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kaidsos · 4 years ago

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Exposure || Hitoshi Shinso

summary :: your relationship with Shinso is exposed.

warning: cursing, smut, monoma is a bigger ass than usual, probably grammar/spelling errors

note: university!ua, aged-up, secret relationship, bsf bakugou, spanking, daddy shinso, begging, slight fluff

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The breeze whipped against you as you stepped out into the night. Your arms wrapping around yourself and fisting the thin material of your t-shirt. It was well past curfew, but you had grown accustom to sneaking out.

You slipped behind the building, being mindful of your steps as you moved further into the shadows. No lights were shining through the windows as the other students had long since gone to bed. Despite the full moon hanging high in the sky, there was nothing to illuminate the path and you had no choice but to rely on muscle memory.

Then there was a soft wisp of fabric and a tentative touch to your waist. Warm fingers grazed the skin where your shirt had bunched up and you relaxed into the familiar sensation.

"There's my kitten."

Shinso dug his fingertips into your sides as he pulled you flush against his chest. His head dipping until his face was tucked into your neck. "I was worried you didn't get my message."

"My phone died before I could reply." You mumbled as you twisted in his grasp. "I didn't want to make you wait too long."

Your hands lifted to his waist, thumbs hooking in the band of his UA sweatpants. The dark patches beneath his eyes hadn't worsened since you saw him last and you knew he��d been overworking himself. A frown etched onto your features as you pressed closer to him.

"Stop pouting," he murmured as he dropped his head to rest on yours. "I've missed you."

With exams quickly approaching you hadn’t been able to see each other through the week. Your days consumed with class or training while your nights were spent studying and preferably rest. That was something your boyfriend had clearly missed out on.

"I missed you so much." You sighed, leaning into his touch.

Keeping your relationship quiet had been relatively easy before. You had slipped away with one another at any given chance and when the weeks were long you had always had the weekends!

Until you didn’t.

His training with Aizawa only became more time consuming and you had fully immersed yourself into studies. With the weekend coming to an end you couldn’t help but wonder if the secret was worth it.

It had made sense in the beginning. With a best friend like Katsuki Bakugou it was a bit difficult to attract romantic attention. He was protective and moody and he already disliked the sly general studies student.

Shinso had been an outcast among his peers. It had improved after the first Sports Festival, though not everyone had been swayed. You heard the whispers that followed him, noticed how eyes would linger on his broad form as he sulked down the halls. When the words didn't cut deep enough, some got bold enough to step up and if they were foolish enough to challenge him—

"Kitty," He said lowly, hand lifting to wrap around your throat in an attempt to pull your attention back to him. "What's going on in that mind of yours?"

You let out a soft gum as you met his gaze. “Would you be happier if others knew about us?"

The thumb that had been caressing your jugular paused, his brow furrowing for a moment as his eyes narrowed. "I've never cared about others. I care about you. As long as you're mine it doesn't matter who knows."

"In other words you're leaving it up to me." You grumbled, not bothering to resist the urge to roll your eyes. A low growl pushed past his lips as he twisted you on your feet, pushing forward until your back was pressed against the cool stone. You gasped in surprise, back arching away from the cold. "Toshi—"

"You've got an attitude tonight." His hips knocked against yours as he pressed forward again, chuckling when you whimpered. “Where's your jacket, kitten?"

"I-I was in a hurry to see you and forgot it."

A lazy grin tugged at his lips and his eyes flickering over your frame before he moved away. He reached back to grasp the hoodie, pale skin catching your eyes as the material bunched above his hips.

Shinso had trained hard to get into the hero program and it showed. His frame had broadened, muscles strengthening to the point that they rippled without his intent. You had found yourself staring at him far more than you cared to admit. Whether it was in class, the commons, or across the cafeteria— he always stood out among the others.

Suddenly a ball of fabric hit you in the face, spurring you into a fit of giggles as you fumbled to keep it off the ground. You wasted no time pulling the sweatshirt over your head. It was still warm from Shinso and you inhaled deeply at his lingering scent.

When you finally met his gaze again his brow was quirked in amusement. You rolled your eyes, quickly adverted your gaze so the hood dropped to hide you from view.

Shinso slipped his hands past the hood, gripping the base of your neck and tilting your head back. "Silly kitty," he hummed, lips brushing against yours. "I didn't realize giving you my sweatshirt would have such a thrilling response."

His words did nothing to ease your embarrassment. A soft whine slid past your lips as he forced you to hold his gaze and you barely began stuttering out a response when he closed the space between you.

Your breath caught as his mouth moved against yours and he lazily rolled his tongue along the seam of your lips. When you didn't immediately part he snarled, a hand dropping to grasp your hip as he shoved a knee between your thighs. A harsh jolt of his leg caused you to inhale sharply and he took the opportunity to shove his tongue past your lips.

"Alright, kitten," he spoke into the kiss. "Time to go back inside before you get sick."

Your brow furrowed in hazy confusion, " I thought we were..."

"You have no idea how badly I want to." Shinso grumbled, mouth trailing along your jaw. "But the next time I touch you I'm not stopping until I've had my fill, and kitten, I'm starving."

His teeth sunk into your neck at his words, pulling a soft moan from you as your fingers threaded through his thick locks. Just before you were sure a mark would be left he pulled back, pressing a soft kiss to the irritated skin.

"Like I said it's getting cold and I don't want you getting sick." He placed a final searing kiss to your lips before pulling away.

•

You overslept the following morning.

It had been thundering fists against you door that had woke you up. Bakugou had called you every name but your own as you fumbled to let him inside.

"You're late, dumbass." He snapped, pushing his way into the room and plopping onto your bed.

You scoffed, but said nothing as you began racing around the room. It wasn't until you had shoved your things into a bag and started gathering your uniform that you paused.

"What the fuck!" You snapped, throwing your hands up in defeat. "I don't have a shirt."

"Wear your extra." He replied dryly, earning a glare from you.

You didn't bother hiding the roll of your eyes. "Wow, why didn't I think of that?"

"Watch it, idiot! I'm not the one who loses everything." Bakugou snarled before pushing to his feet and marching across the room. He grabbed the black sweatshirt that had been draped across the desk chair and slung it at you. "Go!"

A groan pushed past your lips as you stomped into the bathroom. You were quick to pull on the pieces of uniform you could find. There was a slight shake to your hands as you got dressed and you weren’t surprised with your abrupt morning. You fisted the fabric of the sweatshirt, lifting it to your nose and inhaling deeply before taking a final glance at yourself in the mirror.

Aizawa had very little to say about your uniform mishap. His gaze had only lingered on the black material for a moment before warning you not to make it a habit.

"I've never seen this before, Y/N." Mina chirped, reaching out to pinch the hoodie between her fingers as she flashed you a cheeky grin. "I'd have stolen it by now."

"I just got it the other night— day! I got it the other day." You nearly cringed as Mina's eyes narrowed.

"What are you looking at, extra?" Bakugou suddenly snapped, pulling your attention away.

You followed his gaze to the back of the room and locked with purple hues. Shinsou's lips quirked up for the slightest moment before looking past you to meet the explosive blond's eye. The warmth that his features held for you was nowhere in sight as he scoffed at the other male.

However, no words were spoken before the bell rang out.

The remainder of the day seemed to go by without any more incidents. You had felt an overwhelming sense of comfort wearing your boyfriend's sweatshirt. Though you would never admit it the time without him had been hard. Harder than you ever thought it would be.

You had enjoyed sneaking around, you both did, that's why it had gone on without a hitch for months. There was something about rushed touches and stolen glances that left you spinning in delight.

Before you were able to succumb to your thoughts your name was called. Your eyes trailed over the campus grounds in search of whoever had called for you and sure enough you caught sight of Kirishima waving you over.

A laugh had barely slid past your lips when you slammed into a solid frame. You let out a surprised yelp as you stumbled to the ground and landed on your bottom with a groan.

"I thought class 1A students were meant to be agile."

You didn't bother hiding the look of disdain that crossed your features as you looked up at Monoma. He had the nerve to sneer as is he hadn’t been the one to knock you off balance in the first place.

"Go screw yourself." You hissed, pushing yourself to your feet.

Before you were able to move past him he grasped your wrist. "Why don't you do us all a favor and drop out of the hero course? I think you've wasted enough of UAs time."

“Let go of me." You pulled harshly at his grip, which only tightened in response.

"Let go of you?" He feigned a moment of thought. "I'll tell you what, if you can—"

Whatever game he had been wanting to play died on his tongue as a sharp smack rang out. You were released so suddenly you nearly lost your balance.

The hand that had been holding you was in the crushing grip of Shinso, who stood tall between you and the other male. You couldn't quite catch a glimpse of his face, but the frightened gleam in Monoma's eyes told you enough.

A crowd had formed around your trio, the sudden intrusion unsurprisingly catching their interest. You instinctively shifted closer to Shinsou, who was still barring down on the stuttering blond. "W-what—"

"Stay away from things that aren't yours." Your boyfriend snarled, fingers tightening around Monoma’s wrist until it popped.

"You think she's yours?" He snapped, glancing nervously at the crowd before finally ripping his hand free. "You're delusional.”

Shinso didn't gift him with a response. Instead, he turned his focus on you and for a brief moment, you understood why Monoma had looked so frightened.

The purple-haired male easily towered over you both and his stature seemed to double in size as he held himself firmly between you. His jaw was set so tightly you were surprised his teeth didn't shatter and there was a predatory gleam to his usually passive gaze that made your chest swell in excitement.

Mistaking your observation as hesitation, Shinso held his hands by his sides. His palms turned towards you in surrender as his gaze softened, "kitten?"

The secret seemed so pointless.

Shinso had claimed you and it was as if everyone held their breath for your response. He had every bit of faith in your ability to protect yourself, but he had reacted out of instinct. You knew by the way his back stiffened beneath the curious eyes that he hadn't thought it through. He looked desperate and seraphic and you could not remember why you had kept him hidden for so long.

"Hitoshi—"

That was all it took. With a single stride he had closed the distance between you, head dipping to press his forehead against yours.

Wordlessly, he plucked the hand you had been holding protectively against you. A low rumble that could only be described as a growl vibrated from his chest as he stared down at the blooming marks. Had he really grabbed you that hard?

"Monoma?" Shinso pressed four fingers to your wrist, dangling it softly in the air as he turned on the blond with a heavy gaze.

His wide eyes flickered between you and your boyfriend before he replied. "What?"

The moment the word had left his lips his frame froze and a murmur rolled over the crowd. His shoulders had a strange slouch to them, his back was straight and his eyes were still locked with yours.

"Why are you looking at them? Look at me."

Unsurprisingly, he obeyed.

"Your quirk doesn't quite work when you can't think for yourself, does it?"

There was a humorless jape in his tone, a low rumble that shot straight to your core. His tongue clicked against his teeth as he spoke once more. "I'll make this quick. You don't look at them. Don't speak to them. Don't even allow them to cross your mind."

And it was over.

Monoma stumbled back in shock as he regained control over himself, heat flooding his cheeks as he hurried away from the crowd. You didn't bother to watch him retreat as you reached out for Shinso.

He let out a soft sigh as you grasped at his uniform blazer, turning his attention back to you. For a moment his gaze flickered down to your wrist, but this time you tugged the sleeve of his sweatshirt down.

"Can we please leave?" You asked softly, all too aware of the crowd around you.

"Of course."

•

"That's my good kitty."

Your back arched from the mattress as Shinso pressed his tongue flat against your clit and lapped at it lazily. His thumb rolled over your hip, attempting to soothe the area he had gripped when he trapped you beneath him. He ran his tongue along your slit before finally delving inside of you.

A moan tore from your throat and he pressed his palm flat again your stomach to hold you in place. Your thighs trembled as the coil in your stomach tightened, so close to bursting free if he would just—

"Hitoshi!" His name pushes past your lips as your thighs clench around his head. Your hips rocked against his face and he moaned into your heat, licking and sucking at your core.

Then he was gone.

You couldn't bite back a whine of annoyance, however, the feeling was short-lived as long fingers curled around your throat. Shinso’s broad frame hover above you, eyes heavy with lust as an almost cruel smirk twisted at his lips.

"What's my name?"

"Daddy!" You blurted out, face heating as you realized your mistake. "I'm sorry daddy, I didn't mean to!"

He sucked a sharp breath through his teeth, head shaking slowly as he held your wide gaze. "You know better kitten. I'll have to punish you."

Another whine in protest fell upon deaf ears as he pulled you up by your neck. It wasn't until the both of you were on your knees, chest to chest, that he released your throat in favor of gripping the back of your neck. "Bend over for daddy."

You did as he ordered, heart jolting in your chest as he led you to press your face against the mattress. Your back arched in an attempt to grind your ass against him, desperate for some type of friction. A low groan vibrated in his chest as his clothed cock rubbed between your soaking slit. "Take your punishment like a good kitty and daddy might let you cum."

"Look how pretty you are." He purred softly, smacking his palm down on your ass in contradiction to his tone. "That was one. Count for me."

Another harsh slap sent you forward, teeth sinking into your lips as you spoke. "Two."

"Three." Came another. You felt yourself clench at the painful pleasure, eyes screwing shut in an attempt to suppress a moan.

Shinso let out a low chuckle as he bent down to press a soft kiss to your reddening skin. "You're not meant to enjoy this, kitten."

"I'm sor— four!" You rushed out as his hand connected with your opposite cheek. Then again, "five!"

"You're fucking dripping." He murmured and for a moment you weren't sure if he was taking to you or himself. "I bet you'd cum on my cock the second I shoved it inside of you."

His fingers kneaded into your rear before smacking against you once more. You had barely gotten out the number when it broke into a moan as Shinso reached around to pinch your clit between his fingers.

"You want daddy to stretch you with his fat cock? Do you think you earned it?"

"Yes! Please daddy, I need you so bad. It's been too long!" You whimpered and despite your frazzled state, you were able to murmur the next count of his hand.

Then you felt the head of his dick at your entrance, prodding slightly as he split you over his tip. He was thick and veiny and despite the number of times he had fucked into your pussy he always seemed to stretch you just right.

You couldn't hold back your moans as he fully sheathed himself inside you, hand connecting with your ass once more before holding you in place. When he made no motion to move you whined, attempting to roll your hips back against him only to earn another smack.

"Two more for missing your count." He snarled, "don't you dare fucking move."

Another smack rang out and you whimpered, cunt clenching down around his length as you fought the urge to shift. "N-nine."

His cock jumped inside you, spurring another moan from your lips as you fisted the sheets. The final slap was loud and it stung against your raw skin. You stuttered out the final count and he pulled from you, only to slam his hip into your tailbone as he sunk deeper than before.

Shinso let out a groan, fingertips digging into your asscheeks and spreading them as he watched himself fuck into your tight heat. "I can feel how close you are. You wanna cum on daddy's cock?"

You nodded wildly as you pushed back to meet his thrusts despite your trembling legs. "Please let me cum. Please, please, please!"

His lips covered every inch of skin he could reach, sucking and biting as he shifted hips to buck deeply into you. "Cum for me, kitty."

All of your self-control vanished at his words, your body twitching against him as you finally allowed yourself to succumb. Your cunt pulsed around him, spurring curses and moans that echoed in your ears as you finally reached your peak.

Shinso shifted his hips, hitting against the sweet spot he has grown all too familiar with, spurring you into a moaning mess beneath him. "Roll over, baby— I wanna see you."

Despite the haze from your orgasm you caught the change in his tone and your brow furrowed as you rolled onto your back. He wasted no time gripping the curve of your knee, pushing it into the air to get a clear view of your sopping pussy. His other hand wrapped around his hardened length, pumping it slowly as he stared down at you.

He drug the head of his cock along your slit and he let out a low hum as he slid the tip in, only to pull it out again. You were a moaning mess by the time he sunk into you, babbling nonsense as he hit up into your sweet spot.

Shinso dipped to press his lips against you, praise spilling from his lips as his hands sought out your own. He laced your fingers together, effectively pinning your arms to the bed. Your second orgasm took you by surprise and you arched from the bed, legs tightening around his waist as heat licked up your spine.

He fucked you through it again, however, when the bliss began to fade he waste no time running slow circles against your clit. You jumped at the contact, brow furrowing as you met his gaze with a whine.

The haze you were losing yourself in had a moment of clarity as he stared down at you. His eyes were blown wide with lust, however, there was an ounce of something else you hadn't seen before. He almost looked sad—

"You're mine." Shinsou muttered breathlessly, and while it had been a statement you couldn't help but see the concern in his gaze.

"I'm yours." You whispered and moment the words left you his mouth was on yours, smothering you with a searing kiss as his languid thrusts picked up once more.

"Mine, mine, mine.” He growled, enunciating each word with a hard thrust. The fingers that were on your clit sped up in time with his hips, "come with me— fuck! Come with daddy."

You spiraled over the edge for a final time, fingers tangling in his purple locks before you pulled him into a kiss. Shinso sunk his teeth into your bottom lip as he fucked into you, chasing his own climax. He moaned into your mouth when his hips rolled against yours and hot ropes of cum covered your fluttering walls.

After a few more lazy thrusts he rocked onto his knees, reaching between you to grip the base of his cock as he slowly pulled out. He let out a groan as he watched his cum seep from your used cunt, hot and white and all his.

You were his.

"Are you okay? That was differ—"

"I love you."

Your heart leaped at his confession, eyes widening as you stared up at him. Your words were barely above a shocked whisper as you replied, "I love you too."

•

"Open the fucking door, extra!"

#hitoshi shinso x reader #shinso x reader #shinsou x reader #hitoshi shinsou x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #hitoshi shinso smut

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theaterism · 3 years ago

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i mentioned parasitic magic about a week ago in relation to an architect. there are several reasons nathaniel’s magic eventually became parasitic and turned on him as well. these are the major ones.

1) like edward’s magic, nathaniel’s magic persisted when he put it into the world. it existed in jars and vials. it only faded when he dispelled it or when it was allowed to escape from its confinement. magic that persists is more likely to drain its user’s energy. it is also more likely to gain a will of its own (in a manner of speaking) under the right circumstances.

2) nathaniel spent his whole life mastering his magic. he sharpened it, twisted it, pushed it to its limits and well beyond. his ambitions and merciless curiosity drove him to improve his skill in sound manipulation and to seek more and more knowledge on what his magic could achieve. he wanted wealth and power. he also simply wanted to know what would happen if he contorted his magic in various ways, regardless of any discomfort he endured in the process.

(something else drove him as well, though he disliked admitting its presence and control over him.)

3) he began using his magic almost constantly to meet the demands of those he did business with (and to satisfy his own curiosity, to collect samples to experiment on). collecting voices became a habit, and he always carried vials to gather them. he could spend hours sorting sounds, splitting them, slicing them, and stitching them together. he suppressed inconvenient feelings on instinct, but it became rather difficult to ignore how the strain of overusing his magic weighed upon him. still, he didn’t stop.

(also, the more nathaniel overworked his magic and twisted it to satisfy his curiosity, the more distorted it naturally became. something about his magic felt wrong. something about it felt sharp and stretched much too thin, threads of it splintering beyond his control and fraying like electrical wires.)

4) he was restless, facing both debts and his own desire for more. he felt caught in an inescapable cycle. this was the game, and though it had lost its charm over time, he couldn’t stop playing. he grew bitter. he grew exhausted. he grew desperate. more and more desperate. eventually, he reached a breaking point. something in him snapped.

he made an internal deal. he told his magic, ‘take as much as you want from me, as long as you give me enough in return.’ and his magic — which he had mistreated for years and which was already warped from his experiments — was all too eager to oblige.

#|☆| headcanons #|☽| nathaniel ( businessman )#(hello i mentioned parasitic magic with edward so i needed to talk abt nathaniel’s magic as well agsgd)#(both edward and nathaniel developed unhealthy relationships with their magic which were similar in some ways but very different in others)#(and i’m yelling abt it!!)#(edward depended on his magic too much from the beginning)#(whereas nathaniel began rlly twisting things about seven years after buying the mansion)#(though he had always tended to push his magic a bit too much)#(nathaniel; after using his magic to gather voices nonstop for the entirety of a party: hm. i’m rather tired.)#(god agsgd)#(it consumed so much of his time and energy……..)#(he was facing external pressure from those he did business with and internal pressure from his own ambitions and it Did Not work out well)#(many of his ancestors followed the same path….)#(this got Long and Descriptive so-)#|☆| stories #(also edward’s architecture eventually collapses if he lingers in it too long bc it is quite literally trying to consume him entirely)#(not good!!!)

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kirumod · 4 years ago

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hello!! could i request headcanons for a gender neutral reader who is very energetic and optimistic, sort of like tenko, who is dating kirumi and wants to show her that her needs matter too? thanks so much in advance, have a wonderful day! your writing is amazing.

i appreciate getting requests with kirumi. as you may have guessed, she is very dear to my heart, so thank you for sending a request with her!

thank you so much for your kind words, anon! i loved writing this, it was very fun. it turned out to be very fluffy and cute. i hope you like it<3

The contrast between you and Kirumi is quite noticeable, and most are surprised to know that you are dating. Your optimism overshadows Kirumi's more realistic view on life— and pessimistic view regarding herself & her needs.

You recall the beginning of your relationship being quite dreary for you and exhausting for Kirumi. You used to compare talking with Kirumi to operating a machine; taking everything you say as a command. It was awkward at times, and 'conversations' often turned into one-sided chatter where your vitality outweighed her rigidity. You could not fathom why she seemingly had no concern for her own wants and needs, and you had to fight the impulse to ask her such a personal question. Despite this, you held immense respect for her steadfast conviction & unwavering resolve.

As for her, she was dazed by your relentless energy and occasionally found herself at a loss for words. Of course, she remained dignified and did not turn down your 'requests for conversation' as she put it, unless she had a crucial matter she needed to attend to. You were always one to initiate any interaction, but that is not to say that she disliked talking to you. Conversely, she admired your persistent positivity & incessant idealism, and as trust and understanding between you grew, she began prying about your attitude with curiosity and appreciation.

