.

‘Just checking in’, he tells her, closing his eyes as she pulls him down towards her for a kiss. 

All in all, it’s a happy, uncomplicated relationship. He likes it that way.

If his heart were a compass, he’d suspect it’s broken because instead of pointing north, it starts to inch inexorably towards her. 

But there are strange quirks he notices about her that niggles at his brain. 

She refuses point blank to check out the planetarium when she attends an event held at the adjacent Art Museum as his date, professing to have an irrational dislike for stars. 

‘They’re just balls of burning gas and light ’ , he points out. ‘What could you possibly have against them?’ 

There’s a flicker of irritation in her eyes that he does not miss. ‘I know it’s stupid but just humour me, ok?’ Her tone verges on a snarl, before she storms away, ostensibly to the bathroom to freshen herself up. 

She returns later with an apology for her behaviour. Though he’s confused, he respects her privacy and does not push for an answer. 

He’s at her apartment preparing meals for the week ahead when the doorbell rings and an enormous bouquet of white lilies are deposited into her arms. She stares dumbly at the flowers, their sickly sweet scent permeating the air. 

His brow furls. ‘Today isn’t your birthday, is it?’

His words jolt her out of her trance. ‘No’, she answers, before inexplicably storming to the living room and dumping the bouquet with a vengeance on the coffee table. Pollen flutters to the floor, delicate white petals crushed in her hands. 

‘It’s nothing’, she tells him as he shoots her a questioning look. 

When she disappears to the washroom, he peeks at the card. There’s no name on it, just a simple message - ‘consider it, please?’

He doesn’t question her about it when she returns to the kitchen. She doesn’t offer him any answers either. 

He finds himself wondering about them. 

It was refreshing at first to have a relationship free of any expectations. She never asks for more than he’s willing to give, seems happy enough to slot herself into the pockets of time he offers, only attends his games when he gives her tickets, doesn’t get upset with him when he inevitably forgets to text. 

But therein lies the issue, doesn’t it?  

If she truly likes him, wants to pursue a relationship seriously with him, shouldn’t she be demanding more than the crumbs of affection and attention he shows her? They’re both past the age of thirty, shouldn’t she be looking to get married and settle down, maybe spawn a demon child or two? 

He’s tried raising it with her once, but she responded with confusion. 

‘I don’t have any expectations of you, Omi’, she’d replied. ‘We both have busy lives, so whatever you’re willing to give, I’m happy to take’. 

There’s technically nothing wrong about her answer. It’s wholly considerate and kind - very much her.  

Still, it makes him wonder - if her heart were a compass, would it point towards him? 

He manages to hold his tongue until she gets another delivery of flowers. 

This time he opens the door when the doorbell rings, assaulted by the heady scent of lillies, pollen smeared on his sleeves. This time, there’s a name on the card. 

Oikawa Tooru . 

It takes a couple of seconds for him to realise why the name is so familiar. It’s the same name Hinata and Kageyama used to buzz about every Olympics - the famous Argentinian setter who started his career as a schoolboy from Miyagi, a prodigious setter who never made it to Nationals in high school, refused to give up and forged his way to success in a whole new land, continents away.

‘How do you know Oikawa’? He asks her. ‘And why does he keep sending your flowers?’ 

‘He’s just an old acquaintance,’ she admits. ‘He’s just sending the flowers to persuade me to attend his wedding.’

His forehead crinkles in confusion, and he tries his best not to leap to conclusions, but since she doesn’t seem to be forthcoming with further clarification, he presses her further. 

‘And why won’t you attend his wedding?’ 

Her shoulders slouch in obvious reluctance as she turns away, focusing her attention on the mixing bowl. But Kiyoomi isn’t easily deterred, so he firmly takes the mixing bowl from her and sets it on the countertop. He raises an eyebrow at her, clearly seeking an answer. 

She huffs a sigh through her nose. ‘Because he’s getting married to my ex-boyfriend, ok?’   

He blinks. That was unexpected. 

‘It happened half a decade ago. Ancient history. I’m over it.’ She mutters to the floor. 

‘Why didn’t you tell me about it?’ 

‘Because it’s none of your business’, she snaps, grabbing the mixing bowl again, beating the batter with a vengeance. 

‘You’re going to ruin the texture if you whisk it too hard’, he tugs the bowl away from her again. She refuses to relinquish her grip.

‘Leave me alone!’ she snarls, yanking the bowl back. Confused by her sudden fury, he lets go of the bowl, only for her to stumble back, eyes wide as she loses her balance, knocking her head against the countertop.

He drops down onto his knees, not even noticing the batter soaking into his pants, combing through her hair, scouring the back of her neck for any sign of injury. It’s only when he’s satisfied that her fall has resulted in nothing more than a bruise that should go away by tomorrow that he notices her tears soaking the front of his shirt. 

‘Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?’ he asks, wiping her tears away with a batter splattered thumb. 

She hangs her head, body still shaking from her sobs. ‘I’ve already made such a mess of things – don’t want you to have to listen to my nonsense – am just bein’ stupid, that’s all - ’. 

He patiently waits until her sobs dissolves into mere sniffles before speaking. ‘I want you to tell me what’s wrong. If you’re up to it.’ 

So through more broken sobs and hiccups, he listens to the tale of Iwaizumi Hajime, a boy who was her world, who only realised he was always in love with Oikawa Tooru, a fortnight before she and he were to wed. Her voice wavers as she tells him the full story of the white lilies, explains that her irrational dislike for stars stems from the reminder that she chose to give her world up to a boy-king burning brighter than the stars in the night sky combined. 

He waits until her words run out, and she’s leaning against him, broken and pliant in a way that makes his heart ache. 

‘I wish you told me about it earlier’, he tells her, tucking the loose strands of hair behind her ear. ‘That you would trust me enough to tell me about the things that hurt you in the past. And I wonder about the state of our relationship if you don’t even trust me enough for that’. 

‘That’s unfair. You never asked - ‘ 

‘How could I ask about something I didn’t even know about?’ He takes hold of her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. Hurt and anger and shock simmer in her eyes, each swirl of emotion fighting for dominance. 

‘I didn’t want to expect anything more from this relationship than you were willing to give’, she admits after a pause. 

She’s scared of being hurt again. He doesn’t miss the subtext.  

‘Shall I tell you what I want from you then? I have a list, if you’re willing to hear me out’ he asks, with a smile that’s growing more common the more time he spends around her. 

She nods, but keeps her gaze stubbornly on the ground. 

He takes his time to choose his words. He’s never been verbose - not like Atsumu or Bokuto or even easygoing Motoya, choosing to only say what is strictly necessary, using the precise amount of words, nothing more, nothing less. But this is a situation that requires more emotion rather than precision, so he inhales a shaky breath, letting it fuel the sentiment in his heart as he exhales. 

‘First. I want you to trust that I’ll never hurt you like he did’, he says, and with a self-deprecating smile he adds - ‘I don’t have any childhood friends to be secretly in love with besides Motoya, and I’m hardly going to be pining after my flake of a cousin’. 

That triggers the corners of her lips to tilt upwards, and encouraged, he carries on.    

‘Second. I want you to be open with me about what you want - your dreams, your expectations of me. I want to hear them all because  you’re important to me.’

That makes her flush pink, and she sneaks a glance up towards him. 

‘Third. I want to wake up each morning with you by my side and come home to you every night. I want to watch you fight cranky old ladies in the supermarket in my honour, be the first person to taste test all your baking experiments - even the failed ones that are only fit to feed Atsumu. I want us to be happy together. Forever, if possible.’

He lifts her bodily into his lap, brushes his nose against her cheek. ‘Now that I’ve told you what I’m willing to give, is that too much for you to take?’ he murmurs against her lips. 

Her blush blossoms into a deep scarlet, but her eyes are iridescent pools of startled delight. She doesn’t speak, sealing her answer instead with her lips. 

His heart’s compass is irretrievably broken, the needle melted into place. It doesn’t point north any longer, no  – it’s always going to point towards her. 

They move in together after that. 

He gives up his apartment, professing to prefer the warmth and light of hers. The Miyas help him move in even when he tries to refuse their help, Atsumu helping him to lug cardboard boxes up the stairs, Kaiyo helping him sort out his belongings, sorting them into his allocated cupboards. 

When they’re done, they order pizza and she bakes a cake to celebrate. ‘An impromptu housewarming’ she says, toasting Miya Kaiyo with a slice of pepperoni pizza with a laugh.

Kiyoomi shares a slice of chocolate cake with Atsumu in complete defiance of their nutritionist’s advice, jostling forks over the very last bite. She and Kaiyo scold them teasingly, telling them to behave like they’re actually thirty and not teenagers on the cusp of adulthood. Atsumu pulls at Kaiyo’s ponytail in retaliation. He refuses to engage in similar tomfoolery, reddening instead when she reaches over to ruffle his curls.

‘This is nice’, he remarks to Atsumu later, when their significant others are out of earshot, gossiping and giggling about something or other.  

‘It is, isn’t it’, Atsumu replies, a dopey smile on his face as he stares at his wife. 

It truly is , Kiyoomi thinks, staring at her.  

He takes over most of the cleaning, it clears his mind, he tells her. So to split the chores evenly, she insists on doing their laundry and cooking, and he doesn’t even nag her too much when she forgets to split the white and coloured clothes and stains some of his shirts once in a while. 

Wedding invites printed on expensive cream paper and bouquets of white lilies start to litter their doorstep every day. He tries his best to dispose of them before they reach her sight, but every so often, he comes home too late, catches her wilt as she brushes white petals from their doorstep. 

‘I don’t blame either of them’, she tells him, after he asks if she’d like him to call Iwaizumi and tell him to drown himself in a vat of batter, thank you very much. 

‘You’re too kind to both of them’ he says plainly, as they share a pot of tea, his head pillowed in her lap. ‘I would’ve just set them both on fire and left them to rot.’

‘Hajime loved Tooru for almost all his life - I just wanted to see him happy in the end. Argh  - I sound so stupid and sentimental like an old grandma, just laugh at me already’ she complains, hiding her burning cheeks in her hands.  

‘You aren’t stupid for being kind.’ He hums, quiet and low. ‘It’s why I love you so.’ 

He relishes the soft light dawning in her eyes, captures her whispered affection with careful fingers, spins them into gold. 

He has to turn off the stove to answer the door when some rude lout bangs on their front door far too early on a Sunday morning. 

With his coldest sneer and thinking resentfully about his breakfast, Kiyoomi swings the door open, fully intent on looming over the disturbance with his full height, but takes a step back instead when he finds one Iwaizumi Hajime hanging off the door knob. 

‘Hello’, Iwaizumi looks up at him confusedly. 

‘Hi’, he nods a greeting back at his old Olympic team trainer. They stare at each other. 

‘Eh - I think I’ve got the wrong house’, Iwaizumi scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. ‘Sorry about that, Sakusa-san.’

He’s about to close the door in Iwaizumi’s face when her voice chimes in, clear as a bell. 

‘Who’s at the door, Omi?’ 

The shorter man shoots him a look of barely contained rage as he uses his bulk to push his way through the doorway towards her. Kiyoomi tries to stop him, protesting that he can’t barge into someone’s private property without an invitation like that, but it’s as futile an endeavour as trying to block the path of a raging storm.

Iwaizumi reaches her first, raising a hand as if to cup her face by instinct, before letting it fall back limply by his side. ‘You weren’t answering any of my messages or calls’, he says. ‘I was worried about you.’

She stares at him blankly for a moment. Then fire sparks in her eyes. 

‘Well, as you can see, I’m completely fine’, she replies, jaw and fists clenched. ‘You don’t need to do a welfare check on me, we’re not involved anymore.’

The scorching pain in Iwaizumi’s eyes is evident, even from a distance away. ‘Yeah. Well. I thought we were friends. You didn’t even tell me you were dating again’. He shoves his hands in his pockets, tossing another heated glance in Kiyoomi’s way. 

‘I didn’t think I needed to update my ex-fiance about my love life, especially not when he’s trying to drag me to attend his wedding that I already said I’m not going to attend’, she bites back. 

Iwaizumi opens his mouth, then closes it with a resounding snap. ‘I’m sorry’, he says, with heartbreaking honesty. ‘I told Tooru that you probably didn’t want to hear from us, but he insisted and I got worried when I didn’t hear from you for months’. 

Kiyoomi can see her glare soften into molten sympathy. The tension in the air crackles with electricity. He’s neither blind nor stupid – he can sense the years of longing and love not quite lost between them. 

He thinks she loves him, Sakusa Kiyoomi – weird habits, cold disposition and all, but the doubt clogging up his arteries and veins is enough to make his heart seize – and if she’s going to break his heart, he’d much rather she not do it in front of Iwaizumi.  

‘Hajime - ‘ she begins to say, and at this point he jumps in - 

‘I’ll excuse myself so you both have the chance to catch up’, he says, waving aside her protests as he slips on his shoes. Even in his haste to leave the house, he clicks his tongue at the mess Iwaizumi left behind at their  genkan , kneeling down to arrange their shoes, only standing up when he’s satisfied they’re neatly arranged back in place. 

‘Omi, you don’t have to leave’, she says, holding the door open. 

He shrugs his shoulders at her, nose and mouth already obscured by his usual face mask. ‘Let me know when you’d like me to come back’. 

If she’d like him to come back. She doesn’t chase after him, after all.  

It’s a beautiful Sunday morning, but the golden sunshine feels more like a taunt rather than a balm to his mood. His stomach growls, making him long for the scrambled eggs he was in the middle of frying before he was so rudely interrupted, but his growing sense of nausea keeps him from seeking out an alternative meal. 

Instead, he makes his way to the park, sits on a relatively clean bench. There are couples a-plenty, strolling around hand in hand, families picnicking merrily around him, compounding the growing chasm of loneliness in his chest. He tries to count the seconds by his breaths, tries not to let the minutes expand the insecurities crawling, inch by inch up his throat. 

He sits alone. Poised, yet short of breath. 

He wonders if Iwaizumi Hajime has finally figured out that stars, for all their brilliance, cannot compensate for their lack of human kindness. And if so, he wonders which direction her heart would point towards if it were a compass - whether it’s as broken as his, and whether it points towards Iwaizumi or him.   

He waits. 

Then his phone buzzes. 

Ah. 

She’s asking him to come home. He does not dare to overthink the meaning of that single word. But he does not hide that his steps back  home are lighter than when he left, though the key in his hand shakes so hard it takes him three tries to fit it into the keyhole. He does not try to suffocate the seed of hope budding in the soft earth of his heart when he realises Iwaizumi’s shoes have vanished without a trace.  

“Omi?” 

