#Idea number check code

[valeriefauxnom]

16 Seconds (Or: Please Help)

Don't worry, nothing dire here, but can someone who knows the JP audio of Dragalia Lost better than I possibly place the mysterious person in the castle story 'Costume Contest'?

The relevant section, for the source of my fruitless search:

I honestly have no earthly idea who it could be. The main cast doesn't seem to quite fit, since Luca and Ranzal both are very distinctive in JP and it doesn't quite sound like either of them to me, and I think I tried looking through JP!Euden's brief voice line files, the sort of generic utterances they used to fill up most the non-important stories, I wasn't hearing anything in here in there.

But, then, who is it?

At first I tried glancing at the cast of characters to see who this younger-sounding boy is... but the problem is that this person's tone and personality (in all of their three lines) seems at odds with the likes of Lowen, Elias, Wu Kong, or even Marty. I thiiiink I've also checked their story bites and found no trace of the sounds being made here.

Ricardt I've admittedly not checked since he appears in the very same story, dressed as Berserker, so I figure he's out of the running. (Scratch that I did check and sure enough, it's not him either).

Is it just a random NPC? I really wouldn't think so, since this isn't in their usual range. Just in case, I think I checked darn near all of their lines as best as I could and wasn't finding any matching lines here.

Then, I thought I might have had a breakthrough in this on-off quest for the true identity of this stupid 16 second existence of this figure:

Beren.

He's young in appearance and voice. He's pretty flat, as is the mystery person. He first started officially existing on 4/20/20 (ch.13 release), well before this castle story came out. He appears in at least one other castle story to my knowledge (Forte), and has these sort of sound bites. It also would line up in a joke sort of way: Beren would later go on to try to sneak in to the last Halloween's play event only to bump into Euden acting as staff.

Those eyebrows signal he is ready for murder

What's to say he hadn't tried to crash another Halloween thing involved with the Halidom? The figure explicitly says he 'can't say' who he is... perhaps because he is an enemy of the Halidom????

With this beautiful evidence in a row, I went hunting... only to run afoul of the shared doc's occasionally questionable sorting. It was only through the slim grace of the portrait viewer recording his ID at 100038 that I even had a chance to track down his sound bites.

Was this to be it?

Was my torment finally over?

...No.

Because I listened to Beren's soundbites several times over, and he does not make the sort of noises the mystery figure does.

So, by all ready appearance to me, Beren is not the mysterious Halloween figure.

I am officially at my wit's end.

To that, I turn to the community.

Do you somehow recognize this as your unique little JP blorbo? Do you have any clue who else it might be in this 16 second clip???

Please help. Let me solve the mystery of who the heck this person that only exists for 16 seconds is.

[inseobts]

Tell Me No Lies

law x fem!reader

you’re a psychologist who can spot any lie and that makes law keep his distance, afraid you’ll see how he truly feels. but when a mission forces you to pose as his lover, the lines between act and reality blur fast.

a/n: this was a request but since it's really long I summarized it

words count: 3.9k

tags: slow burn, mutual pining, undercover couple, spicy but not smut, fluff, tension, crewmates being chaotic

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

“You want me to do what?”

Your voice slices through the meeting room of the Polar Tang like a dagger, sharp, pointed, and just a little amused.

Penguin holds up his hands, grinning like he’s already imagined you and Law making out in a booth “Not my idea! Bepo came up with it.”

Bepo, ever innocent, blinks “It’s logical. Varrick lies constantly. You can tell when people lie. Captain’s the one meeting him. It’s simple.”

You stare “You want us to act like a couple.”

“Just for the night!” Shachi chimes in from where he’s stuffing chips in his mouth “The place is a casino-slash-brothel. No one goes in there looking like a business partner. You show up all cold and stiff, he’ll know something’s up.”

Law hasn’t said a word.

He sits at the head of the table, arms folded, expression blank. But you know that face. He’s thinking. Calculating. Fighting something.

Then, flatly “Fine.”

You blink “Fine?”

“You’ll have to stay close,” Law adds, eyes flicking to yours “I can’t talk in code around Varrick, and I doubt we’ll get a second chance if he feels like we’re onto him.”

“So, what, I sit on your lap and play with your hair while you ask about Navy routes?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

Penguin snorts soda through his nose.

Law doesn’t miss a beat “If it gets us the truth.”

You swallow hard. Because that should not have sounded that smooth.

Later, in your room, you stand in front of the mirror, pulling on the final piece of your dress, a deep red number that hugs your waist and legs and dips dangerously low down your back. You smooth it down, checking the slit up your thigh, the way the silk shimmers under the ship lights.

“You don’t have to look like a goddess,” you mutter to your reflection “You just need to catch a liar.”

But damn it, the dress works. And the second you step into the hallway, you hear Shachi’s voice echo from down the corridor “Caaaptaaaain!”

You freeze.

“Don’t be mad when she looks hotter than you, bro!” Penguin adds, loud enough that it bounces off the steel walls.

“Stop yelling” Law says from somewhere out of sight. His voice is tense.

You round the corner and stop dead.

Oh no.

Law... Law is in a black suit, crisp and clean, no tie, the top buttons of his shirt undone. His hair’s slicked back just enough to make your throat go dry. Tattoos peek out at the edge of his collar. He’s leaning against the wall, looking at his den-den mushi, but when he looks up and sees you his fingers still. His eyes trail down, slow. Too slow.

You hear Shachi whisper “damn” under his breath and fist bump Penguin like they just won a bet.

Law clears his throat “You’re… ready.”

You tilt your head, smirking “You look nice too. Didn’t know you owned a suit.”

“It was a gift” he mutters.

You take a step forward “From who? Someone who wanted to see you flustered?”

His jaw ticks “I’m not flustered.”

You do notice the slight red creeping up the back of his neck. Just a little. Enough.

Before either of you can pretend to be normal, the rest of the crew crowds the hallway behind you.

Bepo holds up a little camera “Say cheese.”

“We’re not taking pictures” Law snaps.

“Oh come on,” Penguin grins “Look at you two!”

“You’re never letting this go, are you?” you ask, eyes narrowing.

“Nope.”

Shachi elbows Bepo “Ten bucks says they come back married.”

Bepo nods solemnly “I’ll take that bet.”

Law groans and starts walking past them, ignoring the chaos.

You trail after him, heels clicking on the metal. As you pass the guys, you whisper, “Try not to blow our cover.”

Penguin winks “Go get that intel... and maybe some action.”

You don’t answer but your cheeks are hotter than they should be.

And the second Law opens the hatch to the upper deck, the cold sea air hits you and so does the reality of the night ahead.

The casino is loud. Velvet-lined walls drown out the outside world, while gold lights glint off dice and crystal glasses. Somewhere near the back, a piano plays slow jazz. It’s all soft temptation and sharpened edges.

You walk in beside Law, his arm around your waist. His fingers rest against the small of your back like they belong there, not too tight, not too loose. Just… there.

You can feel the heat of his palm through the silk of your dress. You can feel everything.

Stay focused.

Varrick is waiting in a private corner booth, exactly where intel said he’d be. He’s slouched in the plush seat like he owns the place, surrounded by too many drinks and not enough class. Rings clink against his glass as he lifts it.

“Trafalgar Law!” he says, standing with a grin too wide to be real “Wasn’t expecting you to bring arm candy.”

Law’s arm tightens around you. Not protectively. Possessively.

“She’s more than that,” he says, calm as ever “But she doesn’t like to talk much.”

You smile politely at Varrick, then glance at Law from the corner of your eye.

Smart. That gives you the freedom to observe.

You slide into the booth beside Law, close, but with just enough space between you to keep your focus.

Varrick leans forward “So, you wanted info on that Navy ship?”

Law nods “I heard it was seen heading east out of Ivona Port last week.”

Varrick shrugs, swirling his drink lazily “Could be. Could be west. Hard to say.”

You place your hand lightly on Law’s thigh. Barely a touch. Just enough.

Lie.

Law’s eyes don’t move. His posture doesn’t change. But his fingers tap against the glass in front of him once, acknowledging you.

Varrick chuckles “You know, these Navy guys come and go. They don’t tell me everything.”

Your fingers slide up, brushing over the inside of Law’s wrist as you reach for your own drink.

Another lie.

Law hums “Then tell me what you do know.”

“I know they’re not looking for pirates right now,” Varrick says “Some big job further north. Something to do with weapons.”

Your nails gently press into the back of Law’s hand, slow and deliberate.

Lie.

You feel him tense slightly. Like he’s thinking.

“Do you want something in return for this info?” Law asks coolly.

Varrick grins “Only a little favor later. Nothing serious.”

Even now he's lying.

This time you run your fingers slowly down Law’s forearm, letting your touch linger like a lover’s caress. But it’s all code. All signal.

Law shifts beside you. To anyone watching, it just looks like he’s turning toward you, lips brushing close to your ear.

“You’re sure?” he murmurs.

You nod “Three lies so far.”

“Mm.”

Varrick raises a brow “You two are cute, y’know that? Real cozy. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re actually into each other.”

Law leans in, his lips grazing the edge of your cheek as he speaks “We are.”

Your heart skips.

You almost miss the way Varrick’s mouth twitches at that. A little wrinkle in the corner of his eyes. Something flickers. Jealousy?

“Lucky guy then...” Varrick mutters.

Law’s arm moves from your waist to your lower back, pulling you closer. Not fake this time. Not calculated. His hand is warm, firm, fingers curling possessively.

You’re practically in his lap now.

You keep your eyes on Varrick “So what’s the Navy doing near Blue Rock Island?”

He flinches.

Small. Quick. But you see it.

You drag your hand up Law’s chest like you’re playing with his shirt but your fingers dig in slightly at his collarbone.

That’s the truth. That’s the target.

Law tilts his head slightly, voice low and smooth “Blue Rock, huh?”

Varrick blinks, caught off guard.

You glance at Law just for a second and see it.

His eyes are calm. But his pulse at his neck is faster now. You shouldn’t be this close. He shouldn’t be looking at you like that. You’re supposed to be watching the informant, but now you’re catching the way Law’s lips part ever so slightly when you shift in his lap. The way his breath hitches.

He’s too good at hiding. You never have a baseline for him and suddenly, you realize you do now. You’ve been close enough tonight to read him. Feel him.

So when his ears turn red the moment Varrick leaves the table you finally know what his tell is.

“You’re enjoying this” Law mutters as Varrick disappears into the crowd.

You swirl the last sip of wine in your glass “Enjoying not getting stabbed in a double-cross? Sure.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

You turn your head slowly toward him, lashes low, a smirk threatening at the corner of your mouth “No? Then clarify, Captain.”

His jaw clenches.

You lean in “Or are you upset I figured out your tell?”

Silence.

Got him.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t look at you. Just sips from his glass like he’s trying not to set it down too hard. You watch his throat bob, slow and tight. He’s flustered. Controlled but clearly struggling to keep that control.

Which is dangerous and tempting.

You reach out, brush something “imaginary” from his collar, letting your fingers drag across the base of his throat. He stiffens just slightly, and you swear under that cool expression, his eyes darken.

“I’m not ready to leave” you say casually, turning away to scan the floor “We did the job. Got the truth. Maybe we deserve a little fun.”

Law doesn’t argue. That alone is suspicious.

So you both stay. You drink. You people-watch. You flirt, just enough to be part of the act. And he plays along, letting his hand rest low on your back, murmuring sarcastic commentary about the drunk nobles and sleazy gamblers, voice low and rough in your ear.

But then Varrick returns.

You’re seated now in a more open lounge, a couch near the roulette tables. Varrick walks up with a drink and a too-easy smile.

“Forgot one little detail,” he says, tone casual “Seems like the Navy isn’t after pirates right now because they’re meeting with one. Some kind of alliance. Dunno who.”

Lie.

You shift against Law and drag your fingers along his inner thigh, too slow to be innocent.

Varrick talks more, and you let your hands wander. One arm over Law’s shoulder, the other toying with the fabric of his jacket. A fingertip gliding along the inked edge of his collarbone. Every time Varrick lies, you punish Law with a new touch.

You want to see how much he can take.

When you trail your hand up to the side of his neck and run your thumb along his jaw, you feel it. That little twitch. A shiver. His hand slides up your waist and grips tight, like a warning.

You lean in, lips brushing his ear.

“He’s lying again.”

Your voice is barely above a breath.

“And you’re pushing it” Law growls, so low only you can hear.

But you just smile and press a kiss to his cheek, slow and lingering “Don’t lose your composure, Captain. Someone might think you’re affected.”

Varrick finally gets bored and excuses himself, clearly thinking he’s dropped enough bait.

The second he’s out of sight, Law stands.

“You come with me. Now.”

You blink “Excuse me?”

He doesn’t even look back. Just starts walking toward the upstairs hall of the casino. Like he already knows you’ll follow.

Which… you do.

Up the stairs, past the velvet curtain, through the dim corridor lined with private doors. He finds an empty suite with a key card left in the slot—probably reserved for VIPs or those with a winning streak.

He opens it.

You step inside, the door clicking shut behind you.

And then he pins you to the wall. Hands at your side, like blocking you. Eyes burning.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he says, voice rough “Do you even know what you’re doing?”

You pretend to think “Touching my captain in public? Flirting with a man who’s obviously holding back? Yeah. I know exactly what I’m doing.”

His gaze flickers from your lips to your eyes and back again. His breath is hot against your face.

“Tell me if you want to stop.”

You grab his lapel and pull him down.

“I’ll tell you if you lie.”

For a few long seconds, Law doesn’t move.

His fingers flex on your hips, like he’s debating whether to pull you in or push you away. His eyes are on yours, unreadable to anyone else but you can see it now. The cracks in that cold, calculated shell. The tension. The restraint.

You’ve spent months trying to get a baseline on him. To decode his behavior. Now? You are the baseline.

And he’s struggling.

“I should let you go” he mutters, voice low, more to himself than to you.

“But you won’t” you whisper back.

His eyes drop to your lips “No.”

He steps closer. Your back is fully against the wall now, your breath tangled with his. You tilt your chin up, almost daring him.

“What’s holding you back?” you ask.

His mouth twitches “You.”

A beat.

Then “You’re too good at reading people.”

You grin “So are you.”

His hand slips to the back of your thigh, just under the slit of your dress. Not high, but enough to make your pulse skip “You’ve been testing me all night.”

“Guilty.”

“You think it’s funny watching me lose control?”

“I think it’s hot.”

That does it.

He lets out a quiet, sharp breath, like he’s just given up fighting gravity, and leans in until your foreheads are pressed together. His hand stays on your thigh. His other lands on the wall beside your head.

You whisper, “You’re not usually like this.”

“No,” he says “You bring it out.”

You stay like that for a moment, so close, heat radiating between you, neither of you quite touching where it counts. The tension is unbearable in the best way. It’s not just attraction. It’s months of silence, near-misses, unsaid things finally rising to the surface.

Law is still Law, he's collected and composed, but now you know what it costs him. You feel the restraint humming under his skin like electricity.

You reach up and slide your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. He shivers.

“Stay” he says. It’s not a command. It’s almost… a request.

You nod, slow “I’m not going anywhere.”

He finally steps back, not far, just enough to breathe, and moves to the bed. Sits on the edge, running a hand over his face like he’s trying to reset.

You take the moment to look around. The room is warm-toned, elegant. One massive bed in the center. Silk sheets. Balcony window cracked open to let in the sound of crashing waves and soft jazz from below.

You sit beside him, gently bumping his shoulder “So. What now?”

Law doesn’t look at you “Now, we sleep.”

You raise an eyebrow “You’re going to act like none of that happened?”

“I didn’t say that” he replies, voice quiet.

He leans back, hands braced behind him, eyes finally meeting yours “I’m saying we don’t have to rush it.”

Your heart stutters.

He adds, almost awkwardly, “This isn’t just the mission. Not for me.”

You don’t tease him this time. Instead, you smile, warm and soft.

“Not for me either.”

He pulls off his jacket, tosses it over the chair. Starts unbuttoning his cuffs. You stand and go to the bathroom to remove your heels and freshen up, giving him space, and maybe yourself a moment to breathe.

When you come back, Law’s already under the covers, shirt slightly open, tattooed chest half-visible in the low light. He’s facing the wall.

But when you slip in beside him, he immediately turns over and pulls you in, an arm draped over your waist, forehead pressing into your shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

The room is quiet now.

The casino noise is a distant hum through the balcony window, soft music, muffled laughter, the whirl of spinning wheels and shuffled cards. But inside, it’s just the sound of two hearts beating faster than they should.

You’re lying on your side, Law behind you, one arm slung around your waist like it belongs there. His hand rests just beneath your ribs, warm and heavy. Not demanding. Just… steady.

The silence stretches. Not awkward, but charged. Comfortable, yet not quite safe.

Your voice cuts through it, soft and curious.

“If we’re just gonna sleep… then why here? Why not go back to the ship?”

You feel him pause behind you. Not tense but thoughtful.

He exhales through his nose “Because.”

“Because?”

His voice drops, rough like he hasn’t decided if he wants to answer honestly “Because if I took you back to the ship, I wouldn’t be able to do this.”

He shifts slowly and pulls you in tighter, chest pressed to your back now. His nose brushes your neck, and his breath sends a shiver down your spine.

You barely manage a whisper “This?”

He hums “Stay close. Let myself… feel something.”

You blink. That wasn’t what you expected.

He continues, quietly “On the ship, I’m your captain. In control. Always thinking. Always five steps ahead.”

You glance over your shoulder, catching the faintest edge of vulnerability in his eyes.

“And here?” you ask.

“Here,” he says, “I get to be a man lying next to someone who makes him forget all of that.”

You don’t answer for a moment.

Then, deliberately, you reach back and trail your fingers down his forearm, slow and gentle.

“Good,” you whisper “Because I like this version of you.”

You feel his smile against your skin.

He doesn’t say anything else. Just tucks his face into your neck like he’s finally allowing himself to breathe.

You shift slightly.

Not much. Just enough to test the space between you.

He doesn’t stop you.

So you turn.

You roll slowly to face him, your knees brushing his under the covers, your chest barely touching his. The low golden light from the hallway filters in through the crack under the door, just enough to catch the edge of his face, his jaw, his eyes, that small crease between his brows.

He’s watching you. Carefully. Quietly.

You speak, low and honest “You’re not the only one who forgets how to breathe around the other.”

His expression flickers. Just a second. But enough for you to see hope, doubt, desire. Then gone again.

You lift your hand to his cheek, gentle.

Then he kisses you.

Hard.

There’s nothing hesitant in it. No more caution, no more reading cues, no more pretend. Just heat, and months of tension finally snapping. His hand slides to the back of your neck, pulling you in deeper.

You kiss him back with everything you’ve been holding in.

Your hands move instinctively, one gripping his shirt, the other slipping around his waist. He shifts, pressing you into the mattress, his knee between yours, his breath shaky against your lips.

When he finally pulls back, just an inch, his forehead rests against yours. Both of you breathing like you’ve just surfaced from underwater.

You whisper, “That didn’t feel like something we’ll forget in the morning.”

Law shakes his head slightly, lips brushing yours.

“It’s not.”

Another beat.

Then you add, teasing, “So much for just sleeping.”

His mouth curves into a tired smile, eyes half-lidded “You started it.”

You laugh soft and warm and tangled in sheets and tension.

And when he pulls you close again, one hand splayed across your lower back, your smile fades into something quieter. Something real.

Because this time, neither of you is pretending.

The next morning, the sun isn’t even fully up when you and Law leave the casino.

No one says anything at first. You walk side by side, close enough that your arms keep brushing, but not close enough to make it obvious.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

But the second the Polar Tang comes into view, the nerves hit you like a cannonball.

You’re holding your heels in one hand, the other arm looped awkwardly around your waist to keep Law’s massive coat closed over your dress. Your own shoes were giving you blisters, so somewhere between the casino lobby and the harbor, Law, annoyed and muttering, slipped out of his and made you wear them.

Now here you are, flopping around the deck in his too-big shoes while he walks beside you in his socks, lipstick faintly smudged across the corner of his jaw.

You don’t look at each other. You cannot look at each other.

And then just as your foot slips slightly in one of his clunky boots “Well, well, well… Look who finally decided to come back.”

Shachi.

Leaning on the railing with a bowl of cereal and way too much smugness for six in the morning.

You freeze.

Penguin appears from the stairwell, blinking at you both. His gaze travels from your tousled hair to your crooked dress zipper, to Law’s missing shoes, to your very obvious lipstick on his jaw.

He lets out a slow, exaggerated whistle.

“That,” he says, pointing his spoon between the two of you, “was not part of the mission.”

Law doesn’t even flinch. Just keeps walking, face unreadable except for the ears burning red.

You try to look casual. Like you didn’t just sneak off a casino floor at sunrise “We, uh... we stayed for surveillance reasons.”

Penguin snorts “Yeah, I bet you were surveilling something.”

You shoot him a glare, still wearing Law’s boots “My heel broke.”

“Sure it did. And your lipstick broke too? All over the captain’s face?”

You reach up automatically to touch your lips, and groan when you realize he’s right.

Law growls under his breath “Enough.”

But Shachi’s having too much fun “Man, I thought you’d at least try to sneak back on like it didn’t happen. This is so much better.”

“Do you want to swim today, Shachi?” Law deadpans.

Bepo pops his head out of the hallway “Did you two share a bed? Was it part of the act or did something actually happen? Because you both look like—”

“Bepo.” Law cuts him off like a gunshot.

You turn to face Law, trying so hard not to laugh because the man looks like he wants to teleport to another planet. His hair’s still a little messy. His collar’s open. And he’s got the exact same expression he had when you kissed him: that barely-holding-it-together calm that only you can see cracking.

You mutter under your breath, “We should’ve never come back.”

Law nods “Agreed.”

Then, just when you’re about to make a break for your quarters, Law stops and turns.

He grabs your hand.

The crew goes dead silent.

He lifts your fingers to his lips in one smooth motion. Kisses them.

Soft. Deliberate.

Then walks off with all the calm dignity of a man in socks who’s still the most dangerous person in the room.

Your brain short-circuits. The crew loses their minds.

Penguin lets out a strangled “WHAT—”

Shachi screams “HE’S IN LOVE!!!”

And you’re just standing there, one hand in the air, heart about to burst out of your chest.

You finally bolt down the hallway toward your room, calling back “I’M NOT TALKING ABOUT THIS!!”

Bepo shouts after you, “CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR EMOTIONAL MATURITY!”

You slam your door shut, cheeks on fire, heart racing, and a stupid smile you can’t shake no matter how hard you try.

[nottslove]

DICK PICS

Pairing: hacker!theo x spy!reader

3.7k words

Summary: unable to sleep after your boss puts pressure on you to catch the most wanted hacker in the country, you toss and turn until your phone lights up with a message from an unknown number. the stranger sounds oddly familiar, and before you know it, you begin to find comfort in this mysterious stranger and even begin to get a little...... vulnerable.