Every so often, you'd notice her neglecting even basic necessities such as eating in favor of taking care of others. Serving people overpowered her desires— or was it that serving people was her one desire? You found that difficult to believe. Either way, Kirumi was neglecting herself, and that bothered you. You weren't sure why you cared so much, and gradually, you found your thoughts preoccupied wondering about Kirumi.

True to your honest nature, you didn't attempt to hide your interest in Kirumi. You showed it with questions of concern such as "have you had lunch yet?" and "did you sleep well last night?", purposely phrased as questions instead of requests.

Then, the simple questions turned into lovingly made lunch boxes, walking through dimly lit streets, whispering good night wishes... You were a bit embarrassed by how attached you were to her, and spent many restless nights doubting that she felt the same. Hoping that she felt the same.

You remember the start of your relationship.

During a dinner with Kirumi in your house, you held back discomfort as Kirumi began cleaning up— something that you've begrudgingly grown used to. Ignoring her utterances that assured you she could take care of it, you followed her to the kitchen and waited for her to set down the platters she had. You watched her as she turned to you and felt your stomach turn over itself. Her confident gaze had wavered into a blank, soulless expression, and her upright posture trembled.

Then she collapsed. All your logic was muddied with dread, but you pushed through your clouded cognition and clutched Kirumi before her frail body fell to the ground. With no hint of hesitation in your actions, you carried her to bed and helped her with a glass of water followed by something sweet, concern evident from your sweating hands.

Thankfully, her condition improved soon after. She had been exhausted from countless days of overworking with very little sleep; you were grateful that nothing worse happened. That didn't stop you from sporadically scolding her with quick, jumbled sentences that stopped making sense at some point.

Kirumi stopped your erratic rambling to reassure you that all is well, but your worry only intensified. You subdued for a moment to wrap your hands around hers. Holding her breath, Kirumi waited for you to continue your scolding, startled to hear your next words spoken delicately yet desperately. "Please... Look after yourself,"

"You don't realize how much you mean to me– and how much you matter. You're important, Kirumi, not just to me or to your clients," you faltered for a bit before focusing your eyes on hers, "I hope you don't take this as a request. Because it's not! I just– I just want you to value yourself. You... Your needs are more essential than everything else– than everyone else." You continue staring into her bewildered eyes, stuttering more than ever before as you watch her. "So, please..."

Silence falls over the room, and you begin to let go of her hands. Before you can, though, she reaches out and holds your face in her palms, smiling as tears formed in her eyes. For once, Kirumi was at a loss for words, unable to do anything but try to keep her weak smile. You pull her head over your shoulder, wrapping yourself around her in a tight embrace, and her façade drops as she sobs.

Undignified, unseemly, inelegant- those were all words that could describe how she felt about herself in that moment. But she couldn't bring herself to stop, comforted by your warm affection & love.

After an eternity in your compassionate embrace, Kirumi leans back and speaks. "Thank you," she says, "S/O.. There is nothing I can say that may remain true to just how grateful I am to you. Your kindness, your affection, warmth... I am undeserving, S/O."

"I have avoided my feelings for so long, in fear of them becoming a hindrance to you or to my services. But, if I wish to honor your wishes..." she halts, before continuing with a genuine — and breathtaking — smile, "... If I wish to honor my wishes, I must be honest with you."

"I love you, S/O All this time, you've tried to care for me, concerned with my wellbeing, whilst treating me with kindness I've never felt before," she wipes her tears before continuing, "How could I not be infatuated with you?" she quietly chuckles.

It's your turn to hold her face between your arms, grinning and laughing. Kirumi is stunned, unsure whether or not she had said something wrong, but her worries fade when you lean into her and plant a soft kiss on her lips.

With your enthusiasm shining through stronger than ever, you call out, "I love you too! I love you so, so much! More than you can ever imagine! I love you, I love you, I love you!" It almost sounds like a spell, a declaration of your unending love, more fervent than any optimism could ever be; more passionate than any desire.

Overwhelmed by your intensity, she fell wordless again, but not before returning your kiss with one of her own; one that whispered all the love she could not describe, one that screamed her devotion and adoration like no words ever could.

Her resolute devotion and your paralyzing fervor were one, stemming from a fondness that would endure to become an eternal love.

You were not so different, after all.

#kirumi tojo #kirumi tojou #kirumi x reader #tojo kirumi #tojou kirumi #danganronpa #ndrv3 #drv3 #danganronpa headcanons #danganronpa imagines #danganronpa oneshot #danganronpa drabble #drv3 oneshot #drv3 imagines

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flamingo-writes · 5 years ago

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Zoro x reader! They've been traveling companions for a year before they met Luffy and became pirates, so they're close to each other. S/O fell in love with Zoro but he rejects her, so they stayed as close friends. Then, after 2 years passed, S/O is still friendly to him and the others but seemingly moved on while Zoro's love for her grow, and while he was still ambitious towards his dream, he felt so lonely as he watched S/O move on, even if she's happier than before.

Hello!! I’m so sorry for the late response!!

From the moment I read this request, I fell in love with it!! It took me a while to write it, but here it is!! Let’s go! (I slipped a bit of Law x Reader to add to the angst, I hope you don´t mind XD)

Word count: 1.6K

Warnings: angst

Posted: 06.05.2020

Unique Kind of Pain — Zoro x Reader / Law x Reader

It didn’t matter how much time Zoro spent training, it never seemed to be enough. As soon as he got down from the crow's nest, and he saw you there, it instantly hurt. Almost as if someone poked his heart with a needle, it stung. Constantly. His decisions haunted him, and were slowly carving a whole in his chest.

The sight of you was unbearable. And it pained him. Seeing his best friend should not hurt this much. And yet, the weight of his mistakes seemed to follow you everywhere. Your smile, the warmth of your skin, the sound of your voice. Oh, the sound of your voice when you called his name.

“Zoro! Come see this! Look what Ussop did!”

That same gentle voice that had been calling his name for several years now. He remembered he sometimes found it annoying. The way your voice pronounced his name when you were angry. The concern, when he got injured. The annoyance when you got lost and were looking for him. Back then, he disliked the ways your voice called his name. But now, each and every single time you called his name felt like a cursed blessing.

He wiped his face with the towel, as sweat kept falling from the intense training. His heart shrunk at the sight of your smile, your eyes reflecting fascination at Ussop’s newest project.

“You’re amazing, Ussop”

“Thanks, [Name]!” Ussop giggled.

He could hardly concentrate on Ussop's new additions to his slingshot, as he was distracted by you. Your smile radiating fascination as it shone all the way into your eyes. The sweet smell of your hair that now haunted him in his sleep.

Over time, as his feelings for you grew and grew, things got worse. Little by little. It hurt. But it wasn't so bad. Not yet at least.

At least not until the whole Dressrosa chaos was over. In Punk Hazard, Zoro could tell Law was being particularly friendly towards you. But he could easily ignore that. God knows what happened in Dressrosa. For a fair amount of time, you stuck with him, fighting side by side. And suddenly, you were gone.

Back in the Sunny after whatever shit show Fujitora tried to pull before you left. Everyone was on the ship and it was only you who was missing. Zoro's heart was in his throat, wondering if you were alive.

A series of conflicting feelings overwhelmed him at once when you ran across the deck and jumped into the ship. A cheeky laugh escaped your breathless lips as you apologized to your crewmates. As your eyes scanned the Sunny, they stopped when you saw Trafalgar Law, rather weak, sitting on the grass.

"Law!" You sprinted one last time towards him.

Falling in your knees as you slid a few feet, colliding with the doctor and wrapping your arms around Law.

"Oh god, you're fine!" You said breaking the hug and looking at him. "Your arm! You got it back"

"Yeah. I was not going to lose my arm. Fuck that" He chuckled "You dissapeared, I was worried"

"I went looking for Luffy...sorry"

"It's okay, you're fine and you're here" One of his long hands brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, lingering on your cheek as you leaned into his touch, looking into his grey eyes.

The whole scene, while for most of the strawhats looked rather adorable, for Zoro ir was unbearable.

A sting pinching his heart, as well as an uncomfortable twist of his guts suddenly angered him. Not angry at Traffy. Zoro knew it was childish to get angry at him. He was angry at himself for digging his own grave like this. He wished he was the one in your arms, and not Law. He wished he had corresponded to your feelings back then.

Without saying much, he turned around and left. Drowning himself in yet another intense training. Probably more intense than before. His mind constantly picturing you in Law's arm, his imagination torturing him, playing him. Picturing you kissing him, clinging to him, as his hands roamed your body, whispering sweet nothings back and forth in each other's ears as you were both consumed by desire.

The sweat puddling on the floor didn't seem to be enough. The strain in his muscles and the fatigue weren't enough to stop his head from wildly betraying him.

"Oi! Zoro!" Franky called, cheerfully climbing the ladder to the crowsnest. "Robin says dinner is ready! Since sanji isn't here, she cooked for us tonight"

TFrabky's fatherly instincts needed a single glance at Zoro to notice he was pushing himself way too much.

"Zoro? Aren't you overworking yourself?"

"I'm fine," Zoro grunted, doing another sit up with a bar and weights on his shoulders.

"No you're not!" The cyborg hurried to his side. "Stop that, if you injure yourself, Chopper not only will get mad, but you won't be able to work out for a while!" He begged as Zoro growled lowly and put the weight on the floor before sitting down on the ground "Don't you feel like everything hurts?"

"That's precisely the problem" Zoro whispered to himself, however Franky managed to listen clearly as day.

"What?"

"Nothing" Zoro answered.

"Do you feel alright?" The swordsman looked at Franky, noting Franky was being insistent.

"Yeah. C'mon. Let's go" Zoro shrugged.

"Zoro, don't lie to me. I know something's bothering you" Franky said louder than before.

"It's nothin'"

"Its [Name], isn't it?"

Zoro stopped dead cold at the entrance of the crowsnest. He glanced at Franky over his shoulder.

"I noticed the way you were looking at her when she ran to hug Law" Franky said. "If you like her why don't you tell her?"

"I can't"

"Of course you can! Aren't you guys best friends?" Zoro glared at Franky, feeling somewhat annoyed, and also desperate.

"It's more complicated than that"

"Talk to me, kid" Franky said, resting one of his huge hands on Zoro's shoulder.

He took a deep breath, thinking. He'd never talked to anyone about it. When you confessed your feelings for him back in Thriller Bark. He wanted to keep it a secret, but his body urged him to let all those intrusive thoughts out. Maybe talking to someone would help him soothe his nerves instead of intensively working out.

"After dinner," Zoro said.

He wanted to buy some time, maybe put his thoughts in order before talking to Franky.

Strangely enough, what normally felt like a blink of an eye,the usual chaotic dinner scene now seemed to go by in slow motion.

On one hand, his thoughts seemed to float around the room, shapelessly, and without an order. His mind was a total mess. Ten times more chaotic than the traditionally loud strawhat mealtime.

On the other, your flirty playful game with Law. You were talking to him, not really minding the other conversations taking place in the kitchen. His arm was around your shoulders as the both of you were deep in your conversation. Zoro could tell how your "mindless" playing with his hand wasn't so mindless.

After dinner, Zoro politely waited for Franky to be done and the both of them left the kitchen without saying much.

Zoro told Franky the whole story. Normally, he'd like to go straight to the point and keep the details to himself. But talking to someone about it, felt so liberating, all of his thoughts left his lips without second thoughts.

Franky listened. Carefully. And very rarely interrupted Zoro to ask something. In the end, he remained silent for a few moments, letting all the information sink in and drawing conclusions.

"I still think you should talk to her. Maybe she'll get mad, considering the circumstances. But she still deserves to know. Especially because it's bothering you this much" He began "Even if she gets mad, she's your friend. I've seen you guys fight and yell at each other, and half an hour later, see you guys laughing as if nothing happened"

"I don't know…" The swordsman whispered

"Think about it…"

Zoro sighed loudly, looking at the moon shining bright close to the sea.

A set of silhouettes left the kitchen into the deck. Not noticing Zoro and Franky, Law and you made it to the edge, looking at the moon and the stars.

Zoro watched, silently, feeling his burdens weigh on his shoulders heavier than all of the weights up in the crowsnest.

It didn't take long for Law to place a hand on your waist, as you spun on your toes looking at him. Unable to hear what you were saying back and forth, Zoro could tell where this whole scene was going to end up.

It didn't take long for you to stand on the tip of your toes, and for Law to leane down. Any trace of space was gone. The both of you trapped in a kiss Zoro craved.

He felt nauseous and light on his feet. He turned around, unable to keep watching as you wrapped your arms around Law's shoulders.

"I'm sorry, Zoro" Franky whispered upon witnessing the scene.

"I am too…" Zoro said defeated. "I'll talk to her tomorrow, I'm off to bed now".

"Goodnight, kid," Franky said looking at Zoro as he silently made his way through the deck to the guys' room.

"Night, Franky" He whispered, not helping but peek once more, as Law had you in his arms, kissing you passionately.

It hurt. It hurt as bad as it hurt when he realized he had feelings for you. And hurt like the pain your eyes reflected when you confessed to him back in the day. It hurt like the realization that you had moved on whereas he had fallen for you. And boy, what a unique kind of pain that was.

#one piece zoro #zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro #zoro imagine #one piece law #one piece #one piece imagines #one piece imagine #one piece x reader #law x reader #trafalgar d law #law #trafalgar law #trafalgar law x reader

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glorious-blackout · 4 years ago

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Self-Indulgent Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino/Simulation Theory Crossover Fix-It Part Four:

@rock-n-roll-fantasy @elorianna I promise I will do my best to upload Part Five tomorrow because a) this one is mostly a short wee interlude, and b) I’ve kept you both waiting long enough for what comes next 😉

Hope you enjoy this part! 🥰

Part One, Part Two, Part Three

Original Fic

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

It turned out that Alex had wasted four days drifting in and out of consciousness.

According to Matt, he would occasionally rouse just long enough to mumble incoherent sentences or swallow tablets with a smattering of water, but for the most part Alex had been out cold and silent as the grave. Which had been rather fitting, as that’s exactly where it looked like he was heading. Matt had sacrificed sleep himself in favour of listening to Alex’s ragged breaths, dreading the possibility of slipping into a doze only to wake up to silence. George had called him out on it multiple times, but apparently he’d refused to listen; a fact he remained unapologetic about despite Alex’s own insistence that he was an idiot.

It would take a further two days for Alex to regain the ability to walk unaided. Another three would pass before Matt stopped intercepting him every eight hours with a handful of outdated antibiotics and a bottle of water. Mercifully his fever had broken while he slept so that particular threat had already been vanquished, and with Matt acting as amateur physiotherapist, his physical strength recovered relatively quickly.

No doubt it would take far longer for Alex to feel human again. The dizziness which assaulted him whenever he stood up and the pale, sunken-eyed creature which appeared in every reflection was proof enough of that. Even after his legs had finally stopped shaking with every step, the tightness in his chest continued to limit his mobility for several days and he could barely get any words out without being gripped by a coughing fit. Nevertheless, despite his ongoing misery, Matt seemed to be pleased with his overall progress. Enough that he’d gradually begun the process of shedding his mother-hen tendencies in favour of assuming their old rapport anyway.

By the time Alex felt well enough to resume his daily excursions with Jeremiah, a full two weeks had passed. Two weeks of wasted time in which he had been little more than dead weight; time he could have spent hunting for supplies or searching for his loved ones. Alex wasn’t the only one who was bitterly aware of what a burden he’d become. George’s mild dislike of him had evolved into what appeared to be sheer indifference. The man had not uttered a single word to Alex since his awakening, nor had he so much as looked him in the eye. Once Alex had recovered the strength to rejoin the group by the campfire for their evening meals, he’d been struck by the way George kept his gaze fixed firmly on the sand beneath his feet, saying nothing even when Jeremiah visibly lit up at the sight of his approach.

Jeremiah had taken him aside one evening and assured him not to worry about George; had remarked that he was only being a grump because Alex’s sickness had robbed him of a hiking partner. While the grizzled scavenger certainly hadn’t admitted as much out loud, it would seem that he enjoyed having Matt around to talk his ear off during their trips. Perhaps he hadn’t fully appreciated just how lonely the world had become until he’d been forced to re-embark on solo treks. Or perhaps Alex falling ill and wasting their precious supplies of medicine had simply proven his point that having strays around the cabin was a terrible idea. Either way, it seemed he was in no hurry to forgive Alex for being a nuisance.

It probably didn’t help matters that as soon as Alex felt well enough to join Jeremiah, Matt insisted on coming along as well. Jeremiah had argued that they would be just fine on their own and that he would never allow Alex to overwork himself, but Matt refused to be swayed. The debate ended with all three of them wading through the thick heat towards their usual pier with Midnight in tow, with George having headed off on his own long before the sun was up. It seemed an especially hot day even by Alex’s newly adjusted standards, and he was acutely aware of how much longer he was taking than usual. Jeremiah appeared to be slowing his pace deliberately ahead of him, and Matt kept offering the reins to Alex only to be refused every time. So long as he had the strength to walk, he would continue to do so. If he was doomed to collapse in the heat, he’d much rather avoid doing it from horseback.

It turned out there were only two fishing lines to go around, which suited Matt’s plans just fine. As soon as they reached their usual spot on the pier, Matt insisted that he and Alex take turns fishing while the other kept Midnight entertained. Jeremiah offered zero protests to this arrangement and simply handed Alex his usual equipment with a weak smile, while Matt guided Midnight by the reins and took her for a wander along the beach.

Despite the heat which appeared to hold a particular grudge against them that day, Alex found it comforting to slip back into his old routine. His body offered several protestations against him being on his feet for so long, but leaning against the barrier successfully relieved his unsteadiness and focusing on the task at hand provided an adequate distraction from any underlying discomfort. He couldn’t help but be grateful that Jeremiah hadn’t returned to his suggestion of going out on a fishing boat. No doubt the rocking motions of the waves would have resulted in him either puking his guts out or simply tumbling into the ocean depths, and he doubted Matt would have taken too kindly to either outcome.

The simple task of fishing for crabs by the pier was doable enough in his current state, however. They remained as eager to latch onto their bait as ever, and Alex found it easier than expected to raise the line with a steady hand. By the time Matt decided it was his turn to take over, Alex had already contributed four crabs to the ever-filling bucket, earning a firm pat on the back from Jeremiah in the process.

Alex elected to remain beneath the awning of the pier’s humble café during his break. The midday sun had grown especially fierce, and Midnight appeared to be worn out herself from Matt’s brief jaunt along the beach. She rested nearby, having been left untethered to roam as she pleased. Alex settled himself against the exterior of the ransacked café with his legs outstretched, content to simply watch Jeremiah and Matt go about their work. To his surprise, Matt took to fishing remarkably quickly - citing a childhood spent in Devon with nothing else to do as the reason for his natural ability – and it wasn’t long before he was luring crabs into the bucket without losing them to the shifting waves or the edge of the pier. On multiple occasions throughout the afternoon, he turned to Alex to ask if he wanted to swap, but Alex remained happy beneath his meagre shelter and Matt seemed happy enough to let him rest there.

As a result of their combined efforts, the bucket was close to overflowing before the sun was even halfway to the waves. Jeremiah wasted no time in forcing the lid over the top, drowning out the clacking of claws as their victims clambered over each other in their quest for freedom. Having signalled the end of a day’s work several hours ahead of schedule, Jeremiah took advantage of the calm to rest against the barrier and gaze out towards the endless sea, closing his eyes as the gentle rush of waves and distant cries of hovering gulls provided an ambient soundtrack. Matt cast one wary look towards Alex, who simply threw him a thumbs up to indicate that he was still alive, before he too lost himself in the view.

Alex was content to simply stay where he was. The sight of shimmering waters was hardly a novelty to him anymore, though he did appreciate the need to simply bask in silence for a moment. He let his eyes drift shut and simply focused on taking one breath after another; focused on the intermittent creaking of the pier and the constant movement of water beneath his perch and the distant whickers as Midnight trotted happily across the sands.

It was Jeremiah who eventually declared that they should head back, receiving little argument from his tired companions. Dragging himself to his feet took more effort than Alex would have liked, but somehow he accomplished that monumental task without resorting to using Matt’s proffered hand. The sun had become slightly more forgiving by the time they made their way back across the promenade and towards the beach. A gentle breeze announced itself shortly after they stepped foot upon the dusty path, having been conspicuously absent all day, and Alex turned his head in its direction as it brushed over his face and ruffled the messy strands of his hair. The tide appeared to be coming in, bringing the tang of salt and seaweed with it as foam gathered across the sand with every incoming wave.

It was shaping up to be a pleasant evening. Alex knew that was a dangerous thought, but he chose to indulge in it anyway.

George had beaten them home for once. Their approach to the cabin was soon guided by the rising smoke of a campfire, the older man’s silhouette visible as he crouched upon one of the fallen logs. His head appeared to be cradled in one hand - his curved posture making him appear small in the distance - but he straightened quickly as the trio approached him. He offered Jeremiah a weak smile as his friend proudly lifted the bucket containing their spoils, and to Alex’s surprise his expression remained soft even upon acknowledging his presence. If anything, George appeared to regard Alex with a newfound curiosity, his gaze unwavering even when Alex collapsed onto one of the logs with a tired exhale. The unprovoked attention was a tad disconcerting, considering its source. Alex could feel those pale grey eyes drinking him in even when he kept his own gaze fixed to the flickering campfire, though thankfully the spotlight vanished once Jeremiah asked what everyone wanted for dinner.

George had discovered two wild rabbits in his traps that morning, so a supper of crabmeat was swiftly relegated to another day. The pair wandered off to the cabin to prepare a meal while Matt and Alex stayed behind, watching evening’s approach as the warmth from the fire wrapped around them like a snug blanket. At one point Matt raised the possibility of retrieving the acoustic from the cabin, but did not appear to have retained enough energy to follow-through on that plan. Alex may have offered to claim it instead, if he wasn’t in the process of warding off a doze himself. He was grateful that his ravaged body had survived their daytrip, but he was starting to feel the effects of exerting himself so soon after having his strength completely sapped by illness.

