#definitely some continuity errors oops

[punkssavior]

turnbuckle bunny.

alternatively; ‘all yours’

cm punk x fem!reader

to celebrate a relationship milestone, punk takes you with him to train at the wrestling gym.

third installment to the tired of you series. links to: part one, & part two.

content warnings: (18+) smut. shower sex. pain kink/blood play (who’s shocked). pnv. choking. pet names. exhibitionism. cockwarming (??)

yes this fic has two titles because i couldn’t decide on whether or not i liked the funny or one or the sweet one more. i’ll let you decide.

wordcount: ~13k

tags!: @theasiaabattoir @freyadronning @wwediamond @nicejacketsstuff @kkd1021 @urgogodancer @itsvxlentine @h0ney-fiction @zoeroxiie @samthefall @hotgothic02 @pureheart3d @tiacordelia02 @postwelcome @xbriexx @roseydoesypoesy @reebs-luvs-rhodes-and-wrestling @gamer-carat @j1nxexe @reigndropp @regalgenocide @xkittypunkerx @ritosparty @peterparkernotfound @reebs-luvs-rhodes-and-wrestling @sky-dreamer @fairiebabey @ouijabug @slutforsmutstories

It had been five months, to the day, since Punk officially asked you to be his girlfriend.

Was it childish of you to want the semantics? To want to be whisked away, wined and dined, and gifted a comically large bouquet of flowers on the night he asked you out? You didn’t think so.

And so, since that day five months ago, on the 18th of each month, Punk did exactly that.

It was fun for the first four months; watching Punk enter through the front door after his late night matches and training sessions with his wrestling boots in one hand and a bouquet of wildflowers in the other— withholding some sort of surprise or gift for you that he’d kept hidden in the glovebox of his car. Each month was something new.

Month one was a pair of studs; a dainty set of pearls to put in your new second ear piercings. Punk had taken you to get that done, too.

He’s already had quite the influence on your opinions of piercings and tattoos.

Months two, three and four were necklaces— all in which you still wear every day. Month three was your most favorite of all; a silver braided chain and a heart-shaped locket, with a picture of the two of you inside of it.

You remember it’s there every once in a while, clutching it between your fingers whenever you were having a particularly hard day at work, or simply just bored of the reruns playing on your TV.

Despite it being you and Punk’s five-month-iversary, it was just one of those nights. You were curled up on the couch beneath a blanket after a long day at work, watching an Ancient Aliens marathon. Punk always poked fun at you for indulging in that fake television documentary bullshit— finding the host of it as creepy and off putting as the aliens that they talk about.

You’d stepped into your pajamas the second you got home, knowing that your beau wouldn’t return until much later on. The soft blue glow of the screen and the occasional flashing lights were the only thing keeping you awake and waiting for Punk’s arrival.

Just then, you hear a car door slam shut, and the honk of a horn from outside. You shoot up excitedly, muting the TV and scurrying over to the kitchen island to wait for him.

“Honey, I’m hooooome.”

Punk’s teasing voice rings out before you can even see his face— you withhold your excitement for only a moment longer, not wanting to knock him off balance by pouncing on him in the doorframe.

You hear the crinkling of cellophane, the squeaking of sneakers, and finally you see the face of the man that you love.

“Hello gorgeous,” you purr slyly, colorful petals and foliage catching your eye as you scurry closer. Punk chuckles at your display of affection, holding out his arms for you to skip into them.

You do exactly that, pulling him into a tight embrace that slightly teeters him off of his feet. He wraps his arms around you tightly, planting a rough kiss against your hair.

“Missed me so much that you got up from the couch? I’m impressed. You’re usually out cold by now.”

“Mmmh, nope. Didn’t wanna miss out on my surprise,” you squeak excitedly, stealing a quick kiss from him that leaves his face hanging lazily, dressed in a smile.

“It’s not much of a surprise if you’re expecting it, player. That’s not how surprises work.”

“Well, sue me for being happy you’re home. And sue me for loving pretty flowers that I have the pleasure of keeping alive while you’re out beating people up for sport.”

Punk laughs heartily, finally having the chance to close and lock the door behind him. He steps out of his sneakers, propping them against the wall and dropping his wrestling boots beside them. You take the bouquet of colorful flowers from his hand prematurely as he hangs up his keys, knowing damn good and well who they were for.

“These are so pretty. Where’d you get them?”

“I‘ll never tell.”

“Booo. Lame.”

You give Punk a moment to collect himself— letting him shed his layers of workout clothes and free his hands from wrist tape after a long day of prepping for a match he has this upcoming week. The way that Punk worked amazed you; for his busy schedule left him barely any time to rest. He stayed up late, got up early, and had roughly two off days in an entire three week work period.

A part of you felt concerned for him, but the bigger parts knew that he was a workhorse. There was always something new to prove when it came to him, and there was simply no rest for the wicked.

After putting your new flowers in a vase with fresh water, you sat on the couch patiently, Ancient Aliens was still playing in the background. But you weren’t paying the show any mind. You were far more into the STRAIGHT EDGE tattoo that scrawled across your boyfriend’s midriff. The one you’d seen hundreds of times.

“Like the view?” Punk asks slyly, stepping out of his sweats to only his boxers, balling up the pants and tossing them towards the base of the stairs.

“Always. Get your sexy ass over here before I throw the remote at your head.”

With a quirk of his eyebrows, Punk obliges, striding towards you with those long legs of his and scaling the back of the couch to plop down next to you. He immediately pulls you into his lap, letting your hands sprawl across his pecs and travel daintily towards the back of his neck.

Your hands tangle in his hair as you admire the new beard that dawned Punk’s jaw. He was usually the type of guy to keep his facial hair minimal— only allowing a bit of chin stubble and the occasional 5 o'clock shadow.

But Punk has a hard time saying no to you. Asking him to grow it out was simply just selfish.

“I’m still getting used to this beard. It’s fuckin’ hot,” you hum, blurting out your thoughts as they come.

“Hot? It makes me feel like a lumberjack.” Punk scoffs, lifting his hips in order to get you closer.

“And you don’t think big burley men that chop down trees are hot? C’mon. I know about your little tendencies.”

“Alright, alright, enough out of you, smartass. It was one time and I told you about it in confidence. No need to wave it in my face.”

You open your mouth to speak again, but before you could even take a breath, Punk is pressing his slender, tattooed index finger against your lips, smushing them together.

“Aht aht,” he tuts, “Pump the breaks chatterbox. I’ve actually got something to ask you.”

Your eyes widen, still running aimless lines up and down the side of his jaw to the top of his right pec, “Mmmwhatisit?”

Though your lips were pressed together by the force of his finger, Punk’s face softened at your muffled curiosity. He takes a moment to make sure you’re at full attention, before removing the blockage from your mouth.

“I didn’t get you another surprise this year. No jewelry, or any of that other shit.”

You shrug, a satisfied smile sprawling across your lips as you remember just where you’re sitting. Right on his lap.

“S’really not a big deal, Punky Brewster. You could’ve walked in here empty handed and I still would’ve been trying to bite you through your t-shirt.”

You chomp at him playfully, your teeth clicking together as you pretend to nip at his nose. But Punk just holds his hand out, pressing it against your forehead to block you from getting any closer.

“You’re an animal.”

“Stop holding me back from my truest potential.”

In the heat of it all, Punk seemed to stop, and think to himself for a moment; possibly willing to risk it all and forget everything he was about to say to you. But instead, he shook his head, getting his mind back on track by anchoring his hands to your hips.

“No, no. Stop. I wanted to ask you something. And you’re making it really hard to do that while acting like a feral raccoon.”

“Thought you nicknamed me Bunny for a reason—”

“—Zip it.”

Slightly stunned by his sudden stoicness, you make a fake zipping motion with your hand, pretending to tie your lips up under lock and key. Punk sighs, and you could feel his leg start to anxiously bounce up and down beneath you.

“Since I didn’t get you anything, I was wondering if maybe… you’d possibly want to…on the offhand…try something new together?”

Your forehead notches in curiosity, scoffing at Punk’s embellishments and inability to get through his sentence, “New? Like what?”

A nervous chuckle leaves the pit of his throat. Removing one of those hands from your hips to run it through his hair, he sighs, “Well, I have an idea. But— I don’t think you’re gonna like it. Which is why I'm uh, hesitant to ask it.”

“Enough with the theatrics, Princess Punk. Tell me what you want. I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?” Punk asks, his eyes slightly shimmering with hope.

“Mhm, just about. Unless you’re gonna ask me to go skydiving— I’d rather take a dirt nap.”

“Not skydiving, no. But honestly, I think your hatred for what I’m about to ask you has surpassed your fear of free-falling out of planes.”

Suddenly, your eyes narrow. You were onto him, and he was definitely up to something. You hated how much time he had whilst alone in the gym to sit with his own thoughts and plot against you. It was annoying as all hell.

“Just ask it,” you blurt, taking your hands off of his body and tightly lacing your arms across your own chest.

“Come to the gym and train with me?”

“Are you out of your mind?!”

Your hands clam up almost immediately. It was a known fact that you and the gym never particularly got along. There was a brief phase you had in high school where you’d go on mile long runs to sweat off the stressors of being a teenager— but other than that, working out was only something you found yourself doing when you were forced to.

“I really don’t think it’s that big of an ask, Bunny,” Punk chuckles, putting on those dumb, pleading eyes of his, “It’ll be fun. I’ll teach you some moves, we’ll get a little sweaty, and after we’re done I’ll take you to the ice cream shop and we’ll get milkshakes.”

“Don’t try to bribe me with dairy, dickhead. You know how much I hate exerting more physical energy than I’m legally obligated to.”

“It’s not a bribe. It’s a peace offering. Consider it a prefaced apology,” you scrunch your nose at him, and he swats your sour face away with his index finger, “It’ll be an ‘I’m sorry for whooping your ass’ milkshake.”

“Now why would I want you to whoop my ass? Did you hit your head tonight or something? C’mon, baby. You should know me well enough by now. I don’t. Do. Workouts.”

Punk sighs, momentarily defeated. He had resorted to rubbing small circles against your cheek with his thumb, trying to do anything in his power to butter you up. But for once in your life, you stood tall. Well, sat tall, with your chest puffed and your arms crossed.

“I understand if the answer is no,” Punk huffs dramatically, running his hand up your chest to rest at the base of your neck. His head cocks, those kelly green eyes still sparkling and pleading, “But it would make me really, really, really happy if you did.”

You were now tangled up in a web of conflict. After thinking to yourself and questioning your capabilities as a girlfriend, you realize that Punk does indeed make a lot of sacrifices for you.

The playing field was mostly equal; Punk has sacrificed many of his favorite songs in place of yours when driving in the car. He stays up late and gets up early just to have your morning coffee on the kitchen table before you even arise.

But then again, you compromised your fear of awkward social situations on the multiple nights that Punk had forgotten his gear, and needed you to barge through a crowd of sweaty wrestlers to get it to him.

“Five months together and we’ve never sparred,” your beau continues, blowing out a dramatic breath, “I think it’s about time I whipped you into shape.”

“You calling me out of shape?” you quip, raising your eyebrow and feigning sarcastic hurt, “I’ll have you know that I— stay active.”

“I should rip those pretty lips right off your face. No, I’m not calling you out of shape. I’m just— pointing it out.”

“Well it’s a shitty observation,” you bellow, your expression suddenly growing timid as you trace the Pepsi logo tattoo on his shoulder, “I’d rather put a bullet through my head.”

“Does the drama ever stop with you?” Punk laughs, taking your theatrical blows straight to the gut and letting them glide off his back, “Look at me.”

Punk cradles your chin in his hand, forcing your gaze back up into those eyes of his. You knew full and well that you were being dramatic, but Punk had grown accustomed to your stubbornness. He tilts his head to the side, almost condescendingly, and trails his thumb against your bottom lip.

“What would be in it for me?” you ask quietly, knowing the answer already.

“Honestly? Nothing. But it’s a day out with me and the days that we do get to spend together are few and far between—”

“—Yeah, and who's to blame for that?—”

“—Me. I’m taking full responsibility for being the asshole that’s always at the gym. Then again, you can’t really complain. You knew what you were signing up for.”

You sigh again; it’s loud and dramatic, demanding attention from the hand of his that sat idly by your hip. Punk does what he does best, picking up on your signs and trailing that hand towards your midriff.

“Can I just sleep on it?” You shake your head, that’s now scrambled up with thoughts and a sliver of guilt for being so hardheaded, “Let me wallow in my suffering before I let you beat me up in a wrestling ring.”

“Sure. Sleep on it tonight. But have your answer by six sharp tomorrow.”

“Six? In the morning? Puuuunk!”

Your whining is no match for him. He was coaxing you with his eyes alone, and you could tell that he wouldn’t give up on this no matter how much you pleaded or negotiated.

“It’s not even that early, Bunny girl. If I was really a sadist, I’d have you up at three and make you run across the Brooklyn bridge to have you at the gym by 4:30. You’d be surprised at the way some of the meatheads at my gym start their fuckin’ days.”

To divert from the pitiful look on your face, you roll your hips against his, feeling his cock take shape almost immediately beneath his boxers. He stiffens when you move, anchoring his hand onto your hip and letting his fingers tighten and dig into your flesh. His eyes narrow at you, the corners of his mouth straightening into a disgruntled line.

“If you’re gonna have me up at ungodly hours of the morning, the least you could do is let me get you into bed first.”

You continue the torturous drawl of your hips, rocking them fluidly back and forth, back and forth. A small grunt leaves Punk’s lips, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip before he’s snapping his gaze towards where your bodies connected.

“You don’t wanna wear yourself out before tomorrow, don’t you, Bunny?”

“Maybe this will be a testament of my stamina,” you shrug, playfully walking your fingers up his shoulder.

“If I give you what you want, you better have your mind made up by the time your head hits those fuckin’ pillows.”

You freeze for a moment, your lips pushed to the side.

“Fine. I’ll do it.”

His eyes widened in pure disbelief, “Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously. Don’t ask me again though, I might change my mind.”

Before you could even grasp the gravity of what you’d just agreed to, Punk is pulling you by your cheeks into a fierce, passionate kiss. He sighs into your lips, murmuring sweet nothings as his back lifts from the couch cushions and takes your entire body with him.

“You’re the fuckin’ best, baby.”

“Best in the world?” you giggle sweetly, teasingly, nipping at his lip ring.

“Don’t get a big head now,” Punk tuts, keeping you steady and sitting on his lap while your legs wrap around his back, “Save that confidence for the ring.”

You pull Punk into a kiss, immediately staking claim over his mouth and tangling your tongue with his. He groans into you, loving nothing more than the taste of you after a long day of training.

“You’re lucky that I like you a whole’ lot,” you breathe out between heavy, dirty kisses, “I wouldn’t do this shit for anybody.”

Just then, as you’re consumed in the moment and the feeling of his lips, Punk stands, hoisting you up with him. You squeak at the act, wrapping your legs around his hips and locking your ankles to keep you steady.

“And you’re lucky that you’re easy to convince, Bunny baby. ‘Cause I’m not gonna go soft on you.”

“Clearly not,” you gesture down to where your bodies connected, teasing him with your double entendre, “I expect to be worked out, stretched out, and worn out.”

With your comment, Punk raises an eyebrow, shifting his hands down to grab your ass and hold you up higher, “You’re still talking about tomorrow, right?”

“Mmh, sure. Whatever floats your boat.”

The kiss continues. Punk is walking you blindly through your shared space and up towards the bedroom. He’s trying his best to keep himself collected, as you can tell by the feeling of his fingertips digging into your skin whilst he moves his assault of kisses down towards your neck. You giggle as he slowly walks you up the stairs with precision and ease, adapted muscle memory from all of the instances where he simply couldn’t wait to put you through the mattress.

“I still can’t believe you said yes,” Punk huffs, kicking open your bedroom door.

“Neither can I,” you reply, a fluttering feeling sitting at the bottom half of your stomach when he adjusts you in his arms, “But if I think about how early I have to get up tomorrow for any longer, I might start crying.”

“Ah, yes, there she is. My stubborn, whiny Bunny. Have you ever thought about your wrestling persona? Because honestly, you’ve got the chops to cut a wicked promo. Everyone would fuckin’ hate you.”

“I’m assuming that’s a good thing in wrestling?” you snap, your eyebrow quickly raising in defensiveness, “it better be, I’ll kick your teeth in if it isn’t.”

Punk chuckles, finally lowering you down onto your bed, “Of course it is. If it wasn’t, I wouldn’t have said it. But you just proved my point. You’re one of the most quick-witted people I’ve ever met—I really think you’d love standing up there in the ring with a microphone.”

“Don’t turn this into an ass kissing sesh, Punker. Just because I like the sound of my own voice and am sparring with you tomorrow doesn’t mean I want to do it full time. I’m not built for that life, I’m too fragile and perfect. Would you throw fine china in a dishwasher?”

“It’s not recommended, no—”

“—Exactly my point.”

You could feel the teasing energy culminating in the air, Punk unable to hide his catty smile as he ran his tongue across his top teeth. The bottom part of his tongue piercing catching between them.

“You’re gonna fuckin’ get it if you keep talking like that,” he warns, loud and clear.

“I’m here for it, baby. Get that one last ego boost in before tomorrow, when you actually have to be helpful and patient with your favorite girl.”

“Mhmm, that might be hard, knowing you…” His hands slowly trail up the front of your body, allowing you to lower your back down onto the mattress.

“…But I hope I’ll be getting much more than an ego boost from those pretty lips tonight.”

—

A bedside alarm clock gets your heart rate pumping promptly at 5:30am.

It took you a moment to sit up fully, drowning in grogginess and remnant sleepy thoughts, with your head feeling like a bag full of bricks as it lifted off of your fluffy down pillow.

“G’mornin’,” the casual, yet oddly chipper sound of your boyfriend’s voice snaps your attention to your chest of drawers. He was already stepping into a pair of dark green nylon gym shorts, wearing a pair of compression leggings that hugged his butt in all of the right places.

“Mmh.”

That was, unfortunately, the only sound you could muster.

Punk chuckles at your morning grumpiness, shaking his head while walking over to stand at the foot of the bed. A packed gym bag sat beside his feet on the floor, but it felt silly to roll your eyes at an inanimate object.

“I don’t get my usual? My ‘good morning Punker, ready for me to make your day hell?’. Is my girl too sleepy for her knock knock jokes?”

His teasing tone mixed with the frustration of having to wake up earlier than the sun made you seethe. You huffed out a short, dramatic grumble, and rubbed your eye with the heel of your palm, “Stop it. I’m not in the mood.”

“I hope that’s temporary,” Punk smiles cattily, grabbing your ankle above the blanket, “Because I’m gonna need you to get up, dressed, and in the mood within the next half hour. Up and at ‘em, hot stuff. Chop chop.”

He wiggles your leg playfully, before clapping his hands together, the sound loud and piercing to your freshly woken ears.

“Bossy,” you grumble again, shaking your leg out of his grasp and ripping the blanket off of you.

The cold air from your bedroom hit you like a bus. You understood why Punk was acting the way that he was, as you agreed to be his wrestling protege for the day. But you just wished the day didn’t have to start so fucking early.

You’re a good person. Not a morning person.

As you hobble to the bathroom, you hug your arms to your chest to keep the heat that was once beneath your covers, and curse the existence of blackout curtains.

Although you had put up quite the fight, it didn’t take long for you to get ready. April mornings were still unforgivingly brisk, despite the promise of Spring, so you opted to layer up with a tank top and crew neck stolen from Punk’s collection. You slid into a pair of biker shorts and layered a pair of matching grey sweatpants over top of them.

“Prison break?” Punk’s eyes narrow and float down to your groutfit, eyebrows wiggling, “Is that your court-mandated jumpsuit?”

“Fuck off, I picked the first thing I saw.”

“The world is your oyster and so is my closet, Bunny.”

“One more rich comment out of you and I’m smacking that lip ring off your face,” you growl, sliding past him towards your closet to bust out your beaten up tennis shoes from high school. The only athletic shoe you owned.

“It’s hard to believe that you’re this fired up already. Should I comment on those busted ass sneakers or would that earn me a roundhouse to the balls?”

“You’re skating on very thin ice,” you pinch your fingers, nose scrunched and already bothered enough by the fact that it was morning.

“Oooh, don’t tempt me.”

After you were all dressed and equipped for the day, Punk led you down the stairs with a begrudged wrist tug. He began to speak vaguely about your plans for the gym; dancing around what he was to teach you and how exactly he’d go about it. He also explained the importance of warming up, although he didn’t feel the same towards the heat in his car.

He opened the door for you, not without a kiss to your cheek, and let you slide in. You were still pouting and groaning at just about every quip he had up his sleeve. But that didn’t mean much to Punk. What meant something to him was the fact that you were there with him, when you typically wouldn’t be.

“No breakfast? Coffee? Nothing?” you ask softly, watching Punk maneuver out of his parking spot.

“We could get breakfast if you want. I usually don’t eat ‘till later but— I don’t want you to suffer too much.”

A smile trails his sentence, clearly enthralled by your presence. His persistence and knowledge was almost endearing at this point, so you decided to cut the stick up your ass attitude and try to enjoy the moment.

“Maybe just a coffee. I’m definitely gonna need it.”

As he drives through the already busy Brooklyn streets and makes his way onto the parkway, Punk’s hand moves from the steering wheel down to hold your thigh. You glance down at it, ogling at his tattoos and getting yourself hyped up for the long day ahead of you.

Punk sighs, tapping the hand of his that remained on the steering wheel, “Be honest. Are you actually mad about this?”

“No, I’m not, I’m just— being dramatic.”

“I expected that.”

You shake your head and flick his arm, “I’m willing to make today a good day despite my phobia of workout equipment and sweating. And besides, doing it with you is the easiest part.”

“You think so?” he asks, his eyes flitting to your face in his peripheral view.

“I know so, baby. A full day spent with you is the best gift of all.”

“You’re corny,” Punk scoffs, but you could see the blush race to his cheeks.

“I know.”

The rest of the drive to the gym was ordinary; metal music turned down to tolerable volume, a pointless conversation about why Punk thinks red means stop and green means go, and far too many sexual quips for this early in the morning.

After a quick coffee run at your favorite local Manhattan coffee shop and a half-assed park job in the parking garage where the two of you shared your first kiss, you and Punk set off into the crisp morning air towards the training gym.

“Have you thought about what moves you’re gonna teach me?” You ask from beside him, sliding down to interlock your hands.

“I have,” he hums, “I most certainly have.”

Punk swings your arms as he walks, his sentence trailing off into a whistle. But you eye the side of his face, an eyebrow raised with a demand to know more.

“You’re… not gonna tell me?”

“There’s no fun in just— telling you. You’ve gotta find out for yourself once we get in there and warmed up.”

“Puuunk,” you whine his name, watching the back entrance to the gym appear closer and closer, “C’mon. Just tell me one thing. One move you’re gonna teach me. Please? Pleeeeease?”

“No. I’m standing my ground just this once. You get away with a lot of shit with that cute face and big sparkly eyes. I’d like to keep at least one thing sacred.”

“Maybe you’re not telling me because you’re scared that I’ll be better than you.”

Punk stops in his tracks, just before the entryway of the gym, “Scared? Of my cute little Bunny? Baby, don’t make me laugh.”

“I thought Bunny was an endearing nickname! Not a condescending one for when you feel threatened by my super secret wrestling skills,” you huff dramatically, stomping your foot against the pavement.

No match for your empty threats, Punk slides in front of you, his arms crossed as he blocks the gym door, “I’m not being condescending. I’m just layin’ out all the facts. If you get in that gym and prove me wrong I’ll admit it, but there’s no way that the girl who runs from treadmills is gonna be an instant pro.”

You roll your eyes. He’s got you there. Maybe you figured puffing up your ego to be as large as his would make all the difference. But in reality, you still knew practically nothing about how to do moves, or when to tap out.

You barely knew anything about wrestling at all.

“I’ve been to a few of your matches,” you continue on your tirade, poking a finger into his toned pec, “Maybe I’ve subconsciously picked up on a few things.”

Just then, Punk snatches your petite hand up in his larger one, bringing that extended pointer finger of yours up to his lips.

“Well when you put it like that— I’d like to think that I lead by example.”

You giggle softly, and Punk nips at the tip of your finger with his teeth. He just can’t resist pulling you into him, snaking his arms around your waist to stare deeply into your eyes.

“Surely this is a fire hazard,” you quip, eyes narrow and fueled by the flame of your beating heart for him.

“Who gives a shit? The blockheads in there wouldn’t leave their machines if a tornado swept through the building.”

Punk leans down and envelops your lips into a soft, commanding kiss. You found it hard to pull away after a moment, though it was necessary for your day to continue. A breath catches in your throat when he flees the kiss with a tug to your bottom lip.

“Punk,” you warn, “you better cut it out. We might not even make it to the locker room at this rate.”

“We’re already blocking the doorway. Might as well take the next step— inside.”

With that, Punk steps forward, and fishes a blank white keycard out of his pocket. He taps it on the sensor, the door unlocks, and just like that, he’s swinging it open for you like the gentleman he is. Before entering, you take a deep breath, feeling Punk’s eyes boring into you as you ground yourself.

“Ready to kick some ass, Bunny girl?” he asks sweetly, his arm gesturing towards the inside.

“You fuckin’ know it.”

