#it took me almost a year of intense work which ate up all my free time

[loki-survey]

(Source)

Research can be frustrating at times, but it can be incredibly rewarding, too, mostly when formerly shown results are validated by new info. This is one of those moments. Taika Waititi‘d interview (date: 27.11.23) confirms what fans had long time argued based on Waitit‘s comments on Thor Ragnarok in 2017.

This interview shows that there was not a correlation between Thor Ragnarok‘s different style and the widening gap between the fandom fractions, but causation. In this case, the lack of respect the director had for the original product (both comics and former movies) have shown their effects. In the short term, the effects have been present but little acknowledged in the mainstream media. Most debates took place in fandom spaces. Yet, the Loki survey showed the gap starting with Thor Ragnarok.

In 2021, the effects have been multiplied by the Loki series which stepped into Ragnarok‘s footprints in terms of creative direction. Moreover, the split in the opinions of the fandom shows a broadening gap that has reached its maximum by the end of season 1.

I conclude, that this interview hardens the evidence for Thor Ragnarok being the divisive point for the split of the Loki fandom and that we now can safely assume that a new director’s lack of interest in the previous franchise material can result in a decrease in quality of the respective product. However, the effects of that decrease in quality might show up delayed.

The poor reception of Thor Love and Thunder shows that the decreased quality does come with a decrease of audience interest. Eventually.

This is true for Loki season 2, as well, which I intend to show in a different post. I‘ll link it as soon I have made it.

The Loki survey is evaluated!

In August 2021, I conducted a survey to examine what might have led to the highly divided opinions regarding the Disney + show Loki (2021). The survey gathered over 500 responses. In my survey, the majority of the respondents identify as women, but the survey also got above average feedback from non-binary and genderfluid fans. In this survey, about 75% of the respondents liked the show, 15% disliked it, and 5% felt neutral about it. Several tested variables turned out to be significantly connected to the enjoyment of the show, which converged towards three major factors affecting the enjoyment while watching the show.

Firstly, the enjoyment of non-binary, including genderfluid fans, and respondents who felt strongly about representation was moderately reduced by the execution of the representation in the show.

Secondly, respondents who had deeply desired Loki to have a love interest and those who enjoyed his interaction with Mobius reported a moderately increased enjoyment. However, a third of all respondents who liked the show reported a high preference for one of the two relationships over the other, indicating a strong rivalry among the two groups, which most likely contributed to the increased confrontations among Loki fans on social media.

The people who disliked the show did not favor one possible relationship (Mobius vs Sylvie) over the other. Thus, the shipwar is mostly limited to the fans who enjoyed the show.

Lastly, respondents who considered Loki a morally good character, liked Thor (2011), or disliked Thor: Ragnarok (2017) reported a reduced enjoyment.

The highest correlation with a dislike of the show was associated with perceiving Loki acting out of character. This may be attributed to fans who saw Loki as a morally good character and were unable to recognize him in the portrayal in the show since the show heavily depended on Loki being motivated narcissism, as a starting point for his redemption arc.

Calculated over all responses to the survey, Loki’s likeability decreased within the show, with episode 6 marking the first time the likeability of the installment surpasses Loki’s likeability as a character. Between the opinions of the respondents who liked the show and those who did not, an increasing divide is visible in the categories of Loki’s relatability, likeability, and in-character acting.

Interestingly, the starting point of the division coincides with the disbanding of the Marvel Creative Committee in 2015. Possible causalities, as well as who was the favorite Loki variant, and which characters the respondents would like to see in the second season are being discussed in the complete paper you can find here or here as a pdf.

I will try to answer possible questions as soon as possible, but it might take me several days to do so.

My thoughts go out to everyone suffering in Ukraine right now. If you can, please consider helping those in need!

[suwisuwii]

Astarion's story made me think a lot and reflect on how freedom after a lifetime of captivity and abuse can be difficult to get used to. I think most people who have never experienced that don't realize how intense of an experience it is.

I might go into some details on my own life experience as a survivor of ritual abuse and human trafficking, I still don't know to which degree as I'm trying to organize a pool of thoughts, so scroll past if that's triggering to you. It's going to be somewhat lenghty.

I started really "living" around 3 years ago.

To give some context, the approximate timeline of what happened to me:

--- birth-18 y/o: grew up in a cult, I was ritually abused on a regular basis as a child, developed DID (I wasn't diagnosed until adulthood) I endured physical and psychological torture. I mean forced food purging, forced food poisoning, waterboarding, scalding with boiling water, smothering with pillows until I almost passed out... I could go on. I lived behind a wall in the living room and my wardrobe was a bin bag.

18 y/o: I ran from home after my father threatened to kill me. I was poor (I left with 50€ and nothing more) and answered an ad that offered a job in a pub and a place to stay. It required me to travel to another city, so I spent some of that 50 for the train ticket. Desperation makes you do some careless things. I was picked up by what would become my pimp (we called him "the entrepeneur" ). I travelled all across italy like that. Spent some days in a place and then was sent off to another. The day I escaped, I didn't know where I was.

19 y/o : I escaped! I had been sent to a new brothel, and noticed the club owner flirted with me the whole night in between customers. Once the night was over, I seduced him, stole some money and RAN.

The brothel was in the countryside, but I eventually found a bus stop. I got on and asked where I was.

19y/o to 28 y/o: I got into a relationship. Forced pregnant, had a child. Forced back into sex work because my partner took me to his home country and we were both unemployed and he had no intention of finding a job, 3 months after I almost died giving birth and had an emergency c-section.

---END TIMELINE

That has been my life up until 3 years ago. I'm 31 now. The pandemic gave me an out (won't go into details). I broke up with the guy. I ended up in therapy suicidal because I felt I had no purpose (not because of the breakup, I did it and it was my choice). I was free. It's all I wanted, right? I DID NOT KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH MY FREEDOM. I was useless. I still struggle with it. I remember the first time I went shopping for food and my mind went blank! I did not know how to shop for food I liked. I didn't know what to get. I always bought things for others. I always ate the scraps and the leftovers. It seems like such a silly stupid thing but once I was done and came home, I looked at my full fridge and I cried. I felt a mix of things. Guilt, selfishness? Also happiness, I was grateful. But freedom felt like such a big, black abyss with nothing to hold me from the fall. I am discovering who I am and coming to terms with it. I have bodily autonomy.

I think Astarion's scene with the mirror, where he looks in and can't see himself, holds a second deeper meaning other than just "a vampire that doesn't have a reflection".

I am now free to do whatever I want to my appearance. But I've always mirrored what other people wanted of me. Hair colours, clothes, style, makeup, weight. I was never in control of it. And now it's so hard to look in the mirror and know what I'd look like if I was me. I don't know. Who do I want to be? It's easier if someone else told me what I look like so I could just be that.

It felt good for Astarion to be "reflected in someone else's eyes" because he still doesn't know who he is. He can't see who he is, because he has been made a vampire. Because of what was done to him.

I hope I explained my point, but anyways, this was more for me, to let out some thoughts. It's 5am I probably have more to say, but I need some rest. I feel better letting some of this out.

[m-r-levine]

On Interruptions of Flow

Blocks used to be just part of the normal cycles of work and rest and refilling the well, the rhythms of moving between projects. (I won’t deny the good feelings and brain juices from feedback on the work, but it was never the driving force. I treasure comments like a dragon treasures their hoarde, but the urge to write and the pleasure of storytelling are not primarily or even secondarily grounded in the reception of the work.)

In the last few years, that changed. I don’t know if this was a true cause or if it was just one little part of a whole system of events that led to my creative process breaking down, but.

In 2019, I dropped all my other projects to meet an absurd deadline for a zine piece, and then for various reasons, a month later I took that story to pieces to see if an actual novel length concept might be hidden in there**.

Meanwhile, some fairly major things were going on in my personal life, and the tremors were getting markedly worse.

Suddenly I didn’t have blocks of time or steadiness of hand to paint either, except for pushing through for a couple of excruciating outstanding commissions, and struggling to wrap up the second volume of the graphic novel. Yet even with a few of those deadlines dealt with I could no longer make words go on any other project. I tried everything in the toolbox to get the brain going again, especially after a side effect of quarantine gave back my former 3+ hours daily commute time.

Finishing the renovations on the old house ate almost everything I had to give, and my partner’s mental health struggles took the rest. I cannot begin to explain to you just how few spoons I have had between the boring job (which became much more intense with the effects of the pandemic) and Life™️.

Previously, writing and sketching helped me unwind and ground after a shift, or even during breaks. In the last few years though…

Words came slowly for La Mala Suerte, but opening any other story filled my brain with static noises. I could not string basic sentences together. I could not outline plot, I had no fragments of dialogue or vignettes fall into my head like before. When I ran out of backlog to post… Suddenly I had nothing.

Short stretches being dry like that are familiar enough, but days and weeks turned into months and years of desperately wanting to tell the stories and in the few moments of quiet I could steal away? Nothing. It’s an eerie feeling, having the vivid and even visceral scenes that are already written and outlined still looping in my head, screaming to get out, but the moment I try to write connective tissue? Right back to tv snow.

Unlike painting, my writing is accessible everywhere I go, even when it hurts to hold a pen - being able to get ‘lost’ in stories helped me through some incredibly hard times in the past, and losing that ability was devastating. The disappointment and yes, the shame of being adrift and wordless has been wretched. I have longed for the elation I used to find on the other side of a hard passage, the joy of solving the puzzle and freeing the spirit from the proverbial stone.

I still don’t entirely understand what happened in my brain that autumn of 2019… I just know that something changed, and we’re still not… entirely back from it. I am suspecting that Long Covid is now part of it - that was summer of ‘21 though, and I was already firmly lodged in The Block by then.

Maybe it was just one a longer but still normal drought and needing recovery time from intensely brain-heavy Life Events™️ until that extra layer was added? I truly don’t know. I don’t know if it matters either, except in that I am deeply afraid I will lose it again.

Anyway, that’s the ramble for the afternoon on the writing side. Hopefully the Boring Job leaves me some braincells to work on asks and stuff later.

* caveat: Except for the fact some truly wretched negative/judgy feedback can entirely poison the affected work for me and make it impossible to get forward motion(Obsidian Slipper is one such victim, I may talk about it more later.)

** hola Teca. 😒

[connieshusband]

Fucking hate you, love to fuck you

Hate sex

Oikawa x fem!reader

"fuck you!" "Is that a promise?"

4k

reader was the captain and ace of the girls team, reader goes to Aoba Josai, reader is also Kag's cousin

Degradation, Slight Feminization Kink, Praise Kink, Fluffy Ending, Fluff and Angst, I'm not very good at writing smut, I also got tired while writing so its short... sorry, Sir Kink: but very minor, no beta we die like men

-cross posted on my ao3:  https://archiveofourown.org/works/31932412

MINORS DNI

Summary:

You hadn't registered that you'd slapped him until he look at you holding his red cheek with his large hand.

And you certainly hadn't registered that he had his tongue down your throat not a moment later. An honest to god moan leaving your lips which he smugly ate up.

___

Degration as well as any kink should have the full consent of all parties involved every time!!

I'm not very good at e2l so be gentle 🤩

I'm such a simp lmao

Oikawa could never figure out why you hated him when you both entered your first year of high school. Having come from a different middle school than you, he figured you'd be like the rest of the people in your grade level and fall all over him.

He wanted to ask why you had such a large stick up your ass during your first group project but chickened out. He assumed you'd at least get along as you were captain of the girls volleyball team and known for your powerful spikes. The setter in him really wanted to find out your perfect toss.

But it wasn't until your 3rd year when he came to despise you too.

He'd overheard you telling your best friend that your cousin made it onto his high schools volleyball team. Being the nosey Nelly that he is, he made the mistake of asking which school your cousin attended.

"Karasuno," you said, your chest puffed out.

It clicked: the black hair, intense expression, the last name even. He could practically see his protégé in the reflection of your eyes. He mentally slapped himself for not seeing it sooner.

His eyes narrowed, matching yours as tension of your silent beat down had to be cut by Iwazumi.

_____

You set down your suitcase, giving your aunt a big hug as she greeted you in the doorway. You give Tobio a fist bump as he helps you carry your things into the spare bedroom.

Your aunt had graciously allowed you to stay with her so you could be closer to school for your final year.

"I can't believe you're dropping volleyball club just as I'm about to join," Tobio whined, setting a suitcase on a chair in the corner of the room.

"I know," you said sullenly. You hadn't wanted to, but being captain and a 3rd year just wasn't going to be practical. Not being the best student, you thought it would be a wise decision.

Having always been close your your cousin on your dad's side came with its perks, including but not limited to drama. Ever since Tobio had joined volleyball in middle school he'd talked about Oikawa, usually brushing off some of the down right nasty things he'd said. But you hadn't. You took it upon yourself to help him train harder and harder to be able to defeat his bully when he'd found out he couldn't attend Aoba Josai with you.

Being an ace had its advantages when teaching Tobio about different techniques on how to set up a spiker best. Often gossiping about the smug bastard as you worked.

Of course, there was no escaping the pretty boy at school either. When your best friend, Ryu, had started dating his best friend Iwaizumi, being the 3rd and 4th wheel at hangouts became increasingly awkward.

And even worse when she mentioned your current math grade. Damn that ginger setter. And Mr. Perfect boasting about his grades to you. Which had lead you to your current situation.

Sitting in his bedroom.

Listening to him drawl on and on with rapidly decreasing interest.

While he looked hot as fuck.

What?!

With new found annoyance you scoffed at him snapping his fingers in your face.

"earth to y/n, I know I'm ravishing, but now it's math time." He said, a smirk decorating his lips.

“I ignored you on purpose, dumbass. Don't you get that I hate you?"

"I'm not asking you to stay, besides this has nothing to do with me?? Its calculus..."

"narcissist," you mumbled under your breath.

"must be your type," he shot back, "gawking at me for the last hour."

"aren't you dating whats-her-face from English?" You retorted, feeling your face heat up.

"yeah??" he said, confused.

You mocked his confusion, ""yeah" God, then stop flirting with me."

He scoffed, an eyebrow disappearing into bangs, "you must be a narcissist if you think I'm flirting with you because wow, it almost like I can't stand the sight of you, y/n," he rolled his eyes in disgust, sitting up in his chair indignantly.

You push him back into his chair, turning on your heels, saying nothing more.

"good!! I was going to kick you out anyway!"

____

You notice his current girlfriend wasn't hanging out with him at lunch nor sitting in his lap during English. In fact. He hadn't found new arm candy by the time your next session rolled around the following week.

___

After begrudgingly agreeing to do another tutoring session and making him promise no funny business, that rule was broken when he had his sleeves rolled up of his blue silk shirt, he glasses laying forgotten on the table, fingers rubbing his tired eyes as he tried to explain a difficult problem to you.

How could Tooru Oikawa be so fucking sexy and such a fucking dick at the same time?

Asking myself this a lot while writing

"fuck you, Oikawa! I don't need your bullshit!"

"fine! Fucking go then!" Giving you a light shove towards the door.

You hadn't registered that you'd slapped him until he look at you holding his red cheek with his large hand.

And you certainly hadn't registered that he had his tongue down your throat not a moment later. An honest to god moan leaving your lips which he smugly ate up.

You shoved him against his bed, your own smugness drinking up his moan.

You pulled your tank top off as you climbed on top of him. "You have condoms?" You asked, cringing at your breathless voice.

He flipped your position, hot breath fanning your ear, "don't you want to be filled with my cum, baby?"

Rolling your eyes, you flipped the position again, "the last thing the world needs is more of you running around."

He considered it before saying with a shrug "top drawer."

Leaning over, your legs still gripping his hips, you pulled out a condom wrapper and tossed it at his face. His nose scrunching cutely.

"pull some weight, lazykawa," you said, yanking his pants and underwear to his ankles. He was already fully hard and you took great satisfaction in wordlessly teasing him.

Trying to ignore you, a blush creeping up around his ears as he hurriedly rolling the condom onto his thick length, as you remove your bra. He flips your position once more, hovering over you, a taunting smirk plastered over his lips.

"can't go 10 minutes without getting your greedy pussy fucked?"

"Can't that mouth do anything besides half-assed insults, Shittykawa?" You mocked, he raised a cheeky eye brow at you.

He lowered his face to you heat, "want to find out?" You grip his hair harshly and shove his face between your thighs.

He rips off you panties and eagerly laps around your cunt before catching himself, slowing his ministrations.

He gripped your thighs as he buried his face in your heat. Alternating between sucking in your clit and finger fucking you, never letting you get both at the same time.

You bit your tongue, doing your best to avoid begging for more - a futile endeavor.

"C'mon babygirl, I know you want it," he sing-songed

You swallowed your pride, "please Tooru."

"sorry couldn't hear you, your legs were busy clamping around my ears.

Your legs shook in frustration and pleasure as he lazily drummed his finger on your sweet spot.

He leaned overtop of you, sucking harshly in your neck as his other hand massages your ass.

"please, Tooru! Please sir!"

"oo~" he remarks, returning between your legs, 3 fingers entering you suddenly as he nibbled along your thigh, quickly returning to sucking on your clit.

You come hard and without warning.

"delicious," he remarks, sitting up and licking his fingers clean, "and so many lewd noises too."

"You have a knack for bringing out the worst in people," you attempt to sound threatening but only succeeding in boosting his ego.

"Oh no~ I hate to find out what the best would be..." He unbuttons his blue silk shirt, allowing you to drink up the full show of his abs. "Not talking so big now, eh, Kageyama?"

You scowl at him before grunting a "just fuck me already".

"don't mind if I do."

You connected your lips with his, enjoying the noises he made as his neglected cock became engulfed in your warmth.

Neither of you lasted long.

He emptied himself into the rubber with a sexy grunt lining up with your moan.

After care he collapsed on top of you, his deep breaths matching yours.

Your hands still resting on his back, feeling scratches from your nails decorating his skin.

He had pressed his forehead to yours, you looked up to meet his eyes which were flitting between the purple marks on your neck and your eyes.

He hadn't held your gaze for more than a second when the realization of what just happened hit both of you at once. Pushing your bodies apart, you shamefully picked up your clothes from the floor leaving the room quickly.

____

It had been weeks since that day. You hadn't gone back for another tutoring session, claiming to Ryu that your grades had improved.

The free time had allowed you to be a better supporter for your cousin, getting a chance to meet his teammates and his friends.

You meet Karasuno's Ryu and think to yourself how well he and your Ryu would get along

While hanging out with your cousin at the spring tournament, you were enjoying a lunch break with a vibrant ginger, his best friend Hinata and a mutual friend with spiky hair. Bokuto, you had learned, was in your year and had a ton in common with you.

Maybe you'd gotten carried away returning his flirty looks and laughing a little too hard at his jokes. He remarked often how different your personality was from your cousin. After exchanging numbers to practice volleyball sometime (him being excited to practice with another captain/ace) an unfortunately familiar voice pulled you away from your fun.

"y/n?"

"what?" You roll your eyes, at Oikawa. You knew he had been watch you and the rest of Karasuno after they had win their first game. Beside you, you can feel the 3 boys, especially Tobio fuming.

"I have a question about the math assignment."

"I'm busy."

"too bad."

Recognizing that he wasn't going to go away until you give in, you stand up, brushing the dust from your bottoms. He leads the way out of sight from your new friends.

He harshly pushes you against the wall, "what do you think you're doing princess?"

You flip your position, he winced as his back connects with the concrete wall. "You ask you the same thing, princess."

His hand instinctively wrapped around your muscular arm submissively.

"you like that don't you?" You asked.

He nervously glanced around him for on lookers. Luckily he'd chosen a pretty secluded spot

"wouldn't want your fan girls to see you being treated like the pretty white you are?" You smirked.

He nodded shyly.

You grabbed his ass, earning a submissive squeak from him.

"such a good princess, getting his flat ass groped," you smile, you see him swallow a moan as his eyes flutter shut.

You begin painfully slowly palming him through his shorts, feeling him grow under you.

"I hope you lose," you whisper sensually into his ear.

He scowls at you as you pull away completely. Leaving him hard, exposed, and blushing as you return to your new friends.

______

The cheers from Karasuno's supporters hadn't quieted down as the team packed up. Still high on adrenaline and pride for your baby cousin, you took the time to use the bathroom before the long drive home.

Rounding the corner you heard voices, recognizing one to be Oikawa and the other belonging to a deep voiced man.

Sneaking a peak your eyes go wide. He was face to face with Ushiwaka. The former not fairing well in the conversation. You didn't think a man could look for upset than the way Oikawa looked right now.

As the conversation comes to a close, you wait until Oikawa has gone out if sight to chase after him. Accidentally running into Ushiwaka.

"sorry" you mumble, attempting to move past.

"you're with karasuno, yes?" Ushiwaka asks.

Your mind didn't really register him, instead giving him a quick pat on the shoulder and a "that's great, buddy," as you run after the brunette.

Hearing an "I look forward to playing them." In the distance.

"Hey!"

He was too far ahead to really hear you, pushing past the front doors.

"HEY!" You yell, nearly at his heels. You stand in the doorway breathing hard, "TOORU!"

He turns to face you, Iwaizumi annoyed that he can't convince their captain to just get on the bus already.

You beckon him over and he skeptically approaches you.

"here to gloat?" He asks, his voice lacking the usual sharpness.

"Tobio is staying at Hinata's tonight and my aunt is out is town for the next two days," you say.

You see the cogs working as he pieces together what you're offering. His mouth forming an 'o' shape as he realizes.

You smile smugly before running back to where Karasuno's bus is parked, giving Tobio a running jump hug, which he awkwardly returned.

__

If nothing else, Oikawa was punctual. Arriving at exactly at 7:30. You hadn't done anything special, just heated up 2 frozen pizzas that your aunt had left. Watching his form as he quietly ate his 3 cheese. He hadn't said a word besides "thank you" after you'd served him. While yes, apart of you meant when you'd said that you hoped he lose but the guilt of seeing the cocky bastard looking so small on the other side of the table, nibbling on the crust. Pity maybe?

"You played really we-"

His eyes were red, his pride keeping him from crying in front of you. "I don't want to talk about it."

"You want to have sex?"

he hesitated before asking, "can we be nice?"

You nodded. Making your way to his chair, straddling his hips and cupping his face. You kissed him slow and deliberate. You don't kiss long before you start to feel his dick springing to life. You stand up pulling him, walking backwards, towards your room accidentally walking into the partially open door.

"Graceful," he commented, a hint of his salty tone under his words as he resumed kissing you.

You grinded against each other for a few moments, drinking in each others moans. You pulled away momentarily, his cheeks dusted pink, breathing heavy, his dick straining in his pants.

"You're so beautiful," you said. He blushed harder, his cock twitching in it's confines. Your fingers dip under the waistband of his pants and pull them down, licking your lips when his cock hits his stomach. You're about to press your lips to his tip when you feel pressure on your forehead.

"y-you don't have to..." he says. You cock your head to one side, your lips parted as you gaze up at him. "I-I get it you know... I don't hold it against you..."

"I want to," you say, "if you want me to."

He nods slowly, his eyes fluttering shut as he enters your warm mouth.

Out of all the sex you'd had, this moment with Tooru didn't feel like sex. It felt like making love.

After he got close, you popped your mouth off and had ridden him. His muscles still sore from his games. Your lips danced with his as his hips met yours. Both of you reaching your climax simultaneously.

Tired in the best way, you cuddle up to his bare chest, kissing his cheek, "don't think this means I like you, flatass."

"of course," he says, relaxing into your touch.

"good."

"it was the fact that my dick was down your throat that made be think that."

You punch him in the ribs, earning an 'ouch' followed by a quiet, "let me have one win today." Followed by an even quieter "sorry" from you.

You place a gentle kiss on his cheek again before returning to your snuggle position. He wraps his arms around your waist as you both drift off to sleep.