He must have drifted off eventually. A firm hand gently shook him awake just as the sun was finally beginning to set, and he stared up at Jeremiah’s amused face before wordlessly accepting the bowl of thick rabbit stew which was placed in his hands. A distant complaint with regard to the local rabbits getting skinnier and skinnier went in one ear and out the other, but the pleasant aroma lured him back to full consciousness and it wasn’t long before he was digging in along with everyone else. True to George’s words, the meat was scarce and leathery in texture, but the addition of tinned carrots and potatoes provided enough bulk to soothe the hunger pangs in his stomach.

When the comfortable silence was finally broken, it came from a rather unlikely source.

“That man of yours,” George started without any preamble. Having been treated as an invalid by the older man since falling ill, Alex failed to realise that his words were directed at him until Matt gave him a helpful nudge, and he raised his head only to find himself trapped beneath an intense grey-eyed spotlight. “The one you’re hoping to find. You said his name was Miles?”

Alex could feel his heart stop. Dangerous hope flooded through his veins, as potent as morphine and twice as deadly. He had only ever mentioned Miles in George’s presence once, back in the first week as they sat by the campfire one calm evening. Their conversation had drifted to the topic of life before the apocalypse, and after Matt had spoken at length about his wife and young children and his hopes to track them down, Alex had opened up about his own desire to find his friends and ensure they were safe. Looking back, he couldn’t even remember George participating in their discussion. Alex had assumed that the older man had zero interest in anything he had to say, yet it appeared he had been listening intently all along.

“Yeah,” he choked out, before closing his eyes and schooling his voice to sound calmer. Unaffected. Showing weakness to George had never served him well. “English bloke about my age. Why?”

The corners of George’s lips quirked upwards and his eyes softened, to the point where he appeared almost as kindly as Jeremiah. It was an expression which did not appear to belong on his weathered face, but which ignited a further spark of hope within Alex regardless.

“I can’t promise anything,” George admitted, his smile almost apologetic in the soft evening light. “But I bumped into an old acquaintance matching your description today. Younger guy, does trades with us now and again. Funny accent. Never actually asked his name before but I figured it was worth a shot, for curiosity’s sake. Sure enough, he said his name was Miles and that he was originally from England.”

There seemed to be a delay between Alex hearing the words and the weight of them sinking in. He could feel himself staring dumbly at George, his mouth slack and eyes wide, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop. The man’s description was just vague enough that Alex was able to force himself to calm down. To breathe. To prepare for disappointment which was likely inevitable. The notion that Miles had not only survived the last five years but had remained within the Los Angeles area seemed too ludicrous to be true, but that logic didn’t stop Alex’s heart from hammering against his ribs as though trying to break free from his chest.

“I wasn’t too convinced,” George continued, seemingly ignorant to Alex’s plight. “But I did a little prying and brought up your name, just to test the waters. Poor guy went completely rigid. Almost like he’d seen a ghost.”

If anything, the pounding of Alex’s heart grew even more ferocious. He could hear the rush of blood flowing in his ears and no doubt his breathing had sped up to match it. He knew, deep down, that giving into hope with only a trace of proof was a dangerous game to play. The world was surely filled to the brim with dead men named Alex. There were probably over a hundred Alex Turners in the Los Angeles county alone who were now presumed dead, and he was surely not the only one to have had a friend called Miles. Luck was not a mistress who had ever treated him well in the past; why on Earth would she start now?

He had to know for sure though. He had to meet this man and see him with his own eyes. If he turned out to be a total stranger, at least Alex could go back to square one without subjecting his mind to worthless hope for weeks on end.

“Could you take me to him?” he asked, not bothering to hide the pleading edge to his voice. He was prepared to beg if he had to. George had never struck him as a man who would go out of his way to offer him kindness, and he knew that he was asking a lot of someone who had already offered him food and shelter for a month, but he had to try.

Thankfully, any resistance he’d expected refused to materialise. If anything, it appeared that George had been expecting the request, for he simply studied Alex for a few seconds before putting him out of his misery with a firm nod.

“Already arranged it. The guy accused me of pulling his leg and told me to piss off, but he was amenable enough to a meeting after some persuasion,” he said, a weak smile pulling at his lips before his expression hardened once more. “He stays about fifteen kilometers out west. We’ll head there first thing in the morning, before the sun comes up. That’s your only chance. If you’re not ready when I am, you can find him yourself.”

Alex could have cried from relief right then and there. The severity of George’s warning barely held the power to faze him. He knew deep down that he would get little sleep tonight and would be wide awake precisely when George needed him to be.

Knowing full well that his voice would fail him if he tried to speak, he responded with a nod and a hesitant smile which no doubt betrayed his nerves regardless.

Sitting beside George, Alex caught Jeremiah glancing back and forth between them with a soft smile which failed to disguise the tinge of sadness in his eyes. Despite Alex’s initial assumption that both of their hosts would take this development as a good thing – an opportunity to regain their privacy and return to their normal lives – neither of them seemed particularly upbeat about the probability of saying goodbye to him tomorrow.

He turned his attention to Matt only to find his own disbelief mirrored in his friend’s blue eyes, alongside a degree of melancholy. The radio-silence about his own loved ones must have been tearing him apart, but he threw an arm over Alex’s shoulder and shared a hopeful grin with him regardless.

Alex knew then that he didn’t even need to ask. Matt would be right by his side when they set off in the morning.

#arctic monkeys #muse #Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino #Simulation Theory #my fic

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messiisgodibeliveinhim · 4 years ago

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Just Another Rant

Okay, so why do NCTzens have a hate boner for Taeyong??? It's so f*cking weird, it doesn't make sense.

Taeyong has been under NCTzens' microscope since his debut. Everything he does is dissected and twisted into something its not. No other member of NCT or any group (except maybe Jennie from Blackpink) is treated this way by the group's fans. NCTzens want Taeyong to be the villain so bad, that they're willing to stoop as low as dehumanizing, body shaming and wishing d3ath on him. NCTzens dislike him, some even hate him and they're not very subtle about it.

Now, I'm not saying all NCTzens are TY antis. I have moots on Twitter who dont stan him, but are incredibly respectful towards him and acknowledge his talents and hardwork. If you're one of them, then this rant is not about you. But i will say this, if it isnt all NCTzens who anti Taeyong, it's most of them.

It started with Lines and Screentime distribution for NCT songs and mvs. Now, i agree that Taeyong used to get a little more lines and screentime than the others at first. But instead of calling out SM, most of you targeted Taeyong saying he deliberately stole the said lines and screentime from his members so that he'd get to shine more..... Really???

Next, when he was announced as a member of SuperM, NCTzens were clearly upset it wasn't Johhny or Jaehyun. Do you wanna know why??? No, they didnt talk about talent. Instead, they wanted Jaehyun/Johhny instead of Taeyong because SuperM is a group targeted at the western audience and Jn & Jh knew to speak English better than TY..... Okay.

And it keeps getting worse.

-NCTzens saying that TY goes into the recording studio to record his solo songs, by LOCKING OUT the rest of NCT, so that they wont get to record their solo stuff.

-That TY is SM's Golden Boy cuz he 'gETs a LoT of SoLO pRoMos anD cENter TiMe', completely refusing to understand what 'SOLO PROMO' means or see how overworked and mistreated he is by his own company.

-When TyongFs praise TY about anything, NCTzens always, ALWAYS insert their faves in the post. Like, go make your own post maybe???

/Trigger Content

-NCTzens saying that TY dances like he has a sq*irrel in his pants, raps like d*g, looks like a skeleton etc etc. And these are just mild stuff i mentioned here. NCTzens are so much worse when it comes to body shaming and dehumanizing him. And when we call them out for it, thay have the audacity to say that its a JOKE and we're STUPID for not having 'A Sense of Humor'....

/End of Trigger Content

-NCTzens saying that TY's main dancer/main rapper/main visual/leader/center positions should go to their faves cuz their fave 'iS So mUcH beTTeR aT TheSe pOsiTIOns'. Yeah.... sure..... NCTzens rarely talk about the positions other members have , but are really obsessed with Taeyong's.

-NCTzens still denying that Taeyong is NCT's leader and that he's really good at it. Just yesterday, a Wayzennie (also a TY anti) started spewing sh*t about Taeyong's leadership. And their arguement??? That they have 'lEAdeRsHiP eXpEriEncE iN UnI, WoRk aND ouTsIDe wOrK' and that makes them an expert about leading a 23 member global kpop group, who had a rough start what with their controversial 'unlimited' concept and experimental songs. Sure, Jan.

(Also, the thing where some Wayzennies are still not accepting that TY is the leader of whole of NCT, cuz Kun is WayV's leader..... Seriously, though its not that hard to understand. Kun IS and WILL remain the leader of WayV, a 7 member group. That's a fact. But when the subunits (127, Dream and WayV) come together for projects (ex: NCT 2018 and NCT 2020), Taeyong becomes the overall leader. But since these Wayzennies are still on their WayV not being part of NCT agenda, they're simply ignore this. Go figure.)

- Oh, but when some other member in NCT messes up, it suddenly becomes Taeyong's responsibility cuz 'HE'S THE LEADER'. Funny, how NCTzens change narratives quickly. Also, weird how, according to NCTzens, NCT members suddenly can't think for themselves even though they're grown adults and need Taeyong to take the blame for them. Haha.....

-Also, NCTzens guilt tripping TyongFs from canceling NCT Beyond Live tickets when they got to know that he was injured and wont be participating in the concert a little too late, cuz "Taeyong, as a leader, would be sooo upseeet that his group wont be getting TyongFs' money and he'd feel sooo guiltyyy that y'all are getting refunds of your OWN money that YOU CHOSE to spent and its not my business at all. But damn, y'all are sooo selfish!!!!"

-NCTzens posting about how overjoyed they are that TY is injured cuz that means their faves get to shine..... "Look how MY FAVE killed TY's part" "MY FAVE ate Taeyong up" "Should've put MY FAVE in the OG line up instead of Taeyong" "MY FAVE made TY's part as his own" "Thank god, MY FAVE got to show off his talents, now that Taeyong isnt here". God, if i were one of the Neos whose fans say sh*t like this, it would've felt like a slap to my face. Honestly, tell me, do y'all really think so low of your faves? Do you really think they cant shine even with TY being on stage? They absolutely can, but you're focus is not on them, is it? Way to embarrass yourself.

-NCTzens blaming Taeyong for NCT's slow rise to fame because of the false rumors/allegations pinned on him by nasty people. They say Taeyong was the sole reason for NCT not being liked by many, not because of their confusing/complicated concept or the music. Yeah, you heard me. NCTzens are not above victim blaming and pointing fingers, cuz they are not ready to accept the fact that Taeyong was the one who carried the group on his back all the way.

-And how they can't stand the fact that TY gets praised by proffesionals or non-fans or locals. A dance analyzer analyzed 127's Kick It and at the end stated that Taeyong was the best dancer in 127. And what did NCTzens do. They bullied the analyzer to the point that they deleted the video, just cuz their fave was not named the best. A reactor reacts to Taeyong's Long Flight and the comments on the videos are along the lines of 'Hey, MY FAVE'S also has a solo song too. You should definitely react to that' or when they're tryna be subtle (but not really), they go 'Taeyong is soo good but you should also check out MY FAVE'S blah blah blah'

Hell, even when TyongFs say 'Taeyong is very so creative, by coming up with BDLI Jungle Gym concept and the MAW chandelier thing. He's literally an Idea Bank', and NCTzens go 'All the Neos are idea banks' in the same post.

When TyongFs say 'Taeyong is the really so handsome. NCT's main visual', they go 'All the Neos are main visuals'

Lmao, just 3 days ago, someone commented 'Taeyong is cute' under a tiktok video and an NCTzen just couldn't help but fume about it and went 'All Neos are cute'🙄

Like seriously, this is sooo annoying. Make your own goddamn post about the rest of NCT, ffs! Why do you to insert anyone else in a Taeyong tweet? Literally, can't let Taeyong have a moment for himself.

-Recently, Taeyong released 2 solo demo tracks on SoundCloud- Dark Clouds and Dark Clouds Remix (check it out here: https://soundcloud.com/eh_ovo_taeyong). And NCTzens being NCTzens started those who never even promoted Kun's SoundCloud before started promoting it under every TY tweet on the same day. Now, i don't have a problem with them promoting Kun's SC. But they could've done it any other day or made their own tweet about it. But doing it under every TY promo tweet and on the very same day? Really??? And some of them had the audacity to say that TY was getting free clout from Kun cuz Kun followed him on SC.....😑😑😑

-NCTzens have this weird belief that TY is getting solo promos and is being pushed by SM. What on earth are they talking about? Taeyong being center, main rapper and main dancer of the group is not solo promo. Him being in SuperM is not solo promo. Him opening Instagram and SoundCloud is not solo promo, but self promo- which means HE'S promoting himself, not SM. Solo promo is usually provided to the artist by the company in the form of photoshoots, accepting brand deals, releasing the artist's solo music etc and SM isnt doing sh*t for Taeyong. All they're doing is overworking him and milking him for money. That's it. And i want NCTzens to understand that.

And the list goes on and on and on. This weird hate boner NCTzens have for Taeyong is so bizarre to me. All Taeyong does is sing, rap, dance, talk cutely, take care of his fishes and play games with Baekhyun. And this somehow gets NCTzens mad. They constantly discredit him, try to make him seem less than what he actually is, insert everyone else when someone is talking just about him, make him seem like a villain by twisting his words or actions and making it into a big deal.... *sigh* Its so unbelievable how low NCTzens can stoop. And it gets tiring real quick.

N E Ways, this is everything i wanted to rant about and damn, this turned out to be too lengthy. Now, if you havent followed Taeyong on his Instagram, please do @eh_evo_nct. Stream Long Flight, his one and only solo station. And please look forward to BaekhyunxTaeyong collab on Taeyong's SoundCloud.

Ciao!

#lee taeyong #taeyong #nct 127 #nct

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need-a-fugue · 4 years ago

Text

We Grow Together (25)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Tessa Sullivan (OFC)

Chapter Summary: It’s just coffee with an old colleague... nothing to worry about...

Summary: Relationships can be tough, especially when one person is a recovering-from-being-brainwashed-and-tortured former assassin and the other is an overworked mutant scientist. But hey, every couple has their struggles. Right?

“Stop sulking,” she tells him, not even looking up from her computer screen.

“I’m not sulking.”

“James,” she chides, glancing up and seeing him leaning in the doorway of her office, arms tightly folded over his chest.

“I’m not sulking,” he repeats, unfolding his arms and striding in to take a seat on the old sofa in the corner.

“Fine.” She pushes away from her desk, flips her glasses up on top of her head, and leans back in her seat. “Then you’re brooding.” He shoots her an irritated glare. “Just say it. You’ll feel better if you do.”

“I’d feel better if you’d stay out of this.”

“What happened to thinking that me going on missions was hot?” she asks, rising and crossing the room to shut the door. She turns back to him and leans up against the closed door, wiggles her eyebrows playfully before saying, “With great power comes great sensuality.”

He shakes his head. “That’s not what this is. You can’t even use your powers out there.”

“I know,” she says quietly, moving to stand in front of him.

He looks up at her with tired, conflicted eyes. “If you do… if this guy finds out you’re a mutant…”

“I know,” she repeats, dropping her hands to his shoulders and giving him a small, playful shake. The corners of his mouth quirk up just a bit and he brings his hands to her hips. “Have I ever told you, you worry too much?” she teases, before lowering herself down to straddle his lap.

“No. Never,” he replies with a frown.

“I’m just having coffee with an old colleague,” she says, wrapping her arms around his neck and letting her fingers play in his hair. “There’s no need to worry.”

“Undercover operations are the hardest to monitor and the easiest to lose control of,” he tells her with authority as each of his thumbs begin to rub circles into her hips. Her knees squeeze his thighs a little tighter as she sidles further into him, and he finds himself fighting to maintain focus and not get lost in the warmth of her body or the scent of her honeysuckle shampoo. “This could be really dangerous. You can’t lose sight of that.”

“We’re meeting in a public place, an outdoor café,” she tries, her fingers moving to sweep some errant strands of hair back behind his ears.

“Which means anyone can see you. And I could lose sight of you in a second.”

“But you’re not the only who’ll be there.”

“I just don’t like it,” he says, the frown returning to his face as his gaze drops.

“Well, I don’t like that people are – or were – experimenting on mutants,” she says, suddenly stiffening next to him. “And honestly, this is something that I should be involved with. This is something that, like it or not, already involves me… and my family. You’re the one who pointed that out.”

“It’s not your job,” he says plainly.

She scoffs loudly. “I have a suit. That basically makes me a part-time Avenger. And besides… how would you feel if Steve kept you from anything Hydra related?”

His brow furrows deeply as he looks back up at her. “I don’t know. But it isn’t the same. Not really.”

“Babe,” she groans, leaning back a bit and staring down at him with a serious look. “I went to live at Xavier’s when I was 6 years old. I started training with the X-Men at 16. My first real mentor was a brilliant physician who was covered in bright blue fur.” She smiles when he raises a single, suspicious eyebrow. “I know it doesn’t seem like I… identify as a mutant. And maybe I don’t always. Because it’s hard. And scary. And… it can be easy to lose sight of who you really are when you spend so long in hiding.”

His face softens as he takes in her words. If there’s one thing that they truly have in common, it’s this. Both of them have been so many people over the years. Both of them have spent too much time hiding who they are from others… and from themselves. He reaches up and pets back her hair, running his thumb along her forehead. “You never talk about it,” he says softly. “You never talk about your time there, with them.”

She drops her gaze, her cheeks suddenly taking on a bright red blush. “Yeah. Well… it’s sort of complicated. But…” She looks back up and into his eyes. “I am a mutant. And that means more than just having the X-gene in my sequence. To me, that means more. I spent years immersed in the… culture. We have a different history from other humans. We’ve been abandoned, denied, demonized. You think this Hydra facility was the only place experimenting on us? I personally went on at least four missions to rescue mutants – people – who were held for testing or… training. I grew up learning about the secret missions of Nazis to root us out, activate us, tear us apart to see what makes us tick. I spent more nights than I can count listening to Logan’s stories about the Weapon X program, about the torture they put him through to turn him into the ultimate killing machine.”

He cocks his head and narrows his eyes at her. “Weapon X,” he repeats. “Why does that sound so familiar?”

She merely shrugs. “I heard rumors that SHIELD took it over in the 90s… maybe Hydra was involved with that too.” She lets out a long sigh and drops her forehead to his. “But see? That’s the thing. If we weren’t hated, we were ignored, forgotten. There are millions of us on this planet, but most people would say they’ve never met a mutant, maybe never even heard of them.” Pulling back a bit, she locks eyes with him. “No one ever cared enough to save us. No one ever cared enough to even see that we needed saving.”

“I care,” he tells her, cupping his hand over the back of her head.

She smiles a small, sad smile. “If I wasn’t here, if you and Steve and the other Avengers didn’t know me… I don’t know that any of you would care enough to look into this.”

“That’s not true,” he says, hurt breaking through his voice.

“History shows otherwise.” She places her hands on his shoulders and pushes back off of him. “Anyway, all of this is to say… I know what I’m getting into here. Probably better than the rest of you.”

He grabs her waist when she tries to shimmy off his lap, and he pulls her back down. “I just want you to be careful,” he tells her as he wraps his arms around her. She melts into him, resting her head on his chest. “You’re not trained for this… or if you were, well, you’re way out of practice.”

She lets out a small laugh before mumbling softly, “I’m not worried. I know who has my back.”

000

“I never did like this guy,” Clint utters through the coms as he watches Dr. Aaron Scofield dodge traffic on his way to the café down the block.

Tessa sits idly at a table on the patio, lined up perfectly to be in his view as well as Bucky’s from the other side of the quiet main street. “You never met him,” she says softly, masking the movement of her lips with a coffee cup.

“You really think I didn’t know everything about the scientists stationed in Minsk. I know why Genetech hired him.” He continues to peer through the Stark-manufactured sight device, snickering slightly when he sees the doctor stumble as he steps off a curb. “Klutz,” he snorts.

“Whatever.” Through the sight on his rifle, Bucky can actually make out Tessa’s dramatic eye roll. “I worked with him every day for almost a year,” she goes on. “And I can honestly tell you that he doesn’t have enough personality to be either liked or disliked.”

“Can you two relive the past some other time,” Natasha mutters. She sits just a few tables away, but Tessa can only hear her voice through the coms and even when looking directly at her, she can’t tell at all that the woman is speaking. Damn, she’s good. “He’s on your left,” she says simply.

“Dr. Sullivan?” the man asks as he approaches. He extends his hand and offers a meek smile, one almost hidden by his graying mustache. “It’s been a spell.”

She rises and accepts his handshake. “It has been, Dr. Scofield. Thank you for meeting me.” She drops back into her chair and waves her hand at the seat across from her… the seat where Bucky expressly told her to get him to sit so that he wouldn’t be blocked by any other patrons.

Instead, he chooses the seat right next to her, plopping down and folding in on himself, resting his elbows on his knees. “I was surprised to hear from you,” he says, his voice holding more enthusiasm than she’s ever heard from the man. “Though perhaps I shouldn’t be. I have heard stories about working for Stark Industries. I came up with a few gentlemen who worked for Howard Stark back in the day.” He leans back in his chair then, smug look taking over his face. “They left when the boy prodigy took over and started running the place into the ground.”

“Are we recording this?” Clint asks. “I want to play this back for Tony later.”

Tessa raises her eyebrows in surprise. “Really? Well, I guess he’s grown up some since then. Business is booming.”

“Tess,” Steve’s voice filters to her through the earpiece. “You’re not happy with your job, remember?”

“Pure luck, I imagine,” Dr. Scofield replies to her. “But if things are going so well…”

“Right,” she corrects with an awkward laugh. “No… well… I mean, business is great. I can’t complain about that. I just… I’m not getting to do the research that I want.” She shifts to the edge of her seat and crosses her legs toward him, leans forward to close off some of the distance between them. “I was thinking…” She smiles lightly, slowly swinging her hanging foot back and forth in an almost hypnotizing way. “The work we did together on the M-gene… attempting to clone it and activate it within certain tissues to spark cellular regeneration and growth… that’s the sort of thing I want to work on. That’s the type of work that could actually make a difference for people.”

