#give me a break. Knowing courtesies is far from being all there is to building relationships and alliances

[fromtheseventhhell]

Idk maybe it's because we actually read the books and understood that Jon wasn't, in fact, "assassinated because he's terrible at pr" and aren't interested in rewriting things to pretend that Jon needs Sansa. At least they're finally admitting that Sansa isn't being taught how to rule 🤷🏾‍♀️

[theclairvoyage]

Centrifugation: Chapter 6

Series Masterlist

A familiar face returns to the center.

Warnings: gun violence, knife violence, character death, mentions of blood, brief smut, panic attack, fluff, emotional turmoil, hospital stuff, stitches.

WC: 4.1k

Banners courtesy of @cafekitsune and @saradika

Wednesday, October 20th | 0755

As you clock in for your first shift after some time off, you feel recharged and ready to tackle the day.  The parking lot wasn’t too full, which was a good start—much easier than having to do cleanup as soon as you walk in the door.  Keri came in later today, meaning you’d get to spend a little more time with her in the afternoon—she usually opened and was one of the first ones to leave.  The morning rush was decent, and your trainee, Jayla, came in for a bit to make up for the lost hours last week.  You showed her the basics of setting up a machine, sticking a donor, and disconnecting them once they were done.  She seemed eager to learn and caught on quickly—by midday, she was doing setups and disconnects by herself.  Keri rolled in around 1100 and sent the two of you to your lunch break.

“I need an update on your date,” she says as she throws on a lab coat, winking at you.  You smile and feel your cheeks warm.

“You were right about him being great in bed,” you say, and her jaw drops.  She punches your arm with a giggle.

“I knew it!! And he lives in West O?  I didn’t realize he was rich rich,” she says, eyes widening.  Her expression turns to confusion soon after, and she asks, “Wait, why does he donate, then?”  You explain Sarah’s “fun money” situation, admitting that even if he didn’t donate, she’d probably still have plenty of fun money.

“You know, there are good people out there that donate just to be helpful,” Keri reminds you, half-sarcastically.  Those people existed, but they were few and far between.  Most people needed the money—Joel was not one of them.

“So, now that we both know he doesn’t need the money, really… it means if he keeps coming here, it’s just to see you,” she says with a snicker.

“I have a feeling those won’t be the only times he’ll see me during the week,” you say, giving her an exaggerated wink, mouth dropping open as you squeeze one eyelid shut.  She laughs.

“Girl… how big is he?” she whispers, leaning in close to you so any donors nearby won’t hear.  Your cheeks heat up at the memory of your escapades the last few days.

“Biggest I’ve ever had, swear,” you whisper, “He’s very… thick.”  Her eyes widen.

“So, what you’re saying is that you’re sore right now?” she asks, a devilish smirk curling on her cheeks.

“It’s like I rode a horse,” you say, causing you both to bust out laughing.  Keri pushes you toward the break room door as she giggles.

“Go to break before I waste all my time talking about your sex life!”  You wink at her again and do just that.

Wednesday, October 20th | 1315

Your lunch break went by smoothly—you ate some of the food you had meal prepped yesterday and got to know Jayla a bit more.  She was a freshman studying premed at the University of Nebraska-Omaha, not too far from the center.  She admitted that this was her first real job, but she enjoyed it and looked forward to learning more—she even apologized for the call-ins last week.  Feeling confident that she could take on some tasks independently, you let her man her own section for a bit.  You remember now that you need to request some time off to see your grandma.

You hang up your coat and ask Keri to keep an eye on Jayla before making your way to the manager’s office, which is on the opposite side of the building.  You walk past the reception area and back to the restricted area to find Trina’s office door open.  She’s perched at her desk, searching through the camera footage.  An officer is next to her, staring at the monitor as she clicks through the archived footage.  Apprehensively, you knock on the door.  Trina looks up and gives you a warm smile.

“Hey!  We were just going through the footage of Cedric’s incident last week so they can finalize the police report,” Trina says, giving you a reassuring nod.  “Officer Petrovski, this is my lead phlebotomist and the one who was threatened by him.”  You offer your hand and shake his.  He’s shorter than you and quite thin, bald with thick-rimmed glasses.  He must be the cyber crimes type, you think.

“Excellent, send the footage to this email address and we’ll notify you once everything is complete,” he says, giving Trina a business card before shaking her hand.  He gives you a short nod as he steps out of the office.

“So, what brings you in here, dear?” Trina asks, organizing some stacks of paper on her desk before looking up at you.

“I need to request some PTO next month—my Grandma isn’t doing too well,” you say, trying to keep the conversation light-hearted.  She gives you a sympathetic look and pulls a calendar off the wall behind her.

“You have the most PTO of everyone, as you know,” she says with a chuckle, “So your options are pretty open.”  You look down at the calendar and see a handful of people have requested Thanksgiving off, which is par for the course.  There’s a week at the beginning of November that’s empty.

“How about the first week of November?  Monday the 1st through the 8th,” you offer, pointing at the empty dates.  She scribbles your name in each of the date boxes for that week.

“You’re all set.  I’ll put in your PTO the week before then.  And please—,” she stops to put a thoughtful hand on your arm, “Reach out if you need anything.  You’re aware of our counseling resources, but also if you just need to talk.”  You smile, blinking back tears.  Trina has always been thoughtful—always puts her employees first.

“Thanks, Trina.  I will,” you say, waving at her as you step out of the office.  You pull your phone up to text Joel the dates, noticing that he’s already texted you.

Joel: Hope you have a great day, sweetheart.

Joel: Let me know when I need to take off work for our trip.

You smile.  You two must have some telekinetic connection.

You: I literally just requested the time off not even 5 minutes ago.  November 1st-8th.  Does that work for you?

Joel: Yep.  Helps to be the boss 😉

You: Sorry I missed your first text.  It’s been a good morning!  My trainee is doing really well and it’s not too busy here.

Joel: That’s great.  I gotta get back to a client with Tommy, but I’ll talk to you later this evening.  Miss you already.

You: You too 😊

You head back to the break room to drop your phone off, walking through the reception area first.  The chairs are empty—unusual for this time of day.  Usually, the late lunch rush starts and bleeds into the dinner rush.  The front door swings open right as you’re about to head through the restricted employee-only area—the person that steps in makes you freeze.

It's Cedric.  He looks like a cracked-out white Jesus—long, stringy blonde hair that probably hasn’t been brushed in days.  Skinny figure, average height.  His pupils are pinpointed, dark circles pooling underneath his eyes, fingers twitching, baring teeth that have an overdue need for dental work—very Smeagol-like.  He’s high on something.  He’s hunched over slightly and staring right at you, bloodthirsty.  You’re still frozen in place, unsure of what to do.  He speaks first.

“You got me deferred, and I’m short on cash,” he spits, teeth gritted.  His hands curl into clenched fists.  Your eyes narrow briefly as you stare at him, anger flashing through your system.

“You got yourself deferred by blowing something out of proportion and throwing your dirty arm wrap at me,” you remind him, taking a deep breath.  One of the employees in reception has to be seeing this showdown and calling Trina—otherwise this could get ugly, fast.  Your response pisses him off more.

“Bitch!  Your shitty phleb wrapped my arm wrong and I spoke up about it!” he flares, voice raising with each word.  He steps toward you, reaching in his rear waistband for something.  Fuck.  Your phone is in your pocket, and you need to pull it out to activate 911.  You hold both hands up, palms facing him in a surrender-type gesture.  Eyes still on him, you lean your head toward the reception and office area, prepared to scream.  He steps closer, now 20 feet away from you, hand still glued to his rear waistband.

“Come closer and I’ll fucking scream,” you warn him.  He smiles creepily, his disgusting yellow teeth on full display.  He pulls a knife out of his rear waistband, the handle wrapped in camoflauge tape.  It’s a drop-point blade, roughly six inches long.  The blade is dirty and rusty.

The next few moments are a blur and propelled not by thought, but by instinct.  Cedric lunges forward at you, slashing at you with the knife.  A sharp pain lights up your arm.  You kick his stomach after the slash, knocking him to the ground.  You run back toward Trina’s office, warm liquid spilling down your arm.  She’s not in here.  You lock yourself in, comforted by the fact that he doesn’t know the door code.  Plasma centers are built to keep donor access very limited—something you’re quite grateful for in this moment.  Sirens are blaring, but you can’t remember when they started.  The cops must’ve been called during your confrontation.  You hear shouting, footsteps screeching and pounding on the vinyl composite tile floors, some terrified screams, a man yelling—must be one of the officers.  Boom.  Boom.  Boom.  Three gunshots.  Oh god—what the fuck is happening out there?  You remember Trina has access to the camera footage in here, but her screen is locked.  You’re stuck in here.  Now that you’re still, the adrenaline clouding your pain has subsided, and you look down to see a decently-sized gash on your left outer forearm—you must’ve raised your hands defensively when Cedric slashed at you.  It’s deep.  Frantically, you look for something to stop the bleeding—there’s a black jacket resting on Trina’s chair.  You rip it off and wrap it around your wound, squeezing tight.  There’s a heavy knock at the door.

“Police!  Is anyone in here?” a man’s voice shouts.  You open your mouth to reply, but your breath catches in your throat.  Wobbily, you step forward to open the door.  Two officers are behind the door, guns pointed at you.

“Ma’am, are you hurt?” one of them asks.  You try to lift your arm, blood seeping out from under the jacket and onto the floor.  Before you can respond verbally, the room turns black.

Wednesday, October 20th | 1857

Bright.  Fuck, it’s bright in here.  You try to open your eyes, but the fluorescent light stings them, forcing you to squeeze them shut.  You groan in confusion.  A cold hand comes up to grip your shoulder.

“Hon, you’re awake—you alright?” a familiar voice asks, frantic.  It’s Keri.  You open your eyes, vision blurry and eyes heavy.  You’re in a hospital room, donned in one of those ugly printed gowns.  Your left arm is wrapped with thick gauze, IV taped to your hand.  You’re tired, sluggish—like each movement of your pupils is draining what little energy you have left.  Blinking a few times, you finally focus on Keri’s face.  She’s seated on your bed, hands holding your uninjured arm for dear life.  Her face is red, and tear stained.

“Ker—wh-why are we in a hospital?” you ask, moving your bandaged arm up to block the bright light.  Your arm aches, a dull throb pulsing down to your shoulder.  You wince.  She shushes you.

“Don’t try to move your arm, hon—relax.  Cedric came back for revenge and stabbed you.  Do you remember that?” she asks, rubbing your shoulder.  You close your eyes and remember his nasty yellow teeth bared at you, the hunch of his figure, him reaching in his waistband for something—then clips of you on a stretcher, healthcare workers shouting as they push you through a hallway.

“Fuck,” you whisper, “Yeah, I remember—did they, did—,” you cut yourself off, remembering hearing gunshots at the center.

“Cedric’s dead.  Tried to stab the cops, apparently.  He was wigged out on heroin,” Keri says, voice calm, grounding.  Your stomach drops, imagining his lifeless body on the vinyl floor in the main lobby of the center.  Trina walks into the room, eyes red and swollen.  She’s been crying, too.  She sobs a sigh of relief seeing you awake and talking, albeit sluggishly.  She comes up behind Keri and holds your right hand tightly.

“Jesus, I’m so glad you’re okay, I’m so sorry I wasn’t by the front when he came in,” she says, clearly racked with guilt.  You shake your heavy head.

“S’not your fault, Trin—he just got lucky,” you say, smirking and forcing a laugh out of those two.

“Heard you kicked the shit outta him,” she says, smiling and wiping tears from her cheeks.  Keri’s crying again, too, but also laughing.

“Felt like Street Fighter,” you mumble, clearly high on whatever painkillers are dripping through your IV, and they cackle.  Suddenly, you remember wrapping your arm with the jacket on her chair.  “Trin—I, your jacket, I had to—,” she cuts you off, squeezing your hand and closing her eyes as she shakes her head.

“Don’t even worry about it—I’m glad there was something in there that helped you,” she assures you.

“Stitches?” you ask them.  They both nod.

“Fourteen,” Keri says, voice calm but apprehensive.  Your eyes widen.

“He got me good,” you breathe, leaning your head back onto your pillow and clamping your eyes shut.  There’s a knock at the open door of your room.  A tall, dark, curly-haired handsome man is at the doorway.  Joel.  You smile as best you can in your current state.  Keri leans into your ear.

“I called him,” she whispers, “I know you’re stubborn as hell, but I’m pretty certain he’s crazy about you and would want to help.”  You’re not mad at her—you’re relieved to see him.  Keri and Trina step out and shut the door behind them, giving you privacy.  Joel rushes over to where Keri sat and replaces her.  His face is stricken with worry, eyes wet and red—he’s been crying.  Shit.  He wraps his arms around you, careful not to squeeze too hard, and buries his face in your neck.

“I was so fuckin’ worried about you, I came as soon as I could—fuck, darlin’ I’m so sorry I wasn’t here faster, I shouldn’t have let h—,” you cut him off with a shush, running the fingers of your right hand through his hair and smoothing the back of his neck.

“It’s okay, Joel—not your fault.  Please don’t blame yourself,” you whisper in his ear, holding him tightly.  You want him to stay as close as possible.  Pain and guilt curl around your lungs at the sight of your closest ones being upset.  You know it’s not your fault, but it hurts to see them like this.