Warnings: QUITE LONG, 18+, smut under the cut, modern au, porn with minimal plot, voyeurism, somewhat stalking, exploitation, sexting, mutual masturbation, semi-public, dirty talk, cursing, not for minors.

Tags: @the-sylver-dragon, @clairesblouse @nottsstar

Author's note: preferable to read on camera first, but can be read as a standalone too.

HE had been watching you for weeks, watching you fail at your mission of hunting him down, over and over again.

After days and days of searching, you got a lead. Your boss had given you his name; Theodore Nott, Theo Nott for short.

You scoured the internet after that; checking every big, social media platform you'd ever heard of— Instagram, Tiktok, Twitter, Linked In, Facebook— all of which led you nowhere.

Little did you know, as you ransacked the online archives for any trace of him, he was watching you from his screen, with your special cameras of the highest quality, bought and installed in every room because of your dangerous profession.

A smirk on his lips as you typed his name into various search bars, over and over again.

"Enjoying the ride, pretty?" he muttered to himself, a dry chuckle leaving his lips. "I can give you something better to ride, and you'd enjoy it a whole lot more—"

He watched you grow frustrated; he watched you repeatedly bang your head on the nearest surface with every dead end you reached, he watched you throw things in frustrated after every phone call from your boss, after telling him you had made little to no progress.

He watched you skip sleep; he watched you skip meals, fall into quiet desperation, and suddenly... it wasn't so fun any more.

Being so close, yet so far.

It wasn't fun knowing he was the reason you kept reaching dead ends. It wasn't fun knowing he had been leading you on a wild goose chase the entire time, knowing very well he was redirecting you to the same 404 ERROR. Page not found message.

As he watched you on his screen, tossing and turning on your bed, unable to sleep, he suddenly had an idea to get you to relieve a bit of your stress.

He wasn't sure it would work; you were a smart one after all, and Theo knew that after observing you for months.

Still, it was worth a try.

Having been watching you for so long, it was only fair he had memorized your phone number, and his fingers dialed the digits naturally, as if he had done it for years.

And then, his breath hitched with nervousness, his fingers shaking, he sent you a message.

The past few weeks had been utter hell for you. Your boss had been calling you nonstop, asking if you'd gotten an update for him, and every time you explained that you'd reached a dead end, suffocating pressure surrounded you from all sides, closing in on you.

Yet again you found yourself in the same place, no idea, no clue who and where Theo Nott was. And your boss was getting impatient and restless.

So were you.

You hated this guy, for making himself so hard to find, for being so good at what he did that he was practically untraceable.

Hunting him had become something you did every day, and your entire routine was messed up.

It occupied your mind at all times. Any moment you spent not searching for him was considered wasted.

To the point where you were skipping meals and sleep to look for him. And you had a feeling you were close, so fucking close to catching the bastard.

You weren't.

Not even a little bit.

Not when you felt yourself grow closer and closer, only to reach the same dead end, the same bright, white page flashing in front of you, reading, Error code 404. Page not found.

It exasperated you, made your blood boil beyond control, feasted on your thoughts and sent you spiraling out of control.

And now, once again, like every night, you were awake at a time way past midnight, tossing and turning, unable to sleep.

Everything annoyed you; the ticking of the clock, the serenity outside, the rustling of the trees in the wind outside...

You wanted it to stop.

The next thing you knew was that your phone screen lit up beside you and a loud ping sounded, interrupting your restless thoughts.

You picked up the phone, noticing that the notification you received was from an unknown number.

Looking for me, pretty?

Reading it, your breath hitched as you stared at the screen, eyes furrowing and staring continuously at the message.

Instantly, your fingers flew across the keyboard as you typed out a message, turning on the bedside lamp beside you and propping yourself up on your pillows, leaning against the headboard of the bed.

Who's this? you typed back.

Answer my question first, doll

Perhaps it was sleep, or exhaustion, or something else, but your thoughts were most definitely clouded.

Normally, you would have blocked the number. But something, something told you to continue chatting to this mysterious person. He sounded so familiar, even though you were one hundred percent sure you had never come across him before.

Yes, you assumed it was a him. You couldn't explain it; it just felt like it was a him.

And the him sounded strangely.... attractive. Oh well, a little flirting wouldn't hurt... You could always block the number if things began to get a little freaky for you to handle.

You typed out your answer.

Maybe... Do you want me to look for you?

Yes. Fuck. I do

You stifled a gasp at his blatant response. He sounded desperate, wild, and you hadn't even seen this person's face.

Tell me your name then

Oh no, pretty. Not so fast.. It doesn't work that way

Disappointment flooded you as you looked at the screen, a sigh of defeat leaving you.

Until you saw the next messages.

You're not the only one asking questions here, doll. To get answers, you must be willing to give answers. Are you willing to do that?

Yes, you wrote.

Because screw it. You'd been overworking yourself like the only machine in a giant factory and you deserved a little time to just be yourself, even if you were talking to a stranger.

You were safe, you couldn't get hurt through the phone anyway. Besides, you had the world's best security system. Any intruder would be caught the moment they set foot even a mile within the radius of your mansion.

Throwing your job out of your mind, and your training, you let your guard down. You already knew everything about internet safety, you didn't need to be taught, like a goddamn child. You were no match for the stranger anyway, you could track him in minutes.

Good girl

The words sent a sudden jolt of surprise through you, and your stomach flipped.

My name is Laura. Will you tell me your name now?

You didn't tell him your real name, of course. Your co-worker's name was the first one that slipped into your head, and you typed that out without second thought.

Nice try, princess. Didn't know you'd be so good at lying

"Shit," you breathed, closing your eyes for a second, the feeling of dread coursing through you. Your heart stopped, and you knew you were fucked. Truly fucked.

He knew.

You couldn't even try to explain how the bastard knew.

How'd you know?

Because your real name is not Laura

How do you know that?

I just do. But I don't want your name I want something else

And then you'll tell me your name?

I'll give you my initials

You paused, your brows furrowing as you looked at his latest messages, trying to think of what to reply.

You were pretty sure you could use his initials to figure out who he was. Besides, a little bit of mystery was essential in order to enjoy life...

Fair enough. What do you want?

Right now? I just want to talk to you

Your lips curled up the slightest bit at the slightly sweet yet smooth reply from the other end of the phone.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, biting your lower lip, trying to figure out what to reply to that, when you saw the moving three dots again. He was typing...

My initials are T.N You can call me T

On seeing his initials, your heart stopped. You knew he sounded familiar, looked familiar, was familiar, but you were positive, absolutely positive you had never spoken to him before.

And then it hit you, where you had seen those initials before.

Realization flickered all over your features, and your breath hitched. It was so, so clear. You had spent the past couple of months searching for him.

How come you hadn't seen it before, the way had started the conversation with Missed me, Pretty? instead of a Hi or Hello, like any normal guy.

He was Theo Nott.

Theodore FUCKING Nott, the country's most notorious, wanted hacker.

How had he known, you had been looking for him? Should you play dumb? Or tell him the game was over?

Decision making had always come easy to you, but right now, you found yourself stuck in between a rock and a hard place.

If you told him you knew his full name, it might scare him away and make it harder for you to find him, and make your boss yell at you, overall making your life miserable.

If you played dumb... He could get bored.

And then an idea struck you.

What if you flirted? Used your powers of seduction to lure him out? To get him to fall for you?

That way, you could finally catch him, after asking him to meet you somewhere.

A slight smirk crossed your lips as you typed out your next message.

What if I want to call you... something else?

As Theo's eyes fell on the message, his eyes nearly popped out of his sockets. His heart rate picked up, and he could already feel the familiar hardness ache between his legs as he looked at your message.

Were you flirting with him? If you were, it was fucking hot.

The question had taken him off-guard, and he had no clue what to answer.

Like what?

Asshole, you wrote back a little smirk on your lips, toying with him.

I'd prefer you call me daddy, Theo wrote back, his own expression matching yours, as he flirted with you with smooth confidence.

In your dreams

For that to happen, I'd need to hear your voice

And then it was your turn to stare at the phone like it was some foreign object.

You took a deep breath, unable to figure out what to reply. Part of you wanted to send an audio message, but you despised the way you sounded on a recording— it was too... cheesy, too embarrassing.

You could call him, but at the same time, it was far too soon for that. You weren't ready.

I'll let you hear my voice on one condition... you wrote, furiously chewing on your lower lip as you dropped your phone on your thighs and rubbed your palms on the sheets, trying to stop them from getting clammy.

What do you want, princess?

I can't sleep. I need help... relaxing... You dropped the clue as it was, you didn't know if you were being too forward, or not; the lack of sleep had most definitely messed with your head.

He was losing his mind, seeing you respond to him with such brazen confidence.

His need for you grew, and as he muttered a "fuck it," to himself, he stopped beating around the bush and matched your energy, adrenaline fueling through him, the sheer desperation of seeing where this would go messing with his mind.

What, your fingers too small to do the trick?

Your jaw dropped slightly. You couldn't believe the audacity. A light blush coating your cheeks, you pressed your thighs together without realizing, unable to come to terms that he had just teased you.

You couldn't let him win.

More like my boyfriend has a small dick

Holy—

Theo couldn't believe his eyes. He had always associated you with innocence, obliviousness. Seeing you through the camera go about your daily life without suspecting you were being watched had made his dick hard, more times that he could count, but having you flirt with him? Interact with him in such a way? That was something else.

He was suddenly rock hard under his sweats, his dick heavy and hard as he tried to imagine what it would be like to watch you touch yourself whilst texting him.

His blood boiled at the mention of your boyfriend... He had seen the asshole many times at your place, and he always activated the alarm system or the sprinklers whenever he came to your place.

You of course, always thought there was a glitch in the system, never once suspecting that it was all orchestrated.

And you're telling me this... why?

One thing you knew was that men liked to have their egos stroked, and what better way to flatter Theo than to tell him he was better than your boyfriend?

This was a sure way to get him to fall for you.

Of course, you had no clue about how big he was, neither did you care. All you cared about was catching him and handing him over to your boss.

That was what you thought of, when you typed in your next reply.

Because I get the feeling that you're bigger

Theo's vision was suddenly botched, and before he knew it, his sweatpants and boxers were shoved down his thighs, past his knees and were pooled around his ankles.

His cock sprung out, with a resounding smack against his abs, which clenched as he wrapped his fist around his girth, thumb stretching out to swipe a bead of precum dripping from the tip and smearing it messily across the length.

Are you always such a slut? Thinking of getting off to a stranger's cock?

Afraid to answer my question, T? Maybe you're not big...

You knew very well what you were doing, spurring him on, aggravating him, getting him hooked on you, getting him so completely drunk to talking to you.

You want proof, Princess?

Well, I'm not opposed to it...

You stared at the screen, and the three typing dots, your breath hitched as you awaited his response.

And then, it flashed across the screen.

A picture of his dick.

Your mouth watered slightly, and the slickness between your thighs grew. You couldn't stop the heat that suddenly filled the room despite the AC being on.

"Fuck," you breathed, your eyes glued to the screen.

You hadn't been wrong. He was bigger than your boyfriend— waaaayyyy bigger.

That good enough for you, pretty? he wrote, heart pounding in his chest, confidence dripping from him.

He could see you through the camera in your bedroom, staring at the picture longer than necessary, your eyes wide and your pupils dilated.

Not quite... Got a little problem now, thanks to you

Oh? he replied, waiting for you to elaborate, waiting for your next message.

My panties are soaked

Just with one pic??? I knew it. You're such a fucking slut. So wet, and you haven't even been touched...

The way he degraded you made you whimper, and before you knew it, you had wriggled out of your tiny, satin shorts, leaving your lower half completely bare, save for your tiny panties.

Are you gonna help me out, or not?

She's such a minx, Theo thought, gaze darkening as his gaze fell on his computer screen, where you were all spread out on your bed like a fucking feast, wearing nothing but a satin camisole and a tiny pair of panties.

And then, he unleashed himself.

Whatever you're wearing right now, take it off.

If you weren't turned on, you wouldn't have listened, but you slid your camisole off as well as your panties, your nipples hardening as they stood, begging for attention the moment they made contact with the cool air.

Now what?

He took a while to type the next message, and you stared at the screen with bated breath, watching him type for what felt like a very long time.

And then, his message arrived, and as you read it, you let out a quiet whimper.

Touch yourself, pretty Make yourself feel good Put your hand around your neck, and squeeze slightly, imagine it's mine Then let your hands wander

Little did you know, his eyes watched you through the cameras in your bedroom, lying back on your bed wearing absolutely nothing...

"Fucking slut—" he muttered, as your fingers applied slight pressure on your neck, blocking your airway and slowing your breathing. "Who knew you'd have such a filthy mind?"

He watched your hands wander downwards, watched you tease your nipples, watched your fingers pinch the hardened nubs until they were stiff, aching peaks.

The thought was enough to fuel his arousal, enough to get his dick harder than it had ever been.

He fisted his hand around his girth, his grip tight as he tried to imagine spilling his load all over your pretty tits.

Okay, you wrote back, one hand on the phone, the other alternating between teasing both your tits, trying to give them equal attention.

Does that feel good?

Yes

Such a nasty fucking whore, aren't you? So fucking needy for attention, even from a fucking stranger

His words elicited another whimper from your lips, and the ache between your thighs deepened; you were aching for relief.

Your fingers slipped lower, down to your slick folds, your index finger gliding so easily across the puffy lips of your cunt, and as your nail grazed against your clit, another mewl left your lips.

I need more, you wrote to Theo, hoping, just hoping he would send you another picture of his junk.

That's my little slut, so damn needy Put a finger inside that greedy cunt, doll I bet you're soaked Got me so fucking hard for you, pretty

Prove it, you wrote, challenging him into giving you want you wanted; another picture.

You finally gave into the temptation and slid a finger inside your sopping folds, a low moan leaving your lips as you arched your back.

And then Theo sent another picture, his dick stood tall, and erect, slightly curved, the tip angry and red and glossy with precum that bubbled out and trailed lower to his balls in a thin, seductive line.

God, he was huge, and you knew, you somehow knew that he was a goddamn fuck machine; he could ruin you.

Use your fingers to get yourself off, baby Think of my cock inside you You'd be so fucking full

Don't think you'd fit, you replied back, biting your lip as you gave him a completely honest answer.

You're too big

Fuck doll, you're driving me fucking mental

And then you added another finger, bucking your hips into your hand, your juices trickling down your thighs and your fingers, curling around your wrist and to the mattress, making a goddamn mess everywhere.

You closed your eyes, losing yourself in the pleasure as your phone slipped from your fingers and landed somewhere on the carpeted floor with a dull thud.

You couldn't care enough to pick it up, your thoughts were completely clouded as you rode your fingers, arching your back and moaning like a bitch in heat, as your thumb pressed against your clit, your other hand teasing your nipples; pulling, pinching, groping, twisting, your eyes closed as you thought of his dick, filling you up and rearranging your internal organs.

"Fuuuuck," you groaned softly. "God, feels so good—"

And then, as you added a third finger into your sopping wet cunt, stretching yourself out more than you could handle, you curled your fingers until they reached that deep squishy space before you lost all control of yourself as your orgasm wrecked through you like a fast fucking freight train.

Your juices spilled everywhere, uncontrollably, drenching your sheets and your hands, the heady scent of your fluids mingling with your sweat and natural scent.

Then, you brought your fingers to your mouth, licking them clean.

Oh, you were so totally oblivious to the way Theo jerked off to the sight of you pleasuring yourself, his balls tightening to the thought of claiming you, filling you up with his cum until it was dripping out of you for days.

"Shiiiiit— gonna cum inside that pretty pussy one day, mark my words," he swore, dragging his fist faster up and down the length of his wet, sticky cock.

His eyes darkened at the sight of you cumming all over your hand, making a mess on your bed, pupils blown so wide that his irises were nearly engulfed.

And then, his quickened his pace, wrist flicking faster as he drew closer to his high, loud groans leaving his lips.

"That's right, make a mess— fucking slut— my messy slut, wanna feel you clamp down on my cock, gonna fucking come all over that pretty cunt..." he groaned, his words mere broken fragments that made better sense in his head than when spoken out loud.

And with a final growl tearing from his throat, he finally came, unloading a thick, hot stream of semen into his hand, his break coming out in sharp, ragged gasps, chest heaving like he had just run a marathon.

He didn't bother cleaning up as he picked up his phone, typing out a quick one-handed message to you.

Lick those fingers clean, pretty...

Already did ;)

Fuck, there's my filthy girl So fucking hot Bet you taste like honey

You didn't bother with putting your clothes back on, you merely covered yourself with the cool, Egyptian cotton sateen sheets, which you intended to change the next morning.

Wouldn't you like to know?

Feel better, pretty? He typed back, watching you adjust your pillows in a manner that suited your comfort better.

Much. I'm going to sleep now Have a nice night, asshole

You smiled to yourself as you wrote to him, flicking the switch of your bedside lamp, turning it off, waiting for Theo's response.

You too, princess.

Not so far away, Theo found himself grinning like an idiot as he looked at the screen.

Oh, he was so fucking whipped.

apologies for being missing in action lately.. have an essay due in three days and i've barely written half... hope you guys like this though. special thanks to @dearmisshoney for being the absolute sweetest and giving me the motivation and help to write this. not my best work. please comment, reblog and show me some love 🙈🙈

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©nottslove 2025. do not copy, steal or claim any works/graphics as your own.

[teatime-tangents-and-toys]

Interesting Monster High design things that are never explicitly stated:

* Unlicensed vampires are all some type of pink-skinned for some reason, including related species like the manananggal

* Clawdeen, and by extension, other werewolves, never wear silver metals, because that weakens them. The Wolfs only wear gold jewelry and accents.

* Lagoona's sporty theme aligns with the use of mesh fabrics to make a pun about fishnets

* Wydowna Spider's hairline is a widow's peak and one of her hands is in Spider-Man's web-slinging shape

* Twyla's eyes glow in the dark on most editions--common knowledge, but Mattel has never told buyers about it on her boxes!

* Twyla is a boogeyman and her costume designs all feature antique architectural details and imagery of things that might be in a scary bedroom at night, like wallpaper patterns, doorknobs, bugs, and beds, while her outfits often resemble pajamas

* The two G1 pop star characters are a witch and a black cat, and a witch and cat were also a Create-A-Monster duo

* The Grant sisters' monster twist on genies is to make them plated like desert scorpions

* Elissabat's face is deliberately highly similar to Draculaura's, but their sculpts have been determined to be different--this when MH has used shared sculpts for more distant-looking and disparate pairs of characters!

* The Blob and Ice Girls are a Create-A-Monster duo because freezing was the one weakness of the Blob monster

* Deuce and Cleo as a couple invoke the synergy of snakes and Egyptian culture, the famous Cleopatra being Greek, and Cleopatra being stated in legend to have died by snakebite--similar reasons a mummy and Gorgon were paired in the Create-A-Monster sets

* Operetta is from New Orleans because it's a uniquely French area of the USA, tying her into the original setting of the Phantom of the Opera

* The manufacturing code on the back of Skelita Calaveras' original head mold is a custom sequence made to depict the name "KATRINA".

This refers to the tradition of carving a name of honor into a Dia de Muertos sugar skull, and may also reflect La Catrina, the iconic Mexican skeleton woman in the wide hat often seen in the holiday's imagery. Other dolls have these stamps on the backs of their heads with meaningless sequences of letters and numbers which are never meant to be seen, but Skelita's stamp was used for a purpose. I've checked her dolls after G1 (starting with her first collector doll in 2016), and they have a generic code stamped in and have lost this detail.

* Viperine Gorgon has distinct visual hallmarks of both human and serpent albinism, and her use of sunglasses could correspond with sensitive eyes from the condition, though she's never stated to have the condition in any material.

* Great Scarrier Reef's transformations: Electric-powered Frankie became an electric eel, Draculaura became a vampire squid, and tigerlike Toralei became a lionfish. I've heard Clawdeen was based on a wolffish, but can't be sure that was actually clear. Gil turning into a ray may be a pun with manta and manster? No idea if Lagoona was based on a specific fish or not. Nor why she even had to transform in her native territory for any reason beyond making a new doll.

* Bonita Femur's color palette is based on the rosy maple moth, which is as implausibly candy-colored as Bonita. Luna Mothews is absolutely not actually a luna moth, but could be loosely based on the cecropia moth, the largest in North America and found in regions that could include New Jersey where she's from (or West Virginia, where the Mothman is from). Her yellow exoskeleton also loosely resembles the hornet moth, but may not intentionally be based on it.

* Mouscedes King, Luna Mothews, and Elle Eedee are a primary yellow/red/blue trio but also a past/present/future trio based on an old fairy tale, a current cryptid legend, and a speculative idea of future tech

* Headmistress Bloodgood's first name was eventually revealed to be Nora, an iconically Irish name that may have been chosen to liken Bloodgood to the Irish folklore of the dullahan, another "headless rider" monster.

* River Styxx is a young-adolescent Grim Reaper ghost who is partially translucent, revealing bones in her limbs and having a more opaque face that looks like thin skin over a bony structure. This creates a fun possible worldbuilding idea that reapers start as ghosts with skin and it fades as they develop, becoming full skeletons in classic Death style when mature.

* Peri and Pearl are conjoined Hydra sisters, obviously reflecting a rare human scenario of conjoined twins through the Hydra monster concept, but also possibly being influenced by the animal phenomenon of snakes being born with two heads in an even Y-shaped structure.

* Elle has a separate sculpted panel on her hip where her factory stamp is placed, canonizing the real-world manufacturing artifact as a real/literal/diegetic feature on the manufactured robot character.

* Corazón Marikit's red fringe blends the two halves of her outfit, but also stands in for the gorier imagery of dangling intestines and entrails when the manananggal monster's body splits at the waist. She does have a spine coming out of her upper torso as the peg that clicks her pieces together, but the dolls aren't brutally gory, so her costume alludes to the folklore's more extreme imagery in a graceful way.

* Scary Sweet Birthday Cupid is the only doll in the SSB collection whose cage element is under her skirt rather than on top of it.

This placement and its rectangular silhouette make the cage functional rather than decorative, replicating an old-fashioned crinoline frame used to internally shape big skirts, and its wide boxy shape matches some rococo skirt silhouettes, suiting the other elements Cupid has drawn from the rococo aesthetic, even before G3. Victorian-steampunk Robecca Steam has also worn cage elements that invoke a crinoline without a skirt to be shaped by it.