She’s waiting for him, slipping warm arms around his waist, tangling her fingers in his curls, ignoring his complaints about letting himself wash his hands first. 

‘Am I silly for missing you, even though it’s only been an hour?’

He refuses to be distracted by the affection in her voice.

‘But what about Iwaizumi?’ he frowns, hesitation still poisoning the well of thoughts in his mind. 

Perhaps it’s a testament to how well they’ve grown to know each other that she doesn’t need to read the silent subtext of his statement. She smiles, bringing his palm flat against her chest, does not answer until his pulse matches the steady beat of her heart.  

‘I love you , Omi’, she tells him. Her heartbeat does not quicken, her smile does not waver. ‘You told me not to long ago to always be upfront with you about what  I  want so I’m going to be honest with you now - Iwaizumi is only ever going to be my past, and I want you from now on’. 

If her heart were a compass, the steady beat of her heart tells him, it would point only towards him.  

‘That is – if you’ll have me’, she adds, a shadow of doubt suddenly appearing on her face. 

‘Don’t be ridiculous’, he scoffs, burying his nose to breathe in the familiar scent of vanilla in her hair. ‘Who else would I rather have than you?’ 

Who else would he be lucky enough to call his home – a woman with a heart large enough to fit a whole ocean within its depths, with kindness in her eyes and mirth in her smiles. 

She laughs in spite of the salt in her throat and water in her eyes, leaning on her toes in a vain attempt to reach his face. He lifts her into her arms, laughs when she squeals indignantly as her feet only find air, toppling them both onto the couch where he can seat her between his legs, press kisses to her cheeks.  

She’ll tell him later that Iwaizumi came looking for her because he’s never outgrown his overprotective streak, and he’s truly happy for her - for them, because they’ve both moved on with their separate lives. And she ended up agreeing to attend his and Oikawa’s wedding on one condition – that an invitation is extended to him, Sakusa Kiyoomi, to attend with her as his date. 

He’ll tell her later that he’s happy to attend the wedding with her, just not to expect him to smile in any wedding pictures. And more importantly, he’ll tell her in his plain way that the list of expectations he has of their relationship has expanded yet again. 

He’ll lay out his dreams of a pair of matching golden rings to bind them to lifelong companionship, of hellspawn of their own and a dog, maybe two. 

He’ll ask her if it’s too much for him to ask of her.  

She’ll tell him that she’s willing to give him everything he asks for and more. 

It’s Miya Shino’s ninth birthday party. 

He’s retired from volleyball proper, and is thankful he insisted on getting a business degree from Chuo University before going pro, because it comes in handy working alongside Kuroo Tetsuro at the volleyball association. 

Miya Atsumu insists on inviting him to the party, though he supposes he’s invited not by virtue of being a former teammate, but because he’s also Shino’s uncle by marriage now. The thought that he’s related to Miya Atsumu, however distant and most definitely not by blood, still fills him with dread. 

The birthday girl is a little less imbued with her father’s chaotic energy this time, though she still squeals when her birthday cake is unveiled – though to be fair it’s less a cake, more a tower of cupcakes with cream cheese frosting spelling out her name. 

‘Thank you Auntie!’ Shino cries, flinging her arms around her. Kiyoomi flinches at the sight of anyone, even his nine year old niece, coming in close contact with his extremely pregnant wife, but a sharp glare from her subdues any complaint he dares to make. 

He fusses over her the minute he has the chance to corral her away from the clutches of Miya Shino. ‘Are your feet hurting? What about your back? I don’t know why you insist on walking so much when you know the doctor said you should be on bed rest soon’. 

‘Stop fussing, Omi! The baby and I will be fine’, she replies, exasperated. ‘This is the last social event scheduled before I pop and I’m determined to enjoy it while I can.’ Then she scuttles off faster than he imagines her frame allows, leaving him floundering in her wake. 

‘Just let her be’, Miya Atsumu laughs, slapping his back. Kiyoomi is on the verge of pointing out -  pot, meet kettle, reminding Atsumu that the last time Kaiyo was pregnant, Atsumu didn’t stop fretting until she went into labour and delivered a healthy baby boy. But then he remembers the grief etched into Atsumu’s face when Kaiyo miscarried in the stands during a game, so he holds his tongue and rolls his eyes instead. 

‘I’m just worried she’s pushing herself too hard’, he admits in a rare bout of vulnerability. 

Atsumu smiles, genuine for once. ‘Those crazy women, eh? They’re always gonna drive us up the wall, but they’re worth every minute of it.’ 

He looks at her, belly swollen with their first child, peach blossoms blooming in her cheeks. His past self would never imagine that he’d find this much joy and contentment in being a husband and a father, but then again his past self was satisfied coming home alone day after day to a cold apartment. He knows better now - life is so better when he has her, sharing stories of their day of over steaming mugs of tea at their kitchen countertop, listening to her hum as she bakes treats for the weekend, warmth and laughter and love abound in their cosy apartment for two, soon to be three.   

So feeling vaguely drunk though he hasn’t had a drop of alcohol in the months since she whispered during their anniversary dinner that they were expecting, Kiyoomi laughs aloud. 

Atsumu lifts his eyebrows in surprise.

‘She really, really is’, Kiyoomi says, breaking into an unguarded smile.  

If you wanna know more about the backstory of the reader - check out The Astrophile, and if you wanna know more about Miya Atsumu’s relationship with his wife, check out Storm Chaser. 

As always, reblogs and/or comments are so very appreciated <3

Taglist: 

@snoozless @softsakusa @moondaius​ (yeon i’ll be shameless and tag you cos I know you’re an Omi stan!)

[captainsspnanon]

C3E35 reaction

I skimmed some things before hand, so stuff I knew before watching:

1) They interrogated Treshi some more (but no context for what about)

2) There was a skill challenge at some point that involved Calm Emotions

3) Ashton is confirmed to have chronic pain (no context as to HOW it was discovered, but that FCG was feeling Ashton’s body at the time, so I guessed the scene but nowhere near how it ended up playing out)

4) Keyleth brings them to Whitestone.

I’m glad the Treshi plot point is now wrapped up.  It was a fun impetus, but so much ended up happening all around the beat that it no longer felt like a driving force, but instead an anchor that was holding back their progress.  To have it resolved means that they are now free to travel and move fairly freely.  The time limit of a month could be up to another almost year of gameplay, so that should give them plenty of time to do things.

Skill challenge was super fun!  Also now gave a taste of the sinkholes, which should hopefully satisfy Travis a tiny bit about not being able to thoroughly explore the map and all the points.  (Though I agree with him, there are a number of places with very interesting sounding names!)

I’d seen somebody comment that they thought Thull was going to end up killing Eshteross because the Hells left, which had made me think that they never reported to him at all.  I’m very glad to be proven wrong, I missed him and his (justified) paranoia.  I’m relieved they gave him some detailed information about Thull’s fighting style, though this is one of the instances where I sort of wish they would just go “and we update Lord Eshteross about everything that happened in Bassuras” or some other narrative shorthand which would imply that they shared everything with him, and not just the parts that they actually roleplay through.

Yay for completing the bounty and getting funds!!  NO BEING BROKE THIS CAMPAIGN!  Checking now, M9 got about 8k gold in E30, and then no particularly large sums until E63.  They’d made just under 20k total by E35, compared to the Hells about 38.5k.  They’ve spent about the same though....maybe I just feel like the M9 was poorer because of the memes XD

The scene with Imogen and Fearne in Ashton’s mind was HARROWING.  Nothing new was found out during the memories, Milo had already told Ashton that they poured the potion in their head, but I guess Taliesin may have forgotten or misunderstood.  Ashton acted like he was just learning the information for the first time.  ON THE OTHER HAND - STRESS.  I cannot tell what Matt is planning with this, and it’s awesome and terrifying and I want more.

There’s been tons of speculation of chronic pain for Ashton, though at least among those that I follow the speculation had died out fairly early on.  It’s a hell of a thing to have it confirmed, and I wonder if it will ever come up again, or if it’s something which Tal has put out there but doesn’t really portray ‘loudly’, so to speak.

Mixed feelings on Keyleth appearing and the party going to Whitestone (TLoVM!Whitestone, at that XD), but Matt did seem like he was cutting off a lot of other possible options.  ...well, just Eshteross and Seshadri, I suppose.  Hexum could still have been an option, but I am glad they didn’t go with that.  (My mom was shouting at the screen for them not to tell Hexum or go to her XD)

I’ve read a lot of good posts about how it makes sense for PCs to be meeting high level NPCs around this point, and that we can just consider VM to be high level NPCs.  Personally, I still struggle with it a bit.  Again, mixed feelings.  Honestly, I think my feelings on this will really only be decided towards the end of the campaign when I will know how frequently or heavily involved VM is in the entire situation.  I really did love the fact that the M9 were so unrelated to C1 with only minor references tossed in until Allura, and C3 is being handled so differently just from the start.  It’s something I can’t decide until hindsight.

Either way........UGH HAVING TO WAIT TWO WEEKS INSTEAD OF ONE NOOOO

[timextoxhajima]

Nevertheless: Wishful Thinking [3]

[completed] [1] [2] [3] [4] [5]

synopsis: why would the college flirt want anything to do with the innocent heartbreaker? a [somewhat] nevertheless au featuring tbz's eric son young jae

genre [per chapter]: suggestive material, smut *this series is a smut series so* please don't read if you're uncomfy. if you're underaged and you still wanna read, i'm not stopping you. i don't care because that's your responsibility to know what's fiction and what's not.

word count: i genuinely don't fucking know i think it's at least 4k WHY THE FUCK IS IT GETTING LONG ERJSJSJSJDNAKD

taglist: @from-xero @taeyongandfree @ten-gift @louvyves @sweetutopia @yyyereum @jung-breadshop @sunwoowuvbot @mashedpotittiess

protip: links of BGM are linked~

{this is a work of fiction}

eric swipes his thumb across his bottom lip and drags his index finger over the tip of his nose, tongue still sucking on his teeth as if it hadn't already been a day.

he was sitting on the other side of the tutorial room and you just so happened sat in a spot where he was the first person in your view when you looked up.

stupid hexagonal tables.

the moisture in your mouth suddenly evaporates, leaving your tongue dry like sandpaper against the roof of your mouth.

the lustful blanket over his eyes threaten to rip your mentality apart, and even without him touching you, the heat in your abdomen starts to clench and throb.

the thought crosses your mind, just so you can convince yourself: if eric can associate himself with sex within your primal instincts then the brain that got you here can associate him with a big, fucking, red flag.

you suck in a deep breath and hold it for awhile, eyes plastered to the ipad under your palms. crossing your legs tightly, your jeans hug your hips and waist all too perfectly.

yujeong had smacked one of her baseball friends earlier that day for staring at your legs.

after the likes of wooseok's party and the incident yesterday, you made it an effort not to show up in dresses or skirts anymore. call it ptsd, call it trauma, call it not wanting to get into trouble.

whatever it was, you didn't want eric anywhere near you.

well, despite how good he mad-

"can you stop eye-fucking him from across the room?" yujeong harshly whispers at you, glaring at you from the corner of her eyes.

"what?" throwing your tied-up hair to your other shoulder, you tilt your face to her.

"what do you mean 'what'?" yujeong hisses, nodding to the boy across the room. "y'all are fucking in your heads!"

"yes, broadcast it to the entire class, would you, please?" the sarcasm drips off your tongue with a frown.

"I'm just saying if you want him so bad then just go get a room. fucks' sake, go find a practice room or something."

"i think I'll go with 'or something'."

and in that second, your iPad lights up with a notification from the school email account.

yujeong parts her lips with a retort, but you quickly shush her by pressing a finger to your lips when the professor seemed to glance over at the two of you.

she inhales a deep breath, spotting the notification pop up on her laptop screen too.

to: all students

from: the college union

title: dance union winter getaway

dear students,

every year, more than 200 students apply for the dance union but only 20 are accepted. thus, it is of high regard that the members of the dance union utilise the annual winter getaway to bond.

this year's event will be held at lake white. all students in the dance union with leadership positions are expected to be present and those with valid reasons of absence are required to fill up the form attached to this email.

if you're interested in joining the dance union, please apply in the first week of the new academic year. applications open first week of the semester.

regards,

the student union

staring wide-eyed at the email with your apple pencil trembling in your fingers, you gulp.

fuck.

yujeong's lowly snicker sounds from next to you, and you look to her, only to watch a bright smile stretch across her face.

"what?" she snorts, tears in her eyes. "don't look at me. look at your captain."

your neck snaps to the boy across the room, who's got his phone lifted with the screen displaying the email page. he waves it around a little, raising a brow with a menacing shimmer flashing across his eyes.

your blood begins to boil without reason.

why were you suddenly stuck to him? it's like the planets and stars aligned just so he glue himself to you; so he could ruin your title and rip you apart, inch by inch.

your fists clench around the apple pencil, and you're only snapped out of your inner rage when the professor calls on you.

yujeong leans into the lockers with her books against her chest, mindlessly scrolling through her phone as you go on incessantly about the student union's decision to make it mandatory.

you swing the locker door so hard that it bounces off its limit and nearly comes back down onto your hands, but you stop it before it does.

"how does the fucking winter getaway improve our bonds?" you hurl a textbook into the locker. "it's not like we're gonna sit in a circle and sing hallelujah, right?"

"you went for that getaway last year-"

"yeah, and we did nothing besides getting shitfaced! fuck this stupid winter getaway."

"sis, say that any louder and your 'innocent heartbreaker' image is gonna change into something more like 'brutal heartbreaker'."

"don't fucking call me that," you hurl another book into your locker. "and why does everybody talk like that nowadays? 'say that any louder'? where was that from? a movie? a tiktok?"

"why are you so on edge?" yujeong pushes herself off the metal doors and frowns. "you've been on edge ever since wooseok's party."

"i am always on edge."

"what?" yujeong pulls her lips up into a slight wince as her eyes half into squints. "bullshit. what happened to your little 'innocent heartbr-"

"don't," you lift a finger, shutting your eyes and stopping her. "say another word."

yujeong raises both her brows, smirk plastered to her face as she readjusts her bag. "don't worry."

you look up at her, placing the last item in your locker.

"i don't have to."

"what?"

"so," then that godforsaken voice rings from behind you, and all your physical senses start to shut down one by one.

yujeong sees right past it, smirk turning into something less devious as she puffs her cheeks.

"about the winter getaway."

"i'll leave the two of you at it."

"what? no-"

"bye!"

"yujeong-"

she turns and strides off, short hair lathered around her neck. she waves with a bright grin, leaving you to back face the vicious heartbreaker.

you remain rooted to the ground, locker door wide open and bag slung around your right shoulder. eric waits until yujeong disappears down the hall, leaving a few other students within the vicinity to turn and stare at the two infamous dance captains.

eric walks to your side, reaching out and resting his palm on the outer edge of your locker.