“God, I’m so fuckin’ glad you’re okay, baby, when I got the call, I was—,” he stops for a second, tears pooling in his beautiful amber eyes.  He stares in your eyes and smiles, the sight of you calming him.  You’re clearly loaded on morphine and exhausted out of your mind, dark circles under your eyes, hair a tangly mess—but you’re still gorgeous.

“Kiss me, Joel,” you plead quietly, tears forming in your eyes.  One trickles down.  He kisses it, the salt stinging his lips.  He kisses the corner of your mouth, your chin, your jaw, before finally placing his lips on yours.  The kiss is gentle at first, but your exhaustion and his despair at the thought of losing you take over, and it gets hot and heavy.  Your mouths are frantic, teeth bumping and tongues twisting—it’s fast and messy, both of you pouring your relief into one another.  His beard scratches your chin, and you moan, pulling him tighter to you.  He cups your face in his hands and pulls away, panting heavily in your face.

“We’re alright, darlin’, let’s get you better before we do anything else,” he says, chuckling and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“S’just my arm, Joel—I don’t need it for that,” you say, slurring your words.  You’re starting to succumb to morphine, eyelids heavy and drooping.  He’s smiling at you softly, though eyes still veiled in worry.

“Get some sleep, my sweet girl.  I’ll be right here, okay?  I promise,” he says, giving you a chaste kiss before you drift off to sleep.

Thursday, October 21st | 0904

You slept all night, Joel in the chair by your side the entire time.  You woke feeling fine, minus the sore sting of your arm.  The charge nurse came in and changed your gauze and unhooked your IV, followed by the doctor, who cleared you to check out that morning.  She advised you to take it easy and come back for a follow-up appointment in two weeks.  She prescribed you some hefty pain pills, which worried you—the doctor stated that it’d be best to stay with someone while you were taking them.  Joel assured the doctor that he’d be taking care of you—making you swoon. The doctor also scheduled you for a psychiatric consultation, which was the standard for patients experiencing traumatic events like yours–probably a good thing.

Keri and Trina stopped by before you left and gave you the lowdown on the center, which would be closed for an indefinite amount of time so the police could investigate, and the staff could take time to recover from the incident.  Trina requested a medical leave of absence for you, which was approved by the corporate office quickly.

“I don’t wanna see you back at work until after your November trip—and take more time after that if you need it. You have a bank of PTO, remember,” she told you, wagging an index finger at you while smirking.

“Yes, ma’am,” you had said, saluting her and making everyone in the room giggle.

Now, you’re getting dressed and getting ready to leave the hospital with Joel.  He unties your gown from the front and pulls it off you, covering you with a blanket while he finds clothes that Keri had brought for you.  The room is cold, the frigid air making your nipples peak.  You’re naked under this blanket, and Joel is aware—painfully, so—but respects you in your time of vulnerability.  You’re mostly covered except the middle of your chest and abdomen, where the blanket doesn’t overlap, revealing a long triangle of skin from your sternum to underneath your belly button.  He turns back to you with some clothes in hand and his eyes latch onto your bare skin.  Sucking in a breath, he steps closer to you and hands you the clothes.  You watch him with a smirk and drop the blanket, eyes holding his gaze the entire time.  He can’t help but stare at your naked body—still mesmerized at your beauty.

“Sweetheart, not here,” he says, pained, dick tense against his denim, “As much as I want you and as fuckin’ beautiful as you are, we need to get you home first.”  His eyes strain to stay locked with yours.  You’re a mess, too—seeing him and his being there for you has been keeping you in a low, steady state of arousal the last 12 hours or so.  You’re dripping but can wait until you’re back in a bedroom and not a bright, stuffy hospital room.  For now, though, you want to tease him.

You reach down with your right hand and rub two fingers through your folds, eyes still locked on his.  He gasps and holds his breath, eyes traveling down to watch.  Rubbing slowly, you watch the desire flash over his face, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows tightly.  You remove your fingers and step closer to him.  You put your fingers up to his lips and he swallows again before opening his mouth to take them in.  He sucks on them with a long, low moan, eyes closed in delight at the sweet taste of you—the sight makes your pussy tingle.

Once he’s sucked them clean, you pull them out of his mouth and resume getting dressed like nothing happened.  He growls and comes up behind you, one arm snaked around your waist and the other hand draped around your throat loosely.  He tightens the hand around your neck just slightly, forcing your head up.  You gasp, the display of control and desire heightening your arousal.

“Baby… when we get home, I’m gonna make you come on my tongue as many times as I see fit, y’hear me?” he murmurs in your ear, facial hair close enough to brush your earlobe, “Doctor’s orders.”  You nod, shivering.  He lets go of you and smacks your ass lightly. You finish getting dressed and Joel walks you out of the room, one arm around your waist and the other hooked under the elbow of your injured arm. Both of you thank the nurses and doctor as he guides you to the elevator.

Once you’re outside, you’re relieved to see the sun shining.  It feels odd, though—like the weather doesn’t match your current mental state.  You realize now that you haven’t thought about what happened yesterday; rather, you haven’t had the opportunity to, given the fact that you’d been virtually unconscious until now.  Your introspection has caused you to stop walking, concerning Joel.  He steps in front of you and places both hands on your shoulders.

“Y’alright, sweetheart?” He blinks, clearly nervous about your current state.  You snap back into the present and shift your gaze between each of his eyes.  Your body is trembling, skin feeling clammy all the sudden—like a panic attack is on the verge.

“Y-yeah… I just realized I didn’t really have time to process yesterday—just kinda hit me all at once.  I’m fine though,” you lie, plastering a forced, fake smile on your face.  Joel sees right through it.

“Baby, I know you’re strong, but y’ain’t that strong—what happened to you was major, and it’s gonna take time to heal.  I’m right here with ya, every step of the way, I promise,” he assures you, squeezing your shoulders.  Tears spring from your eyes, a quiet sob escaping your throat.  You feel pathetic—one moment you’re naked, teasing Joel, and the next, you’re in a catatonic state, bawling on the sidewalk of a hospital.  He pulls you into a comforting hug, rubbing circles on your back and stroking your hair.  He repeats you’re okay baby, it’s okay, I got you.  You pull back, sniffling.  Joel wipes the tears from your face.  You let out a weak giggle. This man has known you for a blip and has seen so much of you already.

“This is pitiful, huh?” You ask him, wiping snot with the back of your good hand.  He laughs at you.

“Darlin’, you’re anything but.  Let’s get you home.  D’you wanna stay with me, or want me to stay at your place for a while?” You consider the options: your small apartment that contains all your clothes, or Joel’s luxurious, spacious home.

“Both?  If that’s okay… All my stuff is at my place, and I don’t wanna make you abandon your house,” you offer.  He nods.

“Whatever you want, sweetheart—I’ll be doin’ some work remotely, though you’ll have to help me with my damn computer,” he gripes, making you chuckle.  “I told Tommy what was goin’ on and he’s pullin’ a guy up from the Kansas City office to help for a few weeks, but I’ll still be takin’ care of the books and ordering things,” he says.

“Clerical duties,” you say, winking at him.

“Exactly, darlin’,” he winks back at you.  “So, do y’mind stayin’ at my place the first few nights?  We can stop and get some of your stuff,” he asks, rubbing the back of his neck.  He must not have slept well in that stiff hospital room chair.  You nod and give him a warm smile.

“Let’s get goin’ then, we can stop by the grocery store and get whatever y’might want—snacks, all that,” he says, returning one arm to your waist as you both make your way to his truck.

“You’re such a dad, Joel,” you joke, poking his ribs lightly with your elbow.

“Don’t I know it, baby.”

Taglist: @burntheedges, @syd-djarin, @anoverwhelmingdin <3

[meimi-haneoka]

Cardcaptor Sakura Clear Card Chapter 71: Comments + JP-ENG translation differences

(pic courtesy of Dyoring on Twitter because the JP one criminally covers the costumes) Looks like I'm still alive after that bomb that was chapter 70, huh? 😂 Welcome back to our monthly appointment with angst with the commentary on Cardcaptor Sakura Clear Card, everyone! Last chapter might have bent me, but I'm not broken yet! Mwahaha! And yet, I can't say this chapter completely healed me, far from it! Sure, it's full of fluff and happy feelings...but man, how we feel his absence here. It's so apparent and glaring that it hinders the complete enjoyment of the chapter, which I'm sure is totally the feeling CLAMP wanted to elicit from us. If you care even a little about the new characters, you can't help but feel a sense of "this is not how it's supposed to be", while reading this. Fortunately, the cliffhanger at the end gives us good hope for the kids to start get into action to solve this mess at the earliest, hopefully with the help of someone we were waiting for? In the meantime, let's explore this chapter and all that it talked about...I don't have particular translation mistakes from the ENG version to report this time around (thank god).

Gif of the month, and then we go!

The Color Page

Well, this was a surprise? I didn't expect a color page like this, opening the very last volume of Clear Card Arc, but it's also true that there can be a quite powerful meaning behind those four outfits. They're literally representing the first discrepancies that originated after Kaito's rewriting of everyone's memories. Sakura's eyes are closed, she appears to be very pensive, no, actually as if she's contemplating something. About to make a decision. As she stands literally in the middle of all those outfits, this can be interpreted as way to convey how she's in the middle of these two lives they have lived and are living right now, and she's probably the one who can really do something about this whole mess. The conjunction ring. "Which outfit am I going to choose to wear?" isn't the frivolous question it might seem, but in this case it actually means "which life will I decide to keep?" Tough question, for an even tougher answer. But remember what Touya onii-chan said. "When it's up to me to decide what's real and what's not, then I decide to go with what I don't want to lose".

Besides the hidden meaning analysis, this is also a nice way to have set in canon the colors of *all* the main outfits for the play. (●ˇ∀ˇ●) (nice to know Akiho's Alice outfit actually got a gradient blue on her shirt!)

A New Life

The chapter starts with a very, very familiar scene, which might not have been drawn exactly the same as the original one, but it's definitely designed to remind you of it: the very first scene of volume 1, with Kero (and this time, Suppy) waking Sakura up to go to school!! I see what you did there, CLAMP 😏 In their latest Twitter Spaces where they talked about Clear Card, they did mention how the last volume would serve as a way for things to come full circle, and what's better than making a reference to the very first pages of chapter 1? We have the same Sakura introducing herself to the readers (breaking the 4th wall), same Kero shouting that it's time to go, same Sakura getting ready (this time she's evidently in a hurry though). We're clearly being introduced to her new life (that only we know is new) after Kaito rewrote their memories thanks to Momo's book. And well well well, what do we have here?? It's the very first panel of the chapter, no, of the volume, and we're already spotting something off, here??

Oooh, the Kinomoto home....grew an additional portion of itself?? Or did they build it in the few months that passed from the school play? I wonder what for...? heheh...(already knows)

But that's not the only surprise! We just need to turn the page and we are immediately taken aback by Sakura getting ready...with a new school uniform, which represents her second winter uniform (the one reserved for the colder months, just like it happened in Tomoeda Elementary) while she tells us she soon will be attending the 2nd year of Tomoeda Middle school!!! I was completely shocked when I saw her total-black new uniform!! I have to say that the idea of unifying the top and the skirt in a one-piece dress is definitely good, I really like it, but I thought that having even the black tights might be a little bit too much. Later we'll discover she's got black boots too. I'd need to see this in full color to judge! I predict the tie and decorations will be red! 👀 I want to point it out now, since Sakura says it immediately, but the French translation made it sound like she's already starting the second year of middle school, and honestly the ENG translation with the choice of words kinda infers the same: but from what we'll see in a few pages, we're in full winter (it's about to snow too) and Japan usually gets spring vacations between March 25th and April 5th (right between the end of a school year and the beginning of the next) so it cannot be really that imminent. I predict this could be February/early March at best. The JP text says もうすぐ which means "soon" but that can also only mean they're just in the last month of the school term.

So we basically had another mini time skip of about 5/6 months, considering the play very likely took place in September (kids were already wearing their long sleeved uniforms but some guests to the school event still wore short sleeves). If you ask me, it doesn't look like Sakura grew much in these 6 months. 😂

And when she quickly goes downstairs, that's where we find the other surprise (which was actually expected): AKIHO IS COOKING IN THE KITCHEN, apron over her uniform and all!! Yeah, remember? Thanks to the rewriting of their memories, now they're living their life as sisters! In fact, we see them interacting in a friendly and comfortable way, which is totally reminiscing of how they were interacting even before this big change happened. And yet, personally, I have a hard time getting used to the new arrangement. 😅 Sakura introduces Akiho to us as her twin sister, confirming they live together with Touya and Fujitaka too.