______

It's been a number of days and neither if you had spoken about it. You wanted to text him a simple 'good morning' but the image of him quietly shuffling out of your room at the crack of dawn when he thought you were still sleeping, placing a gentle kiss on your temple. You didn't want to seem too eager or somehow let on that not only were you awake but had enjoyed when he'd done it.

After the girls had lost to Fukurodani's girls in the semi finals, Ryu had insisted on dragging you out to play volleyball with her and some 'friends'. You secretly hope it's the other girls from your team. You find yourself not disappointed that it's Iwaizumi and Oikawa.

"Warm up 'Yama!" Oikawa yells at you, serving the ball in your direction as you and Ryu approach.

Caught off guard for a moment, you return the ball back at him, hitting his face lightly with an oof.

Of course, Ryu wanted to set for her boyfriend, leaving you with Oikawa.

You made a pretty good team, he picked up your style quickly, the ball exactly where you wanted it without having to tell him anything. Not to mention that Oikawa had racked up a third of the points on service aces alone, Iwaizumi finally adjusting to being on the receiving end on them. He and Ryu had made a magnificent comeback, clearly having practiced with each other before. You were lucky if you could get a piece of one of Iwa's spikes, Tooru faired better but they quickly took the lead. You grab Oikawa's arm, causing him to look at you curiously.

"set it to me, but I'll set it back. You spike it," you said, finishing your sentence by looking at him.

He considers it.

"break it up love birds!" Iwa shouted at you. Ryu making obnoxious kissing noises behind him. You quickly let go of his arm to flip her off, causing her to burst out laughing.

Iwa serves.

"it's mine!" Tooru yells. Mid jump, he faces you, the subtlest of winks as the ball flies into the air.

Smiling, you angle your body for a spike, Ryu taking the bait, but at the last moment, your hand sent the ball perpendicular to the net, straight into Oikawa's hand. The ball whizzing past Iwa's ear.

The adrenaline getting the better of you as you both embrace, celebrating a successful kill.

You revel in you best friend and her stoic boyfriend exchanging a bewildered look.

At the end of the game Oikawa offers to drive you home, when out of the way of prying eyes, he leans against his car. "Before your cousin goes to nationals, he and shorty should play against us."

"Yeah and maybe Tobio can set for me one round," you say, playing with the hem of his shirt, "but if there's any funny business from you, I'm calling it off."

"Who, me??" he jokes, aware of his history with your family.

You don't respond, opting to gently press your lips to his. He returns the kiss, cupping your face.

________________

Did I write myself into the story? ┐( ∵ )┌ Maybe a little...

I'm also not opposed to doing a part two, so lemme know in the comments ( ꈍᴗꈍ)

Also not me writing my first Haikyuu fic be Oikawa when I wanna break his knees 🥴🤚 (couldn't resist tho he's been on my mind, especially with glasses 🥵🤒)

Also also not me writing this from 1:30 am to 8am then had half my work deleted so I had to redo it the following night 🤪👈

[lesbian-deadpool]

Happy Little Accidents

Part Two: Hope

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Words: 2,317

Warnings: I don’t think there is any?? Crying/light angst, adoption process, stress??

Request: Yes

Summary: You work on getting you little girl back. And hope that it’s successful.

A/N: It’s been a long time coming, I haven’t proof read it or anything (but when do I ever? Lol), so bare that in mind.

Ko-Fi

(Not My GIF)

***

Being a pair of Avengers and going through the adoption process was so very complicated.

On one hand, you were well known across the globe. Household names.

But on the other. You were dangerous people, with violent past's -and futures to come- with more enemies than you could count. Some of which you didn't even know existed. And who in their right minds would ever let a child into that environment? People have been turned down for much less.

However.

You were basically celebrity's. And as everyone knows, that comes with a lot of special treatment. Even if you and Natasha -And most of, if not all of your team- denied to use any of it. But in this case? For little Hope? You would do whatever you had to.

So, it was thanks to that, that you were even allowed to be considered for adoption.

And there was so much work that had to be done.

Papers to sign, meetings to attend, visits and screenings every which way. And so much more.

It was a long and tedious journey. And you still had a long way to go.

Right now, you had to watch as someone picked apart your home -once again- to make sure it was okay for your little girl to come home. Where she belongs.

You had moved not too long ago, maybe a little over two months, and in that time, it had been looked at three times. Which really made it seem like you weren't doing anything, in their eyes, considering you were busy working and renovating the whole place out at the same time.

The day after you and Natasha had to say goodbye to Hope, you knew that you had to get a bigger place than the apartment you had both shared. And began looking for new homes the very same day.

Tony's help wasn't needed, you had plenty of money, but he insisted. So when you two found a townhouse that you absolutely adored, not too far from SHIELD HQ -where you both now worked most of the time. As when Fury found out that you were both to be adopting Hope- or trying to at least, the man lowered your hours and took you off missions altogether. Just until you were all settled-, the billionaire bought it for you, the moment he got wind of it.

You were moved in three days later. Deciding to work on the house while you lived there.

"So, where would the child be sleeping?" Your caseworker asked.

"Oh, right this way," you said, leading her down the hall to the newly decorated bedroom. Natasha following behind.

You gestured to the light pink, yet slightly sparse room. "This is it."

"We still have to pick up some of the furniture. But we've been waiting for the room to be decorated first," Natasha said, excusing the bare room.

"Yeah, Hope's not going to sleep on a stack of paint cans," you tried to joke. To which you barely got a smile from your caseworker, Stephany Halla.

"It look's decorated to me?"

"Oh." Natasha smiled. "We're having a friend of ours paint a mural or two on the walls."

"Yeah, Hope has a few favourite Avengers, so he's gonna paint them. And he's been learning how to draw cartoon characters for it, too."

"He's actually trying to adopt the two kids he took in with his fiance."

"Steve Rogers?" Stephany asked.

"That's the guy," you said, nodding along with Natasha.

"I've seen him around the office," She spoke again a few moments later. "So, when are you planning on getting the furniture for the room?"

"Hopefully, within a month," Natasha replied, "But with our and Steve's schedules, things are up in the air."

It was a difficult start to the adoption process, more so than it was now. Considering that the children legally didn't exist to the world. So, everything was so confusing and thrown up into the air while waiting for the kids to be registered.

Almost like you didn't know whether you were coming or going. Everything stuck in limbo as you waited to see what kind of adoption process you would have to take. And even with all of your connections in the world, you were still left in the dark.

There was the fact that the kids were found overseas in Romania, so they could be considered Romanian. And so, you would have to go through international adoption.

However, none of the children have birth parents and were brought to America because you had rescued them. So, some would say they could be considered immigrants.

Nothing like this had ever happened before.

Babies that had been grown in a lab and saved from a further torturous life, that now needed legalization in the world's eyes.

You and Natasha had to watch as Government's essentially fought over these children you saved. Over the same child, you clothed and fed. The one you played games with and bonded with the little girl you grew to love and consider your own.

So, as the world fought for the right of your child, your little Hope, you waited. Just wishing and wanting to bring your daughter home.

But, luckily for you, the children were now classed as American citizens. Which made it ten times easier for you to adopt than it would otherwise.

Which is honestly just crazy to you, considering just how intensely hard this is.

There were times you didn't believe you could ever adopt your child.

On more than one occasion, Natasha would come to you, saddened to her core, because she truly believed that you would never have Hope in your family.

It was so fucking hard.

Natasha had rolled over one night after you two had -once again- gone through the rules and regulations of adopting. Uttering how you were, "Never going to get her back" that there was "Juts no way, they will let us adopt", as she cried into your arms.

But still, the process continued.

"Well, your home seems to be in good standing. So for. But I advise you to get the furniture for the child's room as soon as possible," Stephane commented as she began packing up her belongings and paperwork.

"Oh, we know."

"Steve did say that he was going to start work on it in the next few days," Natasha added, nodding along with you.

"Well, that's is good news." Stephane smiled. "I'll see you at our next meeting with Hope."

Natasha sighed happily. "We can't wait."

"Well, goodbye then."

You whished the dirty-blonde woman farewell, closing the door behind her.

"We get to see our daughter in a couple of weeks," your red-headed girlfriend said excitedly, dancing from side to side out of pure happiness. Her bright smile filling your soul with warmth, that travelled all the way into your bones.

You matched her emotions, hands coming to curve around her shoulder blades and pulling her close to you.

"I know, Honey. It's been so long since we've seen her. And we're gonna bring her home one day."

That was all you could say before your mouth was covered, with the crushing feeling of Natasha's plump lips against yours.

***

Nerves rattled through you, but you hadn't the faintest idea why, considering this wasn't the first time you had seen Hope. However, it had been one of the first times you were able to see her since the day she was taken away from you.

If you thought you were bad.

Natasha was far worse.

She was practically shaking. From nerves or excitement, you didn't know. But you had a good inkling to think that it was both.

You had done so much for this child in the short span of time you had known her.

And yet, you couldn't imagine your life any other way. The thought of how your life had been that time last year.

No Hope. Surrounded by missions and work. Every free moment you had was spent with Natasha, and the rag-tag group of hero's you had grown to call your family.

It all seemed so foreign now.

Like a past life.

'Wow', you thought, 'Maybe I really am growing up'.

A part of you was afraid that the girl you thought of as your daughter wouldn't recognise you or your []. And would be scared of the two strangers that had just barged their way into her life. Breaking both of your heart's.

"Mommy! Mommy!"

Was the thing that greeted you, as soon as the door had swung open. Making you realise just how stupid your train of thought really was.

Natasha rushed forward, scooping the girl up into her arms, with a bright smile upon both of their faces.

"So, I still don't get a name, huh?" you joked, walking over to the reuniting girls.

Brushing a hand over Hope's short hair. Grinning when she reached her arms towards you, ready to give you a hug of your own, which you gratefully accepted.

"Don't worry," Natasha said, rubbing Hope's back as she hugged you, "You'll get a name soon."

"I better. Or else I'm gonna have ta tickle it out of her."

Hope's squeals reached your ears as you threateningly poked her side with your fingers.

"Here, baby. I'll save you," Natasha called, pulling the giggling girl from your arms. Both of them watching as you pulled your hand's in front of your face, wiggling the fingers almost spookily as them. The girls turned to each other, "They're silly."

Then they walked away.

With you calling after them.

"Hey! I may be silly, but-... I have no rebuttal!"

Natasha laughed at this, then greeted the care worker that was patiently waiting for you both. The one that you had only just noticed.

"Hello, Stephany," Natasha said in greeting, shaking the woman's hand. You following suit.

"Hey. How have you two been?"

"Missing this little one," Natasha replied, bouncing the girl on her waist. Receiving fun-filled giggles in return.

"I bet you have. And you, Y/N?"

"Exhausted," you told her honestly, "With moving house and everything, I just want to have Hope home, then sleep for a week."

The care worker laughed at that.

"Let's hope that that's sooner rather than later, then."

Your few hour's with Hope passed faster than you ever could have imagined. You played with blocks, ate lunch, "helped" Hope colour in her haphazardly filled colouring book. You absolutely adored the way her eyes lit up, and she started dancing and flailing her arms when she saw bubbles for the first time. You almost couldn't continue blowing them because of your bright smile.

And now you were watching as Natasha spoke gently to the little girl. Hope's hand's resting on the red-heads cheeks, watching her mother with such concentrating eyes.

You adored your little family.

You just wished you could have them all home.

'One day', you thought, 'one day'.

Saying goodbye was one of the hardest things you've ever had to do.

Just like the last time.

And the time before that.

And the time before that.

And the one before that.

It just got harder and harder each and every time you did this.

Hope was crying. And so was Natasha, albeit silently, as she tried to console the toddler.

"I know, my little love, I know-"

"Mommy!" Hope cried.

"I know, angel. We'll be back before you know it, I promise."

"Mommy!"

"I know."

Once in the car, you let your tears fall, Natasha sobbing in the seat beside you.

"I don't think I can keep on doing this anymore," you admitted. Deciding it was best you explained when Natasha turned to look at you, an incredulous look upon her face, "Keep on seeing her, and not being able to bring her home."

"We'll get there," your [] reached over the centre console to squeeze your hand, "We will. You're the one who's always saying that we've got to take after her namesake and have hope."

"But it almost seems endless, Nat."

"I know, honey." She wetly kissed your tear-stained cheek. Her lips, brushing against it as she continued, "We'll bring her home. I just know it."

"I hope you're right."

***

She was right.

Of course, she was right.

She was Natasha Romanoff, after all.

It was like she just had this inability to be wrong.

But in this case? You were so fucking happy about that.

Granted it had taken a while longer -a good eight months- but finally, you were here.

Exiting the courthouse with Hope in your arms, and Natasha by your side. Bright smiles upon all of your faces, about to take the little girl- Your daughter home.

You would never have to say goodbye to her, like that, ever again.

She was legally a part of your family now. And nothing would ever change that.

"Ready to go home, sweetpea?" Natasha asked the beaming girl.

"I don't know about you," you started, "But I think this deserves celebratory ice cream."

"I think you just want ice cream before dinner."

You gave an overdramatic gasp.

"Why I would never! How dare you accuse me of such a thing?"

Natasha laughed at your antics but nonetheless nodded her head.

"I agree. This does deserve celebratory ice cream."

"Yes!" you exclaimed happily to Hope, your free arm raising above your head in victory, making the girl copy you by raising both of her arms.

She was already taking after you.

Your red-headed girlfriend sighed dreamily after you, as you chanted, "Ice cream! Ice cream! Ice cream!" On your way to the car.

She couldn't remember a time where she was this happy.

It had been a long time since then.

And Natasha just couldn't wait to see what the rest of her life would bring with the two of you now by her side.

***

Permanent Tag List: 

@imnotasuperhero, @veteranwerewolf95, @natasha-danvers, @marvelfansince08love, @higherfurther-romanova, @lesbian-x-blackwidow, @sestra-inestro, @thelastavenger-3000, @mixed-fandom-mess,

SFW Tag list: 

@peggycarter-steverogers, @natalia-quinzel,

[massivedrickhead]

Bechloe Week 2021 - Day 6

July 31st: Neighbors AU or Famous AU

Read on AO3

So, yeah, should have posted this yesterday but I didn’t have time to finish writing it and then I got drunk. I’m not super happy with it, it didn’t come out like I planned, but I hope you like it anyway. Hopefully I can get day 7 written and posted tomorrow.

-

Fame for Beca had always been a double edged sword.

It allowed her music to spread across the globe. She got to meet fans and hear about how she had inspired or helped them, just by existing. She got to work with and meet her peers and idols, and perform in places she never dreamed of.

She got to provide for her family. She got to give her kids the childhood she never had, and she got to give her wife the life she deserved.

But she also had to deal with paparazzi following them around everywhere they went.

She had to deal with articles written about her every other day, and intense fans that crossed boundaries, and ones that would trash her online.

Beca was finding that she had more bad days than good days, and it was beginning to weigh her down.

She had to remind herself daily, that there were billions of people who were suffering in the world, and that she was incredibly privileged to live the life she led.

But Chloe could see the toll it was taking on her wife, and it was killing her.

After she was almost in that car accident, Beca had taken a couple of weeks off work. She spent her time taking care of Chloe, playing with Blake, and obsessively re-writing and re-working the songs on her upcoming album.

And it was an insane success.

Everyone who had slated her single ate their words, and Beca found herself skyrocketing to fame for the second time.

Their money worries disappeared almost overnight, but other problems replaced them quickly.

Beca had always been a relatively private and introverted person. It was one of the reasons she had always wanted to be a producer rather than an artist.

So while her fame rose, her anxiety did too.

She tried to keep it to herself, but Chloe has always been able to read Beca like a book.

She always knew when Beca’s anxiety was bad, but she also always knew how to calm Beca down.

So they were dealing with it. They had a system. Beca would work until she couldn’t, and then Chloe would pick her back up.

“People are dying,” Beca would mutter to herself, her eyes squeezed shut, her hands on the back of her head. “Children are dying. They’re going without food, water, and medicine, and they’re dying. My problems are nothing.”

When things were at the worst, she would repeat this to herself over and over as wave after way of anxiety crippled her. Chloe would find her and hold her, and whisper reassurances until Beca calmed down.

It wasn’t an ideal situation, but it was working.

At least Chloe thought it was.

But then Beca reached her breaking point.

It had been a rough week to begin with - she had had to read an article on a prominent gossip site about how she was apparently cheating on Chloe with another musician - so she was already on edge.

Chloe had assured Beca she knew it was all bullshit, but Beca still hated that Chloe had to deal with that stuff. And she hated even more that Blake was old enough to read and understand it.

It was Riley’s third birthday, and she was walking with her girls to get ice cream from the kids’ favourite place.

Riley was up on Beca’s shoulders, Chloe was walking at her side, pushing Riley’s empty stroller, and Blake was walking between them.

“What ice cream are you gonna get, peanut?” Beca asked.

“I don’t want any,” Blake said, frowning, kicking her shoes against the ground.

Beca shot a look of confusion at Chloe. She had been excited when they were in the car, and had seemed perfectly happy a few minutes ago when Beca had taken her hand to cross the street.

“Why not?” Chloe asked.

“I just don’t. I wanna go home,” she said. She stopped walking, so Beca and Chloe did too.

“Hey, what is it?” Chloe asked, crouching down in front of her. She pushed Blake’s dark brown hair out of her face, and lifted her sunglasses so she could see her eyes. “Are you not feeling well?”

“People keep taking pictures of us,” she said in a quiet voice. “And I don’t like it.”

Chloe glanced up at Beca in time to see her face fall.

“None of us like it very much,” Chloe said. “But your Mom is famous. And that means people wanna see pictures of her when she’s out and about.”

“Well I hate it!” Blake snapped. She looked past Chloe and let out a groan of annoyance. “They’re doing it again!”

Chloe turned and saw a man sitting at a table outside a coffee shop pointing his phone at them. He shoved it into his pocket and turned away when he realised he’d been caught.

Beca sighed, and took Riley down from her shoulders. Riley fussed and started crying when Beca put her back in her stroller.

“Sorry baby girl,” Beca said. “I’ll be right back.”

“Beca,” Chloe said in a warning voice.

“I’m just gonna talk to him,” Beca said.

She left Chloe with their daughters and approached the man.

She saw recognition dawn in other peoples’ faces as she got close.

“Hey,” she said, keeping her tone friendly. “Can you do me a favour and delete those pictures you took?”

“I didn’t-”

“Come on, man, even my nine-year-old clocked you. She doesn’t like having her picture taken, and I don’t like photographs of my kids being on some stranger’s phone,” Beca said. “I’ll happily take a selfie with you, if you want, but I’d really like it if you deleted those photos.”

“Yeah, I kinda don’t want a selfie,” he said. “TMZ won’t pay me anything for a selfie.”

Beca clenched her jaw and forced a smile. “Delete those pictures, dude.”

“No,” he said. “It’s a free country.”

Beca could feel the eyes of every other table watching them. She knew they had all fallen silent to eavesdrop.

“Delete the pictures of my fucking kids, do you hear me?” Beca said, trying to keep her voice down.

She was sick of this. Sick of the entitlement that these people had. Like they had a right to her life, and she was sick of the impact it was having on her family.

“Are you gonna make me?”

She saw he was pointing his phone at her again.

She swallowed down the anger that was building. “I’m asking nicely, dude. Delete those pictures.”

“I was taking them of you and Chloe,” he said. “You can hardly see the kids.”

“Is there a problem here?”

She looked at the man who had just arrived and figured he must work for the coffee shop, based on his brown apron with the shop logo, and the name tag that read ‘Dylan’.

“Beca fucking Mitchell here won’t leave me alone,” the guy said.

“This pervert took pictures of my kids!” Beca snapped back.

“What did you just call me?” He stood up from his chair quickly, the raised voice and abrupt noise of the chair scraping attracted more attention.

“How many other pictures of little girls are we gonna find on your phone? Let’s take a look,” she made a move to grab the phone off the table, but he tried to stop her, and caused it to slide off and onto the floor.

Without thinking, Beca drove the heel of her Doc Marten boot into it, hearing a satisfying crunch as the screen broke.

Yes, his pictures were probably already on the Cloud, but she didn’t care right now. He wasn’t going to be able to ruin anyone else’s day today.

“Yes!” One of the patrons of the coffee shop cheered. “Work bitch!”

“That was a $1,500 phone you… talentless whore!” He shoved her, hard, and Beca fell backwards into another table.

With a look of panic in his eyes he ran off, as Chloe rushed towards her with the girls.

“Mommy!” Blake cried, letting go of Chloe’s hand and running over to Beca who was now sitting on the ground, her hand gingerly touching the back of her head. “Mommy, he pushed you!”

She climbed onto her Mom’s lap and wrapped her arms around her.

“I know,” Beca said, hugging her daughter tightly. “But I’m okay.”

A bigger crowd had started to form around them now, and more people had their phones out. Beca could feel the panic building in her chest.

People were touching her, Beca didn’t know if they were trying to help her up or not, but she needed them to stop.

“Can I get through, please?” Beca heard Chloe shout. “Excuse me, I need to check on my wife.”

Dylan managed to clear a space for Chloe to get through with the stroller.

Riley was starting to get upset, and Chloe could see the panic rising in Beca’s eyes.

“Are you okay?” Chloe asked, her voice as quiet as she could make it so Beca would still be able to hear, but that it might not carry to the crowd.

“I can’t be here,” Beca said, her voice shaking. “I don’t want them to see.”

“Okay,” Chloe said. She stood up and quietly asked Dylan if there was somewhere they could sit in private, and he nodded. “Blake, honey, can you help your Mom stand up?”

Blake climbed off Beca’s lap, and held out her small hand for Beca to take. Beca took it, and stood up as Blake pulled.

Dylan led them through the shop and to a small room with a couple of sofas that must have been meant for staff.

“I’ll make sure no one bothers you,” he said.

“Thank you,” Chloe said. “We really appreciate this.”

He left the room and closed the door behind him.

Beca dropped onto one of the sofas and let her head fall into her shaking hands.

She forced herself to take deep breaths as Chloe sat beside her, rubbing a comforting hand up and down her back.

“Mommy?” Riley asked.

“Yeah?” Chloe replied.

“Can we get ice cream yet?”

Beca burst into tears without warning, which created the domino effect of Riley crying and then Blake crying.

“Okay,” Chloe said, surveying her tearful family. “Who needs a hug the most?”

“Mom does,” Blake said, sniffing and wiping her eyes.

“Can you give it to her while I take care of Riley?”

“Uh huh,” Blake said. She climbed onto Beca’s lap again, and Beca pulled her daughter into her arms. “It’s okay, Mom, the bad man is gone.”

“I know,” Beca said, trying to stop crying. “I’m just sad that he ruined Riley’s birthday.”

“We can still get ice cream,” Blake said. “I won’t be angry about people taking our picture anymore.”

“No, baby, you should be angry about that,” Beca said. “They don’t have your permission, so they shouldn’t be doing it.”

Her eyes met Chloe’s who was soothing a still sobbing Riley. Something was going to have to change.

They left the coffee shop once everyone had calmed down, and Beca gave them a big tip for the trouble they’d gone through.

They made it back to the car without any more trouble, and Beca ordered some ice cream on DoorDash to get delivered.

They hung out in their garden for the rest of the day, playing in the pool, and eating junk food.

Chloe kept noticing the smile that would slip from Beca’s face whenever she thought no one was looking.

Once the kids were bathed and put to bed, Chloe poured them both a generous glass of wine, and joined Beca on their comfy sofa in the living room.

“I don’t want you confronting people like that again, Bec,” Chloe said, trying to massage the tension out of Beca’s shoulders.

“I know,” Beca said, closing her eyes.

“I mean it,” Chloe said. “He could have hurt you.”

“I know,” Beca said again. “I promise, I won’t do that again.”

“Good,” Chloe said. She placed a kiss on the back of Beca’s head.

They were quiet for a while as Chloe continued slowly massaging Beca’s shoulders.

