#that were on the office walls during production

[telepathicsnail]

I want to put the group dynamic of the pre-amphibia calamity trio under a microscope. So many different flavors of codependent in there.

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

SFX Magazine Issue 372 - Designing Good Omens ❤ 😊

PRODUCTION DESIGNER MICHAEL RALPH REVEALS HOW THE SHOW’S CENTREPIECE SET, WHICKBER STREET, WAS GIVEN A DEVILISHLY CLEVER UPGRADE FOR THE SECOND SEASON

WORDS: DAVE GOLDER

Invisible Columns And Thin Walls “The new studio is Pyramid Studios in Bathgate – it used to be a furniture warehouse. And unfortunately – or fortunately, because I accept these things as not challenges but gifts – right down the middle of that studio are a series of upright columns. But you’ll never spot them on screen. I had to build them in and integrate them into the walls and still get the streets between them. And it worked.

“There’s all sorts of cheeky design values to those sets. Normally a set like this is double-skin. In other words, you do an interior wall and an exterior wall, with an airspace in between. But really, the only time a viewer notices that there’s that width is at the doors and the windows. So I cheated all that. I ended up with single walls everywhere. So the exterior wall is the interior wall, just painted. All I did was make the sash windows and entrances wider to give it some depth as you walked in.”

GOOD OMENS HAD A CHANGE of location for its second season, but hopefully you didn’t notice. Because Whickber Street in Soho upped sticks from an airfield in Hertfordshire to a furniture warehouse in Bathgate, Edinburgh. It’s the kind of nonsensical geographical shenanigans that could only make sense in the crazy world of film and TV, and production designer Michael Ralph was the man in charge of rebuilding and expanding the show’s vast central set. “I wish we could have built more in season one than we did,” says Ralph, whose previous work has included Primeval and Dickensian. “We built the ground floor of everything and the facades of all the shops. But we didn’t build anything higher than that, because we were out on an airfield in a very, very difficult terrain and weather conditions, so we really couldn’t go much higher. Visual effects created the upper levels.”

But with season two the set has gone to a whole other level… literally. “What happened was that the rest of the street became integrated into the series’s storyline,” explains Ralph. “So we needed a record shop, we needed a coffee shop that actually had an inside, we needed a magic shop, we needed the pub. To introduce those meant we had to change the street with a layout that works from a storylines point of view. In other words, things like someone standing at the counter in the record shop had to be able to eyeball somebody standing at the counter in the coffee shop. They had to be able to eyeball Aziraphale sitting in his office in the window of the bookshop. But the rest of it was a pleasure to do inside, because we could expand it and I could go up two storeys.”

For most of the set, which is around 80 metres long and 60 metres wide, the two storeys only applied to the shop frontages, but in the case of Aziraphale’s bookshop, it allowed Ralph to build the mezzanine level for real this time. According to Ralph it became one of the cast and crews’ favourite places to hang out during down time.

But while AZ Fell & Co has grown in height, it actually has a slightly smaller footprint because of the logistics of adapting it to the new studio.

“Everybody swore to me that no one would notice,” says Ralph wryly. “I walked onto it and instinctively knew there was a difference immediately, and they hated me for that. I have this innate sense about spatial awareness and an eye like a spirit level.

“It’s not a lot, though – I think we’ve lost maybe two and a half feet on the front wall internally. I think that there’s a couple of other smaller areas, but only I’d notice. So I can be really annoying to my guys, but only on those levels. Not on any other. They actually quite like me…”

Populating The Bookshop “The props in the new bookshop set were a flawless reproduction from the set decorator Bronwyn Franklin [who is also Ralph’s wife]. It was really the worst-case scenario after season one. She works off the concept art that I produce, but what she does is she adds so much more to the character of the set. She doesn’t buy anything she doesn’t love, or doesn’t fit the character.

“But the things she put a lot of work into finding for season one, they were pretty much one-offs. When we burnt the set down in the sixth episode, we lost a lot of props, many of which had been spotted and appreciated by the fans. So Bronwyn had to discover a new set decorating technique: forensic buying.

“She found it all – duplicates and replicas. It took ages. In that respect, the Covid delay was very helpful for Bron. There’s 7,000 books in there and there’s not one fake book. That’s mainly because… it’s a weird thing to say, but we wanted it to smell and feel like a bookshop to everybody that was in it, all the time.

“It affects everybody subliminally; it affects everybody’s performance – actors and crew – it raises the bar 15 to 20%. And the detail, you know… We love a lot of detail.”

(look at the description under this, they called him 'Azi' hehehehe :D <3)

Aziraphale’s Inspirational Correspondence “There’s not one single scrap of paper on Aziraphale’s desk that isn’t written specifically for Aziraphale. Every single piece is not just fodder that’s been shoved there, it has a purpose; it’s a letter of thanks, or an enquiry about a book or something.

“Michael Sheen is so submerged in his character he would get lost sitting at his own desk, reading his own correspondence between takes. I believe wholeheartedly that if you put that much care into every single piece of detail, on that desk and in that room, that everybody feels it, including the crew, and then they give that set the same respect it deserves.

“They also lift their game because they believe that they’re doing something of so much care and value. Really, it’s a domino effect of passion and care for what you’re producing.”

Alternative Music “My daughter Mickey is lead graphic designer [two of Ralph’s sons worked on the series too, one as a concept artist, the other in props]. They’re the ones that produced all of that handwritten work on the desk. She’s the one that took on the record shop and made up 80 band names so that we didn’t have to get copyright clearance from real bands. Then she produced records and sleeves that spanned 50, 60 years of their recordings, and all of the graphics on the walls.

“I remember Michael and Neil [Gaiman] getting lost following one band’s history on the wall, looking at their posters and albums desperately trying to find out whether they survived that emo period.”

It’s A Kind Of Magic One of the new shops in Whickber Street for season two was Will Goldstone’s Magic Shop, which is full of as many Easter eggs as off-the-shelf conjuring tricks, including a Matt Smith Doctor Who-style fez and a toy orang-utan that’s a nod to Discworld’s The Librarian. Ralph says that while the series is full of references to Gaiman, Pratchett and Doctor Who, Michael Sheen never complained about a lack of Masters Of Sex in-jokes. “He’d be the last person to make that sort of comment!”

Ralph also reveals that the magic shop counter was another one of his wife’s purchases, bought at a Glasgow reclamation yard.

The Anansi Boys Connection Ralph reveals that Good Omens season two used the state-of-the-art special effects tech Volume (famous for its use in The Mandalorian to create virtual backdrops) for just one sequence, but he will be using it extensively elsewhere on another Gaiman TV series being made for Prime Video.

“We used Volume on the opening sequence to create the creation of the universe. I was designing Anansi Boys in duality with this project, which seems an outrageously suicidal thing to do. But it was fantastic and Anansi Boys was all on Volume. So I designed for Volume on one show and not Volume on the other. The complexities and the psychology of both is different.”

[otkuhotgirl]

─── 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐍𝐈𝐀 .

# with trafalgar water d. law.

despite the overextended manner with which law behaved, and the fatigue that crept into his soul due to his tendencies of avoiding a decent rest, sleep could not find him in the slightest. when his insomnia lurked around the corner, law could always count on your mouth to tire him out.

⎰ & smut (mdni!) gn!reader. oral (male!receiving). deepthroating. praise kink. no y/n used.

W.C: 2K.

the incessant ticking of the obstinate clock on the wall had the opposite effect of what was meant to be soothing. law had quit on writing the reports that dwelled on his mind, finding that his grip on the pen was unusually harsh — and enough to split it in two. law wasn’t against the vision of black ink on his skin — the tattoos on his body were enough proof of that — yet, when the ink that stained his palm was born from the destruction of one quite expensive and favored pen, pleased was the last adjective he’d use.

he scrubbed his eyes with the cleaner fingers, shutting them with a sense of bubbling rage born from intrinsic exhaustion. the strained muscles of his back began to ache an hour ago. he failed to concentrate on even the smallest of details, his synapses so lethargic he’d probably end up writing their instead of there in his paper. law clenched his jaw; stressed, sleep-deprived, and frustrated.

bepo had knocked on his door ten minutes prior — for the fifth time that night — with the same advice prepared. law’s answer remained equal, empty promises and meaningless deadlines that he had no intention on following. it was but a matter of time until the navigator pulled out his secret weapon, or that was, at least, how you were called under that context.

law sent a piercing gaze towards the closed door, fidgeting and quietly begging for your intervention, as though a religious fool who placed his trust on the force of manifestations. he thought of seeking you out himself, hours prior. yet, during instances drawn to his duties, law was but a rooted tree lost amidst a vexing fog, incapable of moving even one miserable inch; hence the urge to have you. his refugee; his medicine. the surgeon of death — more than a billion-worth bounty hovering over his head —, had succumbed to both the plague and blessing of love. with his head nearing the table’s surface, a weary sigh past his lips, law pictured your face and found that he would have fallen victim to such a feeling a thousand times over, so long as that meant claiming you his.

he heard the scratch of the door against the ground, and perked up upon the knowledge of, at last, having you in his office — for no other crewmate was allowed to barge in without a warning knock.

you walked towards him — slowly —, your hips swaying, malice-filled eyes. law felt but a prey under the gaze of its hunter; one left with a sense of gratitude upon the approach of the searing and delicious taste of death’s kiss.

you sat on the edge of his desk, careful as not to meddle with his papers, and softly removed his hat to caress the disheveled locks of black hair. law surrendered to your touch, sighing with relief.

“it’s getting late,” you stated, drawing circles on his cheek. law intertwined his fingers with your own, pressing his lips to the back of your hand.

“can’t sleep,” he answered, chasing your scent; drowning his nose on the skin of your wrist.

law glanced up at you, enamored. you tilted your head to the side, gears turning as you deconstructed his sentence and stance, figuring the innuendo underneath. there were moments in which his restlessness was a product of his past. from the plague, to the death of cora-san, nightmares hunted him down as though starved beasts aiming at a dying creature. however, in other instances — such as the current one — law was but too overworked to fall asleep. whatever the context of the disease, the cure remained the same: your touch.

you moved to the back of his chair, massaging his shoulders. law relaxed, leaning his head back with a low groan. your lips hovered above his jaw, the tip of your tongue darting out to lick a stripe on his skin. your fingers lost themselves under the fabric of his coat, re-drawing the patterns of the tattoo on his chest.

“and how should i cure your problem, doctor? hands or mouth?”

law breathed out heavily upon the hearing of his title, sounding oh-so-sinfully on your tongue. he cleared his throat. “mouth. doctor’s orders.”

you hummed. law watched through half-lidded eyes as you knelt and crawled under the table, the brief sight of your ass enough to harden his neglected cock. he unzipped his pants, not having the patience for the teasing you, for sure, had in mind.

“getting hasty?” you teased, and law moved in his chair, pressing his crotch closer to where — he guessed — your face was.

“get on with it,” he bit back, searching for the back of your head.

when law did find it, he froze. under his palm was the familiar texture of his hat. the thought of having you wear it, with your face stuffed with his cock, made him desperate. a shambles followed-in-suit to a room, and the desk that had once hidden you from his glance was moved to the other side of the office, papers and pens and books falling over. law ignored the sound and the chaos, forcing your face against his covered erection, eyes trailed to that damned hat.

you pushed his underwear enough to free his cock from its cuffs; your hand gripping it before it had the chance to meet his abdomen. law all but shuddered, one hand gripping his chair as the other bruised the skin of your nape. your movements were slow at first. your thumb rolled over the tip and smeared his pre-cum over his shaft, causing his hips to buckle ever-so-slightly. before law could repeat his command, you moved forward, licking the essence coating his tip and encasing it in your mouth. law gasped, keeping his palm on your head and gritting his teeth at the warmth of your tongue.

“shit,” he cursed, biting the inside of his mouth to avoid louder noises, tasting the metal of blood.

your eyes narrowed, and he could see the resolve in them; the utter determination to tear him in pieces. you sucked, savoring the salty taste before beginning to slide down; another hand clawing down a clothed thigh. law huffed at the sight of you. your eyes had rolled with pleasure when you swallowed him down to the base, his hat secured on your head. with a jolt of overwhelming desire, law rolled his hips up to make you gag.

your head moved on its own, a futile attempt to free itself and retreat. he pushed it back, forcing your nose to brush against his pubes, witnessing the tears pooling in your eyes.

“you can take me,” he stated, hissing for a second at the swirling of your tongue. “you always do— ngh. take me so well, love.”

you hummed, relaxing for a second. law’s glance met yours, and his grip laxed at last, allowing you to take over. you popped off his tip with a gasp, mouth open, briefly regaining the lost air. your hand jerked his shaft, replaced by a sudden lick that traveled from the base to the head in one long stripe. you teased him with the sight of your cock against your hanging tongue; allowing his eyes the grace of his pre-cum latched on the warm muscle.

law trembled, his chest heaving at the swirling movements around his tip. “so gorgeous, make me wanna stuff you so bad, love.”

a whimper spilled from your lips before claiming his shaft yet again. law buckled his hips mid-shout, reprimanding himself for the sound. your hand gripped one of his balls, and the settled pace — with the bobbing of your head —, had him gasping.

he shoved himself down your throat, gripping the edge of his hat. saliva dripped down your opened mouth; hollowed cheeks increasing the pressure around his cock.

“that’s it,” he moaned, rolling his hips as his tip hit the back of your throat.

law felt the muffled whimper around his shaft, transfixed on the sight of your stuffed cheeks; the watery eyes that stared back into his. the room was filled with the erotic, borderline sinful, sounds of your gags; the constant bobbing of your head coating his cock with saliva. law buckled his hips, and your nails dug on his thigh, fingers tugging at the fabric of his pants as you audibly choked. with a harsh grip, he pulled your head back, giving you a few, precious seconds to breathe.

“look at you,” he voiced out in awe. “willing to empty your lungs for the sake of my pleasure.”

law guided his cock closer, fingers curling under his hat and nails digging into your head. “open up, love. just like that.”

your tongue darted out, and he slapped your cheeks with his tip, struggling to drown the urge to cum at the sound of your whimpers; the sight of you, following the movements of his cock with desperate-filled eyes, as though you could not wait to take him again. law placed himself at the entrance of your awaiting mouth, breathing out a moan.

“so pretty like that, all fucked up,” he mused, groaning once your lips claimed him yet again. “fuck, that mouth was made for me.”

the responding moan resonated around him, and law arched his back against the chair, feeling hot under the layers of his coat. his head latched itself on the back of your throat, and the harsh grip on his balls had him on edge. law’s voice sounded pathetic to his own ears when your tongue teased the underside of his dick, his movements growing hectic.

“i’m gonna cum,” he warned through a grunt, struggling to keep his eyes open and glued to your face.

you let out a muffled whimper, begging for it; your mouth nothing but a ruthless lover, swallowing him whole, yet demanding more. his hat fell from your head, and law lost his sense of self, whimpering at his release; his cum painting your throat white, stealing the breath from your lungs. law held you there, spasming with weakened and hectic thrusts throughout his orgasm, crumbling down to ruins as he bore witness to droplets of his essence escaping past the gaps of your stretched lips.

“let me see,” he mumbled, exhausted at the expanse of his own height.

with a teasing, edging suck, you pulled your head back with a pop. a stripe of saliva and cum connected his tip to your lips, and when you opened your mouth to spare him a sight of your whitened tongue, law’s fingers weakly gripped your chin, beckoning you closer.

dried blood lingered on the inside of his mouth, and mingled with the taste of his own seed. his teeth clashed against yours. a meek note of the coffee he drank priorly settled in between. yet, it was one of the best kisses he ever had.

“thank you,” law mumbled, an exhausted and dangling man nearing the edge of a lethal cliff. a soaring feather that remained tethered to the earth as a consequence of your tender grip.

you hummed, pressing a loving kiss to his cheek while zipping his pants. “cured enough to sleep, doctor?”

he smiled — enamored; sweet —, the particular showcase of teeth, born from the devotion directed towards you. the spark on his chest whose light was born from your mere presence. his hat clung to your figure, and law had half the mind to use his devil-fruit to teleport the both of you to his bed, before crumbling against the mattress, blindly searching for your chest.

law pressed his thigh against your core, lazily motioning for you to rub yourself against the fabric. a small giggle echoed through the walls, a sound he wished to steal and seal; a selfish shell of a man who had no desire to share a single thing related to his lover whatsoever.

“there’s no need for that. sleep,” you whispered, caressing his hair. law hugged your waist; drowned his face in your chest.

“want you to feel good,” law insisted, sleep-drunk, drooling on your bare flesh.

“too tired,” you voiced out matter-of-factly. whether he was the subject of such a statement or not, he failed to tell. law fell under the influence of slumber the second thereafter, sheltered in the confines of a loving dome whose barriers were sealed from the looming insomnia outside.

— 🐈‍⬛ : IT’S FUCKING LAW STUPID FRIDAY LET’S GO.

[wisteria-lodge]

JK Rowling & the Color Pink

So I'm working on a thing about queer coding in the Harry Potter books... and first I needed to do a sidebar on how the color pink is used. I’ve made a list of every time a character either wears pink, or is heavily associated with a pink object. We actually get some pretty clear categories that are unintentionally very revealing, and say a lot about how JKR sees "girly" femininity.

Let’s start off with the obvious: 

PINK = VILLAIN (FEMME) 

Petunia Dursley: “salmon-pink cocktail dress," "neat salmon-colored coat." Also paints her walls "a sickly peach color."

Gilderoy Lockhart: “lurid pink robes to match the decorations” 

Pansy Parkinson: “very frilly robes of pale pink” 

Rita Skeeter: “long nails were painted shocking pink” 

Aunt Muriel: “feathery pink hat gave her the look of a bad-tempered flamingo.” 

(Aunt Muriel only shows up briefly at Bill and Fleur’s wedding, but then proceeds to insult pretty much every other character, and give Harry an existential crisis by spilling the tea on Dumbledore)

Dolores Umbridge: “a horrible pink Alice band that matched the fluffy pink cardigan.” 

(Also: has pink stationary, and her pamphlet MUDBLOODS and the Dangers They Pose to a Peaceful Pure-Blood Society has a pink cover) 

Cho Chang

(Okay. Not a villain per se, BUT. Cho is the reason the mole gets into the DA in the books (and just is the mole in the films.) And given that she is a sort of Umbridge-aligned sub villain in book 5, at least structurally... it IS interesting that the place she brings Harry for a date has this very pink, Umbridge-coded description. 

It was a cramped, steamy little place where everything seemed to have been decorated with frills or bows. Harry was reminded unpleasantly of Umbridge’s office. “Cute, isn’t it?” said Cho happily. “Er . . . yeah,” said Harry untruthfully. “Look, she’s decorated it for Valentine’s Day!” said Cho, indicating a number of golden cherubs that were hovering over each of the small, circular tables, occasionally throwing pink confetti over the occupants.

Fleur Delacour: “[her wand] emitted a number of pink and gold sparks.” 

(Also not quite a villain, and I adore Fleur BUT… she’s written hyper-femme in an intimidating, borderline threatening way. She’s very opinionated, bordering on rude. She’s “full of herself” as Ginny puts it. And when she gets engaged to Bill and becomes an unambiguously good guy, she has this interesting moment of ~Pink Rejection~)

“. . . Bill and I ’ave almost decided on only two bridesmaids, Ginny and Gabrielle will look very sweet togezzer. I am theenking of dressing zem in pale gold — pink would of course be ’orrible with Ginny’s ’air —”

Hermione Granger: “Wearing a pink bathrobe and a frown”

(Hermione wears pink exactly one time, and it is at her most villainous… during Book 1, when she tries to stop Harry and Ron leaving in the middle of the night to go duel Malfoy.)

A voice spoke from the chair nearest them, “I can’t believe you’re going to do this, Harry.” A lamp flickered on. It was Hermione Granger, wearing a pink bathrobe and a frown. “You!” said Ron furiously. “Go back to bed!” “I almost told your brother,” Hermione snapped, “Percy — he’s a prefect, he’d put a stop to this.” Harry couldn’t believe anyone could be so interfering.

(She literally does the sitting-in-the-dark, villain-lamp thing. Also, in case you were wondering, yes Hermione DOES get a moment of ~Pink Rejection~)

Near the window was an array of violently pink products around which a cluster of excited girls was giggling enthusiastically. Hermione and Ginny both hung back, looking wary.

Which brings us too: 

PINK = SILLY/FRIVOLOUS (FEMME) 

Sybill Trelawney: “after you’ve broken your first cup, would you be so kind as to select one of the blue-patterned ones? I’m rather attached to the pink.”

(She’s a fraud. Also hides empty bottles of sherry in the room of requirement. (I’m going to have to be uncharitable in this section, need to get in Rowling’s head a little, so am sorry.) 

Parvati Patil: “robes of shocking pink"

(Often described as “giggling,” thinks Professor Trelawney is amazing, the real deal.)

The Fat Lady: “a very fat woman in a pink silk dress.” 

(Often described as giggling. Drinks too much during the holidays. JRK is unfortunately well known for being fatphobic. Also the Fat Lady has a friend named Violet, and Parvati has a friend named Lavender. Not really going anywhere with that, just funny that they’re both shades of purple.)

Hepzibah Smith: “an immensely fat old lady wearing an elaborate ginger wig and a brilliant pink set of robes.” 

(So… almost identical description to the Fat Lady. And I think we should maybe talk about her more, maybe? Because the way she’s framed… I think she might be Tom Riddle’s sugar mamma?)

“I brought you flowers,” he said quietly, producing a bunch of roses from nowhere. “You naughty boy, you shouldn’t have!” squealed old Hepzibah, though Harry noticed that she had an empty vase standing ready on the nearest little table. “You do spoil this old lady, Tom. . . .” 

(Or maybe we… shouldn’t talk about that. Either way, Tom Riddle does kill her, steal her stuff, and frame her house elf so thats… not great.)

PINK = EMBARRASSING 

“Everyone take a pair of earmuffs,” said Professor Sprout. There was a scramble as everyone tried to seize a pair that wasn’t pink and fluffy.

(Pink fluffy earmuffs are adorable.)

“Wash out your mouth,” said James coldly. “Scourgify!” Pink soap bubbles streamed from Snape’s mouth at once; the froth was covering his lips, making him gag.

(The next two example are 'pranks' as well, I think the pink-colored soap is there to add a kind of insult to injury.)

Shocking-pink Catherine wheels five feet in diameter were whizzing lethally through the air like so many flying saucers. 

(This is a bit from Fred and George’s farewell firework show, it's funny that they’re specifically pink fireworks that Umbridge can’t get rid of.)

“Headless Hats!” shouted George, as Fred waved a pointed hat decorated with a fluffy pink feather at the watching students. “Two Galleons each — watch Fred, now!” Fred swept the hat onto his head, beaming. For a second he merely looked rather stupid, then both hat and head vanished.

(also just, pumping up an embarrassing moment)

PINK = OUTSIDER, WEIRDO

Hagrid

Hagrid’s flowered pink umbrella, which contains his broken wand, is brought up a lot. In this case I think we’re meant to see it as a joke. Hagrid’s so big, and so masc, but the pink umbrella makes him non-threatening. However… the pink umbrella, it’s not a totally positive thing, is it? It doesn’t match, it isn’t *him.* Hagrid wouldn't have chosen to carry this around, totally on his own, if he'd had any other choice. It sets him apart, both visually and socially (because it's a constant reminder that he doesn't have a wand.)

Dobby

Dobby, once he is freed, gets pink-and-orange striped socks, and they’re meant to communicate that he’s… kind of a lot. “Yeh get weirdos in every breed,” as Hagrid puts it. JKR has a very strange, honestly antagonistic relationship with Dobby. He’s the victim of book 2, but structurally kind of the villain? He describes the house-elves situation as “enslavement,” but Hermione’s treated as overdramatic for calling house-elves slaves two books later. And then everything is ret-conned and Dobby is… just kind of weird for liking freedom (and socks) as much as he does.

Tonks

Book!Tonks defaults to “bubblegum-pink” hair. Her hair is described as pink a lot. (Movie!Tonks defaults to purple hair, because they were worried that pink would visually align her with Umbridge.) And this is the oddest one on the list to me, because Tonks is such a universally beloved, fan favorite character. But I really do think that *as written*... we’re supposed to put her in a category with Dobby. The two of them leave (unintentional) destruction in their wake. They’re loud, they’re a lot, they take up too much space. Harry thinks they’re both kind of annoying. (and yeah, Harry 100% thinks  Tonks is “a little annoying at times.”)

[mmgwritings]

FULLY CLOTHED, STARK NAKED

Characters: Kaz Brekker / Dreg!Reader

Prompts: When Kaz felt guilty and decided to handle his problems by shoving them into a dusty, forgotten corner so he doesn’t have to face them... until now.

Warnings: angst; smut; nsfw; canon divergence.

The cart rumbled down the narrow alleyway, laden with crates of drinks, tobacco, and spices from the distant lands of Shu Han — or so it seemed from the merchants' slurred accents. One of the oxen snorted as a wheel got stuck in a muddy puddle, momentarily halting the small caravan trailing behind.

The passengers of the caravan, weary from days on the road, decided to step out of the vehicle and surround the ox cart, slowly carrying their belongings to the main street. Their worn and thick clothes marked them as ordinary people from inland villages, seeking opportunities in Ketterdam now that Shu Han had opened its borders for small exports.

It was a new government measure, introduced after years of peace negotiations between Ravka, Kerch, and Shu Han following the fall of the Fold. The law, ostensibly about simplifying the import and export of goods, was a stroke of Ravkan ingenuity. While its simplicity aimed to facilitate trade, it inadvertently opened the door to cruelty. The same freedom extended to the movement of products was also interpreted and applied to humans, leading to a troubling rise in child abductions and the proliferation of exotic brothels. This grim reality didn't go unnoticed by Inej — and, consequently, by Kaz.

A letter from Inej reached Kaz's hands just a month ago. In the meantime, the crows, who had previously managed the taverns and tourists' finances, were now stationed at the city's entrances, keeping a vigilant eye out for potential slavers. It was a straightforward task: watch people through the cracks in the city patrol loft, handle the work that the corrupt officials neglected, and, if suspicions arose, track their movements.

After that, the grimy details fell to Kaz's officers. That was the part I preferred not to know about, but I was content just imagining it.

Today, it was my turn to guard the entrance to Shu Han, northwest of the city. I sat alone on a dusty crate, peering through a crack in the attic window to keep watch over the alley. Wylan typically joined me during the early hours of the night, but today he had been given special leave to celebrate Jesper's birthday.

With a groan and the gurgling of oxen and two men, the cart — now half-empty after the merchants had collected their belongings — finally got unstuck and trundled onward into the city. I looked beyond the city gates and saw nothing but two patrol officers lounging under a street lamp, smoking cigarettes and chatting idly. Beyond them, the road stretched out, dark and empty.

With a sigh, I stretched and stood up from the crate, my eyes burning from hours of distant observation. The Stadwatch loft, once housing for patrol rookies before they were relocated to a building in the Exchange, was a spacious, open area with no partitions. It was filled with neatly arranged beds and small dressers, two desks, and a stack of old paperwork in the corner. The small, dusty windows were perfect for monitoring the street but couldn’t be opened, leaving the room with a stale smell. On the plus side, the thick walls kept the sounds from travelling outside — Wylan even used to play music when he was bored.

Even with the street empty and no sign of new arrivals at the gates of Ketterdam, I had to stick to my watch schedule until the next guard relieved me in four hours. It was while sitting at one of the desks, feet propped up and munching on a sandwich, that Kaz found me.

Despite the cane, the boots, the wooden floor, and the guards outside, I didn't hear him coming. One moment the loft door was closed, and the next, there was Kaz, his dark coat gleaming in a patch of light from the night dew. His stoic expression scanned the room with interest, his lips pursed as he took in the musty smell.

“Good evening, boss” I said, shifting in the chair and setting the sandwich aside. “Come to check on the poor soul stuck here?”

“No, I’m just joining them,” he replied, lowering his voice as he walked over and sat on my abandoned crate. “Clive can’t make it today — caught a nasty cold and can’t stop sneezing. I’ll keep watch with you.”

“Then enjoy; it’s your turn to stare at the vast nothingness,” I murmured, returning to my sandwich with a smirk. Kaz, always busy and never idle, had come personally to take on a task that involved doing absolutely nothing. And above all, spend a considerable amount of time in my company. Someone he had been avoiding like the plague for the past few weeks.

That would be funny.

As anticipated, five minutes later, the complete silence was broken by his first sigh of boredom. Seven minutes after that, he began rummaging through some of the old paperwork.

When the dust started to rise, I decided it was time to stop. I didn’t want to end up competing with Clive and his sneezing.

“So, have you decided whether it really happened, or are you going to keep avoiding it?” I asked, my eyes fixed on him. Though he had his back to me, I saw him stiffen as he grasped the weight of my question. “You’ve been avoiding me for weeks, you even stationed me here at this end of the world, so far from everyone that Wylan felt sorry enough to keep me company.”

“I didn’t mean to put you here; it’s part of your job—”

“Don’t even start, Kaz. You know exactly what you’re doing. You felt guilty and decided to handle your problems—me—by shoving them into a dusty, forgotten corner so you don’t have to face them.”

Kaz, still with his back turned and hiding his emotions as he always does when cornered, remained silent. The weight of the truth settled in the attic, spreading through the shadows.

Over the past few weeks, as I spent hours watching the city, I replayed our past interactions in my mind and planned what I would say to Kaz when I finally saw him.

I fantasized about him offering a gentlemanly apology, imagining him walking through the door, confessing some naïve and heartfelt sentiments, and making promises. But once I accepted that it was all just a fantasy, my frustration grew. Clive, my watch partner, sometimes found me with angry tears streaming down my face. He’d ask what was wrong, but what could I tell him? That his boss was a smug asshole who was indifferent to other people’s feelings?

And that this same smug asshole was in front of me and still didn't say anything?

“It’s not my fault that you love Inej. It’s not my fault you’re hung up on someone who hasn’t been around for seven years. And it’s definitely not my fault that I love you more than you even like me,” I said, my voice cracking, the weight of my emotions evident as tears threatened to spill.

I stood up from my chair and grabbed my coat. “If you want to live like this, fine. But don’t pretend like nothing happened… because it did.”

Kaz sighed, slowly turning to face me. His expression was almost tortured, his eyes bright and warm.

I waited, but no words came from him. It wasn't necessary, not when in three quick steps he was in front of me, with his hands adorning my face, with his lips on mine, demanding a desolate kiss.

His tongue slid across my lips, which, with my surprise, parted in a breathless sigh, allowing him to greedily suck my tongue and massage it with his own. I was too stunned to react, surrendering any control over my body as I followed his lead. His hands moved persistently from my face to my waist, drawing me closer until our bodies pressed together.