When you walked into the gym, you were surprised at how empty it was. It was a Sunday morning, and maybe Sundays were considered off days for most training athletes, but not for your beau. He had you up and early before the sun even reached the horizon and packed away in the car like a little stowaway. You could tell that Punk was relieved by the vacancy of the gym, as he immediately made a beeline towards the men’s locker room.

“Alright uh, stay here— I’m gonna scope it out. Make sure there’s nobody hidin’ in the showers or anything so you can get undressed.”

He shoots you with finger guns and the click of his tongue before backing away into the locker room. You wave him off, glancing around at where you’ll be spending your day.

The gym was very open concept, a raised ceiling with large ceiling fans, reminiscent of a brutalist warehouse. Surely it was a reinvented warehouse that was bought out by a company with not enough money to raise its own structures. Off to the side were a few scattered workout machines, and in the middle sat the ring.

You were tempted to step inside it, to bounce off the ropes and see what it was like to feel the adrenaline rush of a thousand little spindles of fiber burning across your back. Something about it was just so enticing, despite your total lack of interest in being a pro-wrestler. But instead of giving into your thoughts, you just waited, with your shared gym bag slung over your shoulder.

“Coast is clear, hot stuff. Come on in here and strip, we’ve got work to do.”

You giggle at Punk’s head popping out to fetch you, scurrying towards the locker room excitedly. You weren’t sure why, but seeing the ring so free and empty of any well-meaning and trained professionals gave you the confidence boost that you sorely needed.

When you stepped into the locker room, Punk was already standing by the sink, admiring himself in the mirror. He had been waiting for you to come in, keen to how he spun around the moment you appeared in his line of sight.

“Hand me the bag,” he demands, his arm outstretched and fingers wiggling impatiently.

“Already acting like a princess. No tiara?” you comment, hooking the bag to his forearm.

“We all know who the real princess is in this locker room. Take off that prison jumpsuit and get the fuck over here. I don’t have all day.”

When you pull off your crew neck, you nail it at his back, shaking your head as you start to step out of your sweatpants. You were now left in a tight fitted tank top, a pair of spandex bike shorts, and a ruthless smile that you couldn’t seem to wipe off of your face.

“Come here. I wanna wrap up your wrists.” Punk’s words are muffled by the permanent marker wedged between his teeth. He motions for you to join him at the mirror with a wiggle of his eyebrows, although his gaze was occupied by the search for his wrist tape.

“Ooooh, wrist tape. Thought that was reserved for the pros.”

“Don’t be stupid. This is my one opportunity to turn you into a mini me, and I will not pass it up.”

You lend him your wrists, and watch as he skillfully finds the ripped end of the tape to start unraveling it. He tears out a large piece, keeping it intact to the roll, and starts to gently, skillfully, wrap it around your wrist and hand.

He does the same to the other, occasionally catching your wandering eyes as they stare at his nimble fingers.

“You’re really good at this,” you comment, your voice soft and silky.

“And you’re kissing my ass. I’ve been doing this shit every day for the past ten years.”

“Can’t blame a girl for trying to flirt with the hot guy from the gym.”

“What, is this a roleplay now?” Punk chuckles, ducking down to tear the last bit of wrist tape off the roll with his teeth, “We could do the strangers deal. And maybe later, I’ll let you play doctor.”

“God no,” you huff, catching onto his playful crosstalk, “I take it back. I’m already out of my element as is. The last thing I need right now is to play pretend.”

“Actually, I think you’re wrong.”

He finishes wrapping your other wrist in tape, mastering his methodical routine.

“Wrong? How so?”

“Wrestling is intertwined with playing pretend. If you pretend that I’m not your boyfriend and instead, the thorn in your side that can’t seem to let you win no matter how hard you try, you might be motivated enough to put me away.”

You raise a curious eyebrow, though still deeply infatuated by the sound of his voice, “You want me to pretend to hate you?”

“I’m not saying exactly that but, something along those lines. A bit more of that unbridled Bunny-girl rage might be good for your first time in the wrestling ring.”

You take Punk’s words into consideration. Perhaps it was all just a big game of pretend. Although he seemed to dumb it down in a way that you, someone with the bare minimum knowledge of wrestling, would understand, there seemed to be some truth hidden within.

Once both of your wrists were wrapped, it was finally time to hit the floor. Punk jogged out of the locker room, but you trailed timidly behind.

“Don’t get shy on me now, you were just talking a big game outside that door over there.”

“I was trying to impress you.” You raise your eyebrows, and watch closely as Punk saunters over to a stretching mat tucked in the corner of the gym.

“Lying out of your ass doesn’t impress me, baby,” he pauses his sentence with a grunt as he bends down to move a set of weights out of his way, “Progress does.”

You roll your eyes; he was right once again. He motions for you with his eyes through the mirror, and you join beside him, feeling two feet small.

“Okay, we’re gonna stretch first. We’ll do some individual dynamic stretches, some partner stuff, and then I’ll get you into some high knee laps around the ring. Sounds good?”

You nod wearily, your face already half flushed with dread. “Sounds like I don’t really have a choice.”

Punk eyes you in the mirror, laughing down to the floor before hooking his arm around you and pulling you into his hip.

“Atta’ girl. Such a fast learner.”

And so it began. You were off like a shotgun. The stretches were the tamest part of your workout, though you hadn’t felt those parts of your body being worked out since last night. It was nice to feel looser, agility wise. The partner butterfly stretch was probably your favorite, since the compensation for stretching out your legs and groin was a kiss on the lips.

When it came time for jogging, high knees, and jumping jacks, Punk took it slow. He made sure not to leave you in the dust of his long, muscular legs, and instead kept the pace steady for a novice like yourself.

After your tenth and final lap around the ring, your body already felt like it was teetering on the edge of weakness. It was just sad at this point.

“That… was the warm up?” you puff, resting your hands on your knees with your face to the floor.

“If it got your heart pumping and your legs feeling like they could wrap around the back of your neck? Yes. That was exactly it.”

Punk began to stretch his legs again, grabbing each ankle from behind and pulling them upwards. He watches you as you collect yourself, hoping you’ll look up to see the still unwavering smile on his face.

“Consider me… warmed.”

“Yeah?” he teases, running his tongue across his bottom lip and letting it catch onto his lip ring, “You look like you just got hit by a car. Poor thing.”

Your breathing was still labored and choppy, but that didn’t stop you from flipping him off.

“While you’re out here collecting yourself, I’m gonna go get changed.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Changed? What do you mean changed? You’re already in workout clothes—”

Before you could even dream of continuing, a tattooed finger is smashed against your lips. “Shhh. You’ll see.”

When Punk walks away, you’re left standing in confusion. In soreness. In feeling worn out and whooped already. You were upset at the lack of sleep you’d gotten last night, though it was nobody’s fault but yours (and Punk’s collectively, since it takes two to tango).

As much as you hated to admit it, you were excited to get to work. Learning wrestling moves that you’d seen done so many times in the last few months, and learning them from someone that you trusted more than your own two feet. The more you stood and listened to the fans whooshing around in the gym, the more that looming pit of anxiety turned into adrenaline.

In the midst of your space out, a long, loud whistle catches your attention. Your body snaps to it, without thinking, and is faced with just about the most glorious thing you’d ever seen.

Was Punk… in a fucking Speedo?

Your jaw hangs open, tongue practically unraveling and falling out of your mouth as Punk stands at the entryway of the locker room shirtless with his hands on his hips.

“Was it worth the wait?”

“Holy shit.”

You were extremely tempted to run up to him and tackle him in wet, sloppy kisses; the sight of him so bare, yet so damn confident in his skin made you want to tear through that small scrap of spandex with your teeth. There were Chicago stars lining the waistband, the garment itself a vibrant shade of canary yellow.

At every match you’d attended in the last five months, Punk has wrestled in basketball shorts. You’d heard him talk about wrestling gear before, recalling the time he told you about his trunks, and how they almost came down to his ankles during one of his less recent matches. You assumed what he was wearing right now to be the trunks in question.

“You look killer,” you whistle, walking circles around him like you were a puny dog barking up a tall tree, “That bikini bottom has got me bothered.”

“Consider this a part of your gift— I never train in trunks. Ever.”

“It is—quite the gift,” you guffaw, shamelessly ogling at the smallest bit of his stomach that spilled out over his waistband, “but I can tell you right now, this is gonna be a distraction for me.”

“You’ll get over it. The same way I do when you’re making pancakes in no bra and a t-shirt.”

“Touché.”

Entering the ring was the one thing you were anticipating since walking in here; and now, it was finally time. Punk slid beneath the ropes on his hands and stomach, twisting into a kip-up that made your insides churn. He leans onto the ropes with a devilish smile, glancing at your figure down on the floor.

“Don’t try that at home,” he jokes, walking to the corner of the ring and holding out his hand for you, “M’lady.”

You blush at the simple action, timidly stepping up the steel stairs that lead to the apron. He watches your every move like a hawk: each step you took, how your spandex shorts complimented your hips and ass, how there was now sweat forming on your chest and pooling towards your sports bra.

You bow your head, feeling the energy of an imaginary crowd chanting your name and buzzing with excitement. A smile spreads across your face as Punk holds open the ropes for you, allowing you to step into the ring gracefully.

“You just nailed that entrance, baby,” Punk smiles, almost sizing you up with his eyes, “They love you.”

“Who, the crowd?” you giggle in return, folding your arms as you watch your lover bounce off the ropes a few times.

“Mhm. Can’t you hear ‘em screaming? They’re yelling ‘Bunny! Bunny, you’re so perfect! You’re the most beautiful girl in the world!’”

He makes fake crowd noises, cupping his hands around his mouth. But you’re so rowdy with anticipation that you smack his hands away, teetering on the edge of losing patience.

“C’mon, stop stalling. Teach me something. I’m fuckin’ pumped.”

Punk raises an eyebrow at your ballsy gesture, “A stark contrast from this morning.”

You run in place, pretending to toss punches at him and shuffling back and forth on your feet, “Oh get over it, you know I’m not a morning person.”

Standing at attention and watching as Punk lazily traipsed alongside you felt borderline embarrassing. Were you too excited about this training session? Maybe so. But now, you were just waiting for anything he was willing to throw your way.

He stays still, arms crossed, occasionally snickering at you trying to provoke him. There’s a flicker of desire in his eyes; you could tell that he hadn’t the chance to appreciate how sexy you look in your workout clothes.

“Swing at me. Go on, do it. I’m ready.”

“Are you?”

“Oh, for the love of God Punk, yes. How many times do I have to say it?!”

Punk smirks, running a hand through his hair. He’s got an air about him now that looms over the gym; in essence, this was his ring. His crown, his throne. You were simply just a court jester.

“Before I do anything, let me let you in on a secret. One little thing you need to know about being in the ring…”

He steps closer to you, his words fanning across your face which makes you drop your clenched fists down at your sides. You were anticipating it, waiting and watching hungrily.

But just then, there’s a wall pulled over your eyes. Suddenly, your feet were no longer on the ground, and your ass was hitting the mat.

“…you have to be vigilant.”

You stare up at him, stunned by the impact of your body giving out in such a way. A heavy breath leaves your larynx, as he just stares at you with a smile.

“Told ya’ I wasn’t gonna go soft on you.”

“Fuck you for that,” you grumble, remaining on the ground and basking in the humiliation of having your feet swept out from under you.

“No hard feelings?” he offers a hand, and it takes you a moment to grab it.

Once you’re back upright, having dusted yourself off and reconfigured your posture, you were back with a fighting chance. Your fists were, once again, clenched at chin level, egging him on.

“If you kick my feet out from under me like that again, you’re sleeping on the sidewalk.”

“The sidewalk? Don’t be like that, player. I just said there’s no hard feelings.”

The dance between the two of you continued on. From teaching you basic grappling techniques, simple move sets, and ways to dodge a punch, Punk had you trailing his every move. Eventually, you got him with a good whack to the nose— reminiscent of the punch you’d hit him with on the night you met him.

You watched with narrowed, concentrated eyes as Punk carried on like the punch was nothing, seeing blood pour from his nose, coat his jaw, and drip onto the mat with each shuffle he took.

“Alright, lunge at me,” he says, his voice rugged and eager as your matchup heats up, “Come at me like you mean it.”

“I’ve tried!” you whine, jumping in place, “You’ve dodged everything I’ve attempted!”

“Just do it. I’ll let you hit me. I’ll sell it like you just knocked my soul from my body. C’mon baby, just do it. Show me what you’re made of.”

With a steady grounding breath, you lunge at him. Two wide steps lead you right into his muscular, glistening arms. But a high pitched yelp gets caught in your throat when he ducks down, catches your midriff, and hoists you over his arm.

“Put me down!” You squeal, arms flailing as he spins you horizontally to rest atop both of his shoulders.

“Fight your way out of it. Don’t let me get the chance to finish you off,” he suggests, attempting to help, his words jagged and breathless.

“How?! How am I supposed to get— out of this?!”

You begin to wriggle your way out of his grasp, feeling his arms loosen with each sharp movement you made. He grunts as you fight, though he seemed like he was letting you off easily.

“Knee me in the face. Just’— do it, Bunny.”

“No! Put me down!”

You flail your limbs with equal force to which he was holding you, eventually sliding off of his shoulders and landing back onto your feet. You gasp in shock at your own abilities, and take the first chance you can get to tackle him onto the ground.

A loud grunt rips through your chest, a sound you never knew you were capable of making. Soon enough, you were sitting beside him, with his arm and neck both trapped in a headlock.

“Fuck!” Punk shouts, the wind knocked from his lungs as you hold him. Your confidence came swooping back in like a hawk, giving you the push you needed to extend your leg and press your shoe into his side.

The only thing you seemed to grab onto from Punk’s lesson earlier was a singular submission hold. A signature of his.

The Anaconda Vice.

“Tap out! Tap the fuck out!” you shout at him, tossing your head back as you pull his arm and neck with you.

Your head was spinning, Punk’s breathing was erratic; neither of you could believe the position you were in. You had seen him do this move before. All of the pieces may have finally been falling into place.

“Tap out you fuckin’— son of a bitch, c’mon!”

You feel your vocal chords shred with each hurtful word, you could see the blood and sweat just raining off of Punk’s face, his stubborn ways of life not letting him give up without a fight.

Through grunts, whines, and a practically dislocated shoulder, you and Punk’s eyes meet. There’s a fire between them that holds so much emotion, so much tension, so much pain.

“Let me have this! Let me win! For the love of fuck, tap out!”

“Tighter.”

You barely catch his hushed request through the sound of shuffling bodies. “What?”

“You fuckin’ heard me.”

You follow his command, stiffening your bicep and squeezing him into the crook of your elbow with another loud grunt.

“That’s it. That’s the stuff,” he nods quickly, sweat flicking off of his hair and onto your arm, “Keep fuckin’ going.”

Eventually, your grunts turned into full on shouts. You wouldn’t be surprised if someone walked in the gym and thought the two of you were getting mauled by a lion.

“Tap out!”

“Tap the fuck out!”

Ding ding ding.

The imaginary victory bell rings out in your head the moment your boyfriend’s palm starts violently smacking against the mat. He groans as you release him, the two of you collectively sighing and rolling onto your backs.

That wave of adrenaline from earlier had peaked the moment you’d successfully gotten him into a submission hold; and now, you were just simply basking in the aftermath; blood, sweat, heavy breathing and all.

“Holy shit,” Punk comments, wheezing through the two words between breaths, “I didn’t think you picked up on that.”

You roll your head over to face your lover, who was staring at the ceiling in dismay with a hand tucked between his black locks.

“I’m a good selective listener. The submission stuff seemed the most fun to me.”

“Fun?” he forces out a chuckle, “You think that shit’s fun?”

“It was fun to do it,” you shrug, sprawling out like a starfish and letting your hand drape across his chest.

“Can’t teach a pillow princess shit. You know there’s a difference between submission and submissive, right?”

“Please, I’m not a fuckin’ idiot.”

Punk laughs dryly, clearly beaten up by your little sparring match. But you just as well. There was thick air that hung above the wrestling ring, it was brooding yet wildly energetic— a palpable tension between you.

“You alright there, champ?” You speak to the ceiling.

Punk doesn’t reply.

Your lips pull to the side as you attempt to sneak a glance at him through your peripheral. His abdomen kept a steady rhythm of up, and down, up and down, catching his breath and seemingly processing the hell of a match you’d shared.

Just as you attempt to speak again, you feel your entire body being pulled by two strong hands.

“Shit!” you squeal, somehow managing to end up straddling Punk’s hips while still in your exhausted daze.

“Bunny, baby,” Punk pants, his eyes jaded and gloomy, “that shit was hot.”

“What—?”

Before you can process anything about what had just happened or where your bodies had ended up, Punk’s hands run down to the small of your back, and simply just rest there.

“You have any idea how fuckin’ sexy it is to have my own move done to me? How goddamn gorgeous you looked while screamin’ at me to tap out like a little bitch?”

You shake your head, still too much at a loss for words to even think about clapping back.

“My own fuckin’ move got me all hot and bothered, baby. All because of you.”

“I don’t—” your own thoughts are interrupted by a jagged thrust of Punk’s hips. They lunge upwards, and you feel the shape of his growing erection through the two layers of spandex that separated you.

“Feel that, Bunny? Feel what you fuckin’ do t’ me?” Punk whispers, his neck craning to let his lips meet your chest and dance towards your collarbone.

“Punk,” you whine out, finally able to digest the magnitude of this situation, “We’re in the middle of the ring.”

“Like I give a shit?” he huffs, his arms snaking around you like the anaconda he emulates, “I never knew such a sweet little thing could get so fuckin’ nasty.”

Just then, a catty smile sprawls across your face. You didn’t quite understand what your lover was on about. But after careful consideration of his words and the feeling of his cock prodding your pussy through your gym shorts; your head seemed to screw on right where his was.

“Didn’t have faith in me, did you?” you tease, taking advantage of your position and rolling your hips against him.

“Of course I had faith. Baby, I’d a’ let you tear my arms off if you kept up. But fuckin’ Christ, the way you saw your opportunity and immediately went for the kill? Talk about a murder-suicide.”

One thing about Punk, despite how much he teased you about acting like a lust-sick fool— was that he was equally as smitten.

He runs his hands past your back to cup your ass, gazing at you through those sea-glass eyes of his. You swore he hadn’t blinked in a few minutes.

“I’m glad I’ve been a good protégé,” you smile warmly, running your hands across his chest and dipping down to collect his lips into a tender kiss, “I had fun with you today.”

Punk returns the kiss, and it’s soft at first. Savoring the taste of you on his tongue while taking a moment to let it all linger. The feeling of your body, slick with sweat and pressing against his. The gentle thudding of your heartbeat, that seemed to pick up the moment your lips connected.

But just as you’re under the guise of this being a sickeningly wholesome moment, Punk’s hand snaps to your throat, squeezing the sides of it roughly enough to force open your eyes.

“Cut the sappy shit. I want a rematch.”

You gasp as the reignition of the kiss knocks the air from your lungs, wondering if you should prepare for more sparring, or something else along those lines.

“A— a rematch?” You pant, interrupted by Punk sinking his teeth down into your bottom lip, “But— we’ve been at this for hours.”

“Weren’t you saying yesterday that this was all a ‘testament of your stamina’? Where’d that fiesty girl from a few minutes ago go, hm? Did I knock your head around a few times too many?”

“You’re being such an asshole,” you giggle, pressing your lips down onto his chest and tasting the saltiness of his perspiration, “and my God are you sweaty.”

“I’m sweaty? No shit.”

His sarcastic giggle seemed to propel him forward and due to your current position on his lap, took you with him. He lifted you gracefully, with precision and ease, causing your heart to skip a beat and a small little gasp to get caught in your throat.

Punk anchored his hands on your ass to stand upright. You were now tight against his body, with your ankles locked behind his back and your hands clasped around his neck, holding on for dear life.

“Yeah. You’re fuckin’ sweaty. It’s gross.”

“Y’know, you make a compelling point there, Bunny girl. I guess you didn’t seem to pick up what I was puttin’ down as far as a rematch goes. How about we wrap up our in-ring business and take this to the showers?”

You aren’t even granted the opportunity to respond before Punk is walking you towards the ropes. He sets you down gently, and holds open the top rope to allow you to step out onto the apron. The second his feet hit the actual gym floor, you were back in his arms, and your lips were reconnected like magnets.

“You sure there’s nobody else here?” you pant, your hands unable to decide which part of his back to claw onto.

“Just trust me, would you?”

The feeling of his hands cradling the backs of your thighs was already getting you worked up— the roughness of his fingertips combined with the feeling of scratchy, unraveling wrist tape was a sensory overload. Surely the same went for Punk, since your taped up hands had been crawling across his back since the second he picked you up in his arms.

You heard the gentle squeaking of his wrestling boots guiding you into the locker room, noticing the second they hit the tiles as he rounded the corner. You were so wrapped up in kissing him, letting his tongue twirl with yours and explore your mouth while trusting him to blindly, yet softly, place your ass on the counter top.

Kissing Punk never gets old. No matter how many times you’d lean in to sneak one over the center console of his car, or the plethora of kisses he’d steal one from you to shut you up before bed. Each time was special. It was like the ground rolling under your feet while fireworks lit up the sky above.

Fireworks. Butterflies. Anything that flutters about and paints the world around you in vibrant colors. Whether that world is the comfort and privacy of your own apartment, or the sweaty, dimly lit training gym.

Everywhere Punk kissed you felt like home.

Unfortunately, that fantasy of ‘feeling at home’ was but a daydream. You were now perched onto an oddly clammy granite countertop, feverishly making out with a man who had just spent three and a half hours kicking your legs out from under you and having a damn good time doing it.

“Did you really have fun today, Bunny girl?” Punk’s words knock into your teeth, he was too eager to get his sentence out before fully pulling away.

“I did, surprisingly. Don’t think I’ve worked out like that since I was in PE class but, I digress.”

Punk chuckles, his thumb right there to catch your eyes that dropped down to his torso, “I thought you told me you do things to ‘stay active’? Was that— a lie?”

His expression feigned hurt, though you could see right through those big green eyes in a heartbeat. He was teasing you, he always did.

“Okay, I may have bent the truth. But I’d never lie. I’ll have you know that I walk to the foot of the driveway to grab the mail like, every day.”

“Training for a marathon, I see,” he puffs sarcastically, his wandering hands driving you a bit insane with the way that they cradled your hips, “But seriously, I’m proud of you. And I’m really happy we did this.”

Sincerity was a rarity, coming from Punk. But in the odd moments in which he let that big heart of his show through that tough, blistered exterior, you could almost see the glimmer in his eyes. The fluorescent lighting of the locker room seemed to give him a bit of an angelic halo and the only thing you could think about at this moment was how happy you were to be here.

“I am too. Sorry for uh, being a whiny brat about it.”

“I said it once and I’ll say it again, I wasn’t gonna go easy on you. You took that shit like an absolute star.”

“Did I really?” You were smiling so wide that it actually started to hurt your face.

“Of course, baby. You’re a fuckin’ champion.”

You smirk at the compliment, finding it hard not to shy away and blush, “Your champion?”

“Mmmhm.”

“Best in the world?”

“We’re getting ahead of ourselves now, don’t you think?”

In the ways he does best, Punk shuts you up with a kiss. You expected not to be talking for much longer— as the promise of a shower was still up for grabs. He wasted no time in upholding that promise, reaching down to thumb the elastic of your sports bra. A silent plea, permission to tear it off of you.

“Go for it,” you read his mind, catching that catty smile of his out of the corner of your eye.

He peels you out of your bra, freeing your breasts and allowing himself to cup them as he kisses you. The action pushes you backwards, a soft moan trapping in your chest when he starts to thumb at your sensitive nipples

“God, that sports bra is a nightmare. It’s tight as hell,” Punk comments, ignoring the way you squirm beneath his touch.

You decide not to answer, wondering if your hushed little moans were enough to communicate with him telepathically.

It seemed to be enough after a few moments of tender loving care, as he was now making his way towards your shorts. That spandex was uncomfortable, especially after working out in it for hours in a building with very little air conditioning.

In a frenzy of undressing, quick jabs and plenty of laughter, the two of you were fully bare. Punk had switched you over to the wall towards the shower, with your back pressed firmly against the cool tiles.

“You’re fuckin’ beautiful, do I tell you that enough?” Punk murmurs, his breathing heavy as his lips travel down to your collarbone to shower it in love bites.

“You tell me plenty, Punky Brewster. Keep it up.”

You could feel him grinning widely against your chest. His lip piercing cool to the touch, despite the heat surrounding the scenario. Cool enough to jolt your entire body the moment he wrapped his lips around your stiff peak.

You moan through a sigh, your leg seeking refuge at the notch of his hip as he pulls you in closer. He was always one to pay attention to detail, and right now was no exception.

“Punk,” you groan, your hand lacing into his jet black hair and pushing it out of his eyes.

He hums around your breast, taking his opportunity to snake his free hand down between your bodies and attach his index finger to your clit. Slow, aggravating circles around the sensitive bud bring an electric shock down your spine.

Both you and Punk were impressed by how wet you were already.

“Unreal,” Punk hisses, his face finally coming back up to meet yours and tower over you once again, “un-fucking-real.”

You raise a wobbly eyebrow, barely able to manage your facial expressions as he works away at you with his fingertips, “Hey, you started it.”