"we're in open space," he smiles, gradually pushing the locker door inwards and closing it for you. then he rests his palm against the metal door, sandwiching you again. "there's not much i can do to you."

a few students turn to stare.

"unless you want me to."

"stop it."

"stop what?" he smirks and buckles his arms, forcing you to lay your back flat against the metal surface. "I'm not doing anything."

"then what are you doing now?" you frown and look up at him, knuckles whitening around your bag straps.

"having a conversation."

someone fishes a phone out, and the flashlight flickers.

eric whirls around, keeping his arm anchored to the locker.

"stand down, kid."

"sorry," he fumbles with the phone, and now you'll never know if he actually took a picture.

"anyway-"

"look, i don't know what kind of game you're playing but this isn't healthy for us if we are supposed to work together. especially with the winter getaway coming up."

eric licks his lips and lowers his head, smiling at the sudden cast of professionalism.

"it flatters me that you don't care too much about having fucked outside of wooseok's garage-"

"eric-"

"nor getting fucked out in the practice room-"

"eric-"

"or even the fact that you tied up your hair today-"

"i tie up my hair whenever i fucking want to."

"ooh," eric winces at the snap, his pearly whites glimmering under the lighting. "the 'innocent heartbreaker' is angry!"

"will you shut the fuck up?"

"aw," he coos, leaning into you and breathing down your philtrum. "make me."

your fists finally clench, jaws locked and temples tightened.

"I'll rip off your dick if you touch me again. now, back off."

you press your palms flat into his chest and shove him away, breaking him into light chuckles as he stumbles back.

you pull your bag back onto your shoulder, turning sharply and stomping off.

"hey! we still need to meet up to discuss the plans for lake white!"

the scent of half-painted canvases with acrylic paint washes through your nose when you enter your room.

it's definitely bigger than what a normal room should look like, but it's not your fault that both your parents work under Lee Enterprises, the country's telemarketing company.

the studio corner of your room is in a mess, and you're just halfway done painting the edges of your mirror.

which for specific reasons, you can't really look at it anymore.

the peculiar object you chose to decorate the glass surface hang idly on the corner of the frame, reflecting the afternoon sun spilling into the room.

eric son: so when do we discuss the plans for lake white?

eric son: i don't like to procrastinate

"'discuss the plans for lake white'," mumbling under your breath, you dump your bag into the corner of your room, huffing and resting your hands on your hips. "he's the damn captain, isn't he? he can do it on his own."

notification: acrylic paint to be delivered today

your phone automatically links up with the bluetooth speaker in the room, and you mindlessly tap on the shuffle button before pulling off your shoes.

eric son: okay so I'm thinking groups of four

you pull off your jacket and let the ends of your ponytail brush across your back where the camisole doesn't cover, cool air rushing across the hairs on your skin.

eric son: we can play truth or dare

the bass rumbles through the flooring as you pull off your jeans, throwing on one of those open-holed shorts that no one was ever going to see you in - not even yujeong.

the doorbell rings, yanking you out of your mental rage session over eric son.

acrylic paint.

picking up a cardigan and tying it around your waist, you jog down the stairs and pull open the door without hesitation.

She's just that type of girl

"what. in the world. are you doing here?"

eric tilts his head to the side, his eyes running the length of your body - all the way down to your feet and back up.

"you weren't replying my texts so i thought-" then he raises both hands from his sides, taking a step back and gesturing to your front porch like he owned it. "what better way to have your presence than to go to you?"

"how do you know where i live?" a frown befalls your brows, and your grip tightens on the door handle.

"it's in the school records for student leaders," he offers you a smug shrug, taking a step back to where he was previously standing.

your lips part in an attempt to challenge his explanation, but then he waves it off with a cheeky snicker. "I'm joking. yujeong told me."

"now, why the fuck would she give you my address?"

"hey, captain to captain! plus she knows i won't hurt you."

a scoff runs off your tongue. "you want me to believe that you won't hurt me?"

eric's tongue darts across his lips as he leans on the door frame. "not in your house. oh, i wouldn't dare, princess."

with a huff, you blink away the eye contact first, taking a step back and tugging on the door. "don't fucking call me that."

but his hand flies out and thuds against the wood, keeping the door open. he slowly steps forward, letting himself in.

"then what should i call you?"

"names exist," you step back and grip onto the empty arms of your cardigan around your waist. he closes the door, pulling the chain to lock it.

"then do you prefer y/n or 'innocent heartbreaker'?"

you squint at him, cocking your face at an angle as you back up again.

the answer settles in your head, but you can't say it out loud.

because he's already debunked it.

She's just that type of girl

"fun playlist," eric nods up the stairs, arm stretching out to you and snaking around your waist.

"don't fucking touch me-"

then his other hand circles you as well, his arms around you as he holds you to him, lowering his face into yours. an arching back tries to keep his face off yours, but any more and your spine would've snapped into two.

his nose presses into your cheek as he slots his lips between yours, and the world goes into a muffled silence for a few seconds.

or maybe that was just your playlist moving on.

your nails dig the inside of your clenched palm, fists against his chest as he pulls you up to deepen the kiss, lips moving with yours in some intricate dance of dominance.

on beat with the distant bass coming from your room.

he lets out the first groan, his hands gradually sliding down your back and groping the flesh of your rear that's poking out from under your shorts.

the harsh grip squeezes a whimper out from you, your entire body cringing forward into him and closing the gap between you. with one palm still holding onto your ass, the other comes back up in between your shoulder blades, keeping your chest plastered to his.

eric turns you around, holding you against the wall that leads up to the stairs. your back is flat against the surface, hair stuck to the felt of the wall with your thigh being pulled up over his pelvis.

We should just calm down and fuck some time

then he pulls away and huffs, lips hung wide open and his eyes completely lost in yours. in a low growl, subtly shakes his head as if to disapprove your disobedience against the song lyrics.

"oh, we fucking should."

eric doesn't bother waiting for a response before dipping his nose into your jaw, lips latching onto the tender skin of your neck.

"you coming here-" a jolt of bliss rushes through you when he finds a tender spot, his arms tightening around your waist to keep you close and against the wall. "-was not an invitation-"

the cologne on his clothes starts to intoxicate you like alcohol does to any normal person, the scent of his hair and his clothes wafting and shuffling all around you.

"but you don't hate me being here, do you, princess?" he mumbles into your skin, nipping at the spot behind your lobe. your eyes flutter shut, fists clenching against his shoulder blades.

"come on," he whispers. "we've done it outside and in a practice room, surely you must feel more comfortable in your own bed?"

your eyes widen upon the suggestion, the thought of that cursed object hanging over the corner of your mirror in the room suddenly pulling your soul back into your body.

"no, we can't."

eric pulls away from you, lips reddened from the nipping. they are apart, and his breathing slows as he studies your face.

the panic in your eyes is far too grave for him to miss.

"why not?"

gulp.

"you don't happen to-"

"it's not a vibrator."

eric raises his brows, caging you between his arms as he corners you further, chest on yours and his lips right above your lashes.

"perhaps a-"

"it's not a dildo either."

he pouts in slight disappointment when he can hear the stark honesty in your voice.

his chest rises and lowers under his shirt, listening to your breathing that hitches in your throat every now and then; observing your discipline to keep your eyes away from him.

"you're not gonna tell me what it is?"

glaring at him through the corner of your eye, you shake your head with a resounding 'no'.

he pauses.

then he leans into your ear.

"you being scared is just making me a little more curious, princess."

"curiosity kills the cat."

eric pulls away and slides his arms off the wall. "cats have 9 lives."

the number of sirens that go off in your head spikes, and before you can process his words, he grabs your arm and pulls you onto his shoulder.

"oh my god!" his arm wraps around your lower back, knees against his chest and the world from your eyes upside down as he hoists you up the stairs. "put me down, jesus christ!"

"the more you yell, the more you're gonna regret it, princess," he warns while chuckling to himself. "what could it be, if it's not a dildo or a vibrator?"

then the warmth of his palm reaches up to your shorts, and his fingers dig under the cloth of your underwear.

"fuck, eric-"

all too easily, he pushes a finger into you, your entire body cringing from the sudden intrusion. your eyes blur out just as he makes it to the second floor, and he doesn't need to ask which door he should be heading to.

not when your door has a framed portrait of yourself from last year's concert.

the door creaks open when he pushes the two of you into your room, greeting the sunlight drawn across the floor and his finger still buried inside you.

you heave a sigh when he pulls his finger out and shoves it into his mouth, leaning over your bed to rest you into the cushion.

automatically, his eyes are on high alert, scanning your room. but by the time you've regained your senses and the blood's returned to the rest of your body from your head, he finds it.

resting on the back of your forearms, your breath turns shakey and your eyes twitching from the sight of it dangling off his fingers.

eric turns to look at the mirror, turning the item in his fingers to match the painting of it on the edges.

"so," he returns to you, raising a cocky brow and smirking. "you get high off painting handcuffs on your mirror?"

you tightly shut your eyes as the frown cements into your forehead.

"fuck."

eric scoffs, tongue dragging across his upper lip as he walks towards you and lifts a knee to your bed, the other following.

"this really makes me question how you even got your reputation," eric jingles it from his fingers, his free hand reaching down to draw circles on your right ankle.

"it's just acrylic paint. i paint something new every month-"

"and so your choice for november was... handcuffs?" he wraps his hot fingers around your ankle and yanks you downwards, your crotch nearly meeting his knees.

"it's not my fault you decided to play this game the month i decided to get something remotely inappropriate."

"'remotely inappropriate'," eric repeats, smiling as he lowers himself. the handcuff still within his right hand, his left draws trails up your right leg, playing with the rim of your shorts where they were already riled up enough to expose a bit of your underwear. "so, tell me princess. why did you choose this-"

he holds it up and jingles it over your nose. "to paint?"

"surely it's not because it's pretty."

"or maybe you think it'll look pretty around your wrists?"

eric reaches for your hands and you struggle upon instinct, he pins your dominant hand down first and clips the first cuff around your wrist.

"eric-"

he finds your free hand and connects both your wrists, clipping the other cuff despite your struggling.

eric sucks a deep breath, then parts his lips to exhale. pushing himself off you, he pulls your shorts off first, eyes trailing across every inch of your body with your wrists cuffed together.

the thoughts wash through you involuntarily.

the wooden planks. the dress. the torn underwear.

the mirror. the fogging. the skirt.

the tears collect in the corners of your eyes even before he can completely get it off your ankles.

then he pulls your legs apart for him to lock them in place with his own thighs, crouching over your body like a lion devouring his prey.

he pushes your arms up and above your head, making it difficult for you to bring them back down with your wrists bound together.

his breath is hot on your chest where he first dips his nose into, tongue swiping across the skin of your heaving ribs. hands coming up your waist and pushing them up your torso, it exposes your ribcage and bra.

inch by inch, he breaths down the length of your torso, from your chest and over to your stomach with your camisole rolled up messily over your bra.

upon reaching the rim of your underwear (and heaving stomach as you pant and huff in a bid to calm your nerves), he stops and looks up at you.

"thank god you rejected wooseok."

then both his hands come down to your chest to rip apart your camisole, pulling it out from under you before he unbuckles your bra.

you swallow the first whimper already on the tip of your tongue, but your stomach plunges and your back arches violently when he takes the tip of your breast between his lips.

left hand coming round to grip your other, his right travels down to play with your sensitivity, forcing your body into subtle jolts with the overwhelming sensation.

he tugs on your tip, grazing it between his teeth before releasing it and latching his lips onto the tender flesh in a bid to make his mark.

your brows finally furrow into a frown of bliss, jaw hung agape though struggling to contain the lewd noises prancing about in the back of your throat.

he rolls the other tip between his index finger and thumb, sucking and kissing the reddening flesh of your chest.

and down below, he's pushed your underwear aside, thumb abusing your sensitivity and buckling your hips upwards.

he provides you one sharp bite on your tip, earning a strained hiss from between your teeth. it feeds his pride, for he removes himself off you completely and stares down at you, admiring the painting he's made on your chest.

hickeys.

grip marks.

and the wet patch on your underwear between your legs.

he turns and shifts off the bed, leaving you to catch your breath and cross your legs over one another.

the clacking about in your studio corner drives the tears into your eyes, listening to the lid of the box where you keep your paint come off.

you shut your eyes, resigning to fate.

for your body is in burning need and the discipline to go against his word has betrayed you.

you hear his belt come undone, the weight of his clothes hitting the carpeted ground before the mattress around your legs sink again.

"oh... princess~" he sings, coaxing you out of your mental begging that this was just a nightmare.

a corner drags across your stomach, and your eyes fly open to see his fingers wrapped around a bottle of acrylic paint, completely oblivious to him pulling your underwear off your legs.

black.

the only color that was still relatively abundant.

then the sight of his nudity drives you up a wall inside your head; better yet, driving your resignation up against your own skull.

the lines of his pelvic bone leading down to his manhood all for your eyes to feast on, and even if you wanted to look away, you couldn't.

fuck.

"listen to me very carefully, princess..." he shakes the bottle, then proceeds to unscrew the cap. "I'm sure you don't want any of these on your bed, right?"

chills run through your body when he tilts the bottle over, squeezing the paint onto his palms.

"so," he blinks back to you, eyes wide and cautious. "my advice?"

and with that, he carefully caps the bottle, effortlessly tossing it over his shoulder and back into the box.

he presses his palms together, spreading the paint across his skin.

"don't move too much."

with a wide grin, he smudges the paint into your thighs and up your stomach, sliding the paint all the way to your breasts where he offers a harsh grip.

he doesn't give you a chance to respond to that before he slides himself into you, your neediness allowing him entrance far too easily.

by now, your body was somewhat conditioned to recognise his size, but the idea of him buried deep inside you and his groaning coating the room makes you a little more feral; a little more insane.

the whimper that runs off your tongue is mercilessly lapped up by him when he leans over to kiss you, tongue shoved into your mouth in a bid to shut you up.

he rolls his hips back and forth, unwilling to stop and definitely unwilling to give you any kind of mercy when it comes to making you lose your grip on reality.

he pulls away and resumes an upright position, abs flexed and his palms still gripping onto your chest like his life depended on it.

but eric seems to be a little on edge himself, for this was his first time seeing all of you under him, instead of your humility covered by a dress or a skirt and worrying about being caught in school.

no.

now, he can feast his eyes on you like the predator he is.

not only does he decide to leave his own marks, but marks that you gave him access to.

his handprints are black on your skin and the entire bed is jerking along with every thrust he's offering you.

you finally let out a strained cry, tears collecting in your eyes with the bliss rushing through you over and over again like a broken record. eric's breath turns shaky, and his grip on you begins to loosen when his thighs start to convulse.

by some miracle, the last thrust hits your climax and he pulls out almost immediately after to coat the paint on your stomach with himself.

cream on black.

eric huffs arrogantly, taking deep breaths to retain his breathing as he releases you, stepping back to take in the sight of you in your own bed, ruined by him.