Noticing my lack of reaction—or perhaps sensing my need to breathe—Kaz pulled his face slightly away from mine. He placed gentle kisses on my flushed cheeks and trailed them halfway down my chin. “You are the stupidest person in the world for not realizing that if there was a lack of words on my part, it was because I couldn't explain how much I want you”

“You’re the stupidest person in the world for not realizing that if I was at a loss for words, it was because I couldn’t find a way to express how much I want you,” he said, his eyes finally meeting mine. “If there was any ghost from the past, you’ve exorcised it. Any teenage feelings are nothing compared to what you make me feel. Don’t you understand? You didn't realize any of this when, that night, I was more yours than I ever was mine?”

His eyes were clear and filled with truth—the same eyes I gradually fell in love with over the years. One night, driven by youthful impulse and drink, I boldly declared my feelings to Kaz with a kiss. That kiss led to a messy night in his room, only for me to wake up alone and to live with his indifference. Or that's what I thought.

"That doesn't make any sense. Nina told me you're still-" my thoughts didn't align.

“And what does Nina know about my feelings? What does she know about all the times I think about you? I’m sorry; I didn’t know what to do that day. I was an asshole, irresponsible, a coward—any term you want to use. But I don’t deny that I do love you, and it’s much more than you love me.”

Kaz’s voice was assertive, as if he were stating an undeniable truth. He loved me. He’d made a mistake out of fear. I was scared too, but nothing compared to the fear that gripped me when he admitted, in so many words, that he loved me.

His lips found mine again, this time demanding much more. His hands moved to pull my body even closer, fingers reaching for the ties of my vest and moving up to my breasts, squeezing them as he guided me towards one of the beds.

My heart raced and my body was covered in goosebumps.

“Kaz, please,” I murmured, trying to pull him closer. I didn't even know what I was begging for, I just wanted more.

It felt so good to have him there, feeling the heat of his body, his weight pressing down on me, and his lips trailing kisses across my chest. Pulling my shirt aside, his lips find my nipple, pebbled by his fingers.

It was all so different from last time, that we were scared enough to take off our clothes, just finding pleasure through our hands.

Now, Kaz suddenly stopped. His eyes marveling at my bare breasts. And I marveled at him. With his swollen lips, heavy breathing, which made his chest rise and fall quickly. With his body pressed against mine, hips unconsciously rubbing against mine in search of relief.

Finding some independence, my hands pushed him until Kaz was kneeling over me. That way, I completely removed my blouse, and when I heard a sigh coming from him, I smiled. "Beautiful" he whispered.

My hands then went towards his vest, agilely undoing it and throwing it onto one of the dressers. The black, long-sleeved shirt remained on his body.

I knew enough about Kaz to see his limits. Clothes were his limit. But not mine.

Gathering up some courage, I hugged Kaz and in a kiss, pulled him on top of me again, and when we were lying down, I rolled on top of him.

"I want to try something." I whispered in his ear, my hand trailing down his body, caressing his abdomen and trailing down to his groin.

There, I found the bulge of his dick, and when I stroked it again I got a deep breath from him. "Yes, do whatever you want," Kaz replied, already too lost in his desires.

I got up quickly, Kaz was surprised and looked at me questioningly. Then he understood when I started pulling my pants down, removing my boots too. I laughed a little when I lost my balance while removing one of my shoes and fell with my face on Kaz's abdomen, too close to his crotch.

Taking advantage of the moment, I planted a playful kiss on Kaz's face and went down to the end of the bed to remove his boots.

He was in a good mood and trying to contain himself from laughing. His face was red, his hair was messy and he had an anxious expression.

"There, done. I hope you don't mind the socks" I said pointing to my mismatched socks with a smile on my face.

"I couldn't care less," he replied, hands resting on my waist as I straddled him. "But I care about one thing..." she spoke, her fingers lightly tugging at the hem of my panties.

"Worry about this little thing?" I asked, adjusting myself into a better, much more comfortable position, one that was on...

"I'm a petty man" He sighed, his eyebrows furrowing and betraying his pleasure. I moved a little, enough to make him abandon any kind of argument he was making.

His fingers found space between the hem of my panties, lightly caressing the crease between my leg. But not there, not where I wanted most, where I needed it. Just close.

Truly, a petty man.

Kaz's vibrant blue eyes were completely dilated as I began rubbing myself over his cock. Trying to find some pleasurable point, my panties were wet over the seam of his pants.

His other hand, not needed to guide me, moved up towards my nipple, squeezing it painfully, only to be tamed by his warm tongue. Now, the two of us sitting, me straddling him and Kaz sucking my tits, were like two teenagers in heat.

"I can't," I said, almost crying. My face hidden in his hair, my hands gripping his shoulders.

Then Kaz mercifully slid his fingers over my core. Not inside, where I wanted most, where my walls squeezed with emptiness. "Please, Kaz." I whispered in his ear, seeking his lips for a sloppy kiss.

As we kissed, as I sucked his tongue and kneaded his shirt, Kaz's hands went down to his pants, undoing the button and zipper, trying to pull them down. Realizing this, I helped him, putting my hand in his pants and freeing his dick.

It was wet with cum, it was big and it stood completely hard. It was as pink as Kaz's swollen lips, and all I could think about was how good it would taste in my mouth.

But I didn't have time for that. I felt like I was going to cum just from rubbing against Kaz. And he also felt the same way, as he quickly pulled my panties to the side and I guided the head of his cock towards my clitoris, rubbing it lightly, enough to make everything wet with my desire and his.

Kaz groaned throatily. Laying down on the bed and watching me as I slid down his cock, my folds wetting him all over and my white panties were almost transparent.

Unable to hold it any longer, I stood up and pushed his cock into my pussy. Feeling myself open up as he slid in, all the way to the base. Allowing myself to stand still for a moment, with goosebumps rising through my body, a painful moan escaped my lips in unison with Kaz's.

Me, stark naked and Kaz completely clothed. My hands found support on his chest as I slowly moved up and down his dick, finding a good rhythm for both of us. Kaz's eyes met mine, and that way, as he filled me and rolled his hips to meet my pussy mid-motion.

His mouth, swollen from all the kisses, was open, panting. His cheeks were pink, his forehead was sweaty and his hair stuck to it. Kaz was a beautiful sight.

With his eyes locked on mine, Kaz's hands went to my ass, helping me with the rhythm. Making me slide on it instead of going up and down. This way, my clitoris rubbed against the base of his dick, finding the perfect friction in the movement.

"Good?" he asked as I closed my eyes and groaned. "Perfect" I replied with a drunken smile.

"Open your mouth" I order Kaz, with a tone very similar to the one he used in meetings with the Dregs.

I opened it, my eyes still closed. I felt Kaz sit down, his chest against mine, my sensitive nipples against his shirt. Kaz, stuck a thumb in my mouth, gently touching my tongue and massaging it.

Instinctively I closed my mouth over his finger and sucked. Kaz put his face to mine and moaned. I thought I was going to keep that substitute for his cock in my mouth, but Kaz removed his finger and replaced it with his tongue.

His thumb, coated with saliva, trailed down to our junction. His dick filled me very well, but the need for more arose from the moment Kaz started massaging my pussy. I thought it couldn't get any better.

It was instinctive, as I had never experienced any of that rationally before. I moaned into his kiss and hugged him, trying to get closer, rubbing myself even more, trying to find relief from that sweet torment.

Kaz also felt the same, his dick moved inside me, trying to go deeper. I felt our sweaty bodies clinging to each other and Kaz's moans, not at all shy, made me shudder.

It was like we were boiling, feeling something tighten in my groin, feeling the need to have something faster, stronger, bigger, inside me. Until, when Kaz hugged me, his nails scratching my sweaty back, his other hand squeezing my ass and his hips pushing deeper into me, I felt like I was going to come apart.

Breaking our kiss for a gasp, I came, my face still placed on his, I felt tears running down his face. I felt, moments later, as my walls squeezed his cock and my body trembled, his hot cum filled me and then slowly slid out, even though he still had his cock stuck inside me.

Kaz then slowly lay down, taking me with him. Our chests rising and falling in search of air. Exhaustion taking over us and happiness bubbling up through our bodies.

We were still united, there was no need for us to separate now. So I adjusted myself to a more comfortable position, and looked at him. The tears were Kaz's, who was so overcome with pleasure that he didn't even notice he had cried. I kissed his face, chin and his lips.

Kaz's hands slowly caressed my body: my back, my arms, my hair, until finally he rested on my ass, playing with the hem of my panties.

We had nothing to talk about when, later, we separated enough to settle into a tired embrace and fall asleep. Kaz still in his clothes and without any criticism regarding my socks and panties.

[crooked-wasteland]

The rapresentation of abusers in helluva boss is something that particularly frustrates me, Stella in particular, it seems to be done just to victimaze certain characters not to show the complex dynamics of those relationships. It seems to me the writers aren't mature enough to handle these topics properly.

Abuse and Vivienne Medrano

Christmas 1962, a man renowned the western world over for his revolutionary approach to animation sat in a withering melancholy as he watched what could only be called a cinematic masterpiece based on a novel classic. Walt Disney, now in the twilight years of his life, saw the walls closing in and his legacy coming to a close. This man, who pioneered the animated feature film, saw his greatest accomplishment as his greatest obstacle. The man responsible for the tales brought to life of Cinderella, Snow White, Pinocchio, and Dumbo felt trapped in his achievement. “I wish,” Walt lamented, “I could make a picture like that.”

To Kill a Mockingbird was a piece that challenged its audience. The discussion of a white man defending a black man in southern America, years before the civil rights movement. The movement that, at the time the movie hit cinemas, was in its infancy. Released during the height of the historically revisionist counter movement taking place to combat the rising push of African Americans towards their human rights. The last film Walt Disney ever saw the production of before his death in 1966 was The Jungle Book, a movie that was the epitome of “Safe” and a message that upheld the status quo of segregation.

It wasn’t until 1972 that the media of animation became raucously adult with those political and challenging concepts Disney felt were unattainable. Fritz the Cat was an X-rated animated film composed of vignettes that were unapologetically perverse, violent, and aggressively political. Critical of politicians and the police with a sympathetic if exploitative lens towards the LGBT and racial minority communities Brooklyn-based director Ralph Bakshi grew up around. Bakshi proved that animation was not strictly a child-friendly media and that adult animation could be financially and critically successful.

(For more on Ralph Bakshi's career and animation history)

If one has ever had the opportunity to listen to a Brad Bird (director of Ratatouille and The Incredibles) interview, it is clear to see that the success of Bakshi was generally quite limited. That animation is considered a genre and not a medium of art has resulted in animated films being knee-capped in the box office. There is far more potential to animation, highlighted by Howard Ashton in his collaboration with Disney studios during the Renaissance. Responsible for resurrecting the feature-length animated movie through The Little Mermaid and credited for the monumental success of Best Picture Award winner Beauty and the Beast, Ashton once said that the potential animation was ideal for musical theatre. The limitless possibilities given the medium gave the possibility of introducing Broadway to the common folk who didn’t live in New York and otherwise couldn’t afford the theater. He was quoted saying that live action musical films were “an exercise in stupidity,” highlighting the freedom that comes with a blank page.

However, the success of animation, and media in general, comes down to the message the media wishes to send. The reason the Disney Renaissance films have enjoyed their position as cornerstones of pop culture and creativity was because it did introduce the artform of musical theater into homes and made them readily accessible to everyone with an even heightened sense of fantasy that revitalized Walt’s ethos of making films for the child in everyone.

With Bakshi, it was the loud and violently political message of a revolution taking place. This continues in adult animation with the Simpsons, a series critical of hyper-capitalist America and the fallout of Reagan’s economic disaster that the effects of which are still being felt today and a satire of toxic masculinity and abusive family dynamics.

So, ultimately, the value of a piece of media is a cross between its social artistic influence and the message the creators are intending to make. While Medrano’s influence on the field of indie animation is often mischaracterized as a “pioneer”, the fact is that indie animation and pilots have existed and been funded before Spindlehorse existed. It is simply that Medrano has had the spotlight handed to her for the myth surrounding the production and subsequent success of his indie projects. Artistically, her influence can be summarized as a double-edged sword. For some, she is the motivation for inspiring artists to connect with the community to one day, hopefully, create their own work. On the other hand, she is the cautionary tale of why investing in an indie project is a financial risk for an audience member and a risk to the community as a whole that poses a real danger of making the indie sphere financially cannibalistic, as her public persona is off-putting to “normies” and her show is simply not good.

Much like Disney, the man in 1962, and Disney the company circa 2023, the revolution of animating "because you can" loses its luster very quickly. Without something profound to say, an entire company, regardless of its social influence, can fade into irrelevance despite still being "successful". The story of Disney is a cautionary tale for Indie animation as a whole and Spindlehorse in specific.

And that is the other axis on this chart. Her narrative lacks a message worth telling, and that’s very much due to her not having anything worthwhile to say.

“I really liked when things and shows and stories allow the characters to be flawed, and allow them to grow and to change. And I think that’s something that’s, you know, the world is not black and white. And I like things that explore the gray and that and the complexity, of life and mistakes and of things like that.” - Vivienne Medrano

It is not for want of mockery that I carefully transcribe Medrano’s words in her interview. To read the words aloud tells the story just as clearly as I have set out to do here. This is someone who is highly inspired by better media, who has ideas and a belief that she has something to say. But that is where the belief ends. There is no conclusion to that thought any more than there is one in the unfocused and run-on sentences she rambles along throughout the interview. She talks of “Things” without clarity, because she herself is a fundamentally incurious individual who has never once spent the time critically analyzing herself, let alone the work of others to better grasp what about it resonated with her. She merely consumes art insatiably and without any substance. Like a diet of fruit, it has a superficial veneer of positive value. Fruit would be considered healthy as it is “natural”. However, it is the nutritional equivalent of candy, lacking vital components that are necessary to sustain basic life, it is pure sugar. Her work, similarly, lacks any value of depth that would qualify as meaning.

Which comes back to what the message is in her work.

When it comes to others in the field of indie animation, Medrano does not have many friends. In response to the Lackadaisy situation, creator Tracy explained why she returned Medrano’s donation. For one, the donation was not Medrano’s money, but money she crowd sourced from her employees. While the $5k for the producer spot of the fundraiser would have not been a dent in her personal wallet, Medrano is so uninterested in supporting fellow creators while presenting an impression of camaraderie that she instead took money from the people she is in charge of the paychecks for to get her name in the credits of another creator’s work. In regards to why Medrano was declined her support, it was due to numerous individuals who had such an awful experience working for Medrano that they did not want her involvement associated with the project to any extent. When the money was returned, she made the situation extremely public and encouraged harassment by liking tweets attacking Tracy and the Iron Circus team.

A well-known member of Medrano’s crew, Hunter B, was leaked speaking crassly of other animation projects that were still in the process of production, met with support from other members in the discord. One of these creators being Ashley Nicoles from Far-Fetched. A former friend and creative partner on the Hazbin Pilot whose podcast streams featuring Edward Bosco and Michael Kovach single-handedly maintained interest in the show until the winter of 2021, free of charge. Ashley once spoke of how Medrano would speak disparagingly of an employee to her, saying that this individual was “Too unstable to work with”. Which, regardless of whether or not that is Medrano’s honest opinion, counts as defamation by an employer. It is the exact reason why most previous employers will not give a negative, detailed review of a former employee, maintaining instead to verify facts of the employment. If Erin Frost was more experienced and less involved in social media exposed culture, they could have easily sued Medrano and Spindlehorse for damaging their reputation in their field of employment.

Which circles back to Medrano’s self-assigned message of her show:

“Abusers rely on your silence. They rely on knowing you can’t retaliate without consequence. That they can tell any lies and vague around without getting called out. But we see you, and you don’t have the power you think you do anymore. A message I put into my work. “Fuck you!” - Vivienne Medrano

Medrano, who has vague and sub tweeted individuals like Lackadaisy Tracy, The Diregentlemen, Michael Kovach, and Ashley Nicoles. Medrano who has instigated and incited harassment campaigns knowing that no one can call her out without severe and relentless backlash from her cultish fanbase that she personally encourages through positive reinforcement of liking the tweets of fans. Medrano who relies on the silence of other creators in the field due to the fear of her ire collapsing their projects before they even have a chance to begin.

Vivienne Medrano with an extensive abusive history that continues to this day, has something to say about abuse.

What Medrano has to say about abuse comes from someone who has the position of superiority in all of her relationships, but feels like she’s the outcast and bullied loser. Her self insert that is repeatedly expressed in every character at one point or another is how easily they abuse those around them just because they can, but that the narrative justifies their “acting out” because they are sad. According to the National Coalition Against Domestic Violence, “An abuser externalizes the causes of their behavior. They blame their violence on circumstances.”

Indeed, the lists of abusive characteristics and traits, according to the National Coalition Against Domestic Violence, overwhelmingly encompasses the characteristics shown by characters like Loona, Blitz and Stolas that Medrano repeatedly has attempted to rationalize, justify and minimize. Which, “An abuser often denies the existence or minimizes the seriousness of the violence [including emotional and mental abuse] and its effect on the victim and other family members.”

It is not surprising, then, that the conversation of abuse in Helluva Boss is often infuriating. The narrative underplays the harm done by characters we are supposed to see as “good”. Not allowing for them to grow or change, but ignoring and minimizing the behavior, justifying it through circumstances and perpetuating the false belief that victims are not, themselves, abusers.

One of the first blog post rants I ever made about mental health and abuse was the affirmation that not all victims of abuse are survivors. I wholly stand by that. Victims of abuse perpetuate abuse. A victim and an abuser are one in the same, whereas a survivor is someone who has actually done the difficult work of being self-critical. And the one thing we all are very aware of is how much Vivienne Medrano rejects criticism.

[mitsuyeaah]

SHAMELESS

RINDOU HAITANI x f! reader

“there’s just inches in between us, i want you to give in. there is tension in between us, i just wanna give in.”

cw: college au, mutual pining, slight angst (?), sexual tension, nsfw (minors dni), slight smut, dumb rindou, ran & sanzu cameo!! only proofread like once

word count: 7.5k

a/n: very first fic here on tumblr, inspired by shameless by camila cabello. a bit nervous to post this buut hope you guys enjoy!! i appreciate feedback! © divider: bushiroad

The sound of squeaking wheels filled your ears as you pushed the library book cart down the aisle, along with the occasional sound of turning of pages, the soft click clack of keyboards, and the quiet murmurs of students in a study session. It was half-past four in the afternoon which meant only 30 more minutes until your shift ended, but that didn’t really matter at the moment as your manager said you could go home early if all the returned books were taken back to their designated shelves.

You looked down at the black book cart, which now housed only one book that belonged to the music collection of the library; ‘Principles of Audio Production’ it read, in bold white letters. A small smile unknowingly formed on your lips as you made your way to the other end of the library, passing students either seated at study desks, and doing their own thing or students just simply looking for a book.

As you get to the music department, you immediately know which aisle the book belongs to, after all, you knew this department like the back of your hand. After it was neatly placed in its designated shelf and the book cart stored away in the storage room at the back, you headed for the small office on the ground floor to grab your belongings, and end your shift for the week.

You were only working part-time at your university library to at least ease the bills your parents had to pay, so you only came in during Wednesdays and Fridays as those were the days your schedule wasn't packed.

You bid goodbye to one of your co-workers who was manning the front desk, a beige knapsack secured against your back as you made your way out of the building. Walking past the glass sliding doors, you were met with a sudden cold gust of wind, your hair flying everywhere but away from your face. Mentally cursing the wind, you tried to tame your hair to see what’s ahead of you but it’s as if mother nature was playing tricks on you and decided that one more harsh blow of the wind was needed.

With the wind finally calming down after its small ‘tantrum’, you were finally able to see your surroundings, unobstructed and clearly. You caught a familiar figure on your left, leaning against the building with both hands tucked securely in the pants of his pockets, amethyst eyes already on you.

Rindou.

He was sporting a black hoodie and blue dark washed denim pants, his purple hair also swaying with the wind, effortless yet breathtaking. Rindou pushed himself off the wall and took a few steps before he was facing you, right arm extended out with his black sleeves slightly pushed back to reveal a singular black hair tie circling his wrist, “Here.” Rindou nudged his arm closer to you, indicating to take the hair tie. 

You briefly met his eyes to give him a small smile and mutter a “Thanks.” before removing the hair tie off his wrist, making contact with the dark ink that decorated his outer arm.

You never really saw his full tattoo apart from the one on his right arm when he would occasionally wear short-sleeved shirts on warmer weathers, but you did know that it continued to the right side of his chest and down to his right ankle. It was only because you hung out with him once after his gym session where he was sporting shorts and a black muscle tee that exposed maybe a little too much for your sanity, you weren’t complaining though.

“Don’t mention it. You looked like you were fighting for your life back there.” Rindou chuckled as he stuffed his right hand back into his pocket, watching you tie your hair in a ponytail. It's not the first time he’s given you a hair tie on an extremely windy day, but there’s just something different nowadays. Something you felt deep in your chest that you can’t quite pinpoint or clearly describe what exactly it is.

No, you can describe what it is, but you refused to acknowledge it because of this lingering question in your mind.

You playfully rolled your eyes at him and began walking, “No shit. I hate windy days so much.” you grumbled while shaking your head at the afternoon weather; gray clouds loomed over the city, accompanied by the harsh autumn winds.

It was routine for Rindou to wait for you until your shift finished, sometimes he would be hanging out in the music department of the library, absorbing various contents related to his studies while he waited. Other days he would be waiting outside the building like he did today, always unpredictable but that’s what you loved about him.

You never forced Rindou to wait for you after your shifts, he just turned up one day and decided that he was going to continue doing it just because. 

Rindou didn’t hesitate to match your pace as you two walked back toward the dormitories, “How was work? Busy?” he angled his face towards you, a small shiver running down his spine as another gust of wind blew. Maybe he should’ve worn something warmer than just a black hoodie.

You shook your head, staring ahead of you, “Nah, it wasn’t too busy in the library since it is a Friday. I think students would rather enjoy the start of the weekend than spend their afternoon holed up in the library.” Rindou didn’t really focus on your reply to his question, instead, he focused on the way your brows slightly furrowed because of the cold, the way your hair danced as the wind carried it, the way your eyes held light in them despite the gloomy weather, the way your lips moved with every word—

“Rindou?” He was brought back from his trance after you called out his name several times, “W-what?” his gaze immediately shifted from your lips to your eyes. You slightly shook your head to make a face, “I said, how come you have so many spare hair ties? Do you buy them just for me?” you teased him, wriggling your brows in a suggestive manner.

Rindou looked away too fast for his liking but replied with, “Shut up, I only bring some because I use them too. They’re not specifically for you.” He was met with laughter which made him return his gaze back to you, you were still looking at him but this time a teasing smile now dawned upon your face, brows furrowed but not because of the wind but because of confusion.

“You tie your mullet? I literally have never seen you do that.” Rindou scoffed and rolled his eyes, he ignored your question by changing the topic, “Oh that’s right, Ran wanted to meet up with you later for that assignment you guys were working on?”

Now it was your turn to scoff, you had totally forgotten about the assignment due at midnight. Now here you are, sulking about having to cancel tonight’s plan of binge watching movies because of a stupid assignment. The assignment wasn’t really that important as it was from one of your general education courses, but it would be nice to see good grades on your transcript. Plus, Ran was a slight perfectionist underneath his playful personality.

Although Ran was a year older than you and was doing a completely different degree, you two became friends because of the shared general education course you both took, a course not offered by both your respective faculties.

Ran was a business major and in his last year of studies but that didn’t stop you two from creating an unforgettable friendship. “Fuck, I totally forgot about that! Is he back at the dorms? I might just go to him now so we can finalize the assignment.” Rindou nodded, and you both headed for their shared dorm.

—

“I honestly don’t even know why I took this shit! Rindou, you said this was going to be easy.” Ran loudly complained, his brows furrowed and lips downturned as he ran his fingers through his short purple hair. You and Ran were sitting across one another at their dining table, laptops in front of you with a shared google doc pulled up.

The general education course you and Ran had taken was an Arts paper which taught the history of music, so now you and Ran were stuck writing about music. You honestly didn’t even know why you chose this course in the first place. Rindou chuckled as he brought over two cups of coffee from the kitchen, setting one beside your laptop and taking a sip out of the other. “Where’s mine?” Ran questioned, his frown deepening as he anticipated his hot drink, his eyes following his younger brother as he took a seat beside you.

“You have hands, make your own.” Rindou mumbled, eyes were glued to your laptop screen, he scooted his chair closer so he could get a better look at what you and Ran were working on.

As Rindou leaned closer, his cologne engulfed your nostrils, the scent you’ve grown to love over the past few months; it was sweet but mixed with an earthy aroma. It took all your willpower not to slightly lean away from the man, you weren’t uncomfortable with the closeness but he does unexplainable things to you every single time he comes close. You nervously bit your lip as you could now feel the heat his body radiated.

Ran narrowed his eyes at Rindou–who was still getting closer to you–and shifted his eyes to you, frozen on the wooden seat and eyes abnormally glued to the laptop, he mentally laughed at the scene unfolding in front of him before speaking up again.

“Okay, last time I checked, it was our study session. You’re not even a part of this.” He rested his chin on the palm of his right hand while his left hand scrolled up and down the shared document. Rindou replied, still not looking at his brother “And last time I checked, you needed my help. Plus, this is basically related to what I’m studying so I’m staying here.”

Rindou majored in Music Business which was the study of songwriting, entrepreneurial practices, and revenue flow. He was in second year just like you and you only knew him because of his older brother, and have met him countless of times during your study sessions back at their dorm.

Unlike with Ran, It took quite a while to build a friendship with Rindou as he was more introverted and closed off, but it was worth it since he’s been nothing but a wonderful friend to you. Sometimes you question if he sees you more than one due to the countless times he’s acted towards you.

A smirk made its way across Ran’s face, Rindou could see it from his peripheral vision, a smile too wide for the younger’s liking but he decided to ignore it, “Are you sure it’s not because of…” Ran trailed off as Rindou finally looked up at his older brother with a glare, their eyes briefly meeting before Ran shifted his gaze over to you–who was still looking at the shared document–and back to Rindou, lifting a brow. Little shit, Rindou thought.

If looks could kill, Ran would be dead right now. Rindou was practically sending daggers across the table and toward his older brother, although this only entertained Ran even more as he bursted out laughing while throwing his head back. His behaviour snapped you out of your thoughts, your confused gaze shifting between the two siblings, the one beside you was scowling while the other across from you was still laughing. Typical Haitani siblings behaviour.

—

After a chaotic but productive study session, you were supposed to be on your way back to your own dorm but instead, you were walking to the convenience store under a small shared umbrella with Rindou while the rain poured non-stop.

It was quarter to seven in the evening and you were craving for something sweet, the sky was much darker than it was before and the gusts of wind now colder than the afternoon ones. “I could’ve managed on my own..” you mumbled against the brown scarf wrapped around your neck that Rindou had pulled from his closet, it smelled like him, so everytime you inhaled, his scent engulfed your nostrils.

“There’s no way in hell I would leave you alone, especially with the weather this bad. ‘Sides, it’s already dark out— goodness, come here! You’re getting your clothes wet.” Rindou wraps his left arm around your waist and pulls you closer to him, your right arm flushed against his side.

You thought that once he was done pulling you closer to him, he’d remove his arm from your waist but he didn’t. He firmly kept his arm around you for the whole trip to the convenience store, like it was meant to be there and you swear you could feel his burning touch through your thick clothes, it was so warm, he was so warm; such a nice contrast from the cold autumn night.

It was always like this with Rindou ever since you met him. He would always behave in such a way that would make you question your status with him, was this really you two being just friends? There were days where he wouldn’t test the boundary of your friendship, but there were also some days that he would, and boy did he test it to the max.

Those days were the days where he would be needier than usual and ask for things that friends definitely didn't do.

“I’m so tired, ‘s okay if I rest on you for a bit?” He asked you one time but he didn’t wait for your answer and also didn’t hesitate to lean his head against your left shoulder. 

You two were both at the library at that time, you were watching the lecture you missed out on while he… was just chilling. You two stayed that way until you literally had to tell Rindou that your shoulder was becoming tired, and he needed to wake up; it led to him apologizing and massaging the shoulder he leaned on, it felt nice. Really nice, too nice. Nice enough that you just had to let out a breathy sigh because of how good it felt, “Fuck, that actually feels so good.” you slightly tilted your head to the right to give him more access.

Rindou swallowed at your behaviour and uncomfortably shifted in his seat, Fuck, he thought, something deep inside stirring like a storm waiting to rage. “Yeah?” was all he could muster, he couldn’t think properly, not when you looked so pretty and responsive to his touches.

Another time was when he asked you if he could hold your hand because he felt down–whatever that meant–and you did let him, for some odd reason. Sometimes there would also be his stares that lingered around your face for too long, specifically your lips; he wouldn’t even try to hide it at some point, a weird glint in his eyes as he stared at your soft lips.

You would ask him ‘what?’ and he would just shrug and say ‘so pretty’. Sometimes there would just be comfortable silence between the two of you while you both sat inside his car, just basking in silence when he would ask if you wanted to come with him during his night drives.

And ever since those days, the boundary between friendship and lovers was becoming more and more blurry and you didn’t know what to do. You didn’t know what to do with the question that has been lingering in your mind ever since the day he tested the boundaries.

The warmth that his body radiated comforted you so much, it made you forget about everything else. The people around you, the cars driving past, the loud pattering of the rain against the umbrella, and the coldness of the night. God, you wanted to be this close to him for the rest of your life. Or maybe even closer–

Wait what? What the fuck am I thinking? You thought to yourself.

You shook your head slightly as if it would dissipate the storm of thoughts clouding your mind, Rindou noticed your movement and looked down at you, “You okay?” a glint of concern dawning upon his pretty amethyst eyes, oh to get lost in them forever. “Hm? Yeah… just a bit cold ‘s all.” you replied, which made Rindou tighten his grip around you. “We're almost there.”

Rindou shook off the excess water from the umbrella and shoved it inside a small metal basket provided by the convenience store while you both entered. “I’m going to have a look around too, maybe ask Ran if he wants anything.” you nodded at him before going your separate ways inside the store.

After grabbing several sweets–that you’re probably going to devour all by tonight–you decided it was also a good idea to stock up on some food and necessities for your dorm. Rindou appeared out of nowhere and took your basket, placing a few things he got for him and his older brother, “You almost done?”

You nodded before placing a box of hair dye inside the plastic basket that Rindou now held in his hand. He squinted at the packaging which read ‘pink’, were you about to dye your hair pink? He didn’t question your intentions but it did make him a tad bit curious.