“And you let it continue.”

Without warning, Punk plunges two fingers into your soaking wet heat, causing you to gasp and your knees to buckle. His viridian eyes were like daggers, unintentionally claiming your soul.

“So fuckin’ wet for me baby. God, you’re a dream. Is what happened out there what’s got you all worked up?”

You stammer, begging your brain to let you have just one final quip. But your mouth betrays your plea, unleashing a low grumble instead as his fingers pick up pace inside of you.

“Oh, my sweet Bunny girl. Can’t even answer my question, can you? You’re so goddamn needy.”

“Punk,” you whimper his name like a song, “please.”

“Please what, hm? You’re a big girl with an even bigger mouth. I know you can say it.”

Your attempt to speak is ripped away from you the moment Punk finds his rhythm. Your rhythm. His fingers pumped deeply, hitting that sweet spot with each snap of his wrist.

“Oh, I see. My Bunny wants to get fucked doesn’t she?”

A quick nod of your head was all you could muster.

“Really?” he answers you, despite your lack of words or any sound at all, “Right here? You wanna get fucked in the locker room where I tape up my wrists and get changed? In the gym that I’m at every single day? So that every time I’m in here I’ll remember those sweet, desperate eyes of yours?”

You nod again. He understood.

“Well, I’d never deny my baby the pleasure,” he scoffs, though the situation was anything but funny, “You always end up getting what you want at the end of the day anyway, don’t you?”

Punk’s last comment seemed to resuscitate you; you were now not only able to speak, but you were able to think clearly, despite your first orgasm of the day on the horizon.

“That’s— your fault,” you breathe out, narrowing your eyes as the sound of your arousal is now audible, “You— you spoil me.”

“Oh, trust me. I know,” he replies, a sly smile on his face as he picks up on the signs of what was to unravel at the hand of his fingertips, “I never said I was complaining.”

You slam your lips against his; albeit a bit roughly. He lets out a huff, abruptly pulling his fingers out of your pussy.

You squeak. That wasn’t what you asked for, nor expected.

But you also didn’t expect Punk to pull you into the shower and press you against the wall by your neck.

The sequence of events left both of you breathless, now in a silent battle of whose eyes could make the other one fold. A flutter of your eyelashes seemed to do the trick, as you watched Punk melt before you.

“Want me to be rough?” He asks gently, his hand still clamped around your throat while the other caresses your cheek. Quite the juxtaposition.

“Do whatever you please. I’m yours… All yours.”

You kiss him again. You just couldn’t help it. He moans into your mouth and drops his arms to your waist as you run your hands across his broad chest, still slick with sweat. The passion between you was undeniable, you could kiss him for an eternity, though that wouldn’t fly in a moment like this.

Punk pulls away, laughing softly as he guides your body away from the path of the shower head. He turns the nozzle, letting that first bout of water splash against the tiles. You could feel already that it was too cold, pooling at your feet as he reached over to adjust the temperature for you.

No jokes about how you like your showers hotter than the surface of the sun, no teasing. Just you and Punk in comfortable silence as the water thrummed against the floor.

“How is it possible that you could switch from a condescending asshole to a cuddly teddy bear in a matter of seconds?”

Punk’s eyebrows raise, his hand feeling out the water as his body glistens.

“I wouldn’t be like this if it weren’t for you, y’know.”

“I hope you mean that in a good way,” you smirk, “Because personally, I like you better when you’re not being a dick.”

“But you also like it when I am. Don’t think I don’t notice.”

Punk takes your hand and guides you into the warm stream, the water falling over your heads like a storm and trickling down into your eyes.

“I guess I’ve got a bad poker face,” you smile, changing the subject, “Is this an okay time to tell you that I’ve always wanted to be kissed in the rain?”

“It is. Now, is that separate from your lifelong dream of kissing me in the shower, or—?”

He laughs again, and snakes his hands back down to where they rested on your hips, but you just sigh in awe of him, “You’re not very imaginative.”

“Meh, I’m more of a realist. But if kissing me in the rain is what you want, you bet your sweet ass you’re gonna get it.”

He pulls you back in, his lips are salted from sweat, yet inherently sweet in the way that he kisses you. The water runs between your bodies as you press yourself into him.

Your mind was racing with thoughts— but as there was a lull in the pacing of the kiss, you figured, what better time to speak your mind.

“Punk?” you whisper, grabbing his attention in an instant.

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

Punk’s eyes widen, his mouth slightly ajar. You were kicking yourself for speaking so out of turn but in a way, it just seemed so right.

“Bunny, baby….,” he scoffs, pure disbelief, “…Holy shit, I love you too.”

You weren’t lended a moment to process what had just been said— Punk was hoisting you up by your thighs to hold you, spinning you around to press you against the wall of the shower where the water could still reach.

The smile hadn’t left either of your faces, it was evidently clear.

“I’m kinda mad that you said it first. Had this whole spiel planned and everything—”

“Oh my God, you absolute bullshitter!” you chuckle at his sarcastic whining, unable to control your hand from brushing through his wet locks, “you can’t even decide on what you want for dinner most nights. No way you had something planned.”

“Nah, you’re right. Maybe I’m just bitter that you stole the moment,” he admits, biting his cheek.

“Well, you snooze, you lose. Now we can say it whenever, Punker. No holds barred.”

“Jesus Christ, I didn’t even take that into consideration,” he wipes an imaginary bead of sweat from his forehead, “Mind saying it again?”

You roll your eyes in protest, still being held up by his body flushed against you. The contact of wet skin on wet skin was making you antsy. Hell, the admission to loving him combined with your current position was making you more aroused than you were before.

“Fine, how’s this; I love you. So much. Now can we cut this conversation short and can you just— fuck me, please?”

Punk grumbles, taking your face in a handful. His eyes glimmer when they look at you, an expression of pure adoration, “God, I love you more.”

The next few moments spent with Punk had given you severe whiplash; first, he was kissing you tenderly, letting his hand wander across your hips, to your tits, to any place within his reach. Then, he was leaving little nips and bruises across your chest, painting your flesh in dark shades of purple where only he could see.

But suddenly, in the midst of all the whining, moaning, and the sound of water smacking against the tiles, Punk was scooping up your wrists and pinning them above your head.

“You ready for me, baby?” He asks, his voice gravely and eager.

You nod confidently, “Mhm.”

Just then, with as much core strength as he could muster, he keeps you pinned against the wall with your arms raised above, and lines his cock up with your entrance.

You glance down at where your bodies were connected, biting your lip and stifling a high pitched moan at the way he pumps himself a few times to prep.

He slides into you slowly, his thick shaft stretching your walls comfortably and drawing a long and loud sigh from your chest. You couldn’t help but smile, your eyelids fluttering closed as he pushed himself deeper.

“Mmmh, s’ fuckin’ big,” you mumble high bouts of praise, the feeling of him a bit overwhelming at the start.

“Yeah? You look so pretty takin’ my cock, Bunny.”

His hips began to snap; it was evident that he was losing all sense of control when it came to being inside of you, but he tried his best to take things slow. He wanted to savor this moment with you, despite the rough and tough flirting and the obvious desire to split you in half like a log.

“Fuckin’ shit, Punk,” you whimper out, your wrists feeling tender now as his hand kept them hostage.

Punk listens closely to the sound of your pleas, using them as means of communication as your mouth was quickly occupied by his thumb.

Your eyes shoot open when he slides his thumb into your mouth, cupping your chin and forcing your gaze into his jaded eyes.

“Look at that face. That gorgeous, gorgeous face…”

You suck gently on his finger, widening your eyes double their original size as he continues to thrust into you. It was getting unbearable— all of the emotions and feelings swarming around you had left a swirling feeling in the pit of your stomach. You were smitten, love sick, drunk on the way he admired the explicit scenes of your lips wrapped around his thumb.

He picks up the pace, you moan around him. You were thankful that he’d taken the liberty of using his own hand as a muzzle for your desperate sounds.

Tears began to form in your eyes at the pressure of his cock hitting that sweet spot with each thrust; the shower water still trickled down your forehead, swooping off the bridge of your nose. But Punk just smiled at the vulgarity of your face before him, watching remnants of leftover mascara run down your cheeks and paint them with streaks of charcoal.

“You’re close, aren’t you?”

You nod.

“I thought so, my girl.”

He slides his thumb from your mouth, antagonizing you with the pace of his strokes and watching with wide eyes as a string of your saliva follows.

“Gonna cum for me baby? Make a mess on my cock?”

Punk takes the hand of his that was once entrapped by your lips and rests it on your waist, allowing himself to thrust his hips with even more force. You yelp at the change of pace, your ankles locked around his back.

“Please. Please. Please.”

The most you could do was beg now, the both of you panting heavily at the other’s disposal. You clench your walls around him, pinching your eyes shut at the wave of pleasure that slowly started to build at the bottom of your stomach.

To speed things along, Punk reaches between where your bodies meet and attaches a finger to your clit. You were already squirming, the vulgar sounds happening around you clashing together like the sounds of a symphony.

It almost felt as though you were too busy writhing around to look at him.

“Look at me. Fuckin’— look at me.”

He reads your mind. Your wish is his command.

“Let me see that face while you cum for me, Bunny. Such a good girl...”

One last deep thrust of his hips had you doubling over in ecstasy. Though you couldn’t move very far due to the restraint of your wrists, you felt stars begin to fog your vision as the two of you chased your orgasms in tandem.

It was a fleeting moment; one simple gaze into his eyes made you melt. He grumbles, watching you unravel beneath him, shifting himself impossibly closer as he remains buried inside you.

“Punk, holy fuck,” you whisper, your voice fleeing the scene.

“You’re fuckin’ absurd. ‘Got me all messed up in the head. God, I could look at you for hours.”

What was once a moment fueled by lust and passion had turned rapidly into tenderness— there was something so special about being this close to Punk. Feeling this close to Punk. Your body was sore, and limp, though thoroughly satisfied. You hadn’t a thought nor complaint in the world about what it would feel like waking up tomorrow.

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” Punk comments, finally releasing your wrists and keeping you pinned to the wall with his body alone.

“I’d like to hope so. It’s what you signed up for.”

He smiles at your wit, bringing him back to that typical snarky expression that he wears so well. You were still in a daze from getting your lights fucked out.

After a few minutes and a plethora of stolen kisses; Punk slides out of you gently, letting your feet drop to the tiles. He steadies you with a helping hand, knowing full and well that your knees could give out at any moment.

The rest of your shower with Punk is amorous and unspoken. He had taken on the task of running out to the locker room while naked to grab all of his shower necessities from your gym bag.

He bathed you delicately, running the plush washcloth up and down your body like he was polishing a piece of fine china. You smiled at his gentleness, returning the favor moments later as you washed his hair.

After your shower, Punk set you up nicely on the warm up bench with a fresh towel and a pat on the ass. You were sure that your hearts were still fluttering after saying ‘I love you’. It was now just a matter of when the spell would break.

“You alright back there, player?” Punk glances at you through the mirror, stepping into a clean pair of briefs.

Your towel is hugged to your chest, “I don’t think I brought a change of clothes.”

“You fuckin’ serious?”

“What?! It was early! My brain doesn’t start working until like, 1pm.”

Without another word, Punk chuckles, and reaches into the gym bag. He pulls out a pair of boxer shorts and a lacy bralette of yours, still keeping your gaze in the mirror as he tosses them behind his shoulder.

The clothing lands at your feet. He smirks at his own reflection.

“I know you a lot better than you think, Bunny girl. I’m always one step ahead.”

You didn’t think such a simple thing would bring heat to your cheeks— but you were simply obsessed with the way he thought of you.

You were in love.

Once you were changed back into the clothes that you’d worn on your way in, freshly showered and well-taken care of, Punk gathers your shared belongings and slings them over his shoulder.

“Still want that apology milkshake?” he smiles, extending his hand. Another quip. But for some reason, that spell still had yet to be broken.

“You bet your sexy ass I do.”

[dawnbreakersgaze]

Dawnbreaker Discourse 🌄

Over the last couple days I've been tagged in a number of posts regarding the theory that Greyson's story No Morning holds proof that Zayne's Snowy Serenity card is actually Dawnbreaker Zayne who managed to make it to the present timeline.

Below the cut, I'll discuss why I don't believe this is the case, along with references to the in game content that supports my theory. That said, please note that I fully support the folks who want to believe this theory, because at the end of the day my man deserves to have everyone in his corner.

Let's dig in shall we?

For starters, I'm not going to rehash the entire breakdown of where all this commentary started, but will try to sum it up quickly instead.

『The CN players have linked the appearance of the white flowers and the black crystal ice in the WU story No Morning to Dawnbreaker.』

All of these theories are interesting and have a lot of fun ideas, but all of them are missing what I think is the key element here.

I believe the constant reference to the black crystal ice as Dawnbreaker's Evol is being misconstrued for what the game is setting up to be a major plot device/point in later parts of the story.

In No Morning we see Greyson observe the black crystals here-

Earlier in this same story it's specified that this plant comes from a very specific place on Mt Eternal, a place where we've seen another massively impactful scene involving something identical in another anecdote- Never ending Winter:

We also see them referenced again in the World Undernead stories Longly Flame, and Snowy Stairs-

I believe there are other references to the black crystals I am surely missing, but these are the ones I remembered right off the top of my head.

I ALSO realize that in Greyson's POV it very specifically calls them "black ICE crystals" while every other reference says "Black crystals" but I fully believe that's either a translation error, or just a solid case for unreliable narrator. As much as I adore Grey, he can be a bit of a dork, so I can accept the mishap there. That being said, I really do believe with all my heart it is simply a translation difference rather than a deliberate misdirection.

And while Dawnbreaker's ice is indeed a black ice, I do not believe that it will ever be used in a significant storytelling capacity (as in I dont think it will be used to subtly hint at his presence) due to the very heavy-handed usage of these black crystals PG has been feeding us since the very beginning. Never Ending Winter was one of the OG anecdotes, so these black crystals have been set up from launch as a very important reference to either a type of protocore sickness, a metaflux disease, or some other deepspace linked disorder we've yet to understand.

That said, I'll admit I've definitely been calling Zayne's Snowy Serenity card the DawnFaker card because I'll agree- it has some H E A V Y DB undertones and they didn't do him any favors by putting him in a Dawnbreaker cosplay but with a beige sweater. I'm gonna continue to call it the DawnFaker card, but know that it's said in jest and with affection, and that I don't actually believe that card was Dawnbreaker (as much as I wish it was!)

I hope my little bit of imput was helpful or even slightly insightful! Please feel free to discuss or link me any refuting information. I'm always down to say "oops I was wrong~" when it comes to the lore of this game. Because let's be real, it's a mess lol.

[longbobmckenzie]

THTH Season 3 Thoughts

It's been awhile since I've done a thoughts post, but we're over halfway now, and I definitely have some thoughts.

Overall, I'm enjoying the season - I adore Taz, and I look forward to playing it every week. However... I also have a lot of criticisms.

The Love Interests

The love interests are carrying this season!! Taz is the only one I'm really in love with, but I think they're all really good and well-rounded, and there's something for everyone. They have a lot of depth, their loyal routes develop at a really nice pace, and I love that they can be customized! They're the best part of the season and imo they're what make it as enjoyable as it is. Unlike...

The OG "Friends"

I hate them all, and I have since the very first week. Sean is a self-centred annoying asshole (I know some people like him and think he just needs to mature, but he's a big fat no from me). Victoria is an ugly bitch who just uses others to get off. Julian has annoyed me from day 1 with his dramatics, and I didn't like Giselle either but she's only gotten worse and worse. Like girl, if you don't even like Sean that much, maybe don't have sex with him? She's being treated as a sympathetic character, but she wasn't being manipulated or emotionally abused, and she could have spoken her mind. Asshole.

I honestly have had no desire to take the options that give friendship points, so my meters are barely filled for any of them and as a result I lost money when they didn't agree with me when I wanted to forfeit $10k when Poppy and Julian were in the suite. Oops.

The FTL Routes

I really like Avi, and while Poppy was annoying at first, I know people who are doing her route are really loving it. I love the slow burn friends-to-lovers thing so I really love this element - however I would have much preferred it if they were OGs. For Avi especially, it didn't really make sense that he kissed us on the date only to immediately friendzone us. I think it would have made so much more sense if he were there from the beginning and we started out purely as friends.

The "Spy" Storyline

Not a fan of this. Bad Lana is one thing (we'll get to that) but I think this just... doesn't make that much sense? idk. I don't have a fully fleshed out opinion on this or how I'd do it differently, but I think it would've been better in a season without Bad Lana.

Bad Lana

I watched the new season of the show where Bad Lana made her appearance, and I do think it's really neat that they were given that info ahead of time to add it to the game. However, I wish they'd followed how it was done in the show, where the Bad Lana ruling period was at the beginning (they did mention that they had this as well and had lots of fun with it), and then the two people who took advantage of it the most were sent into banishment. Having another Bad Lana ruling period (and then adding the banishment which is coming up in the next episode) right in the middle of the show just doesn't work quite as well to me?

Also, what is the point of getting green lights during Bad Lana's ruling period? We could kiss without them anyway!

MC as the Bombshell

I have mixed feelings on this - I loved being the bombshell and getting the free pass, however... there's just no impact. You pick an LI, you automatically connect, and other than Carmen, none of the partners really care? I would've preferred coming into a situation where the couple was actually a couple and I had to work a bit to turn their head (or maybe even switch to the other person, that'd be fun).

Tying this into the Bad Lana point above, I think it would've made a lot more sense if MC were an OG in this season to experience the Bad Lana period at the beginning. Kiss a couple people, get sent to banishment. To me, that would've been a lot more interesting.

Branching

The branching has been fine (although there have been some continuity errors if you stick with the same LI each time), but I think it was better in S2. I remember always being blown away by how much branching there was in S2, and this season just hasn't had that. It's still good and nothing to complain about, but I'd like to see improvements each season, or at least keeping the same level, rather than taking a slight step back.

Especially now that there are some people who are being banished despite not breaking any rules? How does that make sense? At least in S2, you could be eliminated or not depending on your choices.

The Spicy Scenes

These have been great so far, and I love that they're personalized to each LI and stay consistent with their character. No criticisms here!

The Confessionals

I love, love, love that we don't have a whole episode dedicated to confessionals anymore. And no more dumb quizzes

Cliffhangers

Please, for the love of donuts, not every chapter needs to end on some dramatic soap opera cliffhanger. This week alone, the chapters end as follows:

MC is shocked to walk in on Jirayu and Carmen in the sauna

MC is shocked that someone is having sex (despite the fact she literally just had sex in my route)

Lana's announcement

It's just kinda cheesy at this point, especially the 2nd chapter ending. It's Bad Lana's ruling period, people are having sex, what is there to be surprised about? And the fact that sooo many chapters end like this? Walking in on other people, jumping to conclusions, etc. It's getting old. It's one thing if the whole episode has a cliffhanger of some sort (still not really necessary), but each chapter? c'mon. Let's stop with the dramatics.

Edited to add:

Background Characters

It's kind of disappointing that if you're not romancing one of the LIs, you just... never see them. The storyline is dominated by the "friends" and your own LI (and Carmen/Jirayu with a minor plotline), and then there's always that one other couple that breaks rules, but otherwise, they all fade into the background. It's a lot like S1 again, whereas one of the things I appreciated about S2 was that the LIs you weren't romancing were still a big part of the story. In S3, if you don't choose their scenes, you just never see them. I hardly know anything about Beatriz, Carmen, or Isla, because I don't take their scenes and barely interact with them. On my Taz route, I've barely spoken to Jirayu or Matthias.

Now that we're pretty much locked in, maybe those characters will start being included more (like in today's episode where we had the chance for a threesome with the couple we've interacted with the least), but I would have really appreciated them being included more up to this point. It's a noticeable change from S2 and since I hate the OG "friend" characters, it's a real negative.

I feel like I had more things to touch on but I've forgotten them, so I'll stop here! Would love to know if you agree, disagree, or have anything else to add!

[homicidal-mother]

"That's Not Mistletoe"

-

MDNI

-

Peter Maximoff x GN!Reader

-

Warnings: Very Vague Angst, Pure Fluff, Cheesy As Fuck

-

Christmas time rolls around only once a year and honestly- that seems like once too many these days.

Missions, missions and more missions... God, life is a real kick in the ass, huh?

Then there's the holidays where things continue to be chaos and you just- miss your family. Miss what it used to be like as a kid before everything went to shit. Oh well.

"Damn, who pissed in your cheerios?"

You look up to spot the one and only Peter Maximoff, standing there with a bowl full of cereal munching on it with his hand- Seriously, has this guy never heard of a spoon?

Is he your best friend? Yes. Does that mean you also think he's a hype-speed disaster? Definitely.

"Just a little sick of listening to Rockin' Around The Christmas Tree for the umpteenth time."

"Oooo, someone's a bit grinchy."

"Yeah, well- it ain't exactly 'The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year' for me."

"Maaaybe, I can change that."

Oh, you know that look in those big beautiful brown eyes. Deceptively adorable but most definitely going to get into trouble.

Peter is both the smartest and dumbest person you know. He can be super intelligent and quick witted but also often doesn't think things through fully.

However, you can't resist that charming grin and flicker of mischief. Deciding to up whatever this is into a game- a challenge. Peter loves challenges.

"Alrighty then. Go ahead and play my Silver Santy Claus. Make my spirit bright and merry."

••

You just lay pathetically on your back in the snow with the flakes falling on your face, not bothering to move at all.

"That is not how you make a snow angel."

"My bones hurt, Peter. You're lucky. Your speedy ass is warm by nature."

His eyes meet yours and there's something in the moment, his cheeks and nose ever so slightly red, snowflakes glistening in his silver hair. It looks like he belongs in a winter wonderland- genuinely got a bit of a cute Jack Frost look goin' on right now.

'Fwip'

Before you could stare too long in a silver blur he's abruptly flopped down into the snow by your side, star-fishing against the ground to make a snow angel, his foot nudging your leg in the process.

"Ah, god... Personal space, Peter."

"Oops."

••

Highlight of the day so far? Peter unintentionally ice skating.

He rushes by you carrying the cold wind with him, which is very much not appreciated given you were already feeling like a total popsicle...

He made a major error though- the sidewalk was a bit icy in a spot and you watch him go flying across the ground, feet straight out from under the poor guy.

You watch as he ends up face down in a random pile of snow, luckily he doesn't seem to be too injured or anything... So, like any good friend you start laughing like hell.

"Holy shit, dude. You okay?"

"Yep... Just wounded my ego."

He simply brushes it right off and flashes a bright grin up at you, snow clinging all over his face, some flakes trapped in his eyelashes...

Oh shit- cute...

Little did you know- his whole chest swelled with warmth at your laughter. It was like the cold and busting his ass was entirely irrelevant when he saw your beaming smile. This is all he wanted...

••

Decorating your room with Quickie? What could go wrong!

You stare at the stupid amount of silver tinsel just- everywhere. Like. He put it everywhere.

Because of course he went ham with the silver theme.

"We need more colors, Peter."

His elbow nudges your side as he comes to a halt by you, shuffling his feet and stuffing his hands into his pockets.

"Are ya kidding? I think silver suits you almost as much as it does me."

Your eyes glance down to realize you also got wrapped in silver tinsel as well, an unamused expression gracing your face as you look back up at him.

It is funny but you aren't gonna give him that.

"More color, Peter."

"Alright, alright... I'll go get the other boxes."

••

Before you know it- you have gotten really into Christmas. It feels like you're a kid again, arranging the ornaments just so on the mini tree in the corner of your room. Everything else that happened to make you bitter towards the holiday fades towards the background.

Christmas is fun when you have someone to celebrate with.

"Look who's gettin' into the holiday spirit... Seems I really am Silver Santy Claus."

Your eyes roll dramatically as you turn to face a clearly overly-proud-of-himself Peter. You'd think he just saved a bus full of civilians with the twinkle in his eyes.

"Yeah, okay, Santa."

"Wanna sit on my lap and tell me what you want for Christmas-"

He was gonna crack a joke and tease you but had no idea where he was taking that and it also... Sounded a bit - well - yeah. An awkward pause follows and you can't stop yourself from laughing.

"Jesus, Peter. Stuff really just falls outta your mouth, huh?"

"The offer still stands."

Oh. Well now you're blushing. Not good.

He grins triumphantly rather than being embarrassed, instead just teasing the hell out of you anyway.

••

The colored light twinkle so vibrantly around your room, it truly feels like a fantasy land.

Your gaze lands on Peter who looks to be just as enamored by the Christmas lights, the colors reflecting across his hair and basking him in the vibrant glow, little flickers of blue, green, red and pink dotting in his big doe eyes.

He looks back at you after a moment and it seems he sees the exact same thing happening to you, colors dancing across your face in a mesmerizing fashion.

He points up at the ceiling to draw your attention there.

"Well, would ya look at that... It's tradition to kiss under it, right?"

"Peter... That's not mistletoe. That's a piece of a tree branch from the yard."

Not another word is uttered before your lips meet his anyway under the Christmas lights, Peter was never one to waste time after all. Fingers clutching onto his fluffy silver locks with his hands rested against your back to tug you impossibly close.

You taste the remnants of various sweets on his lips, warmth blooming through your veins as you two part after a moment.

"Does this count as your Christmas gift this year?"