“Come on,” she said, planting a brief kiss on her neck. “Let's go to bed.”

They climbed the stairs, briefly checked on the kids, and then changed for bed.

“What are you thinking?” Chloe asked, watching Beca as stared up at the ceiling. She could see tears building in her eyes again, and she brushed one away with a sweep of her thumb.

“I don’t wanna do it anymore, Chloe,” Beca said, her voice breaking. “We can’t take our kids for ice cream. Blake is getting too anxious to leave the house, and Riley is gonna start picking up on that soon. You can’t even work anymore. I don’t… I don’t wanna be famous anymore, I don’t want to live in this stupid town, I don’t want any of it.”

“I know,” Chloe said, softly.

“I’m serious.” Her voice was wobbling dangerously now. “I can’t… It’s crushing me.” She brought up a hand to cover her face as she started crying. “I can’t do it anymore.”

“Hey, shh, it’s okay. It’s okay, we can figure this out,” Chloe said, gathering Beca into her arms. “We’ll be okay.”

“It’s gonna kill me.”

“I know, baby, I know. But I won’t let it,” Chloe said. “Tomorrow we’re gonna call Theo, and we’re gonna figure it out.”

“Thank you,” Beca said, feeling calm relief begin to wash over her. Things were going to change. Things were going to get better. “I love you.”

“I love you too. No matter what your job is or where we live. I’m always gonna love you.”

[omniscientwreck]

With Every Single Thing I Have

Beginning note: ***MAJOR SPOILERS FOR C2 E141***

CW: Character Death, Talk of Death

This is my interpretation of the canon description of Essek and Caleb’s days with some good angst thrown right in there. I have no knowledge of what is or isn’t cannon about the afterlife in Critical Role so this may be canon divergent but I needed it to cope. I hope you enjoy! Title Is Taken From The Song Two by Sleeping At Last

Caleb Widogast is dying.

He’s old, nearly 90 years of age. His body aches with every rain, stairs become more difficult, but his casting never fades. His mind is sharp and he reads, learns, and teaches until the end comes for him. Up in his tower, exhausted and bed-ridden he hears shuffling outside the door before it opens without so much as a touch and a tray of food is brought in. Essek Thelyss glides gently into the room, “Oh good, you’re awake. I prepared a light lunch for you, would you eat?”

Nodding back at the drow, the bittersweet smile that’s become a companion to him in Essek’s presence settling again into his wrinkled features. Essek sits on the bed beside him, book in hand as he often does and the memories written all over Caleb’s face come flooding back.

They had gone back to Aeor after the business in Rexxentrum concluded. Jester had helped Caleb locate Essek and when he found out he wasn’t too late, he was still at the outpost, he’d gone almost immediately. The winter clothes they’d bought all those months ago to chase their lost friend still fit and they carried many memories in them with the promise of more to come.

Their time together in Aeor was long. They took many months scouring the ruins for every book they could find. Between his Vault of Amber and Essek’s Wristpocket as well as a borrowed bag of holding they were able to collect the knowledge of Aeor. They found every device, every tiny dunamantic stone. They went back to the machine, the one that promised Caleb his dreams, closure, a chance to atone. The one that could change Essek’s past, that would give him his freedom.

Essek gazed upon the machine and he decided to remain in hiding. He looked directly at Caleb, made the decision to live forever with the consequences of his actions, because without them they wouldn’t have this. This moment, this trip, these memories.

It is Caleb’s turn now to gaze upon his destiny. He looks into the lavender eyes boring into him with the question Will you do it? His plan is perfect, the only thing that changes is that his parents are not dead and one day maybe he can reunite with them. He can see them grown old, he can tell them everything he’s done. They can be proud of him.

His mind shifts to the Nein, to Veth, Jester. To Astrid and Eodwulf. Back to Essek. It’s impossible to know what would happen if he did this. If he’d be able to come back. Is it really worth giving up everything he knows? Potentially giving up the Mighty Nein not only for himself but for them too?

He reaches into his components bag, smears dust across his forearm and with a green ray he carves away the experiment. He destroys, permanently, any hope of ever going back, in favour of hope for the future. Essek helps him burn everything and when they’re done he can only stare at the drow. The man who’s come so far, allowed himself to be so changed by the love of friends (Caleb’s love) that he went from enemy to beloved companion. He stares and divergent futures flash before his eyes as if he’s staring deep into the Luxon. They all end the same, he dies and Essek lives on without him for many years. The change is in the times in between now and then.

He knows which one he want and if the last two months were any indication Essek had his own hopes.

A week or so later, they ate in the tower. When the Nein first separated the tower had felt empty, he usually elected to sleep in a hotel room or in the dome under the stars. With Essek it’s easier to be there. They’ve fallen into a comfortable routine while researching that involves them spending the day immersed in ancient secrets forgotten to time. They would spend hours in complete silence, reading in tandem or copying runes and arcane patterns and then one of them would find something truly tantalizing and the silence would be broken as they began theorizing. When Essek gets excited his lavender eyes brighten and his whole face lifts and it’s no secret to Caleb that his heart races and his face melts into a soft, tender expression that Essek catches and matches.

After, they’ll go into the tower and eat, served warm soups and breads by little fey cats and then they read in the study in companionable silence until they retire to separate rooms. This night, a week before their time was up, Caleb’s keen mind caught up with him. Suddenly he became very aware of the passage of time, the potential futures slipping away and he rests his spoon on the table, overwhelmed by the shrinking timeline ahead.

They talk that night, instead of reading. They sit in two armchairs in a quiet carpeted room lit by purple globules of light, gently bobbing around their heads and they talk. They talk for hours. Essek tells Caleb his sins and Caleb elaborates on his own. They talk plainly and it’s hard to do, but at some point the chairs moved closer, and then their hands touched, eventually Essek’s hands were folded into Caleb’s.

He felt closer to Essek after that. For the rest of the week it was easier to reach out and grasp his hand, to pull him into a hug. Two weeks later, they talked again and after that they kissed. Their kisses weren’t frequent but they were familiar, a warm comfort over those last weeks in Aeor.

Theirs was not a whirlwind romance. It was something more precious and much more difficult to describe. It burned slow and and steadily rose until something had to be done. They kept in close contact after Aeor, it is those letters that begin the new collection that fills Caleb’s left holster.

They visit occasionally until the burn of the eyes of the Dynasty on Essek’s back became too hot. Caleb has taken to staying in Nicodranas when he and Beauregard are taking a break from dismantling centuries old systems to weed out the rot so he asks Essek to come stay with him. Quietly, out of the eyes of the empire and most of their friends, they begin to build a life. They construct with care, laying a sturdy foundation because though they both know this arrangement is temporary they promise to always be together in one way or another; because though gravity can be altered, it always rights itself and the pull Caleb feels towards Essek, has felt for some time, is a law of his nature.

They allow themselves as long as the other will have them and they spend years together. The kisses become more frequent as they gradually abandon inhibitions. Caleb’s life is a blink compared to Essek and he becomes more aware each year of the limited time he has. He and Essek stay together in varying locations for as long as he can bear it, he realizes now that they have earned this happiness, however fleeting. It will always be a larger portion of his life than it will be of Essek’s so he holds out as long as he can. He begins to teach in this time and though Essek cannot really be free he still has his work studying their findings and occasionally he travels.

Caleb watches him advance so much in their decade together and he gets bleary eyed imagining all Essek will do when he’s gone. They learn together, share every meal, he learns Undercommon and teaches Zemnian, and they spend every possible night together in every possible way. They share a sweet and intense passion and Caleb’s love sinks deeper and deeper into his heart.

When his forehead wrinkles and his hair is greying he realizes his time is up. He has goals, he needs to teach, he needs to fully commit to being in the Empire and his short life must be spent doing as he promised all those years ago, making each place better than he found it. That is the hardest conversation he’s ever had. “I wish it were not this way. That it didn’t have to be, but I do not have as much time as you so I must burn brightly to make my impact. I will always love you Essek Thelyss.”

“And I you Caleb Widogast. When you stumbled into my life all those years ago, Empire infiltrator holding my greatest crime in your hand I had no idea what would happen. You were a variable I did not account for, could never have foreseen. Of all the possible futures in store for me this one, where I am here with you, where I have been here with you for ten years and where I will continue to be by your side thought it is not the same is the best one I could have never predicted.”

They give themselves one last year. They don’t travel, Caleb takes the year off and they spend 328 days exactly together, in bliss. They do their best not to allow the apprehension of good-bye to creep in. Caleb knows it’s not good-bye, not truly and not forever. But when the day comes though he tries to hold it back he cries bitter tears and holds Essek tight and the smaller man shakes with his own sobs. But they loved each other for eleven years, and they manage to continue loving each other for another fourty or so.

Essek leaves and travels for a while to do his own work. This is frequent in the latter half of Caleb’s life but every time he comes back and his friend brings him stories and listens to all of his own. They help each other research, Caleb still tells him everything and relishes every moment they spend together. They no longer kiss but they are still partners.

Caleb’s life has been better, more fulfilling than he could ever have hoped stumbling out of that wretched prison at the beginning of his second life. He learned peace through the Nein and later through Essek and now that he’s at the end of his time he knows he could not have lived a better life.

Caleb Widogast is old, older than he ever thought he’d be and while his bones and muscles give out and he goes to the Blooming Grove where Caduceus has always said he will end up, to spend his final months, Essek follows.

He cooks the soups the cats used to, they remember everything together, Caleb’s mind keen but Essek has kept up well. At just the right time, Caleb knows. Essek is sat beside him in the bed, the wizards reading in tandem as they’ve done before and fallen into again in this late stage. They have been kissing again, Caleb allowing this last indulgence, one last selfish act. Essek needs it too.

“Essek Thelyss, thank you for everything you’ve done for me. My constant companion, the center of my gravity. You who bent time and space for me and taught me so many things from magic to forgiveness. I have loved you all my life from the moment I could and I would never dream to change a single thing.”

“Caleb Widogast. I have treasured every moment we have spent together, you changed my life, saved a man who knew not that he was dying. I have been happy because I know you and I will continue to be happy because you will never be far from my heart.”

“Please promise to me that you will take care of the others. Allow them to care for you. Find new people and care for them and allow yourself to be cared for in return, live your life as fully as you are able, and when you are done I will see you again just as I am about to see my family.”

“I will. You have loved me all of your life and I will love you for all of mine. I will never know someone like you again. Thank you for allowing me the privilege of your companionship. It is an honor to love you and it always will be.”

The quiet conversation fades and they share one final kiss and Essek sits as Caleb drifts to sleep, gently running his fingers through his hair. Then he goes to get Caduceus. Caleb Widogast is dead.

---------------------------------

Essek Thelyss is dying.

He is nearly 740 years old and he is in decline. He, like his friends before him, retires to the Blooming Grove to live out his remaining days, however many they might be. Caduceus’ kin are caring and when he shows up on their doorstep they expect him. “He told us you would arrive one day. Welcome home and thank you for being here.”

Essek’s life has been a thing of remarkable chance, nearly improbable. He has learned to manipulate as much as he can but even he could not have foreseen the path he ended up taking. He has lived so long, and his life has been full but he is tired.

Fjord had been the first of the Nein to pass. After him Caleb. After Caleb the group coalesced around him. They had never shared many details, but they seemed to know. Keeping his promise to Caleb he allowed them to care for him. To bring him food, to message him to make sure he was okay. They invited him on adventures when they needed and he never turned them down.

They continued asking him to teleport them and every single time he did. Kingsley goes next and then Beauregard. Those years are full of so much loss condensed into such a tiny portion of his existence. He isn’t used to things happening so quickly and he begins to reach out. New connections. He finds people to care for, to mentor and to bolster. He dedicates his life to using aliases to research and study and publish materials to help the mages after him and Caleb. He finds himself beseeched by parties of assholes for assistance and while he never fights alongside another group he makes himself useful in any other way in his ability.

He always imparts the lesson to leave the world better than they found it, and if they listen, if they are the same as his friends, the best people he’s ever known, the world will survive yet. There is a pause between good-byes for a number of years. Then he loses Yasha and Jester. Jester is one of the hardest, the friendly little blue tiefling with a heart for adventure who hugged him when touch had still burned. After her goes Veth and after Veth, finally Caduceus goes back to the earth.

He promised Caleb to live a full life, but every year, the anniversary of the day they met several lifetimes ago, he visits the Blooming Grove. He walks the grounds, he sits with Caleb and he tells him of his research, he reminisces and he whispers love to the flowers that grow. They are fiery orange and yellow with some deep purple and blue spattered among them. Caduceus says on his first visit that the blue ones are called forget-me-nots. Essek picks one every year and presses it into a book, like Yasha showed him once upon a time.

Caduceus and Essek drink the tea from the flowers Caleb gave them. For centuries they sat together, telling stories, having extended conversation year after year. Some years Caduceus travelled so Essek made his vigil alone, but he never forgot Caleb and he never forgot the Mighty Nein. They lived as long as he did for they were in his heart always.

The last time he visits Caleb they talk for hours. “Every good thing I have done, every positive emotion and happiness I have known in these centuries has been because of you. You allowed me to feel again and the best decision I could have ever made was letting my plan go to allow myself to grow close to you.”

He is lying beside the grave twirling a delicate blue flower between wrinkled, aching fingers. “Caleb Widowgast you have lived with me for a long while and I thank you again for the gifts you gave me while you were here. I hope you are proud of me. I love you to the end of my days my friend.”

He falls asleep then, in the night of the Blooming Grove, fireflies and an infinite expanse of stars casting gentle light across his stilling form.

As Essek Thelyss fades he finds himself again in a garden. It is brightly coloured and lush, well cared for. There is a small cottage there and as he glides to the door, drawn to it as if by gravity, it opens and he sees copper hair, vibrant blue eyes, and the widest smile he’s missed the most, “I told you my friend, we would meet again.”

“I never doubted you Caleb Widogast.”

[plaidbooks]

Nicknames and Slumps - “The Big Leagues” baseball AU

(moodboard by @witches-unruly-heart​)

A/N: Here’s chapter 2 of the Baseball AU! I know I mentioned some chapters going towards the Summer Bingo--and they will--but I wanted to establish Sonny in this universe a little bit, first. This chapter takes place in the off season, and the beginning to Sonny’s second season of pitching for the Mets. Like before, feel free to DM me any questions you have about baseball/the AU!

Also, shoutout to @thatesqcrush and her husband for answering my arbitrary Mets questions!

P.S. Aquafresh is a brand of toothpaste

Tags: yelling, otherwise none

Words: 1803

Taglist: @witches-unruly-heart  @beccabarba @thatesqcrush @itsjustmyfantasyroom @permanentlydizzy  @ben-c-group-therapy @infiniteoddball @glowingmess @whimsicallymad @lv7867  @storiesofsvu @cycat4077 @alwaysachorusgirl @glimmerglittergirl @joanofarkansass  @redlipstickandblacktea  @reading--mermaid  @averyhotchner  @mrsrafaelbarba @detective-giggles @crowleysqueenofhell @dreamlover31

Sonny’s first year in the majors was almost flawless. Outside of his perfect game in his sixth start, he was dominate; he kept his ERA hovering around the low 1.00’s, and he was still undefeated. He did, however, have a few no decisions, only two of which were his fault. But besides that, he was the star everyone talked about. He even won the Rookie of the Year award; something almost unheard of with pitchers. The Cy Young award shocked no one, and the Mets were frantically offering him more money, trying to keep him. As if he’d go anywhere else.

Even with his spectacular pitching, the Mets didn’t make it to the post-season. But as the Mets watched the World Series from their homes, all anyone could talk about was the kid, Sonny Carisi.

He had gained notoriety among sportscasters and journalists for his outstanding performance on the field. But the fans adored him for his off days, and for how he conducted himself off the field. Not only did Sonny donate most of his time in the off season—not to mention his money—to multiple volunteer organizations, but he also offered to do signings at small, struggling mom and pop shops for free. He’d bring in huge crowds, spending hours at these events, taking pictures, signing autographs, talking to kids and adults alike.

While in the ballpark, on days he pitched, he would do his workouts in the trainer’s room, coming out of the dugout just to throw in the bullpen. He was focused, working on his mechanics. But on days he didn’t pitch, he was one of the first out on the field. Sonny had a penchant for hanging out right next to the dugout, signing autographs and taking pictures. He never declined—unless the umpire was yelling at him to get off the field so they could start the game—and he had a blast. And when he was in the outfield, shagging balls during batting practice, he’d toss them up to the crowd, or give them to kids with a huge smile.

Sonny’s trademark smile earned him his first nickname: Aquafresh. He threw his head back and laughed when he first heard it, loving it. He wasn’t as fond of his other nicknames that sprung up afterwards: Stringbean and Earthworm Jim being his least favorites. But there was one that apparently was going around that he didn’t hear from the crowd.

*************************

It was early morning, and he was watching the postgame wrap from the night before while he ate breakfast. Normally, Sonny didn’t watch the pre- or postgame commentary. But since he started dating you, he made it a point to watch if you were on. He smiled as he saw you wearing his jersey, thinking you were too damn cute, and wanting to cuddle with you on the couch.

The conversation slowly shifted from the game that happened to Sonny, as it normally did…not because you forced them to talk about him. In fact, you did your job as normal; it was your cohosts that would change the subject to him. And now that they knew—the world knew—that you two were dating, he almost wondered if it was on purpose, to see if you slip up on some personal info about him, or you two together.

“Speaking of Carisi, have you heard the new nickname? I heard the Staten Island Little Leaguers came up with it,” one of the guys said.

Sonny watched your face light up. “I have! They call him Peanut Butter Cup, right?” you asked, though he knew you didn’t need to; you never said anything that you couldn’t back up.

“Peanut Butter Cup? Where did they get that from?” another of your colleagues wondered out loud.

You smiled, and Sonny felt a swell of pride at your knowledge. “From his last name. They went from Carisi to Risi, then to Reese, then Reese’s and bam! Peanut Butter Cup,” you explained.

Sonny laughed, flushing with embarrassment, his heart warm. Children called him Peanut Butter Cup. Not for the first time, he felt an intense longing; Sonny wanted children, wanted a family. He was only 22, but he had known most of his life that he wanted to be a father. He made a mental note to bring up the prospect of children with you. It was still early in your relationship; you’ve been dating about five months, but with your jobs, you rarely saw each other. Hell, you saw each other more at work than off the field. Your relationship was mostly over text or phone calls, but he still felt deeply about you. He wasn’t sure if it was love yet, but he was hoping to get to know you more in person in the off season.

Once he finished breakfast, Sonny sent you a text: I saw your show from last night.

You responded almost instantly, unsurprising to him; your whole livelihood was on your phone. And? Did I do well?

He smiled, heart fluttering; he liked that you valued his opinion. Fantastic. Just one thing.

What??

I hate peanut butter.

 ***********************

Sonny Carisi was named the Opening Day starter for the Mets, shocking absolutely no one. He had just turned 23 and was already the best pitcher for the club, maybe even in baseball at the moment. Or so he, and everyone who watched him, thought. But that first game, the Cubs lit him up. Sonny gave up more runs in that game than he had in any other start combined. His manager took him out in the 4th, something that’s never happened to him before. When Sonny pitched, he was normally a shoo-in for at least 7 innings.

Frustrated, Sonny sat hard on the bench, not letting anyone outside the pitching coach talk to him.

“It happens to everyone eventually, Carisi. Just gotta let this roll off your back, come back strong your next outing.”

But that next outing, he did worse. He didn’t know what was happening to him. His command was perfect, his stuff great. It’s like everyone he faced suddenly could see right through him, knew every pitch he was going to throw before he threw it. It was infuriating. His ERA ballooned up to the 5.00’s, and he wondered dimly if the Mets would trade him.

Sonny eventually started shutting everyone out. He even stopped watching the pre- and postgame shows, whether you were on it or not. He stopped reading the articles you wrote, and he stopped reaching out. He even stopped being the first out of the dugout, stopped signing things by the dugout. On his days off, he spent it hiding in the locker room until game time. He didn’t want to field the questions about what was wrong with him; he didn’t have an answer, for them or himself.

 ************************

“Sonny, please open the door,” you called, knocking on the front door to his loft. He’d been avoiding you, and you worried about him.

You heard the latch unlock and took a step back. Sonny opened the door, looking annoyed. “What do you want?”

“I want to make sure my boyfriend is okay. Can I come in, please?” you asked. You knew he was frustrated, and that this may be something you’d have to deal with while dating. And you planned to force yourself into his life, to help him as best you could, whether he wanted to shut you out or not.

Sonny scoffed, turning and walking into his home. But he left the door open, and you followed, closing it behind you. “Of course, I’m not okay! Haven’t you been watching?”

“You know I have been. So, you’re in a slump; it happens—”

“Not to me!” he yelled, throwing his hands in the air.

You took a breath, staying calm. “It was bound to happen, babe.” You tried to put a comforting hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged you off.

“So, what? You’re going to side with those other analysts? Calling me a fluke and writing shitty articles about me?”

You flinched at the accusatory tone in his voice. “Of course, not—”

“Why not? Everyone else is doing it; I’m sure your bosses would eat it up.”

You sighed, trying to shove down your own defensiveness. “Would you please just listen to me for a moment?” He shot you a glare but didn’t speak up. “You know I analyze pitching for a living, right?”

“So? I’ve tried to make my fastball faster, tried to make my curve drop more, but I can’t—”

“Sonny,” you said softly, making him stop his rant. “Instead of trying to blow pitches passed batters, you should be working more on your mechanics and command. If batters are making contact, then make that work for you. Force grounders or popups, trust your defense to back you up; they’re there for a reason.”

His eyes scanned yours as he took in your words. “Th-that’s a great idea, actually….”

“I’m glad you think so,” you replied, smiling.

Sonny returned your grin. “I—I’m sorry for snapping at you,” he sighed heavily. “I just…I don’t know what’s changed between last season and now—”

“You’re not new anymore; teams can break down your pitching style. You won a Cy Young and Rookie of the Year; they’re all so threatened by you that they all probably studied the hell out of you.”

He nodded, feeling a little better with your praise. “Y-yeah….”

You reached up, cupping his face, making him look at you. “There’s nothing wrong with you or your pitching. The batters just stepped up their game. So now, you have to answer back, okay?”

He lifted a hand, placing it on top of yours, and turned his face in your hold, pressing his lips to your palm. “Thank you, doll. And again, I’m sorry for yelling—”

“It’s fine, Sonny. I understand that you’re frustrated,” you said, smiling.

He squeezed your hand. “It’s not fine; you’re just trying to help. I should listen to you more; you’re so smart, and not to mention beautiful. I promise to never snap at you again.”

Your smile grew, and you lifted to your tiptoes, giving him a tender kiss. He leaned down, deepening the kiss. He wrapped his arms around your back, pulling you flush against him, and you hummed into his mouth. Slowly, he pulled back, leaning his forehead against yours, rubbing his nose with yours.

“Just so you know, I’ve never, and will never, write a shitty article about you, or call you a fluke, Stringbean,” you muttered against his lips.

Sonny let out a chuckle. “You know, you’re the only person who can call me that to my face, and not have me get annoyed.”

You giggled, pressing your lips to his once more. And sure enough, his next start had him looking back to normal, except instead of striking out double digits, he forced grounders for eight scoreless innings.

[tsukikento]

Empathetic Chapter 13

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

Summary: After your mom, the number 1 hero in America, gets offered a teaching position at U.A., you two pack up your things and head to Musutafu, Japan to start a new life. Pressure for you in America was at an all-time high, and now you’re in Japan, where almost no one knows you, or your family’s past.

This tale starts on your first day of class where your new teacher decides the best way for you to fit in is to fight against the strongest person in your class: Bakugou Katsuki.

Warnings/Genre: This piece will feature some angst and reference to an abusive parent, if you are ever worried about other tw’s feel free to send me an ask and I will let you know. There will also be fluff, slight angst, pining, and slowburn.