“I’ll pay for this.” and with that, he wordlessly turned around and started walking to the counter before you could protest. “Rindou, I know you’re as broke as I am. Let me just pay for my things!” you walked faster to catch up to him, but the clerk already began to scan and bag the items.

“We’ll split the payment!” you told the clerk, and stood beside Rindou, a hand encasing around his wrist in case he tried to pay for all the things himself. Your touch made Rindou flustered more than it should have, it was nothing but a simple touch, so why was he acting like a teenage boy? God, he’s so fucking embarrassing.

After finally getting around to splitting the bill, you and Rindou thanked the clerk as he handed you two bags and headed for the exit, not forgetting to take the wet umbrella from the basket at the entrance. “Holy shit, it’s gotten worse.” Rindou looked up at the pitch black sky, one hand holding the bags and the other holding the opened umbrella.

The rain was now pouring harder which made it hard to clearly see the surroundings, it also didn’t help that it was now darker out. “I told you I could manage on my own. Your dorm is farther from here than mine.” you sighed as you inched closer to him, yearning for the warmth of his body.

Before he could respond, you opened your mouth again, “You know what? I can’t let you go back with the weather like this. You can stop by my place first and wait it out, it’s only… quarter-past seven. I live alone, so it's okay.” you shoved your phone back into the pocket of your jacket after checking the time. Rindou absent-mindedly nodded, “Mhm, yeah, you’re right— wait what?” he quickly turned his head to you but you were already pulling him toward the direction of your dormitories.

Holy fuck. Rindou thought to himself.

He’s never been inside your dorm. Yeah, he’s been in the building a couple of times to drop you off or pick you up but he has never been physically inside your room, it was always you coming over to the shared dorm with his older brother or just simply hanging out somewhere around the campus for study sessions and whatnots. Rindou would be lying to himself if he said his mind wasn’t playing hundreds of scenarios of what would happen once you two get inside your dorm, he wants to curse himself for thinking that way but he just can’t help it, not when you literally drive him crazy.

Rindou didn’t notice that the both of you had already arrived in the building and was now standing in front of your door, you swiped your ID card on the reader and it made a little noise before you opened the door. He took in your room, it wasn’t decorated as much and looked like your typical university dorm but it was cozy, it was definitely smaller than his and Ran’s but it made sense as this was only built to accommodate one person.

“Did you… want anything? Water? Something to eat?” you asked Rindou as you made your way to your kitchen to set the bags down on the counter after taking your shoes and scarf off, before he could respond, a knock caught both of your attention. Were you having someone else over tonight? Rindou thought. A slight pang of jealousy made its way to his chest.

You walked past him and opened the door, Rindou took a few steps closer as well, curious to see who would be knocking at your door at this time; a pink haired man came into view as you swung the door open. Who the fuck dyes their hair pink? Rindou thought to himself, but he couldn’t really say much, not with the purple hair he had.

“Oh, hey! Did you manage to get that thing I asked about? So sorry for making you run an errand for me— Oh… am I interrupting something?” the stranger’s turquoise eyes darted between you and Rindou, slight embarrassment dawning upon his pretty face.

“Shit, thanks for reminding me, and yes, I did manage to buy. Also, Rindou, this is Haruchiyo, he lives next door. Haru, this is Rindou, a friend of mine. I’ll be right back, I’ll grab it real quick.” you quickly introduced both men to one another before leaving them two alone to grab the item Haru asked you to buy. Rindou awkwardly cleared his throat, his hand coming up to scratch his nape, “So uh… what’s your major?”.

Haruchiyo, who was mindlessly fidgeting with his hands, looked up at Rindou “Hm? Oh, Chemistry. The same as her.” he answered, pointing a finger in your general direction. Rindou slowly nodded, letting out a small ‘oh’ at the information, if he was being honest, Rindou could care less about this man in front of him but you were taking too long to find the damn item Haruchiyo asked you to buy, so he had to act like he was interested in the stranger in front of him.

Before Rindou could open his mouth for another question–in which he wouldn’t be interested in the answer–to the pink haired man in front of him, you finally came back with the item Haru had asked you to buy. It was the hair dye he saw you place into the basket earlier, pink hair dye.

Oh, so that’s what the hair dye was for…, Rindou thought. Haruchiyo smiled and eagerly grabbed the small box as you handed it over to him, “A life saver, Thanks! I’ll get going now and transfer you the money… Nice meeting you, Rindou.” Rindou gave him a nod of acknowledgement before Haruchiyo left.

Rindou couldn’t pinpoint what it was but he didn’t like Haruchiyo, not one bit. Maybe it was the way his turquoise eyes lit up when you came back into the view, or maybe it was because you two were practically living next door, or maybe it was basically a given that you and Haruchiyo see each other almost every day as you’re both doing the same major— 

What the actual fuck, Rindou. Get your shit together. He mentally cursed himself.

“How long have you known him for?” Rindou asked as he followed you further into your dorm, he pulled a wooden chair out from the dining table which scraped the wooden floor a little too loud, Rindou winced at the sound before sitting on the chair. “Hm? I’ve known Haru since first year…” you explained your friendship with Haruchiyo to him while sorting the things you bought, but he didn’t really listen because the only thing in his mind was the nickname you gave the pink haired man.

Haru.

Why didn’t he get a nickname? He wanted a nickname.

Before Rindou could finally reply, you were already giving him a confused look, “You okay? Been spacing out a lot… also, did you want to watch a movie to pass time?” you walked over to your small living room and sat on the two-seater couch, the black leather creaking under your weight. Rindou stood up from his seat and awkwardly padded over to where you were, “Yeah, I’m fine.” he sat next to you, shoulders brushing against one another.

“What movie did you want to wat—” “Some girl in my class asked me out today.” he cut you off, it was true, a classmate had asked him out after one of his classes today and he has yet to give an answer. Rindou didn’t know why he brought it up, he just felt like he had to but he didn’t know for exactly what reason. His sudden confession caught you off guard. You met his stare, amethyst eyes unwavering, there it was again, that weird glint in his eyes.

You don’t know how long you two looked into each other's eyes, one, two, three or more seconds? Until you finally spoke up, uncertainty in your tone, “Congrats?... what did you say?” you shifted your gaze to your fingers, picking on your nails. To be very honest, you weren’t happy for him. Not one bit.

You were jealous, you wished you had the courage that girl did but you didn’t, and now someone else is out there trying to claim him. Your Rindou. But then again, you didn’t know where your status stood with him, he never clarified what you two were because after the days that he tested the boundaries, he would act indifferent, like he didn’t just hold your hand the other day, like he didn’t almost kiss you. For fucks sakes, you were confused as hell.

You didn’t know what to make of the information but it had you wanting to hear his answer more than anything. Had he said yes? What if he did and they’d already gone on a date before he came by the library today? My goodness you were so fucking pathetic for hiding your feelings for Rindou. You wanted to pull your hair out because the possibility of Rindou saying yes is high—

“I haven’t given her an answer… but I know I’ll most likely say no.” Oh my god you knew it. You fucking knew he’d say yes to—

Wait what?

Oh.

Oh.

“Why not? I’m sure she’s nice—” “I want someone else.” you met his gaze again, this time you stared into each other's eyes much longer. It was so silent that you could hear your own racing heartbeat, the ticking of the clock on the wall, your breaths that's become shallow, you didn’t know how to respond. You could feel tingles all over your body as he looked at you like he wanted you, you swear your head was almost spinning with how close Rindou suddenly was.

Your senses were heightened. You could smell his sweet scent that drove you oh so crazy, you could feel the heat he radiated, but this time it was burning. It wasn’t just warm, no. It was hot, he was hot, literally. He burns for you. You didn’t miss the way his lavender eyes slowly traced your features one by one before finally settling on your plump lips. And you also didn’t miss the way Rindou took in a sharp breath as he stared at them, almost as if it pained him to not be kissing it at this very moment. Fuck, he was so tempted.

“Can I… kiss you?” he whispered as he once again met your gaze, and thickly swallowed. God, the only thing holding him back at this very moment was your permission, he wouldn’t know what to do if you said no.

With how gorgeous Rindou looked right now, you couldn’t trust your voice so you just slowly nodded your head. You swore Rindou muttered a faint ‘fuck’ under his breath before he wasted no time to close the gap between the two of you.

You were sweet. So fucking sweet. He was now fully facing you–his left shoulder touching the backrest of the sofa–your chin situated between his right thumb and index finger, tilting your head toward him as he devoured you. His kisses were hungry and rough, like there was some sort of history behind it all, like he’d been waiting his whole life to do just this.

But you couldn’t complain, never, you liked it a lot; your whole body was burning with lust, sparks flying as Rindou pressed further into you with desperation as if you were about to turn into dust any time and slip out of his very hands.

Rindou was out of his mind. Your lips were soft and pillowy against his, just how he liked it, and it drove him crazy. The way you let out soft moans against his lips, the way both your hands clung tightly onto his hoodie, like it was the only thing that’s keeping you grounded right now. So responsive. So vulnerable. He wanted to ruin you so bad.

You don’t know how but Rindou managed to slip you out of your jacket, only noticing that it was off as the cold air of your dorm engulfed your bare arms. You slowly pulled away from Rindou to catch your breath, slightly pushing him away as he was trying to catch your lips. He leaned his forehead against your, both your chests heaving, breaths mixing together as you two basked in warm silence. Rindou wasn’t done with you.

He gave your now swollen lips a peck before heading for your cheek, trailing light kisses down your jaw until he reached your neck. Rindou gave you soft experimental kisses where your shoulder met your neck, to which you responded with sweet whines and the call of his name. “Fuck… Rindou.” you breathed out as he licked a stripe up your neck and sucked on the same spot that made you whine for him.

Your hands flew up to his lavender hair as Rindou began trailing kisses down to your collar bones. “R-rindou wait! Hold on…” you slowly pushed him away as you felt his hands attempting to tug your shirt up, Rindou pulled away, concern clouding his lustful gaze as he questioned you, “What’s the matter? Did I hurt you?” he panted out. You shook your head but he saw something different in your eyes, like there was something you wanted to say.

“Rindou?” “Hm?” “What are we?”

There. You said it, you said the question that’s been buried deep into the back of your mind ever since your established friendship with Rindou Haitani.

“I–I don't…? We’re friends, what do you mean?” his brows furrowed. You had to close your eyes and take a deep breath, anger bubbling up from within, “Exactly, Rindou! We’re friends… and friends don’t do this, right?” you argued with desperation in your tone. Is he fucking dumb? Did he really just have the audacity to say ‘we’re friends’ after he marked your neck dark red and purple? After he just kissed you like a starved man? After almost slipping you out of your shirt? 

Rindou knew that. He knew that friends didn’t act the way you two did but he just wasn’t ready to face this conversation. Yes, he’s a coward, and a big one at that.

“Why did you even tell me that some girl in your class asked you out? What do you feel for me, Rindou?” you pressed further, wanting immediate answers from the man in front of you. He had an expression you couldn’t understand, like he looked troubled. Fighting a mental war within himself while he remained quiet.

Your heart sank as he just sat there avoiding eye contact, your once lustful gaze turning into nothing but mere anger and possibly hatred. “I think I should go…” he mumbled–more to himself than to you–quickly scrambling from the couch and towards your door. The fucking audacity, you thought. “Really, Rindou?! You’re just going to run away like a fucking coward? We’re both adults here for fucksakes! At least face this head-on!” you stood up, raising your voice at him, but Rindou never said anything nor turned back once. He just quietly put his shoes on and left without a word.

The slam of the door resonated throughout your dorm as you stood there all alone, your neck marked and heart broken in a million pieces by someone that was never yours from the very start. You felt dumb. How foolish of you to think he actually felt the same way, maybe he just stuck around because of lust. You felt so used and angry that tears uncontrollably fell from your eyes, your breathing erratic but this time it's from anger. You sat down on the couch and took deep breaths while closing your eyes, wishing it would all just go away once you open them back again.

Rindou was unpredictable but was this really what you loved about him?

—

You felt like shit. For the past few weeks, you were in a sour mood, nothing entertained nor interested you. You watched the hues of red and purple on your neck fade as days passed. Rindou stopped coming by the end of your shifts at the library, he never texted or called to apologize about that night, he didn’t wait for you outside your dormitory to walk you to class, he didn’t wait outside your class to hangout at the library.

It was like Rindou was never even there from the start. It wasn’t hard for him to avoid you as you were both in different faculties–him being in the Arts and you being in the Science Faculty–although you did wish that you would run into him somehow when you headed over to the School of Arts for the general education class you had with Ran.

Hangouts with Ran became less frequent as he was embarrassed about what his younger brother did to you, it was also limited to either the library or somewhere around the campus, as going back to his and Rindou’s shared dorm was no longer a viable option. But he acted indifferent toward you, despite the situation. Ran cherished his friendship with you and he was not going to let his younger brother taint it.

It was one of those nights where you binged watched movies up to the point where your eyes couldn’t handle it anymore. The clock on your laptop read ‘2:39 am’, your eyes were droopy and you couldn’t care less about the movie playing in front of you, the voices of the actors turning into a soft muffled sound as you fought to stay awake. You were on your bed, your laptop that was once resting on your stomach slowly sliding off and onto the sheets.

Loud desperate knocks on your door jolted you awake, your heart rate suddenly increasing from the unexpected loud sound at this hour of the morning. You swore that if it was Haru knocking at this ungodly hour, you were not only going to kill him, but also ignore his desperate pleas for help during your laboratory sessions. You let out a grunt as you threw your sheets off you and moved your laptop out of the way.

Your warm feet slowly padded against the cold wooden floor as you made your way over to your door. You weren’t too worried about it being an intruder as the building did require ID cards to present before entering it, therefore suggesting that whoever is knocking at your door is a student; with a sigh, you undid the locks and slowly opened the door, “I swear to god Haruchiyo, if you’re asking me to dye your hair this early again—” your sentence was cut short as the opened door did in fact not reveal your pink haired friend.

The man who stood before you was purple haired. Your heart skipped a beat.

The same man who has been avoiding you like the plague, and who disappeared without a single explanation. Rindou looked like shit. The bags under his eyes were prominent, his purple hair tousled and chest heaving. Did he run here? At 2 in the fucking morning? You thought.

You didn’t know how to feel about this, a part of you wanted to slam the door shut and go back to your warm sheets but the other part wanted to see where this went. You opened your mouth to say something but nothing came out, there was nothing in your mind at this very moment. All you knew is that your heart yearned for him but you couldn’t look him in the eye, not when he left you hanging like that.

“I’ve been thinking about you…” Rindou was the first one to break the silence, his amethyst eyes studying your features with concern. You looked tired, too, and empty. Your eyes didn’t hold that special glint in them like before.  “I don’t know what else to say to you.” you quietly responded, looking anywhere but his eyes; you knew if you made eye contact with them, you’d be sucked back in and forget about everything else, but you can’t be fooled anymore. Not for a second time.

Rindou let out a heavy sigh, “Please look at me..” his tone laced with pure desperation, it pained you to hear him like this, he sounded so broken and lost, like he didn’t know what was right or wrong anymore. “Rindou, look, this clearly isn’t a good idea. I know you don’t feel the same way—”

“Please, can we just talk about this?” he cut you off, coming a step closer, to which you responded by defensively taking a step back. Rindou noticed this and refrained himself from coming any closer, like he might hurt you if he did. “Can I come in? Please, I just want to talk things out… that’s the least I can do for you.” he watched as you weighed out the pros and cons of letting Rindou inside, biting your lower lip as you decided.

With a sigh, you fully opened the door, stepping aside as you replied with, “I guess there’s no harm in that…” you finally met his eyes, his gaze softening like it was the only thing he needed to calm the storm behind his stare.

You both made your way to the couch, where all this mess started.

The black leather creaked under your weights as the both of you settled on it, both uncomfortably clinging to each end of the couch, not wanting to make awkward physical contact with one another.

Rindou cleared his throat and fully turned to you, “I’m sorry. It took me so long to realize my feeli— no, actually, I’ve known my feelings for you ever since but..” he trailed off, looking down at his hands. It shouldn’t have made you this happy to know that, but your heart couldn’t help but skip a beat. He liked you back.

“...I don’t know what got into me that night. I guess I was just… scared?” Rindou sighed, burying his face in his palms. Maybe he should’ve just stayed home. No matter how much he can explain himself, there was just no justifying for what he did to you that night. He had no right to devour you like that and leave within the next minute because he got scared of your question.

It was your turn to face him, brows furrowed, anger and confusion slowly seeping into you, “Scared? Scared of what, Rindou?” you questioned, slightly raising your voice. You’ve had enough of his bullshit. “God, I don’t know, okay?!” Rindou removed his face from his palms and looked at you, tears welling up in his eyes.

He closed them for a bit to try and steady his breathing. “I just like you so much that I don’t even know what to do anymore. I just want to be with you, I want to be by your side as much as I can, and it hurts me that I made you cry..” Rindou avoided your gaze as he opened his eyes again. He was never the type to genuinely confess his feelings nor was the sappy type, so you knew this was very difficult for him to do, and you respected him for going out of his comfort zone.

Now it was your turn to ask him to look at you, it took you several attempts before he finally did so. A single tear ran down his cheek as he made eye contact with you, god, you wanted to hug him so bad. You forced a small smile, “You can have me, Rindou… I’ve been yours from the very start.” you whispered, your eyes never leaving his, to reassure him that you meant every single word you said.

Before he could reply, you started speaking again, “..I’m so tired of having somebody that’s not mine.”

“A-and I know you feel the same way as I do… but do you still want me?” you inched closer to him, your eyes holding his intense gaze, you weren’t about to back down from this. You needed to know his answer. “I want you so fucking bad that it physically hurts me. Call me shameless but that’s exactly how I feel.” Rindou replied, his voice dropping an octave while he held your gaze. Two can play at this game, he thought. Something in the air shifted, the mood was now completely different.

You let out a dry chuckle, “Show me how shameless you are, then. Why don’t you write it on my neck?”

Rindou swore under his breath, wasting no time pressing his lips against your own, he missed this so much. He missed the way the warmth of your lips ignited his whole body, he missed the way his chest tingled with delight, he missed the way you moaned against his lips even though he had barely touched you.

He pulled away and trailed hot open-mouthed kisses on your jaw and down to your neck, where you liked him the most. “Mhm… Rindou…” you moaned out his name, both hands flying to his hair, pushing him closer to your neck as he nibbled on the same spot he had previously marked, paying extra attention to it as it made you moan his name in a way that he isn’t going to forget any time soon. “Fuck, you’re so needy for me, huh?” Rindou swore, his voice raspy and low. It did things to you.

You let out a whine as he trailed even further down, sucking on your collarbones. His mouth felt so heavenly against your bare skin, but you needed more. You wanted to be closer to him. “R-rindou…” you whined, you don’t even know what you want from him but saying his name just felt right. “What do you want, princess? Use your words.” He gave your collarbone–that was now littered with hues of purple and red–one last peck before swiftly tugging your shirt off.

The cool early morning air hit your bare chest, you shuddered as Rindou sucked on a spot just above your nipple, his warm mouth being a complete contrast from the air. He gently pushed you further into the couch until your back was met with the cool leather, and Rindou was on top of you, in between your legs. “Oh fuck..” you threw your head back against the arm rest as he placed a nipple inside his mouth, alternating between sucking and licking, he gave your other breast attention using his hand, massaging it and rolling the bud between his fingers. Rindou panted heavily against your chest, “So pretty for me.”

He made his way back up and kissed you once again, grinding his clothed cock against you, he let out a whine as he rested his face on your neck. The friction felt so good, he didn’t know if he was even gonna last long. “Fuck, I want you so bad.” he groaned, teeth clenching from the unbearable pleasure he felt.

“I’m all yours, Rindou.”

With that, he showed you how badly he wanted you, over and over again. You saw parts of him that you haven’t seen before, the vulnerability, the intimacy, and the true feelings he held for you. And oh, you were finally able to see the entirety of his tattoo, from his arm, right down to his ankles and everything in between.

© mitsuyeaah

[simply-ivanka]

A Minnesotan Sizes Up Tim Walz

During his tenure, student achievement has slipped, crime has surged, and state residents have fled.

By Scott W. Johnson - Wall Street Journal

St. Paul, Minn.

Tim Walz has such a bad record as Minnesota’s governor that I was astonished when he landed on Vice President Kamala Harris’s vice-presidential shortlist. As Minnesota’s Center of the American Experiment has documented, under Mr. Walz Minnesota has become a high-crime state. Student achievement has tumbled as spending on schools has skyrocketed. Per capita gross domestic product has fallen below the national average. Minnesotans have joined residents of New York, California and Illinois in fleeing their home state.

Pennsylvania Gov. Josh Shapiro—also on Ms. Harris’s shortlist—made sense to me. Pennsylvania is a key state. Mr. Shapiro seems to be a man of substance and would give liberal Jews a reason to vote for Ms. Harris without a guilty conscience. As a Jewish supporter of Israel, I worried that Mr. Shapiro would give the animus throbbing in the heart of the Democratic Party cover. Indeed, that animus drove a nasty intraparty campaign against him.

But Tim Walz? I’m a conservative Republican. I don’t completely understand Democrats’ ways. As an observer of Minnesota politics, however, I understand how Mr. Walz became governor. Having served six terms in Congress from a rural district, he challenged the endorsed DFL (Democratic-Farmer-Labor Party) candidate—a liberal metro-area state senator, Erin Murphy—in the 2018 DFL primary. Ms. Murphy was also challenged by another metro-area liberal, Lori Swanson, then state attorney general. With Ms. Murphy and Ms. Swanson dividing the liberal urban vote, Mr. Walz and his far-left running mate, former state Rep. Peggy Flanagan, won the primary with 41%.

On taking office in 2019, Gov. Walz was restrained by a one-seat Republican majority in the state Senate—until Covid hit in the spring of 2020. He declared a state of emergency on March 25, 2020, and ruled by decree for 15 months. He proclaimed the emergency on the basis of an allegedly sophisticated Minnesota Model projection of the virus’s course in the state. In fact, the projection reflected a weekend’s work by graduate students at the University of Minnesota School of Public Health. Relying on their research, Mr. Walz presented a scenario in which an estimated 74,000 Minnesotans would perish from the virus. The following week the Star Tribune reported that with the lockdown Mr. Walz ordered, 50,000 would die. Maybe it would have been preferable to address the virus through democratic means.

Having destroyed jobs and impeded life routines, including family get-togethers and church attendance, Mr. Walz finally let his one-man rule lapse on July 1, 2021. When the Johns Hopkins Coronavirus Resource Center stopped counting in March 2023, the deaths of 14,870 Minnesotans were attributed to the virus. (In 2020 I successfully sued the administration for excluding me from Health Department press briefings on Covid.)

During the state of emergency, protests broke out in Minneapolis on Memorial Day 2020 following the death of George Floyd. That Thursday, rioters burned Minneapolis’s Third Precinct police station to the ground. Mr. Walz didn’t deploy the National Guard until the weekend. Riots, arson and looting throughout the Twin Cities caused about $500 million in damage.

Minnesota leads the nation in Covid fraud. Under the auspices of the Feeding Our Future nonprofit, its founder, Aimee Bock, allegedly recruited mostly young Somali men to seek reimbursement for millions of meals supposedly served to poor students and families. According to indictments handed up by a grand jury to U.S. Attorney Andrew Luger, Ms. Bock and others allegedly defrauded the state and federal government of $250 million. Ms. Bock has pleaded not guilty to the fraud charges.

Among the 70 defendants charged to date, 18 have pleaded guilty. In April the first of the cases to go to trial had seven defendants; five were convicted. The remaining cases have yet to be tried. In all, the Minnesota Department of Education oversaw the payout of $250 million to reimburse fictitious meals. The nature and scale of the fraud are staggering. Mr. Walz tried to blame state district court judge John Guthmann, who in April 2021 handled a case regarding the department’s processing of applications for reimbursements. According to Mr. Walz, Judge Guthmann ordered the state to continue payouts to the alleged perpetrators of the fraud even after the state Education Department discovered it.

In September 2022, Judge Guthmann authorized a news release titled “Correcting media reports and statements by Gov. Tim Walz concerning orders issued by the court.” The release concluded: “As the public court record and Judge Guthmann’s orders make plain, Judge Guthmann never issued an order requiring the MN Department of Education to resume food reimbursement payments to FOF. The Department of Education voluntarily resumed payments and informed the court that FOF resolved the ‘serious deficiencies’ that prompted it to suspend payments temporarily. All of the MN Department of Education food reimbursement payments to FOF were made voluntarily, without any court order.”

In November 2022 Mr. Walz was elected to a second term, and the DFL won majorities in both chambers of the Legislature. In the preceding two years the state had accumulated an $18 billion budget surplus. With the DFL in full control, Mr. Walz and the Legislature have spent the $18 billion surplus on infrastructure, education and other programs that will burden the state for years. They have also raised taxes.

Mr. Walz and his DFL colleagues have backed measures establishing Minnesota as a mecca for abortion and a “trans refuge.” The legislation prohibits enforcing out-of-state subpoenas, arrest warrants and extradition requests for people from other states who seek treatment that is legal in Minnesota. It also bars complying with court orders issued in other states to remove children from their parents’ custody for authorizing hormone treatment or surgery to alter sex characteristics.

Like so many Democrats who have kept up with the demands of the progressive agenda, Mr. Walz has “grown” in office. In his second term, he has been the most left-wing Minnesota governor since the socialist Floyd B. Olson (1931-36). I doubt that Mr. Walz could be elected to Congress in his old district, which is now represented by a Republican. The idea that he can appeal to voters who don’t already support Ms. Harris seems far-fetched.

Mr. Johnson is a retired Minneapolis attorney and contributor to the site Power Line.

[heli-writes]

Between then and now, Part 3.

Part 3: The job

Pairing: Toshinori Yagi x Reader

Summary: When a whirlwind affair between you and All Might was found out by his manager, it was made sure that no one ever knew about you or your relationship with All Might. Even twenty years later, Toshinori Yagi still thinks of you. His retirement leaves him lonely in a cold city apartment and he wonders what could’ve been. Maybe it’s time to rekindle? But is that what you want?

Disclaimers: -

Note: -

Heli’s Masterlist

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ *~*~*~*~ *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The present day, Japan.

You take a deep breath and pull at the end of your blazer in hopes of straightening it a bit.

It's your first day at your new job, after working at the same hero agency for almost 20 years. It's not only new but also a bit scary. In the past, you've worked for an American hero who throughout his career ranked somewhere in the lower top ten. The hero called Solar Flare was already an established, popular hero when you started working for him. You just quit All Might's hero agency and were desperate to get a new job before you started showing. Luckily for you, All Might's popularity in the US was enough to make you look like a valuable addition to any hero agency.

Solar Flare was about ten years older than you, married, and a father to four children. Today you know that Flare knew you were pregnant when you came in for your interview but you're not sure whether he hired you because of your credentials working for All Might or because he took pity on a pregnant lady. Either way, you liked working for Flare. Like his fire quirk, he was a warm and kind man. He and his team made you feel welcome in a country where everything seemed foreign to you.

You think fondly about your former boss as you wait for the elevator to reach the ground level. Your new boss is waiting for you all the way up in one of Musutafu's skyscrapers.

The elevator in front of you 'dings' and the door opens. A bunch of businessmen leave the small containment, brushing past you in a hasty manner. You've forgotten how productive workers your countrymen are.

When you finally manage to get inside the elevator, you push the button that takes you all the way up. Luckily for you, no one else joins your ride. You turn around and look at yourself in the mirrored wall of the small space. Quickly, you brush a couple of hair strands behind your ear and rub at your cheek where a bit of makeup seems to have smudged.

You look almost as nervous as your first day working for Flare. Looking back on it now, it's really ridiculous how intimidated you were by the man during your first two weeks. Solar Flare has retired now and he and his family have become some kind of friends to you. Your son often played with Flare's children. You even have to thank him for this job. After closing his hero agency, he not only wrote a praising letter of recommendation for you but also used his connections to secure a job interview with Mount Lady's hero agency.

The elevator comes to a halt and you take another deep breath before the doors slide open. You walk up to the receptionist's desk and introduce yourself. The older lady behind the counter has been expecting you and leads you to Mount Lady's office.

„Ms. L/n!“, Mount Lady smiles as you enter the room. You smile back at her.

This is the first time you meet the heroine in person. The job interview and the prep talks were held online. Thanks to the pandemic for that. Even in her small form, Mount Lady is a lot taller than you expected.

„It's great to finally meet you in person, ma'am.“, you tell her and politely bow your head to her.

Mount Lady laughs and swats her hands. „Please, no need to be so formal! It's me who should bow. You've got a lot more experience in the business than me.“, she tells you and gestures for you to take a seat.

Mount Lady and you go over your tasks and schedule one more time. You already were informed about your responsibilities but it's good to talk about them once more. The work you will be doing for Mount Lady will be somewhat different from the work you did for Solar Flare. A lot of Mount Lady's public appearances are media-related in contrast to Flare who preferred to keep his life private and focused on working closely with the police. Therefore, you will handle a lot of PR-related things alongside her actual PR team.

You don't mind it, since it's similar to the work you did for All Might.

*~ *~*~*~*~ *~*~*~*~ *~*~*~*~*~*

Twenty-two years ago, Japan.

„You will be mostly responsible for coordinating All Might's press-related appointments. I assume you know what that will entail. Book limousines to get him there in time, have his suite at hand, etcetera.“, Mr. Kanno tells you as he leads you through the hero agency.

Your head already spins. This was supposed to be a tour of the building and instead, Mr. Kanno bombards you with information about your tasks and responsibilities. You try to note everything down but Mr. Kanno walks so fast you can barely keep up with him.

Abruptly, Mr. Kanno stops and you almost run into your superior.

„One more thing, l/n-san...“, Mr. Kannos says and turns around to you. His eyes bore into yours and you swallow hardly.

„Remember that you're replaceable. Don't think that because All Might himself chose you for this job or because of your father's reputation, you will get any special treatment.“, he says coldly.

You straighten your posture. You know that Mr. Kanno means this as a threat but you're happy he's saying it. You don't want preferential treatment. Somehow, you managed to secure this job for yourself, by yourself. Even though you're still not sure how comparing All Might to a pest got you here, yet somehow it did.

„I wouldn't dream of it.“, you tell him and hold his gaze. Mr. Kanno gives you a curt nod and continues his marathon through the building.

*~*~*~*

By the time, Mr. Kanno dismisses you into your lunch break, you're spent. Your head spins with all the new impressions and information you've been bombarded with the last few hours. Mr. Kanno was kind enough to show you the way to the cafeteria but the moment he's outside, you turn around and walk back to the elevator.