[aemondsbabe]

Stick it Out to the End

summary: michael is desperate to get into oxford's prestigious bullingdon club; unfortunately for him, they command him to do the impossible to gain admittance

pairing: michael gavey x bimbo!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, bimbo reader, mentions of hazing but nothing horrible/extreme, virgin!michael, breast/nipple play, praise kink, piv sex, protected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it), oral sex (f receiving), consensual filming, dirty talk, cursing, what i hope is saltburn-esque humor, mild size kink, mild angst but happy ending, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 12.7k

a/n: images in the header are for aesthetic purposes only & are not used to describe the reader! she's back and she's long as hell but what else is new!!! this is my first time writing bimbo!reader and while she wasn't super bimbo-y, it was fun getting my feet wet! hope y'all enjoy!

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

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Michael

Michael couldn’t help but feel his heart speed up in his chest as he wound through the quiet corridors clutching tightly to the cryptic note he’d found stuffed in his pigeonhole that morning – just a page torn out of a standard notebook covered hastily written red ink; wholly un-intimidating as far as cryptic notes were concerned. Really, he was surprised to see they didn’t put more effort in; with as secretive and imperious as this little club was, he had been expecting some sort of extravagant stationary, perhaps even some gold embossing. 

Coming to a stop in front of an unassuming janitor’s closet door, he narrows his eyes behind the gold frames of his glasses, staring at the door with a nearly accusatorial expression. Michael swivels his head once more, his brows furrowed as he checks and re-checks every door in the vicinity before turning back to the one he stands before. Scoffing, he unfolds the note with a little irritated sigh and quickly scans the page again, mouthing the words to himself for the millionth time that day. 

The riddle had been easy enough to figure out, some trivial little lines about dead men walking, the mob, finding God, and looking to one’s heart pointed right toward some hush hush basement beneath the Merton College Chapel. That, and it didn’t take a genius to see that each line consisted of a specific number of words, pointing him right to the very door he stood in front of now – 129. 

Fucking amateurs, he’d thought after cracking the code in under half an hour. But that was earlier. And now, as he stares at the stupid dull grey janitor’s closet door in front of him, Michael can’t stop the little tendrils of doubt from creeping into his periphery. He’s sure this is the right door and positive this is the right place and yet… janitor’s closet. He checks his watch, 11:50 PM on the dot, and glances up and down the dark, shadowy corridors once more, half expecting one of the twatty rich assholes to jump out and start snickering at him, making fun of him for thinking that a no one like him would’ve ever received an invite to a club like this. 

Shaking his head, he reaches for the doorknob anyway, he’s come this far so he may as well. He freezes a little when it actually turns and his blue eyes go wide when he pushes the door open, shivering a little as he’s met with a wall of cool, dank air – eau de basement, just as he’d expected. A little actually impressed sigh passes his lips when he pokes his head in, an apprehensive smile blooming on his lips as he takes in the eerie red lighting spilling up the stairwell from the God-knows-what downstairs. 

He winces as the door squeaks when he tugs it open but he doesn’t stop, emboldened now as he knows he had been right once again. He takes the stairs quickly, probably too quickly given that he hasn’t a fucking clue what or who could be down here, but before he can dwell on the idea too much, he’s faced with another corridor. This one, unlike the ones upstairs, is narrow and brick-lined and leads in only one direction, straight to another closed door at the other end. 

Michael squints against the bright red light coming from a spotlight that had been haphazardly set up on the stone floor and walks down the hallway, his steps speeding up as he hears the janitor’s door above him open and close once more. His breath hitches a little as he opens the second door and quickly steps inside, like ripping off a band-aid. 

He freezes once more when a strong hand latches onto his shoulder and quickly jerks him further into the room, making him yelp as he stumbles, trying to keep pace with whoever the hell is leading him. 

“What the –”

Before he has time to so much as blink, his back thuds against a brick wall and finally he looks up, the vicious scowl he’d prepared morphing into a look of disturbed confusion as he eyes a row of other students, about fifteen and all men from the looks of it, dawned with black –

Oh, Christ, are those ski masks? He thinks as he eyes them up and down, How fucking banal… at least it’s not hooded cloaks. He nearly rolls his eyes as he scans the rest of the room, taking in the dim lighting interspersed with blues and greens from more of those stupid party boy spotlights. Glancing to the side, he sees another boy in his year, some guy he only knew from a few classes and passing glances in the hallways, but even still he’s comforted to not be alone down here, no matter how cliché this whole affair seemed. 

His blue eyes snap forward as the door, the only door, to the room is opened once more and some other poor sap is hastily dragged across the room, only to be smacked on the wall to his left. Again, it’s just some other boy Michael knows from classes, though he doesn’t know why he expects any different – it’s not as if he knows many people outside of the forced proximity of a lecture hall. Which was really his only reason for putting up with this bother, for seeking it out in the first place; a quick flash of him placing a tightly folded up sticky note with his name and pigeonhole number in an old, beaten up copy of King Lear in the library played in his mind – the price he seemed to pay for loneliness. 

Distantly, the bells of the chapel began to chime, signaling the hour. Once, twice, and eventually twelve times – midnight. Time to start the show, Michael surmises. 

“Welcome, initiates,” one of the hooded men says in a tone that makes Michael glare judgmentally, his voice pitched down like some idiotic knock-off Darth Vader. He steps forward from the row they stand in and holds his arms out open at his sides, “Consider this your first foray into the Bullingdon Club.”

Again, he has to bite the inside of his cheek to hold in a scoff. This was all just so… juvenile? He was beginning to sincerely doubt that this was the über clandestine club that granted its members all sorts of connections to various businesses, societies, and insider information that even the richest of the rich couldn’t buy. 

Unfortunately, his face seemed to betray more of his emotions than he intended and the masked boy steps forward once more, his dark eyes zeroing in on Michael. 

“You,” he says gruffly, pointing a finger in his direction, “Something you wanna say, initiate?”

Out of habit, he pushed his glasses up on his nose before he spoke, perhaps foolishly bold given the situation. 

“Doesn’t this all seem a bit much for three people?” He scoffs, shaking his head slightly, “I mean, masks, really?”

The hooded boy stops for a second and studies Michael closely, one hand on his hip, “What’s wrong with the masks?”

“Well, what’s the point? There’s, what, fifteen or sixteen of you? And three of us?” He asks, glancing around the room, which he now realized very clearly used to be some run-of-the-mill storage room, probably forgotten about by now.

The boy laughs sarcastically and shrugs his shoulders a bit, his voice back to its natural pitch, “It wouldn’t really be a secret thing if we just invited half the student body, mate.”

Michael supposes his reasoning is sound and says as much with a little hum and nod of his head, eyebrows raising dismissively. 

“Anything else?” The masked boy asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

“The masks don’t really disguise you lot that well,” he observes, pointing at one of the other boys standing in the row, “That’s Harry from Multivariable Calculus.”

“Shit…” Harry mutters under his breath, the sound carrying through the concrete room. A few of the other boys in the row lean over and place comforting hands on his shoulders and murmur words of encouragement, much to Michael’s dismay.

“Why’re you here, initiate?” The lead boy asks, turning back to Michael.

“Dunno,” he shrugs again, pushing his glasses up his nose, “Friends, I guess.”

A couple of the boys in the row make little noises, mutters of empathy that make the blond’s eyebrows furrow together in confusion as he glances up and down the line. 

“And this was your first thought? A secret society?” Harry from Multivariable Calculus asks with a little laugh, “Not like… chess or something?” 

“Don’t really like chess…” Michael says with a little shrug. Apparently a good enough answer for Harry, who makes a little noise of understanding and nods his head. 

After another moment, the lead boy clears his throat, which shuts up the rest. “Anyway,” he says, his voice falsely low once more. “Each of you will be given a task…,” his dark eyes glance between Michael and the other two boys as he paces in front of them, “Perfectly customized to challenge you, to push you to your absolute limits.” 

The masked boy pauses his little speech and gestures back to three of the other boys standing in the row behind him who then step forward and walk over to the dank brick wall that Michael and the other two boys stand against. He studies the boy that walks towards him carefully, his eyes narrowing in suspicion when he notices how much shorter he appears to be.

Finally, the boy comes to stand before him and presents a plain white envelope, though Michael’s lips spread into a hateful smirk when he sees an all too familiar pair of old, beat up trainers on the boy’s feet. 

“Oliver?!” He hisses meanly, shock lacing his voice as he jerks back the hand he had reached out for the envelope, wincing as his elbow collides with the cool wall behind him. He glances around the room, noting the few pairs of eyes that were on him, before fixing his gaze on the boy before him once more with a harsh glare, “You’re in Bullingdon?”

The boy in front of him hesitates for a second, cutting a sideways glance toward a taller boy that was busy presenting an envelope to the boy to Michael’s left, before he sighs and looks back at him, blue eyes peeking out of the holes in his ski mask. “Yeah,” he huffs, shrugging his shoulders defensively, “How’d you know it was me, then?”

“You look like a goddamn twelve year old!” Michael jeers, his voice low and vicious as his hands curl into fists at his sides, “How’d you manage to get into this club anyway?” He questions, seething, “They only let you in if you have the money or the marks and I know for a fucking fact you don’t have either.”

Oliver sighs again and rolls his eyes, which makes him see red and grit his teeth, although he doesn’t miss how the shorter boy’s eyes cut to the side again quickly. He opens his mouth, but before he can get a word in edgewise, the blond cuts him off with a little mocking laugh.

“Don’t tell me that’s fucking Catton,” Michael groans lowly with a shake of his head, breathing heavily as he feels the same sense of anger and betrayal he’d felt all those months ago well up in him once more, transporting him right back to the stupid damn pub, “You’ve got to be bloody kidding me, is this shite little club only full of cunts?”

“Look, I’m –” 

Oliver starts to speak again, only to be cut off when the head boy traipses over to where they are, coming to stand ominously behind him with his arms clasped behind his back. His dark eyes dart between the two boys before he speaks.

“Problem over here, lads?”

“No,” Oliver answers quickly, staring warily up at Michael as he practically shoves the envelope into his arms, “Just complete the task, initiate. You have thirty-six hours.” 

Before Michael can blink, Oliver turns his back and stalks back over to the other boys, taking his place in the row once more. The head boy looks Michael up and down appraisingly before nodding to the letter in his hands with a sly smirk.

“I can’t wait to see how you fare with that one, Gavey,” he says, his voice low and threatening, as if he’s in on the most delicious joke, “Remember, thirty-six hours, initiate.” He chuckles softly and departs, returning to stand in the center of the room. 

Everyone stands still for a moment, Michael and the other two boys to his left and right holding their respective envelopes nervously, unsure if they were supposed to open them now or not. Thankfully, the head boy clears his throat, commanding all eyes to him once again.

“Initiates,” he says slowly, his voice no doubt already hoarse from this little farce, “Failure to complete your tasks will result in a permanent ban from Bullingdon; no second chances. We expect results as well as proof of those results,” his dark eyes scan over the three boys once more, one corner of his mouth turned up into a mean smirk, “We’ll be seeing you back in this location Sunday at noon. Your thirty-six hours begin now… have fun.” He finishes with a taunting laugh before turning and exiting from the room, the old door creaking as he pulls it open before disappearing into the faint red glow of the hallway, followed by the rest of the fifteen boys in an orderly line.

As soon as the old door closes, the sound of paper tearing echoes around the dimly lit basement as Michael and the other two boys hastily tear open their envelopes. Pulling out a little slip of paper, his eyes go wide as a wave of dread washes over him. His eyes scan over the paper again and again as he nervously shoves his glasses back up his nose once more, silently willing the chicken-scratch words on the paper to somehow change, to give him some other command. 

His heart is pumping so loudly in his ears that he misses it when one of the other boys tries getting his attention, his head snapping up suddenly as a hand waves in front of it.

“Oi!”

“W-What?” 

“What did they give you?” The boy asks, nodding at the scrap of paper in Michael’s hand.

He clears his throat and tries his best to come off as casual, though he hardly cares with the way thoughts begin racing through his mind. “Oh, um,” he starts, glancing down to read over the paper once more, “I just uh, have to sleep with someone is all.”

The other two boys gape at him for a moment before groaning frustratedly. The one that had first spoken to him holds his paper out and smacks it disdainfully with the back of his hand.

“What the hell?” He asks gruffly, glancing between his paper and Michael, “Why’s yours so bloody easy?”

“For real,” sighs the second boy, rubbing the back of his head, “Ours are damn near impossible. They must already be decided on you to go so soft. How am I meant to steal the fucking Selden Map from Bodleian?” He laments, brows furrowed as he stares down at the paper in his hands.

“Yeah, and I have to transfer ten thousand pounds out of the chancellor’s bank account and into mine!” The first boy sighs, shaking his head, “At least your mum’s head of conservatorship here, you can at least get within a stone’s throw of the map. I have to commit fucking wire fraud!” 

The two boys grumble for another moment as Michael silently descends into a tailspin, his blue eyes unfocused as he stares at one of the dingy brick walls of the basement, trying desperately to formulate a plan, any plan. He merely glances up as the other to head for the door, spitballing ideas for each of their tasks.

“Isn’t your dad the president of Julius Baer? Can’t you just get him to pull strings?”

“Oh, yeah, fantastic idea! I’ll just ring him and ask the old man to commit a felony! What could possibly go wrong there?”

Michael tries to tune out their bickering as the three of them ascend the staircase and trail out into the hallway of Merton College Chapel once more; the two other boys don’t pay him any mind as they continue whispering amongst themselves, their voices trailing quietly down the hallway as he leans with his back against the cool metal of the janitor’s closet door. 

Sighing, he reads over the directive again, his blue eyes catching on the sharply scrawled letters of a very familiar name, one that makes his cheeks flush and his heart race. He swallows nervously, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

How could they know to do this? He wonders sheepishly. It’s not like he’d mentioned her to anyone; hell, he’d never even said so much as three words to her! No, his pathetic little crush was entirely in his mind. 

Too much of a coward to even say hi, he bemoans, trying to stave off the sense of shame he felt as he considered how many times he’d finished with her name on his lips, her pretty face and soft curves and sweet smell and little girly outfits whirling around his head since he’d spotted her on the first fucking day; he’d pined ever since and she didn’t even know he existed! How could she?

This is fucking impossible, he thinks miserably, wishing that he had any other task. He’d rather steal the Queen’s own goddamn family jewels than this. He glances at his watch once more and groans when he sees it’s almost already two in the morning; pushing himself up off the door, he hangs his head as he scurries back to his dorm room, thoughts spiraling as he plots. 

You

A laugh bubbles up past your lips as you sway your hips, your whole body vibrating as “Umbrella” blasts through the speakers while you dance with your friends, partying to celebrate the end of term. 

“You can run into my arms, it’s okay, don't be alarmed!” You sing happily, yours and your friends voices mingling together with another peal of laughter; you take another sip of your drink as you move along with the beat of the song, savoring the fizzy strawberry daiquiri as you begin to feel a bit warm from the little rush of alcohol, already on your third drink of the night. 

You smile proudly as you spot Felix in the crowd, his hazel eyes already fixed on you, or well, fixated on your chest. His attention makes you preen and you bite your lower lip, the sickly sweet taste of your cherry lip gloss filling your mouth as you purposefully bounce up and down on the balls of your feet. 

The thin straps of your pastel pink dress hold on for dear life as your chest heaves enticingly, and you giggle when you see those hazel eyes widen just a bit, no doubt tracing over the glittering chain of your necklace, following down to where it settles, a little sparkly pink diamond nestling temptingly at your cleavage. You teasingly wink, blushing a little when you get a wink back, and go back to dancing with your friends, knowing from experience that Felix preferred to approach rather than be approached. 

You dance with your friends for a few more moments, grinding up against any warm body you can find as a raunchier song begins pumping through the speakers, before you feel eyes on you yet again. Smiling at the attention, you glance around again, the low, colorful lighting of the pub making it hard to tell exactly which direction your admirer’s coming from. 

Your eyes flit over a few familiar faces, you can’t help but sigh in relief when you notice that Oliver’s eyes are thankfully planted firmly on someone that is not you, though a confused little crease forms between your brows when you realize that Felix’s aren’t either. Turning your head, you sway along to the music still as you look around quickly, your feet beginning to ache finally from the precious little satin Chanel heels buckled around your ankles. 

Your eyes finally lock onto an unexpected gaze, a fresh wash of pink coloring your cheeks as blue eyes glance shyly away from you. A little giggle titters past your lips as you lean over to one of your friends, patting her shoulder to get her attention.

“You know who that blond guy is? With the glasses?” You call over the music, nodding over in your admirer’s direction as he stands awkwardly back against the wall by the entrance, clutching a still-foamy pint. 

She glances over before turning back to you with a little shrug. “Michael something, I think!” She says, her breath warm as she leans in closer so you can hear her, “I thought Oliver knew him!”

Your eyes immediately find the brunette, predictably following Felix around like a lost little puppy, before you look back over at Michael. You can’t help but feel a bit bad when you see him quickly look away from your direction again before staring intently into his pint glass, one hand shoved in the pocket of his khaki pants. 

“I’m gonna take a breather for a second!” You yell over the loud music, leaning in close and cupping a hand over her ear. 

“Aw, babe, come on!” She pouts playfully, tilting her head at you, “Stay longer!”

You shake your head with another little laugh and gesture at your feet, “These are sooo cute but they’re killing me!” You laugh, finishing off the last sip of your drink, “I’ll be over by the notice board!” You tell her, blowing a kiss as you walk away from the dance floor of the small, cramped pub. 

Finally, you reach the little area by the front door and lean back against the wall, taking in a much-needed deep breath as you pull your little tube of lip gloss out of your bra and carefully reapply some more, smirking when you glance over out of the corner of your eye and see a certain blond boy already shyly eyeing you. 

Rubbing your lips together with a little pouty pop, you tuck your gloss back in your bra once more before slowly approaching Michael, prettily manicured hands clasped behind your back to help shamelessly push your chest out more. His wide eyed stare makes you giggle and blush as you study him, eyes flitting appreciatively up and down his lithe frame; so much potential hidden away under a little button down and khakis. 

“Haven’t seen you here before,” you tease, smirking when he blushes and all but chokes on his beer, coughing for a few seconds before finally speaking.

“I… Me?” He asks awkwardly, glancing around for seemingly anyone else you could be talking to.

Lucky for him, you find his awkwardness endearing. Truthfully, you had for months, never missing the way his eyes always happened upon you in a crowd. There was something impressive about the boy, something that had made your mind drift to him on more than one occasion, even if you were already under someone else. 

“Of course you, silly,” you laugh softly, leaning against the wall next to him and tilting your head curiously, “You’re Michael, right?”

His eyes go wide again and nods wordlessly before finding his voice. “Yeah, Michael,” he says with a reserved little smile, “Gavey! Michael Gavey…” He adds awkwardly, cheeks flushing even more when you giggle, seemingly charmed by his inability to string two words together. He nods as you introduce yourself.

“I know,” he says before blinking, eyes going wide behind his gold framed glasses as he awkwardly glances away, “I just… I mean I’ve heard your name before, that’s all.”

“That’s all, huh?” You echo with a flirty little giggle, twirling a lock of hair around your finger as you let the moment linger, just wanting to push him a little. “What’re you reading?” You ask curiously, cocking your head to the side a little.

“Maths,” he nods quickly before looking down into his pint glass once more as if fizzling beer is the most interesting thing in the world, “I don’t really like it all that much, though… I mostly only picked it because I’m good at it.”

“Ooh,” you coo softly, nodding along with his words as you watch him carefully, “You must be wicked smart, I can’t do maths to save my life.” You comment with a little giggle, biting your lip when he seems to perk up at that comment and looks up at you with a little grin. 

“I can do it in my head,” he says lowly, an unexpectedly cocky edge to his voice that has your heart picking up in your chest, “Ask me a sum,” he says, a challenging glimmer in his eyes. 

You hum softly, biting your lip as you think for a second, “Uhm, seventy-two plus a hundred and thirteen?”

“One eighty-five,” he chuckles after no more than a second before scoffing a little, “Come on, give me one that’s hard, love.”

Love? The little pet name makes you raise an eyebrow before you laugh softly. “What do you mean a hard one?” You giggle, shaking your head, “That one was hard!”

“That was hard for you?” He teases, making your cheeks tingle as a pink flush settles over your skin, “What’re you reading, then?”

“Art history!” You chirp proudly, chuckling nervously when you see him roll his eyes a bit, “What? Something wrong with that?”

He shakes his head dismissively, quickly polishing off the last of his pint before setting the empty class on a table and turning back to you, pushing his glasses up his nose with a grin, “Ask me another one, then. Biggest numbers you can think of.”

You don’t know why, but something about his little challenge has you blushing again, like he’s testing you somehow. But still, you take a moment to think of some numbers, biting your lip and quirking your eyes up toward the ceiling. 

“Six hundred thirty-two times… eight hundred ninety-one,” you hum, cocking your head to the side as you watch him closely. His eyes seem to glaze over, only for a second, before once again he’s spouting off numbers like a calculator. 

“Five hundred sixty-three thousand, one hundred and twelve.” 

Your eyebrows raise at that as you gawk at him. “Wow…,” you breathe after a moment, blinking as you stare up at him, “You’re, like, super smart, then?”

“Suppose so,” he says, smiling shyly again as he tucks both hands into the pockets of his khaki pants.

You study him for a moment as the conversation lulls, finding something endlessly fascinating about the boy; the way he could swing from being so cocky and self assured to shy and awkward makes your stomach do summersaults. Turning your head, you spot your group of friends still dancing and you look back at Michael with a little sigh as another upbeat song blasts loudly through the pub. 

“D’you wanna get out of here?” You ask, smirking when he looks up at you shyly.

“W-What?”

“My dorm’s only, like, a minute from here,” you flirt, sweet and enticing as you make him blush somehow more, “We could go somewhere more… quiet?”

He stares at you for a moment, shocked that you’re asking him of all people to come back to yours before he nods and nervously runs a hand through his wheat colored hair, unsuccessfully trying to act casual. “Yeah, yeah, I can do that.”

“Yay!” You giggle happily, flirtatiously grabbing one of his hands as you saunter past him, heading for the exit, “C’mon, it’s like a five minute walk!” He nods wordlessly and you can’t help but smirk as he follows you like a lost little puppy. 

True to your word, it’s only a few minutes later when you and Michael reach your dorm room, after you’d stopped for a minute at the entrance to your hall to chat with Farleigh, who seemed very interested in the nerdy boy following at your heels. You just couldn’t wipe the smirk off your face as you and Michael left him standing at the doors, mouth open and a wicked little gleam in his eyes; no doubt, he’d immediately scurried off to the King’s Arms. 

The door to your room opens with a tiny squeak, blasted old building, and you all but prance inside, turning back to the blond boy still lingering in the doorway with a smile. 

“Am I going to have to invite you in like a vampire?” You joke with a little laugh as you bend down to quickly undo the buckles of your heels, letting out a relieved sigh when you finally step out of them, leaving you in frilly white ankle socks.  