A/N: I finished this weeks ago and then took forever to do my final edit! Which may suck, but I think the wait is worth it. I’m hoping to write much more in the new year! :) Please let me know what you think.

(masterlist)

It was another mundane and busy week until anything eventful occurred.

Although, there were still highlights to your week, particularly the lunch periods.

On Monday, you ate with Ashido, Kirishima, and the rest of that small group of friends you were becoming more acquainted with. News of Ashido and Kirishima’s relationship spread quickly as they sat together before class started and were giggling messes for much of the day. Therefore, the couple decided to sit next to each other during lunch instead of in the usual seating order. Because of the seating change, you were now positioned next to Bakugou who kept rather quiet except for the few times he nudged you to laugh at how idiotic the couple was being.

Tuesday was rather similar, except now Kaminari and Sero were pretending to be a couple in order to mock Ashido and Kirishima. They comically fed each other lunch, called each other disgustingly sweet pet names, and even pretended to kiss a few times. You, out of everyone there, found this the funniest. You could not help but laugh loudly at their antics while Ashido and Kirishima swayed between being upset, bashful, and laughing along. Bakugou had a small smile planted on his lips throughout the lunch, but did not bark out a laugh once.

On Wednesday, Ashido practically ruined your plans by telling you that she was eating with just Kirishima that day. You had been so excited to sit with Bakugou once more that you weren’t quite sure what to do. After some debate, you ended up sitting with the rest of the Class 1-A girls. They spent most of the lunch talking about school, which wasn’t horrible, but they were much less humorous than the ridiculous and rambunctious boys you had been sitting with.

On Thursday, you once again sat with the girls. However, Uraraka was missing today and was replaced by an Ashido who could not stop staring at Kirishima. Despite ogling him during lunch, she firmly believed in spending time with other people and taking things slow. This resulted in her promising one day for “just us girls!” As the two lovesick puppies continued to shift in their seats to get a look at the other.  You even found yourself preemptively looking towards the table of boys to catch Kirishima’s glances. It seemed Bakugou had the same idea because you made eye contact with him almost as much as Kirishima and Ashido had.

When Friday rolled around, you were fairly tired. School picked up quickly and you were still working on catching up from the weeks you missed. With little sleep, you trudged to the table with Ashido and Kirishima and allowed anyone but you to carry on a conversation. Luckily, that was easy for the group sitting with you.

Although you weren’t quite sure what was happening, you were fairly certain Ashido and Kaminari were rallying a humorous bit about Aizawa and another hero. Something about jokes? Or somebody with a lot of jokes?

However, the happy atmosphere changed quickly as Mineta approached you all with a sick smirk plastered on his face.

Despite Kaminari and Sero being friendly with Mineta in their first year, and not outright hating him now, they knew better than to welcome him with open arms to a table with two girls, the chivalrous Kirishima, and a short-tempered Bakugou. With this in mind, they stayed quiet as the purple-headed boy arrived at their table and gained everyone’s attention.

“Can we help you?” Kirishima asked politely. He cautiously wrapped his arm around Ashido, very aware that Mineta could be more vulgar than the average person.

“I just wanted to congratulate you on your relationship,” He began, surprising all of you.

Even you turned to look at him out of surprise. The action wasn’t too difficult because he was positioned between you and Bakugou who sat at the head of the table. You furrowed your eyebrows as you watched him begin to speak once more.

“I have to say I’m pretty jealous you get to tap that pink a—“

“Oh my god,” Ashido’s voice covered up his last word and you all looked at him in mal contempt and utter disgust.

Anger immediately flooded through your veins and you almost threw yourself away to distance yourself from Mineta as much as possible. Furthermore, despite your tired mind, you had been wanting to destress for hours, and you swiftly placed your hand on the short boy’s shoulder as you saw the opportunity arise. Although it pained you to even touch him, you craved to let your aggressions go much more than your craved distance.

You smirked as his emotions ran through you. With as much control as you could muster, you did not allow his perverse feelings overcome you and instead focused on his insecurities.

“Pretty big words from someone who wouldn’t even be a hero if it wasn’t for your grape-filled brain,” You said, letting your aggression take over your conscious. “I wouldn’t make comments like that knowing full well all of us here could kick your ass. You don’t even fit well into our class when your quirk is easily outdone by Sero and your smarts are far from the best in the class.” Every word your spoke spit the venom of a snake, but you couldn’t stop yourself from letting though go into the loud cafeteria.

“Holy shit,” You heard Kaminari chuckle out of pure surprise once you finished ridiculing Mineta.

You removed your hand from his shoulder and stared at him with a sickly evil smirk, practically begging the purple pile of garbage to try and retort to much too real claims.

“Scram,” A deep voice beside you spoke up.

You looked over to Bakugou and saw as much anger in his eyes as you were sure were in yours. However, you were quite sure yours were now being replaced with confusion.

Mineta fled with his theoretical tail between his legs. You didn’t have to remove your earbuds to know he was regretting ever coming to this table.

Good, you thought as you watched him leave.

Once he was a good distance away, you turned back to your groups of friends who stared at you in shock.

“Damn, L/N-san,” Sero commented, very purposefully using formal language around you.

“Your tongue is as sharp as Bakugou’s,” Kirishima added while Ashido ran around to give you a hug for defending her.

“Thank you,” She whispered in your ear, her tone happier than you would expect at this time.

You nervously chuckled and scratched the back of your head, not expecting them to be so accepting of your angry side. It really only ever come out during a fight or when someone was particularly pissing you off.

“Yeah,” Bakugou quietly added. You looked over to him as he continued to speak, “It was,” A pregnant pause filled the table, “Cool.” Despite him still looking dissatisfied with his choice of words, you didn’t push for him to clarify.

“Thanks,” You replied, a gentle smile stretched across your hot cheeks. His own cheeks tinged a hue of pink you saw rarely and you knew that this moment was special. You didn’t want to rush to conclusions because assumptions were never ideal, but you hoped Bakugou actually liked seeing your quick wit come out.

The bell rang, signaling that your session of lunch was coming to a close and you had 5 minutes to get to your next class. You grabbed your small dessert before tossing the rest of your lunch. While Bakugou, Ashido, and Kaminari departed in a separate direction for the class with your mom, you gingerly walked with Sero and Kirishima back to the 2-A classroom.

The two boys continued to compliment you as you walked into class on your impressive words.

“If it was anyone else, I would be nervous to say this,” Kirishima spoke, “But Mineta is so crude that he kind of deserves it. Especially considering what he was saying about Ashido.”

You smiled at Kirishima, who currently had pink spreading across his face. “I’m sure you would have stepped in if I hadn’t,” You added, knowing full well that Kirishima was very polite.

The conversation continued until you arrived at your class. Sero moved to his seat while you and Kirishima walked together to the back to sit in your seats one behind the other.

When Monday had come, Aizawa still hadn’t prepared anything for the class to do, but today he came prepared.

With a pop quiz.

Everyone in the class groaned as he insisted it would give you all a better chance than the other students on the next exam.

By the time you got out of class, you were sure Ashido, Kaminari, and Bakugou were still with your mom.

Despite knowing full well that you should head over to your mom’s house and feed your cat, you were also very tempted to sit in on the class. Or at least see Bakugou again.

You felt butterflies erupt in your stomach, something that had become more and more common, at the thought of seeing him. You felt like such a fool with your ridiculous crush, but you couldn’t help how excited you got at the idea of seeing him.

Additionally, today’s class was supposed to be her day with every year rather than just one. The large crowd would mean she wasn’t as intense and detailed. Finally, you decided to use a simple excuse of a question to have a reason to go and see your friends.

Primarily Bakugou, you admitted to yourself as you trekked the halls to the large gymnasium.

Despite his previous comments, Bakugou’s temperament towards your mother’s class had gone down by Monday when she was able to talk to him more one on one about manipulating his explosions and how it matched with her fire manipulation.

Having sat in on your own siblings' training sessions multiple times, you knew the speech about fire, or explosions in Bakugou’s case, not being able to provide nearly as much defense as offense.

Ashido had recanted to you that Bakugou spent most of the day trying to use his explosions to block attacks from whatever partner he was with instead of using his explosions to attack them.

You were glad they were getting along with each other, but you want for them to get along together also scared you to death.

Is me wanting them to get along too much? You questioned, trying to be conscious of how quickly your feelings were getting the best of you.

Reluctantly, you attempted to swallow your nerves and went to grab the door handle of the gym.

Since your mother would be talking to all her students as opposed to just one years’ worth, you knew you would have quite the audience as you opened the loud door to the gym. That could be positive and negative.

As you predicted, a plethora of eyes moved from your mother to look at you as you bashfully came in. They were currently sitting on the ground as your mother talked to them about who knows what.

Immediately your eyes found Bakugou’s sharp vermillion eyes. You felt your face flush as his piercing gaze stared back at your shamelessly. It was almost intense enough for you to look down and run out of the gym.

However, before you had a chance, your mother whipped around and smiled at you as she noticed herself lose everyone’s attention.

“Ah!” She cheerfully exclaimed as you tentatively approached her and stood in front of more than fifty students.

You couldn’t help but watch Bakugou as his eyes brazenly traveled up and down your body as you approached the group of students. The smirk on his lips was a bold reminder that he was much more confident than you.

“Everyone,” Your mom spoke and she turned to face the crowd, “This is my daughter, Y/N!”

Although you knew what type of situation you put yourself in, you still nervously waved at the class before leaning into your mom. “Sorry, I just needed to ask you something.”

“We’ll be right back,” She told the class. Gently, she grabbed your elbow and pulled you away so the students couldn’t hear you. “Yeah?” She asked.

Although you appreciated her moving you both out of earshot, you were intending to talk to her in English, which many of the students knew very little of considering it was your first language and most likely their second.

“I was just about to head over to feed Cody and remembered you being a little low on food on Wednesday. Do you want me to pick up more?” You asked.

“Oh, yes! That would be perfect!” She exclaimed, “Thank you for remembering.”

“Okay, cool, see you la—”

“Come talk to the class before you go!” Your mother excitedly said as she pulled you back to the students, clearly wanting to show off one of her 5 prodigies.

Although she was strict when it came to training and held standards for you that were much different from her siblings, you were still her pride and joy. She acted so childishly when not focused on work, and it almost felt like Ashido was the one dragging you to do something you didn’t want to do.

“Tell them about how I am as a teacher,” She said in Japanese so the class could understand.

You sighed before looking to the students and trying to find the best words. Although there were many people in the audience you knew, you only kept your eyes on Bakugou as you spoke. Having my mom as your teacher can help you so much, so pay attention, you thought to yourself before speaking. “She is a hard-ass. She knows your potential and knows you can do better than you think. She is kind to you, but when you slack off, she gets more serious than you will ever see. Take this class seriously.” You paused for a moment before adding. “My mom trained all four of my older siblings. She is the number 1 hero in America, and they are all in the top 20 and climbing. You are lucky to have her help.”

Your tone was serious, but your mother’s kind smile was what made the situation scariest. She didn’t even correct you or criticize her for calling her a hard-ass. Many students had shocked faces with only a few exceptions for the students you knew would take her seriously and use her skill before she left.

“Thank you so much for stopping by,” Your mother spoke before turning to only address you. “This class is almost done, but I have a meeting, so I won’t be home by the time you feed Cody.”

You promptly nodded before turning to leave. You were too nervous to spare a glance at your friends, but you heard Ashido and Kaminari say goodbye as you opened to gymnasium door.

You used the small walk to the local pet store and then to your mother’s house as an opportunity to be with yourself. You thought over your week and what you needed to do. From homework, you needed to catch up on, personal training, and your hero costume, your life was fairly busy.

Additionally, the back of your mind prodded you with questions about Bakugou.

Did it seem weird that you stopped by your mom’s class?

Is it obvious you like him more than others?

You shouldn’t even be thinking about romance when you have to focus on your career!!

You knew full well that you had leaps to take in order to be an excelling hero. You knew it was more important to force yourself to actually train and practice than to worry about little friendships and romances. However, you felt tired.

You tried to calm yourself down by reminding yourself that you just moved to a new country and started school in a whole new place.

This school is made to help me train and get better, at least I have that if I am not doing much extra outside of class.

By the time you arrived at your mom’s house and were done feeding Cody, your feet, and brain ached. You spent the next half an hour on the couch with your cat by your side, lackadaisically petting him while scrolling through your phone.

Once your feet were no longer crying for a break, you made your way back home. The sun was still up, the warm sun shining perfectly on the concrete. It was just now entering the end of May and many bushes and trees were lush with green leaves and various vibrant other colors. The temperature was nice and tepid, making the walk home very comfortable because of the occasional breeze.

By the time you were home, the sun was just beginning to set. You quietly took off your shoes and greeted the few students downstairs.

“Ah, L/N-san,” Iida began once he saw you. He, Asui, and Tokoyami were currently stationed in the kitchen. “I know you aren’t used to the normal schedule yet, but we usually eat dinner around 6. Everyone takes turns cooking.”

You nodded while walking up to them. They were currently cooking up a pasta dish and the smell was making your stomach ache.

“Once you feel comfortable, we would love to add you to the list,” Iida continued.

Although a little tired, you still smiled at the trio, “I would love to. Is there a spreadsheet or list? I really only know American dishes so…” You trailed off at the end of your sentence. You enjoyed cooking, but you hardly knew how to make true Japanese dishes.

“Of course,” Asui began. She pulled out her phone to show you. “Each day has certain people with the dishes already listed. The school provides us with some money for food and different people go shopping each Saturday. It is usually the girls though, ribbit,” She explained.

Your eyes glazed over this month’s sheet. Each person appeared a few times with the respective dishes also listed.

“Who makes these?” You asked.

“Momo does,” Iida quickly replied while he drained a large pot of pasta.

You nodded, debating what would be your best action. “I’ll talk to Momo some time about getting put onto the schedule.”

The three classmates nodded and thanked you for understanding.

You sheepishly waved them off, telling them you were happy to help. You finally made your way upstairs with a small snack in hand. You were quite hungry at this point and hoped it would help satiate you until the food was ready in an hour.

You immediately plopped down on your bed and pulled out your phone once upstairs.

I can do homework after dinner, you told yourself as you scrolled through social media.

However, before you had a chance to really relax, you heard 3 rapid knocks against your wooden door. Quizzically, you stood up from your bed, debating who could be knocking in such a short, yet recognizable way.

Unsurprisingly, Bakugou was the person on the other side.

I should have known, you told yourself as you took in his outfit. He wasn’t too sweaty, but it was clear he has been active for at least the past hour. He was dressed in basketball shorts and a basic t-shirt.

“Can I help you?” You inquired. It seemed he rushed over to talk to you, making you wonder by he couldn’t wait.

“I want to fight,” He bluntly explained.

“Okay, um,” You mumbled, “I am pretty good right now. Can I take a rain check?” You retorted. You definitely were not ready for a challenge.

The blond rolled his eyes as you and sighed, “Dummy. I don’t mean right now.” His voice was harsh and it made you want to laugh at his reaction to your reply.

Your mouth formed into an ‘O’ shape and Bakugou leaned up against the door.

“Are you gonna invite me in?” He asked. The pout on his lips was rather cute, but you tried to stay focused on what he was saying.

“Do you even want to come in?” You pushed.

Bakugou scrunched up his nose at your sarcastic comment and leaned up to stand tall against you. “It would be rude not to. We have to plan when we are going to train together.”

“Ah,” You mumbled.

You moved aside to let Bakugou in. When he came in, you finally noticed the water in his hand and the way his eyes scanned over your room carefully.

“I didn’t realize you meant training,” You explained as you quietly closed your bedroom door.

No matter how calm you tried to stay it was rather difficult to do so when he was looking over everything you had.

He turned to look at you. “Are you dumb?” He judged, “Do you need coffee or something?”

You waived him off and grabbed your laptop, not feeling the need to keep this small spat going. You gestured for him to sit at your desk chair while you perched onto your own bed.

“Do you know your schedule?” You asked him as you pulled up the calendar app on your laptop.

“Yeah,” He began while taking a seat at your small desk chair. He slouched over in the chair and gave off a very nonchalant vibe.

You wondered for a moment what kind of vibe you gave off.

“I am free on Wednesday and Sunday,” He explained.

You nodded and looked through your schedule. You didn’t really have anything that couldn’t be moved considering you had only been living in Japan for a few weeks now. Silently, you wished your schedule would pick up more. You noticed most of your classmates were gone a few times throughout the week for their internship.

You bit your lip, debating your schedule before mumbling out, “Do you cook dinner at all?”

Bakugou stared at your quizzically, your eyes glued to your laptop screen. “Huh?” He replied, his voice louder than intended. He honestly wasn’t even sure if you knew you asked that question.

You looked up from him and immediately felt nerves wash over your body. “I’m just curious because Iida was talking to me about adding myself to that schedule. I was wondering if you did in the case that would mess up our training. Or, like, also because I know you go to your internship a lot and wanted to make sure I didn’t take up too much of your time. Sorry, I didn’t m—”

“You talk too much,” Bakugou interrupted.

You abruptly stopped talking. You stared at Bakugou, not quite sure what to say.

Is he even going to answer my question, you debated as you watched him.

“I do,” He finally added. “On Mondays.”

You nodded your head and simply looked back to your computer. You gulped down the lump in your throat before mumbling out a small and meek, “Cool.” Your eyes gloss over your computer once more despite already having your schedule memorized. “Wednesday and Sunday work for me too.”

Bakugou stood up from the chair. “Good,” He replied, before making his way to the door.

“Wait!” You exclaimed just before he opened the door.

He turned to look at you, his features were curious as to what else you could add.

“What time are we going to meet up?” You asked. “And where?” You added. A small pause, “And what are we going to do?”

“Geez, you have so many questions,” Bakugou groaned, he ran his hand through his hair in frustration. You found your eyes scanning over his slightly damp hair. It was still standing at attention and looked incredibly fluffy.

You didn’t react at all and simply gestured for him to keep talking.

“We can meet this Sunday at three in the afternoon. Just meet me downstairs and I’ll walk us to the Cityscape I end up renting out.” He paused and looked you over. “We are going to fight.”

You let his words wash over your and you simply nodded, giving him his cue to leave. When the door finally shut and Bakugou was gone, you sighed.

You definitely needed combat training but were not excited to face the fiery hothead again. You were absolutely sure he held a grudge and would put his all into beating you.

Reluctantly, you jotted down the time in your calendar and made notes for all following Wednesdays and Sundays to close off at least part of the day to training. You weren’t sure how long this would last considering you would rather face a wide variety of people a few times than consistently work with only one person. However, you were sure it would at least last a few sessions and that you would both surely help each other get better.

~~

After dinner, which was quite delicious and filling, you stopped Momo to tell her you wanted to sign up for dinner duty.

Delighted, the hero in-training took you to her room where her computer was and showed you the schedule.

Each day was color-coded. In the description were the people cooking and the type of cuisine they would make.

“Most days are balanced with good cooks and not as great cooks,” She explained. “We keep the cuisines here for variety, but the groups have to choose 2 weeks ahead of schedule what they will be making. That way we can buy them with enough time.”

Your eyes glossed over the screen and looked at the various cuisines. Most were nights were dedicated to Japanese food except Friday, which was dedicated to pasta, Tuesday, which was dedicated to American food, and Wednesday, which was dedicated to Chinese food.

“The groups can also change the cuisine if they want,” She added after seeing you intensely scanning the days.

“Yeah,” You mumbled out. “I’m just not sure if I should go with the cuisines that would be easier for me like Tuesday or Friday. It might be nice to work on the Japanese days because I would be learning.”

Momo nodded understandably. “I’m sure everyone would be happy to work with you. I would note though that every day except Monday has 3 people. You would even out that group if you chose to and learn Japanese cuisine.”

That was Bakugou’s day, you immediately noted.

You looked at the calendar schedule and saw that he was also set to be cooking with Sero on those days.

You hummed while debating your options. “Could I try out Mondays? Maybe if I don’t like it I could move the day?”

Momo eagerly nodded. “Of course!” She moved her computer closer to you and put your name in the schedule. “Do you have their numbers?”

“Just Bakugou’s,” You quickly replied.

Momo nodded and pulled out her own phone. “Let me give you Sero’s so you can make a group chat.”

Once the kind girl gave you his number, you tentatively put him into your phone and made a group chat with the three of you. “Thank you, Momo,” You spoke while standing up to bow.

Yaoyorozu bashfully replied with a “You’re welcome.”

After a brief goodbye, you left her room and made your way back to your own. Homework… you mumbled over and over in your head as if it would make you more likely to actually get things done.

Once in your room, you posted up at your desk, laptop in front of you. However, instead of doing anything important, you stared at the blank, black screen.

After debating your actions for a few minutes, you grabbed your phone from your pocket and unlocked it.

The group chat stared back at you as you thought about what to say. You knew it was important to start the conversation, but you had no idea how to. You bit your lips and tried to calm your nerves, knowing full well that there was no reason to be anxious. However, you still felt your nerves crawl up your spine.

After way too long, you finally typed out a small message.

Hey, this is Y/N! Momo had me join you both for dinner night on Mondays. Hope that’s okay and please let me know how to help!

You immediately put your phone on silent and tossed it onto your bed, telling yourself that you needed to focus on homework.

You opened your laptop up and grabbed your notebook and pen.

You sighed before beginning an assignment. You just needed to finish it tonight so you would have time to work on your hero costume tomorrow.

[hanniiesuckle17]

Stray Kids Reaction to S/o Being a Ballet Dancer

A/n: I'm assuming this means like pointe dancer and/or principal dancer??? Anyway!!! Hope you like it bb!! I had fun doing this one!❤❤❤

Requested by: @desertofdessert​ (thank you bb! feel free to request again! this was so fun!!)

Chan:

Chan watched you gather up stuff and put it in the huge dance bag you carried. Unfortunately, you couldn’t spend Chan’s day off with him. It was just one of those times when your schedules didn’t match up. Chan totally understood. If you managed with his busy schedule than he could deal with yours. He also understood the expectations you were under as a principal dancer.

While he never was in the position himself, he has taken many ballet and modern dance classes when he was in Australia, so he knew how intense your job was. He also knew how short your performing career might be. “Why don’t you come with me?” Your voice brought him out of his thoughts. 

“To practice? Won’t I get in the way of the others.” 

You shook your head and tossed an extra water bottle over to him. “I’m just going for a solo run.” Chan smiled and jumped off the couch, following your out the door and to the studio your company rehearsed in. He watched in fascination as you stretched and slipped your pointe shoes on. For the next hour, Chan sat against the mirror and quietly watched in adoration as you danced across the floor. 

“You wanna try?” 

You had the brightest smile on your face as you pulled him up from the floor. You guided him through some steps and giggled as his technique was a little rusty. The two of you danced and laughed for the next couple of hours. You caught his eyes in the mirror as he held your waist to support your feet transition. A blush crept onto his cheek when you reached behind you and ghosted your hand over his cheek, coming down off your toes.

You did so in a way that was so graceful and almost like a dance move in itself. It sent chills down his spine. He loved seeing you in your element. You turned into a different person when you were dancing, he loved seeing you confident and moving without hesitation. He loved seeing your smile as he assisted you through a posse turn. You practically lit up the entire room.

I cant believe some people forget Chris has some classical dance training. I love thinking about him as modern dancer like wow

Minho:

Being a dancer himself, Minho loved how passionate you were about your art. He loved that he could have someone to go to the gym with and would understand having to go on crazy diets. It definitely helped his motivation with you to keep in him in check and vice versa.

However, what he didn’t like was your schedule. Usually, he came home late, and you left home early. He wasn’t the most touchy-feely person, but he did miss seeing you sometimes. So, he made a commitment to you that he would soon regret. There Minho was. At the studio with you. At five in the morning. “Only for you.” He muttered under his breath for the thousandth time. 