Right now, you don't want to have lunch in a stuffy cafeteria with dozens of other employees. You need a moment to breathe and clear your head.

You take the elevator all the way up the building's roof terrace. The sun hits your face the moment you step outside. You're holding the bento your mother brought over to your new apartment this morning. She's been the only one who has been somewhat supportive of your choice to work for All Might. Right now you really can't wait for the familiar taste of your mother's cooking to hit your tongue.

Before you look for a place to sit down, you walk up to the railing at the edge of the building. You look over the city before closing your eyes and taking a deep breath.

„Rough first day?“

You flinch at the sound of the familiar voice. Your new boss.

You twirl around and bow deeply. „A-all Might, I didn't expect to see you so soon. You must be quite busy!“, you greet him.

When you lift your head, you see him sitting at a picnic table with a tablet from the cafeteria. He's wearing his hero suit but his posture is relaxed and the smile on his face not as radiant as the one on TV. He looks kind, you think.

„Well, I always have my lunch up here. Unless there's a villain attack. Then I'm not having lunch, of course.“; he laughs and points at the seat in front of him. „Sit down!“, he tells you.

Reluctantly, you walk over to him and sit down. You feel uncomfortable eating lunch with him. Especially, considering the circumstances of your hiring.

„Hmm, self-made lunch? Not a cafeteria kind of pal?“, he asks and points at your bento.

„Uh-h, yeah, my mom made it.“, you admit and blush. Somehow, you feel silly admitting your mother made you a lunch bento at your age.

„Oh man, lucky you! I'm stuck with whatever they're selling downstairs!“, All Might complains. Then, he bends over the table and tells you with a hand covering half his face: „Don't trust taco Tuesday. You don't want to work after eating whatever they serve on that day“.

It's so unexpected, you have to laugh.

„Really, I'm telling you. Worst days of my life!“, he reaffirms his statement.

„Well, I'm not much for Mexican food anyways.“, you tell him and he gives you a smile.

He observes you while you unpack your lunch. You almost start to feel uncomfortable again when he asks you: „Is Kanno-san giving you a hard time?“.

You swallow the piece of rice quickly before assuring: „N-no, he's been showing me everything. It's really helpful.“

All Might gives you a raised eyebrow.

„You know, you don't have to know everything by the end of the day, even if he makes it seem so. It's normal to take a month or so to get settled and for everything to run smoothly. Don't let his threats of being replaced get to you.“, he tells you.

You look at him surprised. „He says that to all new employees?“, you wonder out loud and All Migh snaps his fingers.

„So, he has been giving you a hard time. I knew it. I told him not to, but oh well...“, he trails off.

You look at him bewildered. He told him what? Suddenly, the taste of your mother's cooking is more bitter than you're used to.

„You don't need to do that.“, you tell him cooly, „I can handle my own“.

All Might looks at you surprised. Did he do something wrong?

„I'm sure you can handle yourself but Kanno-san is too harsh on newbies. He needs to let loose a bit on you guys.“, he tells you and notices how you relax a bit.

So, it's not about you but about newbies in general. You feel a bit relieved. It makes you wonder if All Might is even aware of your background. Surely, Mr. Kanno must've told him.

„Thank you.“, you answer a bit softer. „I just want to prove I can do this on my own.“, you offer an explanation for your bitter reply earlier. All Might gives you a nod and a smile.

„Don't worry, y/n. I look forward to seeing you prove yourself around here.“, he tells you and that makes you feel prouder than any half-assed compliment could ever make you feel like.

*~ *~*~*~*~ *~*~*~*~ *~*~*~*~*~*

The present day, Japan, U.A. High School.

The soda can lets out a soft hiss as Toshinori sits down in the teacher's lounge. He just returned from teaching young Midoriya's class. These young people are really hard to handle, he decides. Especially that Bakugou kid.

„Ah, All Might, enjoying your break?“, Present Mic booms from the entrance of the teacher's lounge. Toshinori almost flinches at the sound of his colleague's loud voice.

„Y-yeah...“, Toshinori chuckles embarrassedly. He's still unsure how to talk to his colleagues around here. He's a senior to them and a more experienced hero, but these guys sure have more skills and experience when it comes to educating young adults.

Present Mic walks over to the coffee machine and pours himself a cup. It doesn't take long for the other teachers to enter the lounge as well. Busy chatting fills the staff room and Toshinori can't help but feel a bit out of place.

Sure, his colleagues do their best to include him in their conversation but Toshinori can't help but feel a bit like an outsider. He's never been an educator. He's always been a hero. It's a lot harder to switch between these roles than it seems.

Before taking this job, he never ever would have thought that being a teacher is so hard. Teachers work longer hours than expected. Grading papers, preparing lessons, and working on other bureaucratic things that Toshinori never knew were part of being a teacher. And let's not start with teacher conferences, talks with parents, and disciplinary actions against rebellious teenagers. Some of these kids are harder to handle than the villains he fought. At least he could punch these guys when they provoked him too much. Also, sending them to prison is a lot more satisfying than sending a smug teenager to detention.

„All Might, how are you settling in?“, the small principal's voice chirps close to his face.

Toshinori jolts away from the armrest on which Principal Nezu is sitting.

„Gosh, you startled me!“, Toshinori complaints.

„My bad!“, Nezu apologizes and then sheepishly adds: „You did look like you were somewhere else right now.“

Toshinori straightens his posture. He really doesn't want to talk about the hardships of teacher life with the humanoid rodent.

„Just been reviewing my last lesson and thinking of ways to improve my teaching.“, he tells the principal. Toshinori isn't sure whether Nezu's face looks unchanging because a mouse can't move their face like a human or because the principal looks straight through his lie. Considering Nezu's high intelligence, he guesses it's the latter.

„Tell me, Toshinori, are you well with your new role here at U.A.?“, the small rodent presses on and Toshinori internally groans. Why is Nezu so observant?

„Everything's fine. It's a bit hard getting used to this new job, but it'll be alright. I enjoy working with the students.“, Toshinori tells him. It's not a lie. He does enjoy his new job. That doesn't mean he feels completely comfortable with it yet.

„That's great to hear. We're glad to have passionate teachers here at U.A.“, Nezu praises him and Toshinori feels relieved that he successfully adverted his boss's attention.

„But you know...“, Nezu trails off, „There's more to your new life than just work.“

Toshinori scratches the back of his head embarrassedly. „Haha, yes, of course!“, he replies. Suddenly, Present Mic joins the conversation.

„Yeah, have you picked up any new hobbies yet? Heard you spend your weekends with school stuff.“, Present Mic chirps in.

„Oh, well, I've been working on that puzzle you all got me for Christmas.“, Toshinori offers as an answer. By the look on Present Mic's face, he can see that the other man is about to give him a mocking response when Midnight intrudes as well.

„That sounds as boring as spending a Saturday night with my parents.“, Midnight comments drily. Then, a sweet, but evil, smile spreads across her face.

„Tell us about your love life, All Might. Have you found a girlfriend yet?“, she asks nonchalantly.

Toshinori feels the blood rise up into his face. Suddenly, it's very hot in the teacher's lounge. Toshinori is no prude by any means but after years of avoiding the topic in public, he still does not like talking about it.

„U-uh, no, Ms. Midnight. No girlfriend. Not that I was looking for a partner in the first place.“, he answers his younger colleague. Midnight clicks her tongue.

„What a shame. I bet a lot of ladies are just dying to get a piece of the grand All Might.“, Midnight replies with the same evil smile on her face. Also, she repeatedly pokes Toshinori's side with her elbow.

„Haha, Ms. Midnight, you're too kind.“, Toshinori replies awkwardly.

„Yeah, I mean have you tried dating apps? You don't necessarily need to want a girlfriend to try that out.“, Midnight proposes and Toshinori wants to die.

„I think I'm too old-schooled for these kind of things. Plus, I'm very happy with how things are right now.“, he tells her determinedly. His colleagues exchange looks that just scream „Yeah, sure.“ and Toshinori feels like he laid it on a bit too thickly. He lets out an embarrassed laugh.

„A-anyways! What are you all doing the upcoming weekend?“, he quickly tries to take the attention away from him. He breathes in shakingly as his colleagues start chatting about their weekend plans. He doesn't really listen to them. He's still hung up on what Midnight said.

Silly Midnight. What is she thinking? I can't go around looking for a girlfriend, he thinks and shivers at the idea. It feels wrong and weird. The idea that All Might can't have a partner is rooted so deeply in his mind that even now he can't imagine it, not even nowadays.

And really, who would want me like this anyway?, he thinks.

*~ *~*~*~*~ *~*~*~*~ *~*~*~*~*~*

The present day, Japan.

You're absolutely spent when you arrive at your apartment.

Mount Lady and her team didn't even make you do a lot today. It was basically an orientation day for you to get to know your coworkers and your work space. You've met with the IT team that set up all your accounts and official work e-mail. They even organized a small get-together at the end of the day to welcome you. All in all, they really tried to make your start easy but all the new faces and conversation drained your battery.

You flop onto the couch and take off your heels. You stare at the ceiling for a few minutes before you find the energy to pull your phone out of your pocket to answer the messages that have been sent to you throughout the day. Takeo texted you a couple of times. First to wish you luck for your first day. Then a message on how to operate his dorm's washing machine followed by two more desperate messages about the washing machine. There were some messages in the Solar Flame Agency group chat where your former colleagues asked how your first day was. Finally, there's an e-mail from your landlord about trash regulations. You're too tired to answer most of them, so you only send some brief washing machine instructions to Takeo and decide to answer the rest later.

You order some takeout and hop in the shower while waiting for your food. After the shower, you feel a little bit more alive again and you take the time to answer the other messages until the delivery boy rings at your door.

While eating, you scroll through social media. You decide to follow your new boss and the rest of her hero team, the Lurkers. Mount Lady's Instagram is flawless and you salute her PR team. Her posts are the perfect combination of showing off her success in fighting villains, her charity work, bikini pictures, and advertising skin care products. You swipe through her pictures until you come across a picture that makes you choke.

You have to put down your chopsticks and cough up the noodles that ended up in the wrong pipe. Quickly, you chug down some water to ease the burning pain in your throat. Roughly, you wipe the tears of struggle from the side of your eyes.

You almost want to laugh at yourself. Ridiculous how a picture can still make your heart feel like this. You pick up your phone again. It's Mount Lady at a red-carpet event. Next to her, All Might poses in his signature posture and beaming smile you've grown to hate. Hate, because it's so dishonest to the smile he wears when he means it. You check the date and see that it was taken half a year before the Kamino ward incident. Your heart sinks a bit further into your stomach. You wonder what Toshinori looks like now.

You remember how shocked you were when you watched his press statement a week after the fight. How thin he looked. As if the hero life chipped bits and pieces away from him until there was only his skeleton left. You remember being angry at him for letting it come this far. Angry at everybody else for letting him do this to himself. Where were Mr. Kanno and Sir Nighteye? Weren't they his advisor and close friends?

You find your finger hovering over the Google shortcut tempted to look Toshinori up. You decide against it. It would only make you sad.

The Instagram post left you spooked and suddenly you lost all appetite. You put away the leftovers and start to tidy up the small apartment. Absent-mindedly, you put things away while still thinking about Toshinori. You tidy up until there's nothing left to put away anymore.

You're standing in the middle of your living room a little lost.

You're not sure what to do next.

*~ *~*~*~*~ *~*~*~*~ *~*~*~*~*~*

Twenty-two years ago, Japan.

Never ever in your life, have you ever felt this lost. University was a joke compared to this job. It's safe to say that you absolutely underestimated All Might's schedule and the workload of this new job.

It's already half past eleven and your office lies in darkness besides the city lights gleaming through the window and the artificial light of the computer's screen.

Salty tears stream down your cheeks and you ruffle through your hair in desperation. You're still working on coordinating all of All Might's social appointments for the next few days. It seems whenever you figure out a schedule, Mr. Kanno enters your office and throws another appointment in your face.

If coordinating all these appointments is wearing you out like this, you wonder how it must be for All Might to keep up with this schedule. Always looking good, always smiling, and always, always in a good mood.

Ferociously, you wipe at your face. You can't cry about this. You chose this, didn't you?

For a moment, you ask yourself if all of this has been a mistake. If you should've taken the job at your father's firm instead.

You shake your head firmly as if to shake the thought out of your head. No, you chose this. You want this. You're not giving up just because it's a bit rougher than expected.

You're not a quitter.

You've got this.

*~*~*~*

Figuring out the schedule was a pain. But two hours and three cups of coffee later, you're finally content. And at the limit of your strength. Printing out the schedule, you finally call it a night. Turning off your computer, you finally leave your office. You drop by Mr. Kanno's office and put a copy of the schedule on his desk. Shouldering your bag, you make your way to your last destination: All Might's office. One more copy to drop off and you're finally free.

Until 7 am, at least.

All Might's office is on the other side of the floor. You make your way through the darkness and silence of the hero agency. If you weren't so damn tired, you'd probably be spooked by it.

You turn a corner and bright lights that come out of your boss's office make you squirm your eyes. When your eyes have gotten used to the light, you make out All Might's massive form behind his desk.

Seems like I'm not the only one working late, you think.

Softly, you knock on the glass door and the man behind the desk jolts up. Clearly, he didn't expect to have a visitor this late. When he makes out your frame in the darkness behind him, he waves you in.

„Good evening, sir. I'm bringing your schedules for the next few days.“, you tell him while extending your arm holding the copy.

All Might blinks at you disorientedly. Clearly, he doesn't get what you're talking about. Maybe it's your own tiredness but only now do you notice the deep circles under his eyes. He looks so tired, you think and your heart goes soft. He really is working harder than everybody else.

All Might clears his throat.

„Yes, u-uh, thank you, y/n.“, he says trying to sound all professional but he can't hide the exhaustion in his voice. You give him a small smile.

You want to go home to your bed, it's desperately calling out to you. But you feel bad leaving him behind with the stacks of papers that are on his desk.

„Is there anything I can help you with, sir?“, you ask him instead, and internally you want to scold yourself. Why on earth are you offering to stay and help? You can't function tomorrow if you don't get at least a few hours of sleep.

All Might looks at you surprised, and then his gaze softens. „No, no, y/n. Go home, you're way past your hours.“, he tells you and jokingly adds, „I'm not sure we can afford to pay so many extra hours.“

You give him a comical look. „You think I'm still clocked in? Funny.“, you tell him. All Might sighs and rubs his face. „Yeah, same.“, he answers.

You could leave. Wish him a good night and take the next subway home.

„So, what's all this?“, you ask pointing to the piles of paper.

„Reports. That are due tomorrow.“, he replies shortly. Your eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets.

„All of these? Tomorrow?“, you ask in disbelief. All Might laughs embarrassed. „Yeah, I might slacked off on them a bit.“, he says rubbing the back of his head.

Somehow you don't believe all these reports aren't finished because he slacked off. You sigh deeply before dropping your bag to the ground.

„Alright, tell me where to start.“, you say taking a seat in front of his desk.

„N-no, y/n, you really should go home!“, he exclaims and you give him a deadpan look. It's too late and you're too tired to be polite to him right now.

„Just tell me what to do.“, you say and you watch how his shoulders drop in defeat, maybe relief too. He takes a seat in front of you and shoves a pile of unsorted, half-finished reports towards you.

You pull the papers closer to you and put your hair into a ponytail.

When you look up, All Might looks at you smilingly with soft, tired eyes.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Taglist: @heilene @w3bfr34k @bucinyohei @imagineshazamlokimight @dovey-quacks2332 @l-bozo-l @puppyteeth1994 @genyawritesshizz @luubzz @plantedskies @nerdygothzippermuffin @pluechy @queenofthekill @nerdygothzippermuffin @maluvilela @krampus236 @constantlybeingbiaswrecked @banananuttrash

[Please comment if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters]

[bigtreefest]

Chapter 6: Storm Warning

From: The Rainmaker Series

Pairing: Mob! Steve x Forensic Scientist! Reader

Summary: You have the suspicions you tried to push down for so long, confirmed.

Word count: 4,446

Content/warnings: heavy drinking, kissing, flirting, nervousness, fighting, yelling, Sam Wilson, a switch flip, swears, ANGSTTT, betrayal?

Author’s Note: You guys know that vine where the surfer is making all those sounds talking about the crazy waves? That’s how I felt writing this. *wapahh*

Anyway, can’t wait for your feedback on this one. I’d love to hear what you’ve got to say. Feel free to drop and ask, or a comment, or a reblog!! Those are my life source.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

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On Tuesday afternoon after work, you were excited to see Steve. And honestly, you hadn’t been this excited for anything in a long time. Giddy, almost, and it felt completely out of character. You were so used to your schedule and your normal obligations, that the things out of the ordinary seemed like such a burden, but this was anything but. You weren’t sure how everything felt like it changed so quickly.

You pulled up to a modern townhouse on the edge of the city in an unbelievably nice area. Sure, it was gorgeous, and evidently expensive, but its inconvenience led you to believe that this wasn’t Steve’s only place. He probably had a country home, and an apartment in the heart of town in addition to this. This place seemed too relaxed to be where someone who had such an insane schedule, from what you could draw, would live. And that’s the thing, it didn’t seem very lived-in from what you could see through the floor-to-ceiling windows that flanked the front door.

As you rang the bell, you almost expected a house cleaner, or a butler to come greet you, but instead, you saw Steve emerge from some distant hallway. He was in a leather jacket, with a deep blue collared shirt underneath, not dressed down, but not dressed up at all compared to what you’d usually seen him wear to work.

As he saw you though the glass, though, and smiled brightly, you weren’t able to return it, feeling something shift in the air behind you. You whipped around to see if anything was there, but you were just met with an empty street, filled only by cars on the quiet block. It was similar to how you’d been feeling for the past week or so, but every time you turned around, nothing was there, so you tried to brush it off.

By the time you went to face forward again, Steve was at the door, looking down to where you stood on the steps. You nervously smiled up at him as he gestured for you to come in.

He grabbed your bag from you, giving a side hug that squeezed your shoulders, along with a greeting of a kiss on the top of your head. “Welcome, sweetheart. I’d give you a tour, but there’s not really much on this level. All the good stuff is downstairs. I’ll show you where you can get changed if you want.

You nodded along, still in your pantsuit, the product of sitting in the courthouse for another case today. But it wasn’t all bad, because you got to briefly hang out with DA Barber. He let you walk around his office during breaks, looking through his knick knacks. You spoke to his admin, who for some reason had dozens of pens on hand, offering you as many as you wanted. Of course you took a bunch, picking out a particularly nice one for Steve and tucking it in your jacket pocket to give to him this evening.

You walked through the house with its tall ceilings, awe-struck at its simple beauty, despite how barren it seemed. That was only the front entry way, though, because Steve led you down a set of steps to a basement which he had finished and turned into what you assumed was his man cave. The walls were lined with art, interesting and intricate, yet surprisingly complementary to the dark tones that filled the space. In the middle, near a fully stocked bar, sat a pool table. It really was a nice little setup.

Steve stopped just before you got there, though, turning around and showing you where the bathroom was and leaving you to it.

It was a relief to be out of that blazer, and when you emerged from the restroom, you could see Steve had laid out a set of hangers for you so it didn’t get wrinkled. He was leaning up against the bar, ankles crossed across each other, sipping a glass of water.

“So can I get you anything? Water? Coffee? A cocktail? Dinner?”

You smiled and your eyes lit up. “Dinner?” He laughed and nodded, sauntering over to you and wrapping his arms around your waist as yours gravitated to his shoulders.

“Yeah, dinner. I’d say your favorite is already on the way, but I wanted to make sure you don’t get sick of it, so I figured I’d let you choose. Anything you want.”

He leaned in to press a quick peck to your lips that left you chasing for more, to which he happily obliged. You pulled away for breath, putting your forehead against his chest for a second to think. “Why don’t you surprise me. Something good. We’ll save the pasta for later this week. Maybe it can be road-trip food to take down to the farm. Bee will love it, too, I’m sure.”

He nodded, pulling out his phone to send in your surprise order, before walking back over to the bar and grabbing his beer, taking a sip and wordlessly offering you one, which you accepted. Before you took a sip, though, you remembered what you had brought him.

“Oh! By the way, I have something for you!” You went over to your bag, missing Steve’s surprised expression, but hearing a faint “oh?” followed by his footsteps in your direction.

You fished around, speaking over your shoulder intermittently. “It’s not much, but I figured since you sent me all those nice things the other week, that I should return the favor. Plus, I felt kinda bad for kicking you out of my apartment on Saturday.”

Steve set down his bottle, walking to your side when you finally found what you were looking for. “Ah! Here it is.”

When you stood, your face was almost right next to his, so you took half a step back, awkwardly shoving your hand between the two of you. “I got you a pen-But it’s uh… a really nice pen. One of those ones people use to sign official documents and stuff. I stole it from the DA’s office, so I guess it’s not an official gift, but I thought you would like it and I figured you do that kind of stuff a lot in day-to-day life, although I’m not really sure-“

You were cut off from your rambling by his hand over yours, accepting the present, and engulfing your digits in his. You took in a sharp gasp, looking between where the two of you met and his warm gaze.

“Thank you, Sweetheart. I really appreciate it. No matter where you got it.”

You tried to force yourself to swallow, your mouth growing dry at the contact. Even though you had kissed, something about this moment had seemed more intimate than before. You raised your other hand, bracing it against his chest because you were worried that if you didn’t, your jello arm would drop, pulling the rest of your body along with it. “And, um. A deck of cards. I got you a really nice deck of cards. Professional grade.”

You could feel the puff of air that came from his breathy laugh as his other hand came up to meet yours. “Thank you. This really wasn’t necessary, but I love it.” You simply nodded and pushed yourself away from him, trying to break the moment. Sure, you loved being that close, and you couldn’t have gotten a better response, but it was a lot to take in.

You turned around to get out of your own head and attempt to regain some logic since your mind had almost gone empty right there. “So…um..pool, right? You think you can beat me?”

You had pulled in on yourself, arms close to your chest, but pointing toward the table, as you finally brought your body to turn around again and face Steve. You were met with a view of his broad back, carefully setting your gifts on a shelf and reaching for the cues.

“You know, now that I know what your nickname means, I’m not sure. It’s my understanding that you’re far better than you let on and you were keeping it a secret.”

Somehow he had already put you at ease again. He walked past you, towards a brick pillar off to the side of the room to grab the rest of the equipment you needed to start. You rolled your eyes, shifting your feet so you continued to face him. “I wasn’t keeping anything a secret. I just don’t blab about that stuff. And to be fair, you never asked me.”

Steve shrugged as he handed you the cue. “I guess you’re right. And you wouldn’t be mad at me either, for not telling you something you didn’t ask specifically, right?”

That was weird. Was there something he wasn’t telling you? Your eyebrows went from relaxed, to drawn inward with suspicion. “Well, it depends on the thing, I guess…”

You tried to brush it off, and it helped that Steve did, too. Maybe he was just curious and had some sort of surprise planned. Or maybe it was something else, but the way he quickly moved onto the next subject helped you to do the same, as you started the first round.

Steve had let you break to start out, which led to your immediate win. He had a smile laced with several emotions all at once as he watched you move with grace, confidence, and ease around the table. By the time you were starting the second game, Steve breaking this time, you heard someone walking down the stairs. It would’ve concerned you that someone random was in his home if Steve wasn’t acting so casual about it.

“Ah, that must be Sam with dinner. Bar food for the bar mood. I hope you like fries.”

Just then, the figure emerged from the staircase, wearing a suit. Figures. He made a beeline for you, reaching out your hand and shaking it. “Hi, you must be Decks. It’s so nice to meet you. I’m Sam. I was at the farm all those weeks ago, but I’m sorry we didn’t get to cross paths.”

You shook his hand happily before he asked to pull Steve aside for a moment. He seemed really nice, and who could complain about someone who appeared to be a friend, bearing food?

You took the opportunity to open the paper bag, setting everything out on the bar, fries packaged separately from a plethora of toppings to stay crispy. How thoughtful. You began your snacking before Steve came back.

He returned with a feigned offended look on his face. “So, what? I leave for a second and you’ve already started without me? How’s that fair?”

You laughed and looked at him, fry sticking out of your mouth like a cigarette, simply shrugging until he surprised you by jumping forward and chomping off the other end of the fry, cutting it short.

If you weren’t so focused on not losing what bit was left in your mouth, your jaw would’ve dropped in shock. Steve carried on like almost nothing had happened and picked up his cue again, speaking with his mouth half full. “So it’s my turn still, right?”

The games continued on like that, you and Steve going back and forth on who started, taking shots with fries hanging out of your mouths, and you still winning effortlessly. But as the night went on, though, Steve seemed to be getting more focused on the game. He paid more attention to the angle of your shots, and was almost rooting for you to be better than him with a weird seriousness to it. It wasn’t really fun anymore, or at least the excitement seemed like it was starting to fade for some odd reason. He didn’t try to make any more moves on you, instead letting you be in your zone, making you feel like this was hardly a date anymore. It got to the point where he, rejoined by Sam, was just watching, beer long abandoned to sober up and focus. You’d just about had enough of it. Something wasn’t being spoken out into the open air. After this evaluation, you decided to run an experiment. To see if your hunch was right. On what should’ve been an easy shot, you instead moved an inch to the side, and sunk the 8 ball into the pocket before you were supposed to do. The tension in the room got worse and you could audibly hear Steve wince with a soft “shit.”

You turned around at that. You were right. Something was off about this whole thing.

“Okay, what is going on? Ever since I got here, you’ve been going through waves of being so serious, but that was the last nail in the coffin. I thought it was just because we were both nervous for my first time being at your place, but this is much more than that. I’m sure of it. So tell me what it is. Why are you pushing so hard for me to win?”

Steve couldn’t take his eyes off the ground, rubbing the back of his neck. Sam straightened in a bar stool next to him, his eyes roaming everywhere, not wanting to linger on you and the fire raising in your expression. This isn’t how Steve wanted this to go, but you knew too well something was up. He still stayed silent.

“Steve, why do we have to go back to the farm this weekend and why do I have to practice? Why is Bee not returning my calls, either? What’s riding on this game? Why is it such a big deal? And what do you have to do with this? Why are you so personally invested?”

Steve still didn’t say anything, finally daring himself to look up and into your eyes through his lashes. His expression was troubled. He started to open his mouth, but nothing came out. Suddenly it was all dry from your rage. This was his worst fear, well, besides the unspeakable things Lloyd might have planned if you lost. You were getting impatient, though. Even when Steve wasn’t smooth, he would still talk to you. Talking was something you thought the two of you did pretty well, but apparently not right now.

“Steven. Words!”

Steve let out a sigh, signaling for Sam to give the two of you the room. There was no escaping this now. He’d pushed the limit on the timeframe he had to tell you the truth. “Listen, Sweetheart. You’re right. There’s… a lot… you should know, that I haven’t told you, so let me start at the beginning.”

You didn’t have time for him to try and sugarcoat this. You wanted the whole truth and you wanted it now. And so help you if there was something going on that you weren’t aware about, that was causing you issues you could’ve prevented, someone was getting the brunt of it.

You dropped your cue on the table, stomping over to the beer fridge and grabbing another bottle, hell, why not two, and storming towards a comfy leather chair, throwing yourself down and crossing your legs. “Go on, Stevie. Speak.”

Normally, he would’ve been elated to hear you call him that, but it was nowhere near the tender manner he was hoping you’d use the first time. It was bitter, and biting, and he hadn’t even said anything yet. This was not going to go well.

He sighed and started, eyes on you as if he was trying not to spook a wounded animal, but you were already worse than spooked, you were angry. And no physical wound could hurt more than the distrust you were feeling right now.

“I guess I’ll start with what you already know. You know Bucky and I work with and own a lot of businesses. And you know that Bee’s farm is one of the ones we’re working with, and Bee’s been facing a lot of pressure from Cole lately to sell the farm.”

You nodded along, chugging down your beer and slamming it on the coffee table next to you, ditching the second bottle in favor of something stronger. You walked back over to the bar, not sparing Steve a glance, as you pulled the rolling ladder over to grab the bottle of Macallan off the shelf. You didn’t care what year it was. You just knew it was expensive, and he owed you at least this much after lying.

You stepped back down, deciding to forego a glass, and walked to your seat again, finally looking into his eyes. “Okay, now tell me what I don’t know.”

He hated how hard your eyes had become. How they’d grown dull already where they used to have a sparkle when they reflected his face. “The businesses that Bucky and I run… not all of them are legal. A few of them run outside the law, and at first, it was just because that’s how we were brought up, but we realized that we could change things, so we did.”

You took a swig from the bottle. You did not like where this was going. Steve fidgeted with the pool cue still standing in his hands.

“We were raised in a certain way, to be cutthroat, and unrelenting, and aggressive. Ready to serve our superiors, because that’s what we had to do to survive. To provide for our struggling families. And we were good at it. We were good at following orders, and playing the system, so it put us in leadership at a pretty young age. It seemed like the right thing, especially once both our parents were gone. But as time went on, we saw how damaging what we did could be, and wanted to fix it. Except there were some people who didn’t feel the same way. Some people who were simply power and money hungry and didn’t care who they were hurting. In specific, this one guy named Lloyd.”

You kept nodding along, getting slightly dizzy from the straight alcohol hitting you, and not expecting the lore to go this deep. You thought it could’ve been something more minor. Maybe Steve was in the witness protection program or something, because that could’ve been better than this trip of an explanation.

“Lloyd was a friend of ours, along with his sister. And Bucky was especially close with her. But they both left to go off to college, and we were really proud of them, but when they came back, they were different. Aggressive, uncaring for quality of goods, money hungry. Lillian, Lloyd’s sister became a huge lawyer, used to do his dirty business bidding, and Lloyd tried to start from the ground up, stepping on the territory Bucky and I fixed and taking advantage of people already in terrible positions. We don’t do what he does. We regulate things so people like him don’t take over. And we collected a lot of allies and truly good businesses along the way to help out with keeping the other side under wraps.”

You rolled your eyes waving your hand signaling that he was going on and on and on. “Okay, so you’re a criminal. What does this have to do with my best friend’s farm? And why I’m here right now, evidently practicing pool like my life depends on it?”

He rubbed a hand down his face, looking past you, over your shoulder, and out the window at the far end of the room. “Our business with Bee isn’t on the legal side. It’s on the other one. And it wasn’t until a few weeks in or so that we saw Lloyd was connected with Cole. So we were getting harassed from both ends. From Lloyd on our end, and Cole on hers. I assume she hasn’t been telling you this, but Cole’s been on her ass since Bucky left, and Lloyd has been on ours for months. Bee made a bet to end it for once and for all. A single game of pool. Winner takes all. Friends and family only, no pros, and she wants you to play for her side. She hasn’t been picking up your calls because I told her not to. I wanted the chance to lay this all out on the table for you. So you’d hear it from me. I know you’re a woman of the law, and I work outside it a lot, so I understand if you’re upset about that.”