Sakura tells us people often comment about how they resemble each other very much, and as if on cue, Mokona sensei provides us with yet another very cute double feature of Sakura and Akiho smiling happily and lovingly at eachother. As much as I want Akiho to go back to her real family, I have to admit this panel totally melted me. ❤️ My lovely Akiho looks so happy....and that's why it also hurts a lot. Well, here come the first explanations of how this hell of a change can work at all, in this situation!! Apparently, Akiho has always suffered of fragile health ever since she was young (....) so she always lived with great-grandfather Masaki to get treatment and rest. With some friends we have been joking that, if this is the result of what Kaito wrote in the story he wanted for Akiho, he must have watched lots of soap operas, because the justifications totally seems at the writing level of one! 😂 Sakura says Akiho came back home to live with them only recently. And while Akiho excitedly yells that she's cooked the no-fry croquettes that Sakura taught her the recipe of, we also find out from narrator Sakura that this is probably the reason why Akiho still addresses her in a very polite way, with suffix -san and all. And sigh, my heart here broke a little because the no-fry croquettes....was the recipe Sakura taught Akiho specifically for Kaito, and that she successfully prepared for their date, eliciting a delighted comment from him. ☹️☹️Now she's still cooking them for her loved ones...but it's different. ☹️ Aaaaaa but here comes Fujitaka, ready to have breakfast and go to work, greeting both his daughters.........gosh, this sounds so weird. Will I get used to this madness before this chapter ends?? As it normally would be expected from him in this situation, Fujitaka addresses Akiho with a -san suffix too, so narrator Sakura says that probably that's also where all Akiho's politeness comes from. Fujitaka says that Touya conveniently left very early for his job, and Sakura adds that he'll go straight to his university classes afterwards. Uh uh uh, I wonder why CLAMP didn't want to show us Touya's reaction yet. Did he notice anything...? Fujitaka-papa gets ready to taste Akiho's croquettes....and with a delighted face he says they're delicious!! ......I mean, this totally works. Look at these two dorks faces, they light up in the same way. 🙈😅😅

Narrator Sakura keeps telling us about Akiho and how she transferred to her school before summer (and behind her, in the flashback, we can see the name Kinomoto Akiho written on the board), that she participated to the play for the school event and all...and that she wants to make so, so many happy experiences now that she's with her sister, to make up for the time they spent apart.

The girls leave the house and we get a chance to see the coats of the second winter uniform too: they're very pretty and compliment the whole outfits very well (they got big scarves and gloves too!). Some snowflakes start to fall down and Akiho just needs to sneeze once to unleash the scariest kaijuu in Sakura: ....that of the fussing big sister! 😅😅 she gives her her own scarf on top of Akiho's one and feels with her own forehead if she's getting a fever, demanding to know immediately if she starts feeling unwell! 😅😅Akiho worries that Sakura would get cold in this way, but she doesn't want to hear any of it!! Awwww, how can I not melt in front of this? 🥹My gosh Sakura really is super protective of Akiho here...and we immediately get another character to remark that: our dear Tomoyo!! She comments on Sakura's behavior in JP with this funny way which could be translated more or less with "powerful big sister manners", and I cannot really disagree! 😂 Akiho states that she's feeling better now, that she doesn't experience pain like before...but Tomoyo just knows that Sakura will worry no matter what, and the girl in question confirms so herself: because Akiho is someone important to her. Akiho cannot really do much else than blushing with happiness and thank her...😊 Tomoyo gives the final touch to this scene with one of her kind but sharp comments: "Maybe sister complex runs in the family!", making reference to a very early joke in CCS where Yukito teased Touya telling him he had a sister complex for how he's always so protective of his younger sister: well, guess what, now said sister gets to have the same complex towards her twin too 😂😂

We proceed with the chapter and we have Sakura meeting Syaoran in front of the school, showing us how nice and elegant the male second winter uniform (well, we mostly see the coat) is! Syaoran comments how cold it got overnight and as the caring and loving boyfriend he is, he inquires his girlfriend about her health. Luckily she's super healthy, and apparently, as she says herself, the Cards are too! Yessss, folks, it seems the Sakura Cards are back with Sakura, now!! Sakura didn't have a particular reason, but apparently the previous night she summoned Mirror to have a chat! Syaoran asks what she wanted to discuss about with him, and Sakura announces that she was thinking about telling everything to Akiho. Everything that happened while they were apart...about Tomoyo and her costumes, about Kero, Yukito and Yue, Kaho, Eriol, Nakuru and Suppi....and most importantly, about the Cards.

Now, before we proceed, I would like to talk about two different aspects that really stood out for me from this couple of pages. First: the relationship Sakura's got with her Cards. As I was saying, it seems the Sakura Cards are back with Sakura, and judging by the panel where Sakura says she wants to tell Akiho about them, the Clear Cards don't seem to be part of this scenario. The panel shows both Clow and Sakura Cards (because of course Sakura would need to tell her the whole story), but no Clear Card is present at all. We can only infer that probably everyone forgot about the Clear Cards too (although I still think they exist somewhere, it's just that they're hidden/sealed for now), and that Sakura might not have her problem with the uncontrollable powers anymore. Did Kaito fix that problem for her too, in some way?? Did he really go that far to ensure everyone's happiness...? And another thing I noticed, is that Sakura seems more...comfortable with the Cards and her own powers. Summoning a Card just to have a nice chat is the complete opposite of what she was doing at the beginning of chapter 1. She had put away her key, saying "I don't use it much anyway...and maybe it's better like that". The next thing you know, the day after she started producing incidents and Clear Cards. You see, I'm not sure how accurate this is, but ever since this started I've always thought that the problem with Sakura's rampant powers was caused by something of psychological nature. Since the production of the Cards seemed to be so connected to her emotions, in the beginning her power was so chaotic that the Cards were pretty much originating randomly (Gale does seem really random and not based on any thought or memory Sakura had), to become more and more connected with her thoughts and desires along the way. The more she got in touch with herself and her desires, the more the Cards were produced as a result of those, and eventually Sakura found out on her own that the Cards were originating from her own wishes. But that did not end there, because the Clear Cards started to change again when Sakura started to finally listen to Syaoran's advice to look into herself and listen to the stirrings of her heart, and started trusting her intuition and powers more: from merely following her wishes, the Cards started to take the appearances of her loved ones, which would become important later on in Clockland to help her remind who she was. Basically, anticipating her needs. Even if we didn't see an immediate reaction from her, finding her loved ones on her way contributed to wake up her conscience, with the final coup de grace from Akiho and Syaoran. So where I'm getting at is....could it be that Sakura's connection and trust in her magical powers, in this gift she's been blessed with, has become so strong that it ended up stabilizing it? While she was detached and almost refusing it before, dismissing her intuitions as "it's just my imagination", now she's learned to accept it as a part of herself and trust it more? If this is the case, I think that would be a very lovely character development for her. We'll see if I got it right.

The second thing is that I cannot help but noticing again how Kaito really avoided changing any important part (save for adding a sister) of Sakura's life: everything is still as it was before, the events in her memories still happened as they happened, it's just that everything that concerns Akiho has been staged differently, in order to fit her in.

Syaoran, as the honest and straightforward boy he is, comments that probably what Sakura wants to tell Akiho will be a shock for her twin, Sakura doesn't deny that but confidently replies that knowing her, she'll accept the situation just fine. Syaoran wonders if that will really be the case since she doesn't have magic (he poses the uncomfortable but necessary questions), he's evidently worried she might feel somehow less for not being blessed with that gift....and here Sakura replies something that I publicly thanked CLAMP for on my twitter account, because it was time for a character to spell it out:

JP: (Yes), because Akiho-chan is...a very kind and strong person.

Kind, because she would accept whatever concerns her dear sister with the purest heart, devoid of any jealousy. And strong, because she'd be able to withstand the inevitable feeling of comparison that would ensue. Yes, because Akiho IS strong. She's resilient. She wouldn't have survived her trauma and abuse if she wasn't strong. She wouldn't have that single crumb of information about her parents that connects her with them, if she didn't keep stubbornly insisting with her clan to tell her something about them. She wouldn't have stubbornly insisted when she saw her most important person shutting a door in her face because he couldn't share his burden with her. I beg you to not reduce her character to just a girl we should pity on, because she's nothing like that. Let's drop the narrative she's "passive" right now. Otherwise when we'll see what is probably about to happen, she'll seem "out of character" for you. When she's always been like this, all along. Syaoran comments that Sakura really trusts Akiho, and wonders if it's because they're twins... Again, Sakura shows how wonderful she is, but most importantly, how her emphathic nature helps her amplifying her foretelling powers without even realizing it. Because she makes a very relevant comment: JP: "Even if she weren't my twin, I'd still believe in her. Because feelings and emotions aren't measured with time"

Again, let me clap my hands till they hurt. Because I can't count how many times, along the years, I've seen Sakura's bond with Akiho being dismissed or questioned just because they've been knowing eachother for short time. "Why does she fusses about Akiho so much? She's barely arrived shortly ago!" This is Sakura crossing the T's and dotting the I's for everyone. The value of her bond with Akiho isn't measured with the length of time they've spent together. If she feels she loves her very much despite knowing her since short time, that love is true and genuine nonetheless. As for someone who's able to experience very strong bonds with people in short time, what Sakura says here feels extremely validating on a personal level, too.

This reminds Sakura that she wants to talk to Akiho about someone else too....with a blush, she says she wants to tell her about Syaoran, how they met, how he's always coming to her rescue, and also...that he's her most important person ❤️ (the trademark definition!)

And here Ohkawa is finally paying her dues by writing this cute lovey dovey moment between SyaoSaku in the chapter, where the two lovebirds hold hands (scandalous!! 😂) and share a romantic forehead touch that shows an intimacy that is unrivaled by what we've seen of them till now, while Sakura says (with a hint of sadness?? Am I imagining things, or are her intuitive powers at work again?) that she would like to hear from Akiho about her most important person too. Yeah. I would like to hear about that too....

And as if to say "WELLLL, ABOUT THAT-" Sakura suddenly falls into a dream-state, and guess who she finds in front of her, in a scene that is a complete reference to a panel from chapter 6?

YEA, you guessed it, it's MCF!! 😂 our Mysterious Cloaked Figure just can't avoid bothering Sakura even in her new, rewritten, happy life, but lo and behold, when Sakura asks them who they are, they remove their hood without any drama!! And who could it be under that hood? Dear CCS fans, this chapter was shorter than usual with just 25 pages, but oh my gosh, if it didn't end up with a surprising cliffhanger that actually makes you go "WHY DIDN'T I THINK OF THAT BEFORE?" 😂

Young Lilie to the rescue!

A young Lilie stands in front of Sakura, introducing herself:

"I'm Lilie. I've crossed [time] and [dreams] to meet you"

Oh my gosh how cute she is, smiling brightly as usual! 😍 Since here she's clearly Sakura's age, we can see how young Lilie used to have her hair slightly longer than her daughter Akiho at the same age. ❤️ What is happening here? For those confused, or who aren't familiar with CLAMP's other manga, I'll copy-paste here what I've already written on my Twitter thread. What Lilie did here is customary in CLAMP's manga. People with lots of power are capable of crossing dreams, even in a different point in time. That's why Lilie says "I've crossed TIME and dreams to meet you". Lilie is already a Yumemi, so it isn't suprising at all that she can work her magic on dreams. She probably attempted this when she was still alive, of course, and about 13 (Sakura's age). Think of it as a "videocall from the past". Lilie is, at current state, of course still very much dead. She isn't revived or anything. This is a "communication" Sakura received from Lilie from the past, because of course she already knew how things could go and she made sure to reach out and help however she could. Remember Clow at the Final Judgement? He also left a "message" for Sakura from when he was still alive, through a dream. Time travel with your physical body might be another story altogether, but visiting people through their dreams is very "customary" in CLAMP's manga 😂

Now, we only need to see what Lilie will tell to our dear heroine. If she will spill the entire story, or if she'll give the necessary basic info but will wait for the girls, or rather, for her daughter to remember about Kaito on her own. Maybe with a little push. Of course I had already imagined (and even warmly called for) an intervention from Lilie, in some kind of way, but I guessed she would go talking to Kaito, as a ghost or something. That's where CLAMP surprised me again, making her go to talk to Sakura instead, and also revealing that MCF was her, or rather, one of the MCFs we have seen throughout the story. Because I'm still convinced that, basing on the scene, MCF wasn't the same person everytime. We have seen how sometimes it was Syaoran (and we'll probably find out why). Sometimes we have seen them outside Sakura's room, on a lamp post (and I imagine that one could've been really Akiho, maybe in a moment in her dreams when the artifact took control of her). We have a MCF often accompanied by a Dragon, we'll need to see who exactly that one is, too. Well, all in all, a few hours later I can say I digested this chapter a bit better, but man at first it was really hard. All this fluff, all this blushing, these warm feelings...people doting on Akiho, seeing her so happy....and I couldn't stop thinking about him....our Kaito who gave everything he could give of him to make this become true....where are you now...? ☹️ If I pause long enough to think about it, the stinging feeling comes back. I'm sure they'll come rescueing you soon. And you'll be so shocked, because the last thing you're expecting is that anyone would come searching for you. Claiming you back. Oh there's so much you're gonna learn, very soon, Kaito. And I can't wait to see it!!

Okay, let's now recap the next release dates for what concerns chapter 72:

April 1st, on CLAMP’s Youtube channel (digital, JP and other languages) April 3rd, on Nakayoshi (paper and digital, JP)

The situation is still the same with the digital releases, so for now we'll have to make do with reading the chapters on Youtube, first!

I remind you that there's also volume 14 getting released on March 31st! And on April 1st there's also SAKURA FES 2023!! Yay!! See you for next chapter and as usual my inbox is open for your asks!