Michael finally steps into your room with a huffed laugh and quickly kicks off his shoes, you smirk when you see his Star Wars themed socks. “‘M no vampire, love,” he quips, gold framed eyes darting around your room as he looks over every detail. You grin at the little blush on his cheeks and perch on the edge of your bed to watch him, head tilted ever so slightly. 

“It’s, uh, it’s cute in here,” he observes, his voice a low hum as he takes in your frilly, lacy curtains, plush white rug, and equally girlish floral bedding, all encased in the faint pink glow of the heart-shaped fairy lights strung up around the room, “Just like how I imagined…” He breathes, so lowly you doubt he meant to say that bit aloud. 

“Like you imagined?” You echo with a little giggle, quickly reapplying your lip gloss before setting the little tube on the corner of your desk. 

“I just… I – It’s just very… you, is all I meant,” he stutters, running a hand through his hair awkwardly, the apples of his cheeks flushed a dark pink. 

His awkwardness is so endearing, you can’t help but grin. The more time you spend with him, the more interesting he seems to become; this bumbling, nervous boy is so different from the one you’ve seen on campus so many times. On campus, he’s comfortable, quiet still, but with a definite air of confidence – clearly in his element as he prowls through bookshelves in the library or explains some complex math formula in the quad. 

“So, you think about me often, then?” Your voice stays sweet, innocent almost, though you can’t help but tease him; he’s so pretty when he blushes. 

“No!” He answers quickly, whipping his head toward you from where he’d been studying the various pictures tacked up on the walls, everything from boy band posters to stills from Clueless and Legally Blonde. “I mean, yes, sometimes, I…,” he fumbles again and pushes his glasses up his sharp nose, “I think about you a normal amount.” He says finally, glancing at you quickly before looking away. 

You hum softly and stand before walking toward him with a kind smile, though you don’t miss the way he keeps glancing down at your cleavage, or the way his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat when he swallows nervously. 

“A normal amount?” 

“Mhm,” he nods, gaze unsure as you come to stand in front of him, teeth biting into your plush lower lip as you twirl a piece of hair through your fingers, “As much as I think of anyone else.”

“So…,” you breathe, drawing out the word as you reach up and fiddle with the collar of his button down shirt, the turquoise gingham a bright blue blip among all the blush tones of your room, “Every time I’ve caught you looking at my tits in the library or in the quad or in the hallways… that was just a normal amount?”

You giggle as his eyes go wide, his lips opening and closing like a fish out of water. Deciding to take mercy on him, you run a finger down his chest, playfully fiddling with the buttons on his shirt.

“Relax, I’m not mad,” you shake your head, smiling when the tension in his shoulders visibly eases, “Why wouldn’t I want a cutie like you staring?”

His lips part at that as he sucks in a little breath, blue eyes widening behind his glasses. “You think I’m… cute?” He asks breathlessly, heart pounding under your fingertip. 

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip once more as you nod, cocking your head to the side just slightly as you peer up at him. “‘Course I do, honey, what’s not to like?”

Again, he gawks at you, blinking in shock and swallowing nervously.

“I –” 

“I do have one question though…,” you tease, pouting a bit as you slowly and carefully undo the very top button on his shirt, relishing the way his breath hitches in his throat. 

“Y-Yeah?” His voice breaks, making you giggle while he blushes somehow deeper.

“Mhm,” you nod, undoing the second button and pausing when you find a splash of hair across his chest, the same shiny wheat color as the hair on his head, causing a familiar knot to begin twisting itself up in your belly, “Why were you at the end of term party?”

He blinks for a second, evidently taken off guard. “I… W-Was it invite only?”

His question nearly makes you snort and you shake your head, the corners of your lips twitching as you try not to laugh. “No, sweetie,” you peer up at him through your lashes as you rest your hand against his bare chest, smirking ever so slightly when he shivers, “I just meant, I haven’t seen you at parties before… doesn’t really seem like your kind of thing.” 

“I, well,” he stammers, the bottoms of his glasses fogging up from the heat radiating off his cheeks, “I just –”

“It’s for that club, yeah?” You ask finally, giggling at the shocked expression on his face.

“How do –”

“You lot are not nearly as sneaky as you think,” you laugh cheekily, bouncing excitedly on the balls of your feet, “Plus, I heard Felix and Oliver whispering about something to do with tasks a few weeks ago… and boys are very bad at keeping secrets once you get their cocks out.” You add with a little giggle, taking Michael’s hand once more and dragging him over to your plush bed. You sit him on the edge before all but climbing in his lap, smiling cheekily as you straddle his thighs, your knees digging into your soft bedding.

“So,” you start, holding onto his shoulders to balance yourself and smiling a little when he finally touches you, lightly resting his hands on your hips, “What’s your task, hm? I heard they made them, like, particularly brutal this year.”

“I don’t think I should say,” Michael murmurs with a little shake of his head, making you pout.

“Oh, come on!” You bounce on his lap a little, not missing the way his eyes seem to be drawn to your breasts like magnets, “I want to help! Is it something at the King’s Arms?”

“N-No, I really don’t think –”

“I know they keep the important rugby trophies there,” you think aloud, still playing dumb, just wanting him to say it, “Is that it? D’you have to steal one? One of the boys that works there owes me, I could get him to let you in after hours…” You prattle on, speaking faster and faster as Michael shakes his head beneath you.

Finally, he seems to reach a breaking point and his grip on your hips tightens. “I have to fuck you!” He blurts out before sighing.

“Oh, really?”

“I… I have to fuck you –”

“Mhm?”

“And prove I did somehow.”

“How interesting!”

He narrows his eyes at that and peers up at you suspiciously, studying you carefully. You can’t help but giggle, loving the way you feel when his eyes are on you, and you smirk when he finally blinks in realization.

“You… you knew this whole time, didn’t you?”

A sly smile spreads across your lips as you nod, squirming excitedly on his lap. “Like I said,” you chuckle with a little shrug, “Not. Sneaky!” You tease, punctuating each word with a little boop to the tip of his nose, unable to resist. 

He stays silent for a moment, gazing up at you with a strange mixture of awe and unease before he finally speaks through a deep sigh. “So, I suppose this is the part where you tell me to leave?”

Well, that comment throws you off. You cock your head to the side, confused, as your eyebrows furrow together. “Why would I ask you to leave?”

He sighs again and grits his teeth, looking dejectedly at the floor. “Come on, love,” he mutters, looking anywhere but you, “I-It’s not like you’d ever want to –”

“Ever want to what?” You ask with a frown, gently grabbing at his chin and tilting his head up, forcing him to meet your gaze, “You think I don’t wanna fuck you, honey?”

“Well, I –”

“Michael,” you say pointedly, raising your brows as you smirk slightly, staring deeply into his blue eyes, “I’m the one that came onto you, yeah?”

“I… I suppose.”

“Mhm,” you hum, nodding your head as you run your fingers through his short hair, not missing the little sigh that leaves his lips when you push yourself closer to him, your chest pressing tightly against his, “And while I’m not thrilled at our first time being for some stupid little task –”

“It’s,” he cuts you off shyly, shaking his head ever so slightly, “It’s – I’ve never…” He stammers, nervously gripping at your waist once more. 

You can’t help but smile softly, so charmed by him over and over. You nod your head knowingly, raising your brows just a bit. “I know, honey,” you whisper reassuringly, “We don’t have to, I’ll let you take a pair of my panties or whatever else, but we don’t need to do anything.”

He sighs up at you again, so taken with you he feels like he could scream, and shakes his head more, grabbing at your hips tighter, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. “N-No, I… I want to,” he nods, swallowing anxiously, “I do, I just… don’t really know what I’m doing.”

You nod again, listening carefully as he speaks. “So, is it all new or…?”

He shakes his head and smiles a little, shyly, though the sight of it still makes that knot in your belly tighten further, making you blush on his lap while butterflies swirl around inside you. “I’ve kissed before,” he says lowly, chuckling awkwardly as he seems to get bolder, causing you to shudder when he lightly rubs his hands over your waist and hips, “And done… hand stuff.”

You giggle at his boyish explanation and bite your lip when you smile at him, wiggling in his lap as a heat begins to settle at the apex of your thighs. “Can I kiss you, honey?” 

His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat again, making you want so badly to press soft, glossy kisses to it, but you resist, determined to make this good for him. 

“Yeah,” he nods eagerly, blue eyes fixated on your lips.

You smile softly before leaning in and finally pressing your lips against his, both of you sighing at once. One of his hands stays at your hip while the other comes to rest in the small of your back, pressing you more tightly to him as your lips move together, his motions surprisingly fluid and practiced. 

You make a small noise in the back of your throat when you feel his tongue licking at your bottom lip, and eagerly allow him access with a little sigh. Your fingers busy themselves with unbuttoning the rest of his shirt, making him shudder beneath you when you skim your hands over his bare chest and stomach as his tongue flows with your own, the bitter, coffee-ish flavor of the pint he’d had earlier still on his tongue.

Impatient, you pull back long enough to look at him for reassurance, smiling when you earn a little nod. You kiss him once more before tugging his shirt off, flushing when he groans lowly as you trail kisses down over his jaw and neck before swiping your tongue greedily over his Adam’s apple, making his breath hitch. 

“F-Fuck,” he sighs brokenly, bolding tracing over your thigh until his fingers are tucked up under the silky, baby pink material of your dress. His touches make you shiver as goosebumps bloom over your skin, making you whine against the pale column of his throat, “Can I?” He breathes, fingers toying with a strap of your dress while the others slowly inched the bottom of it up higher and higher. 

“God, please,” you mewl, nodding against his throat, your head on his shoulder. He shudders at the feel of your breath on his neck and nods once before tugging at the bottom of your dress. You sit up to help him, whining when you feel his hard length pressing against your thin, lacy underwear, “You don’t need to ask, Michael. Want you to take me however you want.” You whisper as he tugs your dress over your head, blue eyes meeting yours for a second as he nods before they skim lower, widening as he takes you in on his lap wearing only a bra and panties. 

“Holy shit,” he breathes, making you giggle shyly as you lean in and softly kiss over his cheeks, “You have…you’re – you’re perfect,” he sighs, brazenly cupping your breasts, skimming his thumbs over your nipples through the thin pink fabric of your bra and smiling proudly when he feels them harden at his touch, “You’re perfect, but these are… holy shit.” He repeats, his voice breathy and mesmerized as he takes in your chest for another moment while you softly card your fingers through his golden hair. 

You gasp through a little giggle when you feel his length twitch, even through his trousers, and wiggle on his lap, blushing when the movement earns you a broken groan. “Yeah?” You whisper cheekily, watching as he marvels at your chest for a second longer before quickly unclasping your bra and shrugging out of it, tossing it down onto the floor with his shirt and your dress, “What about now?” You tease, proudly arching your back as you bite your lip.

He groans again, louder than he has all evening, and instantly ducks his head down. The feel of his soft lips wrapping eagerly around one of your nipples makes you cry out, gasping sharply as he sucks at the sensitive bud before he runs his tongue over it. You cradle the back of his head in your hands, fingers lightly pulling at the short strands of hair, as he switches from one breast to the other, kneading whichever one is free with his hand. 

Needing something, anything, you finally pull him off of your chest after a few moments, laughing when he all but whines, and smiling even more when you take in his disheveled appearance – blond hair sticking up at odd angles from where you’d run your fingers through it, cheeks flushed as his glasses sit crooked on his nose, and his blue eyes staring up at you hungrily. 

You shift back on his thighs just enough to snake a hand between the two of you and he gasps when you cup the bulge pressing against the zipper of his khakis. “You want me to suck your cock?” You ask cheekily, lightly squeezing at his length. 

He surprises you by shaking his head no,gulping slightly with an awkward laugh before answering. “I do, I really fucking do, love,” he breathes, kneading at your breasts as he stares up at you sheepishly, “B-But I really want to last and if you… if you suck it, I –”

“Okay, okay,” you stop him with a kiss, “We’ll table it for next time.” 

“N-Next time?” He questions, fighting to keep his eyes open as you press kisses against his neck once more. You nod against his shoulder and press kisses up to just beneath his ear. 

“I’m not letting you go that easy, honey,” you whisper, chuckling when he shivers. You spend another moment softly kissing and biting at his neck before speaking again, “Have you ever eaten anyone out?” You question, pulling back to look at him.

He shakes his head, his eyes flicking between both of yours as he looks up at you. “No.” He answers simply, his voice hardly a whisper. 

You can’t help but smirk coyly and cock your head to the side, running a finger through the little patch of hair on his chest just to see him shudder. “You wanna try it?”

He nods eagerly and surprises you once again by quickly swinging you around, maneuvering you until your head rests on the pillows of your bed. You squeal at the movement, laughing with him as he settles over you, his narrow hips slotting easily between your thighs as you silently marvel at his unexpected strength, the shock of it going right between your legs. 

“You want me to lick your pussy?” He asks lowly, grinning when he sees your eyes widen ever so slightly. 

“You’re quite something, huh?” You breathe, still gazing up at him in surprise. 

“Observant,” he shrugs, smirking as he sits up, kneeling between your legs, “You aren’t the only one who is, love.” He teases, quickly undoing his belt and trousers and groaning as he pushes them down his thighs, stopping at his knees. 

Your eyes go wide at the size of his length, it’s clearly very impressive and it’s not even out of his plaid boxers yet. That smirk stays plastered on his face as he leans back down to hover over you, hastily removing his glasses and sitting them on your desk before sloppily kissing you for a moment, surprising you yet again by trailing wet kisses down your neck. 

“Michael…” You sigh dreamily, arching your back toward him when he starts kissing over your chest. He groans from deep in his chest, mouth pressed against the fat of your breast. 

“Fucking hell,” he curses, teasing your nipple again with the tip of his tongue, “Say it again, love.” 

His simple command sends shivers down your spine and you mewl, squirming underneath him, “M-Michael!” You moan again, fumbling over your words as he sucks at your breast again before he lifts his head. 

“Good girl,” he purrs with a sly, easy smirk that makes your heart jump, a soft sigh tumbling past your lips. He shifts further down the bed, kissing down over your ribs and stomach, his confidence seemingly growing every time he presses his lips against your skin; the thought makes your head spin.

Finally, he hooks his fingers into the lacy sides of your panties, and his eyes peer up at you as he tugs them down over your hips before flinging them onto the floor. “Oh, my God…,” he sighs, staring greedily at your pussy, a broken groan sounds from his throat when you spread your legs more. 

You bite your lip and giggle, smiling shyly as you tangle your fingers in his hair once more. “Like what you see?” 

He nods his head rapidly, making you chuckle again as he stares up at you, an almost pained expression on his face. “I… uh, w-what now?” 

He’s so endearing, you can’t help the little sigh that leaves you and you sit up a little, leaning back on an elbow as you use your other hand to spread your center open. You bite your bottom lip once more when he whines a little, seeing you all spread out before him, flushed folds already slick and shiny. 

“Lick here, honey,” you whimper as you skim your fingers over your clit, so keyed up from only a few kisses that you gasp a little when you feel yourself clench; Michael looks like he may pass out. 

Ever the dutiful student, he gives you one last look before diving in. Your head falls back with a whiny gasp as his tongue snakes over your clit, just as you’d instructed. A long, shuddery moan leaves him, vibrating against your cunt and you watch as his blue eyes all but roll back in his head. 

“Just like that, Michael,” you praise, tugging at his hair ever so slightly, which only serves to make him moan more. Your chest heaves as you watch him, determined not to let your eyes squeeze shut while he licks and kisses and sucks at your pussy like a man possessed, “Holy shit!” You whimper loudly when he pushes his tongue into you, groaning lowly when he feels your walls clench around it as he presses his nose perfectly against your clit. 

“You taste so good,” he gasps, wrapping his hands around your thighs to keep you exactly where he wants. He peers up at you through blond lashes as he feasts on you, sucking eagerly at your clit and savoring the way you shiver and squirm from his motions. 

Unbelievably, you already feel that warm, familiar tug in your belly beginning to grow, making your whole body feel flush and taut. “Just like that, just like that,” you whine urgently, grabbing onto his hair tighter and guiding his mouth exactly where you need it, your eyes finally rolling back and fluttering shut, “Holy fuck, don’t stop!” 

Michael grunts as you tug at his hair, his own hips rutting greedily against your pretty bedding — cock throbbing so hard there’s no doubt he’s leaked through his boxers. He watches you carefully, studying your movements and reactions as best he can while he rhythmically licks at your clit. 

“Oh, shit!” You cry not even a moment later, your whole body seeming to stutter as your muscles finally relax. You mewl as your high finally washes over you, savoring the way Michael groans into your cunt as he feels it contracting on his tongue. Your eyes stay squeezed shut as shivers roll up and down your spine, shuddered cries leaving your lips. 

Just as his touches begin to border on overstimulation, you have enough wherewithal to push him away, and he releases your center with a lewd little pop. 

“Was that good?” He asks through a breathless laugh, swallowing as he looks up at you, evidence of your arousal still shining on his lips and chin. 

“Good?” You huff, eyebrows raised as you gaze down at him, “You’re sure you’ve never done that before?” You question in disbelief, chest still heaving. 

He smiles shyly, already pink cheeks seeming to flush deeper from your praise as he chuckles. You cup his cheeks when he leans over you again, whimpering as you taste yourself on his tongue. 

“You’re unbelievable.” You sign as he kisses down your neck again, making him chuckle against your skin. 

“Just observant,” he grunts, shuddering when you wrap your legs around his trim waist. You gasp as his length brushes over your still sensitive pussy, impossibly hot and hard even through the thin fabric of his boxers. His fragmented sigh makes you smile and you tug his head up, blushing as you look up at him. 

“You ready, honey?” You breathe, giggling when he nods his head again eagerly, his hips stuttering instinctually against your center. “Here, let me…” You trail off, the two of you separating for a moment as you lean over and pull open the top drawer of your desk, pulling out a pack of condoms and tearing one off before laying back down. 

You watch enraptured as he kneels between your legs again, pulling down his boxers finally. “Holy…” you gasp when his cock finally bobs free, twitching up to rut against his lower stomach; he’s long and thick, curving a little as veins run up the underside, leading to a flushed, leaking head. He smiles shyly again at your attention as he shuffles awkwardly out of his trousers and underwear, kicking them off and onto the floor.

You hand him the condom and watch as he rolls it on, giving him a little reassuring smile as he does. Once it’s securely in place, you pull him back to you, eagerly kissing him once more and wrapping your legs securely around his waist. Both of you moan in unison when his length glides through your folds, the head catching perfectly on your clit. 

He pulls away with a little gasp, hovering over you as he glances down at your hips. “S-So, I just…” He trails off, watching as you reach down with one hand, grunting softly when you wrap your hand around his cock. 

Carefully, you position him at your entrance and angle your hips a little. “Go on, honey,” you encourage with a soft smile, running your other hand over his chest. 

Nodding once, he presses forward and swears he sees God. “F-Fucking hell,” he groans, loudly sighing your name as he carefully guides himself into you, absolutely in awe at the way your hot cunt grips him. His eyes squeeze shut, his hips resting firmly against yours as his chest heaves, breaths coming in short, sharp pants. 

You aren’t fairing much better, head spinning at the way he splits you open, pressing incessantly at each and every sensitive spot within you. You pant against his neck as he stills, pressed deeply within you. 

“D-Do… fuck, do I just…?” Michael stutters, giving half-hearted little thrusts to test the waters. 

“Yes!” You answer instantly, anxiously nodding up at him as your hips wiggle against the bedsheets, making him swear and shudder above you, “Just move, honey, do what feels good.” 

He groans again and gives a little nod before experimentally moving his hips again, pulling out more this time before pushing back in. “Shit,” he breathes above you, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he grunts with each roll of his hips. 

You pant underneath him, spurring him on by pressing your feet against his backside, urging him to move faster and faster as the frilly lace from your socks tickles his pale skin. “You’re doing so, so good, oh, my God,” you breathe, your voice high-pitched and whimpery as you tangle your fingers in his hair again, knowing by now that it drives him crazy. 

Above you, Michael’s hips slowly but surely begin to stutter, his thrusts starting to peter out as his breathing picks up. “I’m —!”

“Wait!” You blurt suddenly, smiling wickedly as he comes to a screeching halt, pushing himself up enough to stare down at you with wild eyes, “I have an idea…” You tease with a little giggle. 

“W-What?” 

“You have a phone, yeah?” 

“…Yeah?”

“One that can, like, take video?” 

“Yes?” 

“Grab it,” you laugh, pushing him off of you with a laugh. He rolls his eyes with a smirk but does as you ask, clumsily pulling himself from your heat before stumbling over to where his khakis had landed. He shuffles about for a second before pulling a silver phone from the pocket of his trousers. 

“Now what?” He asks curiously, positioning himself back between your thighs, cock twitching meanly. 

“Film me.” 

“What?!” He gapes at you, brows creased. 

“Film me, honey,” you giggle, biting your lip conspiratorially, “For your little task, you need proof, yeah?” 

“Well, yeah, b-but I can just take your panties or something, I don’t —“

“Or you could bring back something better…” You smirk, shrugging your shoulders playfully, “We don’t have to but… it could be kinda hot?” 

He pauses for a moment, eyes flicking between you, your pussy, and the phone in his hand before he nods once, curtly. “We… we can try it.” 

“Yeah? You wanna?” 

“Yeah,” he quips, catching you by surprise as a mean little smirk spreads over his lips, “Wanna see the look on Catton’s face when he sees you creaming on my cock.” 

Your eyes widen and you huff out a shocked laugh, a zing of electricity lighting behind your eyes. “You’re insane,” you say softly, an endeared smile on your lips. 

He snickers, his whole demeanor seeming to change before your eyes as he transforms from this shy, stuttering boy into an astonishingly cocky man. “You like it, love,” he teases, grabbing his dick and positioning himself at your entrance yet again. 

“Wait!” You giggle again, blushing as he groans. 

“You don’t want to anymore?” 

“No, no, not that,” you assure him, affectionately running your hand down one of his shockingly muscular arms, “You can film me… on one condition.” 

“‘N what would that be?” 

“Take me on a date.” You breathe, suddenly shy. You know he’ll agree to it, but even still, your heart pumps wildly in your chest. 

He stares at you for a second, blinking dumbly as he processes your request. “You want me to take you on a date?” He asks, flushing so deeply that the soft pink hue cascades all the way down to his chest. 

Giggling, you nod your head, giving his forearm a reassuring squeeze. “You need to start giving yourself more credit, honey.” 

He sighs at that, a little astounded huff, before he’s suddenly grabbing at your calves and pushing your legs up toward your shoulders, all but bending you in half, anxious to get his cock back into you. You gasp at the movement, and chuckle at his eagerness, a sound that morphs into a whiny moan when he slides back home. 

“Christ,” he grunts, shoulders heaving as he gets used to the way you feel around him once more, “Y-You feel so good, love, fucking perfect.” 

“You’re so big,” you whine, nodding as you look at him like he hung the stars in the sky, “You’re so good, Michael, you have no idea.” 