You clenched your jaw, and if you did it any harder, your teeth might’ve broken. Your breaths were heaving out of flared nostrils. You took another sip, trying to find the proper way to reply to all of this, but your brain was too fuzzed for that. And it’s not like you would’ve wanted to do the right thing even if you were thinking clearly. Yelling seemed like a good option right now.

“Are you fucking kidding me!? She bet the farm on this game!? And you’re what? A crime lord!? But that’s not even what I’m the most mad about. You lied to me Steve. I trusted you and I gave you my time and I let you in easily to see things no one else does, and you lied.”

You tried to stand up, but were becoming too dizzy to do so. You were humbled, only briefly, so you asked another, softer question. “So what really is even your job then? Who are you and Bucky exactly?”

Steve put his pool cue back. “Bucky’s the boss.”

“And you?”

“Second in command.”

“And what’s Sam?”

“Number three.”

You nodded, yelling to Sam who you could still see standing on the staircase, listening to the whole thing.

“Hey! Number three! Can you bring me more fries from over there?”

Sam looked between you and Steve and Steve nodded, a solemn look on his face, letting Sam run over to the bar, and bring you the rest of the basket of fries. Once you’d had your fill, and the carbs soaked up some of the alcohol, you stood up, staring Steve down.

“Okay, fine. Since everyone thought they were best to make decisions regarding my own life, and make stupid ones in theirs without consulting me, I’ll give. You want me to practice more pool? I’ll practice. Rack ‘em.”

Steve wanted to tell you this wasn’t necessary. That he’d made a mistake. That you’ve proven yourself enough and that he was sorry, but his mouth was paralyzed. He believed that the best thing right now was just to give into whatever you needed to stay sane.

You broke the balls with more force than necessary, already getting a striped ball in a pocket, then kept making shots, not missing a single one. You called the eight ball to the far corner pocket before sinking it easily, even drunk off your ass.

“There. Happy? I won’t screw this up. So you can see I’ll do my best to make sure our friend keeps her farm and you get your little business deals to stay protected. I’ll see you on Saturday, tell Gio I’ll be waiting for him outside my apartment, and then hopefully, after I do my job, you and I won’t need to see each other… never again.”

Steve stood with his eyes focusing on you, yet he was zoned out. He should’ve told you sooner. He should’ve seen this all coming from waiting too long. What was worse than you finding out? You getting hurt. And he did that. He hurt you. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if something happened to you because your guard was down because you didn’t know your true proximity to everything, but now that you did, he could see a thousand ways that it would’ve all gone smoother if he would’ve just been honest from the beginning.

You stormed across the basement, back towards where Sam was, and tossed him your keys. “You’re driving me home, Three.”

He followed you out the door, and you didn’t even care that you left your work clothes, and Steve, behind.

Sam drove you home like a chauffeur, after you insisted on getting on the back seat so you could lay down. Now was as good of a time as ever to try calling Bee again, and this time, she finally picked up.

“Hey, Decks. How did your date with Steve go? He told me you were coming over tonight.” Even in your state, you could sense the caution in her tone.

“It was fucking awful, but I think you know that. I can’t believe you lied to me, too. Some guy I just met is one thing, but my best friend is another. And on top of that, I can’t believe you were stupid enough to make this big of a bet and put it on my shoulders.”

She simply hummed. She could probably tell you were drunk, she was one of the few to have seen it this bad before. She sighed before giving her response. “You know me. And you know I wouldn’t have made this sort of a deal if it wasn’t necessary. If I wasn’t desperate. But I’m not worried.”

She was silent for a second, but you let her be. She was gathering the right thing to say, and anything you wanted to throw in that free space would’ve made things worse.

“Decks, no one I know is better than you. When it comes to you as a person and you playing pool. And plus, it’s not like he can bring a pro or even semi-pro to come beat you. You’ve got this in the bag, knock on wood, and I hoped you would understand. The bet and the business.”

You sighed. You wanted to be snarky and mean, but she was just so logical, and you knew how grounded she was with that heart of gold and shit. She was the one who always shared reason with you. But it still didn’t excuse how reckless this all felt.

“Bee, using this skill to swindle people out of a couple bucks hardly counts as being good enough to save your legacy. That farm is your life. I have no quantification of the probability of my win, but I’ll do my best, I guess. I’m getting really tired, now, so I’m gonna let you go, and you and I can talk about your poor taste in men and this little lying streak of yours later.”

And with that, you hung up the phone and the world went black.

Next >

Bonus A/N: Another vine reference: Did you guys [read] that? I’m really scared.

Taglist: @evie-119 @hawkeyes-queen @ronearoundblindly @thedonswife13

[sashiavi]

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𝚂𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚒𝙰𝚟𝚒'𝚜 𝙺𝙸𝙽𝙺𝚃𝙾𝙱𝙴𝚁

#17•𝙿𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝙺𝚒𝚗𝚔•#17

𝙳𝚒𝚕𝚞𝚌 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 ʷᵒʳᵈ ᶜᵒᵘⁿᵗ ¹.⁸ᵏ

Working at the Dawn Winery was a dream. The grounds were absolutely beautiful, the staff were nice and extremely helpful. The estate was stunning, the interior decadently fitted with dark woods and ornate decorations. The Lord of the House - Archons, you couldn't even think of his name without your tummy turning. Diluc Ragnvindr, eldest son to the estate, ruler of the wine tycoon, Nobleman, swordsman, bartender and the man that had captured your heart.

It was a wonder you even landed a job like this. You were well versed in the world of the Ragnvindr's - so to speak. You were once a maid for the Knights of Favonius, seen pittering around the halls of the establishment, cleaning products in hand. You were often assigned to Captain Kaeya's office, not that he kept it messy, just there to prevent dust and grime from sneaking its way into the room. That man was the bane of your existence, always a tease, a flirt, a drunk - a pain in the ass. He somehow knew of this little crush you had on his brother, the bantering was endless. But credit to him, he put in a good word for you and one thing led to another. Here you stand at the door, uniform on, tea in hand and ready to go.

You rap your knuckles on the wooden door, knocking a short tune and entering when you hear a curt 'Come in.' Behind it reveals a study, cluttered in books, papers, a sofa to the wall and a large mahogany desk right in the middle of the room. There sits the man of the hour, Diluc. Your body works overtime to keep the silver tray in your hands steady - pull it together, he's your boss.

"The tea you requested, Sir." You struggle to make eye contact, how can a man be so pretty?

"Thank you, [Name]" He smiles politely, turning towards you and nodding a small gesture of appreciation. He knows your name. Your heart trembles, fluttering in your chest. You bow, quick to continue your maidly duties, swiftly dusting off the heavy, hardcover books that lined his study.

"Ah.. [Name]" You hear him call. Oh Archons, you did something wrong. One day in and you've ruined it. You take a big breath before turning to face him. You were a big girl. It was going to be okay.

"This tea is really lovely.. You did a good job." He toasts the air with his cup before taking a sip, returning to the mountain of paperwork sprawled over his desk. Your chest swells with pride, bubbling with all sorts of fizzley feelings. You excuse yourself from the office, off to continue your duties, not before the Young Master waves you off with a soft smile. You shut the heavy door and lean against it for a moment, nearly squealing into your feather duster, promptly coaxing a loud sneeze out of you. You hoped no one heard that.

It continues on - Your interactions with Diluc. He sends you the sweetest smiles when you bring him treats during the day, praising your baking skills when you reveal that you made them yourself.

"I ought to commission you to bake for the Tavern.. You're a great cook," He gives a side smile before biting into the sweet treat. Diluc makes a happy sound, eyes closed and head tilted as he chews. Your heart does that thing again - It makes your chest feel light, throat feel tight and your legs all wobbly.

And again - You had changed out of your working uniform, no longer clad in the pretty frilly apron provided to you. Dressed up, ready for a night on the town with your friends. Nothing too crazy, maybe a visit to the Cat's Tail to have a snuggle with some Kittens. You're halfway out of the estate when you realize you had forgotten a crucial item - Your coin purse. The way in which your eyes widen and the not-so-elegant spin you make towards the Winery would have been comical - If anyone had been watching. You hastily make your way through the Winery doors, making a beeline for where your personal belongings were stashed during the day. You find what you were looking for and make a swift exit. But not before nearly barging into your poor boss.

"Ah- [Name], oh.. You look really lovely, heading into the city?" He smiles, arms crossed against his chest. You nod and briefly tell him of your plans before excusing yourself. You were sure your face was the colour of a sunsettia. You were sure you were going to faint if this kept up.

"You look so pretty like this," Diluc muses gently, carding his fingers through your hair while you swallow around his length. Archons there it is again, that fluttery shiver in your tummy. You hear the scratch of pen upon paper above you, Diluc works through the last of his paperwork you always saw plastered over his desk. You couldn't recall how you got here, but you couldn't care. He caresses your face softly, rubbing your cheek with his thumb. He touches you so tenderly, purposely, with care and ease as if you had been lovers for an eternity already. You sigh blissfully on his thick cock, taking him sweetly down your throat, swallowing around his plushy soft tip. Your nose nestles into his pelvis, lips kissing at the base of his length.

"Gods… You're perfect.." He nearly groans, his fingers dig sweetly into the back of your neck, massaging into your hairline. You keen into him, moaning airily on his cock, swirling your tongue around his length as you take him in. His sweet praise makes your tummy swirl, you nearly beam at him, heart full and proud that you were pleasing him.

You pull back on him, suckling sweetly at the soft pink head of his cock, swirling your tongue around his velvety tip. You hear his pen clutter on to the desk above, accompanied with a short profanity. Both of his hands are on you now, holding your face and neck, cradling your head in his palm.

"Such a sweetheart.. Treating me so well.. doing such a good job." Diluc breathes. His words go to your head, they toy with your heart and make you ditzy on his cock. You pop off of his length with a soft squeeze of your lips, earning a little whine from the man above. You kiss at his cock, leaving spitty wet kisses on his velvety tip. Your eyes make contact with his, deep pools of hot lava melt into your pretty gaze. He drags his thumb across your spit swollen lips, thumbing into the corner of your mouth, pressing it sweetly against your tongue. His fingers caress your face lovingly, curling behind your ear in a soft drag. Your tummy flips and aches, dripping sweet arousal into your panties. Diluc openly sighs, a hint of his voice trickles through his throat.

"How can you be so gorgeous?" He breathes, slipping his thumb from your lips, not before you press a kiss to his finger tip. He couldn't help but lick your sweet spit off of his thumb, humming a soft groan as he wraps his lips around the wet tip of his finger. You give a sweet whimper at the sight of him, heart nearly busting out of your chest with a flutter. You kiss your lips around his flushed head, sinking back down on his aching cock. You bob your head up and down his thick length, taking him in with an earnest feeling, a strong desire to give back the sweet kindness he had shown to you.

"Gods.. Making me feel so good.. My good girl.. My [Name]" Diluc babbles, petting your hair, his praise is soft, full and swelling with adoration. His hands find their way back into your hair, threading through the strands, massaging your scalp. He humps short little thrusts into your throat, relishing in the soft vibrations of your keening moans around his length.

"Never want you to stop.. all I need is you-" His voice strains deliciously. It all goes to your head, his sweet syrupy words set your body on fire. A shiver runs down your spine, flashing and fizzing like water on hot coals, earning Diluc a sweet and pliant darling in his lap. The aforementioned man groans softly, eyes never leaving yours as you swirl your tongue up and down his thick cock.

"Getting.. getting close Darling, 'gonna… Your pretty mouth is 'gonna… Send me over the edge..!" His face burns red at his own words, ears tipped pink and lips bitten raw. You're eager to swallow him down, take him deep and prove that you are what his sweet words say. You feel his fingers tighten slightly on your hair, balling your hair into a gentle fist. His hips stutter sloppily, fucking back into your awaiting mouth with careful, soft thrusts. He babbles sweet praises as he reaches his peak, cradling your cheek, telling you just how good of a job you were doing.

"Cumming-! M'comming~!... so pretty for me.. Treating me so sweetly- ought to treat you- for your good work~" He luls his head side to side, prattling on and on in a pretty whimpery voice. His hips still, his hand pushes your head down. Diluc groans out, thumbing at your cheek as he shoots his thick, milky cum down your eager throat. He babbles again, nearly deluded from just your lips alone, spouting sweet nonsense into the air of the room.

Carefully, you come off of his cock with a sweet wet pop. He beckons you up, patting his thighs with his strong palms. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his lap, faces nearly touching, breath huffed and hot. He urges your arms to wrap around his neck, just as his arms cradle your waist. He kisses against your lips, capturing them in a searing, tender lock. His warm tongue licks into your mouth and he keens a soft moan, his voice vibrating on your lips. You tug at his hair and squeeze his lap with your thighs, your arousal was surely staining the front of his pants. Diluc pulls away with a heaving breath, thumbing at the soft swell of your bottom lip.

"Darling.. Pretty lips taste so sweet on my tongue… Can only imagine the rest of you.."

Your tummy flutters and spins as he pulls you back into his lips, warm and wet with spit. Working at the Dawn Winery really was a dream.

Confident Diluc thay knows what he desErves >>>> 😤

Im sorry if he's occ idc idccccc he's just <3 also I wrote this in public I am so sorry if it isn't my best work-

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Thank You For Reading! Comments Are Always Appreciated! I'll Give You A... A Kiss Mua

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[azaliyas]

Hello dear!

I would like to request an alhaitham x f!reader, wherein they're both burned out from work and had a big fight hehe but make it angst to comfort please 🥹

summary : as scholars and researchers, you and alhaitham had to deal with a lot of stress and pressure from deadlines, inhuman amounts of workload and tiredness. one evening, after another day of exhausting work, a simple argument turned into a huge fight with both of you throwing insults and yelling at each other. neither of you really meant any of that, and you both know that at the end of the day, comfort is where the other is.

word count : [ to be added later ]

genre : angst, hurt to comfort.

cw / tw : fem!reader, mentions of fighting and self-negligence, both character and reader are burned out, cursing and yelling.

characters : alhaitham.

note : aaaahhh! this is my first request! i'm pretty excited about it ngl ewe i hope it's what you kinda imagined and that it's of your liking, dear anon! <3

when, as a young and hopeful student, you entered the akademiya you knew you were going to deal with a lot, since the sumerian institution was worldly regarded as the best school existing. you knew stress and deadlines would have become your new best friends, but you were ready for all of that. you were passionate about history and social studies, the vahumana darshan was the obvious choice to satisfy your thirst for knowledge.

it was during those years that you met your boyfriend, alhaitham, a student of haravatat that was also well-versed in the topics of the other darshans. you would sometimes ask for his help and, surprisingly to others, he wouldn't complain about it one bit. many thought it was because you could offer something to him in exchange, but they were absolutely wrong. alhaitham always accepted to help you because he recognised your intelligence and pure love for knowledge, a love that made you aware of your limits as a human, and so respectful of not keep going on with your studies when the possible knowledge could harm you to a non returning point.

and from that, it was easy for him to fall in love with you, going against all logical thoughts because for him love was illogical, but loving you was not.

—��————————————————————

alhaitham was tired. his mind felt numb, the more he read the book in front of him and the less he could understand the words printed on it. he knew it was pointless to continue reading if he wasn't registering any information, it was a waste of time he could have spent doing something more productive. yet there he was, closed in the four walls of his home office, trying to make heads and tails of the documents scattered all over his desk.

accepting nahida's offering as the acting grand sage, he thought, was the worst decision he could have taken in his whole life. even if it was momentarily until the lesser lord would have find the right people to take over as the sages, he was already tired of all the extra work he had to do, since he didn't renounce to his position as the akademiya's scribe. but now all of that was taking a toll on both his body and his mind, as well as his relationship with you.

when was the last time you two went on a date? or had at least spent some time together, doing one of the typical couples stuff he despised but you loved? or when was the last time he had held you in his arms, had a proper sleep, a proper meal, a proper anything? it had his blood boiling knowing that, after the commotion caused by the turmoil he and cyno and aether caused, he hadn't been able to enjoy the new freedom of sumeru with you. he knew you didn't mind it that much, because otherwise there wouldn't have been any peace in the nation at all, had the plan of the sages went well, nor did he regret do the right thing that was rescue the lesser lord.

but alhaitham missed you, all and everything about you. he missed your kind and pretty smile, he missed your lovely laughter. he missed your fingers gently playing with his hair, he missed your nails lightly scratching his scalp. he missed the warmth of your body, he missed the softness of your skin under his lips.

he missed his dear, precious lover, yet he couldn't do much about it, because even if you did manage to get some free time, you two were too tired to do anything that wasn't sleeping to finally get some energy back.

on the other hand, at the akademiya...

your office at the akademiya never felt so suffocating. it was big and spacious, lots of windows with a beautiful view on the city of wisdom and knowledge, but it was starting to being claustrophobic. how many hours had you spend there, trying to write your paper, you didn't know. day after day you would close yourself in, surrounded by books and old papers, trying to finish your research about the traditional celebrations of khaenri'ah, how they would celebrate important occasions such as the birthday of a member of the royal family or the coronation of a new king / queen, but sources were rare and your mental sanity was running thin. and yet, because you were so damn stubborn, you kept searching and searching, putting aside your well-being for this. the paper could have gotten you funds and a promotion as a full-time professor and you had all the intentions of getting both.

raising your head your eyes fell on the clock on your desk. almost 11pm. you sighed, hands ruffling your already messy hair. how long have it been since you had a proper shower, instead of a quick run so you could optimize your time and spend as much of it as possible on your research? you had no idea. another sigh left your lips and you decided you call it a day.

standing up, you took all the materials and put them aside, knowing you would be again in your office back tomorrow morning. your head felt like a hammer was hitting against your brain walls, an annoying whistle in your ears as you left your office, hand on forehead and another on the wall to support yourself. you felt so weak, when was the last time you ate a proper meal? puspa café's snacks were good, but they couldn't possibly be enough.

you left the akademiya, the gentle night breeze blowing on your warm skin. you shivered at the feeling, goosebumps arising on your arms, but it felt good. "i'm still alive", you thought, "this akademiya shit still hasn't gotten the better of me". a bitter laugh escaped at your own thoughts — how fucked up were you, actually?

dragging your feet in the silent city, you walked down to get home. alhaitham was probably already asleep, you imagined, because your boyfriend wasn't the type to stay up late to finish work, not even now that he was the acting grand sage, after the rebellion he planned and executed with the help of the general mahamatra cyno and the traveling hero aether to rescue lesser lord kusanali.

when you got home you expected anything but the sight of your boyfriend in the kitchen, brewing himself a cup of coffee. his eyebags were prominent, his hair a mess, his skin pale. all signs of exhaustion, just like yours.

«haitham, why are you still awake?» you asked stepping inside the kitchen. you heard him sighing, his beautiful teal-orange eyes burning your figure.

«the same as you: working my ass off for the akademiya.» his sharp tone had you flinch and frown, not expecting him to throw his tiredness on you.

«well, you should go get some rest. maybe it will help with that attitude of yours.» you bit back, and your boyfriend scoffed at your words.

«says you, looking like shit for neglecting your basic needs in favor of your academic research.» his coffee was long forgotten, his attention solely focused on your and your argument.

deep down alhaitham knew it wasn't fair of him to throw his exhaustion and tiredness on you, reversing in the same conditions as him, but he couldn't stand your lecture about self care when you were the first to not follow your own advice. he loved you and hated the state you were in because of work. and yet he threw all of his logical stuff shit out of the window the moment you retorted.

you, on the other hand, were left bewildered by his harsh words. he knew what you were going through, working your ass off to finally be acknowledged by the higher-ups and see your dreams realised. you felt your breath hitching in your throat and your eyes burning, but your pride stopped you from bursting out crying in front of your boyfriend. crying would have meant giving it up and you didn't want that, you wanted him to recognise your hard work.

«you're not better than me, alhaitham, otherwise you would be sleeping by now. say, how many cups of coffee did you gobble down?» your voice got higher than your usual tone, and he noticed it way too well. his hand itched to go up to his headphones and turn on the soundproof option, but he desisted. if you wanted a fight, he would have given you the fight of your lives.

«and when did this conversation slip on me when you are the one who has it worse?»

«i have it worse because i'm trying to fulfill my dreams, mister "i have it all easy-peasy lemon-squeezy"!»

«as if i have ever wanted to hold the position of acting grand sage. it's a pain in the ass dealing with all these stupid and arrogant scholars.»

«and there you go again with that awful attitude of yours! do you even hear yourself? they're working so hard and you don't even acknowledge it!»

«like you never got acknowledged for your efforts, pushing you to this point?»

that last sentence of his went over the invisible line neither of you ever had the courage to pass. if first your voices came to a yelling mess that could be heard through the whole city, now the house was dead silent. in that silence alhaitham's eyes widened when he registered what he had said, but it was too late to apologise. the tears you fought to hold back during the argument finally escaped, streaming down your warm cheeks. your lips trembled and before your lover could say something, you talked first.

«you're a bastard, alhaitham.» a sob interrupted you, but you didn't care. «you're an insensitive bastard that can't and doesn't want to go past his nose because who cares if others are struggling? i'm not, it's none of my problem.» you managed to retort even in the middle of your hiccups.

you gave your back to your boyfriend, who was standing still, frozen on the spot. you walked away, out of the house, while he could do nothing but watching your figure disappearin the late night.

his lips trembled, but bit them to stop. his head fell down.

the front door closed with a loud slam.

——————————————————————

you ran back to the akademiya, but instead of going to your office you went for the pavilion outside, the lower level of it where almost nobody ever went. it was quiet, facing the city outskirts, and it was away from the home you shared with alhaitham.

your cried all your tears on your way, your cheeks now dry and sticky. swallowing the annoying knot in your throat, you took a sit on the edge of the empty pavilion, legs casually swinging in the void beneath. luckily for you it was a somewhat warm night, so you didn't have to worry about getting a jacket (as if you didn't forget about it anyway).

your lips were still trembling, the whistle in your ears now replaced by the harsh words alhaitham threw at you. was it true that you never got acknowledged because you didn't work hard enough? or was it because you weren't smart enough? what did the akademiya consider you? average? mediocre? barely above the standard? but you surely had something, otherwise you would have been expelled long ago with the reason of dragging down the prestigious name of the sumeru akademiya.

you started feeling cold not from the night breeze, but from the painful realisation that, maybe, you weren't enough. your heart ached in your chest at the thought. did you just waste years and years of your youth for a dream that had no chance to become true from the beginning? were all of your efforts worth nothing in the akademiya's eyes?

you were so immersed in your thoughts that you didn't hear footsteps approaching from behind. you jumped on the spot when a piece of clothing was draped over your shoulders, covering your shaking figure. your head snapped up only to meet with alhaitham's gaze, one you had never seen in all of your years of dating him: a gaze filled with sorrow and remorse.

«can i take a sit?» his voice was low, gentle.

you nodded and he sat beside you, his legs joining yours in swinging over the edge. you pulled his cape tighter around you, now aware of the coldness that was taking over your exhausted body.

silence filled your surroundings for a while, only the gentle flow of a river in the distance occupying your ears. you didn't know what to say nor where to start, and alhaitham had never been good with words when it came to feelings and such. sure, he improved thanks to you, but his lack of experience was evident. it had been painfully evident in that fight of a couple of hours ago, too.

«you were right, i am indeed a bastard, but my inability to look over my nose, as you said, is the last reason for that. even if i acknowledged your struggles and had to watch you crumble under the amount of pressure and expectations the higher-ups have on you, instead of helping you and give you comfort, i hit you were you are most vulnerable. that indeed makes me a bastard, one that doesn't deserve someone as good as you in his life. but still, i do hope you can forgive me. is that selfish?»

you waited for alhaitham to finish his little speech before raising your gaze and look at him. you could read all the tiredness that got a hold of him and had the best of him and his usual calm self. his eyes were curved down, his brilliant teal-orange hue dulled by regret. his lips were pale and bitten, pressed in a thin line.

«i won't say you're not, but i also don't want you to think that those words i said are entirely true.» your voice was still hoarse from crying, so you cleared your throat before continuing. «i'm sorry for what i said, i wasn't in my right mind. it's just that... maybe you're right, i'm not good enough for the akademiya and that's why i never got acknowledged.» you sank your face in your hands, hiding from your boyfriend.

alhaitham, however, was having none of it. he took your hands in his and pushed them away, then grabbed your chin and forced you to look at him in the eyes.

«that's not true. you're one of the smartest women i've ever met, and they were really few. you have a way with words that's hard to describe, your passion for research admirable and an example for many. you know when to stop to be respectful of the limits that we, as humans, have. it's the akademiya that's made of arrogant and noisy scholars who can't recognise a gem when they're holding one, not you not being enough for an institution made of corruption and greed.»

his lips met your forehead, his words digging holes in your brain, putting roots in there. he was right, he was so goddamn right. you were smart, you were curious, you were knowledgeable, you were respectful. you had all the qualities of a proper scholar, so how the hell did you think you weren't enough? you were even too much, but it would have been a freezing day in sumeru city before you were going to give up on your dreams.

your body though, reminded you you have been way too self-neglecting to start a war with the higher-ups and fuck them over, for now at least.

your hands slipped away from alhaitham's to find themselves on his cheeks, cupping his handsome face. you pulled him down for a kiss, one that was much needed. his arms found rest around your waist, chests pressed together and foreheads touching.

you needed a vacation, and so did alhaitham. you two needed to destress away from the akademiya and spend some quality time together, in each other's arms after neglecting your needs and desires as a couple for too long. and you also needed to stand your grounds and show the akademiya who you were and what you were made of.

there would be time for that, though. for now, you only needed alhaitham, his gentle touch and his sweet kisses, his comfort and his reassurance that he would be there for you to help and support you, as much as he needed the same from you. he may be the almighty genius that saved sumeru and held a knowledge many would kill to have, but in your arms, he was nothing more than a man driven by love and devotion for you and your persona.

© azaliyas 2023 do not copy repost translate or feed to ai

[timetoletmyimaginationfly]

A Confession Challenge

Nanami Kento x Reader

(Song inspiration: Style by Taylor Swift)

He was just your boss. A boss that was meant to be a model with his height and physique. A boss that gives your stomach butterflies whenever he looks at you with his soft yet intense brown eyes. A boss that makes you melt at your very core when he speaks to you.

“You’re spacing out again.” His statement made you jump ever so slightly, your thoughts about him leaving and you returning back to reality. You gave him a sheepish smile and pushed your designs to him.

“It’s a little risky,” you said. “But these golden threads will tie the gown together. Especially because it’s black and we need something to accentuate it.” Nanami nodded.

“It looks perfect,” he said softly and proudly. “Get ready to create it, sweetheart. I’ll help look for boutiques and maybe some other stores for you.”

“You think—Nanami-san, do you really think—“

A chuckle escaped his lips. You could feel your heart beating wildly against your chest. It wasn’t everyday that Nanami Kento chuckled. And you feel so lucky that you get to witness a beautiful sounding chuckle.

“I’ll make sure you have everything ready to get the project started,” he said. He slowly leaned in closer, but you were too entranced from his chuckle to even notice. “Good job, love.” A smirk spread across his face due to your red face.

“Th-Thank you, sir,” you replied breathlessly. You could finally breathe, but every second he doesn’t pull away, the more suffocating it felt to be around him. But you liked it.

“Are you okay?” he asked. You managed a nod to answer, yet he doesn’t move. You closed your eyes when you felt his thumb caress your cheek. You felt dizzy from a simple and small touch. “Good. Wouldn’t want you getting sick.”

“N-No, that would suck,” you managed to say. Nanami softly smiled.

“You’d be out sick and I won’t see my favorite girl,” he said. “A lose-lose situation.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t be able to see your handsome face,” you said with a sly smile. A bold statement, catching him off guard. However, catching him off guard like that just brought you so much satisfaction and confidence. “Or else I’ll be stuck staring at other handsome men on my TV.”

“In your dreams, sweetheart,” Nanami said, with such intensity. Yet his gaze became soft at your sudden giggles.

Everything was unspoken yet shown. The flirting, staring, and gesturing. It was all there and shown wide out in the open. And honestly, all your coworkers were pushing you to make the first move.

But you held your ground. Because you wanted Nanami Kento to submit to you.

“I’d say you’re jealous over men I would never meet in real life,” you said. He pressed his forehead against yours, lips grazing yours but not kissing.

“Because I am,” he said. The sound of a ringtone caused them to distant themselves. Nanami sighed and you stood up while gathering your papers.

“I’ll be off, Nanami-san,” you said with a wink and smile. Nanami watched you leave and smiled. But it all disappeared when he answered the phone.

Nanami lead you to his office while his hand rested on the small of your back. He returned from his sudden business trip a week later. When he opened the door, your eyes widened. All the tools and kit you needed to create your dress was inside his office. Fabrics of different kind and colors were there.

“W-Why did you—Kento I said not to go overboard on the fabric!” you exclaimed. It was the only time you would say his name during work hours, when you get too flustered. He didn’t mind it one bit.

“Just in case,” he said. “Or if you have new creations in mind. The fabric by the wall is my selection. It’s not much but maybe it could be something you could use for the gown if you’re up for it.” You felt your chest and stomach flutter.

“You do so much for me, Nanami-san,” you said breathlessly.

“You deserve it all, sweetheart,” he said softly. His smile was genuine towards you. But you were too focused looking at the products to notice his smile. But he didn’t mind. Your smile is worth to see. “However, I want you to work in my office. I will handle your work for the time being.”

“Kento! Wait—“ You stopped when his hands were placed on your shoulders.

“I want you to focus on this. Okay?” You were in a trance. You nodded. “Good. Now get to work, sweetheart.”

He was away again for another business meeting. It has been another week since he was away. He could return at any day. You were quietly working on the gown. A knock was heard and you answered them to come in. The door opened when Gojo entered inside.

“Gojo-san!” you cheerfully greeted. Gojo smiled widely and stood next to you as you worked.

“Looking good,” Gojo said as he inspected your work. You smiled proudly. “I thought you were doing black and gold?”

“Yes but…” You grabbed your draft and handed it to Gojo. “I want the subtle sapphire so when the light shines it, it shows.”

“Is it because Nanami-san wears blue?” Gojo asked playfully. You blushed. “Remember. Eye fucking.” You stayed silent, mind racing all on Nanami Kento. “Are you mind fucking him too?”

“Shut up,” you mumbled which only made Gojo laugh. But it quickly subsided, curiosity filling the white haired man.