[tomanyships69]

911, season 1 episode 10: A Whole New You (last part of my series. I will keep watching and might make a post occasionally, but not for every episode.)

I forgot Abby's mom died last episode...

God buck is being so sweet, and I don't have to really like Abby to feel bad for her right now.

Double call and she's British, but let me guess not really

BOOM I was right she's just having a stroke!

I just want Buck to be happy but I really don't think it should be with her, they could have been fine as friends.

Bobby is trying to take a selfie and looks like such a dork (me too)

Tell me it's not a dating app

It is, oh boi

Busting his balls but being supportive too.

It does look like a real estate ad

Hen is a cheater, Chim hasn't had great luck and Buck is a recovering sex addict but some how right about being the best choice.

Wait wtf quick turn around???

Dating theme so far, so I'm assuming the lady got catfished.

Buck is so upset because nobody believes him, poor boy.

For Athena's storyline, I enjoy them trying to do what is right for themselves and the kids. I also like that they still care and show affection to each other for comfort.

Just because it isn't romantic doesn't mean they didn't build a life together.

Okay the show doesn't mind bordering on the more supernatural elements of stuff huh.

God I love carla so much 💜

Poor lyle out here paralyzed in a morgue

Ope, there goes the mortician, down for the count.

This dude goes through something so horrifying multiple times but keeps doing so for the lol's

That poor mortician suffering because this dude is high on life.

I know they are still together because of things I've seen, but I really wish they never did a cheating storyline. I don't even know how or why Karen would forgive her.

Like I don't know who I feel bad for more, Buck or Abby because as much as I'm indifferent/dislike their love story. These bitches cannot catch a break. Always getting interrupted or something going wrong. Literally a relationship doomed from the start.

Poor Buck trying to be honest and nobody believes him. One of the worst feelings in the world.

Dude going through a midlife crisis and the motorcycle employee could not give less of a fuck.

I actually think motorcycles are cool as hell but they are dangerous and I would not get on one if my life depended on it.

Immediately proving my point dude got literally split in two.

Bobby is going through it, but Athena is helping him and he is looking at her so sweetly 🥺

They are praying together, gosh my poor heart.

Gross, this dude looks like he might pop like a balloon. At least Buck is trying to show him some level of courtesy.

This coroner is so annoyed, but he's a little bit of a douche so I don't care.

He did not pop, but this might be worse.

She is planning on leaving for an extended period of time on a journey of self discovery, and did not discuss it with her partner at all. Selfish behavior and bad communication skills (ironic for an operator)

She broke his heart and he still trying to be supportive. It feels like he cares more about her than she does him. Also idk if he has mommy issues but man that age gap is getting to me more.

Bobby is handsome and I hope his date goes well.

OH SHIT HE TOSSED THE BOOK!!!

Good for him!

Karen is home, but no explanation for why yet.

Buck got better with his words, that's the real character growth here.

Bobby got a date with Athena!

Fitting one old fashioned person out of practice for another.

Mostly a great episode, can't wait for the next season!

[invisiblegarters]

Only Friends Character Rankings - Ep 5

Probably I should wait to do this but lbr I'm not watching that episode again lol. I am far too invested in Sand to watch it. Yep, I have become that person and while I actually enjoy all these characters I would see them all burn (metaphorically please no people roasts in this show) if it meant that Sand would get out mostly unscathed.

Alas, this is not shaping up to be that show. I said I will defend Sand's wrongs and that includes sticking around a dude who is not going to give him what he wants but damn, I do wish he loved himself more.

But let's get to it.

(Quick disclaimer: these are just my personal opinions and do not necessarily reflect an accurate interpretation of these characters or the show itself. In case that wasn't glaringly obvious)

Characters (From Most to Least Fave atm)

Sand. Oh my darling dumbass. I feel like he thought that Ray could be a bright shining thing in his life and now he's been smacked with cold hard reality courtesy of Boston. He thinks he's building his walls up but unfortunately I've seen the trailer so I know he's not, he's just papering them over and telling himself that's good enough (you need stronger materials hon). He compared Ray to a dog this ep but honestly he is starting to remind me of one, and not in the good way. That said, he is my ride or die for better or worse and so while I hate this for him eventually kicked dogs do stop coming back so I will wait for that day (well, they either stop coming back or they turn on the person kicking them).

I get now what First meant when he said that Sand has to deal with his feelings on his own. I mean I already got it but we're seeing it put in to practice here. Because Ray doesn't owe Sand anything, he's never made promises, Sand got ahead of himself and now he's gotta deal with reality on his own. Them's the breaks. And I think we all know the best thing for him would be to take a couple steps back until he can move past this thing (and I don't even think it would take that long tbh - Sand's got too much on his plate to be indulging in pesky feelings like this and if he was out of Ray's orbit I don't actually think it would be difficult for him to remember that. He just gets swept up because Ray is kind of a whirlwind and he makes it easy to forget that real life exists. But it does, and Sand's real life is a lot different from Ray's and involves a lot more pragmatism and compartmentalization).

Aside from that, I was so happy to get a Sand episode my goodness. I cheered aloud when I heard him start to narrate lol. And I do think that both the debt collectors and his dad are gonna come up again - I can't help but assume one of our main cast shares that father. My gut feeling is Top but I've seen around that it could be Boston because politician daddy and if so I would be here for it. I would also be highkey amused if it's Ray but I do not think the show will go there. Mew is another good possibility but as I am still hoping that the show will let them make out at some point and I doubt that will happen if they are blood related I am choosing to believe that's not the case.

I do like that the show is doing the work with him. Am I frustrated that I already know he's gonna keep letting this thing with Ray go on until it destroys him? Yes. But I also see where it's coming from. If Sand starts to really see what's going on with Ray re: alcohol, I think he'll slip into caretaker mode and feel he *can't* walk away, and he feels that way because he's already taking care of his mom, paying off her debts and working nonstop so that he can do that while also going to school. His life has set him up to be weak to someone like Ray, it's not entirely on him being stupid, and at least I have that as a consolation for when he inevitably makes me want to shake some sense into his beautiful dumb head.

Lastly, the way he yelled at Boston and Nick to go to Nick's room (and the fact that they *did*! And Boston's "oh shit" face. Even the sullen little eyeroll while he did as told was funny - Sand effectively reduced him to a kid again and he knew it) cracked me up. Reminded me of Mew telling Ray to lie in bed and think of what he did last episode. My SandMew feelings are intensifying I need those two to meet and maybe hook up okay show thank you (I know they won't hook up but I can dream).

Boston. Yes, Boston. My guy really out here doing the most to cause drama again and I still love him for it. This time there is no real goal except destruction and Boston being all caught up in his feelings about Top and Mew and I'm that Lady Gaga meme. You keep on doing the most darling because you are really the only reason any shit is getting done, even if the shit that is getting done is breaking everything in sight.

And also, it has to be said, he wasn't wrong about anything he said. I mean, he was awful about how he revealed things and the way he escalated the situation was absolutely bananas but he wasn't wrong.

I still see him and Ray as very similar. In this ep they both decided to love the one they're with (figure of speech don't get excited I see no love there my guys) since they can't be with the ones they want, with varying degrees of success. Until Boston decided to piss in the sandbox, that is.

Ray. I feel like this might come as a shock since I clearly don't like him much and because I love Sand to the point that I just want him out of the way of all these dumbasses, but. I also can't stress enough that Ray hasn't done anything wrong. I don't love how he keeps pushing his way past every boundary that Sand tries to put down but Sand is also very much showing him every place to push to make him give in. And yes Ray is definitely intentionally using Sand to try to move on from Mew but well, as far as he knows this is all just fun anyway. no pressure and no commitment. And right up until the end of this episode Sand was deliberately letting him think that (yes I love him but I don't think I've quite reached the point where I'm not seeing how he's contributing to his own misery. He's doing it both by not walking away and by letting Ray think he doesn't give a shit. You can't be surprised when the guy you've told to his face doesn't mean much to you assumes that that's the case).

Plus he's been up front about how he sees Sand. I want to be mad at him for it because I hate seeing Sand cry, but Ray has been very clear at every given opportunity that he does not see Sand as a possible romantic partner. He will fuck him, he will follow him around and beg for his attention, but he will not date him. Yeah, his nervous denials in front of Boston stung because Sand let himself think that wasn't the case (and because in hindsight he has to realize that Ray was so adamant because he was afraid Boston would relay this back to Mew - that was an instinctive, kneejerk no don't tell my lover I'm cheating response and Sand has to have realized that with some time to think. And what's worse, it's not the first time he's reacted that way), but he's never said otherwise. If Sand can't handle it it's on him to take the steps necessary to make it not a problem.

And now that I've said all that I reserve the right to be furious when Ray continues to use Sand knowing that he is in deeper than Ray himself is. Because while his feelings are not Ray's responsibility, deliberately toying with someone you KNOW wants more from you is shitty.

Since he was all tangled up in Sand's stuff this ep there's not much else to say about him really.

Well, yes. There is one thing. I am surer than ever he is going to get behind the wheel drunk and he's going to hurt some- no. He's going to hurt Sand. Because you don't have these two together bringing up dangerous driving this much and have it not come back to hurt everyone later. Mark my words, the First Kanaphan character in a hospital bed universe is getting a new member (if the morgue doesn't collect him first I wish I were joking I hate myself). Also the way his face flickered lightning fast from gut punched before he wiped it off when Sand said he didn't trust Ray with his life was excellent, kudos to Khaotung for that one.

Top. Look at this man getting exactly what he wants this ep. He was more fun on the whole last episode reading everyone to filth but he's still reaping the benefits of it and I can't really say I hate that for him. Also I can't really get enough of his unimpressed reaction to Boston doing literally anything. Boston could be out here doing the best of works and Top would just be like "loser" and I respect that.

Things are gonna go to shit for him very fast so I hope he enjoys his moment of winning.

Mew. MEW what are you DOING. I can't tell if his whole "oh wow we just saw a bunch of guys who want Top but Top was focused only on me" thing was in his own head or if Top deliberately took him 'round to all his hookups so that Mew can see how much he's changed, but either way, no my dude. Stop.

I keep thinking to what he told Top in the first episode. If I sleep with you, I'm going to be so obsessed. And I think we're gonna see that happening next ep.

But frankly he's mostly here because of that preview. You're really going to get Lasik surgery for this dude? MEW I WAS ROOTING FOR YOU WHERE'S MY TYRA GIF.

Nick. Pretty much the same as above. Nick, do not start trying to tone up and wearing Dad Chic to try to get Boston to love you. Top barely pulls the golf dad look off, you are much better as you are. The hell my dude. I was literally so annoyed by this the entire episode that I had a hard time paying attention to his scenes. So I guess I will have to watch those again. You also made your roommate send your fuck buddy to your room like a naughty child like Nick if you can't actually handle it when Boston does this shit you are not on the level I thought you were. Seriously disappointed in you (but not that disappointed because as I said, Sand sending them both to Nick's room was peak hilarity for me).

Relationships (Fave to Least Fave atm)

Sand and Nick. They are lovely, and I still have hope that they make out a little once things go really pear shaped. I just like every interaction they have, honestly and I'd be happy to see more.

Boston and Mew. These two fucking fascinate me. There is so much animosity there, and only Boston's is mostly up front. They both have so much disdain for the way the other chooses to live their life. and it just feels so deeply personal that I figure that there has to be a fuckton of projection going down on both sides.

And now I'm gonna step outside the characters and say that it makes perfect sense to me that this war is breaking open over a dude that now they've both slept with, especially when you think about their differing attitudes towards sex and how derisive they both are of the opposite view. Of course this thing with Top is now a competition for both of them - whoever Top chooses to be with in the end will be the one who was right, after all.

And this is why I suspect that even after he finds out about Top and Boston, Mew won't leave. Because he's gotta win at all costs, even if he doesn't even really like the person he's with (although I still think he'll sleep with Ray for real at some point, that doesn't necessarily mean he'll let go of Top).

TopMew. I dunno, I actually thought they were sweet this ep. It's all gonna go to hell in a handbasket because Toto can't stop biting (yes this a Wizard of Oz reference and yes Boston is Toto) but I do genuinely enjoy them onscreen. *shrugs* I don't know maybe I'm just weird. Also I'm really looking forward to this implosion and the sweeter they are now the worse it'll be later. Mess, mess, mess!

And someone else pointed this out but it is interesting that all of Mew and Top's dates have elements of hiding/obfuscating (someone let me know who so I can link it, it was good). In the first one they are literally hunting each other, the second they can't hear (but I do think it's relevant that they choose to listen to the same song. Or well. Mew does), and in the third they can't see each other. And my own thought to add to that is that in every last one Mew is the one who gives himself away or changes or shifts.

But remember that in laser tag Mew was the one who shot. He might be blinded now but he's getting Lasik next ep (still hate that for him and if I don't joke about it this will just turn into a rant about not changing anything about yourself for a dude so).

I am wondering though if Top is going to tell Mew about what happened with Boston after the confrontation on Mew's birthday. Because he has to know that Mew is edging closer to the truth here, and Ray isn't just gonna give up because Mew hits him once (oh it'll set him back and as I said, probably send him haring after Sand to play the blame game, but Ray ain't giving up, both I think from genuine concern and because he will (maybe rightly) assume this will leave Mew vulnerable enough he'll consider Ray an option (to be clear, I don't think that this bit will be something he is consciously aware of or plans it just feels right to me)).