"Shut up, Peter."

-

{This is so stupid but I wanted to write something for Christmas LOL}

-

{More Content}

[judesmoonbeauty]

Ghost House Report: A Requiem For You - Harrison Gray Chapter 2

Fan translation only. Not 100% accurate. Please expect grammatical errors. Cybird owns everything. Feel free to re-blog, but please do not post my translations elsewhere. If you'd like to be added to my translations tag list, please comment below. Thank you, for you support! ☾.

CW: Death

With Harrison following behind,

My body - now taken over by Robert - continues down the second floor corridor without hesitation.

(He has a sarcastic tone, but his mannerisms are elegant……seems like he really is the head butler.)

Harrison: So, Robert, what are you looking for?

Robert’s Ghost: My only regret.

(…..Is this what Robert feels?…….Sadness is flowing into me.)

(I wonder if what he’s looking for is a precious momento or something.)

Robert’s Ghost: I want to clear up this regret.

At that moment, Robert suddenly took a large step with my foot right into a rotten floor board.

Robert’s Ghost: .....

(I’m falling……!)

Harrison: Kate!

Just in the nick of time, Harry reaches out and pulls me close to him by the waist. (Screen shakes)

There was a large gaping hole at my feet, and I shuddered as I looked down below.

(That was close……)

Harrison: Are you okay?

Kate: Oh, thank you…..Wait, I can speak?

My arms that are clinging to Harry can also tighten at my will.

Harrison: ……Ah, it’s you, Kate.

Harry looked into my eyes, breathed a sigh of relief and hugged me tightly again.

Harrison: That guy……he probably left you immediately because your body was in danger.

Harrison: He’s really a shrewd spirit.

(He escaped…..Yea, I definitely don’t feel his presence…..Thank goodness……)

Harrison: But don’t let your guard down……

Robert’s Ghost: Well, you’re quite the brave gentleman. I’m glad you’re okay.

Harrison: !

(Ugh, I’ve been stolen again…..)

Harrison: Didn’t you leave.

Harry loosens his grip on me and looks coldly at Robert inside me.

Robert’s Ghost: Not at all! For just a moment, my presence temporarily disappeared.

Robert’s Ghost: As you said, if the young lady’s body becomes useless, I’ll leave it immediately.

Harrison: ……

Like nothing had just happened, Robert started to walk away as me when Harry suddenly stuck out his elbow.

Robert’s Ghost: ……What do you want?

Harrison: Not you, Robert.

Harrison: Kate, can you hear me? You must be scared in there again.

Harrison: Grab my arm.

(!)

Harrison: ……Robert, to you it may be a replaceable body,

Harrison: But this is Kate’s precious body. I won’t let it be treated irresponsibly.

Robert’s Ghost: ……Ah, look at you being a gentleman —

Robert’s Ghost: It even makes the love that I had tucked deep inside my heart ache.

(……Robert?)

Robert’s Ghost: My word, I never it expected it to be this troublesome.

Robert’s Ghost: It can’t be helped, linking arms with another man isn’t a hobby of mine, but……I’ll cooperate.

Harrison: Don’t get it wrong. I’m only linking arms because of Kate’s body.

Harry wrapped his arm around me and held my hand, intertwining our fingers tightly.

(……, I can feel the warmth of Harry’s hand…it makes me happy.)

Robert’s Ghost: ……I too want to be freed from this abominable mansion, so I’ll put up with it. Shall we go?

Harrison: “Abominable?” What happened here?

Robert’s Ghost: Oops, I’ve said too much.

Harrison: We came to investigate the mystery of this mansion. Can you tell us anything?

Robert’s Ghost: Ah, I see……so that’s how it is.

Robert’s Ghost: For a gentleman, perhaps I could shed some light.

Robert took a breath and then slowly began to speak.

Robert’s Ghost: In truth, in this mansion…..my master had been secretly conducting human experimentation.

(……, Robert’s bitter feelings are flowing in……)

Harrison: Human experimentation? What the heck?

Robert’s Ghost: ……I wasn’t present at the scene, so I don’t know the details.

Robert’s Ghost: My master had been keeping it a secret, but from time to time we would hear groans and other unusual noises —

Robert’s Ghost: Undoubtedly, they were dangerous and unethical experiments that needed to be covered up.

Robert’s Ghost: Perhaps because of that, my master’s behavior became more and more suspicious day by day, and as the head butler I didn’t think it was alright for things to continue you like this.

Robert’s Ghost: For the family……I was concerned that it would have a negative impact on the only daughter.

Robert’s Ghost: And as a man……I wanted to help the young lady who was my precious lover.

Robert’s Ghost: ……My lovely, golden-haired lover.

(Robert’s feelings of sadness…..makes my heart ache.)

Harrison: Golden hair……

Harrison: Perhaps, you’re referring to the lady in the portrait?

Robert’s Ghost: Indeed. By the way, I painted that picture too. Hehe, the young lady pestered me to.

When Robert muttered that, the sad feeling I felt before suddenly lightened, and I felt warmth.

(……I see……I’m sure it was a wonderful memory for Robert.)

Harrison: ……

Robert’s Ghost: We made up our minds and promised to run away from this mansion together.

Robert’s Ghost: However, on the evening of the promised day, while I was on my way to her room, I ran into the master.

(Robert’s memories vividly come to my mind….)

Flashback Begins

Master of the Mansion: What are you doing sneaking around at this time….I thought it was suspicious, but it seems you’re betraying me after all.

Robert: What do you mean betray you —?

Master of the Mansion: Don’t play dumb, I know you aren’t happy about my research.

Master of the Mansion: Are you planning to run away from here? Moreover involving my daughter.

Master of the Mansion: I kept my research from that child, and I can’t help but think that you revealed it to her in order to tempt her.

Master of the Mansion: The plan is for my healthily grown daughter to cooperate as a research specimen in the future. I’m not letting her go.

Robert: ! Sir, do you know what you’re saying?! That is a horrible thing to say……

Master of the Mansion: Oh, it’s all for research purposes. There’s nothing wrong with it……hehe.

Robert: I can’t let my Lady experience something like that. Not ever….

Master of the Mansion: Hmm, that’s a problem. I’ll just need to get rid of those who get in the way of my research.

Master of the Mansion: ……In order to protect my secret.

Robert: !……Arghh…….ngh

Flashback Ends

Robert’s Ghost: My soul was destroyed that night.

Robert’s Ghost: Feeling bad that I was unable to fulfill my promise, I stayed in the mansion and watched over the young Lady.

Robert’s Ghost: The master, told the young lady about me.

Robert’s Ghost: Apparently he lied and said, “Once I gave him the money he happily left the mansion without his lover.”

Robert’s Ghost: The young lady thought I betrayed her, and she closed up her heart.

Robert’s Ghost: The master also put her under house arrest, and she cried every night.

Robert’s Ghost: I was unable to clear up the misunderstanding, lend my heart or rescue her….I’m truly a worthless man.

(It must’ve been decades ago……and he still has such strong feelings about it.)

(That’s how important your lover was to you.)

Harrison: ……

As I walk down the dimly lit corridor at Robert’s will, I am overcome by a strange feeling.

(This tension is making Robert…..dizzy.)

Robert’s Ghost: ……It’s within here.

Looking closely at the wall of the corridor Robert was pointing to, you could see a door that blended in with the wall.

Harrison: A hidden room.

Robert’s Ghost: Indeed. My master had the habit of throwing inconvenient things in their.

Robert’s Ghost: But it’s locked. When the master was alive, and he unlocked the door

Robert’s Ghost: My role was to keep pushing against the wall.

There was a faint gap in the wall that Robert pointed to that seemed like the only area that could be moved.

Robert’s Ghost: I don’t even have the key anymore, so any good advice —

Harrison: Key, it shouldn’t be a problem to break it.

Harry takes his gun from his pocket and aims it at the keyhole.

Robert’s Ghost: ! ……Hehe, I was right to ask you for help.

Robert’s Ghost: Just in case, I’ll just keep pushing the wall as instructed.

Robert puts both hands on a part of the wall with my body and pushed hard.

Then, the part I pushed moved slightly, and a gap appeared between it and the surrounding wall.

Robert’s Ghost: —Come on, please.

Harrison: Ah.

Before I could respond, he punched the keyhole and kicked the door open —.

A cluttered room appeared, unbecoming of an aristocratic mansion.

Harrison: So, what is the head butler be searching for in his master’s hidden room?

[Master List] [Next]

Tag List: @theimaginativelyreticent @sapphire-323 Dividers: @/brokenbard

More trashy fathers.....( ｡ •̀ ᴖ •́ ｡) And I'm sorry for what I thought about Robert after reading chapter 1.

[frogsandfries]

So anyway, the real reason I came over here:

I've been watching more sketchbook tours and watching people talk about their graphic novels. I just wanted to remark, I'm noticing this interesting pattern. Or, idk I guess maybe not a pattern. There are some people who are perhaps, in my opinion, overly proud of their work, even though it's not all that, and by their own admission they didn't work all that hard on it. On the other hand, I found someone who was perhaps overly critical of their work, to the point of going back over and over, not redrawing the whole thing, but redrawing pages they weren't happy with.

I'm obviously no professional. When it comes to discussing my own graphic novel, I obviously have no fucking idea what I'm doing, seeing as I've never sold a copy of my single issue of my own graphic novel (available on Amazon please at least click the link if you see this).

As a matter of fact, I wonder if I'm not maybe a little embarrassed of what this cute, seemingly-innocent slice of life will become...one day, maybe in a million years, it feels like. Maybe that's what's holding me back...

But, I don't look back. That's the rule. I have been searching for a way to continue coloring my graphic novel, so very strictly speaking, you very fairly could say that I most certainly have gone back. I have started coloring volume 001 probably three times. To be fair, it's not like I've gotten very far on any of my attempts. I'm not charging forward with the coloring only to repeatedly backtrack. More to the point, since I've "Actually™️ Started " the graphic novel, I haven't gone back and completely redrawn entire scenes. I've traced my own work in order to set it up for the coloring process. I've improved hands and feet. But I haven't finished any part of my work only to completely throw it out and start completely over.

I don't look back. No matter how badly I might one day want to, like, maybe I've finally finished it and I'm comparing the last-est frame to the first? I mean, personally, I like to think I'm pretty zen about my art. One foot in front of the other, one day at a time, more secure than insecure that yesterday is gone and behind me, even in my art.

Plus, when trying to make a graphic novel, I'm not trying to suffer any more than I already am. It feels like the only thing there is, at least in terms of my linework and this graphic novel, is whatever there is. For graphic novels, it's perhaps the one time and place in my creative journey where quantity is more significant than quality.

I read graphic novels, of course I do (mostly for the art). I know that when I'm reading a graphic novel, I'm paying more attention than the average reader to things like composition, color palette, character design, small details that anyone with an untrained eye wouldn't think twice about.

I know there's probably a million places where the artist said to themself, quietly, Oh shit. Oops. Argh.

But a fellow artist who has zero relation with these artists has no idea where these "oh shit"s are. And the average reader probably doesn't really even know or care that these moments happen (unless they are so jarringly, glaringly obvious that there was definitely an opportunity to fix that and now anyone who sees this error will be thrown bodily from their suspension of disbelief).

So, apart from fighting myself over how to color the damn graphic novel in the first place, given that pixel art was painfully unsustainable, I have a) learned to train my focus forward (especially because, if you think Ava's Demon is huge, the only difference between the sizes of our bodies of work presently is merely starting time), and b) fully embraced quantity of art over quality of art for this body of work. If I want to make any sort of progress on this project, I simply cannot be throwing the whole thing in the garbage every six months because it isn't absolutely flawless. I've been making art for long enough, and college was brutal enough, for me to have fully made me more than embrace the imperfection of a quantity-based creative endeavor, but I have fully absorbed the lessons of imperfection.

Anyway, all this to say, I think style one of being peacockish-ly proud of something you barely put any time and effort into, to the point that it shows, is sophomoric in not having any critical thoughts or feelings toward your work. I don't beam like a toddler every time I finish a single page. Style two of reviewing your graphic novel every six months or whatever is also sophomoric, perhaps self-sabotaging in a way. I'm not trying to pretend that one shouldn't be proud of their graphic novel, whether it's five pages or twenty-five volumes. I don’t think you should be so proud of your work, you want to slap it on the fridge; nor should you be so self-sabotagingly harsh.

And to be totally fair, maybe low-effort artist has it right in a way: Maybe, who cares about becoming a better artist in the course of making a graphic novel. Certainly most readers aren't necessarily watching your creative journey; they should be focused on the story.

[valeriefauxnom]

Chelle definitely also seems more formal, doesn't she also tend to use 'sama' as the honorofic for her brothers instead of -san? Though who knows how much of that is again a bit mocking, since, well, she's Chelle.

I'd actually had that thought when trying to crunch on the whole 'Sophia' thing, wondering if her name in JP was Sophia, but no, it still seemed to be Sophie, so I decided to overlook it in the end even if they are similar. That being said, I do agree that there definitely is something interesting there for interaction potential, since she's focused on the wind as well, and overall seems like she would get right along with Phares as another analytical, calm, and observant person who likes teaching others.

It's not as if it the writers never started to go down a potential fam x irrelevant-to-main-story-adventurer line, either, with the continued teasing of Malora and Valyx, so who knows if they had bigger dreams by starting to stress Sophie there even if Phares ultimately expressed 0.00% interest in anything romantic like most the family with what we got in canon (I joke with my friend that that's a reason why the main bloodline is so small - there's some really really strong aroace genes in the blood and it's a miracle they've lasted this long!)

Though darn it I realize now that I forgot to include the Sophie plot hole error in this very original post now that I'm reminded of it. Her story, in the bid to have her able to explain things, unintentionally put Elly into the position where it seems she's ignorant of some of the basic philosophy of her own church:

Oops, on both my part and Dragalia's.

But anyways, yeah, I'm right with you there in the same boat of not being inclined to shipping, generally (tucks all the platonic fics I've written behind my back)... but if one is doing the 'I think they Might Work together' ship debate, Sophie is a prime candidate for who I'd say is 'most fitting together' with Phares.

Also, I think that if Phares weren't pacted with Uranus, another dragon that would have fit him to a T was Horus. A dragon with a history with a royal family, interested in experiments/knowledge. with strong connections to life, death, and the twisting of it? There's easily room for a plot of Horus coming to care for a new family in some other AU, and maybe being the one to bring his pactbound back, I think!

As a final thing regarding Phares, I think he's overall the kind to more excuse people's formality to him then one to drop all formality the other way. He just doesn't want people holding him on a pedestal as prince and feeling the need to acquiesce to his thoughts/theories, wants the challenge for science and all that, and so encourages Sophie to drop pretense even as he maintains his own 'politeness'.

Ah, I swore I've been to that site even like just yesterday, but the images were all broken. Did they move sites at some point? Thank you for finding that, though! I was starting to get worried they were lost to the ages.

I've also privately tended towards Aurelius as a younger if not youngest sibling of his generation. I think it could explain partially why he thinks about Emile and Euden's potential futures on the throne as much as he does, since, well, he knows how unlikely it is that either ascend, but it still happened to him (maybe, in this headcanon). And he would want to be prepared and make sure they are, too, if something so terrible gets to all their hyper-competent siblings before them. Hence his imagining Emile as a king of literature to challenge Alberia's militarism (in another of its parallels to Rome) for Audric, since he thinks the concept of abandoning the responsibilities is inconceivable, etc, or for canon Aurelius, trying to make sure Emile would feel comfortable stepping aside ('casting away') his duties if the throne were on his doorstep to let Euden ascend if he didn't feel ready.

But yes I definitely think that the main bloodline has been 'culled' lately, whether it was through the war or plague or something else, since as you say, it definitely explains the high number of siblings and the so little mention of any other close relative.

Plus it's not like Alberia shows much indication that it struggles with the historical problem of infant survival rates. Aurelius is upset enough at a 1-month old dying to go cross country for him on his own and break out black magics, I really don't think he's used to any of his children not surviving infancy.

I do wonder what all they might use it for though, aside from the standard uses of pacting, because it definitely seems an enabler of powerful magics, whether it's Delphi needing it for rituals, Alberius having artifacts sealed with it, or Aurelius using it to biometrically lock away skeletons in his closet.... It's definitely not just 'normal blood but slightly more compatible with dragons', methinks...

More Dragalia Minor Mistakes (Or, when Dragalia's writers and/or translators failed a lore check)...

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: Dragalia was surprisingly astute to the general mass of lore it had. That being said, it's only natural that a few mistakes or lore contradictions would slip through the cracks over years of development, perhaps staff coming and going, yadda yadda. Consider this just the second of small logs of whatever I've noticed, throughout my meanderings through the wiki and more!

First up, we're starting today's category with 'technology', namely, the humble abacus. Dragalia's mishmash of technology is understandable, since they've been artificially kept in a state of technological limbo until canon time. And of their technology, we know that the abacus is something that's been lost to most of the world, it seems.

It's Xiao Lei's whole thing, for the rest of the cast to be amazed at how fast she's able to do math with, how cool that is, etc etc. It's this special Taiwuan thing that might save the scientists in Alberia a lot of work!

One problem: this random NPC, very Alberian, shopkeep also is randomly using one, to no amazement by the cast.

Whoops.

More relevant to the main story, though, Phares once incurs a small case of brainfog and mistakes the name of his own terminal illness:

This one I think I can reasonably provide a rationale for this being a translator's error, perhaps one who hadn't dealt with Phares or at least dealt with him for a while. Why? Wyrmscale is more literally in Japanese 'dragon scale - itis', (or, 竜鱗病, ryu urin byou, ryu=dragon, urin=scale, byo = character for 'sickness'), so a translator might have read that and just translated it literally instead of checking whatever lore docs they might have had that they'd already called it 'wyrmscale' in English!

Also related to the lore, this next one's more of a case of later lore contradicting the earlier one, and boy is it petty quibbling on my end.

In short, take a look at this dialogue from Elysium:

See anything wrong? No?

Well, my problem is the use of the word 'young' here! It is the singular word that goes against lore here, as I can't exactly argue against his opinion claim of 'immature!'

We've no less than three other canon sources at least that instead frame humans as a species as among the first in the universe, right along with dragons!

So, yes, Elysium, you're not wrong to call humans 'immature', but to call their species 'young'???? You know better than that! (no he didn't, since this dialogue came before any of the other contradictions here, I believe, but it's still technically an error!)

If we're on a dragon kick, pop quiz: who was Alberius' first pactbound dragon?

Some of you might be yelling 'MIDGARDSORMR' as others yell 'CHTHONIUS', and then you both might hypothetically look at each other and feel confused. Well, you may be glad to know that this was a genuine lore contradiction instead of one of you being 'wrong'.

It's understandable why people thought both options, even aside from the lore confusion. Midgardsormr as the first to really start hanging out with him, or Chthonius as the dragon he was tied body and soul to in the end, who literally merged with him?

Overall, I'm more of the 'Chthonius' side for what they ultimately intended, as we also see other descriptions painstakingly spell out that Mids was the 'first dragon to personally meet Alberius' instead of just saying 'pact with Alberius', and one slipped through the cracks, but still! These minor lore slip ups are what I'm cataloguing here. Honestly, between this, the non-pact slip-up with Brunhilda in the previous post I made, and other things like Alberius slapping Jupiter, he sure had a lot of pacting 'fun' and drama, huh?

Now I'll return to the royal fam lore drama. A long long time ago, I made a post explaining how the family says their names, as is said by their siblings. Some (Phares, cough cough) shooketh me greatly, as the aforementioned example's name might more phonetically be rendered 'Farez' to me instead of the 'Fairays' I was running with more since in my brain I was connecting it to words like "pharaoh" instead.

But I realized I overlooked their father's name. From what I'm seeing, only Audric says his own real name, as everyone else wants to call him His Majesty, Father, or the King.

And here's the doozy: his dementia aura he gives everyone has also been affecting he himself, because he says HIS OWN NAME two different ways!

Here's the relevant soundbites to demonstrate what I mean:

Here, we see one 'Or - Ray - Li - Us' and one 'Or - Rel - ii - Us'

I thiiink we see 'Ray' version twice vs the one time of 'Rel', but this more seems to be a division between his base form and Gala form.

I did a bit more digging, and we've also Gala Gatov... but his pronunciation is so foggy that it's remarkably hard to tell if he's saying 'Ray' 'Rel' or 'Ril', though I overall lean towards 'Rel' on a slowdown!

So... yeah. I guess it's ultimately up to you guys how you wanna say his name, because they sent mixed signals in English!

(As a bonus I'll just throw this other soundbite out here for any of you guys curious about how to say Vio Rhyse Alberia, since it's become a minor battle cry for the fandom in their grief)

Huh... you know, that might actually be a great place to meld into my final example!

'Vio Rhyse Alberia' is suggested once to mean 'Glory to Alberia'. Presumably, it's not just their modern language nor another real one, since we don't really see them bust out other similar phrases. Heck, even Audric's pronunciation here is a slight warp from the standard 'Al-beer-ia' with whatever little roll he's doing with the 'r' in there.

Specifically, it's likely 'Ancient Alberian', a language that Elisanne ID's as existing in ch.13, and one Phares is also likely able to read for him to be able to get the stuff it's written on up and working (+the fact he's specifically talented in 'ancient languages' plural).

This is... well, a big 'Hum' moment, in that while I cannot think of a way in which it makes sense, it's not as cut-and-dry as the others for 'this says x, this says y'.

If we're talking early Ilian church, specifically, this dates this machine to about 1k years ago, during the golden age of humanity and Ilia. It makes sense, since alchemy was also in its heyday then.

The thing is that Alberia just flat-out didn't exist until 300 years ago, until Alberius created it. With how similar 'Alberius' and 'Alberia' are in name, one might have presumed he named it after himself. But let's excuse that little bit, and just say it's a root that stems from earlier language in the same way humans are often named after objects even to this day.

It's still a bit confusing - this puts Ilia in a weird place to where she's fully comprehend-able to our modern crew and vice-versa despite seemingly speaking this different language. Ilia even seems to share a similar slang culture, with her joining the crew in occasionally butchering French on purpose (toot sweet in place of tout de suite). I might be tempted to excuse it like how English has developed, from a point where its written variety has greatly developed even when most of the words they were saying/writing are understandable, but this again is troubled by the existence of 'Vio Rhyse Alberia', a phrase that is clearly not a 'normal part' of their language.

This is giving me weird ideas where Ilia is speaking in this really ancient dialect that's just barely understandable to the modern day crew, kinda like how we can kinda piece out even some Old English or Latin with vocabulary even when it's written entirely differently. Take the good old people doing Old English covers of songs, where we see 'Irish-made' in a Pumped Up Kicks translation turned to 'Írisc-worht', which to me I can piece together 'Irish' from the first word and get reminded of 'wrought' from the second, which is a word that means, well, made from.

I digress. The best way I can really excuse the name is honestly a bit funny: that historians and all those scholars retroactively decided to call this language they (re)discovered 'Ancient Alberian' just because the land that they discovered it on or something is now Alberia, long enough before that the Church was able to pick it up again and start teaching kids it.

Alternatively, that there was a historical Alberia that Alberius stole the name from, that Euden would then go on to steal from Alberius when naming his own kingdom. "That's Alberia, this is Alberia, are there any more Alberias I should know about? Meow (says Leonidas' 'Alberia' reformed under his sovereignty)"

Sigh. Make of it what you will. But there's something funky going on in the linguistical history of Alberia here. The way I've personally decided to sweep it under the rug is treating them as spoken similarly enough for Alberius-Ilia-Euden to all mutually comprehend (Alberius additionally trapped in a cave and serving as a perfect time capsule of his language at the time), but the written form has warped far too much for any of them to understand each other. Still doesn't explain Vio Rhyse but hey, blame other lost language's influence or something and boom.

That's enough rambling on my end, however. If you've any other plot holes or lore failure checks, though, please let me know!

[eirist]

Little Bits and Pieces of Heaven

TAKE ME TO HELL

One-shot #: 34

Disclaimer: One Piece (and its characters) belongs to Eiichiro Oda-sensei.

Reminder: I have no beta-reader. Any grammatical and spelling errors are solely mine.

Warning: OOC possible. One shot.

Rating: T

Note: Happy Halloween! Yes of course there will be a ZoNa Halloween-themed one-shot, Hurriedly written while watching Stardust. Take You to Hell is by Ava Max. Because seriously these two is a match made there. I hope you enjoy it.

Summary: Oh he had seen the devil alright. 

"It's just a story."

Usopp haughtily declared after a few minutes of silence (and after clearing his throat, for like a dozen times). “The-There’s probably no truth in it,” he continued stammering a little before catching himself lest his crewmates realized that he is trying so very hard to be brave.

“If that’s the case then why are your knees trembling?” Nami teased him, her grin catty as ever. She gave him a side-glance and snickered when she saw his legs shaking.

“They aren’t!” Usopp all but screeched at her and she just laughed at him.

They were exiting the Sunny’s galley… after lingering there after dinner to enjoy some additional after dinner dessert of cakes and drinks and some of Robin’s creepy island tales.

“You’re such a scaredy-cat,” Nami commented as she sized him up.

“Oh,” Usopp gasped at that. “And you’re not?”

“Nope.”

He was looking at her incredulously now. “How in the world did that happen? Can someone explain this miracle to me?!”