"you definitely look pretty in cuffs."

[teawaffles]

Albert’s Drinking Contest: Chapter 2

“——This is, the twentieth!”

Announcing the number of glasses he’d drained, Moran set his empty wine glass on the table with a thud.

He was still clear-headed, and able to hold a conversation. But those wild features of his were now flushed, as red as the copious amounts of wine that had entered his stomach.

“Ready to give up now, Albert?”

In his tipsy, trembly vision, Moran beheld his opponent before him.

But far from giving up, Albert was completely sober. There was no discernible change in his complexion; as if he’d started drinking right there and then, he tipped back his glass, and downed his wine with ease.

With that, they were now tied at 20 glasses each. Ignoring the man staring at him with twitching eyes, Albert called out to Louis, who was still serving as their waiter.

“No matter how many glasses I drink, this profound flavour never ceases to delight. To have procured such an excellent vintage — your selections are exquisite as always, Louis.”

“Thank you very much. As I recall, this is an import from America.”

“Ah: I’ve heard that the French vineyards are still afflicted with blight. [1] It’s a pity we won’t be able to enjoy their splendid red wines for some time to come; but it’s also our good fortune to have learned about the quality of wines from the New World.” [2]

“…………”

Albert was being much too relaxed, and had even started to digress into areas completely unrelated to the match; hearing that, Moran shot him a look of displeasure.

Incidentally, the challenge had been much too great for Fred: he’d been the first to pass out, flopping onto the table with his glass in hand. Immediately after, they’d covered him with a blanket so he wouldn’t catch a cold, and the man was presently fast asleep.

“Well then, both sides have managed to consume twenty glasses. It seems both of you still have room for more, but…… if I were to speak from an impartial standpoint, you appear to be at a slight disadvantage, Moran.”

Having observed their match, William leisurely shared his views.

Moran knew his analysis was unbiased, and that was precisely why he let out a groan of frustration. His face flushed, he grabbed the bottle of wine, intending to pour his next drink; but when he realised that not a single drop had trickled out, he waved the bottle in the air.

“Sorry, Louis. It’s empty, so could you bring a new one?”

“Understood.”

Louis promptly retrieved a fresh bottle, and with brisk efficiency, filled both their glasses.

“This’ll be, the twenty-first.”

As soon as his glass was full, without any intention of savouring the wine, Moran chugged it all in one breath.

But the next moment, he was swamped by an intense wave of vertigo: somehow, it seemed he was much nearer his limit than he’d thought.

In contrast, Albert merely tilted his glass, observing the colours and clarity of the freshly-poured wine. Then he swirled it once, bringing it near his nose to savour its aroma, and took a sip to taste.

“Is this a Madeira?” [3]

Standing beside them, Louis revealed the bottle label with a smile.

“Indeed — your wine tasting is accurate as always, nii-sama. Would you like some salted cheese to complement it?”

“I’d prefer to pair such cheeses with a sweet port. [4] Or perhaps we could have a chicken with that, like Sir John Falstaff.” [5]

“In exchange for one’s soul, indeed.” [6]

Watching the two brothers quote Shakespeare as they chatted, Moran was incredulous.

“……Y’know, this is a drinking match on which I’ve staked my dignity as a man — not some wine-guessing quiz at a party,” he protested.

However, in a long-suffering gesture, Albert merely shrugged.

“Although this is an earnest match, Colonel, it’ll become a dreary affair if you leave no room for entertainment. Moreover, this wine was used to toast the American Declaration of Independence, making it perfect for tonight’s celebration.” [7]

At that bit of trivia from Albert, Moran looked positively fed up.

“Oooh, if you have so much time to share your vast knowledge, then why don’t you hurry up and drink already?”

But far from being put out, an elegant smile rose to Albert’s lips.

“Oh dear; you’re in an awful rush, Colonel. Could it be a sign that you’re nearing your limit?”

“Wha……! N-No way. I can still continue.”

Albert had hit right where it hurt, and Moran uttered a groan that was rather different from before. It seemed his opponent had observed his giddy spell from earlier.

Although the match was far from over, Moran was now consumed by a crushing sense of defeat. Seeing that, Albert made a show of draining his glass at a leisurely pace.

Even after downing a substantial amount of wine, the eldest son of the Moriarty family was unruffled, and Moran shot him a complaint.

“You’re not actually drinking some deep red tea instead of wine, are ya?”

Perhaps it was because the liquor had addled his brain, for Moran put forth a suspicion that he wouldn’t normally have entertained.

To that, both William and Louis burst into laughter.

“That’s a very unique deduction, Moran,” said William, as he struggled to rein in his mirth. “But even I can’t devise a magic trick like that.”

Louis was also trying very hard to suppress his amusement. “I filled both your glasses from the same bottle: how could it be that alcohol came out one time, and tea the next? It’s so unlike you to even consider such a ridiculous idea, Mr Moran. Wouldn’t you agree that it’s time to cut back on the liquor?”

“S-Shut it. I was just saying. And I’m not giving up now.”

Their teasing had completely soured his mood. Glancing to the side, he saw Fred, who was sound asleep.

“Somehow, I think he might’ve just laughed at that too……”

Moran gazed at the man he thought of as a younger brother, dead to the world with a peaceful look on his face. Then he fixed his blanket, which had slipped a little out of place.

When his two brothers had finally managed to regain their composure, Albert spoke up.

“In fact, Colonel: it would better protect your good name if we were to pretend that outlandish trick was true. Or perhaps we could give you a handicap, and allow you to alternate between wine and tea.”

“You don’t say. Then I’ll have two drinks the next round.”

“Oh, that’s a good idea, coming from you. If you’re the one to set up the cause of your own defeat, then it’ll make a convincing excuse to others, I see.”

“Urgh……”

No matter what he said, Albert had a ready riposte. As such, Moran swallowed his frustration, and returned his focus to the match.

“Anyway: Louis, keep it comin’, please.”

Seeing Moran try his utmost to put on a brave front, Louis was even beginning to find that a little cute; muttering his acknowledgement, he proceeded to fill Moran’s glass once more. Then, with great force, the man poured its entire contents down his throat.

“…………”

The alcohol burned like fire as it flowed into his stomach — all of a sudden, Moran came to his senses. Placing his glass on the table, he pondered.

His vexation at the Moriarty brothers’ teasing. His alcohol-induced befuddlement. And above all, Albert’s ability to hold his liquor, which had far outstripped his expectations.

His irritation at those three things had wound up completely flustering him. But once Moran calmed down and took stock of his situation, he realised William was right: he was clearly on the back foot.

Until now, he’d been unconsciously averting his eyes from his predicament by being oddly stubborn. But this pickle wouldn’t resolve itself if he just kept running away. If he continued to drink without a scheme in mind, then in his mind’s eye, he could see the outcome plain as day: he’d be out like a light in no time.

However, if he lost, then he’d have to listen to anything the victor said. Moran had originally set that rule as a way to spur himself on, thinking that there’d be no way he would lose. But now, it had lost virtually all effect in rousing his will to fight — all that remained, was the dread of what Albert would make him do upon his defeat.

He absolutely had to win. But the way things were going, it was all but certain that he’d lose.

In that case, the only option left would be——.

Within him, that conflict crystallised into a single decision.

“William,” he said. “Won’t you join in the match? Or rather: please, join.”

“Me? But why?”

Up to this point, William had been serving as an impartial judge, and he asked that with curiosity. But Moran did not answer; instead, his expression twisted into a bitter one as he continued.

“That’s not all. On top of you joining in…… If you’re agreeable, Albert, let’s ignore the count thus far and start afresh……. This is, truly a personal…… request from me.”

That faltering reply was very much unlike him, and William broke into a meaningful smile.

Moran’s decision — was to request that they increase the number of participants, and restart the game.

Despite his frustrations, Moran was well aware that he wouldn’t be able to beat Albert alone. Hence, he thought he’d bring in more opponents to counter him: even if it was just one more person.

The other part of his plan was to reset the match. If Albert agreed to that, then compared to the two existing players, someone joining in halfway would naturally have the advantage. But from Moran’s point of view, even if he was defeated, it would still be better than having Albert directly exercise his “winner’s privilege” on him — such were his complicated emotions. It was an absurd request, to be sure; but at least he hadn’t proposed having Albert compete against the combined total of both his and the other participant’s tally: perhaps that was a reflection of whatever faint scraps of self-respect Moran still had within him.

Perceiving Moran’s complex tangle of emotions, William placed a hand under his chin and pondered.

It’d also be fun to take on his suggestion. Although he did have his role as the judge, it wasn’t as if the match had any strict rules to begin with — they could easily do without one.

However, if he were to join in, and the match were to be restarted, then both Moran and Albert would be at a disadvantage. When it came to wine, he knew his elder brother’s stomach for it was bottomless; but still, it was clearly unfair to have a new and virtually-sober participant waltz into an honest drinking match. And yet, then again, he didn’t want to dismiss Moran’s “request” out of hand.

In this situation, the best option would be——.

But the instant William made his decision, and tried to voice his answer, Louis quietly raised a hand.

“Hold on a minute. Could it be that you were thinking of taking up his suggestion, nii-san?”

“……Yes, I was just about to say that. Seeing as Albert nii-san doesn’t appear to have any issue with that.”

William looked at his older brother, seated across from Moran. Then, Albert flashed them both a slight smile. Although it would mean that he would gain a new opponent, and the contest would start again from the top, it seemed he didn’t mind one bit.

Registering Albert’s generosity, Louis pointed at himself.

“In that case, may I participate?”

“……You, Louis?” Moran asked.

Louis proceeded to explain himself briefly. “I cannot countenance the possibility — however slight — that after joining the match, my brother will end up drinking too much and impacting his health. Hence, I believe that issue will be negated if I were to join the match in his stead.”

“But in that case, I would end up worrying for your health, Louis,” said William, furrowing his brows slightly.

At his brother’s kindness, Louis unwittingly cracked a smile.

“It makes me very happy to hear that. But it’s rare to hear Mr Moran make such a serious request, and so I can understand how you’d want to help him out. Of course, as Mr Moran said: this is only if you’re agreeable, Albert nii-sama.”

“Alright. Having heard that much, I shan’t object,” replied William. “What about you, nii-san?”

His elegant smile unfaltering as ever, the eldest son of the Moriarty family nodded.

“I don’t mind. If you’re certain, Louis, then I shall respect your decision.” Then, Albert’s expression turned solemn. “However, as you mentioned yourself, you absolutely must not reach the point of destroying your own health. Even though the colonel can’t help it, Louis, my condition is that you cannot drink recklessly. Is that alright?”

“Understood, nii-sama. ——Well then, it’s settled.”

Nodding in assent, Louis quietly took a seat beside Moran. Absorbing how his ridiculous request had been granted, more than gratitude, Moran’s expression was one of astonishment.

“Is this really alright, Louis? I know I was the one who asked, but Albert’s no pushover. If we lose, then you’ll have to suffer the forfeit too……”

However, Louis smiled wryly as he replied.

“I already knew that when I asked to join, didn’t I? To be honest, I don’t want to stand opposed to either you or Albert nii-sama. But now that I’ve made my decision, I have no intention of going down without a fight.”

“……Louis.”

That resolve had shaken Moran, so much so that he began to tremble. Watching him out the corner of his eye, Louis filled both their glasses; then Albert too filled his glass by himself, and raised it toward the two of them.

“Well then, once again, let’s give it our all.”

“I won’t be holding back either, you two.”

“Oh, both of you will be sorry real soon.”

Having gained a dependable ally, Moran’s enthusiasm was now back in full force.

Looking at the three of them, William spoke.

“So with Louis’s entry, the contest shall start again from scratch. But for both Moran and Albert nii-san, the next glass will be your twenty-third: please take care not to injure your health.”

With that word of caution from William, the drinking contest had resumed.

Footnotes:

[1] French vineyards had been devastated by aphids in the mid-19th century, and then fungal diseases after that. (Wikipedia)

[2] The “New World” refers to the Americas, in contrast to the Old World, or Eastern Hemisphere of the Earth. (Wikipedia)

[3] Madeira is a fortified wine made on the Madeira Islands, off the African coast. (Wikipedia)

[4] Port is a fortified wine produced in the Douro Valley in Portugal. (Wikipedia)

[5] Sir John Falstaff is a character featured in several of Shakespeare’s plays. (Wikipedia) He is renowned as a drunkard and glutton, whose favourite food is capons — roosters reared specially for their meat. (BBC article)

[6] A reference to Faust, who traded his soul with the Devil in exchange for worldly pleasures. (Wikipedia)

Aside: As far as I can tell, this line doesn’t actually appear in Shakespeare’s works. But in the legend of Faust, Faust makes his pact with the Devil via the demon Mephistopheles — who is mentioned in Shakespeare’s play The Merry Wives of Windsor (Wikipedia), which stars Sir John Falstaff as its main character.

[7] This is apparently true: Wikipedia

[jungshookz]

kiss me at midnight; myg

➺ pairing; min yoongi x reader

➺ genre; ceo!y/n x secretary!yoongiverse!! sfw!! fluff!! the title says it all!! this is the moment we’ve all been waiting for!! 

➺ wordcount; 8.1k

➺ summary; y/n finally musters up enough courage to tell yoongi about her i-know-i’m-your-boss-but-i-have-non-boss-feelings-for-you feelings. 

➺ what to expect; “careful, secretary min… i might have to give you a raise if you keep sweet-talking me like that.”

                                      »»————-　♡　————-««

“let’s see… the decorators are coming at 2, the caterers are coming at 6:30, the DJ is coming at 7…” yoongi reads out loud as he goes down his checklist, “the bartender sent over the special drinks menu which i emailed to you this morning, and- ah, right, the caterers mentioned that they were able to switch the mini hot dogs to sliders instead-”

“oh, that’s great! mini hot dogs just don’t carry the same level of class as teeny little hamburgers…” you narrow your eyes slightly as you clasp your hands in front of your face, tapping your fingers against each other, “what about the chocolate lava cakes?”

“mhm, don’t worry, those are on the menu as well, as per your request,” yoongi pauses, “ah- the people bringing the photo-booths are coming to set them up at 5 - we’ve already cleared out the space for them, so that should be good to go… also, are we putting a limit on photos?”