“So what’s holding you two back?” he asked.

“I can’t date my boss,” you said. “I mean, I guess I can but…I don’t know. He deserves someone better than me. He’s a famous CEO. I’m trying to get into fashion and—“

“The man is CEO of 7:3 Security. You’re his only secretary and has been supportive of your fashion dream. He’s helping you create a business by looking over drafts of a business plan and your designs on top of handling his business stuff. He bought fabric! And they aren’t cheap, Princess.” You were quiet. “What type of guy does it for a woman he might just be attracted to?”

“Rich guys?” Gojo chuckled.

“We are begging you two to stop dancing around each other. You are worth it for him. I don’t know why he’s freaking holding back.” You blushed, and a smile formed on your face.

“He knows I want him to say something first,” you said. “He’s likes challenges with me. But I didn’t think he would be this—“

“Patient? Yeah, he’s usually patient with you.” You chuckled again. You always watched Nanami lose his cool around everyone else, specially Gojo.

“Thank you. That cheered me up.” He sheepishly chuckled as he rubbed the back of his neck.

You told your co-workers that you would lock up as you wanted to finish putting together the gown before adding in the details of it. Nanami’s office was the only light on the floor. Once you finished, you tried it on and you twirled happily in front of the full-length mirror Nanami purchased for you before he left. You mentally planned out the details you wanted to add and the mental picture gave you full satisfaction. You wanted to stay in the office all night. And to be honest, you might.

“You should be at home resting.” The sudden voice made you scream. You turned around as your hand rested on your racing heart. But now it raced with the strong feelings you hold for him instead of panic and fear. He stood there casually, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. His beige suit jacket folded and resting on his arm and the sleeves of his blue button up rolled halfway up his arms. Nanami walked closer to you. His hands were on your shoulders and he studied you with your gown. “Beautiful.”

“I-I mean, it’s nothing,” you answered. “It’s only halfway done.”

“You look beautiful with it on,” he said. You notice the bright glint in his eyes. “You used some of the fabric I bought.”

“They worked best on the gown,” you mumbled shyly. “H-How was the business trip?”

“Boring,” he answered as he leaned back against his dress to look at you again. “Although, I got the deal from someone I’ve been working hard to get. So I guess it is also a success.”

“I’m glad to hear, Kento,” you replied happily.

“I can drive you home,” he said. You shook your head. “Sweetheart.”

“It’s funny how you address me as sweetheart,” you said as you unzipped the back of your dress. Nanami held his breath, eyes gazing at your body and wondering what your next move was. “Since when did you ask me to be your girlfriend, Kento?” Nanami smirked but it quickly faltered when you let the gown slip down to your ankles.

You looked so innocent, as if undressing in front of him was a normal thing. Nanami could feel himself harden and his body screaming at him to hold you close to him as he kissed you passionately. He would press his hand behind the back of your head and gently grab your hair while pressing your lips close to his. He wanted to so bad.

“This is cruel, sweetheart.” But he didn’t sound hurt. You could hear his teasing tone. He watched you dress in your casual dress. He watched you button the front and tie the waist wrap.

“It’s my confident boost,” you said with a wink as you walked closer to him.

“Confidence for what?” he asked curiously. You cleared your throat and took a deep breath.

“Am I good enough for you?” you asked. Mood and tone suddenly changed. You were nervous and doubtful. Nanami watched you avoid his gaze. His fingers cupped your chin to slowly lift your gaze up to him.

“Now what makes you say that?” You shrugged. You thought about all the famous models, celebrities, and other female business owners out there. They were all beautiful and successful.

“Insecurities,” you simply answered with a small, sheepish smile. Nanami lightly chuckled and kissed the top of your forehead.

“Don’t be, sweetheart,” Nanami said. “What makes you insecure? Hm?” You blushed that could only make Nanami chuckle. “You are beautiful and must I say, very sexy. I look forward to the days you wear dresses and skirts.” He felt you playfully hit his chest.

“Kento!” Nanami laughed.

“I admire your passion. It makes you a hard worker. And you don’t let anyone get to you. If you do, you’re good at hiding it and proving the fuckers wrong. Everything you do is endearing. I can’t look at any other woman except you. All I can think about is you. In my book, you are good enough.” He stood closer, closing the gap between you two as he cupped your face. “I want you. I need you. And I think you want and need the same thing, sweetheart.”

The tip of your noses touched and he pressed his forehead against yours. You felt dizzy with your heart racing wildly. His scent, his voice, his touch, and his eyes drove you crazy. But your prolonged silence was making him impatient. His hand pressed against the back of your head and crashed his lips on yours. You immediately wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him back with the same passion and desperation. His other hand cupped the side of your face and deepened the kiss. He slowly pulled away and left a soft kiss on your forehead.

“Be mine, sweetheart,” he said. “I want to give you the world. You deserve it all.”

“You’ve been mine,” you said. “I just needed you to confirm that first.” Nanami chuckled.

“I like a good challenge, sweetheart. I couldn’t deny you any longer.” You quickly chuckled.

“It’s like you heard me and Gojo-san talked.”

“Because he talked to me too. Should’ve told me you wanted me to confess first.”

“I can’t make the obvious more obvious, Kento,” you said with a soft laugh.

“Fair enough, sweetheart.”

[visceral-stories]

Inheritance

I’m back! Thank you all for staying with me during my long hiatus! I truly appreciate it and I hope you enjoy the story! 

Ko-fi |Twitter 

6:30 PM seemed like a rather late time for a job interview, but it had been the only option to work with Garrett Carmichael’s hectic schedule. An ambitious high school senior, his weekday afternoons were usually fully booked. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, he participated on his high school’s Quiz Bowl team and on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, he attended meetings  with his math league. Unfortunately, being a productive, ambitious scholar was not a lucrative venture, save for the college scholarships he was already applying for. Garrett’s nonexistent financials were what brought him to apply for the position of a waiter at his town’s local banquet hall. 

He also needed something to balance out the drag that high school had become. He didn’t mind the schoolwork or classes as much, but none of his few close friends - or acquaintances even - shared his same classes. It felt like he was just going through the motions, forced to interact with people who he didn’t care for. The absolute worst was his fourth hour in World History where a gaggle of dim-witted football jocks made the class a living hell. They weren’t physical with him by any means, but they were the type to whisper under their breaths and mock the way he talked or his answers to questions. As a result, it made him far more apprehensive to raise his hand whenever he knew the answer in class. School sucked and on the weekends, he was free. Too free. Having abundant free time was nice, but it wasn’t like he had many hobbies outside of playing videogames with his fellow math league teammates or doing deep-dives on the internet about the multitude of scientific topics that interested him. Not only did he need money, but he just wanted to get out of the house for a few hours and not watch the Saturdays and Sundays glide past him every week. 

The application process had been momentarily bewildering for Garrett who had no clue how the website worked and he had to ask his mom what the digits to his social security number were. Every other high schooler his age had gotten a job already and he felt dumb for getting daunted by the simple process, but ultimately he persevered. Butterflies fluttered in his stomach as he stepped out of his car and walked to the front door. 

“Wow,” Garrett said with awe as he stepped into the nicest waiting room he’d ever seen. An immaculate tessellation of white and yellow rectangles adorned the ceilings accented by bold, curving polygons painted emerald green to resemble vines. The design appeared to extend far beyond the puny waiting room he was in and across the ceilings and walls of the main banquet hall, which he could see for a long distance. 

“Can I help you, sir?” croaked a male voice.

Garrett looked back in front of him to see a man sitting inside a booth in the corner labeled “COAT CHECK” - the only other fixture in this small, open space. He had broad shoulders and was wearing a fancy tuxedo, nearly filling up the whole window with his width. “I-ummm,” Garrett coughed and cleared his throat, peeved at the inopportune phlegm that had formed. “I’m here for a job interview to be a waiter here.” 

A warm feeling of dread filled Garrett’s body when the coat check guy just looked at him with a puzzled look on his face. Garrett remembered the man he’d been messaging in his emails. “I’m supposed to talk to a uhh…Mr. Clifford Atkinson.”

Thankfully, the man’s stoic face lit up with recognition. “Oh yes, he should be here within the next 15 minutes. His reservation starts at 6:45.” 

“Oh, okay,” Garrett replied. He adjusted his glasses and wondered why the Clifford guy needed a reservation. Didn’t he work here?

“You can take a seat over there and wait for him if you’d like,” the man offered with a faint smile. 

Garrett curtly nodded and quickly sat down in one of the few dark red office chairs outside the front door. He pulled out his phone and searched for that email he’d received from Mr. Atkinson. He could’ve sworn the email he’d received yesterday had told him to arrive at 6:30, but unfortunately it was nowhere to be found no matter how hard he searched for it. Crud. He must’ve deleted it or something. Emails were weird. 

The next ten minutes ticked slowly by, leaving Garrett with minimal entertainment besides a few men and women who intermittently came and went through the front door. They were dressed up in tuxedos just like the coat check guy. It was intimidating the way they moved to and fro. Their solid black jackets with stark white shirts bounced up and down with their movements, taunting Garrett with their sophistication. A layer of sweat formed around him as he realized he might’ve come to this thing underdressed. His casual attire of a light blue short-sleeved shirt, a Mandalorian Star Wars tie, and brown cargo shorts clashed heavily with the fashion here. He’d just gotten here and he’d already made a mistake. It was too late to go back home and change clothes so he decided to drown his fears by scrolling through social media. As he was catching up on IGN’s most recent game review, the door flung open. Garrett glanced up, expecting to see Mr. Atkinson, but instead, the last person he wanted to see stumbled inside. 

A tall, muscular  jock stepped inside, dressed in a light gray short-sleeve t-shirt tucked into a pair of blue jeans, and of course - a signature backward cap. “Hey, what’s up man?” he announced as he swaggered up to the man in the coat check booth. “I’m here for the uh…waiter position.”

Garrett’s blood ran cold. It was Devon Kearney - one of the dumbest guys alive and unfortunately, the most prolific nuisance in his fourth-hour World History class. Every day, his deep, stupid voice filled the room as he tended to share every impulsive thought he had with the other football jocks in the class. He was a real menace, rude to everyone besides his little clique or, of course, girls in the class he found attractive. 

Garrett watched the employee gesture for Devon to sit in the chair next to him and a wave of fear filled his body as the jock’s face lit up.

“Well, I’ll be damned!” he boomed as he sidled over to Garrett, causing heads to turn. “You’re  that kid from history class!” He snapped his fingers, trying to remember. “Carmichael, Carmichael, Carmichael. Shit, what’s the first name?” he asked aloud as if Garrett wasn’t even there. 

Garrett clenched his fists. “My name is Garrett, you big-”

“Ah! That’s right, that’s right! I knew that!” Devon roared as he sat down two chairs away from his far skinnier comrade. “You look like a Garrett too,” he snickered with a cocky sneer that made Garrett want to strangle him. Devon was so fake, trying to act all cool and friendly with him as if he hadn’t spent the last three months mocking Garrett in class. Most of the time when Garrett raised his hand to answer a question, he could hear Devon or one of his stupid friends whisper to each other and giggle. Those jerks. Garrett couldn’t wait till he graduated in May and never had to interact with those bozos ever again.

“So what the hell are you doing here, man? Are you applying for a job too?” Devon asked.

Garrett sighed. He wanted to tell Devon to screw off, but that sure as hell wouldn’t go over well at school tomorrow. It wasn’t like the jocks had ever been physical, but he didn’t want to find out. “I’m applying for a job,” he said, not even bothering to continue eye contact. 

“No way! What position? Dishwasher?”

Garrett held his ground as he felt the spit in the back of his throat dry up. “Waiter.”

“You? A waiter? No way, that’s the role I’m training for too!” Devon let out a boisterous laugh that made Garrett’s skin crawl. “Hey, I support it man, but no offense, I…uh….I don’t see you being super social. Being a waiter means like…talking to people a bunch and making ‘em your friends to get stacks of tip money! And at a real fancy place like this, they’re gonna have fat bank accounts! No cap!” 

“Whatever,” Garrett huffed quietly, cringing at the “no cap” comment the most. He turned his phone back on and released an embittered breath.

“It is what it is, man,” Devon snarkily added. He began talking, mostly to himself, again as he pulled out his phone. “Oh man, wait till I tell the boys about who I found at the banquet hall!” 

An awkward silence filled the hall once more, save for Devon’s subtly obnoxious open-mouthed breathing, but moments later, the door swung open and a middle-aged man waddled inside. Garrett caught a faint glimpse of his massive torso out of the corner of his eye. His silver-haired head looked like a snow-covered peak nestled in between the two mountains that were his massive shoulders. Even more shocking was the fact that his pecs were even larger than his bodybuilder-level deltoids. They had entered the room before he did and only drew more attention as they were thinly veiled beneath the strained white dress shirt he was wearing. The top three buttons were undone, revealing a scandalous amount of male cleavage complemented by a light dusting of silver chest hair. 

Garrett noticed that even Devon was also gawking at this colossal guy as he trudged over to the coat check. He leaned over on the desk as he talked with the attendant and Garrett’s cheeks turned pink as he gazed at the man’s massive, imperious figure. Especially his round butt. The dude was absolutely caked up! The buttons of the back pockets of his blue dress pants looked ready to snap. He’d never even considered the idea that men could have butts that big. 

All of a sudden, the hefty stranger spun around on his heels and made direct eye contact with the two teenagers who were obviously gawking at his size. His jaw was the size of a lantern and his eyes had a piercing sapphire coloration to them. He looked like he was plucked straight from Hollywood or something. “Ah, Gentlemen, welcome! It’s nice to see you!” he boomed, the volume of his bassy voice sending a shockwave through Garrett and Devon.  

“Nice to see you too, man!” Devon replied, clearly in awe of the massive male specimen in front of him 

“Sorry about the outfit, boys. These tits of mine have been fighting me to get dressed today,” Cliff said with a playful jiggle of his partially-exposed pecs. “Getting dressed up is quite the hassle isn’t it?”

“Yeah for sure!” Devon said, intentionally lowering his voice to match the other man’s volume. What a kiss-ass. Garrett didn’t even know how to react. He just watched as the other young man hopped to his feet and extended his arm out for a handshake to which the man obliged. “I’m Devon.”

“Cliff Atkinson,” the man boomed as he shook Devon’s hand. Garrett promptly hopped to his feet as the man turned to him. “And who might you be?” he asked. “Just kidding, Garrett. I know who you are. Bring it in. I’m so proud of you.”

Before Garrett could even process what was happening, the man had pulled him in for a bear hug. It was unbelievably awkward, considering he had to hunch over to get down to Garrett’s 5’6” height. As Cliff gave him a firm, tender beat hug as tight as a vice, Garrett swore he could feel his lungs compressing from the immense pressure. It wasn’t like he knew what to say anyway. He had never seen this man before and now he was talking to him so intimately. It was so weird. When Cliff released him and gave him a tender pat on the back, he was nothing short of disoriented. 

Garrett was gasping for breath. Before he could voice his confusion, the mountainous man stood straight up again and clapped his dumbbell-sized hands together with a smile. “I am quite glad to see you both, but I must say both of your outfits are quite unbecoming. The guests should be showing within a half hour. Maybe even earlier.” He turned to Devon. “I’m sure you are new here so all is forgiven, but this is a high-class banquet hall and we take attire very seriously here. Not to worry though, we have some proper clothes for you! Do you know where the dressing rooms are?” 

“No sir,” Devon replied. Garrett peered over and locked eyes with a very sour-faced Devon, whose eyes were still boggling wide with disbelief. 

Cliff smiled. “Not a problem, I’m happy to show you.” He turned to Garrett. “Garrett can go with you too. We must get you out of those dreadful street clothes. It’s your very special day after all.”  

Garrett’s throat was dry from how shocked he was, but Cliff had already started leading the way before he could ask him a question - and he certainly had many options!  Like “why the hell did you say you’re proud of me?”  Or “what do you mean by special day?” But just the thought of questioning this hulking beast of man seemed way too daunting, no matter how tame he seemed.

Cliff turned and led the two boys into the banquet hall, which was far more capacious than Garrett had expected. The place must’ve been at least three-thousand square feet, with every inch of it decorated with Italian Renaissance artwork similar to what was in the lobby. Intricate geometric patterns lined the walls and surrounded the various paintings around the hall, which were also complemented by beige accents around the perimeters. There also had to be around fifty or so round tables all spread out in the open area. Some of the chairs were so close together that Cliff had to walk sideways just to get his broad figure past. 

“So how the hell does a guy like you know a guy like that?” Devon whispered as the two traveled through the array of round tables, his voice rife with envy. 

“I have no clue,” Garrett replied - the exact same question was on his mind. 

“Whatever,” Devon snarled, his tone rich with vicious envy. “I’m a better fit for the job than you anyway. You don’t even know how to talk to girls.”

Garrett coiled his fists. He wanted to retaliate, but he knew that wouldn’t end well. Imagining the five other football players targeting him would be a living hell. He decided to voice a general comment anyway. “Well Devon, it appears that we may have both gotten the job. I mean he never said otherwise.” 

“Bullshit, sir,” Devon hissed before his eyes widened with confusion after a few moments. “Wait, why did I just call you, sir? I-”

Before Garrett could respond, Cliff’s roaring bass silenced the boys’ tiff. “Downstairs is the staff apparel room,” he boomed as they reached a locked door on the opposite end of the hall and twisted a key in the lock. “Devon, was it? We have freshly laundered uniforms listed by size and you can find what best correlates with your size. We will meet you back here when you are dressed.”

“Okay. Yes sir! Sounds good, sir!” Devon replied, raising his voice to feign confidence. Garrett grunted in frustration. He wanted to wipe that stupid smug grin off that suck-up’s face. 

Garrett winced as he felt a firm hand on his shoulder. “You’d best follow him too,” Cliff added. “You know better than to dress like that. I’d expect that out of Devon because he’s just showing up to work, but your apparel is usually not this…pedestrian.”

Garrett’s heart leapt into his throat. Why on earth was this man commenting on his apparel of all things? He just got here! And why was he talking to him like he’d already gotten the job? Yet at the same time, Cliff was talking to him like he’d known him for years. “Oh, I uh…okay,” Garrett meekly apologized, acquiescing to the man’s strange claims. He swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to ask the man about his inappropriate hug earlier. “Say, when you said you were proud of me earlier, what did you-”

A marimba ringtone suddenly blared from Cliff’s pocket. He held up his index finger and produced an iPhone from his pocket although his meaty hands made it look like a toy. 

“Sorry Garrett, it’s the caterers,” Cliff barked. “I’ll meetcha back here in 15, alright?” 

“Oh um..I just-”

Cliff had already answered the phone and started walking away, revealing another glimpse at his broad backside. Garrett readjusted his big glasses and sulked. As he watched the burly stranger depart, he couldn’t help but feel some kind of attachment to him: a benevolence of sorts. It was almost eerie how overly-nice he was being, but it seemed earnest. Perhaps he could tell that Garrett was internally sweating bullets just to be here and was being accommodating. At least it appeared that he’d gotten the job without question? Both he and Devon. God, he didn’t wanna work with that doofus, but it appeared he had no choice. He also didn’t want to let Cliff down after all. The man had been generous enough to hire him on the spot. 

Descending down the old, stone staircase, Garrett entered a far less decorated area of the banquet hall. It smelled ancient down here. The air had a decadent, musty odor of men’s colognes mixed with a faint hint of mildew. As he rounded the corner, he noticed Devon was already sifting through a cabinet full of what appeared to be black uniforms. This room looked quite old and was rather charmless, save for a few photos of past galas and smiling well-dressed people on the walls. Something about this place was giving Garrett the creeps, but he couldn’t quite place it.

There was something different about Devon too. Even though his back was to Garrett, his entire outfit seemed a lot more…faded somehow? Maybe the light was playing tricks on him because the jock’s light denim jeans looked much silkier…and greyer in this light for some reason. Unfortunately, the poor basement lighting could not explain the shirt collar that had materialized around the jock’s neck. 

“How do they not have my size?” Devon griped, his back still to Garrett.

As Garrett walked closer to his acquaintance, a hazy feeling filled his head, as if he’d inhaled way too much of the dust down here. The ground started to feel farther away for some reason. “Wait, why are you shorter…than me?” he asked aloud.

“Shorter?” Devon snorted, now spinning around to face Garrett. “I’m not-”

The two boys stared at each other with unspoken shock as Devon’s tall figure began to squash down. He looked down in horror as the tall, muscular legs he used to score touchdowns were quickly reduced to two chubbier-looking nubs. The dramatic truncation left him at a condensed height of 5’8”, six inches shorter than before. His athletic torso appeared virtually unchanged, but his height - one of his most defining attributes - had been cruelly taken from him in an instant. “WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO TO ME?” Devon roared, his composure gone in a flash. 

“I-I-I didn’t do this!” Garrett squeaked. If he wasn’t so terrified from Devon’s uproar, he would’ve giggled at his puny height. The jock’s muscular stature looked a lot cuter with his height condensed down - like he was a junior version of himself. “I…promise I didn’t. I don’t even-WHOA!” 

Garrett’s plea was cut short as he promptly shot up like a weed. At one point he’d been eye-level with Devon, but his legs and lower torso just kept stretching taller and taller until stopping at an imposing height. He flailed his arms out for a moment as his new 6’6” body nearly toppled over. It felt like he was walking on stilts! “Whoa! What the heck is happening?” he asked as he placed a hand on his forehead. Glancing upward, the newly-minted lanky sapling of a boy realized he was now only a few inches from touching the low, old ceiling. “No, no, I c-can’t be tall,” he stuttered. From the flabbergasted look on Devon’s face, he could tell he was shocked and quite jealous. Mostly jealous. 

Devon craned his neck up at Garrett and scowled with disgust. “This doesn’t even make any-DUDE, your clothes!” 

“My clothes?” Garrett asked. He glimpsed down and watched as his clothes suddenly started to cascade down his body. The first thing he saw were his t-shirt sleeves gliding down from his upper arms to his elbows until they stopped at his wrists. A pair of French cuffs formed on the ends of his new flowy sleeves, accompanied by a pair of distinct “POPS!” as two golden cufflinks materialized. They were nothing short of glossy, refracting the shoddy basement lighting beautifully. Simultaneously, Garrett’s cargo shorts started shuddering all on their own. They too began to distend further and further to the floor until they rested just above his sneakers. Darkness intruded upon the brown coloration of his shorts, turning them into a maroon and then a vibrant sable. A silky fabric also enveloped the khaki of the cargo shorts, stealing away their bagginess and eradicating the oversized front pockets.  

“What the hell is happening to us?” For once, Devon’s confident voice wavered, giving way to audible apprehension.

“I…I don't KNOW!” Garrett squealed as his new pair of pants was suddenly hoisted up by an invisible force. Or it wasn’t invisible, it appeared to be a pair of brown, leathery suspenders with metal clips that glistened in the light…which had magically materialized over him somehow? They locked in place and pulled Garrett’s pants up around his stomach. The movement scrunched up his t-shirt for a moment before the fabric magically levitated and gingerly tucked itself in, leaving zero wrinkles behind. “Y-you’re s-seeing this too, right?” he stuttered.

“Of course I fucking am!” Devon snarled, his face red with anger and embarrassment. Garrett’s eyes goggled incredulously as Devon’s new outfit looked even more elaborate than his. Gone forever was his grey t-shirt and blue jeans and instead he now sported a long-sleeved dress shirt fit with an array of vibrant mother-of-pearl buttons complemented by a pair of black suit pants. Devon’s new dapper attire accentuated every ripple of his body from his larger-than-average arms and legs. Most interestingly, his belly had a faint bump to it now, like he was bloated or something. 

Garrett was mesmerized as he watched the jock struggle in his new, expertly-tailored clothes. Simultaneously, he couldn’t resist the urge to steal glances at himself and watch as his shirt dyed itself blue and his new dress pants dyed themselves a relaxing shade of light grey. In unison, both of their respective waterfalls of new clothing entered their final cascade. To mark its near terminus, a brand new pair of black suspenders sprung up from Devon’s dress pants. They yanked his pants up high up past his belly button. “GUH!” Devon cried in anguish as the suspenders attached around his shoulders and locked his pants in a painful-looking position. Garrett didn’t dare look for long, but he noticed that the jock’s genitals were bulged up in the pants’ fly as a result. 

“This fucking hurts!” Devon cried, unable to hold in his rage “I can’t even feel my co-o--ock!”

Unlike Garrett, Devon’s clothes had a few more tricks up their sleeves. Firstly, an ocean of black stitching materialized over his pristine white dress shirt. It started at his shirt collar and promptly swallowed up his back and his pecs, until finally stopping just above his waist. Devon’s attempts to undo his tight suspenders were cruelly cut short as a brand new black suit jacket concealed his entire torso. Garrett gawked in disbelief, no longer concealing his curious glances. Devon pulled and picked at his new blazer with much ire. Three buttons appeared in the center of the boxy item of clothing and promptly fastened themselves. Devon’s abdomen and self-proclaimed “rock-hard abs” were concealed by the jacket while the top half of the blazer allowed for a triangle of view of his dress shirt. To complete his new expensive outfit, two black ribbons appeared on either side of his neck. Gracefully, they pirouetted around each other and promptly fastened a tight knot, leaving a spiffy black bowtie just under Devon’s Adam’s Apple. As a final touch, a purple strand of satin formed around the young man’s waist of all things. It wrapped around his obliques and banded over his lower back, creating a brand new indigo cumberbund and finalizing Devon’s extravagant uniform.

To finalize Garrett’s much less-invasive changes, a suit jacket of his own materialized and gently wrapped itself around his upper body. A checkerboard of green and white squares covered the illustrious, new fabric. He moved his arms around in it and was surprised to find that it felt light and breathable. Garrett’s eyes fell back onto Devon, who looked like a deer in headlights. Neither knew what to say. The strangest part was the fact that Devon’s pants were so tight - tight enough that Garrett could even see his balls all bunched up in the front. What was that called again? A camel toe? A moose-knuckle? Devon Kearney, one of the douchiest jocks in school, had an actual moose-knuckle. Before Garrett could stop himself, a small chuckle escaped his lips. 

“You think this is fucking funny?” Devon snarled before immediately placing a hand on Garrett’s chest and forcefully shoving him into the wall. For a body three-quarters as tall as it once was, he still retained quite a lot of strength. 

Garrett was petrified. “No, no, Devon, I-”

“This is all your fault somehow!” Devon roared, now inches from Garrett’s face. “Of course, being paired with Garrett Carmicheal of all people would result in some fucking weird nerdy black magic shit!” He tugged at his dapper uniform in disgust. The only remnant of his street clothes was the baseball cap still on his head. “I look like such a fucking dork!” 

Devon was speechless. It was disturbing to see the jock’s unflappable, cocky exterior completely shattered, replaced by flagrant rage. “Devon, I-” 

“Give me one reason why I shouldn't pound the shit out of you!” 

“Devon, no…stop!” Garrett stuttered, overcome with fear. 

Then, the strangest thing happened. Instantly, Devon obeyed the command. He released his tight grip on Garrett’s sternum and stepped back in an almost robotic fashion. “Huh?”

“My sincerest apologies, sir,” Devon replied, placing his muscular arms to his side and standing up as straight as possible. He shook his head. “Wuh, why did I…do that?” 

Garrett wasn’t sure how to react. Instead, he just focused on catching his breath and peering down at his disoriented comrade. It was wild to think that Devon, the 6’4” tall linebacker who towered over Garrett in history class, had been reduced to a meager 5’8” height. Even crazier was the fact that he actually obeyed a command. 

POP! POP!

It took a moment for Garrett to realize that the two sharp pings had actually been his top two shirt buttons flying loose. “My shirt…” was all he could say as he wordlessly glanced down at his now, partially-exposed chest. Instead of seeing a flat chest and distinct collar bone, he was surprised to see that his pecs were actually protruding out? And they were still inflating!

“Goodness gracious!” Devon exclaimed before putting a hand over his mouth. 

The two boys could only watch helplessly while Garrett’s chest continued inflating. His pecs were a statement now - two growing muscular slabs, as sturdy as bricks, that tempted with their masculinity. Short, spindly dark chest hairs sprouted up in the center, which had now formed a small chasm. Although Garrett was enticed, he was unbelievably confused. A scrawny geek like him wasn’t supposed to have tits like this! He’d never even set foot in a gym. Or maybe he had? After all, it must’ve taken a decade’s worth of vigorous exercise to get pecs this round and supple. They were so huge that even his nipples had been pushed to the side and had puffed out, now each closely resembling the tip of a baby’s bottle. They were so sensitive too. He could imagine them tensing up every time his French cuffs grazed them or whenever he would give them loving squeezes in private. In fact, he could recall they gave him some kind of unorthodox pride - seeing them perked up in every formal picture he’d ever taken. His bros would even joke and call him Kate Upton because of it. 

Garrett’s cock ascended, and noticeably tented his wool dress pants. Absent-mindedly, he ran a hand through his thick, long hair and parted it to one side - something he’d never done before. Of course, the hair didn’t stick due to the lack of product and instead, it just hung there as a gnarled mess with most of it flattened down and the other half sticking straight up like a porcupine’s quills. “God, what is happening to me,” Garrett huffed as he impulsively grabbed at his bulge. 

“It appears you’re changing, sir,” Devon aptly replied, his voice sounding a lot more monotone. 

“I…I really am,” Garrett replied, his voice nearly crescendoing into a moan as he gave his bulge a shake. “I look different, don’t I? More cleaned up, eh? More prim and proper. More mature, even.”

“T-that you do,” Devon confirmed, stuttering his words as he was forced to swallow a snarky rebuttal. He was losing his will to be a contrarian. Instead, his disposition was becoming far more accommodating and congenial, accompanied by an enhancing vocabulary. “Me too!” he pouted, his monotone voice once again possessing his familiar churlishness. “I hate this tux thing I’m dressed in. I don’t want to look mature! Although spectacular, my regalia is quite oleaginous, isn’t it? GAHH! What am I saying?!” 

Garrett gazed back up at Devon, or rather peered down at him - the fear and frustration was evident on the other teen’s distraught face. He also appeared to have put on a few more pounds somehow. His growing arms and pec muscles took on a far more squishy shape and his tight stomach crafted by years of high school football had a much pudgier contour to it. 