I still think that Mew has clocked enough weird interactions that he suspects something is up with Boston, and that is why he called him this ep. And I further think that he laid his nerves on so thick deliberately. I just don't think that him calling Boston to toy with him negates having actual feelings for Top. I think both can be true.

BostonNick. They had me in a chokehold last ep but as I said I'm not a fan of NIck Single White Femaling Top to be more appealing to Boston. Number one, Top's fashion sucks. Number two, Top's fashion sucks.

I wanted Nick to be more unhinged than this. I am disappointed that he's not.

That said, on a scale of "I can see it" to "dear god get it away from me", I still ship it more than

SandRay. Well they weren't kidding when they said that this is gonna be the angsty, dramatic one. I do still have hope that their angst isn't all about Ray being in love with Mew though. What can I say, I'm like Sand in a lot of ways, including my stupid, unsinkable hope that the clear writing on the wall will change if I just give it enough time.

I just feel like there are more interesting, far more relationship breaking ways to go with them. Like sure, Ray's in love with Mew, he's gonna wreck shit for that specific reason. But he's also kind of a dick about Sand's entire existence? Like he just can't stop being a spoiled rotten little rich boy for two seconds, can he? Don't think I missed all of his little digs about literally every step of the "let's spend a day living how Sand lives" experience. Because I did not.

I was also genuinely surprised that Ray asked about Sand's dreams, mostly because he's shown less than zero interest in Sand as a person unless it'll get him into his bed (or his hand down his pants). I mean I was happy he did because I wanted to know, but it seemed out of left field for me.

Ray's problems with alcohol would be an interesting direction to take things. Because that's another huge issue, and one I think Sand has only just cottoned on to (oh not that Ray drinks too much - he clocked that way back - but just how very very bad it actually is). Is he gonna stick his nose in? I feel like he might.

What does give me hope that at least some of this is planned is that we are getting the Mew Problem so early. That it will continue to be one I have no doubt - I've said it before and I'll say it again, Ray will let go of that crush only if someone pries him away from it finger by finger - but surely that can't be it, not when we're getting so many other ways that these two don't work?

I also think that Sand's tendency to turtle is going to cause problems, although I understand him far more than Ray (in case it wasn't obvious). Personally the reason he frustrates me so much is I wouldn't just turtle away from any of it, I'd reel back so hard and so far that you'd never find me again, haha. So Sand's continued return to the same things that hurt him frustrates me beyond belief.

I think he should have just asked his questions. I get why he didn't, why he retreated into "you don't owe me anything and I have no right to ask" rather than hear it directly from Ray that all Boston said was true. Of course he doesn't need to hear it, Ray's reaction was enough, but also it might have done them both good to have Ray say it. I said it already, but in some ways Sand is doing this to himself, and not just by sticking around when everyone knows he should not.

I also wonder how much his ex trauma is playing into his withdrawal here. Because when Nick was saying that he feels like nothing compared to Top, Sand's response was "I know how that feels" (probably not an exact quote, but you get it). He's already played this game before and lost. I can see why he might try to just take himself out of it the second time around.

That said, the way I need that ex to show up real time and not just in flashbacks is insane. I need them to show up and I need for all those feelings Sand's clearly just shoved down to come bubbling back up and make everything worse. Please let the ex show up at the worst possible time. Please please please I'm begging. 🙏🙏🙏

I wonder how long this attempt to keep boundaries with Ray is going to last. Not long, is my guess.

In Conclusion

All these bitches are messy, some in a more fun way for me personally than others.

Yo is the best character in this entire show and I will hear no arguments.

And where are the lesbians?

[cl0ckworkpuppet]

MagiStars

Vol. I - Chapter II

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

After making his grand escape, Wataru was content remaining on the roof of the local tavern, which was faintly shaking with the buzz of celebration and heated discussion about what to do with all of these new Apprentices. His ears were able to pick apart every voice, but few of the words, as he listened silently for his cue. One person noticeably absent from the hubbub, though, was a booming, lively voice that he was entirely expecting to be wasting his life away drinking and picking through whatever scraps the tender had thrown out for the strays and small familiars who kept closely by the sides of their masters. He chuckled to himself as he listened, hearing the frustrated outcry of a mob who couldn't look at anything beyond face value, and who all loathed that which they didn't understand, or which came easily to them. "That damned clown," he heard, followed by a muffled jest and roaring laughter, then finally the cracking open of kegs and the clink of lathed and steel-bound mugs. Wataru reached to his belt and pulled out his own ivory chalice, raising it in a silent toast to his own tomfoolery.

Before he could take a sip of his imaginary drink, the force of a small projectile hit his temple. It stung, but he merely turned his head to locate the source. There, he met eyes with three familiar faces, the frontmost of which bearing a striking resemblance to a cotton candy beast he'd seen in a vision once.

"What do you think you're doing?!" The young prince hissed at him, fist clenched with likely yet another projectile, perhaps even something more deadly than a fragment of gravel he'd picked up from the 'commoner's dirt hole' he'd so intensely sworn to never come within earshot of in his entire life.

Wataru beamed back. "Giving out our unit's well-guarded secrets for the public to exploit, why~?"

"Well, congratulations! Nobody's listening to you! You should be lucky, otherwise I'd have Yuzuru take you out faster than--"

"Tori." A hand fell onto the boy's shoulder, who, being in a fit of rage, quickly yanked away from the blond man standing behind him.

"No! I can get angry at him if I want!"

"Oh, give him a break, won't you? He said he has a plan, and I trust his genius~" The man looked up at Wataru with confidence, who locked eyes back with him, jumping down from two stories to meet him at eye level.

"My humblest gratitude goes to you as always, Eichi!"

The fourth and final member of their party, silently but obviously watching the conversation unfold, had finally decided to chime in. "So, what exactly is this plan of yours, Hibiki-sama? You never seem to have informed us."

Wataru never broke eye contact with Eichi. "I'm so very glad you asked~!" He reached into the chalice he was still dangling between his fingertips and pulled out another small sheet of parchment paper. This one looked to be in far worse condition, as if it had been scrunched into a ball and thrown full force through Realm gates by a dragon with especially terrible aim and a lack of courtesy for sensitive information. He unraveled the note from its wrinkly prison and looked it over as he spoke, finally leaving his lover's gaze.

"Do you hear them in there, Butler-san?" Without looking, Wataru gestured to the building behind him. "Do you hear how livid they are? How furious they've become, knowing their journey to becoming a Master doesn't seem so easy anymore?" He finally looked up to the rest of his unit, who were giving him blank stares of confusion, aside from Eichi, who was listening intently. Wataru's voice fell. "They've a few options, now."

Wataru looked directly at Tori. "They may ignore my advice entirely, choosing to go their own path..."

His eyes moved to Eichi. "...they can heed my words, and attempt to find the answer for themselves..."

And finally, they stopped at the final member, who seemed to be the only among them who was beginning to understand. "...or, they can actively defy and attempt to slay me."

"This is an attempt to... 'thin the herd', so to speak."

Tori looked up at his butler. "Where did you get--"

"Precisely!" Wataru perked with excitement once again, then turned to Tori. "See, Princess, most aren't willing to embark on an epic quest given to them by a fool without authority, with instructions they can't understand. Only the bravest, most curious--"

"Or most desperate."

Wataru chuckled at Eichi's interjection. "--or most desperate among them will accept our challenge. Thus, giving us the most formidable allies."

The butler's stare fell to the cobblestone ground below.

"Yes, Yuzuru?" Eichi glanced his way.

"...Or the most formidable foes," he mumbled to himself.

Wataru clapped his hands together, approaching the group. "Very true! Which makes my idea all the better, does it not? After all, if we all seek to be the best, then competition will improve the lot of us!" He stood behind Yuzuru, holding the paper out in front of them both. "And if anyone is able to decipher a centuries-old, yet-untranslated message, then surely they're capable of establishing the peace!"

"You're still an idiot." Tori glared at him.

"An idiot I may be, but that won't stop us!" Wataru juggled the paper between his fingertips once again, folding it delicately, and snapping it out of existence. He drew his wand and pointed it towards Tori. "Now, you, Princess, and your butler, you two are completely new to magic, yes?"

Yuzuru nodded, and Tori huffed.

"Excellent! Now, I will admit my ineptitude with your aimed skillsets, which is why my dear Eichi shall hopefully be able to guide you better than I." He winked at Tori. "Buuu~t, I can introduce you to worlds yet unseen, if you two are interested in true Masterhood!"

Yuzuru raised his hand. "For myself, no, thank you. I will solely be assisting my Young Master in his journey, and will not require assistance. I need only learn spells and strategies most useful for us as a whole."

Eichi pouted. "Ah, but Yuzuru, aren't you with us, too? I requested three equals, not two and a familiar~"

Yuzuru's nose momentarily twitched. "Yes, you did, and I fully respect your decision. But it is my duty as a member of the Majestic clan to aid and assist in the health and well-being of--"

"So you damn us all to the same fate?" Eichi cocked his head.

"All of us but that thing." Tori pointed at Wataru, who couldn't resist laughing.

Yuzuru inhaled deeply. "No. This is the fate I am most satisfied with. You three may do as you please."

Wataru gave Yuzuru a moment's consideration. His poised complexion and unwavering posture never left, but beneath those staunch eyes lay a train simultaneously running off the rails and barreling towards its destination. It seemed so obvious, yet so untouchable, that it was unfathomable even to the eye trained by the bizarre and uncanny.

Tori was much of the same, but in the opposite direction. His demeanor seemed like a crash site in repair, burning bright with disaster and whimsical beauty. Wataru couldn't decide whether to love or fear the boy, so he settled upon patiently waiting for his true colours to shine, as he was so confident they would.

"Well then, if you're so sure, shall we get started?" Eichi finally turned his attention away from Yuzuru and back onto the group as a whole. Tori's eyes lit up, nodding enthusiastically. Wataru stood up straighter and puffed out his chest, holding his hand out to Eichi, who eagerly took it.

"I suppose so. We should waste no time in unpacking the secrets this scroll has to offer. It would be helpful to be the first, after all."

"Let's get started already!" Tori ran ahead of Eichi and Wataru, stopping shortly thereafter and turning back to face them. "I guarantee, we'll have it cracked by nighttime!"

~

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN I HAVE TO TRAIN FIRST?!" Tori threw his hands on the desk of the poor shopkeeper before him.

"I'm terribly sorry, young man, but it's not up to me." The elderly woman had her hands folded in front of her, an aged open book opened next to a precariously placed tall beeswax candle.

"No, I'm terribly sorry YOU'RE going to be hearing from my entire bloodline after today!" His face was bright red and fuming, as an entire large sack of gold having been slung carelessly across the desk was slowly being slid back in his direction.

"I do appreciate your offer of gold, but we simply don't sell Runes. Even if I had them in stock, it wouldn't be legal under the Princess's orders to--"

"Legal schmegal! Gimme the goods, you old hag! You call yourself a magic shop?!"

"Young master, there you are!" Being given no time to react, Tori spun wildly around to hear the shop's bell ring faintly and Yuzuru to enter.

"There you are!" He flipped back around to glare daggers at the old woman. "Tell this walking corpse that we're going to shut down her entire-- HEY-!!"

Without warning, Yuzuru grabbed Tori firmly by the wrist, not at all reacting to Tori's desperate-- and admittedly quite formidable-- attempts to escape it.

"I give my deepest apologies, ma'am. My young master seems to be rather confused on the purpose of your establishment, and we will be leaving you at once. Please, keep the gold as compensation for your troubles. Good day."

He didn't wait for the lady's response. Tori kicked and screamed, yanking at Yuzuru's firm grip. He couldn't believe this betrayal! And with being so close to finally making her crack under the pressure?! He was about ready to find another unit entirely, perhaps even insisting on a new butler, before he was already outside and being faced by the disgusting traitor.

"Young master, it's against kingdom law to sell Runes without express authorization."

Tori crossed his arms. "Then why call it a magic shop if you don't sell spells?! It's crazy!"

"I understand you're quite frustrated, but we can still get the Healing Rune in other ways."

"By training and 'earning' it, yeah, I know." He scoffed. "I never agreed to this."

Yuzuru finally loosened his grip on Tori's wrist, moving it as well as his other hand to hold the prince's. "Hibiki-sama and Eichi-sama have already located the first ingredients, and are waiting by them for us. Come, let us find them."

To those heretics, Tori wanted nothing more than to spit on and run over them with a chariot. But groaning the entire way, he reluctantly agreed to obey the kingdom's orders-- for now. But if they so much as made a move that worked against his favour, he was certain to leave them behind. Especially after that fool had completely betrayed his trust, and the only other person who seemed sane had taken his side. He would-- actually, no, more likely he'd have Yuzuru-- keep an eye on those two.

He would be completely unengaged in this "questing" business altogether. It was too much work for someone so noble.

~

Yuzuru watched as Tori stood opposite of Eichi, both with their wands drawn and aimed towards the other. Wataru stood by Yuzuru's side, whose gaze was moving back and forth between the two. Yuzuru's gaze, though, was permanently fixed on Tori.