“I’ll bet Tony Stark has you doing things like developing technology for cell resiliency that inhibits hangovers,” he says with a smirk.

She chuckles lightly, laying her palm on his knee. “That would be something he could sell,” she says with a crooked smile.

“You might wanna cool it on the flirting, doll,” Bucky mutters. “He’s starting to look a little spooked.”

“Poor guy’s probably only talked to three women his entire life,” Clint mocks. “And one was his mom.”

“I think she’s got this, guys,” Natasha says blankly.

“Well,” Scofield says, blushing as he pushes his giant glasses back up his nose. “Perhaps I should suggest it to him then. I wouldn’t mind making a small fortune.”

Tessa leans back in her chair, still letting her hanging foot draw lazy patterns in the air just inches from his shin. “I was hoping you might know of something,” she says, drawing out the final word.

“Work on the M-gene? No, nothing much has been done with it since Genetech went under. They held so many patents – ”

“What about the X-gene?” she asks expectantly. “I feel like I’ve been out of that world for so long now, that I don’t even know what people are up to these days.”

He straightens up and gives her a suspicious look. “Research on the X-gene is highly regulated,” he says stiffly.

“Yes, Dr. Scofield, I am aware of that. The M-gene, as well. It’s why we had to be carted of to Minsk to study it.”

“Yes, but… X-factor research is… less theoretical. It makes people nervous.”

“Not me,” she intones, holding eye contact with the man as she runs her tongue lightly over her bottom lip.

“Laying it on a little thick, there Doc?” Clint chuckles into the coms.

“Look,” she says, leaning forward once again and changing her tone to a more conspiratorial one. “I’m going to level with you.” The man nods once. “I shouldn’t know this… but I came across some information. I’ve been doing some work with the Avengers recently – ”

“What the hell,” Bucky hisses from his perch on a rooftop blocks away. “What are you doing?!”

She cringes at the near-shout in her ear, but goes on. “They came across some information, from several years ago, that ties you to some… studies.”

“Tessa,” Steve warns.

“Let her go,” Clint says, his voice suddenly serious. “She might have him.”

“They can’t…” Scofield sputters. “There’s nothing…”

She waves her hands in a calm down gesture. “No, no… they’re not doing anything about it. The experiments are all decades old. I just thought… even if you weren’t doing anything in this… field anymore, that you might know someone who is.”

His eyes go wide for a long moment as he moves from panic to curiosity to an odd sort of calm. “If that is what I think it is, then those studies were long ago abandoned.”

“Oh,” she says disappointedly.

“But…” He smiles wide and leans forward. “If you actually are interested… really interested, then I do have a fellow I could introduce you to.”

A genuine smile spreads across her face as she nods excitedly. “I assure you, Dr. Scofield, I am very interested.”

#Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x ofc #bucky barnes x original female character #Bucky x original female character #bucky barnes x oc #marvel fanfic #avengers fanfiction #Supernova

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margridarnauds · 4 years ago

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1) How'd you get into Japanese Musicals?, 2) Favorite Celtic Myth?, 3) Favorite POTO Cast (Real Trio that existed together + make a trio of anyone you want)?

(1) I feel like this is a fairly common origin story for the international fandom of Japanese musicals, but I got in, primarily, through German musicals that had been given Japanese productions. I had the...luck (?) of falling into Frank Wildhorn musicals around 2011-2012, which was perfect because it was timed EXACTLY so that I was there when the very first Japanese production of Dracula happened, and so I watched the proshot of that. I thought it was okay, not my FAVORITE (that went, at the time, to the German, though now I’m firmly #TeamKorea), but it was good! And it was a good introduction.

Because of the German production of Dracula, I fell into Elisabeth (aka “The Reason I took up German in the first place) and, like a ton of people, fell into the Takarazuka production of Elisabeth (and The Scarlet Pimpernel, because Wildhorn) because of that, though it still wasn’t a great, overwhelming love for me. It was okay, it was pretty, but not an OVERWHELMING love.

I was interested in Lady Bess...fairly early on, I want to say 2014-2015, not long after its premiere, because I was like “Oh, Kunze and Levay are doing a musical on Elizabeth I? PRETTY COSTUMES?” I think I actually was there to see the very early press releases, ft. the English demos, as they were released. But, of course, Lady Bess was a bit of a white whale. There was NOTHING on it, the cast album was phenomenal, but that was ALL, really. Very little in the way of video, very little in the way of pictures (now I could probably find them, but back then I was a bit on my own), nothing in the way of plot. So, I basically gave it up for lost, though I retained hope that, one day, SOMETHING would surface on it.

Then, 1789. Attending the European Musicals Streamathon in....around 2017. Seeing the Takarazuka 1789. It was like LIGHTNING. I’d loved the French production, though I fell out of it due to the general disdain for it that I felt in the French Musicals fandom at the time, but, if I’d loved it before, the Zuka made me fall in love with it x10. I wrote fanfic, for the first time in my fandom life (or, at least, fanfic that saw the light of day), I got involved in the world of Takarazuka (I’m not as much there as I am with Toho, and I know some people probably think I actively dislike it, but it IS where my roots are, and I retain a ton of affection for it), attended streams, etc. It got me into the rabbit hole of Japanese musical theatre, really, though Toho would have to come a little later.

Then, in 2018: The announcement that Lady Bess was coming back. I don’t know how, but even then, I had the sense of “What if they do a proshot, like they did for Elisabeth and Mozart? What if we get that?” And then, shortly afterwards. The announcement. It was a “HOLY SHIT” moment, because I’d been waiting for FOUR YEARS and there it was. And it was expensive, especially for a family that. Well, no nice way of putting it, we’re well below poverty level.

It was also...perfectly if also morbidly timed as well, because 2018 is on the record as being one of my most difficult years, even next to 2020. In 2018, I was a senior, just wrapping up my undergrad, I was overworked, exhausted, terrified of not getting my capstone in, and my uncle had just died in the last month or so of my program (along with my paternal grandfather), with my mom, who’s generally my #1 supporter, not able to be there for me at home because she was often over at his place, taking care of him.

I was, frankly, absolutely miserable.

But my mom told me that, as a present for dealing with....everything, I could get any Japanese musical that I wanted. And I chose Lady Bess.

I remember taking it back from the post office, SO excited because it was actually REAL and I could hold it after all that time, and then getting my mom and aunt to play it in the front room so that I could finally see it. And then, with that first shot of the night sky as the overture plays, as Ascham takes the stage, I was totally in love and, more than that, my family was, too.

Then the announcement that 1789 was going to re-run. As soon as I saw it, I thought of Lady Bess, and I was like “....are they....?” And then the resulting announcement shortly afterwards, which had me conflicted because, on one hand. It was *1789*. Arguably the single greatest musical love of my life, the musical that got me to write and publish fanfiction. And it was the TOHO one, the one that the entire fandom had been curious about since 2016. But also. My family had just spent the money on Lady Bess. It was hard to justify pre-ordering 1789, no matter how in love they were with Lady Bess.

But, as it was, I had a streak of luck - I’d been given some money as a graduation present by a close friend of the family (which was given under the STRICT order that I buy something “frivolous”), and so, with nothing else really frivolous to spend it on...I was basically vibrating around six months later, when the proshot arrived in the mail, and got to put it in the DVD player.

If my family fell in insta-love with Lady Bess, they REALLY fell in love with the energy of 1789. To the point where we watched either it or Lady Bess once a night. And, from there...I was sold. No real going back for me. The last year, I’ve not been able to keep up with the new releases (I know when they happen, but I can’t buy them), but I’m still very much IN, and it’s me the chance to know some very, very awesome people. It was a long road, but definitely worth it, in my opinion.

(2) Cath Maige Tuired! My actual baby, my child, the love of my life, the one that really got me into it in the first place. (Read the Elizabeth Gray translation, skip the Stokes.) It was reading John Carey’s article on “Myth and Mythography in Cath Maige Tuired” that I realized that people could study this stuff AS A FIELD and, not only that, but Americans could do it to, and since that point...I never really wanted anything else, besides the odd break. It is funny because, when I was doing aforementioned Capstone, my mom wanted to read up on it, since it was a major part of my work and she wanted to get involved. And I was like “Sure, here!”

...since I’d been reading CMT since I was 14. I had forgotten that it contains one of the single most explicit sex scenes in medieval Irish literature.

Coming from a fantasy background, it’s probably the closest you can get to a fantasy novel, in terms of scope and characterization - you have this vast variety of characters who, even though we don’t get INTERIORITY into them as such, do have quite a bit of depth to them once you pick below the surface, and it has a hundred different angles. I think that the best description was by Mark Williams, who described it as being “like shards of mirror stuck into the ground at angles to one another”, because that really is it. You have a hundred things going on, a hundred characters reflecting and refracting against one another, a hundred different social contexts, and the result is a work that, while seemingly a very simple tale about kingship and power and good and evil, is very complex.

(3) I can’t speak as much about acting since, in all honesty....I haven’t. Really. Watched any POTO bootlegs. All the way through. (I’M A FAKE FAN, I KNOW. I KNOW.)

That being said, I THINK that, as far as trios that have played, Kim So Hyun, Hong Kwang Ho, and Son Jun Ho have my entire heart. Kim So Hyun has a BRILLIANT voice, and a very distinctive porcelain doll-esque appearance that fits her very well, Hong Kwang Ho has a magnificent voice (first fell in love with him in Death Note), and Son Jun Ho....you can tell that he’s married to Kim So Hyun in real life because there’s such a tenderness to their performance - It really sells R/C.

Honorable mentions include Claire Moore’s Christine, who’s had my heart from the first time I heard her very distinctive, haunting “oo” cadenza, Ivan Ozhogin, Celia Hottenstein (got to see her live so I’ve had a soft spot for her Christine ever since), Jeremy Hays, Hugh Panaro (who was once kind enough to deal with a teenaged fan at stage door for a concert of his and take a picture, as well as sign my playbill) and....there are definitely others.

#thanks for the ask!#Anonymous #also: Always willing to take POTO recommendations!

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philalethistry · 4 years ago

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WELP my birthday month was a bit of a rollercoaster ride. I thought about the cons of posting this but I’d like to record it, so that future me can look back and, depending on how the future goes, either feel validated or be glad that this is over. Warning: discussion of crappy mental health.

TL;DR Breakdown results in will to live and fuck current events I have a recliner

I’m going to start with today, Sept. 1, and work back, for reasons.

Today I drove to a furniture thrift store. This doesn’t sound like much, but I A. hate driving, especially to new places, B. am already in a pretty anxious state, and C. I got lost because the road I wanted to turn on wasn’t marked, nor looked like a road rather than an alley, and so I somehow spent two hours trying to find one store. (At one point I had to stop and get something to eat because I had started shaking. The cashier watched me struggle to free two bills from my wallet and then declined the change I owed her to avoid making me retrieve that too. I wonder if she thought I was high...)

The important thing about what I did today, is I went out to find the store, and even when I did not find the store and ended up circling back to my street, instead of going home and having a sandwich and watching Youtube, I turned around again. I know it’s partially because of this video’s explanation of why one gets more nervous trying to do something a second time after procrastinating or running away from it, as I’d always pin the anxiety on my guilt, instead of a fear instinct which is more managable. But I’m going to give dopamine where dopamine is due and also say that my eventual victory was partially because of the newfound strength I have in the aftermath of the freak mental storm that enveloped the start of August.

I know that no one is doing “””okay””” right now, because of Everything, and that is nicely validating, because I am not okay either. But it’s dissonant, because I’d often follow the lead of neurotypicals and high-functioning depressives and anxious people when I’m in a bad way. If THEY say things aren’t as hopeless as I think they are, they probably aren’t! While that helped, it also downplayed my brain issues, and now that everyone has the same opinions on the State of Things, I realized I didn’t have any idea of how to confront the bad shit on my own, and neither does anyone else.

I’m technically still quarantining by refraining from making a lot of trips out and from getting a job, and so the murky pea-soup fogs of the future unsettle me. I was pretty chipper for the larger part of quarantine, as an introvert. Then one day, the thought suddenly occurred to me of the sheer amount of time I’ve spent in quarantine, how COVID isn’t receding from Arizona, how I had to quit the first job I’d gotten in the face of anxiety and depression, of how much of my future rests on the coming election, and most of all of how I have no idea what my future holds, of where I’ll be five or ten years down the line. “In the same place” and “Somewhere else” seem equally intimidating.

And then hormones struck.

I’ve had bad depressive episodes; I’ve had bad days of anxiety; I’ve had bad PMS; and then I’ve simply indulged unhealthy negativity. All of these, combined, made for a surreal and frightening experience. Emphasis on surreal. Also, contextually, emphasis on frightening, obviously. There were many feelings. Emphasis on everything.

My mental space may be a mess but I’ve never been too concerned with dwelling on life and death, even when faced with the latter. It’s never been a point of any interest to me; in the face of mortality I’m pretty good at giving importance to the present moment and to my internal values, like “science cool,” “mocha good” and “drawing fun.” In fact since childhood (third grade. Is this a normal third grader thing??) I’ve been a fan of cheerful nihilism, IE “There isn’t a secret meaning to the universe therefore I can give it any meaning I can make! Anything is possible, things are great!” I didn’t really grasp the concept behind existential dread, it sounded like something that happened to movie characters when the writers didn’t know how else to portray angst. Oh boy, do I have a new emotion I won’t be able to forget. My natural disaster of a brain supplied me, among everything I was already experiencing, three (3!!!) different categories of existential crisis. I had to look it up. And the weird thing about this Satan’s asscrack of an episode, is that while I’m prone to spiraling rumination, normally I can distract myself, because it’s still just me, thinking unhelpful thoughts. This time, these thoughts, the shittiest thoughts I’ve ever had the displeasure of producing, were automatic. I was not getting stuck pondering one bad topic; everything I saw became, in real time, entangled in the web of thought pattern in the most natural way. And it was LOUD.

Have you ever thought, “I’ll sit on the couch, the couch is comfy. The couch did not exist until a few years ago, its lack of existence had no impact on anything in any meaningful way, and when it turns to dust it will be forgotten.” Because I myself had a teensy bit of an inkling that maybe that ain’t normal. The thing is, I knew I was only feeling this way because, well, I Was Feeling That Way, it’s just the mood; but being stuck in isolation, and with everyone else also troubled by issues of the past, the present and the future, knowing that didn’t help.

I can remain in a depressive / anxious state for a little while, but the actual peaks only last at most a couple of hours. This was Mt. Everrest AND it lasted a week and a half. I was at the end of my rope a day in and had no idea what to do about it, so I tried to do everything. The physical present felt empty, so I tried to fill it with media, literature, art, walks, family time. Problem is, “anhedonia” - a symptom of depression where you don’t get dopamine boosts from activities - cuts pleasure out of these things, so nothing held my interest, let alone made me feel motivated or remotely better. Another symptom of depression, weirdly enough, is the feeling of disgust - I wasn’t conscious of this symptom until it was magnified. I felt completely and utterly repulsed by everything around me. I first thought it was the clutter, then the way the furniture was arranged, then I thought I’d been inside too long so I took walks in the neighborhood when nobody was out. The confusion came when I disliked the trees, grass, and fresh air too - I had to Google my feelings to find out what the heck was going on.

Which brings me to my bedroom. My room is littered with memorabalia, I’m sentimental so I have little shrines of items from the past and of things I value. Some childhood toys and a handful of old trinkets, shelves dedicated to Pokemon and Neil Gaiman’s work, some references to Chicago and Polish heritage. My unhappiness with the situations of the present, while strengthened to an totally unnecessary degree, weren’t all inaccurate - and in combination with anhedonia and disgust, and the way I’d integrated this memorabalia into my sense of self even though they aren’t really relevant to me anymore, I found that I really really didn’t like my past or reminders of it. In a shocking unpredicted turn of tables, I no longer wanted to uphold who I once was, because it isn’t who I am now, and it’s not who I want to be.

And the revulsion of the past and the uncertain emptiness of the present culminates in a future that I feared, another emotion booted up to eleven. There was a big need to make my future and remake myself. The only places left comfort could be found were ones I hadn’t yet looked. At the same time I became sad in a powerful but vague way and desperately lonely - this part was definitely all the feral hormones - and I became obsessed, for a little while, with making sure that, when quarantine ends, I would get my social life in order. I preemptively joined groups and clubs in my local area online, which I’m still going to make good on later but maybe not to the all-encompassing extent I had in my mind at the time. Also, career hunting. (Also also, to combat a lack of control, I wanted to get my own place - but with the economy like That, and my ass like This, big alone time while also being very poor and probably overworked is not the best of ideas.)

So. The freak episode ended. And I knew. Both during. And afterwards. That I Do Not Want That to Happen Again. To put it lightly. So now I’m trying to find an antidepressant that works for me. I’ve been medicated for three weeks now. Lower anxiety, not many mood swings, but still anhedonia, and the aftertaste of existential dread which will forever haunt me. I’m completely overhauling my bedroom, because it was messy anyway and has basically looked the same since forever which can’t be good for my mental health. So there’s going to be new bedsheets (chocolate), new curtains to kill sunlight because while I enjoy it outdoors it makes the room feel exposed since the window is groundlevel and faces the street, a whole ass recliner thrifted for only 20 bucks(!) to go in a brand new study corner along with a nice aggressively patterned brown rug, and finally the grody offwhite walls will be repainted a warm inviting brown that was named “spiced cinnamon.” No matter what happens, I look forward to spending the winter in the study, invoking a cozy comfort the Danes call “hygge,” and hopefully building my gallery or participating in my interests, including fandom, in another way. And, once my budget allows it, getting some fucking therapy, what the fuck.

#long post #weezy lost their mind for a little while #so that's where I been #but at least I have motivation now #funny how fear can lead to positive changes like that

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jeminy3 · 5 years ago

Text

Role Reversal

Another very old thing i’ve finally gotten around to polishing and posting.

This is, (like most of my fics), a collection of things I really wanted to see written about - and a bunch of things I'm very horny for.

Namely: Queerplatonic/Friends-With-Benefits Royai, BDSM with Dom!Riza and Sub!Roy, Roy in a Dress, Riza in a Pantsuit, Other Very Sexy things, with a big bonus of Genderfluid/Transfeminine Roy with Riza being supportive… in her own way.

Pronouns will change. NSFW warnings will show up as necessary.

Read on AO3

Read on Google Docs

If anyone assumed Riza Hawkeye was too straight-laced to enjoy the finer things in life, they were sorely mistaken - she just preferred things a certain way, that's all.

A good example involves her current situation: she's politely refused partaking in any alcoholic drinks during the event she was currently attending, instead getting her fill from sparkling apple cider. She greatly dislikes inebriation, as it never agreed with her in her experience, and she prefers to stay fully aware in her waking life. Besides, the gold-colored drink looks no different from champagne - tastes better too, in her opinion.

In this way she can keep her ever-watchful eyes as sharp as her namesake as she scans the room - a hotel lobby dressed up for a politically-motivated cocktail party - taking note of the building's layout, entrances and exits, where the hotel staff cycles in and out from, and how the attendees and their attitudes ebb and flow as the party progresses.

In a word, she likes control.

It applied to any situation in her life - on the battlefield, in the office, even in her dog's behavior training. She was a force of order in a world of chaos, making sense out of a senseless world, even if the effort was fruitless in the grand scheme of things - if anything, the endlessness of the process was a strange sort of comfort for her.

"The only constant in this world is that it's always changing." One of the few things her father ever said that she actually agreed with.

So whether she was organizing files, lining up gun sights, or in this case, keeping an eye out for either potential danger or her friend and superior officer making a fool of himself, she was in her element.

The aforementioned friend and superior officer, Colonel Roy Mustang, stands not far from her, on the other side of the hors d'oeuvres table they were currently haunting in order to appear as engaged as possible without actually giving a damn.

Newly-appointed Fuhrer Grumman is gathered with the Amestrian Generals and other industry leaders several feet away, chattering endlessly for most of the past hour or so. This event was the latest in many political gatherings that were supposed to strengthen ties between leaders and ensure potential partnerships, but in reality, they were a waste of time. The stubborn, incestuous nature that the Amestrian government's kept up for the past however-many-centuries meant that most of the time, these gatherings really only succeeded in fluffing up peacocking feathers and inflating already-bloated egos.

She never liked these parties. Neither did Roy.

Riza looks at him again. At a glance, Roy appears to be enjoying himself - he's standing at attention, leaning slightly on one hip and balancing a flute of champagne in one hand, head raised with (feigned) interest in whatever the Brass were prattering on about.

But Riza can tell he's anything but relaxed - on close inspection, she can see deepened stress lines around his eyes and nose, his lips pressed into such a thin line they've nearly vanished from his features, and the hand bent behind the crook of his back clenches and unclenches repeatedly, fingers aching for some kind of physical activity, no doubt.

Riza certainly can't blame him for being so tense, after all they went through recently - specifically, the Promised Day and the fallout that's occurred afterwards. It's been difficult to navigate the massive power vacuum left in the wake of Bradley's death, along with everything else about the homonculi and their master, but they're managing as best they can. Cutting off the head of the dragon was a good step, but only that - a step in the long, long climb towards a democracy free of war and corruption.

Things will certainly improve once Grumman lays the groundwork for Roy's ascension - despite personal misgivings with her grandfather, Riza has no doubt he'll do his job well - but for now, it's slow-going. Unfortunately, Roy was never good at sitting quietly and waiting. He'd be a terrible sniper, she says all the time.

Right now, he more resembles a spring wound too tightly, shuddering with anxiety and liable to snap in the form of the wrong words at the wrong time when the wrong person approached him. Which would be awkward at best, disastrous at worst, so Riza decides to circumvent that possibility altogether and approach him herself.

She crosses the distance between them by navigating around the table's end and approaching his front slowly, getting his attention with a nod and gentle smile. He loosens significantly at the sight of her, already a relief for his no-doubt-bristling nerves, and she doesn't miss the small sigh that escapes him as she settles at his side and hooks a hand through the loop of his bent arm.