“a limit?”

“yes, a limit,” yoongi looks up at you and shrugs, “there’s only so much film and it wouldn’t be fair for one person to take ten photos and for another person to not have any at all.”

you immediately scoff before dismissing yoongi with a flick of your wrist, “silly yoongi, you can’t put a limit on fun. just tell them we’re willing to pay for extra film and for one of their workers to hang out at the party and wait until the booths need refilling.”

“there.. is no limit… on fun…” yoongi mutters to himself as he continues to scribble notes down in his notebook, “and… that’s it!” he clicks his pen before tucking it back into his shirt pocket, “pretty much everything has been taken care of. if all goes well, this’ll be a fantastic new year’s eve party.”

“yay!” you throw your hands up into the air before leaning back against your chair with a giggle, “this is so exciting. i love throwing parties!”

“and i love planning parties...” yoongi hums absentmindedly, looking back down at his list, “so i guess we make a pretty good team...”

“teamwork makes the dream work, right?”

“mm.” 

a couple seconds of silence ticks by as you scour through your brain for a new topic of discussion

you could... talk about the weather? 

or maybe ask him what he did over the weekend?

ask him about what he did on christmas day?? 

“so…” you clear your throat, smoothing your skirt down before folding your arms on your desk and leaning forward slightly, “you bringin’ any... hot dates to the party tonight?” 

wow

that was... not an ideal topic of discussion 

also, way to sound like a creep! 

“me?” yoongi glances up at you and tilts his head slightly, “well, i’ll be with you.” he pauses, dark brows knitting together, “did you… want me to bring a date?” he shifts in his seat, “i’m sure i can arrange for someone to accompany me if that’s what you want.”

“no!” your eyes widen and you shake your head quickly, “i mean- no, i was just- you know, i just- usually you have a plus-one that you bring to parties and, like, i’m sure that you probably had other new year’s plans that didn’t involve being at the party your boss is throwing- i’m just saying that perhaps, if you were planning on actually bringing someone, i just wouldn’t want to be a cock-block-” 

you’re cut off (thankfully) when yoongi’s phone suddenly starts to buzz on your desk

he extends his arm and catches it right as it’s about to fall off (which, admittedly, shouldn’t have been as hot as it was, but yoongi could be sitting there doing nothing and you’d still find it attractive) 

he holds a finger up pardon himself and you nod before leaning back a little

“hello? …oh, perfect. yes, i can come and pick them up now…” yoongi trails off, sandwiching his phone in between his ear and his shoulder before pushing his sleeve up a little to check the time on his watch, “i can be there in… roughly half an hour? yes. alright. perfect. see you soon.”

he hangs up with a beep before looking back over at you, “sorry about that! your dress and heels are ready for pick-up. what were you saying before my phone went off?”

“hm?” you clear your throat, “oh! uh… nothing. i was just- you know, small talk. but you can go now if you want to- i mean, obviously you need to go and pick up my outfit for tonight so i’ll just let you go-”

“alright, perfect-” yoongi nods and gets up from his seat, “i shouldn’t take too long but if anything comes up, just call me-” 

“yep! you got it, homie-” you shoot finger guns at yoongi before quickly forcing your arms down and shoving both your hands in between your knees so that they won’t do anything like that again 

your face flushes bright red as soon as the door shuts behind yoongi and a quiet groan slips past your lips before you smack your forehead down on your desk 

jesus

that... was rough, to say the least! 

sure, you fumble over your words whenever you talk to yoongi on a regular basis, but it’s never usually this bad... 

what’s gotten into you today?!

maybe it’s just the pre-party jitters! 

“get it together, y/l/n.” you mutter to yourself, patting your cheeks lightly before pulling your laptop towards you and opening it up 

if there’s anyone who can get you get your shit together, it’s hoseok

Y/N Y/L/N (10:12AM): help me

you perk up when hoseok responds almost immediately, your laptop letting out a little ping! from his message

you have half a mind to scold him for not doing work and being on the company’s messaging system but you dO need to talk to him right now so 

Jung Hoseok (10:12AM): What did you do this time

Y/N Y/L/N (10:12AM): nothing!! idk what’s wrong with my mouth today i’ve never called anyone homie in my entire life 

Jung Hoseok (10:13AM): ?

Y/N Y/L/N (10:13AM): you had to be here to understand :-//

Jung Hoseok (10:13AM): Okay well

Jung Hoseok (10:13AM): I don’t know what I’m supposed to say now

Y/N Y/L/N (10:13AM): can you just come to my office because it’s too much to type out

Y/N Y/L/N (10:13AM): and bring me an iced coffee from the vending machine while you’re at it because yoongi left to pick my dress up

Jung Hoseok (10:14AM): Let me get this straight

Jung Hoseok (10:14AM): You want me to stop working and you want me to go to your office so we can gossip about Yoongi

Y/N Y/L/N (10:14AM): gossip sounds bad

Y/N Y/L/N (10:14AM): ‘discuss’ sounds more professional

Jung Hoseok (10:14AM): …

Jung Hoseok (10:15AM): See you in ten minutes lmao

                                     »»————-　♡　————-««

“you asked him if he was planning on bringing a date to the party?!” hoseok laughs, leaning back against the chair before folding his arms over his chest and shaking his head, “wow. what, are you going to help him plan his wedding too?”

“don’t say that!” you groan, rubbing your fingers against your temples in tight circles, “i was just trying to start a conversation… i don’t know...”

“start a conversation? about what? about encouraging yoongi to be with someone who isn’t you?” 

“keep up the attitude and i’ll reduce your lunch break from one hour and fifteen minutes to one hour and fourteen minutes.” you raise a brow in warning, hoseok gawking before wagging a finger at you 

“i’ll report you to HR for abuse of power!” he jokes, his smile faltering when he notices that you still have that mopey, kicked-in-the-gut look on your face, “okay, think about it this way: this party couldn’t have come at a better time, you know? because now you know exactly what you have to do!” 

“huh? oh, right.” you nod slowly, “yeah, of course i know what i have to do at tonight’s party.” you snort, pulling away from your desk and sitting up straight, “but... you know, just to make sure that you know what it is that i have to do, would you mind telling me what exactly we’re saying i have to do?”

“y/n. come on.” hoseok presses his lips together before leaning forward, “what do people usually do at new year’s eve parties?” he asks gently, in that infuriatingly condescending tone that people usually use when they’re talking to children

“people share their new year’s resolutions with each other?” you hum, thinking back to the new year’s eve party you were at last year where you ended up talking to a very friendly bartender about all the plans you had in mind for the new year 

hm

you can’t help but wonder how he’s doing 

“well, yeah, but not quite what i had in mind-” hoseok shakes his head, “what else do they do?”

“they... sing karaoke really loudly?” you frown before letting out a gasp, “oh no! i didn’t think of that! do you think it’s too late to rent a karaoke machi-”   

“wow, i really have to spoon-feed this to you-” hoseok slaps his hands against his thighs before letting out a huff, “a new year’s kiss, y/n. does that ring any bells?”

“oh, right! i forgot about that part,” you chuckle lightly, tilting your head back against the top of your chair to look up at the ceiling, “but what does that have to do with-” you pause, head snapping back down to look at hoseok with wide eyes, “oh, you’re saying that i should- with yoongi- hoseok, i can barely look at yoongi for five seconds without breaking eye contact-” 

“why not?! its new years! you have to have someone to smooch when it’s midnight. even i have someone to kiss!”

“wait, who are you kiss-” 

“and you know what the best part is?” hoseok grins, “you have an excuse to get super drunk tonight! and a drunk y/n is a slightly more confident y/n-”

“oh, i can’t- i can’t ask him, no.” you chuckle nervously, your hands suddenly feeling a little clammy at the thought of asking yoongi to kiss you, “because then he’s going to feel like he has to kiss me because i’m his boss, and the next thing you know, i’m being called up to HR-” 

“you’re overthinking this again, y/n,” hoseok sighs, “don’t forget the fact that i caught him checking you out at the halloween party. you have to admit that he’s slightly interested in you.”

“that’s different!” you argue, your brows furrowing, “i was dressed as a sexy friggin’ bunny, for god’s sake!”

“and tonight, you’ll be dressed as a sexy friggin’ boss! the only difference is that you won’t have a little cotton tail and two bunny ears-”

“i don’t know…”

hoseok rolls his eyes at your doubt and resists the urge to get up and slap you across the face to get you to come to your senses

you can’t expect anything to happen between you and yoongi if you’re not willing to do something about it in the first place

he can’t even list out how many times you guys have had similar conversations that always end in you chickening out and changing your mind

you were supposed to make a move at the halloween party but you ended up bailing on the plan at the last minute and hoseok had to listen to half an hour of you whining about it over the phone 

he adores you but sometimes he just wants to grab you and yell at you for being such a wimp when it comes to yoongi 

“okay, you know what? forget yoongi. i’ll be your new year’s kiss!” hoseok teases, leaning forward before wiggling his eyebrows enticingly, “maybe if people see me canoodling with the boss i’ll finally get the street cred i deserve-”

“you know, i don’t know if i’ve reached that level of desperation quite yet-”

“i’m a great kisser, so it’s your loss...” hoseok kisses his teeth, raising his hands in defense, “anyways, just try not to overthink it. take a deep breath, relax, and hopefully you won’t point any more lame finger guns at yoo-”

“-ooou’re fired!” you stand up and slam your fist down on the desk the moment yoongi steps into the room, hoseok jolting at the sudden announcement, “you are fired, my good sir! you heard me loud and clear!” 

yoongi’s eyes widen slightly and he presses his lips together before stepping aside and lowering his head  

“what the hell are yo-” hoseok glances over his shoulder and it dawns over him when he spots yoongi standing by the door, “oh! oh. uh, okay. yes... i am... devastated...” he clears his throat as he rises from the chair slowly, “please... give me a second chance? i... won’t do it again?” 

you blink, pulling down your blazer slightly before giving him a curt nod

“...okay, but this is your last chance. next time, you’re really fired.” you clear your throat, sitting back down before gesturing towards the door, “you may leave now, mr. jung.” 

yoongi nods in acknowledgement when hoseok walks past him and he waits a couple of seconds before speaking up 

“sorry. i didn’t realize you were busy because the door wasn’t closed all the way.” he smiles sheepishly, raising the garment bag in his hand, “i just wanted to put your dress in the closet for you.” 

“yes! go ahead.” you smile, gesturing towards the closet before sitting back down in your chair 

“by the way, i passed by that breakfast place on the way to the laundromat-” yoongi pauses, glancing over at you on his way to the closet, “you know, the place that makes those BLT bagels you like so much?” 

“ooh, with the spicy mayo and the avocado?”

“mhm-” yoongi smiles, shutting the closet door gently and turning to face you, “they do chocolate chip waffles now and i thought maybe that’d be something you’d be interested in for future breakfasts.” 

“oh, no way!” your eyes widen in excitement, “i’m very interested in chocolate chip waffles for future breakfasts!”

“that’s what i thought.” he chuckles, making his way back towards the doors, “anyway- i’ll be out there if you need me, boss.” 

“mhm!” 

you immediately get up from your chair as soon as yoongi leaves the room 

you told yourself that you were going to wait until tonight but you’ve been thinking about your dress all week and you wanna see it now!! 

“dress, dress, dress-” you murmur to yourself like a maniac, your heels clicking against the floor as you jog over to the closet 

you push down a squeal of excitement after unzipping the garment bag and getting a good look at your outfit for tonight

you spent hours searching for the perfect dress and it was totally worth it now that you’re looking at it  

it’s a navy blue midi-length dress that sort of cinches in at the waist but the skirt itself is relaxed so you don’t need to worry about your legs being constricted 

there’s also a high slit in the skirt which is exciting (you had to shave your legs yesterday which wasn’t as exciting) 

and it’s a long sleeve dress but the sleeves and sheer and billowy but cap around your wrists 

it’s classy but also a little sexy but not like your halloween playboy costume level of sexy

you’re still not sure what possessed you to dress up as a playboy bunny but even you have to admit that that little black dress looked great on you 

you zip the bag back up before pushing it aside to sneak a peek at the suit that yoongi will be wearing to the party 

he asked if he could keep his suit in your closet and obviously you said yes because it’s yoongi 

your eyes light up when you notice something peculiar about his outfit 

it’s navy blue as well!! 

the corners of your mouth lift in a wide grin, your heart skipping a beat at the thought of you and yoongi (unintentionally, but still) wearing matching colours tonight 

heh 

                                    »»————-　♡　————-««

“c’mon, stupid thing...” yoongi frowns to himself as he struggles to tie his tie

he’s been at it for the last ten minutes and it seems like his gummy worm fingers aren’t going to be useful anytime soon 

and it probably doesn’t help that he’s using his phone camera as a mirror instead of going to the bathroom to use the actual mirror

he doesn’t know if it showed this morning but he’s been a nervous wreck all day! 

he practically zipped out of your office as soon as he had the chance to and he just hopes that you’re not suspecting anything 

it’s just that as each day goes by, he gets more and more conflicted over what to do about his feelings for you 

this wasn’t supposed to happen!

when he first realized that you liked him, he was flattered and admittedly it was a nice stroke to his ego knowing that his boss was interested in him, but he didn’t know it’d turn into this 

he didn’t know he’d end up liking you back 

this is a disaster! 

he’s not supposed to like you back!

he already tried forcing himself to stop liking you but if anything it’s made things worse

he thought your schoolgirl crush was sweet at first and then one day he found your poor excuse of asking him to stay after hours to help you re-organize your pens was cute and ever since then it’s gone downhill 

like the other day when he was eating lunch with you - you took the paper sleeve that holds the chopsticks and you folded it into a makeshift chopstick rest and gave it to him to use and,,. he’d have to be crazy to not find that wildly endearing

yoongi lets out a huff and leans back against his chair as he looks at himself on his phone screen 

“good going, moron.” he grumbles to himself before lifting his hand and flipping himself off, “you and your feelings.”

of course, it’s not technically a... bad thing that he likes you back, right? 

...but what’s everyone going to think?

he knows that he’s on the list of people getting the christmas bonus (because he helped you type it out) but what if people think he just slept his way to the money?? 

oh, god

that’s not who he is!

this is too much to think about right now 

he just had this suit pressed and he’s not about to ruin it by nervously sweating in it 

he’s just going to enjoy this party with you and then deal with his feelings later!  

future yoongi can handle it

present yoongi is just going to enjoy the ride B-) 

“whatcha up to?” 