It was really his idea. So he was to blame. He was the one who asked you to teach him a routine. However, he had no idea spinning on his bare feet would hurt so much. “You wanna try a lift?” You said coming beside him, resting a hand on his shoulder. 

How were you not out of breath??????? Minho was sweating buckets under his jacket. “Hell yeah!” Why did he say that? That was not what he meant. He meant no. He meant let’s go back to bed like normal people. You explained to him how to do a pretty simple lift and how to get out of it. “Hold up. You want my hand where?” He asked with a mischievous smirk. You rolled your eyes and shoved him lightly. 

“It’s a simple move. Let’s try just once- without the coupe turn.” 

Minho laughed and nodded. He followed your instruction, watching in the mirror. As directed he placed his left hand around your abdomen and this right secured tightly over your right thigh. “Okay and now you lift up and dip.”

“Which way?”

“Forward and down. Duh.”

“DOWN. WHAT IF  I DROP YOU ON YOUR HeAd??”

“You’ll do fine, Minho.” Carefully, he lifted you and he was surprised feeling the muscles of your stomach tighten and hold yourself up in his arms even as he dipped you. “See! You did awesome.” You laughed when you saw his terrified face in the mirror.

Changbin:

Changbin was ecstatic when he found out you were a ballerina. He was so proud of you. After that, he never missed one of your shows. He was always seated front and center with the goofiest, most proud grin on his face waiting for the lights to go down. He also makes you sign his program for every show. He keeps every single one of the programs and he says he wants to make a collage to frame for you.

He does worry about you often, knowing how strict your career is. He knows your schedule almost better than he knows his own. He’ll constantly check up on you and send you a text reminding you that you have to change out your toe pads and drink water.

You smiled hearing your boyfriend’s ringtone as you exited the rehearsal room. “Hi, Binnie! Where are you?” You giggled hearing he was waiting outside for you. He greeted you with a sweet kiss and wrapped his arms around you, blocking the cold air from penetrating your thin sweater.

“I’m buying you dinner. Let’s go.” He grabbed your hand and dragged you to the nearest hole in the wall restaurant he could find. He frowned when you ordered so little to eat. He sent you a stern glare as the waiter took away your menu. You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped when you saw his face.

“Bin, I’ve got a dress and corset to fit into! Don’t worry, I remember our rule.” When you and Bin started dating he came up with this rule he was adamant you follow, especially while you were prepping for a show. He had a rule that you couldn’t walk away from the table if there was still food on your plate. He instituted the rule when he figured out you weren’t finishing meals the closer a show was.

Towards the end of your meal, you smiled as Changbin placed a generous piece of his food onto your plate. You picked it up and ate it gratefully. You frowned when he placed another piece on your almost empty plate without looking up from his food. Again you ate the food, honoring his rule. This time your boyfriend held eye contact with you as he dropped a huge piece of food on your plate. 

“YAH SEO CHANGBIN!”

“WHAT?”

Hyunjin:

When Hyunjin met you he was instantly fascinated by you. When he found out you were a professional dancer the man was immediately whipped. However, he was so obsessed with the fact with the idea of being the perfect dancing couple he forgot to ask what kind of dancer you were. 

You had nothing to do today. Hyunjin was busy with schedules today and couldn’t come over. You had an audition coming up for the lead in Cinderella so you figured now would be a good time to practice. You had bought this apartment specifically for the fact that the living room was huge and had nice real wood floors. 

Pushing all the furniture out of the way you cleared a large enough space to dance in. Pulling out your semi-new pointe shoes you started prepping them. The room started to smell a little like burning fabric as you burned the frayed edges of your ribbons. A rich sound rang throughout your apartment as you banged the pleats of your shoes on the floor. 

Music filled your apartment as you went through your audition routine. You focused on your turnout, keeping it perfectly positioned throughout your movements. You pushed up on relevae and into an arabesque keeping your core tight and leg high and elegant.

“Hey Y/n, Surpris- HOLY WHAT THE GOOD CLEAR PANTS OF JYP???”

You turned to find Hyunjin staring at you with his jaw dropped in shock. Turning off the music you walked over to your boyfriend with a smile and kissed his cheek. He still stood frozen like the drama queen he was. “Hi, honey! How are you?” He blinked and stared at you. He stepped away and took in all of you, his eyes lingering on your shoes. 

“This is not what I expected......but I am so impressed right now.”

You smiled and pulled him down to kiss you, but he stopped your motion. “Nuh-uh. That’s cheating. You gotta work for it now.” He smirked down at you. With a giggle you rose in your shoes and kissed him, tangling your fingers in his soft hair.

Jisung:

Your relationship with Jisung was almost as old as the both of you. You had always been friends since before you could remember and Jisung could even remember you telling him about your very first dance class. You remembered him kissing you after your first lead performance and his cheeky smile when you and to stand on pointe to reach his lips at the time. 

Jisung loved to watch you dance. It was maybe one of his favorite things in the entire world. He was always proudest when he was watching you float across a dance floor or stage. He was captivated by how powerful you were and what you could make your body do. However, there was another side to it...

“Ji...” You said walking through the door of your shared apartment. Hearing his nickname he jumped off the couch and took your bag off your shoulders. As the days grew closer to your shows he made sure to always be home before you. Even if that meant him getting up at three or four am to go back to the studio. You kissed his cheek with a huge grin and watched with adoration as he put your stuff on the table and picked you up and hurried you over to the couch as carefully as possible.

“Baby, I’m not glass. I can walk!” 

“WE MUST PROTECT THE MERCHANDISE OKAY!”

When you were seated he grabbed the several ice packs from the freezer and made sure that he had enough to switch out later. You giggled watching him scramble to take care of you. Carefully, he took off your sneakers and winced at the red spots on your ankles and feet. “Ji- I can ice my own feet. I’ve been doing it for years-”

“LET ME TAKE CARE OF YOU, WOMAN!”

You laughed and pulled him to your lips by the collar of his shirt. You loved that he knew your schedule. Even before you had moved in together Ji had known your schedule after ballet. Ice, eat, ice, stretch, ice and review rehearsal footage, then sleep. “How was your day?” He asked pecking your lips again. You smiled and looked into his soft brown eyes. 

“Fantastic now.”

Felix:

Felix and you had been friends long before he made it big in the music industry. He always knew you danced, but until you started dating a couple months ago he had never really taken an interest in your dancing. Not because he didn’t care. He was just so god damn busy. He felt kind of bad that you didn’t even expect him to take an interest. 

You never asked him to come to a show. You never really talked about rehearsals unless it conflicted with setting up a date, and you never danced in front of him. So, he was determined to change that. You came to the JYP practice room straight from rehearsal as Felix had asked. 

You greeted the boys as the left the studio and found Felix standing by the mirror messing with his phone. He jumped when you wrapped your arms around his waist. “Ready to go, Lix?” You asked after kissing his cheek. “Actually,” He said turning around.

“We are gonna have our date here. You are gonna teach me about ballet!” You laughed and kissed him with a bright smile. You knew he wouldn’t last more than two hours. An hour later, Felix had shed his hoodie and was sweating through his tank top while you stood happily in your leggings and pointe shoes. You had to admit he was doing better than you thought.

“Oh my god! How do your feet open like that, you mutant!” Felix cried out trying to stay in first position. 

However, when it came to actually dancing, Felix was fascinated. It was so different from how he danced. Felix had surprisingly good extension and he got some pretty good air on a couple leaps. And he loved watching you dance-especially when you went up on your toes. He thought you looked beautiful and elegant. 

“That’s it I can’t take it. Take me home.”

“Great! Now I can teach you the second half of ballerina life.”

“What’s that?”

“Ice.”

I've low-key wanted to do a Felix ballet au bc gosh darn he is just so elegant and wooooooooww ballet!felix

Seungmin:

Seungmin loved watching you dance. The two of you didn’t live together yet, so he took every opportunity to see you dance anytime he could. He came to all of your shows and you practically had to kick him out of your closed rehearsals. For his birthday (per his request) you choreographed and performed a routine to his favorite Day6 song. 

Date nights for the two of you usually happen after your rehearsals end and consist of your icing your body on the couch with Seungmin next to you, either watching a movie or talking and eating takeout. 

“Seungmin? Are you here?” You called out into your apartment. Sounds from the kitchen confirmed the presence of your boyfriend. “Minnie?” You dropped your bag by the door and took off your shoes. Seungmin shuffled out of your kitchen with two mugs of tea in hand. 

“What are we doing tonight?” He asked, setting the tea on your coffee table. He sighed when he saw the innocent smile on your face. “Really......again?” He laughed when you nodded excitedly. 

“Fine.”

You cheered as he went to get ice packs and you pulled up Centerstage on Netflix. Seungmin was a good sport. This was probably the twenty-sixth time he had seen this film since dating you. He knew that the movie made you happy, especially if you had a rough day at rehearsals. 

“Man,  Cooper gets douchier and douchier every time we watch this.” Seungmin sighed, his arm around you. 

“Yeah and Charlie gets dreamier and dreamier.”

“What?”

“What-”

Jeongin:

Jeongin watched the video you sent him with a huge smile on his face. You were on tour with your company, so you couldn’t be with him for a few days. Even though you were still in the country, he really missed seeing you. 

It was so weird for him to not pick you up from practice. His eyes twinkled as he watched you dance across the backstage area of a venue. He smiled when he saw you rush back over to your phone and wave to him with a happy grin. The video was sent two days ago. You had talked earlier that day but he still missed you. 

“Jeongin,” His attention snapped away from his phone and to Chan towering above him. His hyung helped him stand up and clapped him on the back. “Ready to go back to practice?” Jeongin sighed and nodded. “Hey, I’ve got a surprise for you,” Chan said running to his bag. 

“Chan I’m just kind of depressed with Y/n away for so long.” 

“I know. That’s why we are going to Y/n’s next show.”

Jeongin’s eyes widened as he watched Chan pull out two tickets to your show, Giselle. After practice, Chan drove the two boys two hours away to your venue to see her perform. Jeongin watched you dance across the stage with bright eyes. He loved watching you become the character of Giselle, though he couldn’t help but be a little jealous of the man who played your fiance.

When he and Chan surprised you backstage, you jumped into his arms and kissed him all over. “Innie! You came!” He smiled and wouldn’t stop talking about how fantastic you were. 

“Y/n! Oh my god! You were so good! The whole leap thing, and your turns! And the thing with the lift- it was so cool! You did incredible baby!”

Requests are open! Just send an ask!

Masterlist

[gfpt-comic]

So. Here goes nothing... (1/?)

(Major spoilers for the comic, but since it won’t update anymore (besides PERHAPS some random comic strips/excerpts without context every now and then, but don’t count on it), I guess it doesn’t matter.)

If you read my answer to the ask posted earlier, you probably know what this post is about. I’ll make a list of every important point I wanted to tackle in the comic, in multiple sections. Be prepared for the long post that awaits you below the cut.

Summary of what was left of Chapter 2

Following their first appearance at the beginning of the chapter, Lolph and Dundgren try to question Blendin, who is staying at a hospital and is still under intense care. They discuss what exactly happened to Blendin in the first place: he was assigned what was supposed to be a routine mission to solve a minor time anomaly in the 21st century, but his time machine exploded when he tried to operate it and he was gravely injured. Dundgren mentions that any normal time device should hardly cause this much damage when malfunctioning, suggesting that Blendin’s level of incompetence is so incredibly high, it somehow managed to make something that shouldn’t be able to explode blow up in his face. On the other hand, Lolph starts to wonder if, exactly because it should be impossible, the accident may have had a reason other than just Blendin’s incompetence. Unfortunately, the accident had consequences so grave on Blendin’s physical health, it seemingly also took a toll on his sanity and questioning him only leaves them with esoteric sentences of dubious credibility.

Blendin: “This is very nice of you… to visit me. There isn’t much time left. I was starting to feel alone, before everything disappears.” Blendin: “Time Baby will succeed… He will free us from this time.”

July 13, 2012 again: back in the gift shop of the Mystery Shack, Wendy and Soos have captured Bill and tied him up to a chair. Wendy starts interrogating him, asking him who or what he is-- throwing in her multiple guesses: the Shapeshifter she defeated with Dipper in the bunker, a paper clone... She doesn’t suspect demon possession or a switch-because-of-the-carpet scenario, however. Bill just keeps trying to break free with little success, without answering; and soon, Stan interrupts them when he enters the gift shop as well, followed by the dozen of tourists he took during his latest tour. Wendy and Soos manage to evade Stan’s obvious questions by pretending they were making a new attraction.

Back in Mabel’s Dreamscape, Mabel encourages Dipper to have some fun with Bill’s powers, but he is scared of messing up because of just how powerful he is; having seen Bill’s powers both in the Mindscape/Dreamscape and in Weirdmageddon when he witnessed the alternate timelines, Dipper knows just how far those powers can go and he isn’t sure he can control them. Still, after some teasing Mabel starts a snowball fight with the surrounding ice cream, and gradually the twins have more and more fun starting with the ice cream, then with the tricks Dipper starts to use. When they take a break, Mabel points out that nothing bad happened, and Dipper grows a bit more confident that he can use Bill’s powers in a way that isn’t dangerous.

Dipper: “I guess it’s easy to do exactly what you want when it literally happens in your mind... Huh.”

Dipper notices it’s almost noon, and Mabel remembers that she was supposed to meet William at Greasy’s Diner for lunch. Mabel is unseasy upon thinking of talking to him again after what happened the day before, and Dipper confirms by showing William’s current whereabouts through a peephole that William seems about as worried as she is. Mabel takes a deep breath, makes sure that she will be able to see Dipper whenever she needs (during the night for sure, perhaps earlier if she asks for it). Still, just before Dipper wakes her up... She has a favor to ask him.

Mabel: “Now that you can do lots of magic stuff and all... Could you do something for me?”

Back in the gift shop, the tourists have left and Bill was untied due to Stan’s confusion over the situation. However, he is forced to stay inside and is stuck sitting by Wendy’s side behind the cashier desk. When Mabel goes through the gift shop to go to the Diner, everyone notices that she made a new sweater -- one with a pine tree symbol on it, no less. Bill is enraged but can’t stop her from leaving.

William has his first face reveal. He is a blonde 13-year-old, and is already waiting worriedly at Greasy’s Diner when Mabel arrives. He immediately apologizes for what happened on the day before.

William: “About yesterday, I... I’m sorry I said your brother was a bad influence. That was uncalled for.”

Mabel: “Yes. Yes it was.”

William is genuinely apologetic, but soon it is revealed that the reason why he thought Dipper and the Mystery Shack were a bad influence was because he doesn’t believe at all in the supernatural. Even if Mabel told him about her adventures, he assumed they were just stories she made up while playing in the Mystery Shack’s museum and never believed them to be true. Mabel tries to convince him by showing him some episodes of Dipper’s “Guide to the Unexplained” -- a series of videos he used to make and post online at the beginning of their summer break upon arriving in Gravity Falls, but stopped making altogether after Summerween. Sadly, the episodes made up until then did not revolve around exceptionally weird anomalies, and aren’t enough to convince William. The only thing William admits to being strange is the fact that every inhabitant of Gravity Falls is “out of their minds.”

Exasperated by William’s absurdly high levels of skepticism, Mabel eventually dares him to go on a forest expedition with her, Candy and Grenda on the next day, just so they can show him pretty much anything in the forest that is out of the ordinary. William strongly refuses and tries to dissuade her to go into the forest at all; he has been personally forbidden by his mother from going anywhere near the forest, and he has also read on the local news that there is currently a predator of unknown origin or species on the loose, which has been notably attacking sheep from the nearby farm. Mabel teases him about the fact that he believes that this creature is real, and suggests that it might be a werewolf for example; but William doesn’t take her seriously, especially because the creature is supposed to fly.

And... This is the part where my script starts getting wonky. I’ve been trying to fill the holes, but sadly it’s proven to be quite difficult, especially now that I know I won’t be drawing it in comic form anyway. Still, the main plot should be precise enough! The holes are mainly just “there should be some filler and/or foreshadowing to what’s coming here”, with little more than just prompts for what could be happening.

Back in the Mystery Shack’s gift shop, Wendy tries to sneakily question Bill, but when Stan asks them where Mabel went and Bill tells him she skipped her restocking duty so she could spend time with William at the Diner, Stan asks him to get her back. Bill happily takes this opportunity to slip out of the Mystery Shack, and have an excuse to bother Mabel at the same time.

Eventually, William is obligated to accept Mabel’s terms and intends on coming so he can at least make sure that the girls won’t put themselves in danger upon visiting the forest on their own.

Bill arrives at the Diner. William, thinking he is meeting Dipper again, tries to make amends for the things he said the previous day and says that he earnestly thinks they can start again on the right foot; Bill sadistically mocks him instead, all the while pretending to be Dipper, just so he can ruin Mabel’s hopes of reconciling William and Dipper. Bill finishes Mabel by forcing her to leave, saying that Stan expects her to work at the gift shop like she was supposed to since the beginning.

Mabel gone, William and Bill start to have a tense conversation; well, tense on William’s part, while Bill is mostly just having a blast driving William mad. The old fanfic that was the first “draft” version of the story has this chapter, which gathers most of the jokes I intended to keep, and at least some of the plot points. I’ll put a warning for awkward English, though. Oh and also, apparently in the old version it was July 3rd and not July 13th, so in the comic the “tomorrow is July 4th so the forest trip can’t happen anyway” excuse wouldn’t work.

About the Quetzalcoatlus thing: here, have some fun dinosaur size comparisons & history following my latest research on what the pterodactyl from S1E18: Land Before Swine.

William: “And how would you even know all that?”

Bill: “Because I ate Leonardo da Vinci.”

William: “. . .”

William: “… It must have been some VERY cryptic way for you to say that it was one of those conspiracy things mentioned in the old book supposedly written by a genius that you keep reading passionately every day. Right?”

Bill: “Oh, so your brain CAN work sometimes!”

Bill gets bit by a soothquito. His bite marks spell “FHOASE CORECULLY“

Upon leaving the Diner, they both see someone being kidnapped by a member of the Blindeye Society. William insists they immediately go warn the police, but Blubs and Durland prove to be ineffective as ever. Bill slips in one or two facts about the secret society, but William dismisses them completely as other random insane things Bill just happens to say all the time for trolling purposes.

Mabel is back in the Mystery Shack and starts her restocking duty, but her mind is clearly elsewhere. She starts mumbling to herself, but is interrupted by the decapitated head of Larry King who just happened to be in the vents nearby. Mabel isn’t surprised at all to see he survived, and when Larry King starts "interviewing” her about the issues she was mumbling about, she complies. Some time later, while Soos is cleaning up the floor, he overhears Mabel complaining about Bill being a jerk on purpose and making Dipper seem like a terrible person, and ends up hearing pretty much the whole story that way, without Mabel knowing. Soos proceeds to tell Wendy what he heard, helping them putting two and two together-- all the while understanding why Mabel didn’t warn them, and why they should stay silent as well. They decide not to tell Mabel they know her secret; but when Bill comes back later, just as Wendy’s shift was about to end, she has just one thing to tell him:

Wendy: “Tomorrow 6PM. My place.”

Night time; Bill is annoyed, but not very surprised by the fact that Soos is sleeping with him  for the night, in the room on the ground floor where Dipper had relocated. Bill is at least glad he no longer has to pretend to be Dipper around Wendy and him.

Soos proceeds to ask Bill what his intentions were; not just in the present times now that the switch occurred, but also before it.

Soos: “So you really are that triangle guy from two weeks ago?”

Soos: “Now that I'm thinking about it… A lot of things happened two weeks ago. That's when it began to get all wrong. Well, it was already wrong before that, but… That's really when you came that everything started to get all weird and… bad.“

Soos: “It all started because of that Summerween night. What did you want with us?”

Soos: “Why did you tell Dipper that Gideon summoned you?”

Bill: “It was just a job. Jobs are boring. There’s no fun in it if nobody’s trying to stop you.”

Bill: “Oh, and you wanna know the best part? If you’d taken Shooting Star along with you instead of going just the two of you, perhaps you would’ve had an opportunity to beat me.”

Soos: What did you do with Gideon two weeks ago? Dipper and I knew it wasn’t a coincidence that those government guys showed up just the next day. 

Bill: “Something that neither Pine Tree nor I want anybody to find out, I bet. Also if I were to tell you, you'd either faint or spend the next fourteen hours trying to explain it all to Red. Funny, but not worth it.”

Soos is disturbed by Bill’s attitude, because of course he tries to both troll and traumatize at once, and given how Soos was already terrified of Bill because of the Summerween night (”I’ve had nightmares for weeks!” from an earlier comic page), it doesn’t help. Soos tries to ask Bill about the deal he made with Gideon -- more specifically, he asks what Bill wanted in return for stealing the code from Stan’s mind. However, Bill doesn’t answer and instead opens the bedroom door to reveal that Mabel was trying to eavesdrop.

Mabel was mostly there to make sure that everything was alright, and deduces that Bill hadn't slept at all during the first night and that he intends to never sleep at all, even after she tells him that humans need sleep to survive. Thankfully she came prepared with a “surprise gift from Candy and Grenda”, and sprays Bill with Fairy Dust.

Mabel: “There’s probably enough in that bag to knock out a gremloblin in an instant, so I think he’s good for the night. :p”

Once Bill is asleep, Dipper takes this chance to come to his Dreamscape and talk to him one-on-one; and, he is not happy at how Bill treated Mabel so far. Still, after a certain point the conversation gets to a more pressing topic.

Bill: “You saw it happen, didn’t you?”

Bill: “Weirdmageddon. You saw it, right?”

Dipper: “. . .”

Bill: “Oh-ho, even better! There’s a timeline in which YOU make it happen, isn’t there?”

Dipper: “That’s not gonna happen.”

Bill: “Look kid, take it from me. The more you try to actively prevent a specific outcome, the more likely you usually make it happen.”

Dipper: “You can’t make something happen if you specifically stop everything that can lead to it from happening first.”

Dipper: “Even if it includes lying to Mabel…  I saw it. If she learns there’s a way to get me a physical form, she’ll try anything to make it happen and disregard the consequences. I bet she trusts me to keep things under control, but everything else? There’s just... There’s too many variables. We can’t let her know anything about the portal. Or Weirdmageddon.”

Bill: “Well, that doesn’t change anything from my original plan anyway.”

Bill: “So you’re just gonna stay in the Nightmare Realm forever, is that it?”

Dipper: “That’s not much of a plan so far, but that’s still an effective way to save the world.”

Bill: “Don’t mess with me. You DO know that if you don’t make your way to another dimension eventually, you’re just going to die, right?”

Dipper: “... W-what are you talking about?”

Bill: “Wait. You REALLY didn’t figure that out yet?”

Bill: “The Nightmare Realm is unstable. It’s just gonna collapse one of these days, destroy everything in it. Could be in a billion years. Could be tomorrow.”

After leaving Bill’s Dreamscape, Dipper decides to visit Wendy’s and tell her everything. He confirms her doubts, tells her the whole story with the carpet... And he tells her about Weirdmageddon and what Bill just told him about the Nightmare Realm.

Dipper: “I mean, it’s better this way for everyone, and of course I’m not gonna go with Bill’s original plan to destroy the laws of physics or whatever, but… I-I just don’t wanna die, you know?”

Wendy: “Don’t worry. We’ll find a way.”

> Summary of chapters 3 and 4

[noladyme]

Chess. Chapter 3

Y/N never hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it. She only took what she needed, or what she felt others needed. She’d stayed out of sight for a long time, avoiding anything that could get her in to too much trouble. But for some reason Rick Flag shows up in her life, and in an instant, everything changes.

 TW: sexual harassment/assault, torture, sexual themes

I don’t know how many days passed. In the dark, days and nights flowed together; making it difficult to keep up a daily rhythm that made sense.