“Because Robin’s story is not true!” Nami exclaimed making him flinch.

“And how did you even know that it’s not?!”

The tinkling sound of a coffee cup being placed on its saucer caught their attention. Robin smiled amusedly at them from inside the galley before speaking up. “Like I said, it’s just a local folklore.” She gave the cowardly sniper an almost creepy smile and Usopp shuddered.

Nami rolled her eyes at the two. “See? It’s just a story. There is no devil lurking on this island or even anywhere, prancing about, visiting you while you sleep!”

“Probably because no one lived to tell the tale!” Usopp hissed at her.

Chopper who remained silent all-throughout Usopp’s outburst finally spoke up. “Ne, Nami. How sure are you that there is no devil, like Robin told us?”

Nami looked pityingly at the small reindeer beside her. She glanced at Robin, who smiled at her. “Because Chopper it’s just impossible. If there is, then this town’s island would be in a constant state of terror and panic instead of holding a costumed party in the town’s square later at midnight.”

“Oh.”

“And if there really is one, do you think he’ll survive the monsters of our crew? We’ve got our very own demon on board.”

“You’ve got a point,” Usopp puckered his face.

“Still such tales doesn’t come out of thin air,” Robin stirred her coffee with a small, intricately-engraved silver spoon. There was a mysterious smile on her lips that send shivers down Usopp spine all over again.

“Eh?” Chopper froze.

“Robin!” Nami groaned.

“I’m just stating facts. And I don’t mean to scare you Chopper.”

“Gosh I hate this kind of tales,” the sniper complained. “They give me nightmares.” He glared at Robin.

“Just don’t wet your bed later,” Sanji suddenly interjected from somewhere behind the kitchen counter, definitely making fun of him.  

“Excuse me!?” Usopp screeched as everyone burst into laughter. “You know I don’t do that!”

“Well…” the blond cook shrugged. “You seemed shaken up from Robin-chwan’s story.”

“Still I don’t wet the bed!” Usopp growled at him, peeking inside the galley to glare at chef. “Don’t go around spinning lies like that. That’s my job!”

“Oops. Sorry!”

“It’s just what the townsfolk here believe,” Robin spoke again, opening the book resting on the table near her. It was a bound collection of the island’s folklore. “Every island has their stories after all.”

“Plus, tonight is what they call Hallow’s eve,” she continued on, eyes crinkling with subdued mirth when Usopp started trembling again. “The one night they say the devil is freer to linger about.”

“Kyaaaaaah!” Usopp and Chopper hugged each other.

“Robin!” Nami shook her head.

Usopp suddenly pointed a finger at her.

“Why aren’t you scared Nami?!” He questioned her indignantly. “Why aren’t you cowering like us, like the coward that you really are!”

The orange-haired woman glowered at him. “Because the story’s obviously not true! I mean come on! How gullible can you get Usopp?”

“Hey I’m not gullible!” Usopp retorted, slumping back against the railing. “After everything we have encountered while sailing, the possibility is there! I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep tonight.”

“Zoro! Zoro!” Chopper suddenly cried out, calling for the swordsman who just came out of the boys’ room. He jumped from the railing and immediately bounded towards the tall lad. “Can I sleep beside you tonight?” He asked the green-haired man with pleading eyes.

“Huh?” Was Zoro’s only reply as he stared at him.

Usopp followed suit, even tripping at his own feet as he approached Zoro. He clung onto him once he was near.  “Me too Zoro! Please?”

“Tch, what is this about? I’m on watch tonight.” Zoro grunted, shooting Usopp a displeased glance. He looked at the reindeer doctor before shifting his gaze at Nami.

“Did Robin tell them another of those creepy stories of her again?” He directed the question at the map-maker.

Nami nodded with a cheeky grin. “I guess Usopp and Chopper will be accompanying you on your watch.” She rested her arms on the railing and leaned forward to peer at him.

Usopp looked at her. “This is the best choice! In case the devil decides to visit us. We can sic our very own demon at him!”

“Good choice actually,” Sanji’s loud and laughing voice can be hear from the galley. “His ugly mug will scare the shit out of the devil himself.”

Zoro scowled at that. “Shut your trap ero-cook and just do the dishe!.” He shouted back and turned to glare at Usopp, who instantly murmured an apology at him. Then he scratched his head looking a bit irritated. “What the hell are you going on about Usopp?”

“Robin told us that the devil walks about at midnight to steal the souls of the innocents especially at a Hallow’s eve night like tonight!” Chopper explained.

“Devil?”

“Yeah!” Both Chopper and Usopp nodded.

Zoro went silent for a moment. His gaze darted from Usopp to Chopper who were both still clinging to him. Then Nami.

“Fine,” he finally relented with an annoyed sigh, not taking his eyes off the navigator. “You can join me in the nest.”

“Really?” The two younger lads squealed delightedly, surprised that Zoro agreed so easily. “Yes!!!” They both shouted in glee.

"Ok! It's time to hit the sack!" Usopp announced. He all but drag Zoro towards the ropes leading to the crow’s nest much to the katana wielder’s protest. “Have a good night Nami, Robin, Sanji!” He yelled as he pulled at the large man.

“Good night you guys!” Chopper echoed, pushing at Zoro’s legs to get him to move.

“Oi stop it you two!”

“Have a good sleep you guys!” Nami waved at them, watching with keen amusement as the two pushed and pulled Zoro with them.

“I know it’s just a legend and it’s not really true,” Usopp stated in a confident voice as they made their way across the lawn deck. He gave a nervous laugh as he scanned the island on the starboard side of the ship. “But still it’s better to be safe—”

"No you're wrong." Zoro grunted.

Usopp froze in his tracks and Chopper bumped into his leg.

“Huh? Usopp asked in a hushed tone, eyes widening as he and Chopper exchanged glances. 

"You mean Robin’s story is true?" Chopper inquired in a shaky voice. 

“Hnn…”

Usopp stared at him. Stared really hard. Zoro doesn’t believe in that kind of things, right? He is one of the most rational and practical person on their ship.

So why?

"You mean you believe it? And you've seen it?" Usopp voice was the softest of whispers. “The devil?”

Zoro looked at him straight in the eye.

“Yeah.”

“Maybe you’re just… drunk?”

“I’m not.”

The swordsman didn’t bother to elaborate anymore. Instead, he just continued making his way to the rope ladder leading to the crow’s nest, climbing it and leaving Usopp and Chopper in a frenzy of excited and nervous chatter. 

Oh he had seen it—the devil from Robin’s story—in all its wickedness, in all its fiendishness. 

Its sole purpose is to wrap its vicious claws around you… grasping your mind, body and soul into its vile clutches.

He had seen the devil.

With its long hair, the color reminiscent of the fires of hell where it had come from. Its eyes, an endless pool of evil that would get you under its control.

Its smile—beguiling, captivating... 

He looked towards the galley and his gaze met that of Nami’s—who was still leaning at the railing; a smirk gracing her lips, watching them… watching him intently.

Oh he had seen the devil alright. 

It comes for him at night.  

[honeypiehotchner]

Don’t You (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part two of Bye Bye, Baby

I love how this mini-series was totally impromptu but happened so fast. Gotta love my brain!

Loosely based on “Don’t You” by Taylor Swift! xx.

Summary: Aaron wants to talk. Do you?

Warnings: ANGST

Word Count: 2k this time oop

Bye Bye, Baby (Part One) || That’s When (Part Three) || Hotch Masterlist

Hey/I knew I’d run into you somewhere/It’s been a while

The text message from Aaron has sat glaring at you on your phone screen for the past hour.

Hotch (BAU) Sorry for hitting you with my cart earlier.

You don’t know what to make of it. It’s obviously an attempt to start up a conversation after four years, but why? Why, after all this time, does he think this is okay?

It’s 1 a.m. when you call Dannie.

“I would tell you to go to sleep, but I just got in bed, so I can’t talk.”

You chuckle quietly. “Better than me. I’m still on the couch.”

Dannie exhales. “Did Jules stay up late again?”

“No, no, she… She passed out around nine.”

Dannie sighs. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I saw Aaron today,” you blurt, quietly, not wanting to risk Juliet hearing even a whisper of this.

“Aaron?” Dannie asks. “Like...Juliet’s dad, Aaron? That one?”

“Yep,” you mutter, rubbing your forehead. “The one and only.”

“Where?”

“The grocery store,” you say. “Our carts bumped into each other. I wasn’t watching where I was going, so it was definitely my fault, but he texted me a while ago apologizing for it.”

“Woah, he texted you?”

“Unfortunately,” you murmur, hating that you feel tears pricking at your eyes. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Have you texted him back?”

“I don’t know if I want to.”

“I understand,” Dannie sighs. “Maybe just say it’s okay? Leave it short.”

“Yeah,” you nod, sniffling, wiping a tear away. “God, I’ve been fine all evening and it just...hit me when I saw his text.”

“You had to keep it together for Jules,” Dannie reminds you. “What did she say about him?”

“Oh, nothing,” you say. “She really wanted cookies, so she was focused on getting vegetables for dinner so she could have them.”

Dannie laughs. “That sounds like her. Did she eat all her vegetables?”

“Even the broccoli,” you grin. “So she got an extra cookie.”

The two of you laugh lightly, letting the silence settle.

“What do I do if he wants to get to know her?” You break the silence with the one question that’s been on your mind all night. “I mean, he’s a profiler. There’s no way he doesn’t know she’s his.”

“Okay, first of all, she’s yours,” Dannie says firmly. “Second, it’s all up to you. And her. If she wants to get to know him, then ultimately it’s up to you to decide if that’s a good idea and where would be safest for it to happen, if you want it to.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t stress about it tonight,” she says quietly. “Text him back in the morning.”

“Okay.”

“Want to surprise Jules with brunch tomorrow?”

You smile almost immediately. “Of course.”

+++

You wake from a restless sleep to Juliet climbing into bed with you.

“Good morning, munchkin,” you whisper, kissing her forehead. She’s still sleepy and will probably sleep for another hour in your arms, but you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

As expected, Juliet falls fast asleep with her head on your chest. While she’s snoring softly, you grab your phone and text Dannie about brunch. And that’s when you’re reminded of Aaron’s text.

Quickly, before you can think twice, you reply. It’s okay.

And you move on to text Dannie, letting her know you’re awake and so is Juliet. After making plans to meet for brunch in an hour and a half, you lightly shake Juliet awake.

“Psst, munchkin,” you murmur. “Wanna have brunch with Dannie?”

Juliet pops her head up almost instantly. “Really?”

“Really really,” you nod.

She grins wide and your chest aches for a moment. She’s always had his smile, but you never realized how much it’s his smile until today.

Juliet scrambles off your bed to get dressed, and you take a deep breath before getting up, too.

+++

The entire day passes without a reply from Aaron. You don’t know what to make of it, but you do your best to ignore it.

Thoughts of him keep you awake almost all night, so by the next morning, you’re dying to get your coffee before you walk into work.

You drop Juliet off at daycare, then park your car at work, with somehow enough time to spare to walk to your favorite coffee shop before clocking in.

You spot Aaron as soon as you walk in.

“You better not be following me around,” you mutter as you stand in line behind him.

He spins around, his face softening when he recognizes you. “Hi. I’m not trying to, I promise.”

You nod slowly.

Don’t you/Don’t you smile at me and ask me how I’ve been

“How are you?” He asks hesitantly, hands stuffed in his pockets.

“Good,” you reply. “You?”

“Good,” he pauses. “Busy.”

“Me too.”

The awkward small talk is ended by the line moving forward, putting Aaron at the front. He orders his usual, and steps aside. You order your usual, with a pastry, too, as a sort of condolences gift to yourself for the bullshit you’re enduring.

When you step to the side to wait, Aaron tries again.

“Sorry again for hitting you in the store with my cart,” he says. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“It’s okay,” you say, keeping your eyes away from his. “In your defense, I wasn’t paying attention either.”

He chuckles quietly and the sound sends a dagger right to your heart.

When his coffee is ready, he grabs it, and you internally beg him to leave without another word. But he doesn’t.

Sometimes I really wish I could hate you/I’ve tried, but that’s just something I can’t do

“This is probably too forward of me, but—”

Your coffee is up.

You step forward to grab it, and damn you, you look at him to ask him to continue.

“Can we talk?” Aaron finishes.

“Right now?” You question, following him to the door. He holds it open for you and you hate that you almost smile. “I have to get to work.”

“Me too,” he says, stopping on the sidewalk with you. “We could get dinner tonight.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Okay,” he nods. “No pressure. Just text me if you want to.”

“Okay,” you exhale shakily. “See you.”

You turn on your heel and nearly sprint down the sidewalk, chest heaving and tears welling in your eyes.

+++

“What do you want to do?” Dannie asks.

You met her for lunch to discuss your encounter with Aaron this morning, and so far you still don’t know what the hell you’re going to do.

“I want to tell him to leave me alone and never come near me again,” you blurt, but then you sigh. “I don’t mean that.”

Dannie smiles sadly. “I know.”

You don’t/You don’t know how much I feel I still love you

“I think I want to talk to him, but...I don’t know, I’m scared. I don’t think I can do a dinner. I’m sick to my stomach just thinking about this and I mean...I hate that I still love him. After all this I can’t even hate him.”

“It’s hard to hate someone you love.”

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Wanna help me text him?”

“Of course.”

After some trial and error, you and Dannie settle on this message.

Hey. I’d like to talk, but not dinner. What about a walk instead?

Aaron replies quickly.

Hotch (BAU) That’s perfect. Where is best?

+++

The park you chose is, regrettably, the one where you and Aaron had your first date.

In your defense, it’s closest and safest. And quiet.

Aaron doesn’t seem to mind the location, though, when he walks toward you. You’re sitting on a park bench, one that must be new because you don’t remember it.

As he gets closer, you see he has two cups of coffee in hand.

“I got your usual,” he says softly. “If you want.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, taking it from him, careful not to let your fingers touch.

Hesitantly, he sits next to you.

The two of you sit in silence for a while. You can’t bring yourself to say anything, and apparently, neither can he.

After too long, though, you break the silence. “Ready to walk?”

“Sure,” he replies, standing with you.

You venture down the trail, grateful that you changed into your sneakers before coming. It takes another few moments before the silence is broken -- by Aaron this time.

“Is she mine?”

You sigh heavily. You should’ve known he’d ask that first.

“Technically, Juliet is mine,” you reply. “But you are the father, if that’s what you’re asking.” You pause. “You’re the only one I was with, so there’s no doubt.”

“I wasn’t worried about that,” he says quietly. You can tell he’s looking at you, but you don’t look at him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I tried,” you admit. “I called three times. I got your voicemail.”

Once: When you decided officially to keep the baby. You were three months pregnant. You had almost thought he picked up when the line clicked, and then you heard his voicemail. You hung up and took a bath instead, phone forgotten in the living room.

Twice: Dannie was beside you. You were seven months then. You had caved and asked if it was a boy or girl. After hearing it was a girl, a part of you desperately wanted to tell Aaron. You remembered him saying he always wanted a baby girl. Your heart still ached from when he broke it, but you wanted to tell him. You got his voicemail.

The third time: You had just given birth. You named her Juliet. You wanted to tell Aaron. You wanted to know if he should be on the birth certificate. You wanted to tell him you had a baby girl. When he didn’t answer, the nurse gave you a sad smile, and left the line blank. Dannie held Juliet for a while so you could cry.

“You never left a message,” he replies, sounding offended.

“Did you really want me to break the news in a voicemail?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “But you could’ve said it was something important. I would’ve returned your call.”

“I called three times,” you remind him. “You’re a fucking profiler, Aaron. You think three calls meant it was unimportant?” You pause, grounding yourself. “I figured you were out on a case. I don’t blame you for that. I understand, I’ve been there. But after calling three times and not getting a single reply, I figured it was useless. I didn’t have the time or energy to worry about it anymore. I had a newborn to take care of.”

He’s silent for a while.

“How is she?”

“She’s fine. She’s with her Godmother. Probably watching Frozen.”

“That’s good.”

You can’t do this anymore. “If that’s all you wanted to ask, then I need to get going. No offense, but I really don’t have the time for small talk.”

“I understand, but…” He stops walking, staring down at his feet before locking eyes with you. “Would you— Would you be willing to give me a second chance?”

Don’t you/Don’t you say that you miss me if you don’t want me again

“Why are you doing this?” You ask, angry tears pricking your eyes. “Why?”

“I’d like to be a part of Juliet’s life. And yours. If you’ll let me.”

“I’ll ask her,” you reply. “But you can be a part of her life without being a part of mine.”

“You know that’s not true,” he says. “You chose this park for a reason today.”

“No, I chose it because it’s close,” you hiss. “Don’t you dare profile me. Don’t you dare.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, and for a second you think he might have tears in his eyes, too. “I’m sorry, you’re right, that was uncalled for.”

“Thank you,” you murmur. “I really do need to go.”

“Can I at least walk you to your car?”

After a moment of thought, you nod. “Sure.”

My heart knows what the truth is/I swore I wouldn’t do this

[dorimena]

𝕱𝖎𝖗𝖊 𝖎𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖍𝖔𝖑𝖊

𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔢𝔯; todoroki shouto

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱; 1.8k

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰; sex toy (egg vibrator), public sex, slight exhibitionism, dry humping, implied edging, cursing, cumming in pants, dom!reader, sub!character

𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔰; I tried keeping the reader as gender-neutral as possible, Todoroki just wants you to know how much he loves you, so if wearing a vibrator makes you happy so be it, if this were the first time Todoroki were doing this he wouldn’t have shamelessly allowed himself to cum, aka I’m thinking about doing something with this AU I guess

𝔰𝔦𝔡𝔢𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔢; This is for 🍦 anon’s ask about either Todoroki or Aizawa wearing a vibrator in a meeting. I decided to make him the son of CEO Endeavor, so this is a modern AU. There could be some errors around here, but I’ll check it out later. Sorry for the horrible title

Todoroki loves you; he truly does.

Even at the beginning of your relationship, while he still had difficulties in trusting you entirely and accidentally brushed you aside in fear of being too attached or clingy, he’s always known he loves you.

He loves you in the mornings when you wake him up with such a tired yet peaceful expression.

He loves you in the afternoons when you’re cooking dinner in the weird apron Mina gave you as a housewarming gift. (Why cheetah prints?)

He loves you in the night when you massage his shoulders after a treacherous meeting gone south too fast, easing words of adoration and affirmation into his mind while you’re sporting a funky looking face mask.

He loves you anywhere, anytime, however you look, however you talk… He’ll do anything to keep you happy and know about his unlimited love and respect for you.

Even if it means he has to wear an egg vibrator inside of him during his dad’s meeting. The very meeting where it’ll be decided if his dad’s company merges with some young entrepreneur’s named Keigo or something. He can’t seem to remember.

Not like he really cares, anyways. He doesn’t want to inherit his dad’s company. But Touya decided to spite their father by starting up his own, Fuyumi seems pretty happy being an elementary school teacher and Natsuo is busy being a doctor.

God, the only great thing to come out of inheriting this lame company is that he’ll get to see you every day, any day, all the time.

You’re one of his dad’s best logistician coordinators, and while no one in this meeting room know you two have been dating for much longer than your professional career, he’s certain that your horrible rendition of a relaxed façade will raise eyebrows at why him, the youngest Todoroki offspring, is trembling under your stare.

It’s kind of weird bringing something usually done in the bedroom and displaying it secretly in public. Even more weird considering the room is full of older people, except for him, you, that Keigo guy, some secretaries from both companies…

Where was he getting at again?

Oh, right.

The egg vibrator in his ass being controlled by your evil hands (and cellphone) buzzing so teasingly in him, he can’t remember the young entrepreneur’s name. Or the reason why he’s even willingly here in the first place.

He’s trying so hard to keep himself quiet, knowing how god awfully vocal he can get when teased or played with just right. He’s pretty sure his bottom lip is really close to bleeding, or already is. And his palms situated on the dark oak and, in your opinion, ridiculously high-priced table surely have deep dents of his fingernails, maybe some accidental scratches.

O-oh no!

“Shouto? Are… you alright?”

Shit, did he say that out loud?

“Yes, and refrain from vulgar language.”

Todoroki let go of his lip, blinking at his father as he raised an eyebrow. Or so he hopes he did.

“I’m fine. Stop worrying about me, old man.” And he’s never felt so happy hearing his father’s resigned sigh before the meeting continues. It’s unusual for the man to drop a conversation.

His joy doesn’t last for long: the vibrator in his ass is suddenly more intense than a few seconds ago, reminding him why he even spoke out loud.

Pressing his thighs together in hopes it’ll help lessen the buzzing he can finally hear, he looks across the table to give you what is meant as a curious look, but ends up just making him look completely lost.

Was it a slip of your thumb? Was it a punishment? But why punish him if he’s doing this for you? Had he been bad?

Did he miss something when you two spoke about it during breakfast? Wait, was your toast too burnt-

“Ah-” He gasped in surprise, with a frantic and scared look in his eyes. The rhythm of the vibrations changed into one that wasn’t as constant, but it’s still very, very pleasurable. Reminds him of his heartbeat when you milk another fast handjob out of him before he has to meet up with his father.

“Shouto, are you sure you’re alri-”

“Y-yes, father. I’m f-fine. L-leg cra-amp.” Well, it could’ve come out less coherent, but it’s the best he can speak with gritted teeth and tense shoulders, all while holding back his embarrassing whimpers. It’s enough, again, to make the elder Todoroki look away from his ‘agonizing’ son, soon wondering if these meetings are beginning to bore and wear out the young future CEO and soon make him feel a familiar fear he had when Touya-

But who cares about Enji’s worries and concerns when you have a trembling Shouto Todoroki, whose face is beginning to turn as red as half his hair and eyes as wet as his bottom lip after being bitten mercilessly. You’re sure you can see some red, probably dug his teeth too much and tore the skin a little, but it’s pretty swollen regardless. Maybe his dick is too?

Oh! What if you suck his dick under the table?

No, then everyone will know how he’s so smitten with you, just some random logistician coordinator instead of some offspring of another CEO. Funny how the supervisors care more about Shouto’s relationship status than his own father.

So, maybe just switching back to the rhythm being a continuous hum and finish dragging your thumb up the screen so that the toy can reach its greatest ability?

Too easy, let’s drag it out a little.

But Todoroki won’t let you, not with how he’s caressing your exposed ankle with his shoe, eyes staring pathetically into yours, mouthing “need to, need to, need to”.

So soon? You’ve barely had your fun. You can’t blame him entirely, either.

That morning, the moment you showed him the vibrator you bought for him to wear, he was already whimpering softly, moaning pleas into your neck between every kiss, all while he pressed his hard on against your thigh.

But you didn’t let him do anything to get rid of it, sending him off to get ready, even if he left whining. (He knows better than to throw a tantrum.)

Maybe he’s still sensitive after making him hump your thigh before the meeting?

Yeah, definitely.

It’s pleasant to remember his whimpers of embarrassment that soon turned into soft moans of gratitude, letting you take control of how fast he goes and how hard, all while listening to you explain the toy as he tries not to cum so soon.

You didn’t let him cum (again) because of his father’s secretary calling him to ask where he even was as the meeting began some minutes ago. Oops.

Even if it ‘ruined’ the mood, he was still so excited, and you’re starting to think you can finally see it begin to also appear on his face.

You didn’t change the rhythm or intensity, so it should’ve been enough for Shouto to get used to it, but he couldn’t. Not while he realized, tensing his thighs helped him feel so much more, and his constant shuffling and accommodation on the chair should’ve alerted you or someone, but who would’ve even thought he was trying to fuck the toy possibly deeper inside of him?

He’s pulling himself closer to the table, bringing a tight fist towards his mouth to feign a cough.

He usually does this so that he is dismissed for a break that he’d take as an open invitation to leave. Not on your watch.

Just as he was going to cough, you finished dragging your thumb to the top part of your cell phone screen and watched as his whole body jolted, and even his knee and elbow hit the table.

The room falls to a complete halt, all conversations interrupted by the young Todoroki… moan? Did the young Todoroki just moan?

He doesn’t even realize what is going on with the way he’s trying so hard to stand up and leave. But his legs are too uncoordinated with how violently the toy is vibrating, mercilessly going crazy against his sensitive prostate that just sends more arousal to his dick. If he looks close enough, he’s pretty sure he’s already beginning to leak through his expensive suit trousers.

His mouth opens in complete shock, but with a familiar hand covering it from behind, he forgets about his surroundings temporarily as he pathetically yet cutely whimpers, wrapping his arms around his stomach.

Not like it hurts, just that he’s pretty close to making a bigger mess in his clothes. He’s not sure how he’ll feel about that, not with the way he just realized he’s still very much in public, very much in a meeting, very much in the same room as his father and soon-to-be subordinates.

That has him closing his eyes quickly, feeling himself becoming cross-eyed at how ridiculing this situation is more for his father than for him, and how you oh-so-accidentally brushed against his nipple to hook your arms under his to get him on his feet.

He’s not even sure what you’re saying at this point, everything being muffled by his heartbeat in his ears and loud buzzing taking over his senses and modesty. Something about him complaining about a stomach ache and how you’ll take him to his office.

The men with gray hairs are talking among themselves about how irresponsible Shouto is with himself, others praising how, even in an ill state, he still attended, Keigo watching the ordeal with an odd look on his face, akin to familiarity of the situation probably, and Enji Todoroki being completely lost but slowly feeling his anger rising by the commotion slowly becoming too loud for his liking and comprehension.