She looks up at him and speaks low, enough to not be heard by anyone else in the vicinity. "Holding up alright, Colonel?"

Roy snorts softly, and responds in kind to keep up their privacy. "As much as I can."

"Same here," she murmurs. "Remind me when this is over again?"

Roy rolls his eyes in Grumman's direction. "Knowing him? Probably in another hour, at the very least."

Riza groans softly. "Can't we leave? They've clearly finished mingling with our brigade. Breda and Falman are already gone."

Roy blinks. "They are?"

"They slipped out the back when the waiters were refilling drinks for everyone." There's a tinge of envy to her tone, as she'd caught sight of them for a few moments as they left, but only just.

Roy scoffs. "They could have said something."

"Guess they forgot to, in all their eagerness."

"Eager to leave their superiors in the dust. So much for loyalty." Roy chuffs with annoyance, lifting his champagne glass to his mouth.

Riza merely shrugs noncommittally. "Heymans's only as enthusiastic as his people-reading allows, and even Vato has his limits. Who knows, maybe they had plans."

That makes Roy nearly spit up the champagne he's sipping. He clears his throat to recover. "Erm, hm- plans?"

Riza lids her eyes and looks at him through their corners, like she always does to look incredulous. "They're grown men with lives outside of the military, sir, don't be surprised. I'm not."

"Uh- of course, of course," Roy mutters, wiping his lips with a thumb and doing his very best to not look perturbed at the idea of Breda and Falman having unprofessional affairs, bless his heart.

In light of having nothing better to do to entertain herself, Riza decides to needle him further.

She cocks her head, murmuring in a more teasing tone of voice. "You know... we could make plans too, sir. I don't think we'll be greatly missed here anymore - might be a restaurant or two worth checking out on this street... unless you'd rather head straight home, of course."

Roy shifts on his feet, his eyes flitting to and away from her a few times, but he says nothing for a few moments. He wets his lips with the tip of his tongue and brings his glass to them again. "Mm. Maybe," he mumbles into the glasswork, taking another sip.

Riza lets her hand in his arm travel up and along it, considering him for a few moments. Maybe, hm? She could leave it at that, but all this talk of "plans" and night-time activities is drumming up a swarm of ideas in her brain with increasingly suggestive detail and fervor. Neither of them are strangers as bed-mates - even now, Riza can imagine clearly the curve of Roy's backside under his suit - but it has been a long while since they spent such time together.

Their last time was... almost a year ago now, actually. Before Hughes' passing, if she remembers correctly... Then it's no wonder she's felt so empty and frustrated lately. And Roy, with the tragedy still weighing heavily on his heart - she can't imagine how he must feel.

But then, perhaps that's all the better reason to bring this up.

Riza's errant hand travels up and along Roy's shoulders, and he tenses slightly at the touch - then suppresses a small shudder as she slide her fingers along his spine, down to the small of his back. (She stops short of cupping his ass - there's people around, after all.)

He's definitely wanting , but he won't admit it verbally... not without more encouragement.

Riza leans in and changes her tone again, this time leaning more into the... enticing side of things, but not dipping into ridiculousness. All the while she keeps her stern timbre, and the result is a special sort of commanding tone used between them only in utmost privacy.

"It's been a long time, sir. I think we're both due for some... release, after all we've been through, wouldn't you say?"

She holds Roy's gaze as she speaks, watches him blink once, twice, several more times, a little slower each time. The start of a flush colors his features, and he works his throat, swallowing despite not consuming anything.

He's thinking about it. Definitely thinking about it. But all he says is, a little hoarsely, "...I suppose."

Still resistant? Well, the man did have a bad habit of denying himself his own desires in favor of overworking himself to the point of exhaustion, out of his own obsessive need to always be working towards his goals in some way, every day, little by little. Whether that be by actual work back at the office, or work on his carefully-maintained reputation via fake-dates with his sisters or deathly boring social gatherings like this one.

It's not the first time Riza's had to push and prod him into taking an actual break from his stresses and let himself loose, and it won't be the last - ironic, when everyone calls her the workaholic who can't relax.

Looks like she'll need to sweeten the pot for him - so, she brings out an old favorite of his.

"You know I hate this dress," she mutters, shifting uncomfortably within the confines of her cocktail dress, nothing more than a tight black tube of fabric suffocating her legs and torso as far as she was concerned. "Chafes me terribly. If it wasn't for parties like this, I'd have thrown it out already."

"Mm." Another noncommittal hum from Roy. He knows this very well.

"...But times are changing, after all," she continues. "Maybe I can get rid of it soon..."

She tilts her head and fixes him with a knowing look. "That is, unless you can find some use for it, Colonel."

Roy's eyes widen slightly, and the subtle color on his face deepens into a distinct blush.

Among the many secrets Riza keeps for him, one is Roy's occasional indulgence in wearing dresses and other feminine clothing. He grew up in a brothel after all, raised by a gaggle of women who enjoyed involving him in games of dress-up and fashion experiments. But at some point in his boyhood the activity grew from a silly game to a rather normal thing, supported and encouraged by his foster family, and he kept it as a private hobby well into his teenhood, when Riza first met him and learned of all this - this is far from the first time they've negotiated the exchange of each other's garments.

He'd kept it up even as far as his Academy days. But alas, when the mountain of military pressures wore him thin - eventually overwhelming him with the tragedy of the Ishvalan War - the activity was shoved into the dark recesses of his shame, and his favorite dresses gathered dust in his closet in much the same manner. Fortunately he could be convinced to try them on again with some encouragement - much like what Riza was doing now.

She quirks her head further, amused at Roy's quiet flustering. "Of course, it'd have to be adjusted for your size. You've said one of your sisters is a seamstress, correct?"

He swallows again, his adam's apple bobbing in his throat. "Ah- Victoria is, yes."

"Good. If we leave now, I can have it dropped off at the Madame's place by morning, and she can have it ready for you by tomorrow night."

Roy forces a chuckle as his eyes jerk to his sides, as if wary of eavesdroppers. "Hah- You act like I've already agreed to this, Lieutenant."

She holds his gaze. "Well, do you?"

Roy opens and closes his mouth, but says nothing, just stares at her. He can't seem to decide on what to say, his eyes twitching this way and that as a hundred questions and counter-arguments seem to flicker behind the lenses of his eyes, his mind an indecisive projector. Finally, he shifts to stare down at his dress shoes, mouth and throat still working, but he tenses his jaw shut.

He needs something genuine. Riza edges closer, snakes the arm at his back around his waist, squeezes gently in more of a side-hug than a teasing grope. She drops both the eroticism and the sternness from her voice, this time aiming for something closer to how they spoke as teenagers, watching the clouds go by as they lay upon the Eastern hillsides of her birthplace.

"I know it's been a while, but- I think you'd look nice, Roy."

Roy relaxes visibly, deflating with a small sigh. He closes his eyes for a moment, no doubt savoring the reassurance, verbally and physically.

When he looks at her again, his confidence has returned, somewhat, in the form of a small, crooked smile.

"Well- I am curious to see if you're right."

---

By the next evening, they've have made good on their mutual promise and laid some exciting plans for tonight, to say the least - Roy for his planned outfit, Riza for... everything else. Neither of them have gone into too much detail, of course. Half of the fun was the pleasant surprise.

After finishing her setup - part of which involved dropping off Black Hayate with a trustworthy neighbor who petsits on the side - Riza received a nervous but eager phone call from Roy stating he's ready to go, so Riza has donned her best pantsuit and now drives through the darkened streets of Central to pick him up.

The suit's far better than the cocktail dress. She sits comfortably in her dark slacks, with a black collared suit jacket of fine material cinched beneath her sternum, revealing an elegant white button-down shirt that's topped with a long, pointed collar bending sharply away from her neck. She complements it with some makeup - enough to doll herself up a bit, but not excessively so - medium-heeled dress shoes, her usual silver double-earrings, and her blonde hair falling freely across her shoulders.

She busies her mind with total concentration on her driving, for now - the temptation is strong, but she mustn't distract herself with thoughts of fondness and excitement over tonight's coming activities. Soon enough, she comes upon the sprawling luxury apartment complex Roy lives in, large enough for each home to qualify as a townhouse more than anything else with their second floors and guest rooms. She settles into its parking lot, humming to herself as she exits her car and makes her way to his front door.

Riza raps on the door with her knuckles. There's a shifting somewhere beyond it, and then Roy's voice calls out distantly. "Come in - the door's unlocked!"

After briefly amusing herself with the idea of Roy being too dolled up to answer the door without spraining an ankle, she opens the door and slowly enters. She's greeted by the sight of Roy's parlor: Like the rest of his somewhat-sparse apartment, it only contains necessary furnishings, a few personal heirlooms and effects, and various books and folios for Alchemy and military research. Ever the extrovert, he spends most of his time at work, out on the town, or in the homes of friends and family - for many reasons, he dislikes being alone.

Roy's lithe form rises from a small couch in the middle of the room as Riza steps over the threshold and closes the door behind her. As she takes in the sight of him, eyes widening, he does a small twirl and rests a hand on his hip.

"So- how do I look?"

Riza stares. She could say that her former dress looks quite a bit different on Roy's person, but that would be a tragic understatement.

There's a new slit down the side for ease of movement, the straps have been cut and re-sewn to loop around his neck instead of his shoulders, and the back's been left permanently unzipped to allow room for his broad upper body. The result is the dress becoming a scandalous open-back halter top, leaving none of his arm and back muscles to the imagination and offering enticing peeks at one of his long legs through the slit. Whatever still covers him clings tightly to his body, maybe a half-size too small for him, but it accentuates every dip and curve to a maddening degree.

And on closer inspection, his exposed leg seems to be encased in a thin, dark sheer legging that rises halfway up his thigh and stops there, offering further excitement in flashes of cream-colored skin near his hip. And- is that a garter belt? Oh my.

It also appears Roy has decided to complete the look with some stylish shoes, an application of makeup, and glittering jewelry. The shoes are black pointed pumps, high-heeled and confirming Riza's suspicion about his ankles, but he seems to be keeping his balance well enough; Small clip-on earrings dangle from his un-pierced ear lobes, tiny red gems hanging from silver chains; His face is lightly powdered to soften his features, and his smoldering eyes have been made even more so by a layer of shimmering eyeshadow and coal-black mascara. Even his lips have been supplemented with a rich maroon-colored lipstick.

To top it all off, his dark hair appears freshly-washed and brushed smooth, not gelled and slicked back like his usual formal attire. His bangs sway above his eyes in a much more harmonious fashion than usual, neatly tucked behind his ears at their edges.

"Y- you look stunning, sir," Riza says, after finding her tongue again.

Roy's thickened eyelashes flutter towards the floor, his cheeks flushing bashfully again. "Thank you. But it's debatable whether I compare to your natural loveliness, Lieutenant."

"Well," Riza pauses to clear her throat, feeling very dry suddenly, "Ahem- I'd disagree there, sir. It's obvious you've gone through quite the effort."

Roy's eyes briefly roll toward the ceiling. "God, was it ever. It's been so long that I had to ask Chris and the girls to refresh my memory on how to do this again. I'm still amazed they were willing to help me so much on such short notice. Especially Victoria - damn miracle-worker, she is. Sailed through the sewing job like a ship's captain."

"It shows," Riza murmurs, not entirely listening. As he spoke, she's taken a few steps closer to further admire the details of Roy's person. Yup, there's definitely a garter belt under there, straps and all. Panties too, most likely...

...She realizes she's been staring too long when Roy clears his throat this time. "You seem, ah... eager, Lieutenant. Shall we get going?"

Riza tears her gaze away from Roy's hips to meet his eyes, where his bashfulness is starting to melt away into amusement as he studies her. She feels a bit like a stray dog caught drooling over glistening cuts of meat in a butcher's shop - probably looks like one too. But really, who could blame her, with such an enticing specimen before her?

She clears her throat again, and, remembering her manners, extends an arm to take Roy's hand.

"Ah- of course. It would be my pleasure, sir."

Roy tugs at the fabric around his hips to allow his legs freedom, and his form is even lovelier in motion as he steps forward (a little wobbly on the heels, but he's managing), and outstretches a hand toward Riza's.

But as she takes Roy's fingers in her own, a thought crosses her mind - rather, an important observation. Roy went through an awful lot of preparation to dress up for tonight, employing both his own skills and those of his foster family... Far more effort than for an actual public outing, where all he really does is clean himself up a bit and throw on a suit, some cologne, and an offensive amount of hair gel.

This is different - there's a sincerity to Roy's beauty here that makes it seem like its achievement was just as much for his own benefit as it was for Riza's. Maybe even more so... As if he's actually... perhaps...

"...Or should I call you 'madam' instead?" Riza asks suddenly, meeting his eyes.

Roy's movements towards her shudder to a stop, and his eyes nearly bug out from his sockets. He stares, frozen, for a moment long enough for Riza to fear that she's crossed a line that should not have been crossed right now.

But thankfully, in the next moment his eyelids flutter, once again downcast and bashful as his blush deepens further, now spreading down to his neck. He clears his throat and struggles to respond. "I- I, uh..."

Again he squirms with indecisiveness, but this time he's faster to settle on an answer. He shakes himself out of his stupor with a literal shake of his head and says finally, "Um- No. No, that won't be necessary, Lieutenant."

Riza resists the urge to sigh with relief, nodding graciously instead. "As you wish, sir."

She takes his hand - her hand, perhaps, if she decided not to take Roy's words at face value, as she usually does.

For a few years now, Riza's held the suspicion that some of Roy's private interests - like his preference for dresses - may be much more than simple hobbies for him. More like an integral part of a blooming identity, bursting to reveal itself as more than simply a man, but locked within his many insecurities and the social cage he's trapped himself within to achieve his goals. At this point, Riza is certain this must be true, at least to some degree.

Who knows, maybe Roy was even more than a woman, extending beyond the usual binary. She always did have a penchant for breaking boundaries - perhaps their heart was as wild and shapeless as a flame, flickering between genders as the mood struck them. It would only be appropriate.

Either way, Riza was ready and waiting to accept this part of Roy wholeheartedly - she couldn't call herself their dear friend and dutiful Lieutenant if she didn't. But she is also patient, so for now, she'll sit by and agree to their preferences like she always does - watching, waiting, until they are ready.

From what she can see now, it's still a difficult thing for Roy to express openly - it's plain as day in his face. His mouth is a thin line again, and his eyes dart about nervously as they leave his home, alert for random passersby. Personally, Riza was fairly certain that no one would recognize him as he is now, especially under the cover of night, but he's justified in being paranoid; if word got out that the handsome, swaggering bachelor known as Colonel Roy Mustang dressed in intensely feminine outfits and had distinctly unprofessional (and un-normative) nightly affairs with his First Lieutenant in his spare time, who knows what kind of scandal it'd start, especially in this tumultuous political climate?

Riza squeezes his hand for reassurance and picks up the pace as they walk down to her car. Luckily, there's no one in sight on this particular night, and the darkened streets are bare and quiet. Still, Roy only sighs with relief once he's seated comfortably in the passenger seat, the doors are closed and locked, and they are safely on their way back to Riza's abode. He breathes more and more easier as they watch familiar streets and buildings pass them by, even more so when Riza occasionally brushes the skin of his arm and exposed thigh with her non-driving hand.

His eyes sparkle with eagerness, and Riza has no doubt that hers look the same.

---

Riza's apartment is much humbler compared to Roy's, even a little cramped in places, but it's all the more cozy. As much as she spends most of her waking life at work, she still makes the most of her private time and space; affording herself all the necessities to live comfortably, but also enough luxuries to please her heart and make up for the lack of them in her childhood.

Despite the lingering evidence of Hayate's presence from a vague musk in the air and hairs on the furniture, she's made her apartment far more appealing as a social gathering place than a stark, stuffy hotel lobby. There's warm, low lighting via candles and oil lanterns (leaving most of the electric lights off), the air is sweetened with smoke from a stick of burning incense on her coffee table, and a radio in the corner scratches out pleasant, jazzy tunes.

The furnishings are equally warm, mostly wooden and in earthy colors to remind her of Eastern forests in the fall, and are kept clean and neatly arranged to allow close but still-comfortable proximities. One could call it downright homely, if not for a few things - like a set of garishly bright yellow window curtains, a glass case holding a collection of cheaply-imitated Xingese pottery, and her personal gun closet standing proudly along the wall of her parlor.

Many people call her odd for these things - Roy is one of the loudest. "You have the strangest tastes, I swear," he says for the umpteenth time as he crosses the threshold, taking it all in before shooting a cheeky grin at her. "You should really bring Edward around sometime, you have a lot in common."

Riza rolls her eyes and pokes him in retaliation. "I'll consider it, sir. Now sit down before you fall off those heels."

Roy puts out his decorated lips in an exaggerated pout. "Pardon me - I am the Flame Alchemist Colonel Roy Mustang, thank you very much," he says haughtily. "And it'll take much more than a pair of shoes to bring me down. I've trained myself well, as you can see."

He turns and saunters away, demonstrating his barely-kept balance by swaying his hips from side to side as if he were walking down a catwalk instead of Riza's hallway. He'd at least get a round of applause for the effort, as he almost sends himself to the floor in his efforts to reach the small dining set that's just aside from the kitchenette. He doesn't bother to mask his relief at not losing his footing completely, smiling and giggling as he takes his seat. Riza can only laugh as well - it's so rare to see him like this, child-like and comfortable in his own skin.

Dinner is retrieved from a set of covered plates on the kitchen counter, a luxurious meal ordered from a restaurant that's famous for its fine dinners and delivery options. They discussed their preferred meals ahead of time, and knowing that Roy dislikes anything charred or flesh-like, Riza serves him a bowl of stir-fried noodles and vegetables on a bed of golden rice, which he enjoys heartily. Riza herself indulges in a perfectly-seared fìlet mignon with roasted asparagus on the side, all topped with a rich, earthy sauce. For drinks, they've cracked open two bottles of Riza's personal stash - more sparkling cider for her, red wine for Roy.

They talk about the finer points of cooking and recent news here and there, but mostly they pass the time enjoying the food and each other's company quietly. When they've finished, Riza leaves their dirty plates on the table to be cleaned later, at the moment much more concerned with joining Roy on the corner-couch surrounding her coffee table to sit and talk more comfortably while finishing the last of their drinks.

Roy is even more relaxed with good food and drink in him. He stretches lightly, then sinks into the corner-cushions with great contentment, a playful smile on his lips as he crosses his legs and twirls his wine glass in one hand. He resembles a large cat lounging upon its perch - so much so that Riza's half-surprised he isn't purring.

She takes her seat just across from him. "You seem awfully content for someone who didn't even eat their fill," she teases. "There was a good portion still left on your plate, and we never even touched the desserts."

Roy's eyes crinkle with amusement. "If I ate all of that in one sitting, I might not fit into this dress anymore. I'm taking a risk as it is."

That seems obvious enough, as Riza watches the dark fabric straining precariously around his bent legs and hips as he shifts in his seat, filling tautly around his now-slightly-wider middle. She licks at her teeth under her lips, savoring the lingering taste of meat there. Despite the food in her belly, her appetite is far from sated.

"It's a shame," she starts, balancing her cider in one hand and letting the other come to rest upon Roy's exposed knee, "How rarely you wear things like these, Colonel. If it were my decision, I'd hate to keep this kind of beauty behind closed doors."

Roy tenses for the briefest moment at the contact, but doesn't move or uncross his legs - a good sign. He smirks at her over his wine glass. "I hope you're not implying that I should dress like this at whatever political gathering we're dragged to next, Lieutenant."

"Well... I think it's a possibility," Riza says. "Perhaps someday, in the future."

Roy sips his wine, not looking at her anymore. "Hm. The distant future," he says, his voice hollow within the glass.

Riza studies him, a bit crestfallen - alas, she can only prod him so much. For now, maybe a more humorous slant is needed.

"I suppose. It would give everyone a terrible shock... good for a laugh, at least."

Roy snorts softly. "God- I can certainly imagine it. Grumman would flip his lid completely if he saw me like this."

Riza snickers. "I don't think he'd even recognize you. Probably try to flirt with you again."

Roy exaggerates a disgusted groan. "I've had quite enough of that from him. For a lifetime, I think."

"No need to worry, sir. I wouldn't let him near you." Riza allows her voice to dip into enticing commands again, and she makes her intentions clear with her thumb rubbing small circles into Roy's legging-encased knee.

His smile becomes knowing. "Defending me from your own family now, Lieutenant?"

Riza shrugs. "We were never close anyway. And it's my job, after all."

"I think we both know that your dedication extends far beyond your sense of duty by now."

Roy sells the tease with a small, sly wink in her direction, ever the charmer. Even Riza isn't immune to his wiles, but she is better at being less obvious about it. Like now, as she resists the urge to giggle and lets it out as a small sigh instead, setting her drink on the coffee table and spreading her hands.

"Guilty as charged. But really, can you blame me?"

She shifts forward to let her hands come to rest upon Roy's legs again, this time squarely on his thighs, especially the exposed one, letting her fingers rub more and deeper circles into his skin.

"You are a... unique sort of individual, after all. One of a kind, even. A very precious commodity."

Roy lids his eyes, watching her movements. "You flatter me, Lieutenant."

"I only tell the truth, sir."

He quirks an eyebrow. "Except the times when you don't."

"Only when it's necessary."

"Like?"

She recalls the first thing that comes to mind. "Like when a pea-brained homonculus thinks they can fool me with an imitation of you."

Roy's eyes squint slightly, unfocusing. There's laughter there, but also something cold and unpleasant.

"Of course," he murmurs. "You've told me of that battle, before I... intervened." He's picking his words as carefully as he picks around the sharp, painful edges of the memory, and all its associations.

Riza regrets bringing it up. She got too caught up in the bantering - it was the most recent and harrowing situation she could think of in which she lied to survive, but still...

She shifts closer, sliding her hands up and along Roy's hips, settling one in the dip of his waist and the other beneath the lip of his dress slit, right into the warmth of his thigh-skin and centimeters away from his ass. The distraction works - Roy refocuses his attention on her again, drawing in a sharp breath and arcing his back forward ever-so-slightly in response to the touch, pushing his chest against the taught fabric of his dress.