I lived from meal to meal. Not that I ate much of what they sent in, which was usually more of those little pellets in water; and every third meal, being something cold and mushy, that smelt conspicuously like canned cat food. It took me about 6 “meals”, to finally accept that this is what it actually was. With the canned food I’d get a thin slice of stale toast. This – along with a plastic cup of water – was all I consumed for a long time.

Every once in a while, I’d hear Griggs voice through the speaker, reminding me he was still there. He’d tell me to get ready; meaning I had to face the wall opposite the door, hands and legs spread. They’d come in then, the guards, usually fronted by the man himself, and flip over the mattress, pretending to search my cell for contraband.

That’s when he’d stand behind me, pressing himself against my back. His hands would wander, patting me down everywhere, even the parts of my body not covered by clothing. After a final squeeze of my asscheek; he’d turn around and proclaim; “She’s clean”. They’d back out the door, shut it, and it would be dark again.

During one of these visits, I’d had enough, and as Griggs hand wandered towards my groin area, I quickly grabbed his hand, twisting his fingers until I heard a crack.

“Bitch!”, Griggs screeched, elbowed me in the side; and as I feel to the floor, I suddenly had three guards on me, kicking me on my sore hip, and on my ribs. One of the kicks pushed the air out of me, and as I desperately tried to regain control of my breathing, they backed out the door, leaving me there alone.

Maybe 10 minutes later, the speaker howled in the darkness.

“That was not very nice, puss”, Griggs said. “You know, I’ve tried to play nice with you; even breaking the budget on those canned foods you’ve been getting. No more. It’s time you settle in for the long haul”.

Music played, at first at a low volume; but then increasing, until it felt like my head was going to explode from the sound. It would stay like that for about 30 seconds, before being lowered again. It continued like this; music turning up and down, with the highest volume being so intense, no amount of covering my ears seemed to help. My heart beat fiercely, and I could even feel the veins of my fingers pounding. I curled up in a seated position.

After what seemed like forever, the music stopped. I exhaled, and removed my hands from my ears; my biceps stinging from how long and forcefully I had been covering them. I laid down, ears ringing; and I could hear the blood pumping through my body. My ribs and my hip were pulsating in pain.

I closed my eyes, and my body began to give in to sleep.

The music started again. Same pattern as before. I screamed, but at the height of the music, I couldn’t even hear my own voice. That’s when I passed out.

---

“Chess”, a familiar voice called. “Y/N!”. I came too, slowly.

“No more”; I whispered into the darkness; lips and tongue dry.

“Cover your eyes. I’m turning on the lights”. I recognized the voice then. Flag. With great effort, I covered my face with my arm, curling up into a fetal position. I heard the sound of the fluorescent lights flickering on. Then footsteps and keys rattling outside the door.

“Three goddamn days? She’s been out for three days?!”, Flags voice boomed on the other side of the door. “Why didn’t you call me sooner?”.

The door opened, and through the crack of my bended arm, I saw boots walking towards me.

“We thought she was faking it, sir”, Griggs answered Flag.

I felt a hand on my waist, and winced in pain.

“What the hell did you do to her?”, Flag growled.

“She attacked me, sir. My men might have gone a bit overboard”, Griggs retorted.

I blinked, the light still too sharp for my eyes. Flag took a hold of my arm, pulling it away from my face. My eyes hurt, but I looked up at him. His expression was pained.

Putting an arm around my waist, he pulled me up into a seated position. I looked down at my body. I was filthy, covered in dust; and my arms and legs looked skinnier than the last time I’d seen them.

“Can you stand?”, Flag quietly asked me. His eyes were worried.

I tried to get onto my knees, but was too dizzy; and fell back onto my butt. Flag got behind me, and carefully slipped his arms through mine; lifting me onto my feet.

I was weak, and tried to take a wobbly step forward, falling back into his arms. He lifted my arm, and put it around his neck, dragging me with him.

“Help me out, Edwards”, Flag said, and a man with a stubbled face, standing a few inches shorter than Flag, took my other arm around his own neck. Half walking, half carrying me out of the cell, we passed Griggs, who was standing outside. I saw that his hand was in a cast of some kind; and smiled at the fact that I’d made my mark.

They walked me down a dimly lit corridor. Was I in a basement? The doors we passed were all closed, and I wondered if there were other prisoners behind them.

At the end of the hall were stairs, and the two soldiers dragged me up them, until we came to a new corridor, cleaner and brighter than the one we had come from. They took me to a room, sparsely furnitured with a metal table, and two chairs on either side of it. A clock over the door told me it was 3 o’clock.  Am or pm, I didn’t know. Interrogation, I told myself, and the men seated me in a chair, handcuffing me to the table.

On one wall was large mirror, which I knew would be a two way.

I looked at myself in the mirror. The person staring back at me was someone I didn’t know. Her face was gaunt, eyes dark; and she was black and blue on one side of her torso. Well hello, gorgeous, I laughed at myself.

“Something funny?”, Flag asked me, on his way out the door.

“Just that stick up your ass”, I answered, and smiled as brightly as I could.

He closed the door behind him.

One hand free, I ran my fingers through my hair; matted from my ordeal.

I waited for about 30 minutes. Something smelled rancid, and I realized it was me. I hadn’t bathed for who knew how long; but it would obviously have to wait.

The door opened again, and in stepped the woman from the van, followed by Flag, who was looking everywhere but at me. The woman sat down, and pulled out a paper file folder.

“My name is Amanda Waller”, she said.

“I know who you are”, I said, and leant back in the chair, trying for casual. “I also know you’re here to make me an offer I can’t refuse. Literally. You’ll kill me if I do”.

Waller smirked. “I won’t, but the guards at this place might. Apparently, you broke the captains favorite jerking hand”.

“So you’ve been listening in”.

“We have. And though I am not happy with the way things have turned out, it seems all of this was necessary to keep you in line”, Waller retorted. “Let me get down to the point. Me and the colonel here, lead a group of people with special skills. For some reason you know this already; so you probably also know that each of these individuals are people, who most of the good people of The United States would rather see behind bars, or even executed”. She narrowed her eyes at me. “Before I continue, please humor me; how did you know of us?”.

“I knew about you. I didn’t know about Mr. Tall, Lean and Grumpy here”, I said, and nodded my head in Flags direction. His expression remained calm, but his lips twitched once; revealing that my answer had made an effect.

“Hear that, Flag? Your cover remains unblown. Good for you”. Her cold eyes remained on me. “Now answer the question, Y/N”.

“There are whispers. About a cold bitch who is tracking people like me; to use our… special skills”, I repeated her own words.

“But there really is no one like you, is there, Chess?”. She stood up, and opened the folder. “Y/N Y/L/N. A.k.a. Chess. Short for Cheshire?”.

“Nah, that name was taken”, I smirked.

“Right. You don’t strike me as someone with martial arts skills and venomous nails”, she said, looking down at my chipped black polish.

“I can scrap with the best of them, if necessary”.

“I’m counting on it”. She continued. “B minus high school student, until you had a run in with Jervis Tetch, a.k.a. The Mad Hatter. Experimenting with a device he hoped would render himself invisible, he tested it out on one of his kidnapping victims. You”.

I winced. The memory of that event was something I’d rather have been left alone.

“It backfired. Without going in to the scientific details, it made you able to become invisible at will, without using the aforementioned device. He decided to use you for his own criminal activity, and for a few years, you worked for him as a cat burglar and spy. During one of his stints in Arkham Asylum, you decided to become an independent contractor”.

I sat up straight, daring her to continue. She sat back down.

“Burglary. Car theft. Stealing official documents from the FBI – impressive!”, she smiled. “Kidnapping of a senators daughter. Possession of an illegal drug substance?”.

“Actually those last ones were a two for one”, I laughed. “And it wasn’t so much a kidnapping as great weekend in Vegas. She was fully in to it. We almost got married”. The clerk at the chapel had refused to go through with the ceremony, because he was worried, we were under the influence of drugs. It might have been the smell of the half smoked blunt in my pocket that gave us away. “Stephanie? Tiffany? I can’t remember her name”.

“Melissa”, Flag said from behind Waller.

“Right. Melissa!”, I smirked. “You could bounce a nickel of her ass. Was she an ex of yours?”, I smiled at him. He scoffed.

Waller continued. “You’ve avoided arrest on most of your charges; I suppose, due to your condition”.

“My ability to smile”, I said.

“Yes, that’s right. Before you become invisible, you purr and smile. Is there a reason for this?”, she goaded me on. I knew it didn’t make any sense to be secretive, so I decided to be up front with her.

“I don’t know. That’s just how it is. When I need to disappear, my body vibrates, which sounds like a purr. The smile is what sends signals to my brain, to bend light around my body, or an object I’m touching; which then becomes invisible. Serotonin, dopamine… whatever. It works”. I sighed. “Where are we going with this?”.

“Task Force X, under the day to day leadership of Colonel Flag, has an opening. I want you to fill that spot”.

“Why?”, I asked, genuinely wondering.

“Because making things and people disappear is handy, in some of the missions the Force may have coming up”.

“But what is in it for me?”

“10 years of your sentence, per mission”, Waller replied, and closed the file.

“What sentence? I haven’t done anything in a long time”, I said, voice shaking lightly.

“16 months ago, judge Jeremiah Kelper disappeared for a week, before an anonymous tip led the police to him, bound, bloody and gagged, in a warehouse on Gotham Harbor”. Waller folded her hands in front of her, and met my eyes again. “When he woke up at the hospital, he was ranting about a “ghost” that had drugged him, dragged him to the warehouse; and held him for days, tied to a chair. The “ghost” had beat him several times with a pipe, and… well, let’s not get further in to that”.

I couldn’t help but smile. “Sounds like someone had it in for him”.

“Sounds like”, Waller half whispered. “I also know that Kelpers records are much cleaner than he is. But then there’s the money”.

“What money”, I asked, looking first at Waller, then up at Flag, who smirked at me.

“1 million dollars, cash, disappeared from a safe at Wayne Tower, two months ago. What did you spend it on?”, he asked.

Shit, they got me, I thought. “I donated it”.

“Some of it”; Waller said, and reopened the file. “987.000 dollars were donated anonymously to a local shelter for battered women, two days later”.

I leant forward; and Flag quickly took a step towards the table, putting his arm in front of Waller.

“Calm down, soldier”, I said. “From what I hear, The Wayne Foundation matched my donation to the same shelter, not long after”.

“You’re right”, Waller said. “It seems to me, you want to be one of the good guys”. I smirked again. “But you’re not. You’re a villain, Y/N – one of the bad guys. But you can make that badness have a purpose”.

I leant back again, and Flag relaxed, stepping back. He folded his arms – those arms – and leant against the wall, toying with the id-card attached to his t-shirt sleeve.

“Show me what you can do”, Waller demanded.

“I can’t”, I said, looking back at Wallers now surprised face. “I need energy to smile, and for the last – what – month or so, I’ve been living on stale toast and kibble”, I admitted.

“Flag”, Waller said, and the soldier took a candy bar from his pants pocket, and placed it in front of me. With my free hand shaking, I opened the wrapper, and put it to my lips. Taking a bite of the heavenly chocolate, feeling the wonderful sensation of sugar rushing through my system; I moaned.

“Mhmm”. Flag stepped back to wall again, looking uncomfortable at my sounds. I couldn’t help myself. “Got anything else in those pants for me?”, I purred; and as he quickly looked away from my face, I smiled.

Touching the table with my free hand, it went away in a mist, making the file folder look as if it was floating in midair.  Wallers eyes went wide. I kicked of one slipper, touching the floor with my bare foot, and suddenly, the floor was gone, leaving the three of us as if standing on clear glass.

Looking down, I saw a cell, no bigger than my own had been, though better furnished; with a cot, a toilet, a couple of nudie posters, and a tiny table. In the middle of the room stood a rugged looking man, clutching a toy unicorn in his arms. He looked up, eyes large; before looking towards Waller. He smiled widely, gold tooth gleaming, and though I couldn’t hear what he was saying, it was clear it was along the lines of “I see London, I see France, I see Wallers underpants”. Waller crossed her legs quickly, and looked at me, with a mix of horror and excitement plastered on her face.

“Enough!”, she shouted.

That’s when I made myself disappear before their eyes.

Flag and Waller looked around the room trying to find me, before Flag ran across the invisible floor, towards the chair, grabbing for what I guess he thought would be my shoulder, but ended up being my right breast. Confused at the softness, his brow furrowed.

My energy gave out. The floor, the table, and lastly my body, reappeared. Realizing where his hand was, Flag jumped back, looking at his hand, face reddening. “Thanks for that”, I smiled at him flirtatiously. He turned his back to me and clenched his guilty hand into a fist.

“I think I’ve seen everything I need to”, Waller said, standing back up again, picking up the folder. “Training starts tomorrow. Once the colonel has calmed down a bit, he’ll make sure you get a proper meal”. She went for the door.

“Waller!”, I stopped her dead in her tracks. “Tell me, did Kelpers balls ever pop back down?”.

She smiled crookedly at me. “I hear he’s going to need some reconstructive surgery”.

She walked out the door, leaving me with Flag.

Flag unlocked the cuffs, and pulled me up. “Think you’ll be able to walk yourself this time?”.

I leant towards him, putting my hands on his chest. Fuck, you’re firm, I thought.

“I might need a little help. Feel free to grab a hold of me anywhere”, I beamed at him.

Flag roughly put my arms behind my back, and cuffed them together. “Let’s go, kitten”, he scoffed, and pushed me in front of him, out of the door. My friends The Tweedles were waiting outside. “Get her back to her cell. Make sure the lights are on until 2200 hours. And get her a proper meal”.

As Tweedle Dee and Dum supported my still weak body walking down the hall, I looked back at Flag.

“You like me”, I flirted, and his face reddened again, before he turned around, and walked in the opposite direction.

[thethirdamell]

I Yield (Borders Yet To Be - Part 1)

@pinkfadespirit tagged me for WIP Wednesday so here’s what I’ve been working on instead of AO. Thank you for the tag! This is part one of who knows how many. I was thinking of making it a one-shot, but it’s getting a bit long, so I’m still undecided on how to handle it. WIP Wednesday Tags: @mikkeneko @verifiedhawke @arcanefeathers  @ushauz @wannakissrobits @degenerate-perturbation @thefluffynug @doctorhawke @nightingalerising @loneliii-aura @faux-fires and anyone who wants to share :) Fandom: Dragon Age: Origins  Rating: Explicit Tags: Romance  WC: 3246 Main Pairings (M/M): Amell / Loghain 

Summary: “The only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it.” 

Sweat. Soaking his hair, his tunic, every inch of his flushed skin. His pulse was thrumming in his ears, so loud he couldn’t hear the harsh grunts he knew spilled from his lips as he took thrust after thrust. Damn him. Damn the Warden. Loghain was exhausted, every muscle trembling as he struggled to keep up with the man’s limitless stamina, his limitless mana, his limitless everything. Amell shoved him hard against the wall, and the sound that escaped him was more gasp than grunt.  

Amell didn’t just have him, he dominated him. From the moment they’d started this, he’d been in complete control. Loghain couldn’t move, could barely breathe without the man’s allowance. There was so much strength in him - Loghain couldn’t call on a comparison. Not since Maric died, but Maric had never taken charge of him like this - had never ruined him like this. Amell grabbed him and turned him around, only to throw him on the floor.  

Loghain hit his knees, and stayed there, breathing hard. This was what he’d asked for - what he’d wanted - and now that he finally had it - there was nothing left but to surrender to it. Amell advanced on him, but there was nothing hurried in his stride. Like he knew Loghain would stay there, exactly where he’d left him, exactly where he wanted him. Amell had taken everything from him, and there was nothing left now but his dignity, but somehow Loghain knew Amell would take that too.

“I yield,” Loghain said, letting his sword fall from his hand.

Amell stopped. Loghain hadn’t expected him to stop. He expected to meet his end at the Warden’s sword, thrust through his heart before the whole of Ferelden. Beaten. Bested. Utterly destroyed at the hands of the man he’d spent the past year fighting with more fervor than the Blight. Amell unlatched his helmet with his shield arm, and let it clatter to the floor of the throne room.

Dragonscale echoed on the stone in the utter stillness of the Landsmeet. Amell still held his sword, and could still drive it through him. Loghain still expected him to. Amell’s eyes swept over him, a bloody shade of russet that was difficult to meet for how they seemed to see through him. He wasn’t the Regent, or the Teyrn, or the Hero of Riverdane to the Warden. He was just Loghain - and Loghain had lost. He knelt, chest heaving, one hand to the floor and the other to his knee to keep him steady, and prayed Anora would look away.

“... I accept your surrender,” Amell said.

Anora wept. Alistair raged. The Landsmeet gasped, but no one was more shocked than Loghain.

Loghain had underestimated him. He’d thought Amell like Cailan: a child wanting to play at war. He’d never been more wrong about a person. Amell unified the country where he failed, arranging his daughter’s wedding to Maric’s bastard, and winning the allegiance of the bannorn, the elves, the dwarves, the mages, and now somehow, Loghain as well.

Amell wanted him for the Grey Wardens, or perhaps simply wanted his death behind closed doors. Loghain knew enough to know the Joining was often fatal, and far less glorious than a public beheading. It seemed a fitting punishment, all things considered. Loghain respected the man for it, though Maric’s bastard disagreed.

Alistair hadn’t contained his anger to the Landsmeet. Loghain and half the palace overheard their argument when they returned. Alistair locked himself in his room, which just left Riordan and Amell to oversee his Joining. Amell sat on a table, his gloves and a selection of vials laid out beside him, reading over a tome embossed with griffon wings.

He looked no less commanding outside of battle. He had an impressively strong nose and well-defined jaw, but there was something in his eyes. Blood red, shadowed by a strong brow and further accented by high cheekbones. He cut a leaner figure in Warden leathers than he did in dragonscale, and wore the dark blues almost regally, posture strong, raven hair braided back behind one ear.

It seemed only fitting to stare. Loghain should get the measure of the man that had spared him, but Amell was hard to read. There was a strategist in there, alongside a mage, despite Amell’s reliance on sword and shield. Strange Amell hadn’t used his magic in their duel. Or perhaps smart. Perhaps it had all been for show, and Amell could have killed him with a wave of his hand, but wanted to allow him some semblance of dignity before the Landsmeet.

A strong leader couldn’t have weak allies, after all. Loghain had never thought of himself as weak before, but he knew when he’d been bested. Amell was the better soldier. The better leader. The better man. He was competent, but that competence wasn’t terribly comforting if he was just now learning the ritual Loghain was to undergo.

“Am I to understand you’ve never done this before?” Loghain guessed.

“There’s a first time for everything,” Amell said.

“Quiet,” Riordan murmured. “The Joining is complex. He needs to focus.”

“You could at least get me when you're ready,” Loghain muttered, pacing impatiently. The less time he had to think this over, the better. The thought of leaving Anora alone didn’t sit well with him. She was formidable, strong enough to endure without him, but the memory of her tears of relief at the Landsmeet haunted him. He didn't want her shedding any more, and prayed it was mercy, not malice, that had stayed Amell’s hand.

“Trust me,” Amell said without looking up from the tome.

“I don’t see I have a choice,” Loghain said.

In time, Amell set his book aside and cast his spell, blood and lyrium weaving together in the silver joining chalice. It smelled like death, a scent so sweet it was noxious, and Loghain didn’t doubt he’d meet his end at it.

Riordan retrieved the chalice. The old Orlesian still bore the scars from his imprisonment at Howe’s estate, and there was nothing but practicality in his voice when he spoke. “You are called upon to submit yourself to the Taint for the greater good. From this moment forth you are a Grey Warden.”

“I understand,” Loghain reached to take it from him when Amell stopped him. Amell's hand clasped over his own on the chalice, and felt pleasantly warm contrasted with the cold silver. It sent an involuntary shiver up his spine, and made him acutely aware it had been years since anyone had touched him.

“Wait,” Amell said.

“Change your mind?” Loghain forced a chuckle. “Should we get the guillotine?”

“Join us, brother,” Amell said, his hand still resting atop his own, and it wasn’t just warm, it was soft, his grip firm and steady through the oath. “Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that can not be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day we shall join you.”

“My sacrifice?” Loghain fought back the urge to roll his eyes and wrench away. His pride wasn’t worth the loss of warmth, the loss of contact, the loss of compassion. Amell’s touch was like to be the last he'd ever know.

… strange that didn't seem so terrible.

“Yes,” Amell said.

“My death, you mean," Loghain cleared his throat.

“Death is just death,” Amell said. “If you die, I won't waste it.”

“See that you don’t,” Loghain drank.

Loghain lived, and that was all he could say of the matter. He was stripped of his lands and titles following his defeat, and felt smaller for it. In a strange way, he felt better for it. It was out of his hands now. His successes. His failures. They were on Amell, and Amell seemed to shoulder them well. Amell spent a great deal of time with Anora, Alistair, and Eamon, offering his advice on the state of the bannorn before he left for his fortress at Soldier’s Peak.

Loghain joined him, and all his companions. They hated him down to the last man, but Amell didn’t, or if he did, he didn’t make it obvious. He spoke with him, and ate with him, and acknowledged him the way it seemed he did the rest of his companions. The only distinction seemed to be that Amell watched him with a… unique intensity. An intensity Loghain only noticed because he watched Amell the same way. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of it, and honestly couldn’t say which of them had started it.

They took the North Road from Denerim towards Soldier’s Peak, and spent the night at a small town inn, where it seemed Loghain should speak with him. Set expectations for whatever there was between them. He knocked on the door to Amell’s room, one hard thump of his fist, and won a polite, "Enter."

Loghain let himself inside. The room, like all the rooms at the inn, was modest. An armchair and a couch set before a low table, where Amell sat with a selection of books and maps, his mabari at his feet. There was also a basin for bathing and a bed, both big enough for two, but Amell was alone.

That seemed strange, for a man like him. Maric had never been alone, not even when he should have been, women from all walks of life walking their way right into his bed. Rowan had suffered for it… but Loghain didn't want to think about Maric or Rowan. He wanted to think about Amell.

There was a lot to think about there. Amell besting him. Amell sparing him. Amell staring at him. His hair, free of its braid, curved to frame one side of his face and the wholly unwarranted raise of his eyebrow. Like Amell was intrigued by his visit, but there was nothing intriguing about him. He was a bitter old man who’d lost his country, his crown, and his companions all in one fell swoop.

… It seemed he should resent Amell more for that.

"Loghain," Amell said, closing the book he'd been reading. "Did you want to talk?"

Sitting seemed too presumptuous, so Loghain leaned on the armchair while he spoke, "What else could I want?"

"You tell me," Amell countered, with a strange lilt to his voice.

"I'm not here for a rematch," Loghain assured him. "Don't worry."

"I wasn't."

… Cocky.

“I passed your test,” Loghain noted, fighting back a smile and wondering why his face was so determined to settle on the expression. “Fate has a twisted sense of humor, it seems.”

“It seems,” Amell agreed.

“I suppose you think I'm some sort of monster,” Loghain continued. “More so since I survived your ritual: you keep striking at me, and I just refuse to die decently.”

“I may have to resort to magic next,” Amell said playfully.

“Oh?” Loghain raised a bemused eyebrow, his smile finally escaping. “What was all that nonsense with darkspawn blood and lyrium, then? A puppet show?"

"Something like that," Amell said mysteriously.

"It seems to me that magic has already failed," Loghain joked, though he wasn't naive enough to think the extent of Amell’s magic could fit in one little cup. "I’d recommend a sharp knife in the kidneys next time. Less impressive, but it gets the job done.”

Amell hummed thoughtfully, like he was considering it, before shaking his head. “The plan loses something when you’re the one suggesting it.”

“I suppose it does lack the element of surprise,” Loghain allotted.

"Sit down," Amell waved a hand at the armchair.