But it’s thanks to this distraction that manages to mute out, miraculously, his mewls of your name as his hips twitch wildly, knees buckling as his orgasm takes over his body in violent, clashing waves. His few hot tears are dripping from his chin as he shamelessly moans softly with every shock of pleasure, still trying his best to stand properly.

He doesn’t even get to finish riding out his high before being dragged out of the meeting room, pretty sure he hears his father’s yells flooding the hallway as you snicker in amusement and rub your thumb on the back of his hand you’re holding. Your other hand occupied itself with turning the toy off, eyes set on the elevator closing in.

“You did great, Shou. I’m so proud of you.”

Your praises always make him keen, but this one makes him moan the loudest today, his shaky hands finding purchase on your hips to press them flush against his. Doesn’t matter the curious wet spot on his crotch, all that matters is that you know how horny he still is.

“P-please? Please, y-y/n. I-I think I ne-need more. St-still hot!”

Now, who are you to deny the man who came in front of his father shamelessly?

[thesquareinthecircularhole]

hey stupid, i love you [MCYT: Dream x GN!Reader]

song: hey stupid I love you by jp saxe

warnings: fluff

im pretty sure i made this an gender neutral as possible but if there is an error lmk thanks bby :*

im in a simpin mood bby

as always, song lyrics in italics

i skipped a couple versus due to repetitiveness oops

this is the one i complained about losing, but it actually worked out bc i like this one better...less wordy

word count: ~2k

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

Nothing's wrong, and it's not what I'm used to Oh, does it surprise you too? When it's simple, is it easier than it should be?

"Hey babe, are you okay? You've been quiet today," Dream practically pouted as he asked you. He loved the sound of your voice and while you definitely weren't giving him the quiet treatment, you sure weren't as talkative as you normally are.

"Yeah, I'm good. Just distracted thinking my thoughts." You smiled at him and leaned against him. He looked down at you and pecked your lips. You gave him a sweet kiss back. The smile he gave you made your heart boom. Loving him was as easy as eating a cake (because the usually analogy 'baking a cake' isn't true, its sometimes hard to bake a cake, especially when a hungry streamer keeps trying to eat the batter or start a flour fight).

"Anyway, don't you have a stream with the Dream Team to get ready for? One that starts in," you look at the clock on your phone, "three minutes ago?" The slight panic that crosses Dream's face makes you laugh loud. He gives you another kiss and in less than five seconds has practically launched himself across the house into his recording room. Your laughter follows him the whole way, a smile and blush upon his face.

Nothing's wrong, but when you're not in my arms I send voice notes, you send hearts And get quiet, and I know that means you miss me

Okay, granted, you were the one to remind him that he was streaming with his friends today and speedrunning, but you didn't expect it to last well over five hours. At the beginning you worked on your classwork for your [college degree of choice]. You got it done quickly, as it was nearing the end of the semester and most professors of yours were laidback and wanted you to study more than write nonsense papers (fictional you, i'm so jealous). Occasionally you would jump in fear when you heard Dream shout, still not used to it after years.

After finishing your classwork, you started cooking dinner. Soup was the vibe for the evening, and you had found a wonderful chicken and dumplings recipe a while ago that you wanted to try. You did have to go to the store for some of the ingredients, but luckily it only took you an hour. You can back and he was still streaming. It took about another hour for dinner to be done. You let it cool and prepared yourself a bowl. You set your laptop up and started watching Dream's stream. Hearing his voice made you miss him, so you pulled out your phone.

Going to the two of y'alls messages, you started making him a voice message.

"Hey baby, I made dinner, so don't play so long it gets cold. I love you! Kick the enderdragon's ass baby! Mwah."

You continued watching him stream, and he took a pause for a minute, his screen not moving from the create a new world screen and his mic muted. A couple seconds later you got spammed with every heart offered in the emoji index times what felt like a thousand.

He continued being quiet for a couple seconds, although he did unmute and continue playing, answering George's and Sapnap's questions of where he went with, "I had to take a message."

You're jealous, you shouldn't be I want you obsessively But I know how complicated it can get When you're not in front of me I know insecurities get in your head

Chat sometimes upset you. Sure, you got Dream, all of him, but sometimes the comments made by some of the more obsessives fans were a bit to much.

'With the way he killed those mobs you know he's got good fingers'

'His voice is hot so he must be'

'Heyo dream baby lemme see them feet'

Okay the last one was more weird, and actually turned out to be a joke from Quackity but anyway moving on.

He was your guy, and he promised himself to you, but sometimes he seemed to have a genuine connection with some of the sweeter and not gross ones. It made you scared that someone, one day, will swoop him off his feet with a comment and he’d leave you for them. 

But I'm not gonna interrupt if you need to talk about it Roll my eyes, get offended by the way you doubt it You know you're mine, you just forget sometimes So promise me you won’t And you know I'll remind you when you think I don't

The stream ended a little under an hour later. Dream left his recording room, grabbed a bowl of soup, and found you in the living room, lost in thought. He plopped down right next to you. 

“Talk to me baby.”

“About what?”

“Anything and everything.”

“Okay.” You’re quiet for a bit, despite his offering of listening. He knew you were gonna take him up on the offer, you just needed a bit of time, so he was going to wait patiently. He finished his soup quickly, he was much hungrier than he thought. He put the bowl on the coffee table and before he was all the way leaned back on the couch, you were leaning against him. His arms wrapped around you, your head was tucked in between his head and shoulder, and a blanket covered the both of you. You looked towards the blank tv screen but felt his eyes on you.

“I love you a lot. And I know you love me too, but I’m afraid I’m not enough. You have so many options, especially with your popularity online. I don’t know what I’d do if you left me, whether it be for someone else or just because you’re tired of me.” Dream waits for you to stop entirely, with you breathing heavily.

“Well, you’re right about one thing. I do love you, a lot. The rest of it is wrong and I’ll spend the rest of time telling you so.” Dream says, pressing several kisses against your forehead. 

“Yeah I know it’s stupid to feel this way, but my anxiety gets the best of me. It’s stupid, I’m stupid.”

“First of all, you’re not stupid. Second, hey stupid, I love you.”

Nothing's wrong, I just get in my head too Can you reassure me you, you're still in it? I just wish you could lean in and kiss me

As much as Dream loved you and reassured you, sometimes he would get caught up in his thoughts too. The life of a streamer/youtuber, especially one with as much fame and subscribers as him, was rough. The constant need to feed his fans with entertainment and content, and the need for the content to satisfy his fans was stressful. He hates to admit it, but he some days he spent to much time working and not enough with you. He thinks you would be so much happier with someone without a tight schedule and without a large, intense fanbase. Any random person on the street would be better for you than him, he thinks. 

When he gets into this headspace, the only thing that grounds him is your lips on his. When you kiss him, the clouds go away and all he can see is your eyes, as bright as the sun, and your smile, which can tempt even the purest. 

Say nothing's wrong, tell me to settle down You do it better than I've ever known how Won't pull some tricks for attention But could I get a little now?

Now, everyone knows that Dream likes some attention. He especially likes attention from you. Good thing is you also like attention, especially from him. The not so good thing is both of y’all get distracted so bad, it’s almost too funny.

He tends to get your attention by tickling you, whether it be in the comfort of your home or in public. One day, when you guys were walking through town, you stopped at a flower booth and got to talking with the friendly and flirty florist gentleman. It had been a couple minutes, and Dream was really needing some love, but you continued chatting with the florist who was definitely going to ask for your number but you genuinely thought he was just being nice. Dream crept up behind you and placed his hands on your side. You froze for a moment and looked at him, confused. The smirk that crossed his face barely gave you a second to prepare as he tickled your sides. Your laughter filled the street as you turned around as he tickled you. You wrapped your arms around his neck, which got him to stop ticking you, and gave him a kiss. The two of you continued on your way, attached at the hip.

And one day, when you wanted his attention, it was after he was done recording a manhunt with his friends. The actual video had been done for a bit, but they were just fucking around in the minecraft world and talking to each other. You had had a not so nice day, and wanted the crushing weight of your boyfriend on top of you. You crept into his recording room and came to stand right behind his chair. Based on the conversation you could tell he wasn’t recording anymore, so you knew it was safe. Your hands started in his hair, trailed down to his face, and slid down his body till your arms were wrapped around him snuggly. Your head was placed on top of his. 

“What are you doing?” he asked, and received no response. Instead, you began aggressively shaking him and the chair, turning it this way and that, making him slightly dizzy. His laughter filled the room, and he quickly ended the call. The two of you spent the next 12 hours cuddled in bed, leaving only for the necessities. 

You're jealous, you shouldn't be I want you obsessively But I know how complicated it can get When you're not in front of me I know insecurities get in your head

Dream got jealous as well sometimes. You were beautiful and a lot of the time attracted the attention of random passerbyers. Those people, who you don’t even know, who lived normal lives where they didn’t have to spend every second worried that their face will be revealed to the public and suddenly all their fans from around the world will know what they look like or the general area in which they live, who don’t have to obey algorithms and bend to the will of the masses to make sure they get paid enough to live, who could give you a normal and safe life. Every time one looked at you with some attraction, he pulled you a bit closer and kissed you a bit harder. 

But I'm not gonna interrupt if you need to talk about it Roll my eyes or get offended by the way you doubt it You know you're mine, you just forget sometimes So promise me you won’t And you know I'll remind you when you think I don't

Sometimes, Dream needed to rant. A long, hard, intense, rant. Sometimes it was about how someone accused him of cheating his speedruns. Sometimes it was about how someone said something nasty to him or one of his friends. Sometimes it was about a comment someone made about him or you that got on his nerves. When he needed to talk, you sat there and you listened. You did whatever he needed to get better, whether it was just listen or talk to find solutions. You did it because you know he would do the same for you. And afterwards, a cuddle session was a must. 

How could you forget? I told you seventeen times before 7 AM I love you How could you forget? I told you seventeen times

The morning after rough days were one of the bests. Arms tangled together, legs tangled together, everything tangled together, no one able to tell where one started and the other ended. Lazy kisses pressed to faces, hands, necks, any part of skin the lips could touch. One particular morning you woke up earlier than he did. A quick kiss against his cheek woke him up, and he gave you the most love filled smile any man could do.

“Hey stupid,” you said, “I love you.”

[softrozene]

I hope I'm doing this right ! It'smy first ask on Tumblr 😊 I love "HeNeeds a Pirate Queen" and my fav chap is 64 for jealous Luffy 😂. May I get some hcor scenarios about lufdy kid and law being jealous over their fem mc. Thanks for being an amazing writer !

Omg, thank you for the request! This was so sweet. I can’t believe how many people have been telling me they love the story as of late. It makes me so happy! I hope you enjoy lovely! (Since you brought up Chapter 64 though I would love to say that Luffy doesn’t get jealous until someone points out that he should be.)

Kid’s came out more like a headcanon scenario? Anyway Jealous Luffy would be so cute lol

Random thought: a poly relationship with robin? Sign me the fuck up

Warnings: Fluff (we are looking at the cinnamon roll Luffy), jealousy, since Law and Kid are in here there will be suggestive actions (I am looking at Kid. If you know, you know.) Probably grammar errors- I’m tired

Words: 1365

Eustass Kid-

If you are the type of partner to make him jealous on purpose, the relationship will not last at all. His jealousy gets ugly and rather fast. It can lead to a different situation that we do not want. Thankfully, I would hope anyone who wants to be his partner would not mean to make him jealous on purpose. If that is the case it would make handling him a lot easier.

Kid will never admit he is jealous. That just is not his style. No, instead he becomes aggressive, passive-aggressive, or usually both. Passive-aggressive towards you and aggressive towards others. It does not take a genius to know that he is just jealous but if confronted about it he will throw hands.

So, Kid likes to keep his eyes on you constantly. It is not as if he does not trust you. He does not trust other people. This is how it would usually go. A party out in a random town on an island. He will watch you with boredom as he drinks (if he were single you bet he’d be mingling). He will keep his eye on you and his crew members may tease him, but he will ignore it or glare at them to make them shut up.

It is when someone from the island decides to chat you up. His crew is not dumb enough to ever chat you up like that. He will watch for a bit see your reaction, feel proud when you ignore, or start to yell, but all bets are off when the person touches you. You are his so why the hell are they touching you?

It will most likely be immediate anger. He does not hesitate to cause harm or maim them. He did not receive his reputation for nothing. He would never harm you but anyone else that dares try to get him to stop protecting what is his? They are fair game for sure.

Killer is the only one who can stop his captain from going too far but if that fails you have to make it up to him tonight. Expect a lot of claiming marks by morning.

Monkey D. Luffy-

Luffy is too pure to know jealousy (Unless it comes to food), so he will need a pointer from a friend or have to really be into his emotions. It would probably go like this:

It is just a normal day out on the Thousand Sunny. He was having a blast just messing with Usopp and Chopper like always when he noticed you were laying on the deck with Robin and Nami by your side. He thought nothing of it but felt something odd in his chest when Sanji came out and offered to put sunscreen on the girls’ backs.

He is not really bothered by it but that weird feeling will not go away. He wants it to because it makes him uncomfortable, but he just ignores it. That is until some crew member (definitely Zoro) points out Sanji being too happy to help the girls.

“Should you be the one putting sunscreen on (Name)’s back?”

Luffy tilts his head and asks, “Why?”

Zoro scoffs as Brook lifts a finger to agree. “Ah! You would be right! When courting putting on sunscreen would be more of an intimate act, wouldn’t it?”

“You’re thinking too much into it. Sanji’s just… helping… putting… it on…” Usopp realizes that it is definitely something more if Sanji is doing it. He continues, “You need to go put it on her!”

“Why?” Luffy asks again not getting it as the feeling in his chest grows.

Franky thankfully interrupts after pausing in his tinkering of the toy the trio wanted to previously play with. “How do I explain this? Uh, you know how meat is like super cool to you?” He starts off.

Luffy nods his head with excitement and Franky continues, “It is sort of like that to Sanji? Oh, that came out super not cool. Let me try-“

“(NAME) IS LIKE MEAT TO SANJI?!”  Luffy’s eyes widen at the realization.

The nasty feeling in his chest grew and the jealousy takes over as he does not hesitate to gomu gomu the fuck out of Sanji’s face. Sanji moves just in time and out of the way so the girls are not in danger, but it fuels Luffy more. Franky realizes the way he worded it definitely came out wrong for multiple reasons.

Chaos is ensuing everywhere. Usopp, Brook, and Zoro are laughing while Chopper is worried. The girls watch with bemusement. You hesitantly decide to call out.

“Luffy, do you want to put sunscreen on my back? I was next.”

That stops the fight immediately as Luffy’s jealousy goes away in a split second and his excitement as if he were eating food comes in full.

Yeah… Definitely expect whiplash for sure.

Trafalgar D. Water Law-

Homeboy ain’t worried about you with other people. He does not get jealous easily. It is an extremely hard feat for someone to do. However, that was before he realized that the Straw Hats are something totally out of this world. His crewmates flirt with you but of course, they never go too far knowing that their captain’s wrath is something not to deal with so they are surprised too when Sanji is open about his affection for you (as he is with any girl).

It is something Law passes off with ease until a few other Straw Hats decide to see if he has emotions. Robin, Zoro, Brook, and Franky decide to take on this feat.

Robin and Brook of course being the actors in all of this (and an absolute saint for letting you know what chaos is going to happen beforehand). It starts with Robin. She starts to get really chatty in the morning, asking about you, Law, and the crew. You respond with enthusiasm since you like her. Then she starts the plan at breakfast after everyone has engaged in a conversation or another. Her hand casually slides over to yours, and she keeps that smile on her face as her fingertips slowly slide in between your fingers. She stops and leaves them to be. You and her both can feel Law’s harsh gaze but do nothing else.

She slowly continues moving the conversation about you and lord the way her acting is? It’s actually terrifying you with how flustered you are becoming. You stay strong and try not to cave in but the warmth in your cheeks makes your head fuzzy. Robin is fully aware of the effect she has and continues with a chuckle.

“You’re so cute! I could just eat you up,” She murmurs the last sentence being more intimate than she planned.

A glass breaks and you look over to see Law looking at his now wet pants. Oops. The plan must continue. Brook is next as he takes your fingers into his bony ones and does not hesitate to say his famous line.

“Will you show me your panties, (Name)-chan?” Brook states.

It’s taking Zoro and Franky everything they have not to laugh while the others are just absolutely confused and slightly panicky on why Robin and Brook would pull the moves in Law’s girl. It is okay though. Their plan works. The outcome is delicious to them as Law gets up, makes his way to you, and without any hesitation forces you up so he can sit and have you flush against him on his lap.

He starts to eat from your plate like that all while glaring at Robin and Brook. You finally cave in and start laughing making Law scowl.

“The only reason why you two aren’t dead is because of our new alliance,” Law states.

Robin giggles and Brook starts to laugh too. You lace your fingers through his free hand and say, “Don’t worry Law. I’m the only one for you and you’re the only one for me.”

“Though we did scare you for a second, didn’t we?” Robin muses.

Law can’t wait to get off this ship. He pinches your thigh and you know you are getting his wrath later.

[scripttorture]

I have a question about torture and organizations. Can a political movement (rebellion in this case) with a history of using torture succeed in eliminating its use of torture? In my story a member of the rebellion learns that some others (on the leader's orders?) have been torturing people. Appalled, this person decides to split off and form a rival faction, bringing with them other rebels who disapprove of torture... (organizations ask 1/3)

Is it likely that this faction would be able to succeed (replace the original faction and continue not torturing people)? How likely is this? What factors would impact the likelihood? Mostly I'm focusing on the contrast between one organization torturing and the other not torturing, e.g., I can see how locals might be skeptical of the second organization because they're on the same "side" as the torturers. (organizations ask 2/3 -- I think I might've accidentally numbered the first one 2/3, aah)  The organization uses torture for mainly punishment (which might include trying to get people to make false confessions) and intimidation (as well as in some cases in attempts to force compliance, like making people supply them with food and materials or making people give them information; this last is the rarest... oops, I just realized that's all of the purposes in the UN definition). (I have read a lot of your posts and I know torture doesn't work.) Thank you!! :) (organizations ask 3/3)

-

Anon you are delightful.

 Rejali spends an awful lot of time discussing the various arguments on whether torture can be eradicated and how that could be practically done. There aren’t a lot of definite answers but I can give a summary of the kinds of factors that we think are important and describe things your characters could practically do.

 I think it’s worth stressing from the start that no country has completely eradicated torture. As a result we don’t know for certain what… works. Or at least not what works completely and permanently.

 I don’t think this means getting rid of torture is impossible. Neither does Rejali. Rejali argues (convincingly in my opinion) that torture has changed so drastically in the modern era because of concerted efforts to wipe it out. Part of that change has been an almost complete eradication of some torture techniques. As a general rule people are no longer broken on the wheel, hanged drawn and quartered or have their flesh torn off with red hot pincers. We have already completely transformed both torture and public attitudes to it.

 And that implies that we can get it rid of it.

 It’s likely that torture is less common now then it was historically but this is hard to prove. Most historical records don’t provide a clear indication of every single person who was questioned, arrested or tried, let alone who was tortured or how.

 It’s also hard to prove exactly how much a particular factor reduces torture. The fact torture is illegal and that victims may not report what happened to them make it difficult to measure how often it occurs. We rely on estimates based on the reporting we have, which is likely to give a lower figure then the real number of cases. (Because we know from more thorough studies on other crimes that there is always a proportion that goes unreported and it is likely this proportion will be higher when the victim could face repercussions for reporting the crime. As is often the case with torture.)

 So what seems to help? I’ll start by talking about the factors we’re aware of that can reduce torture and then I’ll try to talk about how you might be able to apply them to the revolutionary organisation in your story.

 It might sound obvious but making torture illegal is usually a necessary first step.

 A change in the law in and of itself does not really do much. Especially not overnight. It’s about beginning to build a framework where reporting can happen and where people are actively looking for evidence of torture.

 The next steps are well building up that framework. Independent oversight is one of the biggest things.

 Here are a couple of things that can mean:

Anonymous reporting

Independent inspections

Regular unscheduled inspections

Independent medical reports and autopsies

Treating reports of torture seriously

Thorough investigation of all reports

Prosecution of torturers where there is sufficient evidence

Sentencing that fits the gravity of the crime*

Suspension of individuals accused of torture

 I tend to think of those factors as things that are sort of outside the organisation. Because ideally they’re coming from outside the organisation.

 Note that doesn’t necessarily mean they’re outside the system entirely. Using a comparison if you’re trying to stop police torture then the people handling reports, investigations etc could still be government employees but they should not be police. When the people in charge of torture investigations rely on the people they’re investigating for their jobs and wages… you get problems.

 There are also important factors within the organisation. Which are about building an organisation where torture is less likely to occur (whereas the factors outside the organisation are about rooting it out when it’s found.)

 A lot of these things basically boil down to building a positive working environment:

High quality training for all personnel

Regular refresher training with updates to training as appropriate

Appropriate staffing levels (ie there should always be enough people to easily run the organisation)

No one is forced to work overtime

Generous holiday allowance and sick pay

Consistent effort to structure and manage things to reduce stress in the workplace

Reasonable, achievable goals for staff

Appropriate, well supplied facilities

Thorough record keeping for staff and anyone they are responsible for

Avoidance of shifts that disrupt sleep as much as possible

 Torture is much, much less likely when staff are correctly trained, supported and given the resources necessary to do their jobs.

 There are also a handful of things that would probably help and fall into neither category such as limiting (or eliminating) access to devices commonly used to torture. For instance Tasers, pepper spray, particular forms of restraints but also (depending on where in the world we are) chilli powder, hose pipes and cleaning supplies.

 This might seem like quite a lot but it’s funny how much of it applies to the industry I actually work in: drugs testing.

 The place I work is regularly inspected by outside organisations (and usually without notice). Every single person on site has to go through extensive training programs which are refreshed at least once a year. Each and every one of us has to record and account for all our actions and any material and equipment we use. We can report things anonymously. Any allegations of malpractice are dealt with swiftly and prompt massive investigations.

 So I guess I’m saying that I think more of the organisations responsible for people should have the same level of accountability pharmaceutical testing does.

 Depending on the structure of your rebel organisation and what’s available too them a lot of this might not be possible. At least not at first.

 A small, poorly supplied organisation could struggle to combat torture effectively. But where there’s a will there’s a way.

 Size of the group seems to be a big thing here. With really small groups the members can often say pretty confidently whether torture is happening or not. Because they’re all working together so closely that they know more or less everything their colleagues are doing. But the bigger a group becomes the easier it is to lose track of people and for abuse to be hidden.

 My instinct is that genuinely independent oversight probably becomes easier after organisations reach a certain size. Because for a smaller (but not tiny) group anyone who might be investigating accusations could still be reliant on the people they’re investigating. They’re likely to work together, be close to each other and as a result they’re bringing a bias into any investigation.

 I think a smaller, newly founded organisation would really struggle to set up the kind of structured, independent inspection bodies that do most of the grunt work of finding and reporting on torture. Especially early on when they’ve just split off from the older, more established group.

 That’s partly because of numbers and partly because it takes time and expertise to set up these systems. Or at least to do it well. Going back to the comparison with my work, the organisations that inspect and audit my workplace have all been around for decades. Most of the ‘younger’ organisations are mergers or rebrands of much older organisations. The process is updated at least once a year and there is a labyrinth of laws around every single aspect of… well all of it.

 It takes a lot of time, energy and error to build that up in a robust way.

 But that doesn’t mean there’s nothing they can do.

 They might not be able to detect or investigate torture easily in the early stages but they could structure their organisation in ways that make it less likely for torture to happen in the first place.

 Proper training is probably the biggest one that would make a difference. Things like conducting a proper investigation or interrogation, de-escalation tactics, building rapport/people skills and negotiation.

 They could also limit the number of prisoners they hold and the length of time prisoners are held for. This is trickier to do ethically in a combat situation. If part of the point is that this group is more ethical they shouldn’t be maiming or summarily executing surrendering troops from the opposing side. They also shouldn’t be releasing prisoners in places they’re likely to die.

 One potential way around this is to focus on destroying equipment and facilities rather then ending lives. Taking weapons, destroying barracks, supply lines and the like.

 Captured enemy troops can potentially give out valuable information (you can read about effective interrogation here) but the majority of useful information doesn’t come from interrogating suspects/enemy troops in these scenarios. It comes from people volunteering information, whether they’re civilians or defectors.

 It might sound really obvious but a very easy way to avoid torture as an issue to not have anyone to torture. A policy of no prisoners, not in the sense of killing everyone but in the sense of immediate release after the goal has been achieved, reduces the amount of people held and hence the chance of torture.

 This sort of strategy in the beginning could give the organisation time to come up with the facilities, training program and inspection regime needed to keep prisoners in… as safe and ethical a way as possible. It would mean adopting a strategy of ambush style attacks on the facilities and supply lines of he opposing side/s.

 It would also help avoid overcrowding of any prison facilities which is a factor that leads to more violence in prisons.

 I think that just leaves the question of long term success which you’ve defined in terms of avoiding torture and eventually replacing the rebel group that tortures.

 That isn’t a question I can give a definitive ‘yes or no’ answer to. It depends on a lot of factors, as you can probably see from the lists above.