“GUHH!” Garrett roared, at a low register, similar to Devon’s voice, realizing the changes were far from over. Two shockwaves of blood surged through his arms, immediately filling them with volatility. A pair of massive, bodybuilder-sized biceps gradually inflated within the confines of the bespoke twill shirt. Garrett could only watch transfixed as his skinny, noodle arms - the things he’d hated the most about himself - became nothing of the sort. The muscles in his forearms followed suit as they pulled apart and tightened up with protein-laden muscle, becoming permanent, cylindrical-shaped obtrusions in every shirt he would ever wear. Around fifteen seconds later, Garrett’s barrel-sized arms were now tastefully concealed beneath the tight, stretchy fabric of his dress shirt. Mercifully, his golden cufflinks remained intact and undisturbed, their dazzling opulence a necessary accentuation of his rigid wrists. Garrett was in awe. Even his hands looked manlier - they looked more plump and more formidable somehow. His nails were perfectly manicured and his digits must’ve doubled in size, dropping their nimble slimness in favor of a more boxing glove-like shape. 

A wave of growth undulated through his abdomen as it began to slowly extend forward to a similar breadth of his mighty pecs. With it came two distinct pops, but this time it came from deep within his abs. It felt like he was flexing abdominal muscles that had never made themselves known before. To confirm his suspicion, the two pops multiplied into four and then six until concluding on eight square-shaped indentations etched into his abdomen. Bespoke twill felt incredible against his brand new eight-pack. “God, I’m really filling out, huh?” Garrett smirked as an impulsive affirmation to himself. 

“Yes, I am too,” Devon answered nervously. 

Garrett glanced down and the first thing he noticed about Devon was the bulbous sphere that his belly had become. It wasn’t like he was obese or anything, but to call Devon a jock would be laughably inaccurate. This stomach of his had to be at least fifty pounds and it jutted straight out like a boulder. It didn’t sag low like a belly normally would, it hung high and tall, suspended by hidden, rigid muscle. Something told Garrett it would only get bigger.

“AGH!” Garrett yelped as he felt two muscles viciously tingle each of his shoulders before they began to stretch upward. A pair of glorious trapezius muscles flared out, giving him a menacing hood of muscle around his neck similar to a king cobra. Quickly, their immensity made his small, boyish head and mop of brown, unkempt bowl cut look extremely out of place. As Garrett’s trap muscles finished their transition into ones that a bodybuilder would envy, he attempted to turn his head 90 degrees, but found that to be quite a challenge. His neck too had also stretched wider to compete with the overgrown atoll of his trap muscles. Eliminating the soreness in his new muscular neck, Garrett rocked it back and forth and felt his bones and veins snap into place. The process sent a giant tear through the back of his Star Wars tie, whose lopsided Windsor knot had also fared no match for Garrett’s expanding, meaty neck and shoulder. It now hung loosely, dangling precariously over his massive tits about to plop to the ground.

“Pardon me sir, your tie is askew,” Devon piped up.

Before Garrett could react, his portly acquaintance gingerly removed the tie from his figure and was running it through his hands. He blinked and all of a sudden, Devon’s hands were concealed beneath a pair of satin white gloves. Paired with that, his hands looked larger too - like two baseball mitts. 

“What is with this tie?” Devon added, staring at the Star Wars Mandalorian emblems on the tie. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Yeah, it’s my good luck tie,” Garrett replied. “I wore it for…the interview…” He trailed off for a moment as his memories of an interview grew a little hazier. They were both here for some reason, but this seemed like a strange situation for an interview. “Have you always been wearing gloves?” It was a straightforward thing for him to ask, but he genuinely was curious.

“Yeah, it’s a part of the uniform,” Devon nodded although his brow furrowed with confusion over his own comment. It was as if he didn’t know what he was going to say next. 

“Okay,” Garrett replied intently, giving Devon a snide smirk. His cock bobbed in his trousers as he thought of the idea of a football player bending to his whim and being involuntarily supportive. 

Devon’s face didn’t show much more emotion. Instead, he was putting his new man-hands to work some magic on the tattered tie. As he rolled up the tie, the array of Mandalorian emblems began to fade. First, the helmet’s outline faded before diffusing in all directions and melting into the navy blue coloration of the tie. In some miraculous animation, Garrett watched as the colors danced into each other before brightening until they reached a divine, subdued seafoam green. With a firm shake from Devon’s hands, the tie fattened up and lost any trace of its former self. 

“What did you do?” Garrett asked, his heart sunk as his favorite tie from one of his favorite movies was gone forever.

“Hermés,” Devon said, answering a question never asked. “Mint is quite the nice touch for the outfit too.” He handed it to Garrett who just looked at it dumbly. “You know how to tie a tie don’t you?” Devon asked smugly, his voice sounding much more…posh and preppy. “We don’t want that Cliff fellow to be mad.” 

“Yeah for sure,” Garrett replied as he unconsciously wrapped the tie around his collar. In only a few seconds and a few deft maneuvers, his hands nimbly created a Windsor knot. 

“I taught you well,” Devon applauded, his eyebrow crooked as he dissected his statement. Still, his mouth continued its whimsical dialogue. “You can tie a tie as fast as I can tie my shoes. Or at least as fast as I used to be able to tie them.” He gestured at his bass drum of a belly and chuckled at himself. 

Garrett couldn’t help but snicker too. Devon’s bubbly nature was somewhat infectious. It was kind of hot - imagining the portly ex-jock catering to his needs, but also being a genuinely nice person. That would be a nice change.  

“Isn’t that better?” Devon asked. A faint panic still permeated his eyes, as if he wasn’t sure why he was asking these questions and indulging Garrett like this. 

“Yeah,” Garrett smiled with a conceited grin as he ran a hand through his floppy, greasy mop of crumpled hair. The movement caused more strands to flop down successfully, causing them to be quaffed straight back as if they were drenched in gel. Garrett didn’t pay it any mind. He just enjoyed how perfectly his mint tie complemented the checkered pattern of his blazer. This nearly-gaudy attire - he wanted to hate it - but he couldn’t. It accentuated his muscles perfectly! Oh yeah. His muscles. “I feel like a million bucks!” Garrett said with an honorary flex. 

“Good, good,” Devon jovially replied. In accordance with his jolliness, a new layer of fat formed around his stomach and stretched out his resplendent tuxedo even further. A wave of compassion and maturity overcame him, replacing his adolescent panic. Looking at a burgeoning young stud like Garrett made him feel…proud in a way? It made him feel oddly paternal, as if their ages were different or something? “You have to look your best for your special day,” Devon added, before grimacing at how cringe he sounded. Still, it felt eerily correct to assist Garrett with his newfound sartorial knowledge. 

“My special day?” Garrett asked before smirking once more. “That’s right. It…is my special day. I just can’t remember why.” 

“Me neither,” Devon admitted. His adolescent rage towards Garrett had faded completely. It was impossible to get mad a young, promising stud like him. Instead, he glared down at his new rotund body ruefully. “I look like a fucking gumdrop,” he pouted as he poked and prodded at his round belly and pecs. He craned his stubby neck to see that even his broad, hulking thighs made his dress pants look vacuum-sealed. It reminded him of wearing padded football pants. His chest was ridiculously huge too - his pecs were like two airbags resting atop a giant, protrusive boulder. Thankfully, his pecs didn’t sag like other older men’s man-boobs often did. They just hung there, taunting Devon with their undeniable stoutness. It was enthralling in a way - the idea of his cannonball-shaped stomach on display in every shirt he ever wore. That made him feel so…mature, like a father figure of sorts. His corpulence, unapologetically masculine, equally disgusted and excited him. At least his plump body looked well-dressed and concealed perfectly by this uniform. Devon could picture so many men his age, or…his father’s age, who didn’t know how to dress themselves - the type to have the undersides of their bellies exposed in public and who wore thin, ill-fitting t-shirts with visible, nasty sweat stains. Devon felt some strange pleasure in the fact that his clothes were tailored just for him. It made him feel much more…powerful that way. This well-dressed, paunchy body of his was an extension of his own masculinity. 

Garrett was lost in his own self-indulgent thoughts as he inspected his own chest. He gave his nipples a tweak and winced at how sensitive they were. Rubbing the back of his meaty hand against the expensive fabric, he could feel a  God, he loved being a man. A huge, hunky, muscular, young, confident man. One whose body jutted out in every direction in his formal clothes - kinda like Devon’s did, only Garrett’s were far more perky and traditionally attractive. He’d never clamored over his body like that before. It was quite the rush - a premonition of his constantly evolving virility and an extension of his own masculinity. 

“Wait, do you hear that?” Garrett asked abruptly, causing Devon to return back to reality. The two of them froze and sure enough, they realized that there was now an abundance of noise emanating above them. A faint bassline and drums could be heard accompanied by a moderately-loud chatter of people conversing. “There’s people upstairs.” 

Devon turned white as a ghost. “Oh no, oh shit dude, people can’t see me like…like this!” he cried, holding up his pudgy, balloon-shaped belly in rife disgust. 

“Yeah, you look like a blimp,” Garrett chuckled. For a moment, he almost regretted saying it, but his fear of Devon was dissipating. They were equals now - no longer bound by archaic notions of a teenage hierarchy. 

“Manners please,” Devon retorted, primping his suit. He didn’t appear to be that offended by the comment though, considering he didn't give Garrett any vicious retaliation. In fact, he seemed to be captivated by his tuxedo jacket. “My coattails. They nearly stretch to the floor!” he said with dopey astonishment, stretching his neck to inspect the way the coat draped over his pot-bellied frame. “They kinda look like a superhero’s cape. It’s quite…marvelous, isn’t it?” 

“Whoa, your voice! It sounds British!” Garrett laughed. “Would you like some tea and crumpets, governor?” 

Devon was not amused. “Sir, please,” he huffed, far more displeased than angry. “I don’t think it’s quite appropriate to make fun of my accent. I surely don't mock you for your deep voice.”  

A twinge of guilt pulsed through Garrett. If a jerk like Devon could learn politeness, surely he could too.  “Right, right, I’m sorry,” he said, completely oblivious while his voice lost its teenage squeak in favor of a commanding, baritone register. “I guess I never expected a football player to act so formal.” The voice that Garrett now had sounded like it belonged to a male country singer rather than a raspy 18 year old. 

“Football?” Devon gasped. He could recall playing it for a brief moment, but the memories of it all came crashing down instantly. Like a piece of paper being incinerated to ash. A man of his rotund stature certainly wouldn’t be the greatest at the sport unless he was an offensive lineman. “I have…never played football before,” Devon said, almost in a state of shock as the words left his lips. “I wouldn’t be too fast on the field. Not with a belly like…OOOFF…like this.” Without warning, fifty more pounds were piled onto Devon’s stomach, causing him to look like even more of a portly freak. This monster gut looked ready to rip free from his uniform at any moment, but thankfully it had swiftly stretched with his beastly proportions to prevent that. 

“Oh yeah, that’s right, it’s not called soccer where you’re from.” 

“Huh? I…oh yes, that’s quite correct.” Devon’s head was spinning. His definition of the sport was changing. Football was nothing like it was here in the States. It was a far less violent and barbaric sport in the U.K. but most importantly, it was an excuse to get a pint with the lads and watch his favorite team whenever he went back home. Or wait, wasn’t this home? Everything was getting fuzzy. 

Garrett was feeling the same way as he zoned out for a moment, gazing down at his sophisticated clothes. Or rather hunky, sophisticated body - the clothes were just an extension of himself. “Well, I think we should head upstairs and talk to that Cliff guy and maybe he can help us.” 

“Ah Cliff, what a fine gentleman!” Devon perked up, like a robot coming to life. His deep, Welsh accent teeming with merriment. “Yes, let’s!” 

Garrett tried his hardest not to snicker as Devon led the way. His bouncy, blubbery figure certainly didn’t move the way it once did. At first, he clearly was trying to move at the speed of a highschool quarterback, but his gait was reduced to a sluggish waddle. Something else had also changed about Devon. It was his back - which looked quite broader for some reason. Paired with his angular shoulders, his upper body was turning into quite an imposing-shaped rectangle. For a man of smaller stature, his figure was still quite imposing. 

“I’m sure everyone is waiting to see you.” Devon said merrily as he reached the wooden stairs.

“Ah that’s right,” Garrett replied and a burst of dopamine suddenly hit his brain, promptly inhibiting any more questioning of their predicament. It was his special day. Being the center of attention was something he craved - people all gathered around him, listening to him talk in length - it was like adrenaline to him : a formative adrenaline. He cherished all the accolades his hulking muscles would receive. From friends, from family members, from romantic partners. After all, he’d put in years of hard work!  

Garrett was aghast as he walked up the steps behind his paunchy companion. Devon already had the tight, muscle butt of a high school quarterback, but the ascent up the staircase immediately began shaping it into an enormous cushion that was impossible to ignore. With each step upward, his glutes flared outward in all directions, stretching his wool dress pants like lycra. Inflating like balloons, Devon’s mountainous asscheeks lost some of their muscled firmness. They rhymically bobbed up and down over and over, indicative of their increased fat concentration. By the time they reached the top of the stairs, two mounds the size of basketballs and as wide as pillows had replaced Devon’s former ass. He appeared to be none the wiser as he turned sideways for a moment and readjusted his cummerbund.

Garrett froze. His cock had risen to full mast and he hated it. Illuminated by a single overhead light, Devon’s mammoth figure cast a marvelous silhouette. The equal breadth of his glorious, distended stomach and protruding suited buttocks were so oddly compelling. And stupidly erotic. Then again, Garrett had been hard since the changes started…or for the past hour while he’d been getting ready. Yeah. That was right. Dressing up always got his hormones firing. 

“It seems like only yesterday you had gotten into college,” Devon reminisced as he turned his stubby neck up to Garrett who climbed to the top step. 

“College?” Garrett asked. He hadn’t even graduated high school. “I don’t think-”

“Look at yourself, Garrett, ” Devon boomed. The newfound sagacity in his voice sent a shiver up Garrett’s spine. “You’ve really changed from the small, precocious lad you once were. You heed advice and apply it into your own life. In university and in bodybuilding. Why, I remember when I used to be larger than you. Hah hah hah! That’s not quite the case anymore, is it?” 

“Bodybuilding? College?” Garrett was dumbfounded. Two retrospections ran parallel in his brain. In one, he was a teenage misanthrope who would much rather keep to himself and his hobbies while another, more forceful side of him savored the attention of being a heartthrob, junior bodybuilder. He craved it, actually. He wanted to loathe the feeling, but he couldn’t. Everything around him was spinning out of control so beautifully, but something told him that this was a very good thing.

“Why yes,” Devon replied, “We’re all so proud of you. You have that ambition that’s going to get you very far in life.” His voice cracked a bit. “I wish I had more of that when I was a lad.”  

Before Garrett could stop himself, he’d already wrapped his arms around the portly man.  Given their height difference, he’d had to lean down slightly, but he didn’t even realize he’d done that. Devon quickly reciprocated and a mutual wave of growth radiated through the two of them. It was a weird burst of unbridled sympathy the two had never felt for each other once. But it was real. 

Firstly, Devon’s belly gained a final thirty more pounds, swelling larger than a yoga ball and tight as a bass drum. At one point, he’d competed in bodybuilding competitions just like Garrett was…or was going to. But now, a stout aging man like Devon much preferred to possess a distended, glorious muscle gut formed from decades of hard work and newfound relaxation. His body type was truly one of a kind - he had to make his own custom clothes for it too - and nothing made him more enthusiastic that Garrett appeared to be following the same fate of growing gigantic. Finishing its inflation, Devon’s belly pressed tightly against Garrett’s abdomen, which was starting to shrink in exchange. Any remaining pudge Garrett had was trimmed away and repurposed into a lean, X-shaped of a competition-ready bodybuilder. His nonexistent butt also began to change, promptly losing its shapelessness as it inflated into two boulders. His rear was only around three-quarters the size of Devon’s, but it had equal strength. Garrett had an enormous, perky muscle butt formed by nearly a decade of strenuous squatting and consistent training. In tandem, Garrett’s slender thighs beefed up, becoming a set of poles that could effortlessly support his hulking frame. Subconsciously, he rocked back and forth on them and the new muscles tightened into pillars as thick as stone. 

“Thank you,” Devon replied as the two pulled apart. His eyes were glassy and his face had a myriad of more pronounced lines on it now. He was so happy now, happier than he had ever been from his life as a football player. Being a British butler, a man of superlative etiquette, and passing eclectic style and machismo onto a man like Garrett - that was his new purpose. “You’ve become the man deep down that I knew you always could be.”

“Of course,” Garrett smiled. He felt like his heart was going to explode. While studying Devon’s new venerable face and more mature sunken eyes, he blinked and all of a sudden, his baseball cap disappeared! Not only that, Devon’s head of vibrant blonde hair had vanished too, leaving behind a faint horseshoe of hair. He pictured Devon as having a younger, boyish face in his head, but those memories were crinkling away as he looked into this new, mature man.“Your…your hat,” was all Garrett could say. 

Faint wrinkles texturized themselves around Devon’s face as he smiled. “Yes, the bowler hat felt a little unfitting on a very formal occasion like this.” 

“No, you were wearing a…” Garrett trailed off, immediately forgetting that a bald, astute gentleman like Devon would ever wear a baseball cap. That seemed too…juvenile for him. Whenever he did wear a hat, it was usually a top hat or something. Even more paralyzing to Garrett was the fact that this man in front of him didn’t feel like a stranger anymore. He felt like a family member. Like a mentor of sorts. It made sense. After all, he’d known Devon his entire life. A hazy memory traveled through Garrett’s brain. He could remember being young, back when Devon had a full head of hair and he’d wanted so badly to impress him. Now he had and the family butler couldn’t be more proud. Wait, family butler? That seemed correct for some reason, but it make any-

“Have a fun night, kid,” Devon smiled, uniquely giving the words a staccato affectation with his charming British accent, as he opened up the wooden door to the banquet hall. 

Bright lights inundated Garrett’s corneas, like he’d stepped into heaven. When his eyes adjusted, he could make out around what appeared to be one hundred or so people occupying the previously vacant hall. Their attire was ritzy - like nothing Garrett had ever seen. Women adorned with beautiful, stylish dresses paired next to men dressed up in bespoke three-piece suits of various colors. A multitude of tuxedoed waitstaff were maneuvering in between the crowd of affluent guests. All parties involved seemed to be engrossed in pleasant, light-hearted conversation. 

Seeing them all sent a tidal wave of fear through Garrett and the same teenage nerves he thought he’d banished inundated his brain. “Devon, there are so many-”

He turned, but Devon had already begun conversing with a crowd of five male waiters nearby who were dressed in identical tuxedos. He wanted to chuckle at how Devon’s cartoonishly massive butt eclipsed his view of the men he was talking to, but he couldn’t. In his peripheral vision, he could see people start noticing him. All the confidence he’d once had vanished instantly replaced by his familiar teenage nerves. He hated crowds - hated them so much. And now here he was trapped in the middle of one of the largest ones he’d ever seen. 

Just as Garrett took his first step forward to try and slink towards the wall, he nearly collided with the silhouette of a huge, imposing man who nearly knocked him to his feet. Luckily, his reflexes were quick and he jumped back on his heels. 

“Vince, there you are!” thundered the familiar, lofty stranger. It was Cliff - his interviewer of all people? He also looked more put together than before. His massive pecs were thinly concealed by a tight dress shirt preventing any chest hair from peeking through. At his side was a breathtaking entourage of beautiful guests, a group of men wearing flashy, velvety suits and a group of women wearing extravagant, ruched dresses. “We were wondering what was taking you so long!” 

“Huh? My name’s not-” Garrett stopped. His deep voice, almost as low as Cliff’s, startled him and reminded him how manly he sounded. Before he could analyze it, two new heels abruptly shot out of Garrett’s sneakers, launching him a half-inch higher into the air - allowing him to become eye level with Cliff - the man who’d previously towered over him. He wanted to tremble, but there was something so comforting about the older man’s face. It made him feel seen. There was a broad, beaming smile on Cliff’s brick-shaped jaw, emanating the same sage-like reverence as Devon had. 

“There’s the man of the hour!” another well-dressed man around three-quarters the size of Garrett exclaimed. By this point, the group of guests had swarmed all around him, rendering any chance of escape impossible. His heart felt like it was going to explode out of chest, from stress and a weird, weird sense of familiarity with these people, especially one of the men in front of him. His face was devoid of wrinkles and his forehead devoid of furrows. Must’ve been a lot of Botox. Even his hairline mirrored Garrett’s, which was impressive given he looked to be in his sixties or so. “Put ‘err there, Vince!” the dapper stranger exclaimed, extending out his hand. 

Garrett acquiesced, not wanting to be rude. He didn’t realize how clammy his hands were until they were against this man’s dry ones. “Thanks, Uncle James. It’s so good to see you,” he replied before flinching at his weird, automatic response. 

The man didn’t seem to care about being Garrett’s uncle. It did seem to make sense though. He looked like Cliff, only a few years older. “Look at that! He already got himself a Rolex! Lookin’ sharp, son!” 

“A…what?” Garrett looked down at his right wrist and sure enough, there was a watch with a rich, emerald hue that looked nothing short of expensive. Upon further inspection, he realized it was the same green shade as his preppy checkered blazer and it had the same eye-catching shimmer of his cufflinks. Fuck. That turned him on for some reason. Luxury. Power. Being all dressed up. “Yeah, doesn’t it have a marvelous sparkle to it?” Garrett added, unable to contain his excitement. His voice sounded different now - a little more pompous. He was really holding the vowels of words in his mouth for longer now. It reminded him of the rich kids from his high school. Wait, where did he go to school again?

A lady in a lavender velvet dress holding a bubbling glass of champagne spoke next. She used big gestures to the group, as if she was showing Garrett off like a trophy. “Our son - the Yale graduate,” she declared, her voice sounding as proud as Cliff’s and as proud as Devon’s. “I can’t believe he finally did it.” 

“Top of his class too!” Cliff added, sipping on a glass of scotch. “Don’t forget about that, Pauline.” 

“Of course,” the woman smiled. “We never doubted our son for a second.”

“Graduated? From Yale? No, I’m…” Garrett sputtered as the final realization hit him. This was a party. All for him. And Cliff and Pauline. They were…his parents? That didn’t seem right, but Garrett had trouble recalling any other alternative. He could recall glimpses of his upbringing in opulent rooms, going to high-class events and developing a sartorial affinity. He now truly felt like an adult just like them. His parents’ positive words echoed in his head, filling him up with joy. For the first time in a long time, Garrett felt proud of himself. His memories of a recluse were fading while recollections of being a valedictorian and relaxed, sociable young athlete took their place. 

“Looks like he’s been hitting the gym at the same time!” Uncle James piped in. “What’s your current weight?”

“280,” Garrett replied and instinctively performed a front lat spread to the group who all laughed pompously. 

“Don’t get him started,” Pauline replied with a playful tap on Garrett’s shoulder. 

Another man spoke up who looked muscular too, although not as muscular as Garrett. “Even during football, you were never half this size. You really took to bodybuilding during college! I can’t believe I’m looking at the same kid!”

Garrett beamed with pride and his posh accent swallowed up his old one completely. “Once I knew football wasn’t in the cards for me, I decided to take weightlifting more seriously and it really helped me.”

“Isn’t that great,” one of the ladies in the crowd smiled. 

“He sure takes after his old man!” Cliff smiled, wrapping his arm around his equally-strapping son. 

Garrett froze as he fully took in the breadth of his alleged father. For lack of a better word, he was just so manly. Even being a man in his fifties, he still had some incredible size to him. He must’ve been sixty pounds heavier than Garrett, which was nothing short of impressive. Cliff’s cerulean three-piece suit looked ready to rip off. Garrett could recall some strong feelings about that: the idea of getting to a massive size where all of his suits had to be custom-made to contain his sheer width. He could faintly recall a short, plump man measuring him with yellow tape as he crafted measurements for him.  

Holy shit. That man was his family butler. The one he’d just seen earlier. What was his name again? Acrid guilt pulsed through Garrett’s head. This butler had been with his family his entire life and he couldn’t even remember his name. Even Garrett’s own name was growing harder to remember, but he knew one thing for sure. His name certainly wasn’t Vincent. 

“Any refills on champagne?” chirped a familiar ebullient voice. 

“Yes please, thank you Reginald,” one of the ladies chirped back as the butler filled up her tall glass. 

Garrett turned and sure enough, his family butler was right there: Reginald Chapman - a 400 pound intimidating colossus who was actually a kind-hearted giant. 

Garrett tried not to laugh. This whole situation was so far-fetched. It reminded him of that one Rick & Morty episode where the family in the show had gained memories of a butler who they thought had always been part of their family. But this situation was different from a silly cartoon like that. It wasn’t like Reginald lived with them although he was over at the house working full-time. Hell, he’d even gone on family vacations with the Atkinsons. He’d even brought his husband along. It had been a strange sight - seeing the family butler and his equally-large middle-aged husband on the beach, but it had been illuminating. But still, Reginald had his own life. He was simply the Atkinsons’ staff member. A lifelong, steadfast one at that. Happy to cater to Garrett’s needs whenever necessary and give him advice on life and bodybuilding. It seemed weird to have a private butler, but not for a family like the Atkinsons who were filthy rich. 

For a moment, Garrett found that somewhat exciting - the idea of a massive man catering to his needs, but it wasn’t weird like that. Even with his portly figure, Reginald had been quite an inspiration for Garrett to take bodybuilding seriously. He’d wanted to grow - to get as big as one of his idols - a kind-hearted Englishman who was like his second father. In fact, it had been a conversation on a Bahamian beach with Reginald and his burly partner Oliver that had made Garrett realize he was bisexual - a whole separate epiphany.  

“I assume the college grad over here needs a fresh glass too!” Reginald piped up, producing a clean wine glass for Garrett. He poured the perfect amount of the liquid into it and smiled. “He’s truly one of a kind isn’t he?” 

The group smiled and laughed in agreement. Garrett took notice of the other patrons in the background who were also turning his way. Reginald had the volume of a foghorn after all. In the crowd, Garrett could make out a few guys and girls his age - some of the friends from college. Some of them were really attractive. This really was quite the celebration. And it was all for him.

“Dom perignon, sir,” Reginald smiled, handing Garrett the glass, his fifty-six year old face glowing with adulation. 

Garrett took a sip and smiled - the expensive liquor tasted incredible. He swore he could feel the bubbles fizzing in his mouth after he swallowed. 

“Raise your glasses, please!” Reginald boomed. The guests immediately obeyed, all with smiles on their faces as they stared warmly at Garrett. “To Vincent Atkinson!” Reginald thundered as the background chatter quieted down. “A young man who has changed my life as much as I hope I’ve changed his!” 

There was that name again. Garrett wanted to reply, but instead a warm, compassionate feeling overcame him. He was touched by the sweetness of the family butler - a man who inspired him every day. 

A cheer from all of the guests echoed through the banquet hall. They all took a sip except for Reginald who just warmly smiled. “Have a glorious night you all,” he said with a bow of his head before swiftly walking away to tend to other patrons. That’s right. Reginald was on the clock. That enthusiastic, diligent butler. Garrett watched as his plump body bounced within the confines of his long, dangling coattails as as he sidled over to another crowd. 

“Vince has grown up so fast!”  chimed in a male patron as the chatter started back up. “He’s sure got that Atkinson family chin!”

“Wait until he gets those Atkinson family veneers!” chimed in another who received a chastising shove from his wife. 

“Family…chin?” Garrett mumbled as he felt a bubbling sensation emanating from the bottom of his face. It was the weirdest feeling, like someone was popping bubble wrap under his chin. The final piece of him was changing - his face. He didn’t know why, but he wanted to see it happen in real time. He just had to. “Excuse me, please,” Garrett said before promptly darting away before any patron could stop him. With each distinct footstep, his dress shoes grew more and more glossy, echoing throughout the opulent hall. Luckily, he located a bathroom nearby and promptly slunk inside, but not before feeling his broad shoulders scrape against the sides of the old, wooden doorframe. Garrett skulked to the mirror a panicked, breathy mess and promptly froze with disbelief at his strapping reflection. 

Everything about him was huge. Unbelievably huge.

He turned to his side and ogled over his humongous chest and back jutting out in either direction. Even his biceps looked prime to rip right out of his checkered suit jacket. Lower on his body, his bulge and tight, muscle ass also jutted out from his midsection, quivering with his movements, both exuding undoubtable manliness. Now in complete privacy, Garrett’s cock rose back up to full mast. His body - it reminded him of Cliff’s - his new father - unyieldingly masculine and provocative. He was burning up under this sexy yet stifling outfit his butler had picked out. 

“I’m an Atkninson,” he said to himself, eager to look like just his father - his idol.

With a distinct set of cracks, his stubby chin erupted forward, immediately doubling its width and acquiring a brand new shovel-shape. Any awkward half-grown teenage facial hair vanished with it, endowing Garrett with a clean-shaven, spotless chin accompanied by the subtle aroma of expensive aftershave. Next his lips inflated like two balloons, puffing out to an extremely kissable level. His teeth straightened and became a pure shade of white. Transfixed by his reflection, Garrett watched in wonder as his unsightly pimples and zits were eradicated from his face. In one swift blink, his eyes changed from hazel to a bright blue accompanied by a slightly thicker yet attractive nose. Propelled down by an invisible wave, Garrett’s unkempt bowl cut was finally subdued and all of the long, strands shortened to a preppy, professional length. An expertly-placed layer of gel coated the young man’s greasy brown hair, slicking it back in an instant, taking off a few inches with it. 

“Mmm fuck,” Garrett huffed as he swore he felt a gust of air rush over his head. A glorious tidal wave of bright blond hair came next, swallowing up his old bushy brunette forever. He wanted to be mad at how preppy he looked, but it didn’t make sense why. This was how he’d dressed his whole life. 

“I’m an Atkinson,” Garrett repeated, hard as a rock while he watched his boyish features mature ever so slightly, eradicating anyone ever mistaking him for a teenager ever again and aging him up in a man in his early 20s. That wasn’t who he was after all. Everyone was here tonight for his college graduation. 

Garrett was treated to a final, illustrious animation of his altering face in the mirror as any remaining “Garrett-hood” he had was eliminated. His hairline pulled down slightly making his forehead less prominent, his eyes grew a little closer together, and his ears shrunk ever so slightly. And then as if Garrett had been staring at some magic-eye poster, it all clicked into place. His handsome face looked just like a younger version of his father. “Fuck yeah, I’m…Vincent Atkinson,” he trembled, his voice rife with anticipation. 

That utterance - it sent a shockwave through Vincent. In an instant, an invisible sonic boom erupted through the room. It forced down his eyes and locked all of his handsome new attributes in place - never to be taken from him. Simultaneously, his rock-hard cock became flaccid. When Vincent reopened his eyes, he was left staring at his reflection in the mirror and there was a watery sheen over his aquamarine-shaded eyes. He was on the verge of crying for some reason? He blinked a few times and the tears only welled up further in his eyes. The lifetime of Garrett Carmicheal disappeared, replaced by a brand new handsome stud. Forever. 