"Alright. So, now that you've earned your very first Rune, it's important you know how and when to use it." Eichi adjusted his grip on his wand to account for the Rune he'd placed in between his index and middle fingers. "Now, I'm going to hit you with a very weak spell. It should only hurt a bit. Are you ready?"

Tori smirked. "I'm ready for anything. Hit me with your best shot."

"Alright then."

Eichi held his wand up, and the tip began to faintly glow. Sparks began emanating from the light, followed by arcs of electricity, and with a flick of his wrist, a small bolt of lightning shot from his weapon. Tori yelped in reaction, flinching and attempting to move out of the way with no luck. His calf was caught in the fire, and he stumbled. He looked over at Yuzuru for support.

Yuzuru continued watching him closely, inspecting his leg for any signs of major injury. It didn't even damage the thin silk covering him. Thus, he was given no reason for alarm, but still gave Eichi an unacknowledged look of "watch yourself" before once again keeping his look towards Tori.

"Good. Now, grip the Rune that was given to you in one hand, and your wand in the other. That will make the spell more powerful."

Tori nodded weakly, and grasped the Healing Rune with white knuckles. He pointed the tip of his wand towards his leg. "Now what?!"

"Now, channel its power."

Tori looked at Eichi like he was crazy. "How am I supposed to do that?!"

"It will come to you. Just breathe normally, and focus on the heat it gives off."

Tori rolled and closed his eyes, and Yuzuru noticed the tip of his master's wand begin to also faintly glow, despite its shaking. He watched even more intently, noticing Tori's breathing begin to slow, and his eyebrows losing that strain from furrowing. After only a few seconds, but what Yuzuru assumed felt like forever to the Apprentice, Tori peeked with one eye open at his leg.

Eichi came closer. "Well?"

Tori poked the spot where he was hit. "It doesn't... It doesn't hurt anymore?!"

Eichi smiled.

"I... I did it?! Haha! I knew I could do it! First spell of many! I'm practically a Master already!"

"Fufu, that you are~"

Yuzuru also noticed himself relax slightly. He didn't realize watching Tori in such a position, consensual or not, would stress him in such a way. He began to also approach Tori, offering his hand to help him up, and being promptly rejected. He didn't mind this resurge of independence-- he found it quite charming, actually.

"Yuzuru, you saw that, right?!"

"That I did, Young Master."

"That's gotta be the most impressive spell you've ever seen cast!"

"That it is, Young Master."

As Tori continued celebrating, Yuzuru caught through his peripheral vision the approaching figure of Wataru, who seemed equally as excited. "Well done, Princess! But I'm sure you can do better than just that!"

"I absolutely can! Come on, try me!"

Yuzuru grew concerned once again as Wataru drew his own wand.

"Ohoho~? Challenging that 'obnoxious secret sharer', are we? Well then, let our duel commence!"

In the blink of an eye, Yuzuru saw Wataru make a motion for his own Rune pouch, and immediately sprang to action. He quickly snapped his hand into his dress coat's pocket for only a moment, drawing his wand and quickly sheathing it once again. A flash of light shot from its tip, catching Wataru's attention for a split second, enough time to completely disorient him and throw his aim into the nearby woods, blasting a tree with a far more intense shot of lightning and causing a flock of birds to flee horrified from its branches, now singed and tarnished. Yuzuru's heart rate spiked, hands shaking as he bit the inside of his cheek to try and bring it down. He cleared his throat.

"Hibiki-sama, I appreciate your enthusiasm, but Young Master is still a beginner, It's best he learn some... defensive tactics before you attempt to toast him alive."

Wataru slowly looked over to him, still stunned to silence.

Eichi spoke for him. "Yuzuru, I didn't know you knew any spells."

Yuzuru slipped the Rune he realized he was still gripping into his pocket. "I don't. This Rune... it was gifted to me. I'm unsure of what it does, but I figured... it might serve some use in situations requiring quick reaction time."

Wataru finally regained his bearings. "Still, quite impressive form for a beginner! What Rune is that, anyhow?"

Yuzuru took a step back. "That is nothing to concern yourself with. Still, though, I've learned much from simply observing. Irregardless, I think it would be best to simply continue our journey from here. That is still only one Rune of many more left."

Tori seemed immediately satisfied with this answer, as did Eichi given enough time to consider. They both huddled over a small journal, looking through some inscribed text with nearly unreadable handwriting. Wataru followed close behind, giving them suggestions on what Rune to train for next.

Yuzuru sighed to himself, feeling mostly safe knowing that only one of his unitmates didn't believe him.

~

POV youre wataru about to do stupid thing number 72,394 anyway next chaptzr when i feel like it

[paigelts05]

The no-go-extension [FNAF, Renegade AU]

https://www.deviantart.com/paigelts05/art/The-no-go-extension-FNAF-Renegade-AU-929917763

Renegade File Server Location: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23858029

Published: Sep 18, 2022

I'm here again making more FNAF AR emails content. This time, I'm focusing on Nora and Tristan's exchange regarding the kerfuffle with the toy animatronics and thier facial recognition systems. And as this is the Renegade AU, there is a lot which is said in person, and many conversations that the email server does not see. Note, Nora is 32 and is 5 foot 7 and a half and Tristan is in his mid 20's and is over 7 feet tall. Nora only looks 'younger' because she works with people who are ridiculously tall whilst she stands at an average man's height. =°•.🌹 Story 🌹.•°=

°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•🌹•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*° "'HR'? That holds all the water weight of 'I'm telling dad'!" Nora huffed as she stared up at Tristan. "I had to go above your head about this! Everyone was telling me to add the extension! I couldn't just not implement it based on YOUR rejection. Thier research team would suspect something if I didn't!" The stress of being the one to build the vast majority of the toy animatronics all by herself was getting to Nora. Tristan, Charles, and Izzy had been saddled with their own back breaking work, each in a different department, courtesy of Fazbear Entertainment; thier contractee. "Well, anyway, it seems that both of us were fed conflicting information." Tristan shifted his gaze from Nora to glare at the deactivated Toy Freddy and Toy Bonnie that sat within Nora's workstation. He wanted to help her tear the facial recognition systems out of those machines, but he had been saddled up to the neck with Faz Ent's 'compliance team' work. "Well, I need to find a way to fix that issue by tomorrow morning, AND I have to finish up that stupid fox!" Nora slammed her fists down on her desk, "And I mean what I said about marketing." Tristan reached out to Nora, as he usually did, but she jerked away, giving him only a glare. "Look, Faz Ent' would have my head if I hadn't responded like I did," He couldn't even look at Nora now without feeling a pang of guilt. He had to make Fazbear Entertainment think he was the compliance team member they thought he was; act the bad guy, but was it worth ... This? "You should know this better than anyone by now." Nora stayed quiet for a moment. She didn't even look Tristan's way as she finally spoke. "But I've got those three robots to finish, and the guys over 'there' just keep sleeping on the job." The silence between the two was deafening. The contract, the robots, Nora's useless 'team' over at Faz Ent', being split and used as if they were themselves just employees of Fazbear Entertainment... It was becoming too much. Each felt a hand on one of thier shoulders. "I know you're stressed, with Fazbear Entertainment having us each work in one of thier departments. But we can't let that get to us." Charles, exhausted out of his mind, was behind the two of them. By the sounds of it, he had heard everything. "How!" Nora yelled, "I have two robots to overhaul in a night because everyone was telling me different things, and another due way too soon!" "Well, we have a lot at our disposal." Charles stated, "first, by having us work from our own building, we have been afforded the upper hand of being able to speak with one another without them being able to monitor our every move: we can speak in person. You two have done a good job so far of keeping suspicions low, acting the part they gave you, but you haven't been using our advantage, and we need to speak in-person far more than what we're doing right now." Both Tristan and Nora were quiet. "I have a feeling that this contract was designed to break us." Charles continued, "make us do the heavy lifting, treat us like they treat their own, then blame us when things go wrong to keep thier name clean." "And make us take the truth to our graves." Tristan's voice was almost a hiss. His life had already been threatened by the contractee once this week: an exec with a gun is never something you should brush off. "And the bastards are trying to get those robots to kill my Nora." Nora's face flushed red. "I- is that why they pushed me to install those blacklisted extensions?! And - you! You were - how do? AAARGH!" The suddenness of this revelation was becoming too much, and she hid her burning face behind her hands. "If you'd have told me, we wouldn't have had this argument!" She finally formulated what she had to say from behind her hands. "I couldn't." Tristan grimaced, "I was trapped at my desk with every testing and safety report due now now now, and if I emailed you, I'd have a bullet in my head right now too." Nora couldn't respond. Her blood went cold. She couldn't fathom or stomach the thought, but it was now burned into her mind. "Look, when those bots activate, they'll be normal for a while. Enough to get past testing, if bearly. You've tested them a bit yourself, right?" Tristan turned to Nora for an answer. Nora nodded. "So they know your face." The words that followed felt like bile in Tristan's throat. "So that when Fazbear decides they're done with us, they can send the command to kill, and have them target you." Nora felt herself shaking. Her life was in danger. The Toy Bonnie and Freddy were practically done, all that was left was the finishing touches. They could be activated at any time - now even - and just as easily, they could kill her. "I'm scared..." She whimpered, her boisterous demeanor all but gone. "We all are. We need to remove thier facial recognition systems as soon as possible." "But how did you figure out that they were trying to kill me?" Nora's question beckoned in an eerie silence. Tristan had explained how Fazbear Entertainment would use the toy animatronics to kill Nora, but he never said how this information fell into his hands. "I'd rather not share who I got this information from. For thier safety, as well as mine." Whilst he wanted to share all he knew, it was clear that some secrets were best kept for now, "They contacted me in-person and told me what was going on. They've also sent me a catalogue of news articles from many years ago. No doubt they're trying to prepare me for something dangerous ." Nora and Charles nodded. This was confirmed to be as bad, if not worse, than they imagined. But they just had to hold out until either the contract ended or Faz Ent' broke thier end of the contract. "Again, I suggest we work on removing the facial recognition systems first." "But how will I do that!? It's late and you're all busy or tired!" Nora felt fit to burst out sobbing. "You could get 'outside help'. We may be exhausted, but this could well be a life or death situation. We can afford to direct our attention to helping you; we know you'd do the same if another of us were in your position, and I think that falling a bit behind is the least of our worries right now." Charles once again proved to be the voice of reason, "and the systems are not supposed to be there anyway, correct? And the bugs? Non-reproducable? What if we make sure it never happens again." "I think I know what you're getting at, but I don't know if they'll notice." Nora looked over at Charles and Tristan, "they'll know something's wrong if they suddenly start working differently." "How about that workaround Tristan considered. We can make it act the same, but be ultimately benign." Charles replied, "it'll be as if you're following both sets of orders, so you can fall back on whichever one the higher-ups wind up demanding in the end." "And the fox?" The mass of parts in Nora's workstation that reminded her that she had such an exotic machine to try and build in such a short period of time made her worry for her life. "I can get marketing to push the release back a few weeks." Tristan looked at Nora, and for once today, the pit in his stomach was not there. "I can buy us the time we need." Choking back tears, Nora nodded. "Thank you." She wanted to cry, but if she wanted to live to the end of the week, now was not the time for emotions to get the better of her. The trio was quiet for a moment before Charles broke the silence. "You two get a head start. I'll call Izzy. We work two to a machine." Nora and Tristan nodded. They had to get started now or never, and work fast and smart. They had facial recognition systems to uninstall, and they were certain that it wouldn't go away without a fight. °*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•🌹•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°

[the-hidden-pages]

Misread Affections - Laszlo Kreizler/Fem!Reader SMUT

I started at midnight. I had 0 words. It’s 4:30am. I have 4643 words because I have fallen deeply for Doctor Laszlo Kreizler. Forgive me for this.

Synopsis: With all your history together, you and Doctor Kreizler believe you understand each other. Yet when you believe him to be infatuated with Karen Stratton, and he believes you to have affection for Marcus Isaacson, you’re both stunned when you find yourselves to be proven wrong.

Warnings: NSFW. Desk Sex. Dirty Talk. Patient-to-Friend-to-Lover. Definite depression and general self-loathing.

SPOILERS FOR THE SECOND SEASON!!!!!!

You had always admired the man Doctor Laszlo Kreizler was.

He championed those who could not champion themselves. He worked tirelessly to understand the minds of criminals. To those very same criminals, and many others that lived as outcasts to society, he would offer kindness and understanding. At his best he was beyond intelligent and, daresay, sweet.

At his worst, he was ruthless, and his own self-loathing would have him come across as unempathetic most days. While preaching to others to care for himself, he would often forego his own care. While offering an ear and a receptive mind, he would refuse to offer himself the same.

You knew this within mere days of knowing Doctor Kreizler. And such facts made you rather fond of him.

A fondness that was not helped by his handsome build, his dark locks, his scrutinizing gaze.

And yet no part of you could justify ever acting upon this fondness.

You had come to him both as a patient and a colleague. You had always been aware of a darkness within yourself, ever since you were a child. This darkness had only grown, too often all-consuming, leaving you. a dysfunction wreck of a human being. However, you had an obligation to keep going, a promise you had sworn to your sister to continue your own existence. So, exist you did.