He groans above you, hands shaking as he grabs for his phone, flipping it open and quickly opening the camera as his hips rut into you, making the springs of your bed creak softly. 

As soon as Michael gives you a little nod to let you know he’s filming, you truly put on a show — or well, you at least stop trying to quiet yourself down and be conscientious of the people in the rooms next to you. The way he has your legs bent back makes him feel somehow bigger and causes his cock to hit that sensitive spot within you with pinpoint accuracy every time he thrusts in, making you clench around him and moan loudly each time he moves his hips against you. 

You watch as he angles the camera down a bit, no doubt pointing it at the spot the two of you are joined together, letting the camera record his cock sliding in and out of you. When he moves it back up, however, to get your face as evidence, you plaster on the cheekiest grin you can muster. 

“H-Hi boys,” you tease breathlessly, smirking as you lean up on one elbow. You wave with your other hand before blowing a kiss to the camera, which makes Michael cockily laugh.

“Fuck, I gotta…” he mutters after a few more seconds, carelessly dropping his phone down on the bed before roughly grabbing at your thighs with a bruising grip, one that makes you mewl and arch your back toward him. The two of you moan and whimper in unison as he begins thrusting wildly, seemingly too worked up to care about anything but cumming. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You chant over and over, head spinning as he bullies your sweet spot. 

“That’s it, love,” Michael murmurs, his voice gruff and low as he stares down at you, strands of his hair sticking to his forehead; he looks wilder than you’ve ever seen him, the thought only serving to push you closer and closer to the edge. “S-Shit, that’s it. Fucking come for me, cream on my cock; please, please, please,” he murmurs, leaning down to press desperate kisses against your neck and collarbones. 

The new position causes his pubic bone to rub deliciously over your clit, making you seize beneath him with a loud whine. Your toes curl, heels still pressing into the small of his back. “M-Michael, holy fuck!” You practically squeal as your high finally washes over you once more, stars dancing behind your eyelids as you go lax and pliant underneath him. 

The feel of your walls pulsing around his cock has Michael reeling, his hips somehow thrusting even faster as he both desperately wants to cum while also never wanting this feeling to end. “C-Cum, honey, cum,” you pant softly, cupping his cheek with one hand and turning his face toward yours. 

That does him in and the rubber band in his belly viciously snaps, making him shudder above you as his thrusts come to a halt, cock twitching wildly inside you as he empties himself into the condom. You watch him in awe, taking in every detail from the way his nose scrunches up as his eyes squeeze close to the way he whispers your name over and over like a prayer. 

The two of you lay in silence for a moment, his breath warm against your neck as he slumps against you trying to catch his breath. 

Eventually, you can’t help it anymore and let out a breathless giggle, which only intensifies when he props himself up on an elbow to peer down at you with a smirk. 

“Something funny?” 

“Just,” you breathe, trying to calm yourself enough to get words out, “Just… wow,” you finally say, giggles petering out as you look up at him, the soft gleam in his eyes makes your heart clench in your chest. 

“Good wow?” He blushes, looking down between the two of you as he pulls himself from your walls with a little hiss. 

“Very, very good wow,” you confirm, grinning as you watch him pull off the condom before he peers up at you with a sheepish grin. “Tie it off, honey,” you instruct, smirking as he does just that, before nodding to the little wastebasket by your desk. 

He gets up with a groan and quickly tosses the condom in the trash before turning back to you, the bashful look on his face making you blush. 

Unable to resist, you grin at him and spread your arms with a giggle, wordlessly inviting him for a cuddle, which he gladly accepts. The bed creaks slightly as he lays back down, relaxing his head on the pillow just beside yours. Again, the two of you stay silent for a moment, content to merely gaze at one another, before he shyly looks away and sighs. 

“I…,” he starts, blue eyes blinking and flitting around your room as he gathers his thoughts, “Thank you,” he finally says, looking back at you with a little half smile. 

Your brows furrow at this as you grin at him. “What’re you thanking me for?” 

“Well, f-for… this,” he says, gesturing vaguely at the two of you before sitting up just slightly and fishing around in the blankets for a second. “And this,” he sighs, holding his phone up before twisting around to set it on the corner of your desk, turning back to you. “I just… I know you didn’t have to, is all, so…” 

You cock your head to the side as you prop yourself up on an elbow, eyes narrowing as you study him closely. “And people have the nerve to say I’m thick,” you joke, lips spreading into a wide grin as you gaze down at him, “I wanted to do all this, Michael. I’m the one that came onto you, remember?” 

“W-Well, yeah, but —“

“No buts!” You laugh, pressing a finger against his lips as you shake your head, “I have eyes too, you know.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“You haven’t been the only one watching someone for months,” you giggle shyly, pressing your forehead against his, “I meant what I said about that date, too.” 

His arms wind around your waist, holding you tight as he processes your words with a dumbstruck smile, blushing under your gaze. “Whatever you say, love,” he concedes finally, pressing his lips against yours sweetly. 

He yawns tiredly when he pulls away from you after a moment, which only makes you yawn as well, and you glance over at the little clock on your dresser. “Christ,” you gasp, turning back to him, “I didn’t realize it’s already almost four… you can crash here, if you want?” 

He considers it for a moment, knowing he has to be back in that stupid little basement by noon and making a mental map of where exactly your dormitory is in relation to the Merton College Chapel. “I… I can stay, yeah,” he finally nods after a moment. 

“You’re sure?” 

“Love, I’m not sure my legs work well enough yet to walk out of here anyway.” 

Michael

Groaning, Michael slowly blinks his eyes open, rubbing them softly as he sits up in bed with a yawn. Blindly reaching over for his glasses, he’s confused when he doesn’t feel them in their usual spot and finally opens his eyes properly. 

He stares, confused for a moment as to how exactly he somehow got transported into what appears to be Barbie’s damn dream house, before the events of last night come flooding back to him. 

“Holy shit,” he breathes when he turns his head and sees your still-sleeping form beneath your flowery sheets, your hair tousled wildly on the pillow as your shoulders rise and fall evenly still with each breath. Looking around, he finally spots his glasses and puts them on before reaching for his phone, and cursing again when he sees the time. 

11:47 AM. 

He practically falls out of your bed as he tries to extricate himself from the sheets, and he hears you wake with a start behind him as he grabs wildly at his clothes on the floor. 

“Michael?” You ask questioningly, your voice still hoarse from sleep as you, frankly fucking adorably, rub at your eyes before fixing him with a curious look. 

“Gotta, shit, gotta run,” he explains quickly, cursing as he nearly loses his balance trying to tug his trousers on, “Need to be at Merton Chapel in, like, Christ, ten minutes!” 

“Ohh,” you giggle softly, watching with amusement as he finishes getting dressed, hair and clothes so disheveled that he’s sure he looks like the very definition of the walk of shame. 

Just as he’s tugging his shoes on and making a mad dash for the door, you stop him. “Here,” you smirk, holding out the same lacy pair of pink panties you wore last night, “For proof,” you explain, nodding to the phone in his hand, “Along with that. Should be more than enough,” you giggle proudly. 

He smiled sheepishly as he pockets your underwear. “T-Thanks,” he nods, turning to leave before you stop him once more. 

He can’t help but blush when you lean in and press and quick kiss to his lips, your cherry chapstick rubbing off on him some. Pulling away, you playfully smack his chest with a little grin. “Go get ‘em, honey.” 

Nodding, he smiles again before finally pulling your door open and bounding down the hallway. “I’ll text you, love!” He calls, peering back just before he rounds a corner, “About that date!” 

It’s 11:58 on the dot when he flings the basement door open, only to be pulled over to the same stupid dank basement wall, his back hitting it once more with a dull thud. 

Glancing around, he sees the ski-masked boys again, all fifteen of them, standing in a row with the head boy slightly out of line. To his left stands one of the other initiates, clutching a black tube of some sort. 

The basement stays silent for a moment before one of the masked boy’s watch alarms goes off just as the bells in the tower begin to chime. 

Once, twice, all the way up to twelve. Noon.

Right on cue, the head boy steps forward even more and looks between Michael and the other initiate. “Your friend couldn’t be bothered to show his face, then?” He asks, dark eyes peering at the boy next to Michael. 

He scoffs and shakes his head, glaring at the head boy. “He’s still at the bank!” He snaps, “All the way in bloody Switzerland,” he kicks at the dirty stone floor as he explains, “Dickhead,” he finally mutters lowly under his breath. 

“Shame,” the head boy quips, clasping his hands in front of his waist, “Some men are simply not cut out for Bullingdon.” 

The boys in the row behind him nod knowingly, each making some little noise of affirmation until the head boy quickly stops them, holding a fist up by his head, bringing it back down to his side when they shut up. 

“So, initiates, what’ve you got?” 

The boy next to Michael steps forward first and hands the black tube to the head boy with a sigh. “There,” he says, gesturing to it, “There’s your bloody map. My mum could get sacked for that.” 

The head boy pops open one end of the tube, a document sleeve Michael now realizes, and gingerly extracts a rolled up piece of parchment from it, unrolling it just enough to confirm it's what they asked for. 

“Well done, initiate,” he nods, seemingly impressed as he flashes a smile at the boy, white teeth gleaming creepily through the slit in his ski mask. Carefully, he rolls the document up again before sliding it back in the tube, “Your commitment to Bullingdon will take you far. Welcome to the fray.” 

The boy stands still for a moment, eyeing the document tube with an almost regretful expression before curtly nodding and taking his place back against the wall. 

“And then there was one,” the head boy murmurs, dark faze fixed on Michael, “I seem to remember we gave you quite the… interesting task indeed, initiate. How did you manage?” 

Smiling damn near arrogantly, Michael all but skips up the head boy and proudly pulls your panties from his back pocket, letting them dangle from his index finger. “See for yourself.” 

The head boy grabs them by the edge and studies them for a moment, turning back to the row of boys behind him with a questioning glance. The boy Michael knows already to be that cunt, Oliver Quick, glances between him, the panties, and Michael, before cutting a sideways glance to a tall boy standing next to him. 

“These could be anyone’s,” the head boy says, turning back to Michael as he shakes his head, “You could’ve nicked them from your sister or something, we’ll need more than this, initiate.”

“Don’t even have a sister,” Michael quips, shrugging his shoulders with a little frown. 

“Okay, like, your cousin or something then –”

“Don’t have a female cousin,” he says with a shake of his head, “All boys.”

“The point still stands!” The head boy finally snaps, making Michael bite the inside of his cheek to hide a little laugh, though the corner of his lips still quirks up in a smirk, “You haven’t got any proof, do you? Is that why you’re stalling?”

Huffing a little laugh, Michael finally lets himself smirk meanly and steps closer to the head boy as he pulls his phone from his pocket, flips it open, and navigates to his video gallery. “Is this enough proof?” He teases, pressing play on the most recent video. 

The picture is small and grainy but there’s no doubt as to what’s happening as the sound of your pretty whimpers and moans echoes around the brick basement, along with the wet smack of Michael’s cock driving into you again and again. 

The head boy stares at the screen still as curiosity gets to a few of the boys in the row behind him and they all come crowd around Michael’s phone, eyes widening behind their ski masks and mouths falling open. 

The tallest one, the one Oliver keeps glancing at, lets out a long sigh as he peers down at the small screen and brings a hand up to his head as if he were going to run it through his hair before remembering the mask he has on. With him this close, Michael finally notices the little silver barbell stuck through his eyebrow and shivers as his lips curl up into a sadistic Cheshire cat smile, a tidal wave of savage pride crashing through his system. 

Finally, fucking finally, I get something he wants, he thinks as your breathy moans continue to pour from the speaker of his phone, tinny and muffled in some spots where he’d accidentally covered the microphone, but beautiful, beautiful and because of him.

After a moment, the video ends, the tiny phone screen reverting back to it’s little thumbnail as the head boy peers up at Michael, the rest of the club members taking their places back in line, though he can’t help but notice that Felix’s broad shoulders are slumped now and Oliver stands ever closer to him, like some kind of fucked up bodyguard. 

“I’ll be damned, initiate,” the head boy sighs with a shake of his head, “I really didn’t think you had it in you.”

He watches as Michael merely nods and pockets his phone again, holding it tightly in his fist even still. After a second, he smiles widely and claps a hand on his shoulder, shaking him slightly.

“Welcome to Bullingdon.”

Some time later, Michael finally exits the basement, a few of the club members, sans ski masks now, nodding goodbye to him as they disperse across campus, meeting adjourned. 

He wasn’t really sure what he’d been expecting from the initial meeting but it was mostly them prattling on about where exactly they had all their grubby little fingers, poked in seemingly every facet of society from Parliament to local newspapers. 

Braggy cunts, Michael thinks as he ambles outside, glancing up at the sky as he steps into the Mob Quad, surrounded by stony old buildings. 

Smiling to himself, he pulls out his phone and quickly finds your number in his contacts list, blushing when he sees you’ve taken the liberty of adding some girly heart emoticon next to it. He hardly has time to press it against his ear before you answer.

“Well?” You demand with that now familiar giggle, some unfamiliar pop song playing in the background.

“I’m in,” he confirms, nodding to himself as he slowly walks in the direction of his dormitory, “Thanks to you.” He smiles like an idiot when you laugh.

“Don’t sell yourself short, honey,” you tease, he can picture your bright, glossy smile in his head, “You earned that spot.”

Michael merely shakes his head with a happy little sigh. “So,” he starts, clearing his throat and pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “About that date… I was thinking the King’s Arms? Tonight at six, if that works?”

“Oooh, tonight at six,” you repeat teasingly, an image flashing in his mind of you twirling your hair around a perfectly manicured finger, “Someone’s quite eager, hm?”

“Can you blame me?”

“Hmm, I suppose not,” you giggle, pausing for a second, “It’s a date then.”

“Fantastic,” Michael sighs, trying with every fiber of his being to sound casual and cool about the whole thing, even as his heart threatens to beat out of his chest. 

“See you tonight, Mr. Bullingdon,” you tease, making a little kissy sound into the phone before hanging up. 

Michael pauses for a moment, standing to the side on the pavement as he nods to himself. If it weren’t so fucking cheesy, he’d raise his fist in the air, victorious, à la Judd Nelson at the end of The Breakfast Club. 

Instead, he flips his phone back open and navigates back to your video. Sighing, he stares at the little thumbnail for a second before deleting it, pocketing his phone once more, and continuing back to his dormitory. 

He has the real thing now.

taggled lovelies: @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @marysucks-blog @watercolorskyy @valeskafics @iamaegontargaryenwife0 @aemshaircare @1997babyyyy @lovellies @little-moonbeam-666 @blackswxnn @wickedfrsgrl @echos-muses @imawhorecrux @avidreader73 @marvelescape @rae-11 @ms-morningstarr @chaotic-fangirl-blog @grsveeth0m @twglitching @hb8301 @delulumhaggy @burntliquorlips @fan-goddess @cl-0-vr @kittendoll05 @beautbuck @eponaartemisa @trshngyn @brettlovessuckingcocks @alerisc @moonriseoverkyoto @wolfdressedinlace @do-double-g @kennafild

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[wcnderlnds]

like different stars | choi su-bong (thanos)

・❥・ summary: you're a pink guard and find your annoying best friend in the games. ・❥・word count: 1.8k ・❥・warnings: drug mentions, death mentions, lots of swearing because its thanos. ・❥・ authors note: okay, this is a whole series i've been working on for a few days now and i'm hype for it so hopefully everyone enjoys it as much as me!! we in for an idiot best friends to lovers slowburn.

‘The number you have called is currently unavailable. Please try again later.’

With a heavy sigh, you handed your phone over to the guard standing before you for safekeeping. It was pointless anyway. Su-bong wasn’t going to answer but you wished with your whole heart that he would. The last conversation you’d had with him worried you. Things hadn’t been going great for him lately but the way he’d been talking had really concerned you to the point you’d almost considered ditching your duties and sticking with him but you couldn’t. You’d made a promise many years ago and if you didn’t keep it, things wouldn’t end well for you. There was nothing you could do but hope and pray that your best friend was okay. It would only be a week until you could see him again at least.

Security checks to get into the games always took forever but finally you’d made it through, passing them with flying colours. They were very strict about, well, everything. They took your devices, patted you down just in case you were wearing a wire and questioned you for the passcode. Everyone who had taken the job to be a guard was told the code, never to share it with anyone else. It was so they could sniff out anyone who was trying to sneak in. There had been an incident three years ago where someone had disguised themselves as a guard, infiltrating the games. Since then security had been taken up a notch. 

Making your way to your small room, your thoughts couldn’t help but drift back to Su-bong. Hopefully he wasn’t doing anything stupid but knowing him, he probably was. Stupid was his middle name at this point. With a sigh, you pulled on your pink jumpsuit, the mask with the infamous square on it donning your face and you were ready for the games to begin. 

Crowds upon crowds of people filed through the stairs to where all the photo booths stood. This was the calm before the storm. These poor people had no idea what was coming. There was a part of you that felt sorry for them, the urge to almost tell them what was about to happen forefront in your mind. You couldn’t, though. In this place, doing the job you were doing, you had to be strong. Feelings in this place didn’t end well. That’s why whenever you were here you shut down. You became the person that was cold, calculated. Someone that abided by the rules and didn’t feel any remorse. It was the only way to get through. The only way to make this easier on yourself.

A commotion caught your attention, pulling you out of your thoughts. Your eyes glanced over to where it was coming from and instantly your heart plummeted into the pit of your stomach. The room suddenly started spinning, your hand reaching out to the wall to steady yourself. This could not be real. A wave of nausea hit you, the contents of your stomach threatening to resurface as you watched your purple haired best friend surrounded by a group of his fans.

It was no secret that Thanos needed money but how had he ended up in here? When you last spoke to him yesterday, he said he was probably going to try and find a few gigs to earn a bit of cash. His rap career had taken a bit of a downfall when he lost all his money thanks to MG Coin. It had all gone downhill from there. He started taking drugs, acting erratic like he wasn’t even on this planet. It broke your heart to see him so broken but no matter how many times you had tried to help him, he’d always denied it. That was the thing about Thanos; he was stubborn to a fault.

You had to get it together. As a guard, you couldn’t show weakness. Being weak was what got you killed and that was something you refused to let happen. Nobody would catch you slipping. You stood up straight, your heart still feeling like it was at the bottom of your stomach as you watched the scene unfold. You could handle anyone in here but him. If anything ever happened to him….

His voice echoed through your ears asking you if you wanted to be in the picture. Behind your mask, you rolled your eyes before explaining that it was only one person at a time. Making a cross with your arms, he waved everyone else away. He really didn’t give a damn. His face was etched with frown lines, his lips were constantly turned downward. It took all of your strength not to reach out to him and hug him. At that moment, he looked like he needed one. Or maybe you just did. Watching him walk away only made the beating of your heart increase tenfold knowing what he was walking into.

—————

Was he serious?

Your fists clenched at your sides as you watched Thanos pop one of his pills in his mouth from the control room. Eyes fixated on the screen as the dumbass chased his high rather than dealing with what he’d just witnessed. Understandably, watching someone die right in front of you for the first time was traumatic but what was he thinking taking one of those pills in a game like this?

Maybe you were also a little mad at him for flirting with the girl the second he’d laid eyes on her. It wasn’t surprising — he was a flirt, a player but you thought he’d have enough sense to realise nothing about this place was normal. The feeling of jealousy that had bubbled up inside you when you saw it wasn’t new. It happened all the time whenever he spoke of the girls he’d hooked up with. Your blood would boil while your brain would come up with ideas on how to get rid of said girl. It was solely because he was your best friend and you were scared of losing him. That’s all. Besides, he was the same way whenever you flirted with anyone. The amount of fights you’d had to talk him out of due to him being jealous of the guys you’d hooked up with were insane.

You were transfixed as you watched him dancing and jumping around the field. Oh, you were going to kill him. Never mind this place doing it, you’d take it into your own hands. He was really testing your patience. His reckless behaviour was something you’d found amusing in the past but now when his life hung in the balance, you hated it. The exhale you released when he finally jumped over the finish line was loud enough for a couple of other guards to hear. Nobody questioned you, though. The perks of being higher in the ranks. 

During the dinner hour, you made sure you were on duty in the main dormitory. Even if it was against the rules — something you always tried to stick to in here — you needed to talk to Thanos. So, when you caught him heading to the bathroom, you followed. Once you were close enough, you grabbed his collar and pulled him to a secluded corner.

“What the fuck?” He groaned as you pushed him against the wall, his head hitting it. Not hard, he was just dramatic. “What’s your fuckin’ problem, huh?”

“Shut up,” you hissed, pulling your mask off. Thanos’ eyes widened in an almost comical manner. Was he high and imagining you?

“Obviously, I’m dreaming right now. Bet in two seconds you’ll be on your knees su-“ You glared at him almost daring him to finish that sentence. “I’m joking. I’m joking, damn. What the fuck are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here is the better question! Are you out of your mind?” You released your grip on his collar, taking a step back.

“Relax, I’m good. Ain’t nothing I can’t handle, baby. Now, answer my question. Why are you here and wearing that fuckin’ outfit?” His eyes scanned the pink jumpsuit, his fingers pointing at you. He couldnt wrap his mind around the fact you were here let alone as one of the guards. His sweet, caring best friend being one of the people who shot anyone who lost was something he was going to have a hard time accepting.

“…I work here every year. Have been for about five years now. It’s good money and helps keep me afloat. I’m not proud of it, okay? I hate it here, I hate this whole thing but… when an opportunity shows up, you don’t ignore it.” Your mask was held in your hand by your side, eyes glancing down towards it. 

Thanos held his hands up, shrugging his shoulders. “Ain’t judging you. I just pushed three people so if you’re making money by killing people then whatever.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Ah, but it is. Are you or are you not killing people here?”

Your head hung low in shame. It’s true, you were. The money you were earning came at the cost of people’s lives. Thanos reached out, his finger on your chin tilting your head up so your eyes could meet his. The concern in his matched your own. He could be high as a kite but he would always make sure you were okay. In his shitty life, you were the only thing that mattered. The thing that got him through the days.

“I know you know what you’re doing but be careful, you hear me?” His tone was stern, his deep voice causing little flutters in your stomach.

“I should be saying that to you. Don’t go getting yourself killed, Su-bong. I’ll try and help you as much as I can but there’s only so much I can do,” your voice was barely above a whisper as his thumb brushed against your cheek. He’d taken a step closer, his breath fanning across your face. He was a touchy-feely person, he always had been but never before had his touch made you feel like this. You put it down to the situation you were in. The pounding of your heart and the butterflies fluttering in your stomach were nothing more than nerves, obviously.

“Don’t get yourself in trouble for little old me, Senorita. I’ll be fine,” he winked, his signature smirk on his face. “I really need to piss, by the way. You gonna let me go, guard?”