 My instinct is that it is possible. However it would take time. A lot of time. And it would mean keeping up that dedication, the rejection of torture, throughout.

 Supplanting an existing organisation would take years. Easily 5-10 years, and I think I might actually be under estimating things. It also depends on things like how well known both rebel groups are, how well they manage to build up public trust, the supply of recruits, the amount of territory they occupy.

 Part of what I’m driving at here is that doing things well, building systems and organisations that last and keep ethics at their core; it takes time. It takes hard work. And a lot of it feels thankless.

 In the early days your rebels will probably be bending over backwards, making life so much ‘harder’ for themselves in order to avoid torture. Only to have civilians turn around and mistake them for the group that tortures.

 The sad fact is that a lot of people feel destruction is more satisfying. It feels like ‘doing something’, whereas the hard work of building a better system over years/decades… it often feels like you’re getting nowhere. I think that, along with the cultural message that violence ‘works’, is why a lot of these abuses continue to happen.

 Once again I think that what you want from this story is possible. But it isn’t simple, it isn’t easy. It’s playing the long game. And there will be times when that grinds the characters down.

 A lot of stories say that ‘doing the right thing isn’t easy’ and then proceed to show the characters doing some big, impressive act that instantly solves everything. This is a fallacy. Sometimes it’s a fallacy that leads to some great stories! But it’s still a fictional motif that romanticises acts of violence over the hard work of building something better.

 And I think that if you want to show that hard work in your story you can’t gloss over the fact that it’s hard. It’s exhausting, it can be isolating. It can all be wiped away at any moment because of one hot-headed idiot.

 But the hard work and dedication would eventually pay off.

 These rebels would end up with better intelligence networks, better ties to the local communities and a better reputation. Which would probably lead to them becoming the go-to group for defectors, both from the other rebels and the group they’re trying to fight. They’d also probably get more volunteers in the long term.

 Wrapping up I think I’ll end with a note from Kurlansky’s Nonviolence: The History of a Dangerous Idea: Long term victory generally goes to the group that is the most organised. Focus on that. Really think about inventive ways to set up the systems and organisations these rebels are trying to build.

 Follow those points through logically.

 Your group might not end up looking like any rebel group you’ve seen in media before. But it’ll probably look closer to a lot of real organisations and give you a lot of fodder for stories.

 I hope that helps :)

Disclaimer

Available on Wordpress.

*Obviously there will always be debate about what this means but I personally do not think most places treat torture as a grave crime. As an illustration of what I mean American torturer Jon Burge is thought to have tortured at least 200 people during his time as a police officer. Several of the people Burge tortured ended up on death row. Thirty years after the initial reports he was sentenced to four and a half years in prison. He served three and a half.

[teamhappyme]

31 from the fluff prompts with peter!!! (yes this is what i meant oops-)

my darling red! so happy you requested peter as this is my first peter fic! 

yes i went way too into detail about baseball but it’s the first thing that came to mind-

pairing: peter stone x female!reader

prompt: “shut up before i kiss you”

warnings: none. 

word count: 1.4k

****

“Are you kidding me? He has a no hitter through six innings, and as soon as he lets someone on first, which was actually due to an error by the shortstop, he gets pulled?” You threw your empty cup on the ground before turning to Peter.

He was silent, with a growing smirk on his face as you continued to ramble on about the coaching staff, or lack thereof, in your opinion.

“Great, now they’re putting this guy in? I know it’s early in the season, but he’s closed three games so far and he doesn’t even have a win.”

You and Peter were at Citi Field, watching the Mets go against the Phillies. You’d agreed to go to a game with him under one circumstance; you got to sit in the bleachers like regular people. No boxes, no special menu for the former starting pitcher. You wanted to experience the game like you always had growing up; with greasy hot dogs, and beers spilling all around you.

This was technically your first date with the ADA. According to Rollins, Peter had been trying to ask you out for weeks. Asking you to join him for drinks after a long case, offering to get dinner after a late night interrogation, but you said no every time, too invested in the case, or too oblivious to his motives. 

It was a no brainer for you when he finally asked you to come to the game with him, on a date, he clarified, the two of you sharing a laugh over his failed past attempts. He’d been working with the unit for almost a year now, but it was weird to think of your job without him in the mix.

Although you were surprised that Peter was trying to take you on a date for months, it was him that now stood speechless as you critiqued every pitching change, stolen base, and balls that seemed to be just outside of the strike zone. “Christ, this guy couldn’t find the strike zone if it hit him in the face.” 

What surprised him the most would have to be your vocabulary. He knew you could go off on a perp in interrogation, but he didn’t peg you for the profanity enduring type. But your passion for the game only made him feel warmer inside.

“Peter, he hasn’t cleared the plate once,” You started as the batter took his place on first base. “You’d think they’d approach the mound, at least try-”

“Would you shut up before I kiss you?” He interrupted you, the smirk on his face unbelievably teasing. 

You turned to face him, silenced by his statement, a red flush starting to cover your face. But you recovered quickly, not ready to show your hand completely to the counselor.

“Peter Stone, I don’t kiss on the first date.” 

“You wouldn’t be willing to make an exception for me?” He asked, eyes flickering to your lips for a brief second before locking on your eyes again. 

You were certainly tempted. But you were also having too much fun. 

“Maybe, if you joined in on my expert commentary, I could rethink my stance. I mean, I am at a baseball game with the former starting pitcher for the Cubs.” He rolled his eyes as I lightly shoved his shoulder. “C’mon, you know I’m right about that pitching move. And you’re just dying to tell me how smart I am for recognizing it.”

“Alright, alright, you are right about pulling the pitcher.” You smiled, shooting your hand into the air in victory. “But don’t let it get to your head. We have two and a half innings left, and like you said, you’re here with the former starting pitcher for the Cubs. I may know a thing or two more than you.”

He wrapped his arm around your shoulder, and you easily leaned into him. You couldn’t hide the smile growing on your face, even if you wanted too.

“Bring it on, Ace.”

****

“So I think we can both agree that you should be the new manager for the New York Mets,”

“Deal. But only if you sign on to be my pitching coach. And Noah Porter Benson is our number one starting pitcher.”

“Deal.” Peter smiled, and looked over at you.

After the game, the two of you took the subway from Queens back to Manhattan, when Peter insisted on walking you home. You only objected four times, but after he grabbed your hand and started leading the way to your apartment, you quickly shut your mouth. 

You thought he would’ve let go of your hand after a few seconds. Instead, he laced your fingers together, and hadn’t let go in ten minutes. 

The night had gone so smooth, never a lull in the conversation, due in large part to your inability to keep your coaching opinions to yourself. But Peter liked that about you; he liked that you didn’t shy away from him, or make him take charge of the night. Everything was so easy with the two of you. Everything just made sense.

When you approached your brick building, you let out a sigh. You really didn’t want this night to end.

“Let me walk you up,” He offered, clearly not done spending time together either. 

You took the elevator, letting you off at the third floor to walk to your door. Peter still hadn’t let go of your hand.

“This is me. Lucky number nine.” You said as you stood in front of your door, turning to face Peter. He looked so soft in his jeans and crew neck, so much more relaxed than in his suits for the office. 

“I had a lot of fun tonight,” He started. “Thank you for finally agreeing to come on a date with me.”

You let out a laugh, while looking down at your intertwined hands. “Yeah well, I would’ve agreed sooner had I not been so blind to your intentions.”

“Well we can still make up for lost time.” He gave your hand a squeeze, and you looked up to meet his gaze. “Would you come to dinner with me Friday night, for a second date?”

“You sure you still want to spend time with me after tonight? I don’t shut up easily,” You teased, earning a grin from your handsome date. 

“I’m sure. You keep me on my toes, detective.”

“Good. Because I’ve been rethinking that rule I have about first dates,” You took a step towards him, still leaving enough space for him to back out. But the red tinge on his cheeks told you he wouldn’t.

“Oh really?” He asked, letting go of your hand to wrap his arms around your waist. It brought you closer to him, enough to see that his eyes held a little bit of green amongst the sea of blue. 

He cocked his head to the side the slightest bit, as if to ask if this was okay. You wrapped your arms around his neck in response, a small nod to show you meant it. 

When his lips met your own, they were soft, perfectly fitting together in a short, sweet kiss. He started to pull away, but you quickly pulled him back to your lips, not done with him just yet. You felt him smile into it, a little exhale of breath leaving his nose and tickling your upper lip. That made you smile, preventing you from staying together any longer.

You leaned back, removing your hands from around his neck to circle his waist, finally feeling the soft fabric of the blue crew neck.

“I’d say that made up for months of miscommunication.” He grinned, and you could only smile in response. 

“Definitely.” Your eyes found the clock at the end of the hall, already eleven thirty. “As much as I’d love to talk all night about my coaching strategy, we both have to be in court early tomorrow morning.”

He bowed his head in disappointment, knowing you were right. Rollins and Carisi were testifying tomorrow and needed all the rest you could get. 

“Then you’ll just have to save it for Friday.” He said and unwrapped himself from you. You held on another second, enjoying the warmth from his torso. 

“I will. Now, go get some sleep. I’ll see you from the gallery tomorrow.”

“Okay. Make sure you keep your comments to yourself in there.” He joked, earning him a light smack to his chest. “See you in the morning.” 

He leaned down and kissed your cheek, then lightly pecked your lips. “Sleep tight.”

You watched him walk back down the hall as you unlocked your door, a little dizzy from the charming effects of ADA Peter Stone.

****

[tiaramaki]

Is it always God's will for Christians to be healed?

I've seen all three sides of this issue from various people and denominations, and there's some arguments that can make sense from two of them. It is pretty difficult to word the short answer, since if I say it wrong, I risk either sounding like one of the "everything is good and rainbows" preachers, or a heretic that believes that healing is unbiblical and we sin if we wish for good health at all.

Ultimately, from some interpretations of scripture and testimonies from other ministers and people and myself, I would have to say "Like many prayers, whether we receive healing or not depends on circumstances and certain factors; however, even though healing isn't always obtained, He will never place a sickness on Christians Himself". Let me explain.

When we do see Christ healing the people in the New Testament, He: a) does express His will for healing in Matthew 8:3 with the leper (and touching him to heal, to boot), b) expresses that some people had gained the healing they wished through their faith (the woman with the issue of blood in Matthew 9:20-22/Mark 5:27-34; the centurion with the servant in Matthew 8:8-10,13; the blind beggar in Luke 18:40-42; the blind men in Matthew 9:27-30), c) although interestingly, He also does this for the people in Nazareth in Mark 6:4-6 despite their lack of faith in Him (although healing is not mentioned in Matthew 13:58's account of that moment).

We also have had healings in the New Testament after Christ's ascension, such as with Paul in Acts 28:8 and Peter in Acts 3:6. We also see instructions such as James 5:14-16 for those who are sick.

1 Peter 2:24 is one verse I've seen and heard many times that's used for the argument of healing being His will for us. Some people have put forth arguments of it meaning a physical healing, others a spiritual kind of healing in relation to our salvation. The older Greek word that's translated as "you were/are/have been healed" (depending on your translation), ἰαθῆτε, also is used in James 5:16. The root word of this Greek verb, which is ἰάομαι, which has two definitions according to the Strong's lexicon. One is "to make whole; to free from errors and sins, to bring about (one's) Salvation"; the other is "to cure, heal", thus both. And all variations of this word in the older Greek appears in the various verses I've already provided where physical healings have occurred (in fact, it seems more like the majority of variations are in relation to physical healing, 26 compared to the spiritual's 2 in the KJV according to Blue Letter Bible).

So from the looks of things, it seems that healing is something that God would see as good for us to have, since He has done it quite a bit in the New Testament. But not every prayer for supernatural healing is answered with that healing (I can count myself for two examples). So what would the circumstances and factors be for not receiving healing if we've asked for it?

One possible factor can be a level of faith. That's not to say that you don't have any faith whatsoever if your healing doesn't come, but different people have different levels of faith; some people need to build their faith to higher points to get a certain level of healing, like how one may do exercises to strengthen certain muscles. It's more of how we think about "big" vs "little" healings: diabetes we consider bigger than just a bad scrape on our knee in our natural minds (just to give an example) so to us, a higher level of faith could be needed. Jude 1:20 comes to mind for the instruction of building one's faith up. As for the level of faith, Matthew 17:19-21 is one example (the sickness came from a demon possessing the boy, and the healing came after it was driven out; the disciples could not drive it out themselves because, in Christ's own words, their lack of faith). For my circumstances with my health, I would say I have some need to build my faith a little further, especially considering my own fears I have because of them. I may say to myself that I have a strong enough faith, but sometimes even the words that I say regarding them make me realize I have some way to go before I get to that mustard seed level.

A second possible reason is the motive for your wish for healing. I'm going to be optimistic and say that the vast majority of prayers for healing are for good reasons and quality of life for us. But there are some reasons that can be sinful--say that someone with eyesight problems wants healing for "staring at cute girls/boys" (unironically), or to have stomach problems go away just to eat outside of moderation, or to take revenge or hurt someone. Having been diagnosed with type 2 diabetes three years ago (with it developing sometime before that), it's brought on a lot of worries and sadness and fear for me, but it also has taught me the importance of eating in moderation through a less-than-ideal circumstance; my one uncertainty is, am I disciplined enough that when/if my healing comes, will I continue eating well on my own?

Another possibility is that the physical or mental condition one has could be used to help lead another to salvation, or to help oneself be or staying strong in the faith. Say that one has an illness that requires going to a place where many people are. There are opportunities to help bring the others to Christ, or to even build up another's faith through discussion, and no one else would be a better candidate for that. Or for another example, even though Asperger's Syndrome is something that's hindered me socially in many many ways (and I do gripe about it quite a bit), it's likely been why I've been so adamant about my beliefs and my faith (even though I'm sure it's been a headache to some people).

A mighty work can be done even without healing taking place or it being done when the ailment has progressed, which could lead others into salvation that way. Take, for example, Lazarus, who did not receive healing while living. Instead, Christ brought him back from the dead, and that miracle would surely bring people to believe in Him as Messiah, if not glorify God.

It could also be an exercise in patience on His timing as well. A lot of us nowadays could be reasonably considered as impatient because of how our cultures are and how we want things to happen as soon as we want them to. Luke 11:10 comes to mind; keep asking, keep seeking, keep knocking even if it doesn't come to you in the timeframe you've set for it to be there.

This factor I've only known about through one minister's secondhand testimony (which is why I've listed it as last), but it's something that I think needs to be added to the list: if, after healing is obtained, the Christian may turn away from the faith for good, in which case God would see it better for that one to leave the world while still being saved. But this is a very rare circumstance, so certainly don't panic and immediately think this may be your reasons for not having received healing.

I'm sure there are other factors that may come into play, but these are all that I can think of so far. But don't lose faith if healing hasn't arrived; just because a package hasn't come in yet doesn't mean you'll never get it. He can also use your circumstances for good, whether for yourself or for others.

However, I will say one thing, and this relates to the last point of the short answer: whatever your physical or mental ailment may be, God did not put it on you. We live in a fallen world, where sickness and disease had come in by way of Original Sin. Even Christ said, "'What father among you, if his son asks for a fish, will give him a snake instead...? Or if he asks for an egg, will give him a scorpion?'" (Luke 11:11-12). God did not force my body to develop type 2 diabetes (that was my fault) or for me to be Aspergic (that was the fault of the natural world being as broken as it is). He does not give you or your family members cancer, or force unborn children to be miscarried, or made me get Covid to "help save someone from someplace far away through my suffering". But people who do say stuff like that (that one post about healing came to mind, and it drove me into a rage because of that one person saying stuff to that effect), we're making Him to be the thing that many, many unbelievers assume Him to be, a God that puts suffering onto us despite living our lives to Him. There's a difference between "what was done for evil, God will use for good" and "God gave this evil to you for the sake of good."

Sorry this took so long. Like I said before, I might not have covered everything (I've been working on this so long I'm starting to get hungry, oops), so I apologize if I missed anything.

[starcherryberry]

ℂ𝕠𝕝𝕠𝕣𝕤 → 𝕐𝔾 𝕩 ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣 𝕩 𝕁𝕂 | 𝕄.

→ ❝ With your final semester left of university you expected to go through it easily however an issue with your credits leads you to take Professor Min’s Painting 101 course.❞

☾ Pairing: Professor!Yoongi Painter!Yoongi x Student!Reader x Student!Jungkook (this was suppose to be a yoongi x reader but somehow my mind wandered and jungkook came in lmao it be like that sometimes)

☾ Type: Poly!Relationship (literally you won’t see it until like the ending but oops)

☾ Genre: Smut  ☆  Angst  ☆  Fluff

☾ Word Count: 7.3k

↠ Warnings: there is an age gap between all characters involved, if you are not comfortable with that please refrain from reading. Dom!Yoongi, Dom!Jungkook, Big Cock!Yoongi, Big Cock!Jungkook, Sub!Reader, fingering, Public Sex in classroom, Body Worship (mainly JK), cockwarming (sort of not really but like for a few mins) unprotected sex (jeez many times someone wrap their doodles please)

✉ Song Recommendations: (I love kdrama osts don’t hate me, also these are all spotify links so use youtube if you don’t have it) (Legit none of these fit the tone of the fic I just luv to recommend sht hehe)

♡ Weki Meki- Love Diamond

♡  Jus2- Take

♡  Junggigo- Too Good

♡  Punch, Glabingo- Beautiful Beautiful (watch hit the top it’s a beautiful kdrama hehe)

✉ Note: Anyways this is my first fic to be uploaded on tumblr! I spent a long time revising & working on this legit I have been staring at my computer for way too long and my eyes hurt because I wanted to get this out. It’s currently 4am as I upload this so if there are errors in the text I apologize in advance. (a girl is tired) Please don’t steal! This fanfic was inspired by the constant Youtube painting lives Yoongi has had. In the midst of writing I added Jungkook because he added more into the story. I was thinking of making this into a Occupation!BTS collection where I can make one for each member with different story lines. Let me know if you want me to do so in the comments below! (okay im talking to much bye)

“Y/N it seems like you still need 4 more credits added to your schedule to be eligible to graduate this semester.” your advisor told you. You honestly didn’t know you still needed more credits to graduate, you never cared to look. So when it came to registering, you signed up for the courses you needed as part of your International Studies degree. 

“What courses are still available for registration?” you asked even though you knew the number of courses to be left must be very few. “Well there is one course open, it’s Professor Min’s Painting 101. He’s a new professor here so it makes sense as to why not many students signed up with him yet.  Even though this course isn’t a requirement for your major, it will definitely cover up for the credits you need Y/N so I suggest you sign up for this. His course runs every Friday at 1 pm-3 pm” your advisor said as she handed you a summary of Professor Min’s course.

You looked over the summary of the course to know what you’re getting yourself into. It was a 101 class so of course, you will be in a class full of freshmen. That wasn’t too exciting however you didn’t mind painting, you are actually quite great at it as a hobby. With one last look at the sheet, you turn to your advisor “Okay I’ll take the course”.

It was finally Friday and today includes your very first class with Professor Min. Unfortunately, you couldn’t go on Rate My Professor to see what kind of teacher was he since he’s new. ‘I swear if he’s an asshole, I’m gonna give him a fucking one’ you thought to yourself. 

You were standing right in front of his classroom, sighing you stepped in to see a couple of students already seated. You tried looking for a seat next to an empty one only to see none, so you had to sit next to someone. Looking around the classroom to observe the students there, you saw a boy with long hair covering his eyes. ‘He looks like someone who won’t speak to me that’s perfect’ you thought as you made your way over and sat next to the boy. 

The boy looked up, staring at you for a bit before speaking “Hello! My name is Jungkook” he said smiling. ‘Oh for fuck’s sake, I forgot how friendly these freshmen are on the first day because they have no friends’ you thought. “Uh, h-hi my name is Y/N” you waved slightly at him. 

“Are you majoring in arts too?” he asked, his eyes were wide in a cute way. “No, actually I’m an International Studies major. I’m only taking this course for extra credits to graduate” you smiled at him. “Oh...so you must be older than me” he chuckled. You had, to be honest, his laugh was pretty cute. “Yeah I’m 22 however I’d like to think I was younger” you laughed and Jungkook laughed with you. You and Jungkook continued to talk until class began.

Suddenly the door opened and revealed a man who looked young with long brown and blonde hair. ‘Fuck he’s hot’ you thought as your gaze focused on him walking in. Jungkook leaned in and whispered in your ear “He’s quite the eye candy right” and you nodded. What else were you supposed to say of course you didn’t expect your painting professor to be a man who looked like he was in his mid 20’s. 

Professor Min’s eyes scanned the classroom before stopping on you for a bit. You could feel your face reddening as you felt his gaze on you. ‘Fuck stop thinking like this Y/N’. As you looked up at Professor Min he broke the stare and sat at his desk. “Okay, my name is Professor Min and welcome to my Painting 101 class, this course will include beginner level painting. You will learn the steps to becoming a better painter. I expect each and every one of you to come out of this class with at least more confidence in the arts.” he said as he looked over the class. 

Professor Min then took out his clipboard with the attendance sheet. He checked off each student one by one before hovering over your name tilting his head before looking up at you “Miss Y/N?” You immediately looked up at him “Yes?”. “It says here you’re a senior majoring in International Studies, is there a reason why you’re taking my course?” he asked still having his gaze on you.

“Ah um well I needed an extra course to get enough credits to graduate this semester and your course was the only option. However, I really like to paint as a hobby so I thought this class would be easy to take!” You answered trying to sound like you’re happy with taking the class. Professor Min nodded to your response “I see well welcome to the class as well” he smiled before standing up. 

“So for today’s class, we’ll start easy. Each of you will be doing individual work today by making a simple painting of your choice. I decided to make this a first-day activity because I want to see where you are in terms of levels of performance with painting however expect me to make some comments as this is a college course not a high school course. This will be due in class today. I expect each of you to explain your paintings and why you made them the way they are. You have 2 hours, so please get to your stations, the materials needed are on the carts in the corner.” Professor Min stated as he went back to his desk and started to go over some paperwork while we all began to work.

The two hours of painting were almost up and to be honest you were very satisfied with your painting. You painted two pink roses tied together that were falling from the sky. ‘Professor Min is going to love this’ you smiled at the thought. Jungkook looked over your shoulder to see what you painted and laughed a bit. “That’s definitely very simple but it’s cute Y/N,” he laughed giving you a light pat on the back. You turned to see what Jungkook painted to see that he made a fucking portrait of himself A PORTRAIT! “What the fuck Jungkook how did you get that done within just 2 hours?” you ask as now you felt not so confident in your painting anymore. “Well, I am a visual arts major what did you expect” Jungkook laughed as you rolled your eyes.

“Okay the 2 hours are up, I will start walking around the class to individually speak about your paintings. Once I grade them you can leave the classroom. I will post your homework for the week on canvas so make sure to check!” Professor Min said as he started to walk around the classroom to grade students.

Soon enough he reached Jungkook and he had no problem explaining his portrait of himself. “I really love the details of your painting Jungkook, I can see you will probably be one of the more advanced skilled students in our class, your grade for this assignment is an A” Professor Min smiled as he then turned to your painting. Jungkook had packed up his things and waved at you before leaving the classroom. 

It was just you and Professor Min in the classroom so the amount of nervousness you felt was really high. “Alright Y/N explain your painting to me” he asked as he looked directly at you. “Well, as you can see I painted two pink roses tied together that are also in the midst of falling from the sky. I actually didn’t know what to paint at the beginning if I had to be honest but I just let my head flow with whatever came to my mind first which was roses. Roses signify love, I’ve actually never felt that before but pink roses comfort me a lot which is why I painted them falling from the sky. The roses are not within the grass they are falling because they haven’t gotten to me even though I think about them a lot.” You were satisfied with your answer as you smiled at Professor Min.

He nodded and looked at your painting again. “I like the story behind this painting Y/N however I feel like you can add more detail in your painting. Maybe add something else to pair with the flowers or add some scenery behind it so it doesn’t look like a plain sky. I see lots of paintings like this Y/N and it’s too simple for the meaning behind it when other paintings look exactly like this. Try and add more of your other feelings to this. I will give you a C for this however if you take it home and re-do it, I can consider regrading your work” Professor Min said as he wrote down your grade on his clipboard and smiled “I’ll see you next Friday Miss Y/N” he said as he walked back to his desk. 

You just stood there trying to process what the fuck he just told you. It needed more detail, more work? You were sure you added everything you needed that was in your head. ‘I can’t believe this, Jungkook painted himself and got an A, what did I do wrong?’ you thought. “Miss Y/N are you alright?” Professor Min spoke up as he saw you still standing at your station. You snapped out of it and nodded over at him “Y-yeah I was just thinking of something else sorry, have a nice day!” you said as you grabbed your bag and your painting before rushing out the classroom. ‘I hope you choke on your fucking coffee Professor Min’ you thought as soon as you exited.

It was Friday again and throughout the week you worked on revising your painting as well as become close friends with Jungkook. “Did you get your painting done Y/N?” Jungkook asked as you sat down next to him. “Yeah, I was able to finish it hopefully he’s happy with this one even though I don’t understand what I did wrong in the first place,” you said sighing while taking your painting out and setting it next to your desk. “I thought it was fine even though it was simple, I think he’s just messing with you” Jungkook laughed. “If he’s messing with me I will chop his dick off for real,” you said frustrated.“ “I see I hope you don’t plan on doing that to me too” Jungkook laughed again. “As long as you don’t piss me off too much Kook then you’ll be fine” you smiled.