"Anyway," Riza murmurs, keeping up the distraction with massaging fingers and the return of her dominant tone, "I'm only being honest. As much as I am your Lieutenant, you are my Colonel. In other words... you are mine."

Roy breathes out, sighing wistfully. "I am?"

"Always."

He lids his eyes and whispers, "Show me, then."

"Gladly."

Riza leans in further, snakes her arms further up and around him as she crosses the distance between them, and catches Roy's lips in her own.

And oh, to taste him again - she missed it so. There's the briefest tinge of unpleasantness from the chalkiness of his lipstick, but it's easily miss-able among the dozens of others flavors that color his mouth and tongue. There's bits of his dinner, bits of the wine, hints of mint and cologne from leftover toothpaste and mouth spray. But mostly it's the warm, sumptuous flavor of his mouth against hers, and Riza eats it up more hungrily than the richest steak money could buy.

Her hands are just as gluttonous. Her light massaging turns into a deep groping at Roy's waist and thigh, the waist-hand circling around to his back to wrap around and draw him in as they shift their bodies closer. The thigh-hand savors the softness of him there, working steadily forward and up until her fingers are slipping under the lacey edge of his underwear and stroking the flesh of his soft, plush ass.

Roy's body was a bit softer than one would assume - a consequence of his drinking tendencies and incorrigible sweet tooth. On top of the occasional temptations of various pastries and desserts, he always has his morning coffee with cream and three lumps of sugar, and takes his evenings' alcohol as fruity gin and sweet vodkas. Despite a daily exercise regimen that he's (mostly) faithful to, he still spends most of the workday sitting at a desk, so the sugars haunt him in the form of a significant layer of fat on his lower stomach, hips and thighs.

Not that Riza was complaining, mind you. Quite the opposite - the extra flesh gives her more of him to savor, and Roy himself enjoys the extra attention, as he always does.

He hums with deep-throated pleasure against her as they keep kissing, shifting and grinding closer and closer. At some point he had the presence of mind to set down his wine on the coffee table and his now-free hands grope Riza in kind, grasping at her waist and lower back through her suit jacket and undershirt (avoiding the area across her shoulders, where she dislikes being touched for obvious reasons).

She allows this for now, caught up in the heat and excitement - they've both tipped their hands before even reaching the bedroom, but again, it's been a while and they've been very stressed lately. So Riza can't blame herself too much when their love-making becomes so feverish that her ass-groping hand pushes a few centimeters too far in its ministrations, and by the time she realizes she's crimping and tearing Roy's dress slit further open, it's too late.

There's a small sh-rrrip! down at Roy's side, and they both freeze momentarily. Riza pulls away and, looking down, sees that her wrist and forearm had tested the limits of what little space was left between the dress and Roy's hip - the small seam that his sister probably took great pains to cut, pull apart, then re-sew, has now been torn and frayed at its corner, its tiny threads stretching and breaking apart around the now-larger area of Roy's exposed thigh.

Riza withdraws her hand, mildly flushed with shame. "Oh- I'm sorry, sir. And after all the trouble you went through..."

Roy, slightly disheveled between his mussed hair, blushing face and smeared lipstick, studies the damage with more bewilderment than anything else - then chuckles with amusement as he meets her eyes.

"It's alright, Lieutenant. No great loss. It was a quick and dirty sewing job anyway, can't be too surprised."

Riza's fears are eased, but only so much. "At least extend my apologies to Victoria; it's her work, after all."

"A work she full-well knew the purpose of," Roy says, his eyes sparkling with something between lust and mischief. "Trust me, apologies aren't needed."

Riza catches her breath. He predicted this? Cheeky devil...

And sure enough, Roy's smile becomes predatory. "Besides, all of this..." he gestures across himself, especially around his greater expanse of exposed skin, "...Always belonged to you first, Lieutenant. It's only appropriate that the owner of a great gift should tear off its wrapping."

For a rare moment, Riza fears she could actually lose her composure for once - she comes very close to deciding to fulfill that proposition with feverish hands and teeth, right here, right now, abandoning all plans and further foreplay. She barely stops herself - and it must show in her face, as Roy's smirk becomes downright devilish as he watches her. Damn him and his wiles.

"You-"

Riza decides not to finish that thought, not quite trusting herself at the moment. Instead she tugs him back in, silencing his much-too-smart mouth with another kiss.

She swallows whatever retort Roy planned on making with ravenous teeth and tongue, supplanting small moans of needs into his throat, even hungrier than before. Her grasping arms and hands all but claw at his exposed back and shoulders, snaking down his backside from the tactically-safer direction of his dress's open back. Her fingers dive down the slope of his spine into the soft landing of his ass again, now with a bit more freedom and easier access.

Roy takes it all in stride, groaning low and deep in his throat and squirming against her ministrations. His skin is flushes with heat and moistens with sweat everywhere that she touches, and his dress's tiny creaks of protest increase in frequency as he shifts, no doubt feeling an increasing need to have it off.

And, to none of Riza's surprise, she feels one of her roving hands brush over a distinct bulge now forming in the front-side of his groin.

The touch draws a needy moan from Roy, and the moment of blind lust ebbs away enough for Riza to reclaim a bit of clarity - she should more seriously consider slowing her advances, now. At this rate Roy will come undone long before she can show what she has in store for him - and make him fall apart in ways she prefers.

She draws away to catch her breath, but doesn't quite relinquish their closeness, hugging his waist and resting her sweating brow against his. Roy is only more lovely in his further-disheveled state - sweat and saliva mix with makeup and strands of hair, sticking and dripping against his features, and at this distance she can see his dark eyes practically sparkling with inner light.

She presses feather-light kisses against the warm skin of his cheek. "Oh, the things I could do to you, Roy," she murmurs against him.

Roy closes his eyes, hums with expectancy. "Tell me, Riza."

"Ah- words escape me," she whispers, slightly breathless. "But I promise, it'll be a night to remember."

Roy hums again, gently nuzzling against the side of her head and pecking at her ear. Riza savors the more-tender contact as they cool off, breaths deepening and heartbeats slowing. But her loins still prickle with need, and there is no doubt that Roy feels similarly.

A few moments more of small, tender touches and she's had her fill. Eager to make good on her plans, Riza shifts away to stand up from the couch, begrudgingly releasing her hold on Roy save for a lingering hand that catches his own and gently tugs his arm up with her.

She bends down to press her lips to his knuckles, meeting his eyes.

"Shall we get started, sir?"

Roy smiles serenely as he rises to his feet. "Finally- for a moment I thought you'd never ask."

---

NSFW warnings: Dom/Sub roleplay, mild humiliation, whipping, spanking, pegging, dirty talk, more gender/pronoun stuff

---

Minutes later, Riza is in her bedroom, relinquishing herself of her clothes and jewelry as she waits for Roy to finish freshening up in the nearby bathroom.

Having hung and folded away her pantsuit in her dresser, she bends further to the bottom-most drawer to tug it open - there, under a discreet layer of towels, is a small menagerie of sex toys and harnesses, freshly cleaned and sanitized, ready for use.

She hums to herself as she retrieves a few in particular for her plans tonight, setting them upon her bedcovers and fiddling with the last of their straps and buckles. She smiles as she hears the soft sounds of rushing water from the bathroom, thinking of Roy, herself, all that has come to these moments.

Over the years, Riza has found that her desire for control applied equally to bedroom activities. As she explored the extent of her own adulthood, she's spent some time here and there quietly scoping out various sex shops in her spare time, especially since their transfer to Central. It didn't take long before she found herself drawn to the BDSM scene - it held inherent power dynamics, gratifying roleplay, and cathartic exploration of feelings and desires in a safe, regulated space, all in a multitude of forms of methods according to one's personal preferences... Simply put, it was right up her alley.

She was private about it, like she is about most things in her life, and fairly sparse. The most she's spent on are a few lingerie items, a phallus or three, and a whipping apparatus. Recently she's added an especially... interesting new purchase to her repertoire, which she's excited to try for the first time tonight - as she finishes the last of its preparations, she sets this particular toy just under the edge of the bed, to retrieve later as a delightful surprise for her partner.

Roy is far from the only one Riza's had - she's had several conquests under her belt (usually quite literally), but there is no doubt that Roy is one of her most favored, and also her latest and most proud achievement; only recently has she finally got him to not only re-embrace his dressing tendencies, but also his enthusiastically submissive sexual preferences. In layman's terms, he is very much a bottom - and like most aspects of his character, this is usually cleverly hidden beneath his surface. But like any buried treasure, it was both delightful and delightfully rewarding to uncover.

It's taken a few years for them to reach this level of comfort with each other - even longer to discover and accept these qualities about themselves.

Those early years were terribly awkward - mostly just terrible. They were still reeling from the slaughter they'd been forced to carry out in Ishval, desperately laying the groundwork for the rash, idealistic plan Roy formed in response, and generally just trying to come to grips with the frightening adulthood they'd been thrust into after their idyllic childhood dreams had been shattered. Sex and romance were far from their minds for a long time - they simply did their best to maintain even a shadow of their former friendship within their new dynamic, remolded into something cold and formal, haunted by specters of death from both the past and the future.

But eventually, Riza's empty heart yearned for sustenance in silent, suffering cries, and Roy drowned his own in so much booze and loose women he was practically dizzy with misery. It figures it would take a team of cheeky subordinates and Hughes' prodding to get them to even acknowledge the tension between them.

Ah, Maes... she misses him so much.

He made this whole "relationship" thing look so easy. Of course, that was all part of the trick - he and Gracia were frighteningly good at hiding their uglier qualities . But just as much, they made it clear how much work a stable, life-long relationship took to stay that way. She learned a lot in her conversations with them.

Such as, how to be unafraid to take the lead in a bedroom situation in which one's doof of a partner keeps trying to top you when it's clear his heart's not into it, but he's fooled himself into believing otherwise. Then how to embrace one's power as you lay upon him, riding him until he's a trembling, starry-eyed mess underneath you, and you can feel a whole world of possibilities opening up between you.

After that, it's mostly a matter of communication - "Just keep talking," Maes always said. Which they did, and still do.

But with all their progress, there is still the lingering question of whether this "relationship" of theirs was truly romantic or not. Riza and Roy were definitely more than friends by now, and their mutual devotion to each other was unshakable - and yet, neither of them have felt a great need to commit to the other wholly and completely, no matter what the circulating rumors would imply.

...And besides, the very last thing either of them want is to be tied to each other that way, considering their troubled pasts and already-stifling professional lives - and Roy knows better than to impose such a thing on her.

So, you could call them lovers, sure - but there was still nothing entirely traditional about their coupling. Perhaps it's only fair - they'd always had a penchant for quietly rebelling against tradition.

Speaking of, a lovely image of rebellion finally enters the room and makes himself known with a small cough.

Riza turns to see Roy standing at her bedroom's entrance, freshened up, comfortable, and ready to be at her mercy. He's washed his face clean of makeup, and removed his earrings and high-heeled shoes (his stance is more relaxed now that he isn't balancing precariously on them), but otherwise, he remains fully dressed.

Riza cocks an eyebrow as she looks him up and down - she herself still wears her button-down shirt to cover her back and shoulders (again, for obvious reasons), but leaves its front wide open, revealing her to be wearing nothing else besides her underwear. Her bra is dark and lacy, modest enough to cover half of her breasts, but only that much, leaving a healthy amount of cleavage showing. Her panties appear average, but closer inspection shows them to be of thin, lacy material that leaves little to the imagination in terms of her curves.

It suits her - Riza may appear modest at a surface level, but she is still very much a woman with wants and needs. And now, she acts upon those needs.

She retrieves the first toy of choice from the bed - a long, thin riding crop, made for use on humans instead of animals. Its tip is of a softened leather, nothing that will draw blood or severe welting, but will certainly bring sharp, painful pleasure with enough speed and force. Riza prefers this over a paddle, as she enjoys the long, precise strikes she can create with it. This, and its natural connection to Roy's surname, made it too amusingly appropriate to pass up.

Roy, also aware of this, smiles with amusement as Riza approaches him with the crop in hand, swishing it lightly.

"Finally ready, are you?" Riza teases, easing into her dominant tone as she eases them into their roleplay for the night. "You know I don't like waiting too long."

"My apologies, Lieutenant," Roy replies. "I only wanted to be... properly ready for your enjoyment." His voice and expression is demure, but still holds the ever-present air of cockiness that Riza is always eager to challenge - and eventually break.

She makes this intention clear as she circles him, crop in-hand, touching lightly along his curves with her other hand and drinking him in with her eyes, as if he were a sacrificial maiden brought to the mouth of her cave. She finds herself pinching at the fabric of his dress where the slightly-torn slit is.

She meets his eyes. "Still want me to tear it off?"

Roy flutters his lashes, still smiling. "If it pleases you, Lieutenant."

Riza clicks her tongue, feigning disapproval. "Shameless. You're practically begging for it."

"Not quite, but I am very eager."

Riza shakes her head, chuckling. "Of course you are."

But she begins to think of this more seriously, studying Roy's face, and she can't tell if he's suggesting this out of wine-fueled lust or otherwise. Perhaps he's eager to be rid of the dress so he doesn't end up banishing it to the back of his closet after tonight, like he's done to so many other garments - left to gather dust for months on end when he falls into another depressive spell.

Either way, Riza ultimately decides against it.

"It is tempting... but it'd be such a shame, don't you think? Your sister worked hard to finish it in time, and you do look so lovely in it. I think there's still some... uses to be had." She lets her words drip like honey, watching Roy's smile widen ever-so-slightly as he hears them.

Roy purses his lips and nods. "True enough."

Then Riza draws closer, slipping her hand fully into his hip, feeling the skin of his ass and the lacy edges of his underwear, growling softly. "And don't worry - I'll have you begging yet."

Roy trembles deliciously at the touch, and she doesn't miss the suppression of a moan in his throat.

And so their play begins in earnest - Riza leading with possessive touches, stern commands and flicks of her riding crop, while Roy submits to her with expectant looks and quiet responses, only speaking to answer her.

"Now- I want you to be still, and quiet. You are not just my Colonel, you are my toy - a lovely, pretty toy, to do with as I please. Toys don't move or talk back. And they are not allowed to touch me until I say so. Understand?"

"Yes, Lieutenant."

"No matter how close... or how tempting..." She draws even closer to Roy's front, snaking her arms about his waist and pressing her body flush against his. "You... will not move."

She savors the feel of his body against hers, her breasts pressing against the quickening breaths of his chest, his bulge twitching slightly near her hips. She traces the curves of his backside with her hands as she dips her head into the crook of his neck to breathe in his scent.

"Yes," Roy whispers, strained and breathless. His arms tense at his sides, and the rest of him trembles, no doubt fighting every urge inside him to reciprocate her touch. With her body exposed and in such close proximity, it would be very, very easy.

But, he does not move. After drinking her fill, Riza draws away and smiles up at him, smug. "Impressive," she purrs. "Who would guess that the great Colonel Mustang was so good at following orders?"

Roy relaxes, catching his breath for a moment. "Only when they're from you, Lieutenant," he says softly, fluttering his lidded eyes again. Even without most of his makeup, he is still beautiful - soft cheekbones, almond-shaped eyes, full lips and dark hair - and with the light in his eyes and rosy redness dusting his cheeks, he seems so soft, so demure, so... feminine.

Hmm... Perhaps this is another opportunity to prod his insecurities into a more confident light.

"Aw- so sweet. So eager," Riza purrs, rubbing circles into Roy's hips with her thumbs. She watches his face as he savors the sensation, squirming against her touch, barely suppressing small moans and a tiny smile.

She makes her move. "You're such a good girl."

Roy's eyes widen at the words, and his blush darkens - but he says nothing, and doesn't show any obvious signs of protest or discomfort. Actually, Riza can almost hear a small sigh escaping him... Perhaps she was correct after all in referring to Roy as a woman earlier.

The opposite could still be true, of course. Maybe he was just in the mood for being feminized tonight - he did have a thing for humiliation - but if that were true, he wouldn't have spent so much effort in dressing up for the occasion, would have settled for a slapdash mockery of an outfit for the full 'sissy-ing' effect. That and he would have called the 'madam' gesture earlier unwanted, not unnecessary. So Riza feels confident in her first assumption.

But, just to make sure... Riza draws close again, not to tease, but to whisper in his ear. "You don't protest this, do you, madam?"

Roy's breath hitches, throat swallowing. "I- Erm. N- not if it pleases you, Lieutenant."

Riza's hands travel up his backside again, this time to rub comforting circles into his back. "It's not all for my pleasure - it's for yours as well, you know this."

"Mmm." Roy hums nervously, dips his head with a nod to confirm. Whether it's for the feminine pronouns isn't entirely clear, though - poor thing, perhaps his head won't let him get the words out.

Riza sighs lightly, kissing small apologies into his neck and collar bones. "You know our safe words," she murmurs in her normal tone. "Tell me when it's too much."

"Mhm." Roy grunts to confirm again, but this time he sounds more sure of himself - herself, rather. Riza decides she will address Roy as such, if only for tonight, and until she says otherwise. She will be regarded as any other female lover - she is beautiful, after all.

"Good," Riza says aloud, picking up her dominant tone again. "Because you are lovely, madam- ravishing, even."

She continues pressing her lips along Roy's neck and shoulder, tracing the line of the halter-style straps that travel up and to the back of his neck. She catches some of it in her teeth, lifts her hands to the knot holding them together, and in one swift motion, unties the top of Roy's dress so that it falls away around her waist, fully exposing her chest.

Riza is mildly disappointed, but not entirely surprised, to see Roy was not sporting a bra underneath. Ah well.

Instead Roy startles, flushing further, and her arms jerk upward and inward as if ready to cover herself - no doubt ashamed of how unflatteringly not-feminine her body is. Riza stops this with gentle hands on Roy's wrists, maintaining eye contact.

"Like I said - you are one of a kind, completely unique, madam," Riza says. "Always have been. Frankly, I feel honored to have someone so precious in my company tonight."

Roy relaxes at this, eyes softening with warmth and appreciation. And Riza smiles - but just to prove her point, she moves her hands to Roy's breasts, tracing her curves, and teases at her nipples. She pinches one between two fingers, drawing a small groan from her.

Riza watches Roy's face, savoring the way she squirms under her slightest of touches - and then dips, bringing her lips to Roy's captive nipple, catching it in her teeth, lightly licking and nibbling. This brings out more and louder groans from Roy, chest starting to heave from her breathing - and yet she is as still as she can be, still keeping her arms lowered and making no moves to reciprocate the touch.

But Riza only pushes her further - she continues her ministrations as her free hand reaches down and around to the front of Roy's hips, to the small bulge in the fabric between her legs. She grasps at it, feeling the warm, twitching head of a cock, and Roy gasps softly.

"Gorgeous," Riza whispers into Roy's skin, relinquishing her nipple. "So beautiful. How jealous our squadron would be of me, having our lovely Miss Colonel all to myself."

She moves her lips to Roy's other breast, and continues her worship of her partner's chest with her mouth, and of her cock with her fingers, gently stroking Roy through the layers of fabric. All the while, Roy is a twitching, sighing, moaning little mess.

Riza chuckles, and whispers into Roy's other breast as well. "One day, they'll see you in all your glory. They'll understand just how lucky I am. Maybe the whole country will, someday..."

At this, Roy tenses slightly, her moans and squirms subsiding. A pallor seems to fall over her, and she chuckles darkly under her breath. "Hah- That'll never happen..."

Riza stops her movements, relinquishing her hold and drawing away. Giving Roy a glowering look, she raises her riding crop and strikes at Roy's thighs, drawing a small cry from her.

"I said no talking," Riza tuts. "Especially so negatively. Bad girl."

Roy grunts in response, lowering her eyes and head in shame, submission - but it isn't clear whether the punishment was entirely welcome.

Riza reaches up to cup Roy's chin, gently lifting her head and forcing her to lock eyes - a common tactic she uses to assess her partner's state of being without breaking character. It's also handy in her play with Roy, as a way to make her feel smaller, despite how she physically dwarfs Riza by a significant amount.

Right now, gazing into Roy's dark eyes, she sees them to be twitching and slightly reddened with moisture - signs of an inner pain, a great sadness. Something between her words and touches may have brought about another wave of dysphoria in Roy - well, time to remedy that.

"I said you are beautiful," Riza says sternly, never breaking eye contact. "And I am in control right now, so what I say, goes. Understand?"

Roy lowers her eyes for a moment, wetting her lips nervously. Riza brandishes her crop again, now to tap it upon Roy's hip - like a race horse, it is not to harm, but to let her know it is there.

"You are a beautiful, smart, powerful young woman," Riza commands. "And I won't hear otherwise, or you'll get punished again. Do you understand?"

Roy shivers, caught between Riza's hold and her crop, and it would not be unexpected for her to bring out a safe word now - but she instead she relaxes, and meets Riza's eyes again. The gloom that seemed to take hold of her is ebbing away, replaced with that familiar light of confidence that Roy wears so well. Her breathing evens out, and she gives a small nod.

Riza smiles. "Good girl. You were doing well beforehand - I think you're due for a reward."

She releases her hold on Roy's chin and lowers the riding crop, allowing Roy a moment to relax. She deposits the crop back on the bed, leaving her hands free to take Roy by the waist. Another sigh escapes Roy as Riza holds her, then leans forward to kiss at her breasts again. "Come now, I have just the thing."

Then Riza gently pulls her towards the bed, leading her by the waist, almost like a dance - one in which her partner is carefully undressed as they glide across the floor. By the time Roy has been spun about and settled into a sitting position on the bed, her dress has been pulled down to gather around her knees, then her ankles, and then the smooth fabric has pooled onto the floor.

And just as she's been looking forward to all night, Riza sees the full extent of the dark, lacy leggings and garters Roy was wearing underneath, complementing her long, slender legs, complete with a pair of panties that can hardly contain her erect cock by now. She looks positively scrumptious.