“-!” yoongi jumps and scrambles up from his seat when he hears your voice all of a sudden, “y/n! sorry, i didn’t hear you come out of... your... office...” he trails off, voice softening slightly as he takes in how beautiful you look in your dress 

obviously he already knew what you were going to wear because he was the one who picked up your outfit from the dry cleaner’s but... it’s a different experience actually seeing you in it 

beautiful 

there’s really no other way to describe it

you look... beautiful. 

“i don’t know why on earth you’re wearing a tie to a party.” you snort, eyes flicking down to the tie hanging loosely around his neck, “this isn’t a business meeting, yoongi.” (you decided it’d be best to take hoseok’s advice. no overthinking - just relaxing! and it seems to be going well...) 

“oh.” yoongi snaps himself out of his daze before shaking his head, “i… i don’t know why, either. i guess i’m just used to wearing a tie.”

“well, i say ditch it - you know, let loose a little! it’s new year’s eve, after all.” 

before yoongi even knows it, you’re stepping towards him and sliding the tie from his neck in one swift movement before tossing it onto his desk

ᵒ ᵍᵒᵈ

you even smell pretty 

he freezes when you reach up to undo a couple of buttons on his shirt, his hands gripping the edge of his desk so tightly that his knuckles are stark white 

“there we go!” you smile, fixing yoongi’s collar before nodding to yourself, “much better. also, do you think you can help me with my heels? i put them on already but the little buckles are flimsy and i can’t do them because of my nails.” you raise both your hands before wiggling your fingers 

“mhm, of course.” yoongi steps aside and gestures towards his chair, “take a seat and i’ll take care of them for you.”

yoongi’s chair squeaks slightly as you sit down on it and you make a mental note to get him a new one 

...maybe you should get everyone in the office new chairs to make your crush on yoongi less obvious

hm

lots to think about

“so, do you think anyone’s going to have fun tonight?” you ask quietly, leaning back against the chair, “i’m nervous.” 

“i’m sure everyone’s going to have fun, y/n,” yoongi lowers himself onto the ground so that he’s down on one knee before raising your leg so that your foot is pressed against his chest, “they get free food, free alcohol, and there are fun 2021 party hats and stupid 2021 glasses to match. what’s not to love?”

“me. i’m the part they don’t love.” you snort, propping your elbow up on yoongi’s desk before leaning against your fist, “i’m gonna take one step onto the rooftop and immediately ruin the party somehow. i bet the dj will stop playing music and his records will make that awkward scratchy sound.”

“don’t be so harsh on yourself…” yoongi scolds, tucking the thin strap into the buckle and giving it a little tug to make sure it’s nice and secure before lowering your foot gently, “besides, if anyone looks at you weirdly, i can just call security and have them escorted out of the party.” he tuts, smiling up at you as he lifts your other foot 

“ooh. careful, secretary min… i might have to give you a raise if you keep sweet-talking me like that.” you joke, pushing the ball of your foot gently against yoongi’s chest teasingly

“oh, yeah? i wouldn’t be opposed to that, boss…” the corner of yoongi’s mouth twitches in a side smirk as he slips the other strap into place, “alright, there we go! heels are nice and secure.”

he gets up from the ground, dusting his knee off before extending his hand to help you get up from his chair, “ready?” 

“as ready as i’ll ever be...” you reach for his hand only to pause, your nose scrunching slightly as you pull away, “i don’t know. let’s think this through. do we have to go to the party?”

“well, you are the host.” yoongi points out, “and i planned the whole thing! do you know how hard it was to arrange for a karaoke machine on new year’s eve?” he frowns playfully, “you can’t bail on me like this.” 

“i guess...” 

“listen- whenever you want to leave, just let me know and i’ll grab the entire plate of sliders, a crisp bottle of champagne, and then we’ll head back down here to eat, drink, and watch the fireworks from your office window.” yoongi tilts his head, his hand still out for you to take, “deal?” 

“...throw in the chocolate lava cakes as well and we have a deal.” 

                                   »»————-　♡　————-««

“wow! you really outdid yourself, yoongi.” you nod in approval as you look around, “look at this place!” 

you never even knew the rooftop had the ability to look like some trendy upscale bar that sells cocktails for $30 each 

“hey, if this secretary thing doesn’t work out, maybe i could become a party planner.” yoongi jokes, lifting his glass up with a smile

“you know, i really think you could.” you clink your glass against his before taking a sip of the bubbly champagne, “by the way, you don’t have to hang out with me all night. you’re allowed to go and mingle with your coworkers.” 

“i know.” yoongi hums before his nose scrunches slightly, “but every time i talk to them, they’re always gossiping about something and i think gossiping is unproductive.” 

“wha-” you gawk, your lashes fluttering, “you’re telling me that you’ve had access to juicy office gossip this whole time and not once have i ever heard any of it??”

“i mean...” 

“you have to tell me something. i’ll take anything!” 

you grin excitedly when yoongi gestures for you to come in closer 

“jungkook and tzuyu had sex on the photocopier by the supplies room.” he blurts out quickly, clearing his throat before taking a sip of his own champagne, “but you didn’t hear it from me!”

“they- what?!” you gasp in shock, jaw practically dropping to the floor, “they did?? during work??”

“no, it was after work!” yoongi shakes his head, “i think you had a meeting across town that night which is why we weren’t here... otherwise we... probably would’ve heard it but- it’s on the CCTV security cameras and everything. of course, since the photocopier is kind of out of frame, you can only see their lower halves-”

“well, then how do you know it was jungkook and tzuyu??” 

“their shoes! and jungkook’s socks. he’s the only one who wears bright purple rubber-duckie socks to work.” 

the two of you turn to look at jungkook across the rooftop and you blink before looking back over at yoongi with a pout 

“that’s my favourite photocopier.” you mutter, “i hope they didn’t get any... fluids inside of it-”

“gross! why would it be inside of the machine?!”

“i don’t know! people go crazy during sex sometimes!” you raise your hands in defense before clearing your throat quietly, “okay, but seriously, i feel like having vigorous sex on a piece of office equipment is definitely violating something so i might have to bring them in for a little chat-”

“ooh, can i be there when you scold them?” 

“absolutely-”  

“miss y/n?” you jump in surprise when someone taps your shoulder gently from behind

you glance over your shoulder to see joy before smiling politely, turning around fully to face her, “joy! what’s up?”

“i’d like to talk to you about something, if that’s alright - do you have a moment?” 

“oh! um, of course-” you pause, turning to hand yoongi your glass, “let’s head over there for some privacy. what’s on your mind?” 

“it’s just... you know, regarding past comments i may or may not have made about you-” she chuckles uneasily, “seeing as you still have to figure out who’s getting christmas bonuses this year, i thought that-” 

yoongi bites back a grin when you turn back to look at him with pleading eyes and he shrugs helplessly before raising his own glass at you and downing the rest of the champagne 

                                  »»————-　♡　————-««

yoongi’s never been a huge fan of parties mainly because he’d much rather enjoy a bottle of champagne and full-sized burgers in the comfort of his own home 

he really only started going to parties once you became CEO of the company and he wasn’t left with a choice because he was worried that you’d fire him if he didn’t attend any of these festive celebrations 

he likes to think that you’ve opened him up to new experiences, helping him become a better human being overall 

:-) 

“hey!” yoongi chokes on his tiny burger patty when someone gives his back a hearty slap, “i’ve been looking for you everywhere! i have a bone to pick with you, min yoongi.”

yoongi’s brows furrow in confusion when it’s hoseok that plops down on the bar stool next to him 

“what-” yoongi swallows his bite before giving his chest a couple of pats to help get the masticated chunks of meat down smoother, “what did i do??” 

hoseok opens his mouth to say something before pausing, eyes flickering to the side as he reconsiders what he’s about to say 

he’s a little tipsy thanks to the open bar so he didn’t really think this decision through but he’s here now so it’s a little late to back out 

you explicitly asked him not to meddle but he feels like if he doesn’t do anything, then you’ll never do anything and you’ll just go to the grave keeping your feelings for yoongi a secret 

does this count as meddling? 

he just has to find a way to steer the conversation towards the topic of you and yoongi and romance 

this might be meddling, now that he’s thinking about it

...

it’s fine! 

he’ll do it in such a subtle way that yoongi won’t even notice! 

“it’s not something that you’ve done. it’s something that you haven’t done.” hoseok clears his throat, narrowing his eyes at yoongi suspiciously, “do you like y/n? because she likes you.”

(not very subtle, but hoseok never likes to beat around the bush.) 

“woah-” yoongi’s eyes widen in surprise and he lets out a nervous chuckle before looking around, “ha, i- um- where did you get that idea from?” 

“you didn’t deny it.” hoseok grins in success, “so you do?” 

“i...” yoongi pokes his tongue against the inside of his cheek before he lets out a huff and his shoulders droop in defeat, “yeah. yeah, i do. ...but what does that have to do with you?” 

“oh, it has everything to do with me!” hoseok chirps, clapping his hands together excitedly, “i’m here to give you advice!” 

“yeah, okay,” yoongi immediately scoffs and rolls his eyes as he turns back to pick up his drink, “no offense, but i don’t think i should be getting advice from the guy who was almost fired today-”

“oh, please, i wasn’t getting fired when you walked in.” hoseok raises a brow, “we were talking about you before you barged in so y/n obviously panicked and changed the subject to make it look like she wasn’t going all goo-goo-ga-ga over you-” 

“what? you were- y/n was talking about me?” yoongi perks up, his interest in the conversation suddenly reigniting, “really?” 

“she’s always talking about you,” hoseok points out, “don’t get me wrong - i love going to her office to talk about you instead of doing my work, but it’s exhausting! which is part of the reason as to why i’m willing to give you advice to get this show on the road.” 

“i don’t need advice, though.” 

“of course you need advice. if one of you finally made a move, i wouldn’t need to give you advice, but here i am.” hoseok gestures to himself before shrugging, “so... what’s wrong with you?”

yoongi scoffs in offense

that’s a little ruDE

“what’s wrong with me?”

“yeah. why haven’t you made a move yet if you like y/n back?” hoseok emphasizes as a reminder that this crush goes two ways and that yoongi can be blamed for the lack of action just as much as you 

“because... i can’t! it’s not that easy, man.” yoongi shakes his head, “i can’t just ask her out. she’s... like... she’s miss y/n.” 

“yes. and the sky is blue.” hoseok frowns, “i’m sorry, what’s the problem?” 

“she’s the boss!” yoongi snaps, glaring over at hoseok, “she’s our boss!”

“exactly! she’s the boss! if you’re going to date someone in the office, it might as well be the person signing off everyone’s paycheques at the end of each month-” 

“but you can’t- the rules!”

“what rules??”

“there are no rules! that’s why i’m so confused! i’m used to rules! that’s how the world works in my head! what the hell am i supposed to do now? go rogue?! i’ve never gone rogue before!”

“oh, god, who do you think you are? some secret agent? all you’re doing is asking someone out-”

“i can’t date y/n-” 

“give me a legitimate reason as to why you can’t date y/n.”

“i’ll be penalized!” 

“who’s going to penalize you?!”

“the boss of our boss!” 

“please!” hoseok groans loudly, throwing his head back in frustration, “you don’t think he’s goofed around with any of his secretaries?”

“okay, but this isn’t me goofing around with y/n, this is me... being serious with y/n!” yoongi presses his lips together, unsure of what to say next, “yeah. i wanna be serious with y/n.” 

“i promise you that no one cares about relationships as long as work is handed in on time and bags of money are being made.” hoseok hums, gesturing for the bartender to fix up another drink for him 

having this conversation about you with yoongi is just as exhausting as having this conversation about yoongi with you 

...

he doesn’t know if that sentence made any sense but all this alcohol is making the words jumble up together 

“well, okay, but-” yoongi chuckles nervously, turning and setting his glass down on the bar countertop, “then we’d have to make a file with HR declaring the status of our relationship, and then we’d have to talk about whether or not we want to keep things private or let the whole office know- oh, god, and what if it doesn’t work out? what if we break up? it’d be embarrassing after having declared our love for each other in front of everyone! and favouritism! don’t even get me started on favouritism! people are going to bag on y/n if they find out that i’m on the list of people getting a bonus! ...but, in my defense, even if we weren’t together i would probably still be on that list because i’m hardworking-” 

“yoongi-” hoseok interrupts, slapping both his hands down on his shoulders before letting out a sigh, “do you like y/n?” 

“yes.” yoongi answers without missing a beat, “i like y/n. a lot.” 

“okay. then that’s all that matters, right?” 

yoongi opens his mouth to respond but he pauses

huh 

that... is a fair point... 

it shouldn’t matter what anyone else thinks about his relationship with you 

what is it about alcohol that makes some people so wise?

“do you know what kind of a person you’d be if you just repressed your feelings and pretended that they didn’t exist at all? a coward, that’s what you’d be. because y/n is a fantastic woman and you need to hurry up and make a damn move before she realises she’s wasting her time on you and moves on to someone else who isn’t afraid to show their true feelings for her.” hoseok shakes his head gently before pulling away from yoongi with a nonchalant shrug and a snort, “but, you know - i’m drunk as hell and i’ve had nothing to eat so all the things coming out of my mouth righ’now could be complete and utter bullshit!” he hiccups, giggling to himself, “who knows!”

“well… what do you suggest i do?”

“what else do you do at a new year’s eve party?” hoseok’s head flops to the side, the over consumption of nothing but champagne suddenly hitting him like a brick wall 

“…share new year’s resolutions?”

“wha- god, you guys are truly the perfect pair- no, dumbass, you kiiissss someone at midnight.” hoseok slurs, “you already know she’s into you. and now i know that you’re into her so she’s definitely not going to oppose giving you a big ol smooch!”

“well, it’s-” yoongi pulls his sleeve up to check his watch, anxiety bubbling in his stomach when he realizes there are exactly twelve minutes to midnight, “oh, god.” 

okay

that’s fine!

it’s fine, he can work with twelve minutes!

all he has to do is 1) find you, 2) start a casual conversation, 3) somehow transition the casual conversation into a not so casual conversation about his feelings for you, 4) transition from the not so casual conversation to asking if you’d like to be his new year’s kiss, 5)- 

“i can’t pull this off in twelve minutes. i don’t know how i’m going to do this!” yoongi swallows thickly, turning to look at hoseok (who’s starting to doze off), “how the hell am i going to do this??” 

hoseok picks himself up off the counter, turning to face yoongi before a wide smile spreads on his face and a little gasp of excitement slips past his lips, “hey! i’ve been looking for you everywhere. i have a bone to pick with you, min yoongi-” 

“okay, buddy-” yoongi quickly reaches out to keep hoseok from toppling over, “you’ve definitely had one too many-” 

                                  »»————-　♡　————-««

ding!

yoongi steps off the elevator with a huff, quickly checking the time on his watch for the millionth time tonight 

he spent two minutes running around the rooftop like a headless chicken in case you were still up there somewhere 

luckily jungkook told him that he saw you leave the rooftop and there’s really only one other place that you’d be 

he makes his way down the hallway towards the double doors of your office, smiling in success when he sees that one of the doors is slightly ajar 

bingo! 

maybe it’s because he’s now confident about his true feelings for you, but he feels like there’s a spring in his step right now! 