You rolled your eyes, stepping aside. However, before you could pull your mask back on, Thanos pulled you into his chest, one of his hands resting on the back of your head and the other around your body as he hugged you close to him. You could hear his heart pounding against his chest, your own matching his rhythm. As your arms wrapped around him, you couldn’t help but wonder if you both really would make it out of here alive.

taglist (ask to be added!): @ldydeath @justsisse @djarindroid @angelofbooksworld @taivantaylor @sherlocke3d @sassyyoyo @mysatnin @basquiat-top @urmomsg1rlfreind @belladonna-303 @seunghyunwifey

[fairestwriting]

hihi! i love ur writing soso much!! could i request jamil, idia and jade with an s/o who has a flashy fashion sense? specifically alternative, if thats alright :3

IT’S MORE THAN ALRIGHT this was fun to do… maybe just a tiny bit self indulgent . i miss my emo phase dearly

𐙚 Jade Leech

Jade likes interesting people in general, having an unusual fashion style is just one out of many possible ways to catch his attention. NRC does have a lot of students with some pretty out there looks, but… if you stare for long enough, it’s too easy to recognize all the patterns.

One of his favorite things is seeing the different ways to incorporate whatever your style of choice is into your school uniform. The dress code isn’t *that* strict, sure, but it still doesn’t enable any particularly flashy looks all that easily— He does genuinely admire the creativity and effort you put into details like accessories, or how you do your hair and makeup. He’ll want to hear about the work that goes into it, even though it’s not anything he plans on personally getting into.

Likes how funny you two look like next to each other, especially when you’re off campus and you get to really dress up the way you like. He’ll happily stand next to you in whatever obscure shop or thrift store you like to shop at, in his crisp dress shirt and classy loafers. He’ll carry all your bags and just absolutely bask in the amusement from the weird looks others throw your way.

If you’re not really into DIY yet, Jade might be the reason you end up getting into it. Sooner or later, he’ll come across it online when researching the things you like — Which of course he’s going to do, he needs ideas for the gifts he wants to buy you — and his mind immediately starts to wander to what sorts of things you could do with it. He’s your number one business casual supporter.

𐙚 Jamil Viper

Honestly a little on the fence about it at first — Not because he’s judging you for how you look or anything! — but just on an instinctual response level. You’re so clearly going against Jamil’s own personal rules of blending into the crowd. It just kind of makes him feel a little uneasy, even though he does feel it’s sort of stupid to feel like that. He’s just imagining how it must be to get all that unprompted, unpredictable attention…

But when he gets past that feeling, he honestly likes it. It makes him feel more comfortable to stand out around you, he’ll still hold back when he actually has to for whatever reason, but he’s less guarded than he would be with others. Besides, it’s fun to hear you talk about how you style things, and if you’re into a music-based subculture he’ll definitely want to check out the stuff you listen to.

He can relate to the experience of sometimes taking a significant amount of time to get ready, even though his reason and outcome are both vastly different from yours. And he does use magic for things like styling his hair now, but he still had to learn how to do it manually before that! Jamil finds that he does like to get ready with you when you’re going out together.

When doing that, he finds out you two have more to talk about in the topic of fashion than he imagined. He definitely knows a thing or two about makeup, and while he’s a bit clueless on alternative hair styles, he can definitely teach you some of the magic he uses for doing his own— He’s curious about what sorts of looks you’ll come up with, if you’re able to speed up your routine.

𐙚 Idia Shroud

Honestly. He’s definitely that kind of guy who at least once posted some kind of meme about wanting a goth girlfriend. And you might not be exactly goth, or not exactly a girl, or even neither of those things— But the sentiment still applies. It’s not necessarily about that specific of a type of person, but rather about having a partner who radiates that sort of... confidence maybe? Just that energy of being so comfortable with standing out.

You probably will have one conversation about his “makeup” that ends a little disappointingly for you. Idia doesn’t really wear any, his face just looks like that, he tells you. No product recommendations from him, sadly… The look in your eyes after you hear that makes him want to get into it, though. He doesn’t want to stand out like you do, but, well. He already stands out even without trying, doesn’t he?

He doesn’t believe he’s doing it when he’s asking you about the places you shop. Even if your personal style isn’t really the “darker and edgier” sort of alternative (Like most gyaru substyles for example) that he ends up getting interested in, you’ll probably still know a thing or two about how to get that look, right? Idia stresses over and over that he doesn’t want anything too flashy or elaborate, just maybe some accessories or new shoes…

Idia will be really nervous to go shopping with you, if you two decide on doing that. He’s always a little anxious to go out, but there’s an extra serving of it because he knows he’s going to be trying something new— But he’d definitely end up feeling pretty at home in whatever the Twisted Wonderland equivalent of Hot Topic is. Fully committing to any subculture is a bit too much for him, at least right now, but if you want to get matching bracelets or something, he’ll be happy to do it.

if you like my work you can support me by commissioning me or tipping me on ko-fi ── ᵎᵎ ✦

[pathologicalreid]

the anniversary effect | s.r.

in which the anniversary of reader's assault nears and Spencer would move heaven and earth to make sure she's okay

margovember

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst (hurt/comfort) content warnings: past sa, rohypnol, chemist!reader, technically a continuation of don't get dark, but you don't have to read it first, not proofread because im a freak, panic attack, hydroxyzine, ptsd, read with care word count: 1.96k a/n: @lilacsandlavenderhaze you asked me to tag you when i publish this <3 so here it is <3 also hey guys do we like our summaries in the second or third person?

Spencer looked down at the keypad that would unlock the door to your lab. A custodian had let him in the chemistry building after a slight misuse of his bureau credentials, but he hadn’t realized that he wouldn’t be able to get into the laboratory. Every time he’d been here before, it had been either during working hours or you’d known to expect him. This time, you had no idea he was here.

He'd been looking everywhere for you, and he wasn’t sure why the lab wasn’t the first place he checked. Garcia had checked your phone’s location for him.

He eyed the keypad as if it were an enemy, looking for patterns in which keys were more worn than others, but your lab wasn’t the only one behind these doors. There was no way for him to be sure.

Ten keys mean ten thousand possible permutations, and that didn’t include the possibility that he might need to hit the pound sign or asterisk before or after the code. Fishing his phone out of his pocket, he called your cell first—it went straight to voicemail. When he called your lab phone, it rang six times before he was asked to leave a message. He put his phone back in his pocket and tried a number—your birth year—and tried the same number with the pound sign and asterisk.

Spencer ran a frantic hand through his hair. He never should’ve gone on the case. He never should’ve been in Arizona while he knew you were stuck in your own mind. He tried another combination—the year you got your PhD—to no avail.

The two of you had talked about it last week. You started pulling away from him, and he finally commented on your behavior when his hand on your shoulder frightened you so badly that you dropped your favorite mug on the kitchen floor. Thankfully you hadn’t been burnt by any of the hot coffee, but upon discovering the mug was ruined, you were inconsolable. It was as if the broken mug had been your final straw, and Spencer had left for Flagstaff that day.

He tried a new combination—your birth month and date—and the keypad still flashed red. He released a huff of frustration and wondered if it would be fair form to shoot out the lock. Spencer shook his head, dismissing the extreme option from his list of choices before he resorted to wiggling the door handle, hoping the mechanism would fail and he could open the door.

A noise behind him caught his attention. Briefly, he made eye contact with the custodian, a young guy with spiked blonde hair, “Did you forget your ID?” He asked, pulling a wired earbud from his ear and jutting his chin in the direction of the door.

The lie formed in Spencer’s mind, already building a story to run by the custodian in order to get through the doors, “I left it in my office, would you mind?” Spencer gestured to the keypad, hoping he could get the custodian to swipe him through.

“Yeah, sure,” the blonde guy said, stalking over and pulling on his badge reel, swiping his university ID, and opening the door when it finally flashed green. “Have a good night, man,” the employee said, replacing his earbud before returning to his cart.

It was almost too easy to get him to open the door, which Spencer didn’t particularly appreciate. In this instance, it turned out to be beneficial, but he didn’t like that anyone could be let into the labs if they simply looked like they might belong. Instead of griping about it, he thanked him and slipped through the door, shoving his hands in his pockets and making his way to your private lab.

You’d taken a new job recently, jumping to a different university in the district where they offered you a private lab for your research, and you seemed happy here. You had all of the freedom you needed to do things like stay at work even as the clock approached midnight. Maybe it was too much freedom, at least for right now.

He opened the door that had your name written across it, slowly stepping into the dark lab as he looked around for you. Spencer didn’t see you, and there weren’t many places for you to be out of view, in the dark, his other senses accommodated the loss of his sight, and his ears pricked when he heard a small shuffle.

Taking another step forward, he peeked around a lab table and found you.

You backed yourself into a corner, leaving nothing but a pile of limbs flush with the cabinet as you sat in silence, either ignoring or unaware of Spencer’s presence. He approached you with the same delicacy that one would approach a doe, he didn’t want to scare you. Hundreds of possibilities flurried through his mind as he crouched in front of you and took notice of the small bottle in your hand.

When you and Spencer had just started dating, before you’d ever been intimate, you’d told him about a time you went out with a group of college friends that ended with one of them attacking you. He drugged you and assaulted you, leaving you with a physical scar on your side and an emotional one on your heart.

Spencer didn’t make a habit of hating people he never met, but he made an exception in this case. He allowed himself to despise this man on your behalf, justifying his emotions every time he remembered how badly the memories made you cry.

It’d been three years, almost to the date since you’d been attacked, and all it took was a good look at the bottle in your hand and he knew exactly what was going on. He read the label over again. Flunitrazepam.

Rohypnol.

“Hey, baby,” Spencer whispered, morphing his tone into something that would suit the atmosphere. He watched your body language, the way your breathing hitched at the sound of your voice.

The despondent look in your eyes snapped into fear before you settled, your shoulders calming down slightly at the recognition that there wasn’t an enemy in front of you. It was Spencer.

Swallowing thickly, he reached out a hand and took the bottle. You tightened your grip on it, not wanting him to take it from you, “It’s okay. You’re okay,” he assured you, “I’m just gonna set this on the counter for you.”

Your grip slackened and he followed through on his promise, keeping a wary eye on you as you looked around the lab, staring at the floor as if it was entirely foreign to you, “I don’t remember sitting,” you muttered aimlessly, looking up at Spencer through your safety goggles. Spencer noticed the way your breathing quickened, “I didn’t— What time is it?”

He shook his head, trying to grab your hands before you pulled them into your lap, he settled for one hand on your knee, something to ground you, “It’s late,” he told you.

“I… I had a meeting with a professor in pharmacology. We were… he wanted to work with me on a project,” you placed your head in your hands, shaking your head like you had lost time. “He’d read my research on the dye they use in Rohypnol to make light-colored drinks turn blue, and wondered if we could find something to color dark liquids like cola.”

It was terrible, atrocious timing on the part of the pharmacist, but he didn’t know any better. Instead of telling you that, Spencer sat down on the floor in front of you, “Baby, do you remember what we talked about last week? Did you call your therapist?”

Nodding absently into your palms, you lifted your head and haphazardly pulled off your goggles, “I saw her today, she talked to me about the same thing you did.”

You and Spencer had an in-depth discussion about the anniversary effect. “It’s okay that you were triggered by a conversation that normally wouldn’t have had such a big impact on your day,” he told you gently, squeezing your knee comfortingly.

“Stop,” you responded, dropping your hand and looking back at him, you set your goggles on the floor and took a deep, trembling breath. “Spence, I can’t—” your voice broke off in a mess of gasps, and Spencer instinctively moved closer to you.

Gingerly, Spencer lifted your chin in hopes that it would open your airway and help your breathing, “I know, baby. I’ve got you,” he reassured you, taking your hands in his when you started anxiously scratching at your forearm. “I’m right here,” he murmured, “it’s me, I’m not going anywhere.”

He pressed a soft kiss to your temple, rubbing the pads of his thumbs over your hands as he comforted you, whispering sweet nothings to you as he waited patiently for your breathing to even out before speaking again.

“Do you need anything?” Spencer was silently offering you the same three options he always did: space, water, and medication. You had a prescription for hydroxyzine that you were supposed to take as needed, and when you very softly answered ‘pill’, Spencer let go of your hands to go get it from your backpack.

He pulled the bottle from the front pouch and grabbed your water bottle from where it sat in front of your computer, he dosed out one pill and handed it to you, watching you wash it down, closing your eyes, and leaning your head back. “How was work?” You asked.

Crouching in front of you, Spencer smoothed your hair back, “It was fine, we can talk about it later if you want. Right now, I’m focused on you,” he answered, avoiding your redirection.

You nodded in understanding, allowing Spencer to maneuver you when he helped you to your feet.

Spencer cupped your face in both of his hands, “Let’s get you home, huh? Have you eaten?” His brown eyes studied you now that they’d adjusted more to the dark, your under-eye circles looked more pronounced in the moonlight, and he wondered if you’d been sleeping. “I think there’s a bowl of soup with your name on it at home,” he whispered, taking your keys and locking the Rohypnol up in a cabinet.

A soft smile tugged at your lips, and Spencer couldn’t help but feel like that was a victory. “I’m okay,” you told him, some strength returning to your voice.

Spencer nodded, sweeping a lock of hair behind your ear, “Let’s get some food in you,” he reemphasizes. He kept your keys in his hand, you took the metro to work, so Spencer could just drive the both of you home. He looked back at the door, watching you as you slowly shut down the lab and gathered your things, “Hey, what’s your code to get into the labs?”

You frowned at him and shrugged, “1-0-2-8,” you told him, powering off your computer monitor and letting him help you pull your jacket on.

His movements faltered, and without a second thought, he carefully wrapped his arms around you. You hummed in response, reciprocating the hug after taking a deep breath. “I love you,” he whispered, tenderly rubbing your back.

“I love you too,” you responded, finally relaxing into him. “I’m sorry for worrying you,” you apologized, loosening your embrace so you could look at him.

He shook his head once, “it’s okay,” he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Just, next time—well, hopefully there isn’t a next time—answer your phone,” he said, watching you. He’d continue to keep an eye on you, but you were strong. Spencer knew, just like the others, that this storm would eventually pass.

[andy-wm]

Sargent Park Jimin, thank you.

This morning I found myself unexpectedly emotional over the military achievements of our beautiful Jiminie.

I cried. Ridiculous sobbing.

I've had a nasty cough-headache-fever lurgy for a few weeks. I'm worn out and my brain is foggy, so I'm blaming poor health for my unlikely response to the news its not really news that Jimin is an 'ACE'.

But is that really an excuse to disolve in a flood of tears over his ability to hit a target¹?

I dont know.

And besides that I'm trying to reconcile my OTT reaction with the fact that I hate war.

I do not celebrate military might.

I really really hate the idea of sending young people (mostly men) to kill each other, often for no good reason. I have a passionate stance on this.

And yet here I am, a blubbering mess because our Darling Angel™ can obliterate whatever comes near him... because he is epically good at operating his giant war machine.

While i was trying to work out why I'm feeling this way, it occured to me suddenly that i didn't really understand what net4ace meant. Spoiler, it's a bad translation, but that gave my brain something else to latch onto.... just the distraction I needed.

Boots on. Time to investigate.

We already know Jimin and JK are in the 5th Infantry Division, their Artillery Brigade coded 'White Bear', and garrisoned in Yeoncheon. While Jungkookie perfects his rice reputation, Jimin is assigned to the Fire Direction Centre, responsible for calculating and coordinating the firing of big artillery like the K9 Thunder... a self propelled Howitzer².

K9 Thunder: humongous gun on caterpillar tracks. Roll it out and blow stuff up. This machine is manufactured by korean-owned company, Hanwha Aerospace. It's the world's most advanced self propelled Howitzer, supplied to countries around the globe and customised for enviroments from Australia to Norway. Poland just signed a deal for 600 of these. Did you know that production of the K9 is 3 times faster than it's competitors? And it's cheaper. You're welcome.

What I found out about net4ace:

Commenting on Jin's Echo Weverse Live, Jungkook said 둘포 넷포 : dool(2)po net(4)po

Based on the explanations I found, 포 [po] is shorthand for the tank³ they're assigned to.

The numbers are easy to understand:

1- Hanapo, 2- Doolpo, 3- setpo, 4- netpo

Jungkook is with #2 Tank and Jimin is with #4 Tank

💜

After JK's comment, Jimin added 나는 넷포 에이스출신이지:

Net4ace is incorrect translation. It should be I'm 4-Tank ace.

He's cheekily correcting JK:

Adding the topic marker particle to 'I' in that statement (나는) means he's basically saying 'as for me' ...

"...I'm not just riding in 4-Tank, I'm the ACE of 4-Tank"

It seems our Mochi is in charge of one of his battalion's K9 Thunder war machines. There are 6 in the battalion. Fortunately he doesn't have to be in the tank. Jimin and the others doing the clever mathsy-physicsy stuff are in a different vehicle. They radio in the coordinates to the people in the K9 Thunder, who key in the numbers and press the button. These Howitzers can get 6 shots out per minute. That's one round every 10 seconds.

So apparently he's an ACE

I'm not going to argue, but what exactly does ACE mean in this context?

It's not difficult to guess, but I like to check my assumptions.

See below:

ACE is exactly what you'd expect

He's the boss, super good at everything.

But i tell you what I didn't expect?

I didnt expect for Park Jimin to be in charge of a whole damn tank!! I didnt expect him to be the senior (non-commissioned) officer of his team and be in charge of running the whole tanky operation.

And what did I feel on finding all this out?

Absolutely proud and grateful!! What??!

At first I didn't understand my own reaction.

Shouldn't I be horrified?

I wanted to admonish myself for celebrating something so much at odds with my values.

I had to reflect, to understand my response to this, and to reconcile our Park Jimin with the perfect soldier, Park Jimin.

Because this is our Park Jimin....

Our Park Jimin whose dancing and singing bring joy to the world - who makes life more bearable just by being here.

Our Park Jimin who cares and understands. Who always has a kind word and never lets a birthday pass without celebration.

Our Park Jimin with the tender heart, who cried when he saw ARMYs on the big screens at Bangbangcon.

Our Park Jimin who dotes on ARMY and who put us in his pocket to take home when we didn't want him to leave us.

But also...

Our Park Jimin who has endured betrayal and abuse, sometimes by the people he trusted most. Yet he hasn't allowed it to harden his heart.

Our Park Jimin who has shown immense grace and strength in the face of personal struggles.

Our Park Jimin, who has sacrificed his health, freedom, and autonomy, to meet harsh expectations because that was the price of his dream.

I was contemplating all this and i suddenly understood the reason I'm proud and grateful:

Despite everything, Park Jimin has won.

He went into an environment completely at odds with his nature and his chosen field, and he excelled.

The military is as harsh and impersonal as it gets. The culture is designed to break you - to turn you into an obedient, faceless number. Despite this, Jimin didnt break. He made a name for himself, he made the experience work for him, and he made a positive impact on his fellow soldiers ...

I'm not proud and grateful because he can blow shit up.

I'm proud and grateful because he retained his identity and his sense of self even while transforming himself into the perfect soldier.

He hasn't faltered.

He has remained Park Jimin.

Consider what a challenge that is: being conscripted into the military of a country actively at war, while learning a new way to live and succeed and find meaning in what you're doing. Climbing the ranks and surviving gruelling physical and mental tests, and coming out on top. And not compromising who you are.

If he can thrive there, he can and will thrive anywhere.

And yes, I hate that he's operating a machine with a singular destructive purpose, but he will be thoroughly aware of what it means, and of the huge responsibility he has. After all, he's been in a postition of global power for over a decade.

While he may seem an unlikey choice to people who don't know him, if anyone is going to be in control of a war machine it should probably be someone like Park Jimin.

I realised while writing this, that while I can and do hate war, (nothing will change that) I can also feel proud of Park Jimin and what he's achieved while in the military⁴.

Go get it all, Jiminie, you incredibly smart and determined and kind and talented human! Win every heart and defeat every challenger. If you're knocked down, keep standing up again and don't ever lose sight of who you are:

Dancer, singer, idol, lover, and the 넷포 ACE of the 5th Division's White Bears Battalion.

And although you choose to be with us, you do not belong to ARMY, nor Hybe nor Jikookers nor PJMs... nor anyone else.

You belong to nobody but yourself.

💜🐥💜

¹ I know it's much more than just shooting straight. He's mastered all four disciplines required to be battle ready and to fulfil his role in the Fire Direction Centre. He's been through all the harsh training requirements and come out on top. He's made friends and been a mentor to young soldiers far away from home.

² Apparently a Howitzer is a type of gun with a short muzzle that fires a shell upwards in an arc, without much speed. The word comes from the late 17th century: from Dutch houwitser, from German Haubitze, from Czech houfnice meaning ‘catapult’. Love me some etymology.

³ It's not actually a tank. It's a self propelled Howitzer: a gun with wheels, an engine, and a small amount of armour, designed to move into firing position but not engage directly. Whereas a tank is an armoured vehicle with a gun attached, designed to drive into battle and crush the opponent like a bug.

⁴ Even if he had achieved nothing, I'd still be so proud of him and grateful for his existence. And look at me testing my black and white view of myself and finding a little patch of grey. Quite proud of my personal growth here hahahaha

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Canada’s ground-breaking, hamstrung repair and interop laws

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/11/15/radical-extremists/#sex-pest

When the GOP trifecta assumes power in just a few months, they will pass laws, and those laws will be terrible, and they will cast long, long shadows.

This is the story of how another far-right conservative government used its bulletproof majority to pass a wildly unpopular law that continues to stymie progress to this day. It's the story of Canada's Harper Conservative government, and two of its key ministers: Tony Clement and James Moore.

Starting in 1998, the US Trade Rep embarked on a long campaign to force every country in the world to enact a new kind of IP law: an "anticircumvention" law that would criminalize the production and use of tools that allowed people to use their own property in ways that the manufacturer disliked.

This first entered the US statute books with the 1998 passage of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act (DMCA), whose Section 1201 established a new felony for circumventing an "access control." Crucially, DMCA 1201's prohibition on circumvention did not confine itself to protecting copyright.

Circumventing an access control is a felony, even if you never violate copyright law. For example, if you circumvent the access control on your own printer to disable the processes that check to make sure you're using an official HP cartridge, HP can come after you.

You haven't violated any copyright, but the ink-checking code is a copyrighted work, and you had to circumvent a block in order to reach it. Thus, if I provide you a tool to escape HP's ink racket, I commit a felony with penalties of five years in prison and a $500k fine, for a first offense. So it is that HP ink costs more per ounce than the semen of a Kentucky Derby-winning stallion.

This was clearly a bad idea in 1998, though it wasn't clear how bad an idea it was at the time. In 1998, chips were expensive and underpowered. By 2010, a chip that cost less than a dollar could easily implement a DMCA-triggering access control, and manufacturers of all kinds were adding superfluous chips to everything from engine parts to smart lightbulbs whose sole purpose was to transform modification into felonies. This is what Jay Freeman calls "felony contempt of business-model."