The instant Vincent’s mind transformed, the bathroom door flung open and in stepped a familiar, enormous man. 

He flinched. His eyes were still watering. Why wouldn’t they stop? Why did he feel so sentimental all of a sudden? 

Vincent’s father’s stern face immediately softened as he sidled up to his son. “Hey, hey, it’s alright to cry at these things, Vince,” he soothed his father as he wrapped his tree trunk of an arm around his son’s shoulders. 

Vincent sighed and a single tear rolled down his cheek before he could stop it. The emotions were so much. He couldn’t believe what he’d been through. All of the schooling and now this - a graduation: which felt like the destruction of his youth. “I don’t even know why I’m crying,” he admitted, his voice hardly trembling. “It’s just so much. I can’t believe I’m like…like a real adult now.”

“It’s alright. Sometimes the emotions can be too much to endure. Come on, bring it in,” Vincent’s dad said, pulling his son in close for a mighty bear hug, which was immediately reciprocated. Immense strength radiated between the Atkinson men as they squeezed each other tenderly as hard as they could. The immeasurable comfort of his father - the man who had helped shape him into the confident, buff specimen he was meant to be - was so much to bear. An involuntary whimper escaped Vincent’s lips as he rested his head on top of one of his father’s strong shoulders. “I love you, kid. I’m so proud of you. We all are!” Vincent’s father added as the two released each other. He wiped a tear of his own from his own face and exhaled. 

“Thanks dad,” Vincent replied before coughing and standing up straight again. He sighed and re-flattened one of his French cuffs - obsessed with the idea that his clothes were just an extension of his masculinity. Formalwear was always such a confidence-booster. Reginald had helped inspire that in him. “I think I’m alright now,” Vincent smiled. “I really needed that.”

“Anytime,” Vincent’s dad replied and the two of them headed back to the bathroom door, their two muscular butts both wider than the doorway. “How’s it feel to be a graduate?”

“Incredible,” Vincent smiled. “Like the world is at my fingertips.” 

[defectivevillain]

this winding labyrinth

chapter 1: suffocation.

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader (reader is not gendered, race-ambiguous, and no physical descriptors are used)

summary:

You wish you never met Hannibal Lecter. But you yearn for his presence. You want to forget him. But he never truly leaves your thoughts. Now, you’re left to pick up the pieces of a broken design. A battle of instinct rages on in your mind—one of bittersweet relief and cloying grief, fearless resolve and poignant regret; a clashing between affection and antipathy, pride and pain. What will win, in the end? Only time will tell.

this is act 2 of this broken design. if you haven't read that, this won't make too much sense.

ao3 version | Spotify playlist

warnings: canon-typical blood, violence, gore, mutilation, death, & animal death. the animal death is pretty detailed, so please don't read this fic if you're triggered by that kind of topic.

author's notes: This first chapter is a little bit of a mess imo, but I wanted to post it to assure you all that I don’t want to abandon this fic. It may take me longer to post and update chapters, especially since I graduated from uni (mwahahah) and my schedule may get busy. Still, I really enjoy writing this story—and you all seem to enjoy reading it. Both of those things are enough to keep me going.

Something extremely ironic happened around the time I was writing the last few chapters of Act 1. So… if you remember, in Chapter 6, Hannibal and the reader go on an opera date (of sorts). During that date, the reader remarks that they “don’t know the first thing about opera.” Those words were pretty much taken directly from my mouth. Fast forward to about mid-fall, I get a call for an interview for an internship. I end up doing the first interview, then a second interview… Then I get the internship. The irony? This internship is at an opera house. (What’s even more ironic is that I’m now getting to the point where I do actually know things about opera—I know different productions and directors and technical terms… It’s absolutely crazy. The universe is making me eat my words, lol.

To make matters even stranger, I was in the office for the internship one day and caught a glimpse of a television, which broadcasts what’s happening on the stage. Imagine my absolute surprise and fear when I look up at the television screen with absolutely no expectations and see a single man in a beige jumpsuit with something over his face standing on stage, his shadow silhouetted against the wall behind him. Imagine my surprise when I see that, not only is he standing in an enclosure with iron bars (just like the ones at Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane), but it also looks as if he is staring right at me—and he looks exactly like Hannibal Lecter in captivity. It was simultaneously scary as hell and weirdly reassuring. Anyway, I’ve taken these experiences as cosmic confirmation that I should continue writing this fic. Lol.

Anyway. Back to the important things… I’m planning to borrow elements from both Silence of the Lambs and Red Dragon, but, similarly to the first act, there will be canon divergence and canon non-compliance. Also, as you probably discerned in the past act, there is some plot armor. But, this is fiction.

Your life currently takes two forms: before the Chesapeake Ripper… and after. 

Before the Ripper, the leaf-stained pavement of the Bureau filled you with hope. Walking through the agency’s halls was a testament to the hard work that brought you there. Each assignment was an invaluable opportunity to further develop your interrogation and combat skills. You went to classes, completed assignments, trained, slept, and repeated the cycle the next day. Over and over and over again. But you were happy. 

Life doesn’t feel so simple anymore. You feel like you’ve been fading for a while now, slowly deteriorating as you invest more and more energy into catching criminals. Your work has morphed into an exhausting mutual exchange, one in which you take murderers’ freedom and they take your restful nights. You can’t remember the last time you rested unencumbered by the horrors you’ve seen in the field.

By some miracle, Jack manages to keep the press relatively uninformed about the happenings behind the Ripper case. Everyone is too absorbed with the fact that Hannibal’s in captivity to remember to ask just how he got there, and you’re very grateful for that lapse in memory. You can just imagine the interactions you’d have with paparazzi. Is it true that he stabbed you? Is it true that he purposefully left you alive, only to surrender in your front yard and torment you with the constant knowledge that he will remain in the same place, lying in wait until the moment you will inevitably need him? You shudder. 

Even with all the chaos that comes from the Ripper case—the media coverage of Hannibal and the attention the FBI gets—life goes on. Back at the Bureau, you occasionally lecture the new recruits and you take on assignments along with the rest of the Behavioral Analysis Unit. Jack is still wont to call on you at the most ungodly of hours; Beverly still trades lighthearted taunts with you; Brian Zeller still seems to hate your guts, for reasons you’re not quite sure of; Alana and you are back to a steady friendship, albeit with occasional beats of unexplained tension and awkward silence. 

Criminality continues to occur in the Ripper’s wake. You’re not surprised: the imprisonment of one criminal doesn’t beget the imprisonment of another. Even so, it’s difficult for you to proceed as if things are normal. You see traces of Hannibal in each of the monsters you apprehend. Your emotions are starting to eat you alive from the inside. You don’t have a therapist to assist you with those emotions anymore. And, while you think therapy would be helpful, you also know that there’s no way in hell you’d be able to actually be honest with a therapist without being imprisoned yourself. The things you’ve done and the urges you’ve felt…  Neither is even close to a semblance of normality. 

You take a deep breath. You have no issue stopping other criminals, sending them to empty white walls and thin mattresses. Why was Hannibal Lecter any different? You suppose you shouldn’t fool yourself—you know the answer to that question already: you got to know him. Beyond the mask of the Ripper, beyond the bloodied skin and cruel smile… You started to see him as a man, perhaps even a friend. Perhaps, even-

You tear yourself away from that thought process before it gets too far along. The semantics don’t matter now. All that matters is that you’re back in the field, back popping pills for your headaches and blinking fresh horrors from your eyes. All that matters is that the memory of Hannibal Lecter begins to fade away in the face of work— so much so that keeping busy helps you forget the pain. 

Meanwhile, a hundred miles away, a veterinarian walks into a stable under a farmer’s guidance. The two stand over a dead horse and the veterinarian frowns. The farmer explains the horse’s death before stepping aside, letting the professional work. 

The farmer quickly becomes lost in their thoughts. They hadn’t expected the horse to die in the middle of her pregnancy. The farmer swallows past the tightness in their throat and tears their eyes away from the horse. They were looking forward to the birth of the foal, looking forward to helping the mother raise her offspring. The stable air suddenly feels suffocating and they take a look at the veterinarian’s turned back before stepping outside to get some fresh air. 

Moments later, the veterinarian rejoins them. The doctor’s lips are drawn in a tight line and there’s a troubled expression on their face. The farmer feels any remaining composure promptly seep out of them, as the veterinarian suggests they come back into the stable. 

“It feels like there’s something here,” the veterinarian says, their expression conflicted. They touch the horse’s womb with a gloved hand and frown. 

“She was pregnant,” the farmer chokes out, their throat feeling tight again. It hurts to utter the words aloud.

“With twins?” The veterinarian asks, turning around to look at them. 

“No, just one baby,” the farmer shakes their head. Why would they ask about twins? Surely, they don’t feel another baby in the womb. The thought of two deaths is morbid and distressing enough, but three? The farmer inhales shakily. 

“There’s… something else here.” The veterinarian remarks, their face contorting as they feel the horse’s womb once more. They turn back to look at the farmer for assistance. The farmer feels a horrible, inexplicable sense of foreboding crawling up their skin. Despite that feeling, they nod to the veterinarian. The doctor nods in response and turns to the horse’s womb, before making an incision.

The veterinarian unearths the dead foal and places it on the nearby hay with infinite gentleness. The farmer’s chest begins to hurt as they come to terms with the sight before them. Their pain doesn’t end there, however. The veterinarian continues slicing along the skin before stopping and glancing back at them inexplicably. It’s as if they’re waiting for permission to continue. The farmer appreciates the gesture and they nod in affirmation. This mystery needs to be put to rest. 

The veterinarian inhales sharply, sending the farmer’s heart racing. The farmer prompts them to step aside, revealing the horse’s womb. There’s… something there. The farmer squints at it, a gasp ripping its way from their lips as they realize just what they’re looking at. A human corpse lies on the stable floor, a stark shock of muted crimson against the golden strands of hay. The farmer brings a shaking hand to their pocket and calls the police. 

Unaware of these occurrences, you slowly exhale and pinch the bridge of your nose, feeling a headache coming on. You busy yourself with grading your students’ papers, and you don’t learn of the corpse until a few hours later, when the medicine begins to kick in and you’re foolishly convinced that you’ll be fine. Before you can leave for the day, Jack is walking up to you and beckoning you to the lab. The two of you grab Beverly along the way, which leaves the three of you to enter the laboratory that Price and Zeller are currently situated in. When you walk in, you’re immediately assaulted with the scent of formaldehyde. Price explains the situation behind the corpse, how a veterinarian found the body within the womb of a horse. The notion is strikingly similar to the other deaths by suffocation that have been eluding the BAU for several weeks. Jack seems to think the same thing, as he rattles off what he knows so far about the killer. You add things here and there—small things you can notice from the state of the corpse itself—before Price gets the group back on track. 

“I called you here because…” Price trails off, frowning before readjusting his stethoscope and placing it on the victim’s chest once more. The room is deathly silent as he concentrates. “...There’s a heartbeat.”

“That doesn’t come with the onset of rigor mortis—we all know that,” Zeller continues, looking down at the corpse with a somewhat puzzled expression. He seems to sense you staring and looks up, his eyebrows furrowing as his gaze meets yours. “She’s dead.” He announces with complete certainty. 

“She was found in the womb of the horse?” Beverly asks. Everyone else nods and she pauses for a moment. “Make an incision and check the chest cavity.” There’s an unshakeable certainty in her voice and it throws you off for a moment, before you realize what she’s getting at. It’s not unfathomable that something was buried within the victim’s chest cavity. Suffocation seems to be a common theme with this killer. Did they put some sort of dead animal in the corpse? The thought makes your stomach turn. 

“Alright,” Price acquiesces, after glancing at Jack for approval. Crawford nods, evidently attributing value to Beverly’s suggestion. The four of you—Crawford, Beverly, Zeller, and you—watch as Price leans in and makes a careful incision in the chest. For several moments, there’s nothing but a tense silence in the air as Jimmy works. The quiet is broken a few seconds later when Price takes a sharp breath. “I saw something.” 

“Keep going,” Jack demands, bringing Jimmy’s attention back to the task at hand. Price nods and makes the incision a little bigger. All of you are watching in anticipation, waiting for something you’re not quite sure will appear. 

All of a sudden, there’s a flash of motion. A yellow blur flits about the cavity, before reaching upwards and extending its wings to fly out. You watch in disbelief as the bloodstained bird stretches its wings and flies about the lab, colliding with the sheen of the fluorescent lighting and sending shadows flickering along the floor.

Jack is the first one to respond. He quickly paces over to the small window located near the ceiling and opens it, allowing the bird an escape. For a few moments, the bird doesn’t seem to notice: it’s too overwhelmed with the sudden change in environment to comprehend that it has just been granted an escape. It has a chance at true freedom, but it’s too busy taking in the laboratory’s flimsy promises to notice. The bird eventually notices the open window and flies out of it, before Jack closes the laboratory off from the outside world once more. 

The group begins discussing what just occurred, but your mind is elsewhere. You feel a strange sort of kinship with the bird: suffocated beneath rows of ribs and walls of tissue and skin; banished to the space between; too taken with the small allowances to notice freedom within reach. You pinch the bridge of your nose. Your headache is returning, as pressure builds up in your temples and constricts your very skin. It’s significantly harder to breathe. Every time you blink, you’re greeted with the memory of that bright yellow bird bursting from its confines, greeting the stale laboratory air with beating wings. You step outside the lab to get some fresh air, trading your smaller prison for a bigger one—just as the bird did mere moments ago. 

It doesn’t take long for Jack to find you. After all, you’re not hidden—you’re simply leaning against the wall in the hallway that leads to the laboratory. Jack strides up to you, his hands in his pockets and that familiar tight line drawn across his face. You suspect he’ll get wrinkles a lot sooner than everyone else his age—sheerly because of all the responsibility he holds and the pressure he’s forced to perform under. It must be exhausting to be the one calling the shots in these horrible situations. You had always assumed Jack had the easy job, but looking at him now, you think that assumption must be incorrect. He is suffering, just as you are. Perhaps… Jack has just grown better at hiding it. 

The thought makes Jack’s remark slip in one ear and right out the other. You ask him to repeat himself and he sighs. “We need to go to the stable where the corpse was found. There are several police officers there already, but…” But we need to do a more thorough investigation , he doesn’t say. You hear him anyway and nod. Jack walks past you and paces purposefully down the hall, not even bothering to look and see if you’re following him. Perhaps he already knows you will follow him. 

What follows is an awkward car ride. Neither of the two of you attempt to break the tense silence, leaving a suffocating air of uncertainty and indecision. You don’t know what to say to Jack, so you instead busy yourself with looking out the window. You resolutely pretend not to notice your boss’s gaze repeatedly flitting over to you and, after a painful amount of time, Jack is driving up the gravel path that leads to a modest farmhouse and a beautiful wooden stable. 

The place is already crawling with police officers and FBI agents. Unfortunately, the police were the first ones to be informed of the case, which means the FBI is forced to share jurisdiction with them. You know Jack isn’t too happy about that, especially once you see the frown on his face as he watches the police officers clumsily investigate. They don’t have the right training for a situation like this and Jack is delighted to inform them of that fact—albeit with much more sugar coated wording than you would have utilized. A few minutes later, the cops are gone, leaving Jack, you, and the set of agents that Jack requested to follow after your car on the drive over. The other agents are quick to secure the crime scene, while Jack and you decide to explore the premises a little first. 

The property features a small, rather unremarkable house with slightly dirty bricks and a well-loved bench swing on the porch. The front door is agape, revealing hardwood flooring and items strewn about. Jack and you exchange a glance before walking into the home. You don’t see any sign of life until you reach the kitchen and come across an older woman sitting at the table, stirring a cup of tea. You’re quick to show your badge and explain the situation to her. She doesn’t seem to have a great idea of what’s going on, so you eventually decide to leave her be and keep looking about the property. 

Next to the house is a rather large stable, complete with several different stalls and a wide variety of tools. You have no idea what half of the tools could possibly be used for, but the majority of them look as if they’ve been used at least once. There are bales of hay in the corner of the room and various accessories hanging near the post of each horse’s stall. There are only a few horses in the stable—you think you could’ve seen a few in the pastures out back earlier. There’s a horrible stench pervading the air, and it’s not the typical odor that comes from a farm. It’s the smell of death. You look at Jack and he nods, inclining his head and gesturing for you to continue exploring the stable. It isn’t until you reach the last stall—one that is inexplicably larger than the rest—that you find the source of the stench. The rotted corpse of the horse rests at the back of the stall, the womb flayed open. The organs have been removed, but the smell of decay remains. Surprisingly enough, you’re not alone in this stall. A brown-haired man sits cross-legged on the floor next to the horse, a blank expression on his face. 

“...Hello?” You decide to try. There’s no response. “Excuse me?” Still no response. 

You glance at Jack and he raises his eyebrows, before turning to the stranger. “You must be Peter Bernardone,” Jack remarks. The mention of the man’s name seems to be enough to get his attention. On second thought, you remember Jack offhandedly mentioning that there may be a stablehand on site. It seems you’ve found him. 

“That’s me,” the man replies flatly, staring ahead with glassy eyes. He looks as if he’s on an entirely different plane of existence, as he looks at the wall ahead of him with enough intensity to melt it.

“Jack Crawford, FBI,” Jack answers with an introduction of his own. He flashes his badge for a moment before putting it away. You can’t tell if Peter is even paying attention, but you do the same to make him more comfortable. “We’re just here to ask you some questions.”

“I want to talk,” Peter murmurs quietly, just barely loud enough to be heard. He pulls his knees up to his chest; his eyes haven’t strayed from the corpse of the animal in front of him. You feel your chest constrict a little at the sight. 

“Good,” Jack responds with a nod. 

“...To you,” Peter finishes with a gesture. To your complete surprise, he doesn’t point at Jack—he’s pointing at you. Jack blinks in equal surprise, looking at you for answers. You send him a helpless look. At first, you’re not sure why you seem more trustworthy than Jack. Then you remember Jack’s position and the intimidating aura he tends to give off. You think you’d want to talk to someone like yourself too, were you in Peter’s situation. 

“Alright,” you agree. You don’t see the harm in having a conversation. You need information and, more importantly, answers. Jack stares at you for a long few seconds, before exhaling in evident exasperation. 

“I’ll be outside,” Jack promises, before walking away. You wait until Jack is out of sight before you take a step closer to Peter, placing your hands in your pockets. 

“What do you do here, Peter?” You hear yourself ask. Your voice sounds foreign to your ears. 

“I volunteer here,” Peter responds, still facing the corpse. His voice sounds hollow, empty. “Sometimes.” 

“Did you… know this horse?” You ask hesitantly, looking down at the corpse.

“Yes,” Peter answers without hesitation. There’s a hint of emotion in his voice now.  

“Ridden her before?”

“I don’t ride the horses,” Peter replies, “I just like to brush them.” 

“Okay,” you acknowledge. You begin pacing around the stall in an attempt to calm your restless nerves. “Peter, were you here on the day that the veterinarian visited?” Jack had briefed you on the circumstances of the horse’s death, how a veterinarian had been called to investigate before the corpse was found in the womb. 

“I don’t remember a veterinarian,” he stares ahead with a frown. 

“That’s fine,” you answer. He may not have been there that day. “The veterinarian was the one who cut open the womb and found the corpse… Did you know this horse was pregnant?”

At that question, Peter turns around and stares at you. His hollow gaze is enough to send a shiver down your spine. For a moment, he just stares at you, before huffing in amusement. “Obviously.” 

“Obviously,” you echo. You suppose that was a rather dumb question on your part. “Were you… sad about the foal?”

“Of course,” Peter huffs again. “Why do you think I’m sitting here?” This discussion isn’t getting you very far. 

“Fine,” you acquiesce. You take a deep breath. “This doesn’t seem to be getting anywhere. I’m going to give you my extension, and if you ever feel like talking about what happened, you can call me, okay?” Thankfully, you know for certain that Peter isn’t the killer—the psychological profile you built on this murderer tells you that much. Jack clearly doesn’t think Peter is the killer either, and those two facts are enough for you to rule him out as a suspect. However, you’re still contemplating the possibility of him tampering with the crime scene. 

Peter clears his throat pointedly and you remember what you were supposed to be doing. You grab a notepad from your jacket pocket and quickly scrawl down the Behavioral Analysis Unit’s phone number, followed by the extension to your office phone. You take a step closer and hold it out to Peter. For a fraction of a moment, you think he won’t take it. Just before you can pull your hand back, he takes the paper and slips it into his pocket. 

You turn on your heel and take a step towards the door of the stall, fully intent on leaving, when the door falls open of its own accord. Jack Crawford stands in the doorway, staring at you. 

“Good, Agent,” Jack remarks. This must be important. “We have a lead,” he says vaguely, his eyes falling to Peter. You can’t discuss confidential information here—the details will have to wait until you’re both in the car.

“Excellent,” you remark in relief. “I’ll meet you at the car?” You can sense that Peter’s attention is piqued. Maybe you can still get something out of him. Jack nods and walks away once more. You then turn to Peter, who has turned his body away from the horse to face you. Somehow, he’s intrigued now. Something has caught his eye. “Sorry, Peter,” you apologize, taking a step backwards and emphasizing that you’re a moment away from leaving, “I have to go.”

“What is it?” Peter asks, “Did you find him?”

“It’s classified, I’m sorry,” you respond, ignoring the inexplicable sound of alarm bells blaring in your head. Peter isn’t the killer. “But we’re tracking down this killer. I promise he’ll be put away.”

“You promise?” Peter asks, a dangerous conviction in his eyes. 

“Yes,” you respond without hesitation. You don’t have the authority to make that kind of promise, but you do anyway. The sincerity in your expression must convince Peter, because he takes a slow breath and the tension seems to fade from his form. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Peter. It was nice to meet you.” Peter says the same and you turn to leave the stable. 

“Price and Zeller found soil in the corpse’s throat,” Jack recounts to you as he drives along the highway, moving at a comfortable speed. His eyes are fixed on the road, but he recalls his conversation with Price with perfect consistency. “We traced it to a burial site about thirty minutes from here.”

“Great,” you remark, relief coursing through you. To your surprise, Jack doesn’t respond. Instead, he simply nods ever so slightly and continues staring ahead. Now, it seems as if he’s avoiding something. “What is it?” You ask. Something seems off about him. 

“You may want to brace yourself,” Jack warns vaguely. 

“Why?” You hear yourself question. Jack doesn’t answer, and he’s quiet for the rest of the car ride. When the two of you pull up to the supposed burial site, you’re filled with trepidation. This job always comes with the knowledge that blood and gore could be waiting at every corner. That’s the normal day for an agent. So… why does Jack feel the need to warn you? You grapple with the prospect as the two of you leave the car and join the group of agents circled around something. 

It isn’t until you get closer that you recognize the familiar stench of rotting death. Sure enough, the group of agents is clustered around a hole in the ground—one that houses a woman’s corpse. You stare at the marks around her neck, the dirt caked under her nails and staining her fingertips. She was on the brink of death when she was buried. She was trying to escape. You stare down at the body for another moment, searching for any more abnormalities, before taking a step back to let the other agents resume their investigation. You exchange glances with Jack. 

“She’s not the only one,” Jack says. You stare at the field around you—the grassy, open expanse. It seems to stretch on for miles now. You feel your heart steadily thudding in your chest, at a rate slightly faster than normal. Your head begins to ache. 

“How many of them are there?” You murmur. The question is quiet, as you practically whisper it against the wind. For a moment, you think Jack doesn’t hear it. You then realize that he has comprehended it, but is simply declining to answer. Indeed, your boss stares out at the field with a conflicted expression. “Jack?”

“Sixteen,” Jack responds, turning his attention back to you. You feel something in your stomach twist and pull. 

“That can’t be right,” you remark. It sounds as if the wind is picking up. It takes you several seconds to realize the sound is being conjured by your own mind, and that the air is damp and still around you. You swallow hard and take another look around at the field, suddenly understanding why the agents are now evenly dispersed across the space. They all have shovels and each sound of metal hitting dirt is enough to send a bolt of pain down your temple and through your cheekbones. Your teeth hurt as you watch the unearthing of sixteen different victims. They’re uniformly dispersed across the field. This is no happy accident—the killer meticulously planned for their graves to be close (but not too close). The thought brings a burning feeling to your throat and you feel your knees suddenly buckle. You place a hand on the ground, feeling the familiar horrible feeling of nausea climbing past your throat until you’re vomiting on the killer’s ground. It takes you a few minutes to stop, and even longer for you to fully recover. Your eyes sting and you can’t tell if you’re going to cry or pass out. There’s an overwhelming clarity in your vision and a rhythmic pounding at your temple.

This graveyard is a gruesome display, even to someone who has spent their entire career surrounded by carnage. You’ve seen your fair share of murder victims. You’ve never seen sixteen of them lined up in two neat rows of eight, buried in a nondescript field under layers of muddy soil. Moreover, you can sense the killer’s feelings—and it makes you sick. This was not a gesture born out of respect for the victims. The murderer did not dig up these graves to give these women a final resting place; he buried them to trap them, so that even in death, they would never truly be free. Their existences would be tied to him forever. They would never be allowed to breathe again. It’s nothing short of sickening. There’s nausea stewing in your stomach again, revulsion prickling across your skin, and sweat trickling down your neck.

You can’t seem to push yourself up to your feet. You’re grounded to the damp soil, to the wrong side of the earth. What deems you worthy of living? What deemed these women worthy of dying? Your hands are twitching at your sides. A deep breath causes your chest to hitch and you nearly vomit again. You look down on your body as you claw at the grass and tear it up, shakily pulling at the dirt and plants and grass and rot and death and injustice and horrible, terrible guilt and indescribable anger and vengeance -

There’s a hand on your shoulder. You instinctually tense, your movements beginning to slow. It feels as if you’re suddenly catapulted back into your body, forced to inhabit the itchy, dirt-stained skin and the endless remorse that wants to eat you alive from the inside. 

“They’re dead; there is nothing left for them here,” Jack says. It’s his strange way of comforting you. It sort of works. After a moment, he takes a step forward and extends a hand to you. You take it, allowing him to pull you up. Jack seems to be fighting against the urge to say or do something, because his eyebrows are furrowed and his lips are pulled taut in a thin line. There’s dirt all over you, yet you are still privileged with life. 

You don’t remember how you get back to the Bureau. All you remember is staring blankly ahead as you’re half-led through the halls by Jack himself, his hand on your shoulder providing equal support and increased pressure. All you remember is the worry on Alana’s face as you walk past, the way she gets up from her desk and walks over to you, how she leads you towards the far restroom with a gentle hand. It ends up being the same restroom where Zeller accused you of killing Franklyn. The memory of that encounter is far fresher than you want it to be. 

Alana leads you to a sink and guides your hands towards the water. 

“Allow me,” she remarks, turning on the sink. She steps away for a moment and you stare at the water dripping from the faucet. Alana returns moments later with a washcloth. She pumps some soap on your hands and helps you wash them clean. Your head aches. You don’t know what to think, what to say. All you can think about is the graveyard. It haunts your vision every time you blink, forcing you to think of suffocating under piles of dirt and debris. You inhale sharply, gasping. Regaining your breath is a chore. “I’m worried about you,” Alana soon admits. You hate that her concern makes you feel appreciated. Your relationship with Alana ended years ago. You don’t want to be hers again, but this very moment reminds you of the intimacy you no longer get to see.

“You shouldn’t be,” you remark. Alana laughs under her breath. You both know that’s not how it works. Emotions don’t bend to logic. 

“What did you see?” Her hand on your forearm keeps you tethered to reality. You shake your head, unable to begin describing the scene that will most certainly haunt your nightmares. The two of you are silent for the remainder of your time together under the flickering fluorescent lights, as you try to come to terms with the terrible regret, revulsion, and rage threatening to spill over your frame and inhabit your every waking moment.

next chapter

endnotes: thanks for reading! i'm very excited to continue this story, mwahhahahha

here's a lil sneak peek for the next chapter: “Peter,” Clark practically coos. You hate him, more than you’ve ever hated anyone before. He is a bundle of contradictions: a fine-dressed man with a fine-dressed smile and fine-dressed lies and cruelty and violence and- “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

hannibal taglist <3: @its-ares @tobbotobbs @xrisdoesntexist @gr1mmac3 @tiredstarcerberuslamb @yourlocalratwriter @kahuunknown @atlas-king1 @pendragon-writes @slipknotcentury @cryinersaved @the-ultimate-librarian @starre-eyes @pendragon-writes @peterparkeeperer @gayschlatt69

[myr31r31]

I added another floor to my Takarazuka Revue inspired Sylvanian Families home and wanted to share <3

I started this project in 2022 and initially, it was a 2-story home.

But recently I got to update the wallpapering/painting of the original house, and add another floor, so this is the result:

The only difference to the front of the house is the signage ("takarazuka home" to "sylvania revue"). I walled off the balcony and instead put a photo of Hoshigumi's '21 RomJul there (the balcony scene, for obvious reasons LOL). The roof is orange to mimic the Takrazuka Grand Theater (it took way too long to paint but honestly? I'm glad I bothered to do it in the end).

The third floor was made in 2022, and the motif I used was Watson and Sherlock's living room in Soragumi's "Sherlock Holmes- The Game is Afoot!". I later found out that Yukigumi used the same wallpaper for Sherlock's office in "Sherlock Homes- Boiled Doyle on the Toil Trail", so that was interesting, haha.

This floor is probably the most accurate to the furnishings on the set of the play, the other floors are more inspired than a 1:1 replica. I repainted the furniture and drew/printed out the wall/furniture patterns while using stills from the play as a reference (hence why the colors aren't 100% accurate).

Details (1):

Details (2):

The second floor is a "birthday party at home" theme inspired by Hanagumi's 2016 production of "Ernest in Love" (one of my all time faves <3).

I drew the wallpaper to be the same as Ernest's dressing room in the opening scene but there's not much else besides that's a direct motif.

The first floor is a "nursery" theme inspired by Hangumi's 2023 production of 'Utakata no Koi".. specifically the Vetseras' parlor.

Aside from the wallpaper and piano there's not really any other similar props, but I spent a lot of time on that wallpaper so I'm honestly still pleased lol.

Full shot during the day (ft. my other Sylvanians incl. Gwendolyn and Ernest)!

Just to clarify- I am awful at sewing, so the clothes were custom ordered on Etsy or bought made-ready from other Sylvanian fans on the Japanese website Minne. Most of the props/furniture are either official Sylvanian items or from Re-Ment.

There's never any craft I'm 100% satisfied with (painting and coating the roof and walls were difficult..), but honestly? I'm still happy with myself for the effort I put into this one. Someday, I'd like to make a scale replica of a Takarazuka stage set instead of just something inspired by it <3