It was more suggestion than command, but it still disarmed him. Loghain couldn't remember the last time anyone had told him to do anything. More so, he couldn't remember the last time he'd actually listened. He circled the armchair and sat. Amell smirked, like he was pleased with him for following the order, however insignificant. His eyes wandered over him, like he was sizing him, but Loghain couldn’t imagine why. Amell had already beaten him.

What other reason could the man have to stare? Loghain straightened his spine and refused to fidget for it. He knew where he stood with the Warden and he wouldn’t be intimidated by it, but Amell’s stare didn’t seem threatening. It just seemed interested. Silence stretched, and it took Loghain longer than he cared to admit to realize he was waiting for permission to speak.

“Well,” Loghain cleared his throat. “What shall we do to settle things between us, then?”

"Things?" Amell raised an eyebrow.

“Is that supposed to be coy?” Loghain guessed.

“Do you want it to be coy?” Amell asked.

… Was Amell flirting with him? He couldn’t possibly be flirting with him. He was old enough to be the man’s father. His grandfather, if he'd been more adventurous in his youth, but he hadn't. He’d loved Rowan, and then Celia - though not half as well as she deserved - and then no one. Amell had no reason to flirt with him. Loghain had spent the better part of a year trying to kill him, and there was nothing flirtatious in that.

Loghain wasn’t a flirtatious person. He’d barely flirted with his own wife, and he’d never flirted with Maric - no matter his feelings for the man. He couldn’t begin to imagine the scandal that would have come from that, even if Maric had shown any preference for men. His King? It would have been as bad as… whatever this was. Amell was his Commander. Amell was half his age. Amell was waiting for an answer, smirking a little more for every second he delayed.

“What I want is for this to be over,” Loghain said before he embarrassed himself further. “You’ve won, Warden.”

“Amell,” Amell corrected him.

“... Amell, then,” Loghain said.

“There’s nothing to settle,” Amell assured him. “I expect us to work together.”

“Is that punishment meant for me or for you?” Loghain wondered.

“Did you want to be punished?” Amell ran his thumb over the tips of his fingers, a flicker of electricity playing over his fingers, but the magic seemed more static than lightning, his expression more thoughtful than threatening.

There was too much to think about there. Amell was absolutely flirting with him. Maric had told stories of the nights he’d spent with mages and their magic, and they assaulted him mercilessly the longer Amell held the spell. The short exchange felt like their duel all over again - Amell wearing down his defenses, and Loghain helpless against him.

It shouldn’t have been so appealing. It shouldn’t have been appealing at all. Loghain didn’t know anything about the man beyond his skill with a blade, but something in the roll of his fingers and the quirk of his lips seemed to suggest it was… quite a proficiency.

“I imagine you must have one in mind,” Loghain mumbled despite himself, wondering after the sensations. Pleasant, no doubt. Something that shivered across the skin. Something that wasn’t serious, and was clearly just meant to tease or torment him.

“A few,” Amell grinned.

“So just like that, we’re allies?” Loghain asked - refusing to read into that grin, that magic, those hands. Amell was just making fun of him, adding insult to the injury of his defeat with this whole exchange. “I can’t imagine it’s so simple. I don’t know what concessions you want from me. I expect my word will not satisfy you.”

“Did you want to satisfy me?” Amell countered.

“Mockery, then,” Loghain deduced. There was no other explanation. He stood, but Amell stood with him, a fast hand catching his wrist when he turned to go. It was the same hand as before - the same warmth, the same firm grip, and Maker - the magic. Amell cut off the spell with the contact, but he wasn’t quite fast enough.

Static rippled up his arm, sending a full body shiver through him. Amell had to have felt him tremble. Had to have known he was making a fool of him. They were enemies at worst, reluctant allies at best, and the thought that Amell might be after more than that was ridiculous enough as to be insulting.

“What mockery?” Amell asked.

“This,” Loghain gestured vaguely between them. “I’ve seen enough Satinalias to know when I'm being made the fool.”

“Fortune favors the foolish,” Amell said - and Maker preserve him but there was something captivating in him. Not just his eyes, but his scent, clouding his head for their closeness. He was something like blood and magic, and it spoke of the same power that had bested him at the Landsmeet and was besting him now.

“Fortune favors the brave,” Loghain corrected the proverb, feeling himself begin to sweat the longer Amell stared at him with those damn eyes, like fire, heating up his skin with all their impossible promises. “I am no fool and I will not be made one. You may have won, but I doubt it was done with sword alone. If not for your magic, I could have taken you.”

“Is that what you want?” Amell asked.

“What?”

“You want to take me?” Amell released his wrist, and caught his collar instead. His fingers barely skirted the fabric, but he might have wrenched for the effect it had on him. Loghain couldn’t focus on anything but the way his lips moved when he spoke, and the thought that they might have been softer than his hands. “You want to take my magic?”

“Damn you, Warden,” Loghain hated himself for whispering, but he couldn’t raise his voice any more than he could raise his head, tilted just slightly so the other man could reach his lips if he wanted. “What do you want from me?”

“You tell me,” Amell countered - his eyes were fixed on his lips, and the warmth of his breath spilled over them with every word. “What do you want?”

“I want you to let go of me,” Loghain lied.

Amell let go, and Loghain regretted it more than all the mistakes he’d made of late. The rest of his mistakes he’d made for Ferelden, but this one-... this was a mistake he could make for himself. It almost seemed worth the risk that Amell might be mocking him, might be too young for him, might be too much for him. Loghain cleared his throat, and took an unsteady step back. “Thank you. Goodnight, Warden.”

“Amell,” Amell corrected him.

“Amell,” Loghain repeated, and beat a hastier retreat from Amell’s room than he had from Ostagar. He took a cold bath in his own room, but he was so flushed from the exchange his skin may as well have warmed the water. This-... this was the real defeat. The real shame. Not at the Landsmeet, but here, in some backwater inn on the North Road, where he met his end not at Amell’s sword but his smirk.

Take him. Loghain couldn’t take him. One look, one touch, and he was ready to yield. The memory wouldn’t leave him, not even when he took a hand to his aching cock and beat a frantic pace against his racing heart. He hated the touch of his own hand - weathered with age and nothing like the supple youth he felt in Amell - but his release strengthened his resolve. If he didn’t even want the touch of his own hand, neither would anyone else.

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Shielded. Chapter Four

Happy Sunday all, back to the usually scheduling this week. I hope you enjoy the next week of lockdown with Jamie and Claire <3 Mod MBD.

Anonymous said to imagineclaireandjamie: 

It does not matter what you bear, but how you bear it. [Seneca]

CHAPTER FOUR: WEEK TWO - Home and Away.

As Monday rolled around again, the weekend having passed by in a blur, Claire sat at the breakfast table with a fresh cup of coffee in her hands. Having ventured down during the day on both Saturday and Sunday, she had hoped to bump into Jamie and pass on her thanks to his generosity but he had been out before sunrise each day and she had been asleep before he’d returned home.

Resolute, however, she chose to spend her day downstairs and hopefully get something on for dinner before he came back so she could at least start the week off right.

Fate, however, wasn’t on her side. By 10pm, with the lasagne tucked away, wrapped in foil, in the fridge, she covered her mouth with a yawn and pulled herself up the stairs to bed.

The crash and smashing of a glass bought her out of her sleep as the clock beside her bed clicked over to 3am. Pulling herself from beneath the sheets, she crept downstairs, eager not to scare him as she approached the kitchen.

“Couldn’t sleep?” She asked, knowing full well he had only just returned home.

He was stood by the sink, cold lasagna on the countertop and his mucky boots still on his feet. With the fork held to his mouth, he smiled as he took another bite of the pasta, chewed and then shook his head. “I havena ever been the best sleeper but it’s lambing season, aye? One of them got into bother and I couldna leave her until I knew she was safe.”

“And she made it?”

“Aye. I was luckier tonight than I was at the weekend.”

“Oh, dear...that doesn’t sound good.”

“It’s the job, I’m afraid. If I didna lose at least a handful a year I’d be shocked.”

It was the first real (and longest) conversation they’d had since she’d arrived and she was suddenly grateful for the company. He was calm, grounded and relaxed in the way a lot of city dwellers weren’t. She could tell in the slump of his shoulders that it didn’t matter how long and awkward his day was, how messy or how little sleep he had gotten the night before, he was still weightless almost, free of the constraint modern living brought to most.

“I wanted to say thank you,” she broke in, remembering the reason she’d half-blindly stumbled down in the middle of the night, “you’ve been so amazing - to get me materials for a garden, that’s...above and beyond the call of duty.”

“Ach,” shaking his head, he finished the last of his supper, balled the tin foil up and placed it in the bin, “dinna fash yersel’ about that. It’s no’ a problem.”

He was embarrassed, she could tell. Abashed, his accent had become incredibly thick and almost impossible to understand. But it was quiet enough here that there was no background noise to blot out his sentence and luckily she didn’t have to ask him to repeat himself.

“Well, nonetheless,” ignoring the slight reddening of his cheeks she continued, “I am very grateful to you. For everything.”

With nothing more to say between them, she waved, smiled and backed off, feeling strangely pleased with herself for breaking the silence between them. Hopefully, she thought as she climbed the stairs back to her room, there would be some evenings in the future when they could eat together and she could show her appreciation by making him something warm and fresh.

-- --

By mid-week, she had yet to see Jamie again. His work was intense, and yet, despite that, he had still managed to begin construction of her tiny garden.

In her haste she had forgotten that she wasn’t allowed outside the house and, as she’d watched the greenhouse foundations being laid, she had become almost inconsolable about the fact that she probably wouldn’t get the chance to tend to any of the produce grown in it.

She knew, however, that safety was more important than new hobbies and she chose, instead, to make detailed lists of the daily needs of each of the seeds and plants Jamie had procured for her.

She started with the tomatoes and grapes, which needed to be contained within the glass walls in order to collect enough light and heat to survive. She noted water levels, soil PH and balance and daily rituals which would need to be abided by in order for the best crop to be formed. It filled most of her days and when the sun went down, she’d swap her notepad for the computer as she researched all the differences she might see in her fruit and veg determined all by the way they were treated as they grew.

Though she had never been an artist, she started to search for youtube videos on how botanical art could be created. Having no coloured pencil crayons or watercolours, she stuck to pencil sketches and began to leave more post-it’s, this time with future predictions on what the garden might produce for the household.

Once again Jamie enjoyed coming home. There had only been a few days lapse in her communications but when he didn’t see her for days, it was the one thing he could rely on to buoy his spirits.

They were different, in so many ways, but on a subconscious level, he pondered to himself at night as he held the drawing of some rare cabbage in his hands, Jamie felt as if they had very many similar quirks. He’d been pleased that his idea to leave her be for as long as she needed had been a success and was grateful she felt at home enough to reform her life around his. Her asking for the garden made him realise how easy it might be for someone else to fit into his own life without causing him much grief.

It was only a small thing, but to him it had made a huge difference. Having lived alone for so long, he had almost forgotten how malleable people could be. Though, he thought as he rifled around in the fridge for more pre-made meals, he had probably just gotten lucky with Claire.

The thought also occurred to him that she had been inadvertently raised more suited to this life than her old one, but he didn’t know enough about her to advance on the notion.

It wasn’t until late on Thursday when they came face to face together. After another heavy day and late night, Jamie finally toe-ed off his work boots at nearly midnight and made his way, quietly, through to the kitchen.

He had not expected to nearly bump straight into Claire has she dished up what looked like a very tasty stir fry.

“I thought you might be sick of reheating pasta dishes, so I thought I’d try and wait for you this time.”

“Ye didna have to, it’s very late.” He scratched the back of his neck bashfully, even she couldn;t find the truth in his words and she smiled as she placed a fresh bottle of soy sauce in the centre of the table. “But this does smell delicious.”

“It’s taken me a few attempts to hone it, but I’ve been practicing most evenings this week to try and get it perfect, flavour as well as how long I need to cook the veg for.”

“What’s the meat?” He asked, watching as his stomach rumbled audibly.”

“I used the duck, I hope you don’t mind. I used chicken earlier in the week but I couldn’t seem to get it as tender as I wanted it and a few forums online suggested that duck might be a better substitute if I wanted meat with a bit more moisture.”

“Perfect. Use any meat you want from the freeze, for anything. Honestly, I forget most of the time what I’ve got in there.”

Placing several bowls filled with various meats, vegetables and sides, she went back to the sink to wash the remaining stickiness of her hands before beckoning him to start without her. “I had hoped you weren’t saving anything for a special occasion.”

“Ach, I think the virus has put pay to anything like that for a while,” he began, filling his plate with noodles, duck and beansprouts, “my sister - she lives in Canada now - had planned a summer visit, but we’re no’ sure of anything at the moment.”

“Is she the one in the photo,” Claire enquired, taking a mouthful of her own concoction and swallowing back the relief when it tasted nice - a mixture of sweet and savory that wasn’t as overpowering or as dry as it had been earlier on in the day when she’d made the first of the final tests. “The one with brown hair?”

“Aye, she is. Her partner, Ian, got a job out there a few years ago and they emigrated. We talk as often as we can on Skype and FaceTime but it’s become sporadic recently wi’ my erratic work hours. She’s a nurse, ya see, and works odd shift patterns too. But we try and keep in touch at least once a month.”

“Do you miss her?”

“I didna really think about it, we were close....until we werena. Then they moved away and I fell into a new routine.”

He had begun to speak without thinking, filling up the silence with answers to her questions as they ate in between conversation. He had, though, had the forethought to stop before giving too much away. The thought hurt his heart and he had to inhale between a bite of his dinner to gather himself back up. He knew, given time, that he would be alright with sharing his past (as he hoped she would be with hers) but tonight wasn’t the night for revelations.

Sensing his reluctance to continue, she moved on, understanding that she herself wasn’t in a place to open up about her own family life.

“I can imagine Skype is about the only way most are communicating at the moment.” Sighing, she started to collect the empty dishes and load the dishwasher. “I’m quite grateful, actually, that I don’t have anyone to keep in touch with. It’s all...quite scary.”

It was the first time Jamie had consciously thought about the pandemic, being cut off from the outside world had its benefits and he felt relieved that he could separate himself from the constant barrage of news that he supposed others would be exposed to. He realised that both he and Claire were unique now, part of a smaller section of society where being remote was almost a blessing rather than a curse.

“If you ever need to talk, lass,” standing, he helped to clean up the remaining mess from dinner, his hand almost brushing against hers as he wiped the countertop down, breaking only to hover for a second before returning to his job, “ye know where I am. Please dinna think you have nobody...if yer concerned, aye?”

“Thank you Jamie.” Pulling her fleece cardigan across her chest she walked slowly to the kitchen door, pausing for a second in the doorway just to make sure she’d left nothing out to go cold and mouldy overnight. “The same to you. I’m a good listener, I promise, if you ever need to talk, or if you need any help.”

She’d been thinking about his life on the farm for a few days now, watching the rolling hills out of her window, seeing the sheep and cattle on the horizon and -very occasionally- seeing the silhouette of him roaming his land. There was little she could do from indoors, she knew, but there had been chores around the house that she could potentially complete. Putting herself to task, she had learned new basic kitchen skills but only this morning she’d noticed the beginnings of a hole on the seam of his trousers as they dried on the rail in the courtyard and she thought it might be something she could tend to...should he be alright with it.

Leaving with the quiet settling calmly between them, she noted the relaxing of the muscles in his face as he smiled and nodded as she turned and carried herself to bed.

Resting against the faux-marble worktop, Jamie closed his eyes as he waited for the soft slam of her bedroom door before he followed her up. She just might, he thought to himself as he undressed himself, taking a towel from his radiator and making his way to the shower, be better equipped for this life than I am.

[saladejin]

Admire | 04

Seokjin x Fem!Reader | arranged marriage!au, husband!Seokjin | Strangers to lovers, angst, self discovery, loneliness in luxury, touch starvation (eventual smut), eventual domestic fluff

Summary: You’d never needed anyone else. Growing up alone, living alone, existing alone. It all came naturally and effortlessly, quite like breathing. That was until your somewhat distant parents finally decided it was time to make good on a promise. One they’d made before you were even born.

Warnings: Brief mentions of semi-absent parents

Word Count: 2k

A/N:  Hey there, this is just a short chapter I decided to post as a bridge to the next part of the story-line. Hope you enjoy :)

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“I know that you’re living a different life now (Y/n), but you still can’t skip out on the annual summer road trip,” your mother’s voice chided. You held the phone away from your ear slightly to avoid bursting your own eardrums.

“But - am I just meant to go on my own and leave the house? The road trips aren’t exactly meant for…”

You trailed off with a weird strangled noise in your throat, knowing that saying ‘people like him’ would only sound bad. Seokjin looked up at the changing tone of your voice, eyeing you with an intense curiosity. There was no way he didn’t pick up that it was him you were referring to.

You had been sitting together at the dining table, feasting on an old-style Italian pasta dish you’d decided to whip up right before your mother called. It was one of the only times you two had actually eaten together since getting married, as you usually just ordered food whenever you were hungry or ate out somewhere his driver would take you.

You had just been shocked that the stoic man agreed to share what you’d made in the first place.

“He can come along, no worries. I’ve already told the guide that you’d be bringing your husband anyway, since I just assumed he’d go with you,” your mother said in a dismissive tone, seemingly distracted on the other end.

Shit, right. We’re meant to be in love.

“Okay, but it’s going to be pretty different to what we’ve been doing so far.” You sighed, thinking about all the high-class parties you’d attended in the last few months, twirling some pasta around your fork absent-mindedly. Seokjin was going to be way out of his element here.

“Then it’s settled, you leave in a couple of days. Remember the meeting spot?”

“Yes, Mum. Bye then.”

You hung up the phone and sunk back into the chair across from Seokjin, exchanging his look with one fizzling with tension. Not one of you had touched your food since you took the call.

“You going to tell me what that was about?” he hummed after eventually moving to swallow down the last of his meal with a satisfied sigh.

“Yeah, just trying to figure out how to tell you.”

He seemed a tad concerned, but didn’t push any further. You sat and brooded with your thoughts for another minute or so before running your hands slowly through your hair in exasperation. You could almost laugh at how strange this was going to be for him.

“Okay so we do this thing every year, although my parents don’t usually go, where our extended family and friends have a summer road trip out to the countryside and sometimes stop by the beach. It’s kind of like a break from the busy lives they all lead, and it’s … such a big difference from their wealthy lifestyles,” you explained, not catching any change in facial expression from the handsome man across from you.

“So … I used to tag along because like you just heard, my mother nags me to go, and the trips always turned out being not half bad. If anything, I enjoyed getting out and seeing the different ways of life the people there lived. It was a nice change of scenery too.”

You realized you were ranting and cleared your throat, pushing your half empty bowl away from you. Seokjin looked like he was pondering again, but you were already guessing the thought of a road trip probably put him off terribly.

“Look, my mother said you’d come along but no one’s going to force you. It’s just a getaway thing that lasts for a couple of weeks, I wouldn’t be gone for too long. Maybe you could attend a party or ball by yourself for once, it’d make everything much easier for you-”

“I’ll go.”

You blinked at him in shock, but he only gazed back with a spark of interest flashing in his dark eyes. The raw emotion was such a rarity for him that you had to blink again to snap out of the awed emotion that was now warming up your cheeks.

“You will?” you squeaked, hating how high your voice had pitched itself.

“Yeah, I don’t want life to get boring. I’ve never done something like this, so I’ll see how it goes,” he replied simply, a small smile resting on his lips as he took in your expression alighting with appreciation. Was he always this adventurous? Maybe deep down, there were sides to this man you had yet to discover.

“Well, we leave in a couple of days. I can tell the driver the meeting location and everything… uh, are you sure?”

“Yes, (Y/n).”

You got up from your seat and swept up your dishes, feeling an odd excitement flood your whole chest at the prospect of going on a retreat with Seokjin. Getting to spend some time with the man who was slowly but surely warming up to you was such a promising idea. Plus, lately you’d been wanting to get closer to him. Your need for pure company was becoming overwhelming.

You wanted your own husband to be the person you could turn to when you needed attention … but after giving it too much thought, you knew that there was no way he’d care enough to want to put up with that. It was borderline foolish of you.

“So, you didn’t really go on many holidays?” you probed quietly after rinsing the bowls. He’d shifted himself from the table to one of the kitchen stools to watch you work. You felt oddly comfortable under his searching gaze, even if you did look quite average in your tracksuit pants and simple white tee.

“If my father’s business trips count?” Seokjin snorted in dry humour. You could tell he was legitimately curious about the whole road trip thing, which was so baffling to you considering he’d barely tried to ask you about your life at all.

“Well, what did you do on those trips?”

You wiped your dripping hands on a dish cloth and sat across from him, only the sparkling white benchtop separating the two of you. You had been spending a fair amount time in this position during the past week or so, and it filled you with joy having these longer interactions with him whenever it happened.

“My father would take my brothers and I when we were younger to his workplaces. Teaching us his ways and getting us prepared for when we would take on jobs at the firm. My mother did her own thing, but would only talk to us about what we’d done that day. Maybe there was the occasional shopping trip for new clothes, but both parents were busy most of the time,” he said rather sourly.

Seokjin was obviously tired of having to spend so much of his life pleasing his own mother and father. You couldn’t have imagined how repetitive it all must have been, then again you didn’t really know what it was like spending time with your own parents in the first place.

“Can you tell me what you used to do, then?” he asked suddenly. You raised your eyebrows in disbelief, because he was asking about you, but then you felt bad for painting him in such a bad light. He wasn’t a terrible person; he just hadn’t engaged this much before. That’s why you were taken so off guard when he looked at you straight in the eyes and asked you the question so calmly.

“Um, yeah of course.” You smiled as the feeling of warmth enveloped your very soul, “So… since I never went on business travels with my parents, the only form of a holiday I ever experienced were these trips. They helped me relax and took my mind away from everything.”

You breathed out deeply at the memory of the countryside breeze, and the feeling of the piping hot beach sand crunching underneath your toes. You could only imagine the feeling of the sun’s rays kissing your skin as Seokjin watched in a mildly fascinated state.

“We’d travel as a large group in separate motorhomes – by the way we’ll most likely get one to ourselves – and stop in many small towns along the way. We’d go on walks and find lovely spots to eat lunch, and we’d visit special lookouts along with other cool cultural sites. The best thing was when you got the day to just venture through the place on your own, doing whatever you wanted and exploring the country.”

You unclasped your hands and let your voice die in your throat, not wanting to subject the man to more of your wistful reminiscing. He was hearing all about memories you held close to your heart, because throughout your school years the travelling was what’d kept your mind relaxed and stress-free.

“Sounds like it’ll be interesting for me. You said we’ll be given a motorhome, so we’re the ones driving?” he questioned quietly, almost as if he didn’t expect you to cut yourself off so soon.

“Yeah, I grew up with that brand of vehicle so I can do most of the driving. I’ve got my license,” you assured, barely stifling a giggle as you recalled memories of learning how to drive a motorhome for the first time.

“We can take turns,” he replied shortly, raising a strong eyebrow at you as if daring you to challenge him. You nodded in a slight daze of shock.

So you can drive too, huh.

You never would have guessed, after knowing that the handsome man had been chauffeured around basically his whole life. What need would he even have for a driver’s license?

“Well, I’m going to bed. I’ll start packing for this trip, just let me know if I need anything else,” Seokjin announced with a grunt as he slid off the chair and made his way around the bench to stand before you. He was dressed pretty casually as well, with a light blue button-up shirt hanging over grey trousers, but he still looked so unfairly tasteful.

“The only thing I’ll really say is just bring casual, but comfortable clothes. Oh, and a hat or cap if you have one,” you said, feeling giddy with anticipation for the holiday already. He nodded to acknowledge the advice, resting his weight onto one foot and pursing his thick lips as he thought about if he did, in fact, own a hat.