So when the Harper government set out to import US-style anticircumvention law to Canada, Canadians were furious. A consultation on the proposal received 6,138 responses opposing the law, and 54 in support:

https://www.michaelgeist.ca/2010/04/copycon-final-numbers/

And yet, James Moore and Tony Clement pressed on. When asked how they could advance such an unpopular bill, opposed by experts and the general public alike, Moore told the International Chamber of Commerce that every objector who responded to his consultation was a "radical extremist" with a "babyish" approach to copyright:

https://www.cbc.ca/news/science/copyright-debate-turns-ugly-1.898216

As is so often the case, history vindicated the babyish radical extremists. The DMCA actually has an official way to keep score on this one. Every three years, the US Copyright Office invites public submissions for exemptions to DMCA 1201, creating a detailed, evidence-backed record of all the legitimate activities that anticircumvention law interferes with.

Unfortunately, "a record" is all we get out of this proceeding. Even though the Copyright Office is allowed to grant "exemptions," these don't mean what you think they mean. The statute is very clear on this: the US Copyright Office is required to grant exemptions for the act of circumvention, but is forbidden from granting exemptions for tools needed to carry out these acts.

This is headspinningly and deliberately obscure, but there's one anecdote from my long crusade against this stupid law that lays it bare. As I mentioned, the US Trade Rep has made the passage of DMCA-like laws in other countries a top priority since the Clinton years. In 2001, the EU adopted the EU Copyright Directive, whose Article 6 copy-pastes the provisions of DMCA 1201.

In 2003, I found myself in Oslo, debating the minister who'd just completed Norway's EUCD implementation. The minister was very proud of his law, boasting that he'd researched the flaws in other countries' anticircumvention laws and addressed them in Norway's law. For example, Norway's law explicitly allowed blind people to bypass access controls on ebooks in order to feed them into text-to-speech engines, Braille printers and other accessibility tools.

I knew where this was going. I asked the minister how this would work in practice. Could someone sell a blind person a tool to break the DRM on their ebooks? Of course not, that's totally illegal. Could a nonprofit blind rights group make such a tool and give it away to blind people? No, that's illegal too. What about hobbyists, could they make the tool for their blind friends? No, not that either.

OK, so how do blind people exercise their right to bypass access controls on ebooks they own so they can actually read them?

Here's how. Each blind person, all by themself, is expected to decompile and reverse-engineer Adobe Reader, locate a vulnerability in the code and write a new program that exploits that vulnerability to extract their ebooks. While blind people are individually empowered to undertake this otherwise prohibited activity, they must do so on their own: they can't share notes with one another on the process. They certainly can't give each other the circumvention program they write in this way:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/28/mcbroken/#my-milkshake-brings-all-the-lawyers-to-the-yard

That's what a use-only exemption is: the right to individually put a locked down device up on your own workbench, and, laboring in perfect secrecy, figure out how it works and then defeat the locks that stop you from changing those workings so they benefit you instead of the manufacturer. Without a "tools" exemption, a use exemption is basically a decorative ornament.

So the many use exemptions that the US Copyright Office has granted since 1998 really amount to nothing more than a list of defects in the DMCA that the Copyright Office has painstaking verified but is powerless to fix. We could probably save everyone a lot of time by scrapping the triennial exemptions process and replacing it with an permanent sign over the doors of the Library of Congress reading "Abandon hope, all ye who enter here."

All of this was well understood by 2010, when Moore and Clement were working on the Canadian version of the DMCA. All of this was explained in eye-watering detail to Moore and Clement, but was roundly ignored. I even had a go at it, publicly picking a fight with Moore on Twitter:

https://web.archive.org/web/20130407101911if_/http://eaves.ca/wp-content/uploads/2010/Conversations%20between%20@doctorow%20and%20@mpjamesmoore.jpg

Moore and Clement rammed their proposal through in the next session of Parliament, passing it as Bill C-11 in 2012:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Copyright_Modernization_Act

This was something of a grand finale for the pair. Today, Moore is a faceless corporate lawyer, while Clement was last seen grifting covid PPE (Clement's political career ended abruptly when he sent dick pics to a young woman who turned out to be a pair of sextortionists from Cote D'Ivoire, and was revealed as a serial sex-pest in the ensuing scandal:)

https://globalnews.ca/news/4646287/tony-clement-instagram-women/

Even though Moore and Clement are long gone from public life, their signature achievement remains a Canadian disgrace, an anchor chain tied around the Canadian economy's throat, and an impediment to Canadian progress.

This week, two excellent new Canadian laws received royal assent: Bill C-244 is a broad, national Right to Repair law; and Bill C-294 is a broad, national interoperability law. Both laws establish the right to circumvent access controls for the purpose of fixing and improving things, something Canadians deserve and need.

But neither law contains a tools exemption. Like the blind people of Norway, a Canadian farmer who wants to attach a made-in-Canada Honeybee tool to their John Deere tractor is required to personally, individually reverse-engineer the John Deere tractor and modify it to talk to the Honeybee accessory, laboring in total secrecy:

https://www.theregister.com/2024/11/12/canada_right_to_repair/

Likewise the Canadian repair tech who fixes a smart speaker or a busted smartphone – they are legally permitted to circumvent in order to torture the device's repair codes out of it or force it to recognize a replacement part, but each technician must personally figure out how to get the device firmware to do this, without discussing it with anyone else.

Thus do Moore and Clement stand athwart Canadian self-reliance and economic development, shouting "STOP!" though both men have been out of politics for years.

There has never been a better time to hit Clement and Moore's political legacy over the head with a shovel and bury it in a shallow grave. Canadian technologists could be making a fortune creating circumvention devices that repair and improve devices marketed by foreign companies.

They could make circumvention tools to allow owners of consoles to play games by Canadian studios that are directly sold to Canadian gamers, bypassing the stores operated by Microsoft, Sony and Nintendo and the 30% commissions they charge. Canadian technologists could be making diagnostic tools that allow every auto-mechanic in Canada to fix any car manufactured anywhere in the world.

Canadian cloud servers could power devices long after their US-based manufacturers discontinue support for them, providing income to Canadian cloud companies and continued enjoyment for Canadian owners of these otherwise bricked gadgets.

Canada's gigantic auto-parts sector could clone the security chips that foreign auto manufacturers use to block the use of third party parts, and every Canadian could enjoy a steep discount every time they fix their cars. Every farmer could avail themselves of third party parts for their tractors, which they could install themselves, bypassing the $200 service call from a John Deere technician who does nothing more than look over the farmer's own repair and then types an unlock code into the tractor's console.

Every Canadian who prints out a shopping list or their kid's homework could use third party ink that sells for pennies per liter, rather than HP's official colored water that cost more than vintage Veuve Cliquot.

A Canadian e-waste dump generates five low-paid jobs per ton of waste, and that waste itself will poison the land and water for centuries to come. A circumvention-enabled Canadian repair sector could generate 150 skilled, high-paid community jobs that saves gadgets and the Earth, all while saving Canadians millions.

Canadians could enjoy the resliency that comes of having a domestic tech and repair sector, and could count on it through pandemics and Trumpian trade-war.

All of that and more could be ours, except for the cowardice and greed of Tony Clement and James Moore and the Harper Tories who voted C-11 into law in 2012.

Everything the "radical extremists" warned them of has come true. It's long past time Canadians tore up anticircumvention law and put the interests of the Canadian public and Canadian tech businesses ahead of the rent-seeking enshittification of American Big Tech.

Until we do that, we can keep on passing all the repair and interop laws we want, but each one will be hamstrung by Moore and Clement's "felony contempt of business model" law, and the contempt it showed for the Canadian people.

Image: JeffJ (modified) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Tony_Clement_-_2007-06-30_in_Kearney,_Ontario.JPG

CC BY-SA 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/

--

Jorge Franganillo (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Duga_radar_system-_wreckage_of_electronic_devices_(37885984654).jpg

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/deed.en

[covenofagatha]

But you're my stepmom! (Part 2)

Agatha takes you out to dinner.

Word count: 2500

Warnings: none (I think)

A/N: this ended up being way longer than I was planning, so hope you all enjoy. Happy Agatha night to all who celebrate!

Taglist: @stayevildarling @i-just-cannot @hazey-g @buttercandy16 @320viada

“You’re home early,” your mom says when you walk through the front door. You check your watch and shrug. 4:15. Granted, if you had come from school, you wouldn’t be back right now. 

After your encounter with Agatha, you had quickly scooped up the broken glass, tracked down Wanda, and then driven her back to school to drop her off. She had asked if you were coming, but you were buzzing with the thought of dinner with your step-mother that night so you knew there was no way you could’ve focused. And there was no point going to seventh period anyway. It was history – your least favorite subject. 

So Wanda went back to class and you went shopping. You didn’t know where Agatha and you were going for dinner, didn’t know the dress code, but you knew how the older woman dressed and you weren’t going to look homeless next to her. 

At the mall, you were able to find a tight black dress that accentuates your curves nicely. The neckline was bordering on inappropriate and the hem came down to your mid-thigh, but it was cheap and it made you look good. You had hidden the bag inside your backpack to avoid your mom asking questions. 

“I have some homework to do and then Wanda and I are getting dinner,” you tell her. Your mom is a bit touchy with the subject of your father and Agatha, so you know better than to tell the truth. 

“Sounds good, hon,” she says, turning back to her computer. “Did you have a good day?” 

You hum noncommittally and then go upstairs. The first thing you do is take a shower to wash the chlorine from the swim you and Wanda took earlier and then you curl your hair. You’re not sure why you’re putting so much effort in to look nice for dinner with Agatha. You tell yourself that it’s just because she always looks like she’s just stepped off the cover of Vanity Fair and you don’t want to appear underdressed compared to her, but a small part of you knows you want to look good for her. You shake your head to get rid of the thought. 

You apply some light makeup on your face and then slip into the dress you had bought. You dig through your closet and find some short heels that pair nicely. Fuck, you hope Agatha is taking you someplace fancy and not just a chain restaurant. 

Your phone buzzes and you look at it. It’s a text from an unknown number: I’ll be there in 20. 

Who is this? You type back, figuring it’s Agatha but just wanting to make sure. You find it amusing that you haven’t saved her number. You get an eye roll emoji in response and you smile. 

20 minutes to spare. You hate to admit it, but you spend most of that time pacing back and forth in your room, wringing your hands nervously. You’re not sure why nerves are twisting in your stomach. Maybe it’s just because you’ve never spent any one-on-one time with your step-mother before. Maybe it’s the way she was looking at you when she was cleaning up your leg earlier, or the way she squeezed your thighs when you were sitting on the counter. 

No, definitely not the latter. 

You finally give up on trying to calm down. You throw a hoodie over your dress so your mom doesn’t see it and walk downstairs. She hardly glances at you from her spot at the kitchen table. 

“What time will you be back?” she asks. 

“Maybe by 8?” you guess. Once again, you have no idea what you’re getting into with Agatha. 

“Where are you guys going?” 

Can’t answer that either. “When she picks me up, we’re going to figure that out.” 

“Well, have fun and don’t stay out too late.” 

“I won’t,” you promise, walking over to give her a kiss on the cheek. She’s been looking older every day. The divorce was really hard on her so she’s been burying herself in work for the past two years and it’s finally catching up. “Make sure you eat something.” You get a text. I’m out front, from a still unknown number. You smirk to yourself. “I’ll see you later, mom.” She pats your arm and you walk outside. 

A black range rover is parked to the right of your house, out of sight from the windows. You open the passenger seat and get inside, tearing off your hoodie. Thank god you dressed up. She’s wearing a dark burgundy suit that dips low, showing some cleavage. Her long dark hair flows down her back and her gold earrings glint in the sunlight. She looks hot. 

And based on how she’s looking at you, she appreciates your outfit as well. 

“Where are we going?” you ask, breaking the silence. 

“You’ll see,” she says mysteriously, shifting the car into drive. The ride to wherever you’re going is filled with awkward silence. You don’t know if you’re supposed to say something first, but she was the one who dragged you along. 

You purse your lips as the minutes pass. You sneak a glance at Agatha and she looks perfectly content. “So, where’s my dad tonight?” you finally ask, not being able to take it anymore. 

She smirks knowingly. “A work dinner. You know how things are around this time of the year.” Suddenly, you get angry. You don’t know. You haven’t lived under the same roof as him in two years. 

“Oh, sure,” you say, voice caustic. “Back when my parents were still married, he was busy all the time. Glad to hear it’s more of a seasonal thing now.”

She shoots you a look, face soft. “Honey–”

“You know he cheated on my mom, right? What makes you think he won’t do the same to you? Maybe there isn’t a work dinner at all,” you whisper conspiratorially, feeling horrible the moment it comes out of your mouth. The divorce has filled you with a rage that is hard to control and it slips out at the worst possible times. And now you’ve undoubtedly made the rest of the night even more uncomfortable than it already was going to be. “Fuck, Agatha, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” 

She doesn’t even seem phased, just reaches over and pats your leg. “I know how tough this must be for you.” 

You can’t help but roll your eyes. That’s all you’ve heard for the past two years. But you do still feel bad for your uncalled outburst. “That doesn’t make it okay. Plus he’d be a fool to cheat on you,” you mutter under your breath, blushing slightly when she smirks. 

“How does this sound: tonight, I’m not your father’s new wife. I’m just a woman who wants to get to know you a little better. We can eat, talk, have fun. It doesn’t have to be a step-mother-step-daughter bonding thing if you don’t want it to be.” 

“That would be nice,” you begrudgingly admit. She winks and turns into the parking lot of the new Italian steakhouse that has just opened up nearby your house. “Agatha, this is–”

“My treat,” she cuts you off. “Let’s go, sweetheart.” You trail behind her into the restaurant, gaping at how nice it looks. “Hi, reservation for two under Harkness?” It was always wickedly satisfying to you how she didn’t take your dad’s last name. 

The hostess nods and beckons for you both to follow her. She seats you at a table tucked away in the corner and places menus in front of you. 

“Jesus,” you say, flipping through. 

“The first time is always a bit overwhelming,” Agatha says, your cheeks heating up at the double meaning. “How’s your leg doing?”

You had completely forgotten about the cuts. “Oh, it’s feeling better. Thank you, by the way. For cleaning me up and not saying anything–” You remember her rules and you shut your mouth. She chuckles. 

“Of course, sweetheart. Like I said, our little secret.” 

The waitress comes over and takes your drink orders. You order a shirley temple and Agatha gets a glass of red wine. When she comes back with them, you make a point to stare anywhere but Agatha when she licks her lips after she takes a sip. 

“Are you ladies ready to order?” The waitress asks. Agatha recites some dish from memory and you are sure you look like a fish out of water when the waitress turns to you. Agatha stifles a laugh and orders the same thing for you. 

“What did you get me?” You turn back to her once the waitress is out of earshot. 

“The Filet Portabella. Trust me, you’ll love it.” You’ll have to take her word for it. “So, how is senior year going?” 

You launch into the speech that you give every single time someone asks you that, something along the lines of: school is great but it’s stressful with the college search and no, you don’t know where you want to go yet or what you want to major in. It’s one of your least favorite, yet most-often asked questions. 

Agatha hangs onto every word out of your mouth, asking some follow ups. You do have to admit, it is nice to talk to a grown up and actually feel listened to. 

“So, the girl in the pool with you today. Is she your friend, girlfriend..?” Agatha asks once she’s exhausted the school topic. 

“Oh, Wanda? No, we’re just friends. I don’t have a girlfriend. Wait, how did you know I’m gay?” You’re not sure why you’re so flustered. 

“Your dad mentioned it. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t breaking into my house for a little romantic rendezvous.” Her tone is teasing. 

You blush even harder now. You’re 18 years old and you’ve never had anything close to a ‘romantic rendezvous’ with anyone. “Um, no. She’s just my best friend.” And then because you’re having trouble breathing with her staring at you like that, you try to turn the tables. “You never broke into anyone’s pool when you were in high school just to go for a swim?” 

Her eyes glint mischievously. “Never for anything as innocent as just a swim.”

Your mouth runs dry at the image of a younger Agatha (although imagining Agatha right now works too) skinny dipping in a pool with a lover. And then there’s the thought of you and Agatha in her pool. “Oh?” you manage to croak out. 

Agatha leans in closer across the table, voice dropping lower. “My friend and I got caught one time by my neighbor. He was supposed to be out of town another two days but came back early. You should’ve seen his face when he walked out back to find us making out in his pool. My friend was so scared, she ran out and jumped over the fence. And then I had to explain myself all alone.” 

Your breath catches, mouth opening ever so slightly. “She? You – you’re…” Agatha…likes girls?

A wide smirk slowly spreads across her face. “I don’t like labels. But yes, I’ve dated my fair share of women.” 

“Oh. Cool,” you rasp. Thankfully, you’re saved from having to figure out something else to say by the waitress setting two hot plates in front of you. 

“Enjoy!” she says, and leaves you two alone again. 

You pick up your fork and knife, slicing easily into the meat. You hesitantly pop the piece into your mouth and moan instantly. The filet literally melts in your mouth, giving way to possibly the best thing you’ve ever tasted. 

“This is so good,” you mumble while chewing, looking back up at Agatha, who has a strange look on her face. Her eyes are darker than before and you raise an eyebrow. 

She blinks and then takes a bite of her meal. “I’m glad you like it sweetheart,” she says, watching you dig back in. You both eat your food in silence and when the check comes, Agatha doesn’t even look at the bill before slapping down her credit card. 

“Thank you for dinner,” you say. “I had a really nice time.” 

Agatha gives you a real smile. “I’m glad to hear that. I’ve really enjoyed tonight as well and I hope we can start spending more time together.” You open your mouth, maybe to protest or maybe to agree, but at that moment, the waitress comes back with her card. 

“You both have a lovely night. And can I just say, you two are a really cute couple.” 

You choke on nothing and you suddenly are doubled over in a coughing fit. Agatha politely thanks the waitress before coming over to you and patting you on the back. Your throat begins to hurt and your vision blurs with tears, but you can’t stop. She presses your drink into your hand and you take a big gulp, wincing at the burn from the carbonation. You take a few more slow sips. 

“You okay?” she asks quietly, now rubbing circles on your back. You cough weakly a few more times before your breathing returns to normal. You stand up, embarrassed. She chuckles as she wipes the tears from your eyes. “You can’t die on me now, sweetheart.” 

You run a hand over your forehead. “I’m okay!” 

“Is the thought of us being a couple really that unappealing?” Agatha murmurs playfully into your ear as she leads you out of the restaurant with a hand around your waist. 

“What? No! I was just startled. You’re my step-mother.” Are you imagining the hint of a frown on her face or is it really there?

She opens the car door for you and then gets in the driver’s seat. “Any plans for the weekend?” 

You had honestly forgotten today was Friday. “Um, I don’t think so. My mom’s working all day tomorrow so I might hang out with Wanda or something. I have homework I should probably do as well.”

She hums. 

“Do you have plans?” you ask. 

She chews on her bottom lip for a moment. “Your father and I both have some work we need to do. It’ll be a chill weekend.” 

“That’s good,” you say awkwardly. “I am sorry about what I said earlier. About my dad.” 

She glances at you. “Don’t be. I can only imagine how angry and hurt you are.” 

“I’m not angry with you. You’re actually not that bad.” 

Agatha laughs out loud at that. “Wow, thanks so much, sweetheart.” The pet name, as they have all evening, makes your heart skip a beat. 

“You know what I mean,” you grumble. 

The drive back to your house goes quick and soon enough, she’s parking in the same spot as earlier. 

“Thank you for tonight,” you say again. She smiles softly and leans in. You forget how to breathe but she brushes her lips against your cheek. 

“Good night, honey.” 

You get out of the car in a haze, mind spinning. 

[rufusahhahh]

I had a little fun playing around w/ the idea of neo trio dandys world toons and how'd they play........... I love me some fun non=mains they're awesome

I tried punching in the numbers of how their mechanics would work and stuff because I was worried it would be unbalanced an all dat. Heres some of the very rough rough math of all that explained for like the two people that would be interested in depth 1. A 5 star extraction speed toon's extraction is roughly 1.5 units per seconds. A machine takes about 45.5 units to finish. Meaning that they'd finish it by a little less than 30 seconds With feenie's ability that would be 1.95 units per second plus tech savvy, that's 5 seconds shaved off would make a 5 star toon's extraction IF THEY ARE UNLUCKY TO GET NO SKILL CHECKS MIND YOU 17 seconds to finish. An average 3 star extraction toon with a feenie on their team with all 6 twisteds would finish machines even faster than a 4 star extraction toon would... Even if she's a little less effective as an extractor support as shelly in a long run, her ability is constant! 2. Ough.. stealth mechanics are quite underrated, imo theres a lot of ways you could mess around with them.... if the code allows it hopefully. but yeah :V! Using Molly's trinket give 2 star stealth users nearly 4 stars of stealth when they're near a machine! whcih is very excellent for distractors, esp theres a machine at broken and theres no fast extractors w/ good stealth around... also it makes 4-5 stealth toons like 7-9 stars of stealth!! Which is quite insane. I don't quite know how stealth units quite work in-game as much as the idea of "stealth units" and "detection units" compared to movement speed isn't as tangible to do the math for in my little dumbie brain. But it'd be a nice hypothetical to imagine t.pebble walking straight past on by bc of this trinket 3. I didn't feel like adding any crazy math that would align with the planets and stars and create the most fire distractor ever, simply put it, her ability would make any twisteds 19-20 speed fast reduced to how fast a common twisteds is, which is 18 movement speed. And little creatures like pebble or enraged glisten reduce to 20! Combine trixie with dog plush and you've easily mastered t.pebble

[cusimmrbrightside]

I have always liked the idea of the school for mutants being very literally a school, and I know yes it is but I mean in the sense of if you want to be an X-men, you have to be a teacher. They have exams at the end of years, they have Ofsted checks (for those who don’t know what they are, it’s essentially people coming to check that the school is good at being a school) and they have teachers for every subject, which brings me to my next point;

“I’m Right You’re Wrong, Here’s What The X-Men (‘97 specifically) Would Teach As Subjects”.

(Also this is based off of UK school system but I use American terms like “seniors” and “AP” and “Midterms”)

Maths Teacher Gambit is surprising, for a guy most assume to not being entirely smart, an idiot goof off who’s the comedic relief. But you need to know numbers to gamble, and that he does with being very well versed in mathematics way past an AP level. He’s made the promise for every senior class that he will teach them to play blackjack on the final day, and has only ever lost once. Which is when the rule of “no betting real money” came into place.