(it could also be because of the liquid courage, but that’s neither here nor there.)

he pushes the door open a little to stick his face in, giving himself a mental high five as he sees you leaning against your desk with a flute of champagne in your hand, staring out the window 

“hey!” yoongi clears his throat, knocking on the door gently, “there you are.”

“hm?” you turn to glance over your shoulder, “oh, yoongi! yeah, hey.” 

“i didn’t realize you’d disappeared... i would’ve brought the sliders with me if i knew you were in here.” he jokes, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click, “everything okay?”

“ah, well. maybe next time.” you smile stiffly, turning away from him to look back out, “yeah, everything’s fine. joy practically talked my ear off up there so i just felt like i needed to get away from the party for a little while.” 

“you know, the fireworks are starting soon...” yoongi points out as he makes his way over to you, “you’re probably going to get better pictures of them up there than down here in your office.” 

“yeah, i know… but it’s also going to be very loud up on the rooftop and i’d prefer to start the new year off with working eardrums.” your nose wrinkles as you let out a chuckle, “also, i…”

“what?”

“i… i don’t know, i just don’t really want to start the new year awkwardly standing in the middle while everyone else is getting new year’s kisses.” you reach up to scratch the back of your neck before chuckling awkwardly, “that… makes me sound like a very bitter single person and i swear it wasn’t supposed to come off that way-” 

“no, i totally get it.” yoongi shakes his head as he wipes his hands on the side of his pants, “as a matter of fact, i kind of wanted to talk to you about something-”

“hold on, hold on- before you say anything, i-” you interrupt him, turning to set your glass down, “i, um- i have something that i wanna say to you as well. can i go first?”

“oh! yes, okay….” yoongi cowers down a little, pressing his lips together tightly, “is... everything alright?”

“yeah!” you nod quickly before pausing, “i mean, sort of. kind of. i’m… not sure if it’s going to be a good idea or not, but i just want to let you know that if you… you know, if you feel uncomfortable or something after i tell you this, you’re free to pack up and leave, you know? i mean, i actually already have a letter of recommendation written for you so if you wanna go off and work for someone else, i’ve already put in a lot of good words for you-”

“woah, woah-” yoongi raises his hands before letting out a chuckle, “i- while i definitely appreciate the gesture, you know i’m… not planning on going anywhere, right?”

“yeah, well… things change!” you clear your throat, gaze averting as you reach up to scratch the back of your neck, “things... change. i… don’t mean to sound so elementary school about it, but i…” you trail off, the little voice in the back of your head reminding you that this is your last chance to back out and not tell yoongi about your feelings for him

you’ve chickened out more than a handful of times, so what’s going to different about this time around?

you look up at yoongi and he blinks twice before offering you a soft smile, “you…?”

oh 

how are you supposed to back out when he’s looking at you like that?

and maybe it’s just because he looks particularly handsome tonight in his suit or because you’re all riled up on cocktails, but...

“i like you.” you blurt out, trying your best not to cringe or make any faces, “like… in a… romantic? way?”

yoongi’s eyes widen and the smile fades from his face, though you don’t have much time to process whatever reaction that was before he’s speaking up 

“you like me.” yoongi repeats, swallowing thickly before nodding, “in a romantic way.”

“yeah.” you shrug, “and i have for a while, but i just never said or did anything about it because i thought it was inappropriate - you know, because i’m your boss and around the time i started liking you was when we held that seminar for workplace harassment and i didn’t want to make you feel like i was harassing you or creeping on you or anything - a-anyways, at first i thought i was attracted to you solely because you’re hot in that broody, college skater-boyfriend kind of way and i thought it’d go away on its own, but then the feelings never went away, and then i thought that maybe this was just a more serious schoolgirl-type crush that would take time to go away, but then a lot of time went by and it still didn’t go away, so… here we are now, at the end of the year, and i… still have a huge, huge crush on you-”

“-i like you too.” 

“okay, cool, but i’m not done talking about-” you pause, your eyes flickering upwards, “wait, what?” 

“i like you, y/n.” yoongi breathes out with a smile, his shoulders visibly relaxing, “actually, i’ve known for a long time that you liked me and at first i was just flattered and admittedly i was a little cocky about it but then i... actually started to like you one day and- well, i didn’t want to say anything because- woah-!”

yoongi yelps when suddenly a paperweight is hurled in his direction and nearly whacks him in the face, “what the f-”

“are you kidding me, yoongi?!” you snap, slapping your hands down as you glare at him across your desk, “are you kidding me?!” 

“okay, i-i-” yoongi stammers, “i wasn’t expecting this reaction so i’m not entirely sure how i’m supposed to-” 

“you knew that i liked you this entire time-” you groan, reaching up to pinch the bridge of your nose, “and you knew that you liked me this entire time... and you didn’t say or do anything about it?!”

“well, why didn’t you do anything about it first?” yoongi exasperates, “you- you’re just as much at fault here as i am!”

“because i-” you laugh lightly in disbelief, “because i thought that if i told you that i liked you, that you would feel pressured into saying that you liked me back because i’m your boss! how would i know if your feelings were genuine or if you were just playing along? of course i couldn’t tell you!” 

yoongi chews on the inside of his cheek anxiously as you let out a huff before stepping away from your desk and heading over to stand by the window again 

“i...” he trails off, bending down to pick up the paperweight before setting it down on your desk gently, “i’m sorry that you... struggled with that... but... i think the important thing is that i do like you, y/n. i genuinely like you, and i was an idiot for not saying anything earlier... i let my doubts get in the way and...” he sighs, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck, “i’m not good at- i’m not good at dealing with this kind of stuff and usually i just brush it aside and hope the problem goes away but i see you almost every single day so i couldn’t just brush it aside-” 

“yeah, well-” 

both of you freeze up when you suddenly hear the countdown chanting echo from up on the rooftop and yoongi feels his heart plummet to his stomach when he realizes he didn’t even ask if you wanted to be his new year’s kiss 

shit 

shit!

“i’m just-” yoongi shakes his head furiously, “i get nervous when there are no rules and there certainly isn’t a handbook for what to do when you’re attracted to your boss-”

10!

you let out a scoff as you turn to face him, “-and you think there’s a handbook for what to do when you’re attracted to your secretary?!-” 

9!

“i was a total coward for not saying anything sooner and i wish i did! i wish i kissed you at the halloween party!”

8!

“you- you wanted to kiss me at the halloween party?” 

7!

“of course i did, dumbass!” the name slips out of yoongi’s mouth before he even realizes it and he smiles sheepishly when you give him a warning look, “...miss dumbass.”

6!

“anyways,” yoongi coughs, “i-if you’re still interested, i’d really like to kiss you tonight if that’s okay-” 

5!

“wait, did hoseok put you up to this?” you narrow your eyes in suspicion before pointing to yourself, “because he told me to ask you to kiss me tonight-”

“yeah, he put me up to this because we both know that you certainly weren’t going to make the first move-”

4!

“how dare you?” you scoff, crossing your arms stubbornly, “i could make the first move if i really wanted to-” 

3!

“what?! that’s bullsh- oh my god, can we agree now to kiss first and then argue about this later?!” yoongi snaps, eyes full of panic at the thought of not making it on time, “please??” 

2!

“fine, but-” 

1- HAPPY NEW YEAR! 

you don’t get a chance to say anything else before yoongi swoops in swiftly to lean in and kiss you, warm hands quickly reaching up to cup either sides of your face 

the sound of people cheering and fireworks going off in the sky is nothing compared to the erratic thumping of your heart and the high-pitched ringing in your ears 

oh, wow

your lashes flutter as you feel yourself relax, your fists uncurling against yoongi so that your hands rest on his chest

you can feel his rapid heartbeat through his shirt and that’s all the confirmation you need to know that yoongi really, truly likes you back 

yoongi’s hands leave your face so that he can reach down to grasp your hips and pull you towards him, only for his arms to snake around your waist a second later 

your hands slide up his chest before your arms wrap loosely around his neck, feeling as though nothing else matters except what’s happening right now 

you’ve dreamt about this moment for so long but it’s so much better than you could’ve possibly imagined it to be 

and you’re not sure if it’s the copious amount of champagne that you consumed tonight but you just feel so warm inside 

yoongi pulls away (far too soon for your liking), his eyes lidded and hazy as he smiles fondly down at you, “happy new year, boss.”

you can’t fight back the wide grin on your face when he leans down to nudge his nose against yours, both of your hearts undoubtedly beating in time   

“happy new year, secretary min.”

❄️christmas with cee 2020 masterlist 🎄

help me help you make your wishes come tru (aka send me a request)

why don’t you explore the rest of the library while you’re here?

or perhaps you want something shorter to read?

[testudoaubrei-blog]

Content note for discussions of eternal damnation, and all sorts of other shit that will trigger a lot of folks with religious trauma.

Before I get started I might as well explain where I’m coming from - unlike a lot of She-Ra fans, and a lot of queer people, I don’t have much religious trauma, or any, maybe (okay there were a number of years I was convinced I was going to hell, but that happens to everyone, right?). I was raised a liberal Christian by liberal Christian parents in the Episcopal Church, where most of my memories are overwhelmingly positive. Fuck, growing up in the 90’s, Chuch was probably the only place outside my home I didn’t have homophobia spewed at me. Because it was the 90’s and it was a fucking hellscape of bigotry where 5 year olds knew enough to taunt each other with homophobic slurs and the adults didn’t know enough to realize how fucked up that was. Anyway. This is my experience, but it is an atypical one, and I know it. Quite frankly I know that my experience of Christianity has very little at all to do with what most people experienced, or what people generally mean when they talk about Christianity as a cultural force in America today. So if you were raised Christian and you don’t recognize your theology here, congrats, neither do I, but these ideas and cultural forces are huge and powerful and dominant. And it’s this dominant Christian narrative that I’m referring to in this post. As well as, you know, a children’s cartoon about lesbian rainbow princesses. So here it goes. This is going to get batshit.

"All events whatsoever are governed by the secret counsel of God." - John Calvin

“We’re all just a bunch of wooly guys” - Noelle Stevenson

This is a post triggered by a single scene, and a single line. It’s one of the most fucked-up scenes in She-Ra, toward the end of Save the Cat. Catra, turned into a puppet by Prime, struggles with her chip, desperately trying to gain control of herself, so lost and scared and vulnerable that she flings aside her own death wish and her pride and tearfully begs Adora to rescue her. Adora reaches out , about to grab her, and then Prime takes control back, pronounces ‘disappointing’ and activates the kill switch that pitches Catra off the platform and to her death (and seriously, she dies here, guys - also Adora breaks both her legs in the fall). But before he does, he dismisses Catra with one of his most chilling lines. “Some creatures are meant only for destruction.”

And that’s when everyone watching probably had their heart broken a little bit, but some of the viewers raised in or around Christianity watching the same scene probably whispered ‘holy shit’ to themselves. Because Prime’s line - which works as a chilling and callous dismissal of Catra - is also an allusion to a passage from the Bible. In fact, it’s from one of the most fucked up passages in a book with more than its share of fucked up passages. It’s from Romans 9:22, and I’m going to quote several previous verses to give the context of the passage (if not the entire Epistle, which is more about who needs to abide by Jewish dietary restrictions but was used to construct a systematic theology in the centuries afterwards because people decided it was Eternal Truth).

19 Thou wilt say then unto me, Why doth he yet find fault? For who hath resisted his will?

20 Nay but, O man, who art thou that repliest against God? Shall the thing formed say to him that formed it, Why hast thou made me thus?

21 Hath not the potter power over the clay, of the same lump to make one vessel unto honour, and another unto dishonour?

22 What if God, willing to shew his wrath, and to make his power known, endured with much longsuffering the vessels of wrath fitted to destruction:

The context of the allusion supports the context in the show. Prime is dismissing Catra - serial betrayer, liar, failed conqueror, former bloody-handed warlord - as worthless, as having always been worthless and fit only to be destroyed. He is speaking from a divine and authoritative perspective (because he really does think he’s God, more of this in my TL/DR Horde Prime thing). Prime is echoing not only his own haughty dismissal of Catra, and Shadow Weaver’s view of her, but also perhaps the viewer’s harshest assessment of her, and her own worst fears about herself. Catra was bad from the start, doomed to destroy and to be destroyed. A malformed pot, cracked in firing, destined to be shattered against a wall and have her shards classified by some future archaeologist 2,000 years later. And all that’s bad enough.

But the full historical and theological context of this passage shows the real depth of Noelle Stevenson’s passion and thought and care when writing this show. Noelle was raised in Evangelical or Fundamentalist Christianity. To my knowledge, he has never specified what sect or denomination, but in interviews and her memoir Noelle has shown a particular concern for questions that this passage raises, and a particular loathing for the strains of Protestant theology that take this passage and run with it - that is to say, Calvinism. So while I’m not sure if Noelle was raised as a conservative, Calvinist Presbyterian, his preoccupation with these questions mean that it’s time to talk about Calvinism.

It would be unfair, perhaps, to say that Calvinism is a systematic theology built entirely upon the Epistles of Romans and Galatians, but only -just- (and here my Catholic readers in particular will chuckle to themselves and lovingly stroke their favorite passage of the Epistle of James). The core of Calvinist Doctrine is often expressed by the very Dutch acronym TULIP:

Total Depravity - people are wholly evil, and incapable of good action or even willing good thoughts or deeds

Unconditional Election - God chooses some people to save because ¯\_(ツ)_/¯, not because they did anything to deserve, trigger or accept it

Limited Atonement - Jesus died only to save the people God chose to save, not the rest of us bastards

Irresistible Grace - God chooses some people to be saved - if you didn’t want to be saved, too bad, God said so.

Perseverance of the Saints - People often forget this one and assume it’s ‘predestination’ but it’s actually this - basically, once saved by God, always saved, and if it looks like someone falls out of grace, they were never saved to begin with. Well that’s all sealed up tight I guess.

Reading through these, predestination isn’t a single doctrine in Calvinism but the entire theological underpinnings of it together with humanity’s utter powerlessness before sin. Basically God has all agency, humanity has none. Calvinism (and a lot of early modern Protestantism) is obsessed with questions of how God saves people (grace alone, AKA Sola Fides) and who God saves (the people god elects and only the people God elects, and fuck everyone else).