While your family’s fortune wasn’t enough to send you to Harvard, like the Doctor himself, it did allow for you to be a reasonably educated woman of the times. A deep fascination in understanding your own darkness led you to the work of alienists, and eventually to the work of Doctor Kreizler.

While you couldn’t often justify breaking societal rules to such an extent, you found yourself motivated enough to call upon the Doctor with a proposition – should he aide you in understanding your own illness of the brain, you would offer any services you could to the Kreizler Institute.

You could tell he was curious of you. A woman of your standing did not often make such demands with such authority, nor so blatantly admit to her own illnesses. He quickly agreed, eager to study why you considered yourself so damaged, and happy to take on an extra set of hands with the children he looked after.

Over time, you begun to slip effortlessly into Doctor Kreizler’s life.

You met the likes of Cyrus and Stevie, along with many others that worked at the Institute. You were then blown away by the strength within Miss Sara Howard, and the pure, undiluted love that Mister John Schuyler Moore could show others. You were even called upon on several occasions to be a fresh set of eyes, the murders of young boy prostitutes and kidnappings of babies not deterring you, to the surprise and reluctant joy of the Doctor.

And as Doctor Kreizler studied you, you studied him.

You slowly learned of all the emotion he kept hidden behind the façade of professionalism. The kindness, the love, the anger, the fear. While he showed none of these most days, occasionally a concoction of such feeling would burst in an overwhelming outpour.

In offering him a platonic safe space, a place for him to talk through such outbursts should he wish, he in turn aided you.

The darkness you felt for so long began to subside some days, and between the efforts of him and a passing remark from John, you learned of an outlet for your darker thoughts – writing.

While expressing your own emotions and turmoil did not come easy, you found it far simpler when written down on paper, as opposed to spoken aloud to a judging room.

Doctor Kreizler gifted you a beautiful leather-bound journal a mere day after this revelation, with the request that you record your thoughts. He promised he would not read it unless you requested him to as an act of therapy.

For many days, you allowed him to read any thoughts that came to mind.

Thoughts of blood, of death, of pain and anger. Thoughts of a stolen childhood, of worthlessness, of longing.

Many days when he read your pages, you would be silently crying as he did, fearful of his judgement. But it never came.

Instead, he would close the book silently, and offer you professional advice.

One particularly rough day, in which your narrative was beyond vicious to you, he closed the book before finishing, and offered you something you didn’t expect – an embrace.

He hugged you so tightly, that for once…

Your inner monologue ceased.

His own, however, raged on.

How could you think so lowly of yourself, he wondered? While he could understand mindsets built from trauma, he couldn’t help but wish you could see yourself through his own eyes. Your empathy when you cared for the children in the Institute. Your intelligence when conversing with Miss Howard. Your artistic delight when laughing with John. And the perspective, the warmth you offered such a broken man such as himself.

Neither of you knew, in that exact moment, that the other was realizing the fondness you both held in your hearts for each other.

And neither of you knew how truly broken the other felt at their core.

Two souls, believing themselves to be undeserving of love, finding it in their hearts for the other.

When the beautiful, cunning Doctor Karen Stratton entered the picture, you asked Doctor Kreizler to refrain from reading your journal.

He was hurt by this, but profession and courtesy claimed that he could not show it.

You began to withdraw from him, placing your entire focus on the case of the stolen babies and your focus on the children in the Institute. Kreizler, in his own difficulties of potentially losing the said Institute, took notice of your own withdrawal from your sessions, but held enough hope that you had found stability to care for yourself. You still conversed with Sara, you smiled with John. You had even been introduced to the Isaacsons, and he had wondered if you had taken a liking to Marcus.

You deserved a young man such as him, he told himself, heart heavy. A whole, young man with enough strength to support you.

And on the night of Marcus’ death, he believed it to be confirmed.

He found you alone, in his study where you so often had your sessions with him. You were curled inwards on yourself, clutching your journal as though it were your lifeline, sobbing uncontrollably.

He moved to console you, arms holding you tightly.

“It’s all too much,” you choked out, unable to articulate much more.

 Doctor Kreizler nodded, waiting for you to be able to go on.

You regained some breath with difficulty. “I just…I can’t stand to lose a friend. Not after everything else lately.”

 “I know how difficult it can be, to lose one you love…” Kreizler began, not noticing how your sobs stopped in confusion. “After Mary, I…Well I swore I would never again…The point is, I-“ he stopped short.

You had spluttered out a laugh.

 Your hand covered your mouth immediately, noticing what had just happened. You immediately moved to cover it up, wiping away your tears and standing up away from him. “No, no, Doctor. Heavens, Marcus…well, he was loved but, I saw…I see the Isaacsons as brothers I never had. He was dear to me but…not in the sense I suspect that Mary was to you.”

 “I…see…” Doctor Kreizler pulled back, sitting in his study chair as he gazed at you. “Apologies, I seem to have misread your relationship. Nonetheless, his death has greatly affected you, as it has all of us. I suspect it will be a very difficult grieving process, but…” he manages a soft, rare smile that warmed your heart. “We will endure it together, as we have these cases.”

“Will we?” your voice grew empty as your thoughts swirled.

He titled his head, unsure of where this was leading. You gathered your courage to question him.

“Rumour has it, Doctor Stratton has asked you to join her in Vienna. I wonder if you’ll go.”

 Silence falls over the room.

 Laszlo couldn’t understand what this had to do with anything. Your crying, your distress over Marcus. What did his leaving have to do with any of your distress?

 “You’re greatly upset by something,” he eventually said, gazing at you with a more analytical eye than before. “I’m afraid you give me too much credit, if you think I know the specifics of it.”

“I-“ you stopped, clearing your throat as you choked up. Your knuckles turned white on your journal’s edges, hands shaking. “Doctor Kreizler-“

“It’s been months since we’ve known each other,” he interrupts, “and we haven’t held a session together in nearly five weeks. Would it pain you to call me Laszlo? Are we not…friends?”

You gaped at him, but his face remained unreadable.

  You shake your head. “Yes, it…it would pain me. It would pain me a great deal, Doctor – it does pain me a great deal to hear you call me a friend when…”

“When what?” he prompts you sharply, and you inhale quickly.

“When I feel I’ve been dishonest with you, unkind to you…” had the room not been dead still, Laszlo might have missed the next words you whispered. “I feel I’ve been perverse to you.”

 If he was confused, he didn’t show it. And you were talking now, the words spilling out, a cascade unable to end.

“I feel as though…had Marcus not…died…tonight, I might never have done this. But then my mind, it began spinning so quickly I couldn’t stop it, and I couldn’t help but imagine countless scenarios in which Libby, in which the Dusters, in which…well, in which any number of causes might take your life as well. In which you might die before…before I can confess…” You huff, your words getting caught once again. With a determined move, your arm shot out to pass your journal to him, and Kreizler takes note of a particular page being creased.

 He looks up at you, but you don’t meet his eye.

“I’ve marked where I want you to start reading. Just…go from there. Inform me when you’re finished.”

You walk over to the window, desperate to be distracted, as Doctor Kreizler opens the book and reads at your request.

           He can’t comprehend what he’s reading at first.

           While he had grown accustomed to your twisted perception of yourself, he hadn’t realized just how ruthless the self-loathing could take you. Endless doubt of your friendships with the team, with your position as a caretaker, in your abilities to be a friend.            And as words continue, he realizes your doubts in being a partner, a lover.

           If he grows flustered at the words he reads, he’s determined not to show it to you.

           He reads your envy of women like Sara Howard, able to move forward with such strength and certainty, and of Karen Stratton, so brash, so forward. Your envy is strong towards her, in her abilities to understand sexuality, passion, human desire, and in…

           In her connection to himself.

           His eyes widen as your own ramblings seem to uncover a truth you hadn’t explored before – your attraction to the Doctor that had aided you, offered you employment. The pure taboo of such affections, yet your inability to stop it. Your adoration, your admiration for the intimidating, raw man that he was. How you felt unworthy, that you would hold him back, that he deserved a woman as delightful as Doctor Stratton, a woman who could stimulate him academically, that could pleasure him physically. How you felt so deeply ashamed of harbouring such elicit fantasies of the man that had been nothing but kind to you. How you loved him so deeply it made you want to die, because you would never be deserving –

           You heard the journal snapping shut, and you couldn’t bring yourself to face the Doctor, knowing what he must’ve read, dreading what he must now be thinking.

           The silence lasted far longer than you would’ve liked, but you couldn’t bring yourself to speak.

           “I find myself taken aback more often than I like,” Kreizler’s voice shatters the still air. “I believe myself to be so wise, so understanding of the mind, and yet I come across a mind such as yours that I…I truly cannot fathom how you think what you think.”

           “I’m sorry,” you start, voice breaking as tears begin to flow again.

           You nearly jump out of your skin when you feel a hand on your own. You don’t dare to turn around, frozen like a rabbit having been sniffed out by a hound.

           “You think me to be attracted to Doctor Stratton, am I correct?”

           You nod. Of course, he was. Was it not obvious?

           “Karen and I are colleagues, and friends, should I be too bold to assume so. I can recognize that she is a physically beautiful woman, yes, and I’m sure some day she will make a man a very happy husband, should she wish. But her and I have a kinship, a partnership, not unlike what I believe you and Marcus might have had, that I too misinterpreted as love.”

           You sniff, closing your eyes tightly. What was he trying to tell you?

           Doctor Kreizler spins you around slowly, leading you to face him.

           “I do not harbour half the affection in my heart for Doctor Stratton as I do for you.”

           You freeze. “Doctor-“

           “Please,” he reaches up to cup your face, wiping away several of the tears that had fallen. “Please call me Laszlo. You are not the only one to have an epiphany after the loss of our friend, my dear. If you are being so honest with me, I feel it only right to offer you the same.”

           “Laszlo…” you whisper, meeting his eyes for the first time since he read your words. His heart breaks with the pain within them. “How can you do this? Look at me, hold me, when you see how broken I am? I’m undeserving-“

           “You would choose to love, to care for a cripple, a shell of a man in the eyes of society. A man who has too often neglected the children he cares for, often spat in the face of those he dares to call his friends. If either of us is undeserving of the other’s love, my dear, it’s me.”

           Your brows furrow angrily, reaching up to mirror him, cupping his own face with both of yours. “Laszlo Kreizler you stop that right now, I won’t hear any more of…you’re smiling. How could you be smiling?”

           He leans into one of your hands affectionately, a rare, dashing smile lighting up his features in a way you cherished to see, despite the circumstances. “Perhaps we are both wrong. Perhaps…perhaps we need each other, to use each other’s eyes and hearts to understand who we truly are. We both have such lowly opinions of ourselves but…perhaps it was meant to be.”

           Your own smile was beginning to form, despite your best efforts, as your brain’s screaming of all that could go wrong began to quieten.

           “I hesitate to believe in fate, Doctor…” you trail off, taking a step closer, your heart filled with hope and eyes filled with wonder. “I hesitate further to admit to needing someone, and yet…my brain is only ever kind and quiet when I’m around you.”

           Laszlo’s weaker arm rests on your hip, while the thumb of the hand caressing your face moves to trace your chin. “My language is not as…poetic, as yours, my dear,” he confesses, and you both chuckle, “but I very much would like to kiss you, with your permission.”

           “Laszlo, you could do anything to me,” you confess, reaching forward to finally meet his lips.

           It’s messy, and uncoordinated, but any lack of experience the pair of you may have is made up for by the pure, electric eagerness that overtakes the both of you. You’re both exploring, testing each other, in some give and take dance that does not seem to quell any emotions within you, instead quite the opposite.

           You could kiss him forever, you quickly realize.

           But by some cruel twist of fate, you have to pull away, air taking priority.

           You stare wildly at him as he breathes heavily, eyes darker than you had ever seen, with a sense of uncertainty that you hadn’t ever seen about him before.

           A teasing smile finds its way onto your face, as you can’t help but test your luck.

           “How far, exactly, did you read in my book?”

           He blinks at you a couple of times, uncertain of your line of questioning. “I read of your jealousy, of your shame, I don’t…I don’t believe I finished it all, I found I had to address the issue before I continued –“

           “Would you like to know what else was in there?”

           Laszlo appeared flustered as you led him back to his plush chair, and you knelt down between his legs to pick up the book that had fallen to the ground. You don’t offer it to him, however, instead putting it aside.

           “My dear, I don’t –“

           “I ask you to stop me, if my advances are too…forward to you, Laszlo.”

           You slowly rise from your place, moving to lift your skirts so you might position yourself above the Doctor, straddling him in his chair. As if on its own accord, his good hand rises to situate on your waist tightly. You gently grasp his weaker hand, his “broken wing”, and lift it to your mouth, delicately kissing the palm, each finger.

           Laszlo mutters your name, transfixed by your mouth’s movements.

           “I would love every part of you,” you begin, continuing your assault of affection as you whisper against the part of him, he views as most broken. “I would care for you in every capacity in which I’m capable. I would strive to be deserving of you in every which way.” You drop his hand and lean forward, hands grasping the back of the chair as you hold his gaze. “I would have you claim every part of me, I would have your marks for the world to see, if you wished. I’ve dreamt of you and I in the most compromising positions that I dare not say, on nearly every surface of your study, my bedroom, the Institute. I would give you every single piece of me, Laszlo, every ounce of my attraction. I would give you my darkest sins and my deepest pleasure, if you would allow me too. Please, Doctor Kreizler, let me please you.”