English teacher Jean reminds me of the kind of teacher who would let the social outcasts into her class for their lunch breaks. The kids more likely to be bullied and she will fight tooth and nail to make sure those kids bullies don’t come into that classroom. they’re loud and shout and shouldn’t really be in there but no one has to know and she certainly won’t be telling them to leave any time soon.

Physics teacher Magneto is very specific to my highschool experience I’ll be honest. I had a physics teacher who was an actual Dr with a PHD and he hated being there. His classroom has (well, had since the building was knocked down about 5 years ago now) this one cabinet that was never fully shut, it was always open just about an inch or two, and he’d stand with his foot hovering just above it and then slam down on it whenever we got too loud so the noise would shut us up. That’s very magneto coded. Erik Lehnsherr would purposefully make the cabinet always a little open so he can do that.

Biology teacher morph is just a funny concept, a person whose physical form and change and morph into just about anything. They are considered one of the “fun” teachers, you could easily convince them to let you watch a movie all class as long as it was biology centred, but with classics like Osmosis Jones, you’re not stuck watching a documentary about animals giving birth.

Chemistry teacher Storm does not fuck about with children’s education. She is not strict by any means whatsoever, she just will not bend to someone saying they want to watch a film or should do a practical instead of theory. She has a set curriculum. She knows what she will be doing by the first week of the summer holidays and already has the room set up all pretty and organised.

Geography teacher Scott has the unfortunate job of telling his students that, they just won’t be looking at memorising country flags and politics. But hey!! Rocks are cool!! Beach shores are cool! Lake formations are cool! He’s the vice principal and designated nerd teacher. He once beat the elite four for a student on their copy of Pokémon Red because the student promised they’d do well in their midterms. Yes, he was in his 30s when the game came out, he doesn’t care.

History teacher Logan is a walking fun facts book. He’s exhausted, goes on smoke breaks on every gap of time he has, dislikes his job and will randomly get passionate about one specific topic, and will then dedicate his next 4 classes to that topic. Having been through a lot of modern history with personal experiences, he’s able to bring a lot of souvenirs to show his classes. Bullets, helmets, clothes he once wore hundreds of years ago, his personal memories of basic inventions like the vaccine.

PE (physical education) teacher Rogue is full of fun sports games, you can join any kind of sports team you can imagine and if you ask nicely enough, she’ll put Just Dance on a projector in the sports hall so you can just play that instead of actually play an actual sport. As long as you leave her class exhausted and without time to have a shower before your next class then she’s succeeded in making whoever your next teacher is absolutely miserable (bonus points if it’s Logan with his enhanced sense of smell).

Art teacher jubilee does believe that there is a right way to critique art. And she can be a little in your face about it. She does think you can have wrong opinions especially when it comes to your own art. If she overhears you saying you didn’t something wrong, she’ll scream into a megaphone “adapt, improvise, overcome!”. There are no mistakes! She’s eccentric, bubbly, creative and brilliant, the only one suited for the job.

It wouldn’t be a school without budget cuts. That’s why Nightcrawler is both the languages and religions teacher and he’s beloved at both. He comes up with roleplay scenarios the students can play to help learn their chosen languages, he has varied religious texts in his room and when he says to the students “I’ll pray for toy during exam season” he’s not actually joking.

(I forgot about Hank I’m actually going to cry he’s one of my favourites and I forgot about him. He’ll be in pt two or smth.)

[newtkive]

shift shenanigans - s1 social media au

note: jus for fun ! may or may not do more parts.

warnings: crude humor, slightly offensive jokes from richie sry

part two

liked by syd_adamu, marcus.brooks11 and 30 others

chefboyardee: my friends! i love my friends! the two on the right more than the left (i’m joking i promise) 😁😁😁😁

see all 8 comments

syd_adamu: brave of you to call him your friend y/n

↳ chefboyardee: boss man carmy save me

↳ syd_adamu: oh.. :///

marcus.brooks11: you did me so dirty, friend.

↳ chefboyardee: love you marcus you look spectacular

↳ marcus.brooks11: don’t start

richietheking: Where am I?

↳ chefboyardee: ya motha

liked by syd_adamu, chefboyardee and 10 others

richietheking: Getting sh$!t done.

see all 8 comments

marcus.brooks11: This is coolllddd.

↳ richietheking: You already know it man.

syd_adamu: this is actually crazy

carmyberzatto: can you show this on instagram? i think you should delete this.

↳ richietheking: Delete your life.

chefboyardee: come down to the beef for a number 6 the occy way 💯 the safest joint on the block 🤑💯we are 🔛🔝

↳ richietheking: Eyyy I know that’s right.

↳ carmyberzatto: please don’t advertise this.

WE HAVE THE BEEF 🥩

[ 8:25 am ]

y/n:

bruh im about to lose it. heads up when you guys get to work.

marcus: that catering order is about to be crazy

DO NOT REPLY: These white boards are stressing me out.

syd: we know, probably giving you ptsd from not finishing high school

DO NOT REPLY: Fuck you I did finish it.

y/n: oh i gotta change ur contact name richie

richie poo: ????? What

y/n: it was ‘DO NOT REPLY’ lols

marcus: valid

syd: real

richie poo: What? Why?! That’s so rude

y/n: cuz you piss me off

and you kept blowing up my phone yesterday

richie poo: You weren’t answering, and we needed help at the cook out.

syd: the one where you poisoned everyone?

richie poo: Fuck off.

y/n: when i’m off work, i’m off work.

marcus: don’t let carmy hear that, y/n

y/n: don’t remind me

syd: he’s trying at least, go easy on him. he really has great ideas

richie poo: You mean you have great ideas in that little notebook

tina: Never trust a broad with a notebook.

syd: hey! i’m just being helpful

y/n: do you guys think my ig post will hurt carmys feelings

marcus: it would make me a little sad if i were him, but i don’t think he cares

y/n: great i’m gonna cry now

syd: i doubt he even saw it y/n it’s fine

richie poo: Check the work chat. Cousin is in a mood.

y/n: oh great

tina: Help us all.

syd: be nice you guys

WORK

[ 9:15 am ]

carmy: Everyone, we have huge catering orders tomorrow to prep for today. Please get here as soon as you can, the earlier you clock in the better. Additionally, please be careful what you post on social media. I don’t want people to get the wrong impression

y/n: yes chef 👨‍🍳

syd: ok sounds good

richie poo: Cool it, Cousin. What’s the issue with the social media

tina: I use FaceBook. That not allowed now??

carmy: Tina, you’re fine. I’m talking about those who post work things on public accounts

marcus: facebook is crazy

richie poo: I can’t go private

y/n: he needs the likes

richie poo: No I’m disabled from doing so. Not sure why

y/n: liar

richie poo: 😑I don’t like you

carmy: Then please don’t post pics of yourself posting up with a gun and an air horn outside of my shop anymore.

marcus: that pic was fire can’t lie

carmy: Well, it’s bad for business.

richie poo: Fine, whatever

y/n: carmy

carmy: What, Y/n?

y/n: is this because of my caption on my post i’m sorry i promise i wasn’t being for real

carmy: I don’t care Y/n.

y/n: is that code for ‘i care a lot and i’m crying in the office right now and that’s why the door is closed’

oh

syd: ? why the oh

y/n: he opened the door and yelled no 🤨 but i think i saw red eyes

carmy: Please get back to work and I’ll comp a meal for you later

y/n: OMG yes chef 😍

richie poo: Inappropriate emojis and you shouldn’t have to incentivize her to work

y/n: shut up acting like HR i’m gonna beat your ass

jealousy is ugly which is why you have that mug on your face

carmy: Stop

y/n: yes chef 👨‍🍳

i heard your giggle tho

richie poo: Again with the schizo episode

syd: you can’t say that richie

richie poo: Oh sorry

[saddeneddimple]

—𝑾𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑨𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝑰𝒕? | 𝑱. 𝑾𝑾 ☾

Genre: Fluff, Suggestive, established relationship, neutral au (this content is 18+, any interaction below the age will be blocked)

~After four months of knowing each other and hitting it off after meeting in an RPG, you and Wonwoo decided on a simple date night binge-watching a new television series in your house, meeting your sweet cat, as well as enjoying each others company ♥︎~

Pairing: UnofficialBf!Wonwoo x Afab!Reader

Warning(s): A little bit of cussing, mentions of alcohol, reader is very nervous (mentions of anxiety/nervousness), heavy kissing, subtle grinding, flirting, heavy talk

svt masterlist the bookshelf (main m.list)

a/n: originally this was Cat Mom, but i kept trying to write it over and over again and i just hated the story more and more, it has a similar(ish) topic but there was a switch-up which im much happier with. ik im the worst at consistency..enjoy!

word count: 2.2k

Your heart skipped beats as you looked at yourself in the mirror, working on your final touches, topping it off with a deep breath. Wonwoo was coming over to your house to watch a show you both planned on binging together, and it being the first time he was going to be inside your home, as ecstatic as you were, anxiety invaded your body. The combination of nervousness and perfectionism didn’t collide well—double, triple, even quadruple checking and fixing everything—clumsiness taking over at times from how jittery you’d get.

Meeting in some RPG you were peer pressured into purchasing by your friends, you and Wonwoo met just playing together, joining each other in quests and occasionally helping each other reach to the games top rank. It went from you both went from exchanging Discords, to numbers, and when you found out you both lived in the same area, it graduated to going on several dates and hanging out in person.

You both clicked in an instant, feeling as if you didn’t need a filter around him or felt the need to pick and choose certain traits to accommodate to his unmentioned preferences, often leaving you thinking that perhaps you felt more comfortable with him at times than with the friends you’ve been around for years.

Your hands running through fabric of your clothing, smoothing itself, you take a final look at yourself in the mirror before the music you had quietly playing through your bluetooth speakers gets interrupted by a familiar jingle being your ringtone. Looking at your cellphones screen, you watched as the phone buzzed on the table, the screen displaying Wonwoos contact name, alongside a picture you had of him from one of the many dates you went on. The skin of your cheeks started growing warm, a soft shade of pink seeping out, your makeup failing to cover the current state of your face.

Clearing your throat, you answer the phone a couple rings before the call ended, “Heyy.” You greeted, playing it off as casual as possible to cover your nervous state.

“Hey, Y/N, uh, what was the code to the gate again? I forgot.” He chuckled over the phone, listening to his husky voice from the call alone sent chills down your spine. You tell him the code, following with a question, “You know which building, right?”

“Yeah, I know—“ He followed with telling you your building and apartment number, “Alright I’m past the gates now, I’ll see you in a little bit, okay?”

“See ya! Call me if you get lost.” You snicker, exiting your bedroom as you walked to the fridge in your kitchen, double checking if you had all the snacks and booze you got just the other day.

“Will do. Bye.” He hung up the call, allowing you to finally breathe a little more comfortably.

It isn’t official yet, neither of you have made the move or tugged at the idea of making it official. You both were consistent and mutually agreed on taking things slow, making this a friends-to-relationship type of deal. You appreciated and even loved the fact he never tried to rush you and was so consistent on taking things slow, refusing to surpass any boundaries and just letting things happen at the right time, it makes the connection between the both of you spark brighter, your infatuation towards him as well grow stronger.

You really liked him and currently, the thought of possibly putting the stamp on making it official has crossed your mind nonstop. Every time you’re around him, your feelings get stronger, you feel secure and sure about him, his intentions are clear, and the fact he’s so respectful and aware of your wants and needs as well as aware of your intentions makes you like him even more.

After a couple of minutes, those minutes feeling like dreadful, elongated hours, you hear a knock on your front door, your already speeding heart racing more than you believe it would, the butterflies in your stomach kicking you. Taking a self-soothing breath, you adjust your already fixed hair as you approached the door, unlocking it as you slowly pull it open, revealing a smiling Wonwoo.

His soft grin etched on his cheeks as his frames sat snuggly on his nose, his broad, catwalk silhouette towered over you as his hands were behind his back, appearing as if he were hiding something from you. An uncontrollably wide smile grows on your face, needing to purse your lips to disguise the wide, almost insane-looking grin.

“Heyyyy!” You greeted, opening the door wider. His eyes skimmed all over you, his sharp yet gentle eyes analyzing your beautiful details.

“Hey, you.” He greeted in return, freeing one of his arms in order to give you a small yet warm hug, your entire body feeling as if sparks were ignited inside of you. After breaking the hug, his hands grazed down your arm, softly holding your hand, fingers intertwining with yours. His soft gaze stayed stuck on you, your sparkling eyes turning into crescents from your wide smile.

“I got this for you, I saw them and it reminded me of you.” He chuckled a little awkwardly, having the hidden arm reveal a bouquet of flowers.

Your eyes widened as a small gasp comes out of you, admiring the bundle of blossoms, a combination of soft pink and deep red roses scattered in the bundle, white gerbera daisies between some of the roses, forming a beautiful contrast with the flowers, the colors of the roses popping out, wrapped in newspaper as it was tightened with a red ribbon, tied with an elegant and aligned bow.

“Oh my god—they’re so beautiful! Thank you, Wonu.” You pout to the sweet gesture, pulling him in for another hug, the scent of his cologne intoxicating you. “Come in, come in!” You gesture him, faintly holding his hand as he walked into the apartment.

Entering the apartment, he was analyzing the living space, nodding his head in approval to the decorative design you picked out for the home, his eyes suddenly braking at the end of your couch, spotting the cat tree. With his head slightly tilted as his eyebrows subtly furrowed, he asked, “You have a cat?”

Your eyes followed in his eyes direction, looking at your cat tree with him,

“Yeah! I do. She’s probably hidden somewhere she doesn’t really do too well with strangers.” You chuckle as you prep a vase you had, partially filling it with water as you set the flowers inside of it, arranging the bouquet to your liking.

He gave a returning chuckle in response as his eyes shifted to you, watching you arrange the flowers as you place it in the center of your dining table, watching as you were admiring the bunch while he was admiring you, his adoring gaze never straying away.

You look back, catching his eyes on you, your body flushed as a smile instinctively widened across your face, breaking eye contact.

“What?-“ you drag in your shy tone, a small giggle escaping you as you attempt to look at him, nearly failing to maintain eye contact.

“Nothing, you’re just so cute.” His smile widening, his nose scrunching a little in admiration to your flustered state.

His words alone made you break eye contact once again, looking down as your smile never faded, your grin so wide it nearly cramped your face.

“Stop—“ You whine as Wonwoo approached you, holding both your hands as his smug grin remains sewn on his cheeks, meanwhile you bit your bottom lip to hide your bashful smile.

Your bodies grew closer, his hand slivering its way to your waist, holding it lightly as your bodies swayed amongst each other. Looking at his plush lips, the craving to taste them grew stronger, but both your nervousness and the sake of trying not to make a move too quick held you back.

You both eventually settled down, gathering the snacks you prepared as well as a couple of beers, both of you sitting on the couch as you shared a blanket.

His arm wrapped around your shoulder, his thumb grazing your clothed skin, both your eyes glued on the screen, micro expressions revealing reactions to the scenes and plot of the show you started watching.

Suddenly, you hear a soft meow from a distance, making you turn your head in the sounds direction, catching your sweet tabby cat looking at you, following a stretch before hopping on the couch. The cat grabbed Wonwoos attention as well, finally meeting your feline child for the first time.

A small gasp can be heard from him, “Is that your cat? She’s so cute!” He whisper yells, trying not to interrupt the show as best he could as well as in attempt to not scare off your cat.

You nod in response with a smile, gesturing the cat to come closer, which she did. Once she looked at Wonwoo she stood still as a statue, her eyes widening. She approached him slowly, sniffing him along the way, being very cautious with every step she took.

Catching the both of you off guard, especially you, you watch her immediately warm up to Wonwoo, standing on his lap, loudly purring as she rubbed her head on his chest, wanting his attention. You go wide-eyed, your jaw dropping as she gets pet with Wonwoos free hand.

“She got comfortable with you insanely quick! What?” You chuckled.

Wonwoo pulled you closer with the arm he had around you, your heart that was finally calm beginning to race.

“I guess she knows I like you.” He murmured. A beam of lightning rippled through your body, your face flushed to a rosey red, fortunately hidden by the darkness surrounding the both of you, the TV being the only source of light available.

“She definitely knows I like you.” You chuckled, in attempt to hide the fact you’re internally shrieking.

His eyes met yours, his glasses reflecting the glowing screen in its corners. You melt in his arms, looking into his dilated cat-like eyes, his large frame hovering over you in contrast to his gentle demeanor. The moment got slightly interrupted when your cat suddenly ran off to a small beeping sound, Wonwoo jolted a little to her sudden reaction.

“It’s just the feeder, it’s okay.” You reassure with a chuckle, a small brush of confidence stroked your body as you softly cup his cheek to have him look at you, taking off his glasses in the process.

“I want to see your eyes better.” You mutter out, your eyes shifting between his eyes and lips.

A smirked etched on his face as his free hand ghosts over your thigh, “What about the show?” He asked, his velvety voice deepening,

“What about it?” You ask, both your bodies inching closer, that spark of subtle dominance leaving as quickly as it entered.

His chuckle darkened as his hand gripped your thigh, moving your leg on top of his, nearly straddling him, “You’re so cute when you act like you aren’t flustered—makes me want to just get you more nervous and shy.”

With a sheepish grin, your breathing suddenly hitched to the movement, his eyes piercing into yours, not allowing you to break its deepening contact.

“Wonuu—“ You whined, following a timid giggle.

“Yeah?” He raised his eyebrow, his hand cupping your cheek, his bottom lip grazed yours, his hot breath fanning against your skin.

“Oh, fuck that.” You groan out, pulling him by the collar of his hoodie, your lips finally crashing as your body turned to putty against his.

His sweet taste foreign yet turned instantly addicting, letting a sigh come out of you as his hands subtly roamed your delicate body, their final placement being at your waist, your pressed bodies only getting closer, having your legs straddled on one of his thighs. Your fingers running through his hair, you slightly tug on the silky strands, causing a groan to escape him, his grip only tightening as your lips remained hungrily intertwined, his soft tongue gliding on your bottom lip, eventually dominating your mouth.

Your stomach turned into a knot as your core got tense, your breathing gone heavy as you feel yourself pool above him. He moved his hand to cup your cheek, however his thumb traveled to the opposite end of your jaw, his fingers nearly on your throat. Feeling his placement, your desire turned darker, pushing yourself forward which made his land lace around your throat, having him react to your move with a smug chuckle.

He distanced his lips from yours, leaving a small clear trail between each other. A small whine leaves you as you felt empty without his taste, needing that fix. His intimidating eyes looked up to your current state, on top of him as your radiating heat was seeping into him, watching how you leashed yourself with his hand, how easily you gave into him.

“You’re so beautiful when you’re like this.” He cooed, his hand on your waist pulling you closer, the sudden grinding friction making you sharply inhale as your core pulsated, your breathing growing heavier as you felt the puddle beneath you grow worse, your body becoming sensitive to the touch, its sensation sending waves of subtle pleasure up your taut muscles.

“What about the show?” You ask his question from earlier, trying to disguise your embarrassment from the quick turn to desperation.

“What about it?” He tilted his head, repeating your previous words with a smirk, a small scoff coming out of you before your lips crash onto his once again, deeper and hungrier than before.

[mariasont]

theory and practice

a teasing conversation ensues when you boldly suggest becoming rossi’s fourth wife.

pairing: dave rossi x reader warnings: fem!reader, flirty reader, flirty rossi, power dynamics perhaps? rossi thinking of moral complexities of a relationship etc etc, probably an age gap? it's not explicitly mentioned but home boy is old as dirt prompt: here wc: 0.6k

Rossi tries to focus on the article in front of him, but he can practically feel your eyes burning holes in his cheek. He almost snorts. You’re not even subtle about it. He wonders idly, if you’ve blinked yet.

“You know, if you stare any harder, you’re going to hurt yourself, bella. What exactly do you need from me?”

You tip your floppy head back slightly, resting your chin on your hand and giving him a blatantly flirtatious once-over. “Tell me honestly. Do I have what it takes to be Mrs. Rossi number four, or should I keep working on it?”

At this point, Rossi doesn’t even blink. You’ve made it somewhat of your personal mission to charm him into an early grave ever since day one at the BAU. Your methods are disarmingly cunning, subtle enough to pass unnoticed by less discerning observers, yet transparent to him in their seductive intent. 

There was that memorably orchestrated coffee delivery — leaning forward with an excessive grace, making sure his peripheral vision had an unobstructed view down your blouse. Or the occasion you casually suggested a shared hotel room on a stakeout, ostensibly to save departmental funds.

Honestly, your relentless pursuit of his accelerated cardiovascular decline would almost be flattering — if it weren’t so damn effective.

Rossi gives you a slow, contemplative look, barely masking the amusement tugging at his lips. “Well, I have to warn you it’s a notoriously rigorous screening process. Think multiple rounds of very thorough interviews, background checks, and extensive compatibility testing. You might want to clear your schedule.”

Adjusting your position to sit up straighter, your arms press your chest together, the angle leaving little to his imagination. Rossi’s eyes are thankfully hidden, but he knows you know what he’s looking at. 

“I’m fully committed, Rossi. Hit me with your best shot. I promise, I can handle it.”

Rossi snorts softly, folding his newspaper and setting it aside. The sports section can wait — something he rarely admits, but this is far more interesting.

He gives you his undivided attention, leaning back comfortably.

“Alright. First question. Exactly how many FBI dress-code violations do you intend to commit on a daily basis?”

“Well, how many does it take before you feel obligated to reprimand me personally? I’ll aim for one more than that.”

He exhales slowly. “Ambitious, aren’t we?”

“You have no idea. But feel free to find out.” Your grin widens as you trail a fingertip casually along the rim of your sunglasses. “I’m even more ambitious up close.”

He allows himself a momentary consideration of the tantalizing hypothetical you’ve so generously presented. He wonders how you’d truly respond if, just once, he abandoned his better judgment and actually called your bluff.

You’re lucky, really, that he’s a man who still maintains a stubborn adherence to decency. That years spent navigating the ethical complexities of this job have given him ample reason to value his own carefully upheld morals.

Without said deeply embedded moral compass, however, he’s rather certain neither one of you would emerge unscathed.

“As enticing as I find your enthusiasm, perhaps its best to keep your ambitions strictly theoretical. For now.”

Rossi barely has time to appreciate the fluid grace with which you rise from your lounge chair before you lean in close, eyes level with his own. His breath stills subtly as your lips touch his cheek. 

“Every great idea begins as just a theory,” you say. “Remember that.”

He watches with reluctant open approval as you walk back toward the house. Settling back into his chair, Rossi resigns himself to the knowledge that his professional and personal resolve will continue to be rigorously tested.

Perhaps retirement would have been a safer choice. Still, he allows himself a moment of indulgent appreciation as you disappear inside. After all, even the strongest moral fortitude deserves a brief lapse into harmless admiration now and again.

join me at the beach for my 1 year/4k event!

day 5 extras

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maria's spring break getaway masterlist