It’s apparent that Noelle was really taken by these questions, and repelled by the answers he heard. He’s alluded to having a tattoo refuting the Gospel passage about Sheep and Goats being sorted at the end times, affirming instead that ‘we’re all just a bunch of wooly guys’ (you can see this goat tattoo in some of his self-portraits in comics, etc). He’s also mentioned that rejecting and subverting destiny is a huge part of everything he writes as a particular rejection of the idea that some individual people are 'chosen' by God or that God has a plan for any of us. You can see that -so clearly- in Adora’s arc, where Adora embraces and then rejects destiny time and again and finally learns to live life for herself.

But for Catra, we’re much more concerned about the most negative aspect of this - the idea that some people are vessels meant for destruction. And that’s something else that Noelle is preoccupied with. In her memoir in the section about leaving the church and becoming a humanistic atheist, there is a drawing of a pot and the question ‘Am I a vessel prepared for destruction?’ Obviously this was on Noelle’s mind (And this is before he came out to himself as queer!).

To look at how this question plays out in Catra’s entire arc, let’s first talk about how ideas of damnation and salvation actually play out in society. And for that I’m going to plug one of my favorite books, Gin Lun’s Damned Nation: Hell in America from the Revolution to Reconstruction (if you can tell by now, I am a fucking blast at parties). Lun tells the long and very interesting story about, how ideas of hell and who went there changed during the Early American Republic. One of the interesting developments that she talks about is how while at first people who were repelled by Calvinism started moving toward a doctrine of universal salvation (no on goes to hell, at least not forever*), eventually they decided that hell was fine as long as only the right kind of people went there. Mostly The Other - non-Christian foreigners, Catholics, Atheists, people who were sinners in ways that were not just bad but weird and violated Victorian ideas of respectability. Really, Hell became a way of othering people, and arguably that’s how it survives today, especially as a way to other queer people (but expanding this is slated for my Montero rant). Now while a lot of people were consciously rejecting Calvinist predestination, they were still drawing the distinction between the Elect (good, saved, worthwhile) and the everyone else (bad, damned, worthless). I would argue that secularized ideas of this survive to this day even among non-Christian spaces in our society - we like to draw lines between those who Elect, and those who aren’t.

And that’s what brings us back to Catra. Because Catra’s entire arc is a refutation of the idea that some people are worthless and irredeemable, either by nature, nurture or their own actions. Catra’s actions strain the conventions of who is sympathetic in a Kid’s cartoon - I’ve half joked that she’s Walter White as a cat girl, and it’s only half a joke. She’s cruel, self-deluded, she spends 4 seasons refusing to take responsibility for anything she does and until Season 5 she just about always chooses the thing that does the most damage to herself and others. As I mentioned in my Catra rant, the show goes out of its way to demonstrate that Catra is morally culpable in every step of her descent into evil (except maybe her break with reality just before she pulls the lever). The way that Catra personally betrays everyone around her, the way she strips herself of all of her better qualities and most of what makes her human, hell even her costume changes would signal in any other show that she’s irredeemable.

It’s tempting to see this as Noelle’s version of being edgy - pushing the boundaries of what a sympathetic character is, throwing out antiheroics in favor of just making the villain a protagonist. Noelle isn’t quite Alex ‘I am in the business of traumatizing children’ Hirsch, who seems to have viewed his job as pushing the bounds of what you could show on the Disney Channel (I saw Gravity Falls as an adult and a bunch of that shit lives rent free in my nightmares forever), but Noelle has his own dark side, mostly thematically. The show’s willingness to deal with abuse, and messed up religious themes, and volatile, passionate, not particularly healthy relationships feels pretty daring. I’m not joking when I gleefully recommend this show to friends as ‘a couple from a Mountain Goats Song fights for four seasons in a cartoon intended for 9 year olds’. Noelle is in his own way pushing the boundaries of what a kids show can do. If you read Noelle’s other works like Nimona, you see an argument for Noelle being at least a bit edgy. Nimona is also angry, gleefully destructive, violent and spiteful - not unlike Catra. Given that it was a 2010s webcomic and not a kids show, Nimona is a good deal worse than Catra in some ways - Catra doesn’t kill people on screen, while Nimona laughs about it (that was just like, a webcomic thing - one of the fan favorite characters in my personal favorite, Narbonic, was a fucking sociopath, and the heroes were all amoral mad scientists, except for the superintelligent gerbil**). But unlike Nimona, whose fate is left open ended, Catra is redeemed.

And that is weird. We’ve had redemption arcs, but generally not of characters with -so- much vile stuff in their history. Going back to the comparison between her and Azula, many other shows, like Avatar, would have made Catra a semi-sympathetic villain who has a sob-story in their origin but who is beyond redemption, and in so doing would articulate a kind of psychologized Calvinism where some people are too traumatized to ever be fully and truly human. I’d argue this is the problem with Azula as a character - she’s a fun villain, but she doesn’t have moral agency, and the ultimate message of her arc - that she’s a broken person destined only to hurt people - is actually pretty fucked up. And that’s the origin story of so many serial killers and psycopaths that populate so many TV shows and movies. Beyond ‘hurt people hurt people’ they have nothing to teach us except perhaps that trauma makes you a monster and that the only possible response to people doing bad things is to cut them out of your life and out of our society (and that’s why we have prisons, right?)

And so Catra’s redemption and the depths from which she claws herself back goes back to Noelle’s desire to prove that no person is a vessel ‘fitted for destruction.’ Catra goes about as far down the path of evil as we’ve ever seen a protagonist in a kids show go, and she still has the capacity for good. Importantly, she is not subject to total depravity - she is capable of a good act, if only one at first. Catra is the one who begins her own redemption (unlike in Calvinism, where grace is unearned and even unwelcomed) - because she wants something better than what she has, even if its too late, because she realizes that she never wanted any of this anyway, because she wants to do one good thing once in her life even if it kills her.

The very extremity of Catra’s descent into villainy serves to underline the point that Noelle is trying to make - that no one can be written off completely, that everyone is capable of change, and that no human being is garbage, no matter how twisted they’ve become. Meanwhile her ability to set her own redemption in motion is a powerful statement of human agency, and healing, and a refutation of Calvinism’s idea that we are powerless before sin or pop cultural tropes about us being powerful before the traumas of our upbringing. Catra’s arc, then, is a kind of anti-Calvinist theological statement - about the nature of people and the nature of goodness.

Now, there is a darker side to this that Noelle has only hinted at, but which is suggested by other characters on the show. Because while Catra’s redemption shows that people are capable of change, even when they’ve done horrible things, been fucked up and fucked themselves up, it also illustrates the things people do to themselves that make change hard. As I mentioned in my Catra rant, two of the most sinister parts of her descent into villainy are her self-dehumanization (crushing her own compassion and desire to do good) and her rewriting of her own history in her speech and memory to make her own actions seem justified (which we see with her insistence that Adora left her, eliding Adora’s offers to have Catra join her, or her even more clearly false insistence that Entrapta had betrayed them). In Catra, these processes keep her going down the path of evil, and allow her to nearly destroy herself and everyone else. But we can see the same processes at work in two much darker figures - Shadow Weaver and Horde Prime. These are both rants for another day, but the completeness of Shadow Weaver’s narcissistic self-justification and cultivated callousness and the even more complete narcissism of Prime’s god complex cut both characters off from everyone around them. Perhaps, in a theoretical sense, they are still redeemable, but for narrative purposes they might as well be damned.

This willingness to show a case where someone -isn’t- redeemed actually serves to make Catra’s redemption more believable, especially since Noelle and the writers draw the distinction between how Catra and SW/Prime can relate to reality and other people, not how broken they are by their trauma (unlike Zuko and Azula, who are differentiated by How Fucked Uolp They Are). Redemption is there, it’s an option, we can always do what is right, but someone people will choose not to, in part because doing the right thing involves opening ourselves to the world and others, and thus being vulnerable. Noelle mentions this offhandedly in an interview after Season 1 with the She-Ra Progressive of Power podcast - “I sometimes think that shades of grey, sympathetic villains are part of the escapist fantasy of shows like this.” Because in the real world, some people are just bastards, a point that was particularly clear in 2017. Prime and Shadow Weaver admit this reality, while Catra makes a philosophical point that even the bastards can change their ways (at least in theory).

*An idea first proposed in the second century by Origen, who’s a trip and a fucking half by himself, and an idea that becomes the Catholic doctrine of purgatory, which protestants vehemently denied!

**Speaking of favorite Noelle tropes

[hollandsrecs]

smut masterlist (1)

links last checked 8/1/2021 | more masterlists

—minors dni with these fics—

a golf lesson by hollandcrush

aftercare by dlwritings

summary: not everyone cares about their first time. some people just wanted to get it over with. you had always wanted it to be special. a special time with a special guy. but after ages of never finding that guy, you decide to just get it over with. tom helps with the aftermath of the disaster.

all i need by marvelouspeterparker

summary: you’ve noticed that tom’s really been on edge lately. when you ask how you can help, he knows the perfect way. 

best friend’s brother by angelic-holland

summary: you’re harry’s best friend. so tom’s off limits. besides; he’s older, he’s constantly got girls trying to hook up with him. there’s absolutely no way he’s be interested in you. right?

body by toms-gf

summary: tom waking you up really isn’t as bad as it seems

breathe life into me by angelhaz11

summary: tom feels far away from himself when he’s away from you. when he’s home, it’s an entirely different story.

cheers, darling by tomsrebeleyebrow

curiosity bit the cat by spidey-sophie

summary: at the biggest halloween party of the year you meet a mystery guy dressed as spider-man. you haven’t even seen his face, but somehow you just can’t get enough of him.

dirty little joy by farfromparker

summary: tom used to do porn, you’re more than interested when you stumble across one of his old videos.

dirty truth or dare by keepingupwiththeparkers

enjoy the show by hollandcrush

excited by tommybaholland

summary: the one where you and tom try to experiment with your sex life; an unexpected accessory catching your eye...

feel your love by angelic-holland

summary: they say when you take away one sense, the others are heightened… tom really likes to be blindfolded during sex.

good by flower-cage

summary: you just want to be good for him.

grab it hard by tomsrebeleyebrow

summary: what could go wrong when tom decides to post a video on his instagram story? pretty much everything. and now, one single thought runs into your head: taking advantage of it fully.

highway to heaven by ptrbprkrs

summary: just you and tom on a road trip having the time of your lives. kisses, intimacy, and motel sex included.

hold back by flower-cage

summary: tom’s shooting a movie and you can’t stop bruising him during sex.

home alone by ballyhoobarnes

summary: you come over for an innocent movie night with tom.

impatient by thirsttrapholland

summary: tom has agreed to accompany you to a dinner party, but he is getting impatient.

into the woods by rosyparkers

summary: it’s not easy to pretend you’re not in love with your best friend and don’t want to jump all one hundred and seventy-three centimeters of him. it’s even harder when it’s just you and him, stuck in a remote cabin in the woods, after your other friend bails.

irreconcilable differences by bi-writes

summary: “…he was still playing games, but he was no longer the player.”

is it time? by creatively--challenged

summary: tom is finally home and y/n needs to tell him how she feels. she’s buried it for so long but it doesn’t want to stay buried any longer. tom is finally home and he needs to tell her how her feels before he misses his chance and finds her unattainable. 

just can’t get enough by marvelouspeterparker

summary: you and tom have been doing this friends with benefits thing for a while now, repressing your feelings, playing this twisted, toxic, jealousy fueled game. but when will you both just accept the truth and be honest with each other?

let me show you by hollandcrush

summary: tom breaking down your walls to show you how much you finally mean to him. physically.

love on set by selfcarecap

summary: you’ve never kissed anyone while filming. actually, you’ve never kissed anyone, ever. now you have to have your first kiss on set for the latest film you’re acting in, with tom holland no less. but luckily he’s there to practise with you beforehand, or at least you hope you can gather the courage to ask him.

make you feel better by pensivepeter

summary: you’re on your period, and your wonderful boyfriend helps you relieve some of the discomfort in the best way.

manual labour by kiwi-bitchez

movie night by ballyhoobarnes

summary: a movie night leads to more than planned when you discover just what tom gets ups to after you’ve left.

no bottoms by starkissedparker

summary: one of tom’s favorite things in the world was to come home to you smiling in the kitchen or lounging on the couch, but most of all his favorite thing was to come home to you in bed. 

no knock knocks by madmadmilk

summary: tom, your sweetie pie stupid roommate, has a bad habit of walking into your room unannounced.

no nut november by wazzupmrstark

summary: tom takes the no nut november bet with harrison leaving you confused as to why he’s acting so strange.

no knock knocks by madmadmilk

not just a fantasy by worldoftom

summary: “tell me your fantasy, i’ll tell you mine.”

on the house by hollandcrush

summary: after a hard day, tom goes to a small countryside pub to relieve some stress.

one track mind by ballyhoobarnes

summary: loving, whole-hearted tom smut.

prosecco courage by 2018shawn

summary: the one where prosecco made you needy.

risky insta live by terrifictomholland

summary: what happens when you decide to give your boyfriend a little treat during his instagram live? 

safe with you by hufflepuffhollander

summary: as an a-list celebrity, there can be a lot of threats out there. luckily, you have a bodyguard that keeps close by, in more ways than one. but always being watched comes with its own problems.

seventeen minutes in heaven by pensivepeter

summary: tuwaine can’t set a timer to save his life and your relationship with tom - already teetering on the edge of friendship and something more - comes to a head no pun intended, creating a recipe for an eventful game. 

sneaky by softspideyboy

summary: tom and reader get heated until harrison comes home early.

something new by starktonyx

summary: you surprise tom by deep-throating him for the first time.

thick(er) by tommybaholland

summary: the one where you acknowledge how good your man looks right now while beginning to shoot the spider-man sequel.

true reflections by uglypastels

summary: tom shows you why he loves you, even when you don’t see it.

unexpected by angelic-holland

summary: you didn’t know your best friend feels the same way about you, until you’re forced to share a bed in a hotel one night.

web shooter by heyhihellowhatsup0

summary: you see tom in his new spider-man suit for the first time and decide to take advantage of it.

welcome home by thirsttrapholland

summary: tom’s been gone for three weeks and you want him to know how much you’ve missed him.

why it’s fun to be a tease by lousimusician

“you heard me. take it off.” by keepingupwiththeparkers

summary: what’s that tom? you want to get freaky under the table in the middle of a restaurant? okie dokie.

you up by thirsttrapholland

summary: you had told yourself that you would just ignore him this time; that this would be the time that you wouldn’t give in.