In the midst of talking, Professor Min walked in “Good Afternoon class, I hope you all have your homework ready to hand in. It will be the first thing we talk about in class today”. He said as he walked up to the chalkboard to write the word ‘blue’ on it. Shit shit shit, you forgot to do your homework because you were so focused on trying to redo your painting. Seeing you in distress, Jungkook handed you a sheet of paper and winked at you. You saw a post-it note on it and it said ‘I know you were trying to get your painting done all week so I did your homework for you!’. You smiled at the note before turning to Jungkook to give him a finger heart.

“So today before we start class we will go over the homework. Before I do that please pass them up so I know none of you are going to try adding in answers.” Professor Min said as we all started to hand our homework up. “This week’s homework was to give off your own meaning of the color blue, what does it mean to you and why did you think of that when you see or think of the color blue? Compared to many other colors, blue seems to be misinterpreted the most so I wanted to see what you all thought about it before we go more into observing colors” Professor Min said as he looked over the class before his eyes landed on you. “Miss Y/N what does the color blue mean to you,” he asked.

Trying to remember what you saw in your homework that Jungkook did you tried to answer. “When I see the color blue I think about the feeling of loneliness, it’s a color that for some reason emits sadness. Whenever I am alone and have no one, the color that first comes into mind to describe my feeling is blue,” you said as you exhaled feeling like you were holding your breath because you could still feel Professor Min’s intense gaze on you. He stared at you before responding “That’s an answer I expected, I am sure many of us had similar answers. The color blue definitely has a sort of tie to sadness however blue can have other meanings too, for example, it can symbolize healing.” Professor Min said. 

“Since we have about an hour left, I’d like for you all to go to your stations, and paint a fruit that represents you, the fruit must contain one of the colors we talked about today. Expect that all your paintings in class to represent yourself, because painting expresses the feeling of the artist themselves.” Professor Min said as he smiled.

“This is going to be a piece of cake,” Jungkook said as he turned to his canvas. “Do you think he’s going to correct me on this painting too?” you asked Jungkook while getting your palette out. He shook his head “Nah, come on Y/N this is fucking fruit we’re talking about there’s no way he won’t give you an A”. You honestly hope Jungkook was speaking the truth.

The class was almost over and the fruit you ended up painting was strawberries. You thought it came out pretty cute. As you turned to Jungkook’s painting you tilted your head “Weren’t we supposed to paint only one fruit, why did you paint a whole fruits basket?” you asked. Jungkook shrugged “I didn’t know what fruit to paint, I feel like I am someone with many traits that can’t be linked to just one fruit, so hopefully Professor Min likes it.” he said.

Professor Min started to walk around the classroom in order so that meant you would be last in the classroom again. He reached Jungkook “Wow Jungkook it seems as you thought outside of the box, tell me what your painting means,” Professor Min said happily. Jungkook chuckled before responding “Well I feel like my life can’t be represented through one fruit, I like to think highly of myself so painting every fruit I could think of expresses that I am happy and that having all these traits is not a problem as long as I feel content with it” Jungkook explained.

Professor Min nodded “You impressed me yet again Jungkook, that’s an A” he smiled as he moved onto your station. Jungkook gave you a huge smile and a thumbs up before leaving the classroom. “Before you show me your fruit painting I want to see your revised painting of your roses Y/N,” Professor Min said. You handed him the painting of your roses. “I added a scenery behind the roses, as you can see I added an ocean behind them. You don’t see flowers growing near the ocean, I put them there because reaching the feeling of love is rare for me and it usually wouldn’t go too far so the roses would die even if they land in the sand or water.” You spoke hoping Professor Min can give you an A.

Professor Min sighed “I think you’re thinking to deep into your feelings Y/N, the painting is beautiful actually however I’m sure love will be successful to you one day. I will up your grade for this painting to an A” he said as he moved onto your fruit painting. “Thank you! For my fruit painting, I decided to paint strawberries, they represent happiness because whenever I go eat them I’m always reminded of the pretty things in life.” You stated happily. “I think that’s a nice way to go about it Y/N however I think your strawberries need a little more detailing maybe add a prop like how jungkook added his fruits into a basket. I’ll give this a C, feel free to re-do it, and turn it in next Friday.” Professor Min said as he turned away without letting you speak.

What the fuck a C again? You didn’t understand but you didn’t care. If Professor Min wanted you to fix it then you will because you simply just wanted to graduate.

As each week passed by you became more and more frustrated. No matter what you did with all your paintings Professor Min always gives you a C just to regrade to an A once you redid them. “I’m literally going to fucking kill him if he gives me a C one more damn time” you rolled your eyes as you started to eat your pizza. 

“I think he’s hitting on you Y/N” Jungkook simply said as he sipped his banana milk. With that, you started to choke on your food “W-what?” you were sure that was not it, definitely, Professor Min hates you. “I don’t know it’s just weird that he keeps doing that and that he leaves you for last when it comes to grading. Plus you’re a senior right? Professor Min is only 27 there’s not too big of an age gap between the two of you.” he shrugged as he bit his pizza. “There’s no way in fucking hell he’s hitting on me, plus isn’t that illegal for a professor to do that?!” you questioned

“Not really as long as you both give consent to each other and keep it low it’s fine, plus you’re graduating so I don’t think he sees an issue.” Jungkook said as you hit him in the head with your phone “Well I promise you that’s not it, let’s not talk about this anymore kook” Jungkook grabbed his head chuckling while you just wanted to shut the conversation off because you honestly didn’t know how to feel if Professor Min actually liked you.

“Alright, so I will be walking around the classroom to look at the different birds each of you painted. This is the last assignment before I give you your final project next week, so I hope many of you improved with this assignment if it’s not good you may have trouble with the final as I will not be offering any regrading on it.” Professor Min firmly stated.

Time passed as he went to each student before reaching Jungkook. “What do we have here Jungkook?” Professor Min asked. “I painted a bluebird Professor Min, I thought it was perfect to paint as it symbolizes the arrival of spring but with the semester ending, I feel like I have put my all into all my works so the bluebird also symbolizes hard work!” Jungkook smiled while answering. “Nicely done Jungkook, you never fail to amaze me with your work. Your grade for this assignment is an A. I actually want to speak with you in my office tomorrow, even though you’re a freshman I feel like I wouldn’t mind having you as a mentor in my courses for next term.” Professor Min said as he smiled widely at Jungkook. ‘Thank you so much, I would love to help mentor students!” Jungkook smiled even his eyes fucking smiled. 

Professor Min walked over to you pulling out your grading sheet. Jungkook packed all of his things happily as he made a big heart with his hands before leaving the classroom. He has a habit of cheering you on with a cute gesture before Professor Min grades you.

“Seems like you have a similar color palette as Jungkook, what bird did you paint,” he asked looking at you. “I painted a Blue Jay Professor Min they have a meaning of being fearless. The reason why I painted it wasn’t because of the meaning but because of the color blue. I was reminded back to the popular meaning of the color blue, sadness. Even though the Blue Jay is fearless it makes me think if it sometimes feels lonely while pulling that Fearless front. I always try to stay strong for myself and pull through but there’s a point where I feel stuck but I don’t want to speak about it. We all experience fear in our lives whether that be alone or with someone else.” You exhaled as you said all of that. ‘Gosh talking for that long while having Professor Min’s stare is having too much of an effect on you’. 

“Wow Y/N the meaning you put to your painting is amazing, I love the connection” he squinted at the painted before continuing. “I think you should add something into the painting that shows what the Blue Jay may have a fear of. Other than that your grade is a C. You can come into my office after Jungkook tomorrow if you want to speak more into redoing this pro-” you cut him off as at this point you already had enough.

“Why a C, I don’t understand Professor Min please make me understand why you give me a fucking C every single time just for you to give me an A after I fix minor mistakes! This isn’t right and I want a true explanation why,” you yelled as you tried to slow down with your breathing.

“Y/N please lower your tone when speaking to me” he calmly said. “No! Just tell me why! I fix everything for you just for you to do the same shit all over again” you said already feeling tears coming up “Just why, please” you begged

“Y/N….your paintings always came out beautiful even without the regrading. I was interested in you on the first day of class when I noticed you were a bit older than all the other students, you stood out to me because this also isn’t your major of focus. You stood out in so many ways and I guess I wanted to get close to you. However, as my status as a professor, I can’t just do it so easily so my way of doing it was trying to keep you in the classroom and in contact with me as long as possible. I wanted to see you more Y/N because I like you.” Professor Min said as he looked into your eyes trying to at least find something.

“P-professor Min…” you stuttered surprised by his confession. “Please call me Yoongi Y/N, class is over” he stated as he got closer to you. “I don’t know what to say...Yoongi” you said moving your gaze to the floor, you couldn’t believe he was doing all this because he liked you, Jungkook was right. Yoongi grabbed your chin lightly as he lifted it before he placed his lips on yours. You kissed back slowly as Yoongi placed his hand behind your head to deepen it.

You could feel yourself starting to get hot as things got intense with the kiss and somehow you’re at Yoongi’s desk sitting on his lap. “Fuck Y/N you’re so beautiful did you know that I’ve been thinking about you like this for a while now,” he said in between the kiss as he could feel you trying to rut on his bulge. He chuckled “I bet your so wet right now Y/N look at you rutting against my cock that’s not even out for you yet.” You whined as you just wanted some pleasure, it’s been a while since you hooked up with anyone. “Yoongi please I just want your cock,” you said trying to rub your clothed core on his lap for stimulation. “Yeah? Want my cock right here huh when anyone can walk in and see my cock stuffed in your pussy?” Yoongi kissed your neck as you moaned. His words were so dirty which turned you on even more. “Yes yes Y-yoongi I need it!” you cried out.

“I need your pants off  Y/N,” he said as he helped you take off your pants leaving you in just your underwear. You couldn’t believe you were doing this in a classroom with your own Professor. You helped Yoongi take his pants off and then you were left staring at his boxers. “Y/N take my cock out and suck” he demanded as he stared at you. You could tell he was already eye-fucking you. You put your hand into the opening of his boxers and pulled out his cock. 

Fuck. He. Was. Huge 

You didn’t waste time given the circumstances you’re in, you started to suck his cock. You couldn’t fit all of him it was too much however Yoongi grabbed the back of your head forcing his cock to go all the way in your mouth making you tear up. “Fuck Y/N that’s it take this cock, I think I’ll come soon” Yoongi growled as he guided your head down his cock. While you were sucking, Yoongi took out his phone to capture the sight of you. He never painted nude paintings because he wanted to wait for someone he loved to do so. Just by looking at you, he wanted to make you into art for only him to see. 

You could feel Yoongi’s grip on your head tighten signaling that he was close to cumming. “Y/N where do you want me to cum sweetheart,” he asked looking down at you his hair sticking to his skin. You pointed to your mouth as you couldn’t form words obviously. “Your mouth is so good for me Y/N taking this cock so well” he grunted before he shot his cum into your mouth slowing down the pace of his hand on your head.

You swallowed every drop before lifting yourself onto his lap and leaning in to kiss him again. “Y/N I want my cock inside you,” he said as he grabbed your ass and positioned you over the tip of his cock before slamming inside you. “Yoongi! Fuck ugh!” you moaned out loud before Yoongi placed his hand on your mouth. “Baby you have to be quiet unless you want to let the whole school know your mine” he whispered in your ear. You moaned loudly into his hands, you couldn’t help it because Yoongi didn’t even let you adjust to his cock.

“Your pussy is so tight Y/N I might cum sooner then I thought” he moaned as he flips you over. Your face was now against his desk as Yoongi was fucking you from behind. “C-cum inside me Y-yoongi!” you cried out without thinking. Yoongi started to thrust harder and deeper “Shit okay Y/N, Do you like that? Having your professors cock inside your sweet little pussy to make you nice and full?” he growled as he started to slam his cock in and out your pussy. “Yes yes yes! I like that Y-yoongi! I-I’m going to cum fuck!” You suddenly saw white spots as your orgasm hit, you could feel Yoongi’s pace fastening as he started to spurt his cum into you.

Oh, fuck what have I done.

Yoongi pulled out slowly catching his breath before putting on his pants. “Y/N? Are you okay sweetheart?” he asked as he grabbed some tissues to clean you up. Without taking a glance at him you started to quickly put on your clothes. “Y/N?” he called out worried that you weren’t responding. “We can’t do this Yo- Professor Min it’s inappropriate and was a mistake I need to go,” you said as you teared up. You quickly grabbed your things ignoring Professor Min’s calling out.

You dialed Jungkook’s number hoping he would pick up. “Hey Y/N finished with talking with Professor Min?” he answered as you sniffled. “Y/N? Are you okay? Do you need me to take you back to your dorm?” he asked. “Please hurry Kook, I c-can’t do this” you pleaded. Jungkook comforted you through the phone as he went over to pick you up.

“So you had sex with Professor Min?” Jungkook blinked repeatedly as he was trying to take in the whole story. You nodded wiping your tears “It was wrong but it felt so good and it’s bothering me kook, I don’t know what to tell him.” Jungkook handed you a tissue “Y/N there’s obviously feelings between the both of you the only thing stopping you are each other statuses. The fact that Yoongi didn’t kick you out of the classroom and offered to clean you shows that he isn’t one of those people. I’m sure he’s hurt too Y/N. The best advice I can give is for both of you to give each other space until you’re ready to confirm your feelings back. If you realize the relationship is no good then let him know.” he stated as he gave you a hug. “Thank you, Kook. I’m surprised you don’t have a girlfriend when you’re so nice” you tried to smile as you were in Jungkook’s arm. 

“I do have a crush on someone but I don’t think she likes me back” he sighed. “At least try but don’t fuck up like me” you chuckled. Jungkook nodded the problem was that you didn’t know that you were his crush. Jungkook was in love with you but he knew that it was never going to happen.

It was suddenly Friday again which means you had to see Yoongi. You were nervous you had no contact with him since you two had sex. You walked into the classroom seeing Jungkook give you a warm smile. Jungkook pointed in front of you so you looked over just to see Professor Min was early however he looked less like his happy self.

“Alright, so today’s class will be short because I will assign you all your final projects. For this project, you must make a collage of a color with multiple shades that speak words. You have 2 weeks to complete this project class dismissed.” Professor Min said as he gathered his things and left the classroom.

“Woah that was quick, Professor Min always uses his full class time no matter what,” Jungkook said as he sighed. “I think it’s because of me Kook, fuck what have I done. I really fucked everything up I’m sure instead of a C he’s going to give me an F.” You felt like crying, to be honest. “Hey, it’s okay. Want to come over my place to destress? We can watch Disney movies?” Jungkook smiled as he wanted to make you happy. You nodded “That would be great Kook” you smiled.

You and Jungkook were currently on the 5th Disney movie for the night. “Why can’t my love life be like a Disney movie, I feel like my story with Yoongi is like one of those tragedies before they get remade into a Disney Movie” you sighed reaching for some strawberries. Jungkook’s grip tightened on his cup of juice, he hated how you only spoke about Yoongi since the incident occurred. “Y/N if you keep thinking about Professor Min you’ll only stress yourself out more, give it a rest for just a bit, and maybe talk with him when finals are done?” he suggested. 

“The problem is that he’s all I ever think about Jungkook, I really thought I could forget about him even while watching these movies but it’s worse now.” you sighed. Jungkook looked at you for a moment before suggesting something that made you confused. “Then let me help you forget,” he said as he looked into your eyes. “Jungkook?” you were confused by what he meant, as you laid your eyes on him his lips were against yours. Unlike the kiss with Yoongi, you weren’t responding back. “Please Y/N…..just for today...let me do this,” he asked as his eyes looked into yours searching for permission to continue. Jungkook was younger than you by a few years but you trust him and know he means no harm and that he just wants to help. You nodded as you kissed Jungkook back.

In just about 5 minutes both yours and Jungkook’s clothes were discarded on the floor. “Fuck Y/N is this what you let Professor Min see? He doesn’t deserve to see your beautiful body.” Jungkook said as he placed his mouth over your nipple. You moaned out “J-Jungkook!” as Jungkook started to suck on your breasts “Did Professor Min worship your breasts like this? I bet he hasn’t huh” he chuckled as he gave you small bites over your chest. Your hands reached to Jungkooks bottom half as you tried to grab his cock. He wasn’t as big as Yoongi but definitely Jungkook’s cock was thicker making your pussy clench around nothing. “Eager aren’t you Y/N? Just want my cock in your tight pussy right?” Jungkook smirked.

“Please Jungkook no teasing I just want you inside” you whined as you could already feel some of your arousal slipping out. Jungkook laid your body onto the couch. He left for a bit to grab something only to come back with a blindfold. “A b-blindfold?” you titled your head.

“I know you don’t love me Y/N, I’m only helping you take your mind off things so I thought having you wear the blindfold would help because I don’t want anything to change between us,” he said as he placed it over your eyes. “Thank you Kook, don’t worry I won’t forget about you and I feel bad for even letting this happen, I don’t want to lead you on,” you said sadly. “Y/N I wanted this too I promise you I’m okay with this,” he said softly.

Jungkook wasted no time as he hovered over you inching his cock slowly inside you. He groaned “Mm Y/N your so fucking wet just for me, look at how easily you’re taking this cock”. You moaned as you felt Jungkook stretching you out, you could only see darkness which caused you to clench on him. He hissed “Y/N please don’t clench like that baby I might cum within seconds.” he laughed. His laugh brought a smile to your face, you definitely felt comfort in Jungkook’s arm.

Jungkook spent his time thrusting into you repeatedly, you could feel yourself about to cum soon as your walls started to tighten around Jungkook’s cock. “K-kook I’m going to cum” you moaned as you gripped Jungkook’s back hard. “F-fuck okay I think I’m going to cum soon too Y/N, want me to cum inside you?” he asked heavily panting as he continued to thrust into you. “Yes come inside me I know you want to Kook” Jungkook’s heart felt like it was going to explode he was doing this for you but he smiled as you cared about his feelings too. You knew that the both of you probably won’t ever do this again which is why you agreed. 

Jungkook changed positions as now you were sitting on his lap, He grabbed your waist making sure to help you with the pace. You wrapped your arms around him as you felt your orgasm hitting you “Jungkook ugh cum in me now” you whined as Jungkook thrust you through your orgasm and then cumming inside you.

You laid on top of Jungkook with his cock still inside you catching your breath. “You good Y/N? Let’s get you cleaned up, you can stay over if you want for the night I’ll sleep on the couch.” Jungkook offered as he slipped your blindfold off.  You nodded already feeling sleepy “Thank you kook, and I’m so so sorry. I really hope one day a person who deserves you a lot will love you” you teared up saying it because you didn’t want to hurt him he’s your friend who loves you and you weren’t sure if you liked him back.

Jungkook smiled as he slipped out of you “Y/N it’s okay I’m just happy that I could take your mind off things for a bit, if it all goes wrong just know I’ll welcome you with open arms” he said as he helped clean you up before handing you some extra clothes to put on.

2 weeks passed like it was nothing and soon enough it was Friday the day finals were due. “What color did you base your collage painting on kook?” you asked him. “Oh I based it on the color purple, apparently it signifies having creativity and I definitely think I represent that” he laughed. “You really love yourself, huh, but that’s a good thing so I can’t really make fun of you for it” you chuckled.

“What about yours Y/N?” with his question you paused before speaking “Well um it’s based around the color pink. I can’t go much into detail but basically this is my confession painting to Professor Min” you said blushing a bit, nervous to speak to Professor Min after weeks have passed. “Ah is that why you didn’t attach an explanation note to your painting,” he asked and you nodded. “Good luck Y/N, I hope everything works out and let me know if you guys get some,” he said wiggling his brows. You laughed and playfully pushed him.

Professor Min walked in and stood in front of the class. “Alright everyone today is your last class with me today. Don’t worry we aren’t going to be doing anything today. All you have to do is bring your canvas up to the front of the room and make sure your explanation notes are attached to your paintings. I hope you all have a wonderful summer break” Professor Min smiled as students started to submit their paintings and then walk out the classroom.

Jungkook patted you lightly on the back and gave you a thumbs up before leaving the classroom. You smiled and started to pack up your things slowly as you waited for Professor Min to notice that you didn’t attach a note to your painting.

“Miss Y/N please come to my desk, the rest of you drop your paintings here and go” he stated.

Here we go, you exhaled before walking over to his desk. “Yes Professor Min?” you asked fully knowing what he was going to tell you. “I don’t see an explanation note attached to your painting,” he said as he looked up at you for the first time in weeks. “I didn’t write one,” you said plainly. “Well since you didn’t write one I am going to have to give you a-” before Professor Min could continue you cut him off “I love you Yoongi,” you said looking at him for a reaction.

“Y/N wha-” he said in a surprised tone. “My painting, it’s my response back to your confession Yoongi. I found love and it’s you” you told him as you started to blush. “Really?” he asked and you nodded.

“Fuck come here Y/N” Yoongi called and you obliged and sat on his lap to start kissing him. “Gosh so that means your mines now?” he asked as he started to undress you. “Y-yes I’m yours now Yoongi officially” you let Yoongi undress you as you stared at his eyes while he was doing so. Yoongi paused as he saw bite marks over your chest. “Y/N where did these marks come from” as you didn’t answer he inserted two fingers into your pussy thrusting them in. “Who did it Y/N tell me right now or I won’t give you my cock,” he said sternly as you cried out “Jungkook Jungkook did them!”

Yoongi chuckled “Where’s your phone Y/N” you pointed to your desk. Yoongi pulled out his fingers as he made his way over to your desk. “What’s the password,” he asked. “Bluemyg” he typed in the password as he started to look for Jungkook’s number in your contacts and pressed call when he found it. Jungkook immediately answered of course because it’s you.

“Did everything go well Y/N?” Jungkook asked. “Come to my class Jungkook right now,” Yoongi said as he hung up the phone turning it on silent. “Yoongi what are you doing?” you wanted to know why in the world did he call Jungkook over when you’re naked on his desk. Yoongi didn’t answer you back and slid his cock inside you “Fuck even after Jungkook fucked you he left you nice and tight for me” Yoongi chuckled.

Jungkook entered into the classroom to see Professor Min with his cock inside you. “H-huh,” Jungkook said as his eyes were blown wide. “Jungkook put your cock in her mouth,” Yoongi said not giving Jungkook an explanation. Jungkook just stood there trying to process what’s going on.

You moaned out “Jungkook just do it, it’s okay!”. With permission on your end, Jungkook unzips the front of his pants and pulls his cock out. He made his way over and placed his cock right above your mouth. “Y/N suck,” Yoongi demanded. You opened your mouth to take Jungkook in while looking up into his eyes.

“Isn’t she gorgeous Jungkook, taking two cocks at the same time with the door wide open for anyone to see,” Yoongi said as he continued to thrust into you. Jungkook nodded as he guided your head to suck his cock. You could barely think about anything when you had two cocks occupying your holes. You pulled away from Jungkook’s cock “I-I’m going to cum”. “Jungkook put your cock in her mouth again and cum when I say so okay?” Yoongi said as Jungkook agreed while thrusting his cock back into your mouth.

You started to clench harder around Yoongi’s cock as you whined while having Jungkook’s cock deep in your throat. “Cum” at that moment Jungkook and Yoongi started to pound into you and release their load. Your vision blacked out after your orgasm.

“Is she okay?” Jungkook asked as Yoongi closed the classroom door and pulled down the shades. “She’ll be fine, I think she was overwhelmed by taking the both of us,” Yoongi responded as he went over to you to start cleaning you up with wipes. “I’m not sure if Y/N will be okay with it, we’ll have to get her opinion on it, but I don’t mind having you in the relationship as well Jungkook I know you love her too,” Yoongi suggested. Jungkook’s eyes widened “R-really? Prof- Yoongi are you sure” Jungkook asked not expecting this. Yoongi nodded “I’m super sure” he smiled.

You opened your eyes to look to the right to see both Yoongi and Jungkook talking. “Did I pass out?” you asked making your presence known. Both of them looked at you and nodded. “Y/N how about adding Jungkook into our relationship?” Yoongi asked immediately. Your gaze turned to Jungkook expecting your answer “I-I don’t mind….I know you thought I didn’t love you Jungkook but after that night my feelings started to develop for you.” you smiled “I love you both” you said as you walked up to the both of them and kiss them both on the lips. 

“Since we’re still sorta naked how about we make a body painting collage using all the colors we can” Jungkook suggested.

“I’m all in for it what about you Yoongi?” you asked looking at him. He laughed “Wow this is going to be a long day, let’s do it!”

✈ Um hi! I hope you enjoyed my very first fic on tumblr. Please leave me feedback down below whether it’s good or bad. I will start working on getting a masterlist post soon! Feel free to ask me questions or make comments on ‘Ask Starrymin’.

✈ I will try my best to get the Mother’s day Barista!Namjoon x Single Mother!Reader fic done this week. My plan was to get it done today however colors took me much longer than I thought. So please wait a little more until I upload it!

✈ Anyways I hope you all have a wonderful day! Please stay safe and healthy. Also I’d like to wish Happy mother’s day to all the moms out there and even mother like figures too! 

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