Riza casts long, hungry looks across her form. Her hands drink in the sensation of Roy's legs encased in the thin, silky material as they travel down from her knees, then up from her ankles, settling above her thighs where her bare skin peeks out.

Riza hooks a finger around one of the garter-straps holding up the leggings as she locks eyes with Roy again. "My, my- You've certainly dressed yourself up for tonight," she purrs.

Roy flutters her lashes again, and lets her voice heighten in pitch and soften in tone to lean more into her femininity: "Well, of course- a proper toy should look nice for her master, after all."

Riza grins, equally excited from Roy's tease and embracing of her gender. But, needing to keep up the play, she lets her smile turn wolfish. "You're so eager to please - too eager."

Her finger holding the garter-strap pulls away, stretching the material, then lets go, making it snap against Roy's thigh-skin. Roy bristles at the sensation and lets out a startled cry that's clearly exaggerated, then bites at her lower lip, whimpering softly. Ever the actor, she sells it extravagantly well.

Riza stifles a giggle as she rises to her feet. "You naughty little thing - you'll get your just desserts, but I suppose I'll give you your reward first. Lay down on your stomach."

Roy obeys, flashing a coy smile as she lowers herself onto the bed and rolls over, leaving her backside facing up. She folds her arms under the pillow and rests her head above them, arcing her back in such a way to show off as much of her round ass as possible in her new position.

Riza doesn't bother to stifle another laugh as she watches Roy, walking around the bed at the same time toward her nightstand. From it she retrieves a small, sweet-smelling bottle, and pours an oily substance from it into her hands, smelling even stronger. She rubs it between her palms as she joins Roy on the bed, sitting beside the other's hips.

"Since you've been so stressed lately, I'll give you a little massage - then you'll be nice and relaxed for what I have next."

Roy hums in response, rising into a small moan at Riza begins working her oil-encased hands into her shoulders. She works her way down, rubbing out the remaining knots of tension in Roy's muscles, all along her spine until she's reached her hips. She pinches at the beginnings of a larger person's love handles peeking out above Roy's pelvis, and when she looks up again, she sees that Roy has sunk so deeply into her pillow she looks almost half-asleep. Which won't do at all - Riza quietly unhooks Roy's garters, pushes down the hem of her leggings, widens the leg-holes of her panties, then takes a firm hold of Roy's asscheeks with both hands.

Roy startles back into awareness, moaning and twitching her hips as Riza kneads her asscheeks vigorously, clearly not for any clinical reason - merely to revel in the smooth, soft roundness of them, so much like perfect little balls of dough.

"Mmm," Riza hums, "You naughty thing - I keep telling you to lay off the sugar, and yet here you are, with your chubby little ass."

She eases up on her ministrations a little, giving Roy a chance to catch her breath and respond. She turns her head on the pillow to not-quite look back at her. "You know I can't help my tastes, Lieutenant - I simply won't settle for less."

"'Settle,' hm? Getting uppity, arent' we?" Riza growls. "Time to put you back in your place, then." And she demonstrates by drawing back, lifting an arm, and striking Roy's exposed ass with an open-handed slap. The little dough-balls jiggle deliciously with the force, and Roy cries out in both surprise and arousal, tensing and arcing her back.

"Oh, do you not like that? Too bad," Riza tuts, and spanks her again, then again for good measure, drawing a similar response each time - a jolt that sends Roy's body writhing, and a thrill of excitement through Riza's being.

"I've been nice to you so far, but you're far overdue for some punishment," Riza says, standing off from the bed and wiping off her oily hands on a nearby hand-towel. She retrieves her riding crop and stands by Roy's bedside, towering over her prone form.

"Oh no- please don't," Roy whimpers, exaggerating it as usual, as she can barely hide the excited smile that plays at the edges of her lips. Riza doesn't doubt that her own face looks the same. This kind of roleplay has been a favorite of theirs for several years, though tonight's exploration of Roy's gender has put an exciting new twist on it. Either way, Roy's protests are only a part of the play - never take her at her word, after all. If she really wanted to stop, she'd use their safe words.

Riza smiles devilishly. "You've been a very bad girl." And with one hand bracing against the small of Roy's back, she lifts her riding crop and begins whipping it vigorously against Roy's ass.

Whack! Whack! "You've been hanging around far too many other girls - you're just like them now. A proper slut, aren't you?" Riza's dirty-talk is as relentless as her blows. She relishes this role - it's ideal for satisfying her needs and venting her frustrations, considering the hardships she has endured, and will only continue to.

Whack! Whack! "And you love this, don't you? I can see you getting harder down there. Simply shameless." Roy's ass turns pink, then bright red in color as the blows continue, and her cries only grow in pitch and frequency. Soon she's making muffled groans into her pillow, face fully buried into it.

Whack! Whack! "Just look at you - your big round ass out in the open. Just imagine if the others saw you like this - the whole team coming in one morning and seeing you bent over your desk."

Whack! Whack! "Even better - imagine we're at another one of those parties, your slutty ass on full display for everyone to see."

Roy bucks her hips, hissing through her teeth. "No, please," she says, "Ah- anything but that-"

WHACK! An especially hard blow. "Quiet! You know you'd love it, you little whore. You're imagining it right now. All those guests, all those Generals, everyone looking at you so hungrily."

Roy dips her head back into her pillow again, stifling a loud groan.

Whack-whack! "Your reputation ruined in an instant - instead everyone knows Roy Mustang as the biggest whore in Amestris, putting out for anyone to get what she wants. Instead of the top you're going straight to the bottom, under every cock they plow into you. But don't worry- I won't let them touch you, not one of them. Not until I've had my fun first."

Another strike, and then a few more, and now Roy was just writhing against the bed, clutching her pillow like a lifeline, ass cheeks resembling a pair of ripe tomatoes, her cock wetting her panties with precum. From what Riza can see, her eyes are squeezed tightly closed and leaking a few tears - she was reaching her limit.

Riza gives her one last whack for finality, but without the usual force, more of a love-tap than anything else. "There- have you learned your lesson, little lady?"

She pauses to allow Roy to recover - and herself as well, letting her arm rest and her adrenaline and arousal to subside. The silence sinks in for a few moments.

Roy pants, breathing herself back into coherence. When she can speak clearly, her voice is watery. "N-no... Please, Lieutenant, give me more. I've been so bad- the worst..."

Riza chuckles, but she's slightly concerned - normally Roy would play along and say she's had enough. "Aw- but your poor little bottom looks so sore," she says, petting at Roy's bright red backside.

"I need it," Roy murmurs into her pillow. "I- I deserve it." Her voice is quiet, near-whispering, and edging dangerously close to a sob. Ah- she's dipped back into her self-loathing, poor thing. Maybe the roleplay went too far again...

Riza changes her petting to a soothing rub, and her tone to something softer. "Easy, now- I say whether you've had enough. I'm in charge, remember?"

She rubs at Roy's backside, gently, massaging away the tension that's recollected there - soon Roy is relaxing again, and she hums in response. "Mm..."

"Tell you what," Riza continues, "Be a good girl and hang in there just a little bit longer, and I'll give you what you really deserve."

Roy seems to perk up a little at this, shifting her head to glance behind her. As she does, Riza retrieves another bottle from her nightstand - from it, she pours a cool, slick liquid onto her hands, and she rubs her palms together to warm it with her body heat.

She notices Roy's eyes brightening across the bed, and Riza grins. "That's right - time to make you nice and loose. Spread your legs for me."

Roy obeys, even more enthusiastically than Riza predicted - she not only spreads her legs, she shimmies them to and fro as she hooks into her panties and leggings with her thumbs and shrugs them down, pushing them down to her knees and exposing herself fully.

"Oh ho," Riza chuckles as she approaches Roy again. "Trying hard to be a good girl again, aren't you?"

"Only for you, Lieutenant," Roy responds, in a voice that's somewhere between a sweet little housewife and an amateur prostitute, maybe both at once.

Riza can only laugh. "You're adorable," she says, dipping into sincerity for a moment. This colors Roy's cheeks with another embarrassed blush.

She reddens further as Riza gently spreads her ass with her hands, giving easy access to her hole. "Now, don't come yet," she warns. "Only when I say you can, or you won't get your reward."

"Yes," Roy breathes.

And Riza enters her, carefully, with a lubed finger - she stops as Roy hisses and tenses, waits for her to adjust. Once she feels the muscles relax and Roy gives a signal, Riza pushes in further, and repeats the process until she can fit a second finger inside.

Roy makes all sorts of noises and movements in her efforts to not come - she even arcs her back and lifts her hips so that her dribbling cock hangs limply in the air between her thighs, denying herself any physical contact.

Luckily it doesn't take very long until she's ready - there's hardly any resistance once Riza pulls out her fingers. She pats Roy's ass affectionately. "What a good girl... Stay right there."

And now Riza finally pulls out what she's been waiting all night to use - her latest and most prized toy so far, a strap-on harness and dildo she'd hidden just under the edge of her bed. She steps into it and begins clipping it on, stifling another excited giggle. "Now, turn around."

Roy rolls onto her back in time to see Riza tightening the strap-on and giving an experimental tug on the dildo - when they lock eyes, the roleplay breaks down for a few moments as they flash each other giddy, excited grins.

This is slightly new territory for both of them - in the past, Riza would usually pump a dildo in and out of Roy by hand, sometimes plugging it in while stroking her off to finish. The mechanics aren't so different here, but the manner of applying them definitely is, and they're both equally excited for it.

Riza is quick to clear her throat and get back to business. "Ahem- that's right, I'm going to fuck you just like you want, you little whore."

Roy's eyes grow to saucer-width, practically sparkling, and she nods enthusiastically. Riza applies a layer of lube to the dildo, then steps forward, smiling as she watches Roy scoot herself closer to the foot of the bed. She dutifully lifts her knees, allowing Riza to take hold of them and pull her panties and leggings off of her legs completely, leaving her completely naked and oh-so vulnerable.

Riza lifts Roy's knees to rest on her shoulders, grasps her thighs, and carefully guides the tip of the dildo toward Roy's entrance - all the while brimming with excitement and arousal at this new position. She pushes the dildo inside with one hand, uses the other to brace Roy's thigh, all the while glancing between it and Roy's face to make sure she isn't hurting her. She pauses when she notices Roy wincing, continues when Roy nods to urge her on, and soon enough, half of the dildo is securely inside. Then, with a hand still covered in leftover lube, she finally takes hold of Roy's cock, hot and tremulous in her grip.

Roy was moaning loudly at this point, more from pleasure than pain, squirming around the dildo with a need for more friction. Riza takes ones last opportunity to tease her. "Yes - you love it, you slut. You can come now, but you wouldn't have much choice in the matter with such a big cock in your ass."

"Oh, please," Roy whimpers.

Riza smiles. "Told you I'd make you beg."

And slowly, Riza begins bucking her hips, working the phallus deeper and deeper until she's buried it to the hilt inside her partner. Then she carefully pulls out, gives a moment for them both to breathe, then works it back in again, and in this way she slowly and carefully fucks Roy at an easy rhythm as they acclimate to the toy. All the while she strokes at Roy's cock lightly, and just as slowly.

And Roy just writhes against her, twitching and moaning with an open, lolling mouth, her sounds lilting back and forth in time with their movements. She does her best to keep pace with Riza's movements in the grind of her hips, even as she aches for more, occasionally bucking against her in silent pleas for more. Her hands twitch uselessly at her sides 'till she digs her fingers into the bedsheets beneath her, grabbing fistfuls of fabric in a vicegrip.

"Please- harder, please," Roy whines between sharp gasps of breath, not quite looking at anything, her eyes glazed over with pleasure.

Riza can only comply. She hums with satisfaction as she picks up the pace, faster and harder in both her thrusting and stroking. Soon she's pounding Roy senselessly, the haze of lust taking over completely as she gives into the raw, primal nature of their copulation. The slapping of skin, the deep grunts and moans, the all-consuming heat - the appeal of this action for natural phallus-owners is crystal clear to her now.

Riza's only regret is that she can't feel anything through the dildo - she could more accurately hit Roy's prostate otherwise. But going hard and deep like this seems to do the trick just fine, and she gets more than enough pleasure from just this - the feel of her hips slamming against Roy's, her cock pulsing against her fingers, watching her come undone just beneath her.

By now, Riza's own womanhood was throbbing within the confines of her undergarments, because on top of everything else, the base of the dildo presses deliciously against her clitoral area every time she thrusts forward. She can feel her cunt wetting into the fabric of her panties, and again she half-wonders if she may lose her composure before Roy for a moment.

Only a moment, as the evidence is to the contrary.

Roy is completely senseless now - body shuddering, eyes rolling back, mouth hanging open with loud, strained cries. Any words she's saying are barely coherent, but they seem to be the usual - 'god,' 'yes,' 'please,' and 'more.'

The 'yes'es become more pronounced as Roy approaches her edge, squeezing tears from her eyes as her wails grow into high-pitched whines. Riza's nearly breathless with the effort of her thrusting, but she finds the lung capacity to choke out one last command.

"Yes, yes- come for me, Roy."

And with one last, deep thrust and a hard stroke of her cock, Roy finally does, and hard.

Her body locks in place for a moment, then shudders violently as shockwaves course through her, undulating her spine and rocking her trembling hips and thighs. Her throbbing red cock sprays copious amounts of cum across her chest and stomach, and her cries rise into a loud, long scream of pleasure that peters out into a deep, satisfied groan.

The reaction is so intense that for a moment, Riza's instinct is to fear she's hurt her - but then she remembers that Roy hasn't had this kind of action for nearly a year, on top of the drawn-out foreplay. And besides, she's always been embarrassingly loud.

Breathless as she watches her, Riza gently squeezes droplets from Roy's shuddering cock as she rides out her tremors, at the same time pulling her hips away to remove the dildo, resisting every urge in her to keep thrusting toward her own climax, not wanting to overwhelm Roy further and having a better idea for that anyway.

She briefly presses her lips to one of Roy's thighs. "Beautiful... absolutely gorgeous... You did so well," she whispers, a little hoarse.

She forces her trembling hands to lower Roy's legs, then unwork the belts of her strap-on to pull it down and off. She kicks aside the toy unceremoniously - she'll clean it later. For now, she has a much more pressing need. She crawls onto Roy on the bed, grasping along the curves of her body - Roy feels so relaxed beneath her hands that she's surprised she can still feel bones inside her, not having turned to mush from the heat enveloping her entire being.

Trembling and weaker in the hips than she predicted, Riza drudges up the last of her composure to make one last demand as she straddles Roy's stomach. "Huff- We're not done yet- You- you still have a mess to clean up, slut."

Roy hardly notices her, still swimming in the sea of post-orgasm bliss, but Riza nonetheless begins tugging down her panties, a significant wet spot in their center. She stands on her knees to pull them down and fully expose her dripping cunt, and at this, Roy finally takes notice.

Riza scoots closer, moving her hips up and past Roy's chest. "Time to - huff - use that whore mouth of yours for something useful- Ah- Pleasure me, Roy." Her tone falters toward the end, between her exhaustion and her precariously-desperate need.

Roy's eyes widen, but she grunts and nods, probably too tired and hoarse to respond verbally. She adjusts herself to grab Riza's hips, savoring her curves with her hands as she urges Riza's slickness closer. Then she's sitting squarely upon Roy's face, her legs spread out across her pillow as her lower lips meet Roy's own.

Roy's silver tongue wasn't just skilled in conversation, and begins to eagerly demonstrate the many techniques she employs to garner so much popularity with women in her suave bachelor persona. She quickly parts Riza's slit with her tongue, darting at and around her clitoris and drawing shockwaves from her; she moves down to her vaginal opening to stroke along its rim to bring her shivers; and all the while, her fingers work themselves into the curves of Riza's ass to tease at her other end.

Roy works faster, deeper, employing every part of her mouth to service her partner, and Riza is quickly reduced to a moaning, twitching mess atop her. She grasps the bed's headboard to brace herself against Roy's ministrations, and as much as she'd love to draw this out and savor it further, the coil in her belly and sparks in her veins are already too tight and hot to be denied their climax.

Then Roy begins sucking upon her clitoris, and any attempts to continue their play, or speak at all, fall apart as quickly as Riza does. Her orgasm quickly crashes through her and leaves her as a deep, loud groan, stars speckling the back of her darkening vision.

And yet Roy is relentless, continuing her licking and suckling as Riza trembles and wails above her, lapping up her juices like a hungry animal. Perhaps she was enacting some kind of revenge, or was simply insistent on giving Riza some fraction of the pleasure she'd dished out - either way, Roy continues eating her out for a little while more, overstimulating her until she's too tired to continue.

Roy signals this with a gentle push, urging Riza off of her. She does so, all but flopping onto the other side of the bed as Roy scoots herself back towards her pillow and catches her breath. Riza has to close her eyes for a while, so great is her exhaustion - she stops short of falling asleep, however, forcing her eyes open to check in on Roy.

Roy is a sight to behold now - naked, hair a mess, skin splotchy, face and chest covered in semen and fluids, not to mention the welts and oils decorating her backside - and she is only more beautiful than before. Her half-lidded eyes hardly register the world around her, dark and sparkling like a night in the clear-skied countryside, pooling with leftover moisture and a deep, satisfied pleasure.

"Roy." Riza speaks softly to get her attention. Roy opens her eyes fully to look at her, and the sparkle of her eyes brightens further.

She rolls to her side and extends her arms to wrap around Riza's shoulders, drawing her in for a hug. "Thank you," Roy whispers hoarsely. "Thank you so much."

Riza chuckles against her chest. "So you enjoyed yourself?"

"Yes- God, yes. More than that, I- You were right. I... I needed that."

Riza pulls back her head, enough to meet Roy's eyes again. "Even calling you 'madam?'

Roy blinks, once, twice, breathes out slowly. "I... Yeah. Yeah, even that."

Riza smiles. "So I guessed right."

Roy laughs, a weak, breathy sound in her throat. "I think you officially know me too well, now."

"I only do my best, madam," Riza says, a breathless little tease.

"You certainly do - and you are. You're the best, Riza," Roy whispers, giving her a half-hearted but nonetheless tender kiss to the lips - which is wet and tastes of Riza's own essence, but she pays it no mind.

When they pull away, silence settles in again, and they simply lay there, watching each other breathing, drifting slowly towards unconsciousness - until a thought crosses Riza's mind. Truthfully it's more like a small worry that's plagued her all through their copulation, and she feels the need to voice it before she falls asleep and forgets it completely.

"Um- I should ask. What should I call you?"

Roy, almost half-asleep again, opens an eye. "Mm?"

"I mean- if you're serious about... this," Riza gestures vaguely, "Is there another name you would prefer?"

Roy closes her eyes, squeezes both, then wipes a hand across her face, groaning softly. "Erm- I don't... really know, honestly. It's still..."

She blinks a few times again, and when she leaves them open, there's that distant, burning look in her eyes, the one she wears every time she snaps a flame into being - no, this is different. This is quieter, more introspective. She's searching inside herself, but not for any Alchemical formula or dark, terrible memory.

"...I'm still figuring it out," she says finally. "Roy is still fine, I don't really mind. I mean, I'm not even sure if this is even... well, a real thing. Maybe it's just for tonight. Or nights like this - you know, just for the roleplay-"

Riza silences her with a finger to her lips. "I get it," she chuckles. "Whatever it is, you don't have to justify it to me, you know."

Roy smiles around her finger, but there's something sad in her expression. "I know- I think I'm justifying it to myself more than anything."

Riza hums sadly, moving her hand instead to brush aside Roy's mussed bangs. "I'll only ask what I always do - talk to me. Tell me everything - or at least, anything I can do to make this easier. I don't want to have to push you again, like tonight."

She cups Roy's cheek with her palm, and Roy sighs and leans into it, closing her eyes. Her throat moves, but she says nothing - perhaps nothing more needs to be said, for now.

"Listen- whatever you are - or want to be - I will support you. Always. Just like I promised," Riza says, just to put it in words that Roy can hear, making it absolutely clear and unshakable.

Roy opens her eyes, soft with moisture again. "Even into hell..." she murmurs.

"Even into hell," Riza echoes, and she withdraws her hand and lays back, letting her eyes be pulled shut by the waves of exhaustion and bliss that still lap at her. She watches Roy one last time as her vision unfocuses and drifts into dreamless sleep.

Her last conscious thought is of Roy - her, him or otherwise - and how lucky she feels to be the retainer of such a proud, beautiful flame.

END.

#royai #trans roy #trans royai #sub roy #dom riza #jeminy3 art #jeminy writes

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cassandra-pentughasst · 5 years ago

Note

👀

Thanks frand!I’m going to put this under a cut because its looong.

She almost didn’t recognise her. Not at first. She knew they’d been apart for so long but it still takes her breath away. In a good way. In a way that makes her heart ache in her chest at all the time lost between them.

Their separation was her doing, so she has no one to blame but herself. But it doesn’t make her feel any less foolish. Any less lovestruck or giddy at the sight of her. Something she never felt at the sight of anyone else, even when she was trying to prove a point.

A point that didn’t need proving.

She wasn’t really sure what they were anymore. Not after Cassandra’s silence when she’d asked her to give her space. After everything they’d been through together in such a short span of time Ellana just wanted to be absolutely certain. Wanted to make sure that everything she was feeling was real, deep and intangible as her feelings were. Wanted to make sure they weren’t just a result of the situation they both found themselves thrown into. Needed to be certain about really. Because so much about her feelings scared her in an irrational way. Made her feel weak because of the things she was willing to do for her feelings. For Cassandra.

She knew when after three months without hearing from Cassandra that she’d made a mistake.

Didn’t know what to feel when Cassandra didn’t reply to her letters.

She wanted to drop everything and run away to the Hunterhorns. But she couldn’t. Not when she was still needed for appearances sake. Not when her work finding the last of the breaches had her half a continent away, or across the waking sea.

Soon her mind was occupied by the disappearances of the elves. Whole clans had just vanished. City elves were disappearing as well and even Leliana’s network was at a loss. Whatever was happening was well organised by someone who knew what they were doing. But was something bad happening? She knew most of Thedas cared little for the Elvhen people but it worried her that so many could go missing and no one thought to look.