“Goodnight then,” you spoke after feeling something strange wash over you. This random urge to show him how elated you truly were. Your steps were bouncy and full of life, similar to the fitful pounding of your heart that felt full to the brim.

You stepped forward and placed your hands upon his crossed arms, then stood on your tiptoes and pressed your lips to his smooth cheek. He didn’t jerk away or tell you off, just stood rigidly still for a few seconds before leaving the room to head to bed. It was only after he was gone that it finally hit you.

No way… did I just do that? Did I actually just freaking do that?

Your face erupted into a fiery crimson blush and you almost slammed your head down into the benchtop below you. All the couple-like actions you both performed at the parties must have made themselves a habit of yours, and since you’d been feeling so happy the desire to kiss him just leapt out.

“Idiot, oh my God,” you whimpered to yourself, busying your hands by cleaning the rest of the kitchen in a hurry. The fact that he hadn’t said a single thing scared you. Did he hate it? Or did he like it, or did he just not care? There was no way of knowing!

You scurried off to your room and heard the door shut behind you a little louder than normal. Your embarrassment was flowing thickly through your veins at this point. You just needed to bury your head under the covers and forget that the whole thing happened.

It wouldn’t take long for him to forget, right?

Copyright © 2020 by salade. All rights reserved.

[peachyteabuck]

study buddy, part v

series summary: after crushing on you since freshman orientation, Natasha finally gets the guts to ask you help you pass her postmodern lit midterm, to which you agree.

chapter summary: one restaurant date, two confessions, and three grades that will make or break natasha’s degree

pairing: natasha romanoff x reader

words: 4,881

trigger warnings: overstimulation, use of a safe word, teeth rotting fluff, strap on sex, ball gags, explicit conversations about whorephobia, orgasm control, angst if you squint

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

part one, part two, part three, part four

The warmth of the sun filtered through blinds is what woke you, wrapped tight in Natasha’s arms. The sex-stained blankets were as messy as can be, some of them hugged your intertwined bodies like a tightly wrapped burrito while others were nearly falling off the bed.

It was messy, beautifully and wonderfully so. If you felt the need to move (which, of course you didn’t because who in their right mind would try to disentangle themselves from such a lovely human person) you doubt you could’ve; Natasha held you with arms too strong and heart beat too soft. You wouldn’t dare disturb her if the house was on fire; then again, if the world was burning down around you – you’d rather die in her arms than reach for uncertain safety. It’s there that you fell back into sleep, tucked under her chin and running your fingers through her hair.

Eventually the growling of your stomachs woke the both of you up, each respective organ desperate for nourishment – and the two hard-boiled eggs, sour gummy worms, gluten-free bread, and half a container of mustard wasn’t gonna cut it. The waning sun was an ominous sign of how long you’d truly gone without food, and you soon didn’t feel all that bad about poking your poor g-

Poking poor Natasha awake.

You didn’t feel all that bad poking Natasha awake as your insides beg for sustenance and your head feels light and holy shit, if you didn’t eat right then you were going to start taking bites out of her – and, for the first time, not in a fun and/or sexy way.

“Hey,” you pressed your forefinger to her nose. “Nat.” You poked the end of each eyebrow, then at various locations of her forehead. “Natasha!” Still, she remained asleep, and buried herself further into the blankets as some unconscious act of survival. “Nat.” You poked her right cheek. “Naat.” You poked her left cheek. “Naaat.” You poked each cheek with each hand at its softest part, pushing until you felt her teeth.  “Nat wake uuup.”

She just grunted and pushed you away before she nuzzled back into the covers. “Go away. I want to die here. Let me become a body without organs.”

She paused.

“Or is it organs without bodies?”

You sighed but make no move to displace her. “One, Natasha, we have the midterm coming out soon. If you do not know the original work done by two far left authors from the sarcastic critique by another far left author, I’m breaking up with you. Two, that’s not what that means and you making a vague reference to some postmodern concept does not mean I am going to stop being annoying. Three, would you like to come get dinner with me?”

Natasha shot up, flame-red hair messy and shirt disheveled – it made her look like the top of of a thicket of trees during a forest fire. Along the side of her face, you could see indentations from where her skin was pressed to the pillowcase. “Food?”

You nodded, pushing the strands from her eyes. “Yes, darling, food.”

She wiped at her face and pushed the covers from her legs, eyes half-closed. “Food.”

You picked some of the crust from the corner of her eyes. She blinked indignantly at you but made no move to stop you. “Do you care where we go?”

Natasha shook her head left-to-right silently, then moved to wipe her face once more.

“Okay. There is a very good Chinese place that I want to show you. Is that okay with you?”

Natasha nodded and made a mmhmm noise.

“Cool.”

You kissed the tip of her nose before you got up and scrounged together a passable outfit that would cover the bruises that still littered your body and shield you from the cold. After a few moments, Natasha opened her eyes wide enough to see a few feet in front of her and did the same.

There was s a wonderful silence that filled the air, the comfortable kind. Like the day of that quiz, it’s a wonderful kind of cozy – soothing and sweet.

You could get used to this…

It was a short walk to the restaurant, one you were all-too familiar with due to your many, many nights there. It was the first place you ate at on campus (that wasn’t one of the mind-numbingly mediocre cafeterias) the day you moved in and it had become some pseudo-home, the place always warm and waitstaff always nice (and always willing to let you eat as much as you pay for and abuse their free WiFi).

The menu hadn’t changed much (by “much,” you mean they’ve fixed two of the five typos) since you first started going there, so you should have already known what you want. Still, you opened the folded, laminated paper and read each item with genuine interest, just as Natasha did.

You looked up at her once and awhile just to see her again. Every time you tried to keep her out of your line or sight for more than a few seconds you’d almost burst at the seams, like a sunburst than could only be quelled by looking at her.

“What year are you?” Natasha asked, which broke your unbelievably tender train of thought.

Your brain, which was still very fried, did not compute. “What?”

She reached over to point to the Chinese zodiac calendar on your menu with one of many of her fingers that was inside you last night. “What year are you?”

You mumbled something and shrugged, fake-intense-reading as your neurons attempted to rebuild your capacity for speech. Luckily, Natasha seemed determined to continue the conversation.

“I’m the year of the dog,” she said, nonchalant, as if you were not losing your goddamn mind on the other side of the table. Your brain was fried, your mouth was gaping like a fish out of water, and were your hands shaking? What the fuck were you supposed to say? How should you respond?

Think, you fool! Think!

“There’s a feminist critical theorist who fucks her dog,” you blurted.

Natasha just smiled – god her smile was so big and wide and beautiful - and laughed. “Part of me thinks you’re lying, but part of me worries you’re telling the truth.”

You laughed then, too, smiling big as she did. It set the tone for the rest of the night, mood light and happy as the tired, probably-high waitress took your order and then brought you the food a suspiciously-short amount of time later. It was good, very good.

“And my mom turns to me and she goes,” you wrinkled your noise in an effort to properly invoke your mother’s nasally tone. “This family does not get Fs or Ds or Cs. You better fix this or else.”

Natasha almost choked on her soft drink at your impression. “You were supposed to make an omelet for a foods and nutrition class, what did she want you to do!?”

You took another bite of orange chicken before you rolled your eyes and shrugged. “I have no idea what that woman wants from me now, let alone when I was fuckin’ fourteen.”

You were both laughing as you took food from each other’s plates and swapped small stories. Natasha told you about her own coding mishaps (apparently it was easy to hack into news websites and create fake stories involving certain celebrities and a certain large bird and many, if not too many, phallic objects), you told her about the time you stress-cried in the bathroom so much the janitor kept tissues in a secret compartment for you.

One hand from each of you remained occupied as you held hands on the side of the table farthest from the prying eyes of fellow college students (as if any of them were sober enough to notice, though. Along with being great to you, the restaurant’s very greasy menu meant it was a good spot to quench munchies or quell the pain of an especially bad hangover).

A phone – your phone, you realized – vibrated obnoxiously on the other side of the table. Previously forgotten, you broke from the moment to reengage with the (seemingly) hundreds of people who were attempting reach you via text. At first you thought it’s an email from a client – but then you realized it was a text from a classmate. Specifically, the girl who sat front and center in the lecture hall you and Natasha shared.

“Who’s that?” Natasha asked.

You furrowed your brows as you texted, swallowing the last bit of food. “Oh, Lindsay from our class. She wants to know what I got on the quiz.”

Natasha then realized she never bothered to figure out her grade, and it brought all her anxiety about graduating on time and also making sure you’d never leave her and oh my god what if she failed this fucking quiz?

A few moments of soul-crushing silence passed before you put your phone back down. Natasha watched you like a cat stalking a fake mouse on a string, or a drunk mom at a Christmas party eyeing a dessert table; the drive was genuine, but the goal? Ridiculous. Absolutely, totally ridiculous.

You didn’t press her like she expected, though, didn’t even stare at her with that evil eye Natasha’s sure you got from your mother on more than one occasion. You just went back to eating your food, and put your phone back out of reach.

You noticed her staring at you when you went to borrow (steal) another piece of food from her plate.

“What?”

Natasha furrowed her brow. “Don’t you…Don’t you want to know what I got on the quiz?”

You shook your head as you stole another few bites worth of food. “Not unless you want to tell me.” You shrugged as you swallowed. “I’m not gonna, like, push you if you don’t want to tell me. I’m not my mother.”

Natasha smiled at that and left the conversation there. She was unnaturally quiet for the new few minutes as she listened intently while you told more stories and commented on the food and thought out loud about school and the rest of your life and should you go shopping soon?

Throughout all of it, Natasha remained incommunicative – to the point you started to worry.

“Are you okay?” you asked and reached across the table to put your hand over hers. She smiled, softly, before she replied.

“I really care about you, you know,” she said, low and almost inaudible. You said nothing in return. “And I’m very bad at this. I’m so bad at this. I spent a lot of my childhood in rooms with therapists who said less than I did. I’m not good at,” she waved her hands as she tried to find the right words. “I’m not great at emotions. And expressing them and telling people about them and all that shit. Okay?”

You swallowed the last tastes of duck sauce that coated your back teeth. Despite the sweet substance being a liquid, it felt like a waterfall of boulders cascading inside your throat. “Nat, I-“

“This isn’t me saying I love you, but I want…” Natasha was on the verge of crying, just as you were. She averted your gaze as she continues, staring at the booth cushion directly behind you. “I want to commit to you in some way. I like you, I like the person I am when I’m around you. And I don’t want to lose you because I was too much of a pussy to make a move.”

You said nothing, did nothing. Despite her not looking at you, you stared at her very serious facial expression and watched every muscle twitch for some signs of lying. You saw none.

“I…,” Natasha met your eyes as you spoke. Your mouth was so dry you nearly coughed – but the idea of making any sound terrified you. “I…I need some air.”

You didn’t wait for a reply as you pushed yourself out of the booth and ran out the front entrance.

Natasha didn’t wait for the door to close behind you before she chased after you. She left both of your phones and wallet at the booth, not wanting you to get out of eyeshot but also terrified of the waitstaff thinking the both of you were dine-and-dashers (and terrible ones, at that).

She followed you outside, ache in her heart an excellent distraction from the nighttime chill that dug tiny knives into her pale skin. Still, as her breath was visible in a faint fog in front her, no pain was as unimaginable as the one as losing you.

“Babe, plea-“  began, voice small and nonthreatening as possible.

You interrupted her and avoided looking into her eyes and picked at a loose thread in the sweater you were wearing – Natasha’s sweater you were wearing.

You worried it was the last time you’d ever see her again, and yet you refused to look at her. You refuse dto look at her large eyes and the bags under them, at her nimble hands – thin and agile from years of typing; at her plush lips or beautiful hair or-

Wasn’t that the cruelest irony of all? Of the cognitive dissonant fear of missing something while desperately avoiding looking at it. Still, you chose to jump off the proverbial cliff with your eyes clenched shut and nails digging into the pads of your soft palms and blood rushing in your ears louder than anything you’d ever heard in your life.

“I’m a sex worker.”

Natasha’s eyebrows furrowed and she breathed heavily, like when your mom got mad at you for bringing home that C your freshman year. “There’s-“

“I’m a sex worker. I make my own porn. I sell my nudes. It’s my main,” you sighed. “It’s my only source of income. It’s how I make money. It is how I will continue to make money. It’s how I stay mostly-independent from my very judgmental mother. It’s how I plan on staying mostly-independent from my very judgmental mother and my very judgmental family and the very judgmental world. And if you think that’s morally wrong of whatever, or that I’m some sort of sub-human, or that I’m evil, or that I should stop…”

For the first time that night, you looked her straight in the eyes. No smiling, no laughing, no wishing to see her beautiful face. Power. Authority. Truth. You tried to channel the red you saw on all those feminist theory books you’d had to read for the class that brought you and Natasha together.

“If you don’t believe in the validity of my labor I cannot and will not date you,” you were snarling as you stomped toward her until your toes nearly touched. “I’m not going to let someone who can’t love what I do love me.”

As you stood there, teeth bared and hands balled into fists, stories of rage flashed like lightning in your brain. Narratives of horror from your media studies class, of actresses whose only chance to scream was in front of a camera. If you had sharper nails, sharper teeth, glowing eyes that would be some award-winning monologue where people clap and call it “mind-blowing” and give it “five out of five stars.” You’d be a prime example of how satisfying rage can be as a subversive practice.

But no. You were no antihero(ine), no supernatural being caught on tape. You were not on the silver screen, you were not being streamed on some overpriced platform, you were not the subject of dissertations on media studies or really good articles on feminism or whatever else academics were doing with their time in tenure. You had filed-down nails and wide eyes and soft skin and an uneasy stomach and shaking hands and breath that faintly showed in the air when you exhaled. You had tears that threatened to fall. You had fear.

Natasha’s eyes flitted nervously, her lip between her teeth. For a moment, neither of you said anything.

Natasha was the one to speak first. Her voice sounded as terrified as you felt – with words that were spat through a set jaw and teeth bared.

“Who hurt you?”

You took a half-step back, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What? Natasha, what the fuck are y-“

“Who hurt you?” she whispered, words like knives and eyes just as dangerous. You stepped back, almost scared of her and what she could do to you.

You were pressed against the side of the building then – you could feel the brick and mortar itching at the skin of your back through your top. “Natasha what the hell are you talking about? I don’t kn-“

“Yes,” she stepped back, but grasped at your left hand as she did so. She was a ship tethering to a dock, floating out on the water but always willing to come back to port. “Yes, you do. You know exactly who, what, I’m talking about. What they did. Just tell me who they are, and I’ll ruin their lives.”

You looked for the joke, the punchline. You looked for a glint in her eye that said she was fucking with you and was waiting for you to laugh it off. When you were in seventh grade you got asked out as a joke and the football player made the exact same facial expression you now hunt for.

But you found nothing, no teasing or set up in a larger scheme to mock you. She was serious as you’d ever seen anyone be. “What in the fuck-“

“Tell me who they are. Tell me the name of every person who ever made you feel like shit and I’ll ruin their lives. I’ll steal their identity. I’ll make it so they can never get a job, or a car, or a house again. I’ll do it in a heartbeat,” Natasha let go of your hand and held your face in her food-warm palms. “I will destroy the very existence of every person who ever made you feel like this, because you deserve someone who will protect you from all that bullshit. And I want to be that person.”

The silence was painful, almost. But also comforting. Still, you broke it so speak. “Yes, I’ll be your girlfriend.”

Natasha smiled, and pecked your lips. “Good. Now come finish my food with me, it’s getting cold and our waitress is definitely judging us.”

You broke into a fit of laughter, nearly wheezing as she guided you back inside. The food was good, even though it had cooled considerably while you were both outside – greasy and thick with flavor and hot in your mouth along with your soul and Natasha held your hand on the table and fed you with her fork and you stole bits of her food while she was distracted. At one point, Lizzo played on the restaurant soundtrack and Natasha sung low with you, and you ordered more food to take home and it was hot, too hot in your hands as you carried the large brown paper bag soaked with grease to her apartment. Maybe you were going eat the food in the morning, maybe you were going eat it later tonight. It, truly, did not really matter.

There wasn’t much time between when you put the leftovers in the fridge and when Natasha pushed you onto your knees in her (and your) (it was now shared) bedroom. There also wasn’t much time between when your knees hit the ground and when Natasha grabbed the ball gag from its place in her toy drawer.

“I’m so happy you’re mine,” Natasha cooed as she adjusted the matte black straps. She kissed at your temples when it was secured, murmuring sweet words into the top of your hairline. If there was anyone else watching you, if there were some voyeur witnessing this profession of ownership, you doubt they could hear her. The entire world could be gazing at the two of you under a microscope and they would know nothing. Wasn’t it something wonderful, to share such, dare you say it, love that cannot, will not be observed by a single being outside your pairing? “Such a pretty little thing, a beautiful little toy for me.”

You didn’t dare move, worried even a flinch would disappoint her. Even as spit began to fall down your chin and between your breasts, as it pools in the gap between your legs, you successfully resist the urge to wipe it away. Natasha walks to the end of the bed, perching herself on the covers. The silence isn’t thick or uncomfortable, rather something closer to electric, something you can feel on the insides of your nose as you sniffled.  

Slowly, she raised her right hand and crooked her first finger. You understood immediately and you got on your hands and knees to crawl across the room to her. When you reached the end of the bed you waited, obediently, for her.

Like at the restaurant – you were nearly bursting out of your skin with excitement as you awaited instruction.  

“You’re so pretty, baby,” she cooed. “Now come up on the bed and let me wreck that pussy.”

You do as you’re told without hesitation, scrambling to get on the bed and onto your back. Natasha grabbed a bottle of lube out of seemingly nowhere and poured it over the same strap from the first time she fucked you.

You moaned deeply and reached for something, anything; you whined high in your throat as she pounded into you, the bed smacking against the stained wall with each thrust.

“You’re too pretty for your own good, you know,” her voice was breathless as she spoke. “Normally I would try to keep my toys intact, try to keep them in good condition, but I just can’t seem to help myself around you.”

With each word your back arched farther, your fingers tightened around the sheets.

“F-fuck,” you moaned around the thick plastic sphere in your mouth as you tried to push your back closer to Natasha’s chest.

She grabbed your hair and bit at the curve of your ear before she spoke in a low voice that sent another wave a slick down your inner thighs. “What do you belong to?” she hisses. “Who does this pussy,” she slapped your cunt and you cried out at the stinging pain. “belong to?”

You didn’t hesitate. “You Mommy, I belong to you!”

In that moment, you wondered whether Natasha’s neighbors could hear your screams. But in the one right after, you realized you really, truly, di not give a single flying fuck what they could hear.

“Fuck yes, you’re mine,” she growled as she pressed your face into the sheets, as she loomed over you like a god would punish some human exercising an unholy level of hubris. “Don’t you fucking forget it.”

You couldn’t speak because of the ball gag – didn’t even try to – yet Natasha seemed to know exactly what you wanted to say.

“You wanna cum, love?” she cooed, still fucking into you. “You wanna cum over Mommy’s cock?”

You nodded, the whines high in your throat resembed something close to a please yes please Mommy please I wanna cum I wanna cum I wanna cum.

Just like the lube, Natasha grabbed the hitachi out of thin air before she turned it on low and pressed it to your neglected clit. It was something, it was enough, but only just so. Your muscle tensed and you wailed out as you bucked your hips, as you tried to fuck yourself harder onto the toy. Natasha notices and slows her thrusts, laughing as you become more and more desperate.

“You’re so pathetic,” she hissed. “Such a pathetic little toy. You’ll do anything to cum, won’t you?”

You nodded; words garbled.

Natasha laughed again. “Of course you would, slut. You’d do anything for me, right? You’d do anything I told you to? You’re just a mindless little toy for me, just a dumb little thing with no thoughts besides how you can please me…”

You were drooling around your gag so much it covered your cheeks and pooled on each side.

You’re blissed out, eyes glazed over and body wonderfully lax. Natasha’s isn’t done with you yet, though, because of course she isn’t. You’re now officially her girlfriend, officially hers, and maybe it’s that satisfaction or excitement or whatever in her blood but it it’s letting her stop, not now, not when you look so ethereal with a halo of sweaty hair and the sheets looking like wings and your skin practically glowing.

Not just any angel, her angel – her perfect little blessed creature, sanctified even as she degrades you in such a sacrilegious way.

“I want you to cum when I count to ten,” Natasha murmured as she pushed the sweaty hairs that had escaped their confines from your eyes. “Alright, baby?”

You nodded and tried to chase the fleeting feeling of her fingers as they dusted over your feverish skin.

She turned the Hitachi up a setting, smiling as it met your clit and you cried out.

“One,” she mumbled, rubbing the head against you in small circles. It was something, but certainly not enough.

“Two.”

Natasha knew this. She knew you didn’t orgasm all that easily.

“Three.”

Regardless, she agonizingly slowly turned the toy up a setting. Just as you feared, it remained insufficient.

“Four.”

God, nearly halfway there and you were terrified what would happen if you couldn’t cum. Part of it was exhilarating, but part of it gnawed a small hole in your stomach that left you…empty, somehow.

“Five.”

She ticked it up one, two more settings. You sighed in relief and moved your hips with what little mobility she’d allowed you.

“Six.”

She increased the vibrations again and reveled in your squeals.

“Seven.”

You cried out and wanted to beg for mercy.

“Eight.”

You didn’t.

“Nine.”

You felt like you’d forgotten how to breathe, lungs shriveled up into nothingness. It was as if you could feel each of your cells as they begged for oxygen, as your blood desperately tried to each your heart and brain.

“Ten.”

You came with a deafening scream, your whole body shaking for what feels like forever.

When you came down, your girlfriend was next to the bed, holding what you could only is another section of rope. What she planned to do with it, you had zero idea.

“How ya doin’, baby?” She asks. Natasha could sense something was off, but worried about misreading the signs.

It’s obvious she was not incorrect, though, when you tapped at your thigh three times.

Immediately, Natasha drops the toys in her hands and rushes over – untying the gag and freeing your limbs.

“What’s wrong, baby?” She scanned your body – terrified of finding blood or something worse. “What do you need?”

You swallowed what little spit you could find, your voice hoarse as you spoke. “Red,” a pause as you attempted to swallow once more. “Water.”

It was  all Natasha needed before she was rushing off to the fridge to grab a chilled bottle of the stuff and one of those reusable straws she stole from your apartment.

When she returned to the room she pulled you into her lap, keeping you upright as she leaned against the wall.

Natasha watched every muscle, every twitch as you drank from the straw. Your body seemed unwilling to move itself, relying on Natasha to hold you upright enough so that you didn’t choke. The room was silent except for the sound of your noisy swallowing (and, soon, the slurping of last droplets of water). You were about to ask for more, but Natasha found an unopened plastic water bottle within reach and held that for you, too. It reminded you of the first time the two of you fucked, and suddenly the world didn’t feel so cold anymore.

“I’m done, Mommy,” you told her when half the water was gone. “I’m good.”

“You sure, babygirl?” her voice laced with deep, genuine concern. Her eyes reflected the same emotion.

You nodded, leaning into her and rubbing your knuckles where they laid against her thigh. “I’m sure, Mommy. Thank you.”

Natasha closed the bottle and tossed it into the half-open bedside table drawer before she wrapped you in her arms. “Of course, honeybee. I’m proud of you for using your safe word, thank you for trusting me.”

You mmmed and laid there for a moment, your breathing in rhythm with Natasha. You two sat there, comfortable in the silence. If there was anything else to say, you’d say it – but for the while you enjoyed the wordless space you and her existed in.

It took a long while, after your heart had slowed and your breathing had evened out, but you eventually fell asleep in Natasha’s arms. It was peaceful, deep – somehow impossibly more satisfying than any of the other times you’d fallen asleep, even the times you’d fallen asleep with her. There, secured from harm in her arms and wrapped in blankets, you felt secure. It was indescribable, it was wonderful, it was safe. And to you, in that moment, it was heaven.