The whispers in her dreams give her no clues beyond “Dread Wolf”. But it makes no sense that a long dead god of a fallen civilization could have a hand in such a thing. That's what she tries to tell herself when the whispers grow stronger in certain places. When they’re no longer contained by dreams.

Time passes in a blur for her and after almost two years of being away from it she finally returns to Skyhold. Only to find it no longer feels like home. Not without her companions. Without Cassandra. She feels lost in her own quarters. Too many happy memories cling to every part of the space. The fireplace wasn’t as welcoming without Cassandra there to stoke it, knowing how much she disliked the cold after Haven. Her bed was too big, to empty without her there, without her smell clinging to the sheets. The lounge felt like a waste of space so she spends most of her nights curled up in the armchair in the alcove above her bed. Can almost hear Cassandra admonishing her to look after herself better every time she tries to ease the tension out of her shoulders the mornings she wakes up in an awkward position after falling asleep the night before.

She’s surprised she lasted the month she did before she packs her bags and is back on the road again. She left before anyone could stop her, slipping out before dawn with her horse and a note left on Josephine's desk telling her she was going to find something that was important to her and not to worry.

It's how she found herself here, road weary and tired in the midday sun at a loss for words.

There was no denying that Cassandra had done a lot of work in her absence, and part of Ellana worries that she may have driven her to overwork in such a way just to keep herself occupied. She saw something that needed doing, so she did it. Which was exactly what she had done.

She hadn’t really thought this part of her plan through. Not really. As focussed as she was on just getting here she didn’t think about how Cassandra would react to seeing her. If she would even want her there.

But in her travelling cloak and oversized hood she supposes she blends into the scenery because no pays her any notice and she uses the time to take in her surroundings. There are a few people sparring in a makeshift ring with a handful of people watching, one of them yelling instructions every now and then. People are going about their daily tasks around her and it's such a comfort to hear chatter and laughter after so long on the road on her own with only the whispers and her own thoughts for company.

She’s surprised when someone approaches her, forgetting for a moment that she's a part of the surroundings that shes observing.

“Can I help you?” a tall dark haired young man asks her.

“I - yes I suppose. I was hoping to see Ca- Seeker Pentaghast? And for a place to stable my horse?” Ellana replies smoothly, almost fumbling Cassandra’s name “She’s not expecting me so if she’s busy I understand.”

Part of her is convinced it's still a foolish plan on her part. But she hasn’t turned back yet. And she's not going to now that she’s finally here.

“Come with me,” he replies with a small smile and Ellana follows him through the keep until they reach the stables. She watches him as he helps get her mare settled in a free stall, and decides that she likes him. She feels rude for not having taken her hood off yet, but having her face hidden is a comfort, grants her an anonymity that she savours after being one of the most watched people in all of Thedas for so long.

“My names Samuel, Sam” he says holding out his hand. “I’m her apprentice.”

Ellana hesitates, it's not like her name is distinctive but she doesn’t know how much Cassandra might have told them all about her. If she told them anything about her at all.

“Ellana, nice to meet you,” She replies shaking his hand in return. “Though I don’t know if I should congratulate you or give you my sympathies, Seeker Pentagahst is a hard taskmaster,”

“I will admit some days I wonder what I’ve signed myself up for,” Sam laughs “But she cares and has a good heart.”

“That she does,” Ellana sighs.

“You know her?” Sam asks curiously.

“Once. It's been a while since we last saw each other though so I’m not entirely sure why I’m here or if she even wants to speak to me. Or why I’m telling you that,” Ellana laughs softly.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Sam says optimistically. “She doesn’t get visitors, but last I saw she was with the Quartermaster.”

The Quartermaster is close to the stables and she has little time to gather her thoughts before she sees her and finds herself almost struck dumb at the sight of her.

It takes her a moment to realise that the woman in front of her actually is her. Another moment to notice how well her arms fill out the sleeves of her shirt. How strong and healthy she looks, skin darker than she remembers, but still radiant. Still something she dreams about touching, the memories of it keeping her warm on some of her lonelier nights alone in the wilderness.

The biggest change is her hair, no longer short and cropped like she remembers with a braid wrapped tightly around her crown. That's still there, though bigger than it used to be. Her black hair is thick and wavy, the length just kissing her shoulders with hints of red and deep brown glowing in the sunlight as she moves her head.

She’d seen pictures of her in her youth with long hair. But it doesn’t compare to the sight before her. How radiant she is.“Cassandra!” Sam calls out beside her trying to catch her attention. “You have a visitor.”

Ellana freezes when Cassandra looks at her, knowing that she knows who she is even with her face as obscured as it is by her hood.

Isn’t prepared for the determined way that she all but shoves the papers in her hands into those of the person she is talking to, stopping them mid sentence as she walks quickly towards her.

Her senses come back to her in a rush when she feels Cassandra take her in her arms and squeeze her tightly, lifting her feet off the ground with her strength.

“Lana” Cassandra breathes in her ear, and the sound is a balm on a tired lonely heart. A jolt of life to a system that has spent so long trying to forget her touch and how alive it made her feel.

“Cassandra,” Ellana sobs “I’m so sorry, I’m an idio-” Her words are cut short when Cassandra reaches up and kisses her, pushing the hood off her face and using her grip on the thick fabric to pull her closer.

Her kiss is unexpected but she has no intention to stop it, not after so long without it. There is a hunger in her lips, and it almost feels like Cassandra is searching for something, but she pulls away before Ellana can think more on it, starts speaking before her senses have returned to her.“Don’t you ever do that again. Disappearing in the middle of the night with only a cryptic note? How can you be so foolish?”

“Leliana?”

“Leliana”

“I don’t know. I haven’t been myself, and it seemed like a good idea?”

“You’re lucky she didn’t set whats left of the Inquisition after you.”

“I missed you?”

“Samuel, Argus, this is the Inquisitor, arguably one of the most foolish women in all of Thedas,”

#wip meme #i think I know what I'm going to do with it #its just a long time until we can get there #but happy reunionssss #long haired buff sun kissed Cass because Ellana is weak for it #ravenqueen89

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sign-from-god-complex · 6 years ago

Text

A Gift From Me To You - Chapter 2

Link to Chapter 1

Chapter summary: Roman recalls the beginning of a friendship; Logan is reminded of his childhood; Virgil panics.

Warnings: A slightly more in-depth mention of suicide and a brief description of a panic attack.

A/N: I hope this lives up to expectations??? You’d think I would be less nervous about posting fanfiction at this point, but I’ve worked real hard on this fic so I’m lowkey very anxious, haha. If you want to be added or removed from the tag list just let me know!! I expect there to be about 5 or 6 chapters? Just so y’all are aware.

AO3 link

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Patton and Roman arrived at school about ten minutes before the bell rang. Patton had stayed over at Roman’s after driving to see him that night and they’d spent the evening talking about what the soulmarks meant.

Pat was adamant that nothing had really changed. After all, he loved Roman no matter what the soulmark said, though it was nice to see the universe recognise that. Roman, after he’d calmed down slightly and after some persuading from Patton, agreed. He loved Patton and would have continued to do so even if the soulmark had never shown up. Now it was just… more official.

They’d decided they weren’t going to keep their marks secret. It would have hurt to hide them away after they’d only just discovered them, and anyway, if the drama club knew, it wouldn’t be long before the entire school did too. So they’d walked hand-in-hand to the front gate of the school before splitting up to head to their respective classes. Roman’s first class being maths, with their best friend Logan.

Logan had been an odd one, right from the very start.

Unsurprisingly, Patton makes friends left and right. He makes friends with anyone who’ll give him the time of day, and even those who won’t. Truly, Pat’s friendliness was one of the things Roman loved the most about him. He didn’t have any concept of social class, didn’t stay in his lane within the high school cliques, he just wanted to make sure everyone felt accepted and loved. It was truly heartwarming.

However, the first time Patton had shown up to their regular lunch table dragging a nerd by the arm behind him, Roman was a bit taken aback.

Patton had explained, very quickly and with lots of enthusiasm, that this was Logan and he was in his history class and he was so smart and he was his project partner for this and that, etc. etc. Roman had stopped listening after about 5 minutes. He loved Patton, truly he did, but sometimes he went a little bit overboard singing other people’s praises—which was fine when it was Roman’s praises he was singing, but it was a little boring when it wasn’t.

He’d tuned back in to Patton just in time to hear him say, “So what d’you think?”, his look questioning.

Roman had cursed himself out in his head for not paying attention. He certainly wasn’t going to let Patton know he wasn’t listening, cause he’d get that little concerned crease in his forehead and Roman would feel terrible. Which only left… giving some kind of answer, and sending a prayer out into the universe that it was an acceptable one—not that the universe had ever been great at answering his prayers before.

“Oh… yeah, sure…” he’d replied.

Patton’s answering grin had nearly blinded him. Roman had given a relieved sigh at the fact that clearly, he’d given the right answer, before Patton had turned to Logan.

“See, Logan! I told you he wouldn’t mind!”

Suddenly, Roman had become a lot more concerned about what exactly it was he’d agreed to.

It had appeared that Roman had agreed to let Logan hang out with them from that point on, as he’d seemed to have joined them on a majority of their out-of-school outings and he’d begun sitting with them at lunch regularly.

At first, Roman had been a bit put out by this. Patton was his boyfriend and he barely got to spend any time with him alone anymore! He’d tried his best to be nice despite his feelings though, because he’d known that if he’d been rude to Logan, Patton would have been crushed.

He’d almost perfected his act of polite but disinterested when a particularly bad day had caught up with him.

He’d had a horrible audition the night before, and he’d had to walk home in the rain since no one was there to pick him up. That’s not to mention that he’d come home to realise he’d left his window open and all the papers and writings he’d left on his desk had been soaked and completely ruined.

The next morning he’d realised they were out of breakfast foods and he’d have to skip breakfast and go out and get more that afternoon and on top of that, his favourite red coat had a stain on it. Everything had just snowballed until Roman was in a particularly foul mood.

Unfortunately, Roman hadn’t had any of his classes that morning with Patton, so he hadn’t seen him until he’d also seen Logan.

“Patton. Nerd,” he’d greeted with a slight sneer in Logan’s direction.

“Prep,” Logan had replied, taking his regular seat next to Patton at the table. And suddenly Roman hated that he was allowed a ‘regular’ seat.

“So how’s the geek squad going today? Oh I’m sorry, did I say geek squad? I meant squadless geek. Hah! You’re alone!”

Logan raised his eyebrows, looking unamused.

“Well, I was certainly doing better before I was exposed to your unfortunate visage. Did you know you’re the loudest person in this entire school? Both in personality and… attire. Even looking at you gives me a headache.”

Roman was shocked. Logan just looked at him, one eyebrow quirked, expression completely calm. He’d snarked back. Suddenly, Roman was a lot more interested.

After that day, banter had become a regular feature of the friend group, though it had certainly held less sting. Roman had started to actually pay attention to what Logan said, and although a lot of it was nerd speak that he didn’t understand or care about, Logan did occasionally say some interesting things. They’d gotten into more than a few heated arguments, though they were always pretty quick to make up afterwards, with Roman spouting some nerd-related nickname and Logan gently insulting him. And one day Roman woke up to realise the nerd he’d spent so long ignoring and disliking was actually one of his best friends.

Said best friend was currently picking at a bandage wrapped around his wrist; a bandage that had definitely not been there when he’d seen him yesterday.

“Heya, specs,” Roman said, dropping into the seat next to him, “What’s up with your wrist? You hurt it or something?”

Logan looked slightly pained before his usual calm expression took over his face again.

“Yes. I’ve just strained it from too much typing, I think. Nothing to worry about.”

Roman raised his eyebrows at that. Patton always worried about him overworking himself. If he heard Logan had injured himself doing just that, no bathroom he could hide in would be safe.

Logan had a tendency to push himself past his limits, insisting that he had to finish this assignment tonight or he had to spend all night studying for this test. It drove Pat insane trying to get Logan to take care of himself for once—truly a never-ending journey.

Roman had even tried to give his input on one occasion, telling Logan that grades weren’t the most important thing and who cares about how you do on one assignment anyway. Logan had become so instantly furious with him that Roman had never tried again, simply pointing Patton over to him whenever he felt it was needed and taking his leave. He loved Logan, but he certainly could be scary sometimes.

Before Roman could relay any his thoughts to Logan, however, the teacher entered the room. Roman rushed to grab his book out of his bag before he could get called out. Logan refused to talk during lessons, so Roman would just have to wait until after class.

————————

As soon as the bell rang, signifying the end of the period, Logan swept his books into his bag and rushed out the door before Roman could even open his mouth to speak to him.

He knew Roman was going to speak to him. Logan wasn’t the world’s most excellent liar, in fact it would be fair to say he wasn’t very good at all, so he knew he needed to minimise the number of questions about his wrist in any way that he could. If this included spending less time outside class with his friends, well, then so be it.

Logan couldn’t risk them seeing it. He couldn’t risk them cooing over it, telling Logan how pretty it was, how lucky he was that he finally had a soulmate. Logan didn’t want a soulmate.

Not anymore.

When he was younger, soulmates had fascinated him the same way they’d fascinated Roman, but not for the same reasons. While Roman had adored the romance of it all, Logan had been interested in the science; he’d wanted to know how soulmarks were formed and why.

When he was about 7, he’d gone around the neighbourhood one day with a little tape recorder asking every couple he knew—both with matching soulmarks and without—a series of questions. People are always more willing to answer the questions of children, as they feel they have to indulge them, and Logan used this to his advantage.

The last couple he’d asked were his own parents. Though he knew a lot of the answers to his questions already, he still had to ask them, for the sake of scientific accuracy.

It had been a good day. The sun had shone through the window onto the kitchen table where they sat. His mother had laughed at his father as he’d pretended to forget the story of how they met, nevermind that they’d both told it to him a hundred times. After he’d completed his questions he shook both their hands before his father lifted him up and set him on the counter to help with dinner. His mother had giggled as he tried to steal pieces of food that she was chopping up and his father had spun him around as he laughed.

Logan thought that in that moment his parents had been the most beautiful he had ever seen them, because they were happy. Though, it seemed it couldn’t last.

Logan had gone over his data later that evening and found… nothing. There was no consistent level of similar or correlated personality traits, there were no common favourite foods or colours, there was nothing in Logan’s data set to indicate that these people should be any better suited for each other than any others.

All his research was useless. Logan didn’t understand, and he hated not understanding.

Within the next week, his mother was gone. Strung up in her room, her beautiful smile missing from her face, her body limp and lifeless.

Another thing Logan didn’t understand.

There would be no more stealing food off her chopping board as she cooked dinner, there would be no more listening to her correct his father when he joked that they’d certainly met at a clown festival, right? There would be no more hugs or evenings on the couch or her comforting him when he was sad.

And he was sad.

His father’s smile seemed a little more fragile after that, and slowly as time went by, he stopped smiling altogether. Logan was left to get himself to school and complete his homework alone at the kitchen table. He was fine. He had school work to do, he needn't worry about anything else. School work didn’t require him to feel, it just required him to think, and that’s the way he preferred it. Emotions were awful, ugly things. He didn’t need that.

When Logan had come home to find his father on the couch, too still to be breathing, so reminiscent of the way his mother had been, Logan was reminded of why he’d avoided emotions in the first place.

The call to the emergency services had been teary and had since become hazy in his mind. He’d joined his father in the ride to the hospital and by the time he’d finally awoken, Logan was furious.

He’d yelled at him. He’d yelled and yelled until his voice was hoarse and his breaths were quick and choppy. He’d yelled until one of the nurses had to come in to tell him he was disturbing the other patients. He yelled until he was sobbing on the floor, mourning his sense of innocence and the childhood he never got to finish.

Mourning the mother he barely got to love.

So, when his 10th birthday came and went, Logan was pleased that he hadn’t developed a soulmark. Soulmates were dangerous, he knew that now, no matter how much he’d once thought them beautiful.

And, if somewhere—pushed back into the dark corners of his mind or maybe buried deeply in his heart—he longed for his soulmate to be Roman or Patton, well… that was no one’s business but his own.

————————

Virgil’s first class seemed to drag on forever. His head was still reeling with the events of the previous night, and he just wanted to get to English with Remy so that they could… well, he wasn’t exactly sure what. He just needed to talk to them to try and get his goddamn feelings sorted out.

So, of course, it was just his luck that first period ran late and he barely had time to get to English class before the teacher showed up. Taking his usual seat at the back of the room next to his best friend, Virgil grabbed out his book and scribbled down a note, before passing it across the aisle to Remy.

D’you wanna see it?

Remy had been practically buzzing since the moment Virgil had walked in. It was a massive change of pace from how’d they’d been last night, but to be fair, it had been 2 am and they’d both been in a slight state of shock.

They quickly grabbed out a pen and gave their reply.

GUURL!! OF COURSE I WANT TO SEE IT!!!

Virgil chuckled slightly under his breath. Remy was certainly an excitable person when given good reason to be. Their energy was sort of limitless, and yet at the same time, they were pretty much always tired; it was a weird balance Virgil had yet to figure out.

Virgil was about to pull back the sleeve of his hoodie when he was interrupted by a whisper from the two boys sitting in front of him. Normally, this wouldn’t have given him pause, but who they were whispering about was a… point of interest for Virgil.

“Did you hear what happened to Roman Prince last night?”

Ah, yes, Roman Prince. Roman Prince, the head of the drama club; Roman Prince, the most handsome person you’ll ever meet; Roman Prince, who Virgil had had a crush on before he’d even realised he liked boys.

Roman Prince, who didn’t have a soulmark, but did have a boyfriend, and was far too good for Virgil anyway.

That Roman Prince.

Remy looked impatient and Virgil just held up one finger to indicate he needed a second.

“No, what happened?”

“He developed a soulmark!”

Virgil felt his heart stop in his chest.

“What? Really?”

“Yeah! He had, like, a breakdown in front of the entire drama club cause he thought it was a prank, but I saw it change! Like, ‘simple flower’... then BOOM! ‘Bouquet of flowers’. It was like blinking or something.”

Virgil had gone stock still in his chair. His blood was rushing in his ears, drowning out the sound of the room around him.

He’d been willing to write it off as a coincidence that they’d both spontaneously developed soulmarks on the same day, but that… sounded like his soulmark. Which was impossible, right? I mean, Roman Prince was extraordinary. He was the most talented actor and singer Virgil had ever encountered (though he may be slightly biased); he got the lead for the musical almost every year, and nobody was ever surprised. Even his boyfriend was extraordinary. Patton Hart was one of the kindest people at this school, always looking for people to stand up for or to help out.

Virgil was just… ordinary. He didn’t deserve Roman; Patton deserved Roman.

He was about to raise his hand to ask to go to the bathroom so he could have a breakdown in peace when his eyes caught on a piece of paper sitting on his desk.

CALL ME WHEN YOU GET OUTSIDE. I WON’T PICK UP, I JUST NEED AN EXCUSE TO LEAVE.

Virgil stuffed both the note and his cellphone in his pocket before getting the affirmative from the teacher and dashing out the door. He grabbed out his phone as he ran down the corridor and was just about to hit call for Remy’s number when he ran directly into a solid object and was sent sprawling to the ground.

“Woah! Slow down there, dark and stormy night,” Virgil heard a voice say, “You’re gonna hurt yourself running around like that.”

Virgil turned over only to meet the eyes of the last person he wanted to see right now: Roman Prince. Virgil didn’t reply, just stared for a few moments before searching around frantically for his cell phone, hoping he hadn’t broken it in the fall. He spotted it, just in time to see Roman lean down to pick it up.

“Oh, you’re friends with Remy Wake? I know him! Cool dude.”

Virgil’s brain granted him the small mercy of processing that sentence enough to provide some kind of appropriate response.

“Them,” Virgil croaked.

“Sorry?”

Roman sounded confused, but Virgil pressed on.

“Remy’s genderqueer; they use they/them pronouns.”

Honestly, thank god that his need to make sure Remy’s gender is known and respected outweighed his increasing panic. And his panic was definitely increasing. He needed to get out of this situation before he made an even worse impression than he already had and had a panic attack in front of the guy.

“Oh, my bad! Thanks for letting me know!”

Roman gave Virgil a dazzling smile, which made Virgil feel slightly lightheaded, before reaching his hand out to help Virgil back to his feet. It was fair to say that any semblance of calm Virgil once had in this moment was completely blown out of the water at this point, because there, on Roman’s wrist, was a bouquet of daisy-like flowers. An exact match to Virgil’s soulmark.

Virgil scrambled to his feet, ignoring the hurt that flashed across Roman’s face as he denied his offer for help. Before Roman could even blink, Virgil had snatched his phone out of his hand and disappeared down the corridor.

Locking himself in the furthest bathroom stall, Virgil sank to his knees. Tears were stinging in his eyes and it was getting harder and harder to control his breathing. He tried to dial Remy’s number but his hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

How could the universe have gotten things so wrong?

Virgil knew the groups that Roman hung out with. He may be a drama geek, but he was one of the most popular and talented people in the entire school. His boyfriend was one of the kindest and his best friend was one of the smartest. Virgil didn’t belong anywhere in that picture. The only thing Virgil was “one of the most” of was anxious. Yeah, Virgil was certainly one of the most anxious people you’ll ever meet, but anxiety doesn’t gain you awards or popularity. Rather the opposite.

“Hey, kiddo, you alright in there?”

A voice cut through his thoughts and Virgil’s stomach dropped through the floor as he recognised whose voice it was.

Patton Hart, aka Roman’s boyfriend.

————————

Chapter 3

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Tag list: @bunny222 @jadedfantasies231 @221b-quote @reinefandoms @i-really-dig-the-purple @bionic-egypt @not-so-innocent-bi-sander @mistress-jinx09 @soijusthavetoask @iamsexuallyattractedtopans @the-writersblock @theunoriginaldaisy @therubyjailcell @sandersfandersblog @hghrules

General tag list <3: @mutechild

#I can't believe I wrote sprain instead of strain I'm such an idiot hahah #those are different injuries #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #logan sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #lamp/calm #lo can write

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