           You didn’t know what you were expecting from your confession.

           Perhaps you wondered if he would push you away, exclaiming that your desires were too much, your words too sinful, and that he would cease associations with you immediately. Perhaps you thought he would scold you for being too wanton, too unbecoming of a woman of your standing. Perhaps you hoped the worst that would happen is he would kiss you softly and instruct that you both go to bed in separate rooms, that more carnal needs could be discussed at a later date.

           Never in your wildest dreams did you expect to feel Laszlo shift and harden beneath you, eyes growing so dark they were nearly completely black, and have him reach his hand to curl around the back of your neck.

           And you certainly didn’t expect the deep growl that escaped him as his lips, tongue, and teeth clashed with yours frantically, animalistically.

           Neither of you had experience, you both knew this.

           But you both knew what you wanted, what you needed, and that would be enough to motivate you.

           You both took what you could, Laszlo leaving your lips to reach what he could of your neck, lavishing it with lips and tongue. He explored expertly, quickly learning what you liked based upon the quickening of your breath, of your pulse. What was left of his analytical mind was fascinated by the chain reaction of events, how you spurred each other on.

           When he nipped at your ear, your hips rolled uncontrollably, and a rough groan escaped him unconsciously.

           Fascinating indeed.

           He panicked slightly when you stood, wondering if he had stepped too far. The panic raised as you strode across his study, heading quickly to the door.

           “Wait, my dear, I-“

           “Calm down, Laszlo,” you hushed him, and he heard a loud click of the door locking from where he sat. “I merely don’t wish to be interrupted. If this is still what you wish.”

           He leans back in his chair, breathing heavily, observing you as you stand once again before him. “I should be asking you what you want, my darling.”

           You grin, shaking your head. “Was my speech before not enough for you to know what I want, Doctor Kreizler? Can you not infer exactly what I want from you from the writings in my journal? It’s your turn to share, else I might just leave you like this.”

           His good hand involuntarily juts forward, grasping yours desperately.

           “Don’t you dare.”

           You giggle, and he smiles at the sound.

           “Then, tell me what you wish, Doctor.”

           “I wish…” he trails off, watching as your hands move upward to begin slowly undressing yourself.

           “Yes?” You prompt him teasingly, continuing your motions. “Don’t mind me.”

           Laszlo shifts in his chair, erection clearly visible by the bulge in his slacks. “I…I wish…” his voice trails off again as his eyes take in every inch of your skin that’s uncovered. “I wish to be with you in every manner. Intellectually, spiritually, physically. I wish to connect with you in a way I never will with any other living creature on this Earth. I wish to feel you around me, to bring you to climax. I wish to fill you, to be yours, to fuck you, to make you Mrs. Kreizler…”

           He stops at that, only becoming aware of his own ramblings you straddled him once again, completely nude.

           The faintest voice in his head wondered if you made him stupid, but it was silence as his eyes took you in completely.

           “You are the most gorgeous specimen I’ve ever been graced with seeing, my love.”

           You pull him in to a languid kiss, gently tasting each other as your hand travels down his chest.

           “You speak of love, of my being Mrs. Kreizler…” you start, almost losing your train of thought as you feel him twitch beneath you, your hips rolling to meet his. “Another day I’ll ask you to remind me of those words. But for now…” you lean forward, mouth grazing his ear, causing him to shiver. “I need you to fuck me, Doctor Laszlo Kreizler.”

           For all of your faith in him, you don’t expect the next feat of strength.

           With only his good arm he manages to lift the pair of you from the chair, quickly placing you upwards and onto the desk of his own study, mindless of the papers underneath you, of any others that might be in the building as you shriek in surprise.

           He captures your mouth with his, more forceful, captivating, as his good hand explores your form, grasping both of your breasts before heading downwards to the warmth between your thighs. His fingers collect some of the wetness that had escaped your folds and examines it with an almost mocking scientific fascination.

           “Is this all for me, my darling?” he questions, and you find yourself at a loss for words as he curiously lifts his fingers to his mouth, his tongue slowly tasting you off of them.

           “Fuck, Laszlo,” you whisper, reaching forward to pull him in for a kiss again as he chuckles darkly against you.

           His teasing ends when your hands wander downward, now working at the buttons of his slacks frantically, your palm grazing across his length through his pants, causing him to gasp.

           “My God,” he pants out, and you pull him out of his slacks. He’s hard, warm, rigid in your palm, with veins and girth that you hadn’t imagined in any of your fantasies, but was now all you could imagine filling you, ending that emptiness that you felt.

           “Please,” you whimper, and he gently removes your hand, before lining his cock up with your entrance.

           He meets your eyes, checking one last time to ensure this was what you wanted.

           “Laszlo, please –“your begging is cut short as he breaches you slowly, pushing his full weight forward as the pair of you connect.

           It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt.

           A tantalizing combination of pleasure and pain, your mind repeating an endless mantra of “Laszlo”, which you realize, when he’s fully inside, flush against you, that you’re muttering out loud.

           “Oh, my love,” he breathes, his damaged arm lightly resting on your thigh, his other gripping your hip so tightly you knew there would be marks.

           “You feel so right,” you mindlessly breathe, and you can’t help but moan at the feeling of him twitching inside you at the comment. You would remember that he likes praise, but…

“I don’t know that I will last long, my love,” Laszlo warns, his voice low, gravely, warm against your neck as he buries his face into it, pressing kisses into the skin of your shoulder.

It crosses your mind that you’re completely nude and he’s fully clothed, but the thought fills you with warmth rather than disappointment.

“Nor will I, but this will happen again, won’t it?” you question, a hint of doubt crossing your voice.

The Doctor silences it immediately, kissing you deeply. “Every night, every hour if you would let me, my darling. You are so wonderful…”

“Then please, fuck me Laszlo. I want to cum, I want you to fill me, I – oh!”

The first snap of his hips was relentless, and it was only more intense from there.

He was strong, sure of his movements, chasing his own pleasure and encouraging yours as much as he could, pressing kisses into your neck, your breasts, your lips, his good hand finding your hair tightly. Broken moans left you as dark, rasping breaths escaped him, and it was all too soon before you felt your peak approaching, familiar with the sensation from lonely nights with your own hand curiously working against yourself.

“Laszlo, Doctor Kreizler, I-“ at your moaning of his title, something in him snapped, and his teeth sunk into where your neck met your shoulder.

A deep cry left you as you reached your climax, a white-hot rush waving over you.

As your cunt clenched around him, Laszlo lost himself, growling his native German tongue as he lost his rhythm, heat filling you as he came.

You two didn’t have much time to come down from your highs, as the door to his home could be heard opening and closing from the floors below.

“Doctor Kreizler?” Sara Howard could be heard calling.

Your eyes wide, you rushed to put yourself back together, close wrinkled, roughly thrown back on and your hair being a wreck. You hoped you could pass it off as merely the result of a rough day, an intense mental break.

You turned to Kreizler, who was a picture of perfection, seeming to not be rattled by the events before…almost.

           “Back to the case…?” he trailed off, his voice filled with uncertainty, and you smiled fondly at the terribly awkward, intelligent man before you.

           You step forward and kiss him softly, the warmth between your legs and bruises on your thigh a reminder of what had just occurred.

           “Back to the case. We can continue our escapades when it’s all over, Doctor.”

           He chuckles, confidence returning to him as he nods. “I look forward to it.”

[overthinkingfandom]

Cards on the Table - Breaking down the tactics in L'manburg Independence

/rp /dsmp

Much has been said in the fandom about L'manburg's independence. It is, after all, arguably the most important moment in DSMP's history, as the rest of the story wouldn't have existed without it. 

In light of the recent anniversary of it, yes I know I’m late, I wanted to throw my hat in the ring and add something to the discussion surrounding it. However, as the morality of the situation has been discussed to death I'll be taking a slightly different approach to it. 

Due to the nature of the DSMP's medium, the story has many unique quirks. One of those quirks is how realistic the tactics used in the story's portrayal of politics are. The independence conflict is a great example of it. While on the surface things seem to be rather simplistic in nature, there's a lot more going on that’s less obvious.

Both Wilbur and Dream are brilliant politicians who get to show both their strengths and weaknesses in dealing with an equally skilled opponent in this encounter. There’s actually quite a bit to go into, despite their interactions being so short.

When most people think about the L'manburg's independence, they think about the moment the declaration has been written up and the subsequent declaration of war. While this moment is certainly iconic, it's not really all that impactful in the grand scheme of things. Both declarations are the culmination of decisions that have been made beforehand. It's the moment when those decisions were made that really influenced things.

Conveniently, Wilbur and Dream only hold a single conversation about L'manburg before the declarations are drawn up, so we don’t need to look far in order to figure out where those decisions were formed. 

Wilbur has been working on L’manburg, collecting materials and building the wall surrounding it, for almost an hour when he spots Dream lurking. “Get [Dream] into the VC, I need to talk with him. He’s the leader of the other nation, I think we need to have a congress.” (52:44)

Dream: “Hello?”

Wilbur: “Hello Dream. Welcome to our great nation of L’manburg.”

Dream: “L’manburg?”

Wilbur: “Yes. We are seceding from Dream SMP. This is our own server now. This area, just this part [between the walls of L’manburg], is our server.”

Wilbur doesn’t waste any time before getting right down to business and talking about the matter at hand. However, the way he speaks about it here and in the rest of the conversation is fairly interesting. Wilbur is talking about L’manburg as if it’s something which already exists. They are seceding. This is their land. This conversation is merely a courtesy to give Dream a formal notice of their separation.

Yet, a bit later Wilbur shows he knows they need Dream’s acknowledgement in order for L’manburg to be its own entity. Independence is not a concrete thing that can just be taken or created on one person’s whim, after all. It only exists when the people with power agree it exists. 

Wilbur: “Dream, basically all we want from you is just acknowledgement that we are an independent nation now. That’s all we need.” (56:20)

So if Wilbur knows they aren’t independent yet, why is he talking like that? 

It’s because he’s using a salesman technique called an Assumptive Close. Instead of posing it as a question and putting the choice of agreeing or disagreeing in Dream’s hands, Wilbur acts as if it’s already true and leaves the burden of challenging his claims on Dream’s shoulders. He even moves on to ask secondary questions on how Dream feels about having embassies in his land (and notably he frames it as a question, unlike how he frames the topic of L’manburg’s independence) as if L’manburg is already a political entity. 

Wilbur: “Dream, I’ve got a proposition for you. How do you feel about having Tommy’s land being an embassy? Like it’s an enclave in your own land.” (59:01)

Wilbur’s use of this technique has an interesting side effect in that it signals to Dream Wilbur is taking a non-compromising position in this negotiation. In essence saying “L’manburg is independent, take it or leave it.” 

A non-compromising position is the game theory term for when someone goes, "I'm going to do that, this is going to happen and nothing can dissuade me from this course of action." It's a strong tactic which forces everyone to react to that person's position, reducing the others' options into a binary of either accepting that position or rejecting it. 

This is a very common tactic and various manifestations of it can be seen all over history and media. From Martin Luther who refused to recant or compromise with his famous words of “Here I stand, I cannot do otherwise” to groups who cultivate a "with us or against us" mentality to heroic characters who say they would die before giving in to whatever Evil the story focuses on.

This is the situation Dream is facing here. He can either accept Wilbur's assertion that L'manburg is an independent entity by either encouraging them or even doing nothing, or he can reject Wilbur's assertion by acting against it.

As we all know, he ended up choosing the second option but what were his considerations for doing so?

For that we would need to know what his goal was here, something we don't really get a sense of from his conversation with Wilbur. However, he ends up stating what it was in a later conversation with Skeppy. 

(Emphasis added by me and wasn’t part of the original dialogue.)

“Everyone can build wherever they want. [L’manburg] just decided to say that they get to determine where they can build and we can’t and we said well no, you can’t do that. And that’s what the whole war was over.” (31:44)

“[L’manburg] can’t tell us that we can’t go in their land. That’s all we wanted to say. That they’re not independent, they are a part of the Dream Team SMP. They’re just a delusional, small part." (34:26)

Dream lies a lot, so just because he says something doesn't mean it's necessarily true. However, this seems to be genuine. Dream has no problem telling Skeppy “we burned down their houses and blew up the whole land.” (32:36) later on in the conversation, so we can rule out that he's trying to paint himself in a better light, and there aren't really any other reasons for him to lie to Skeppy here about this. 

When looking at Dream's options with his goal we can see the choice is pretty much a no-brainer. 

Accepting is a total lose scenario for him. Not only will it fail to fulfill his goals, it would actively encourage the sort of behavior he doesn't want to happen, as Wilbur would set a precedent that so long as someone insisted hard enough and implied Dream is a bad person he would fold in negotiations and give them what they want.

Rejecting gets him far closer to his goal of railing against L’manburg’s exclusion. Going to war means he has to invest much more effort and resources into his reaction than if he just accepted as well as deal with the risks any war has, however the sheer difference in ability between Dream's side and Wilbur's side make the risk minimal. 

Going to a war he’s pretty sure he can win VS encouraging the sort of thing he disapproves of, isn’t really a hard choice.

This is actually the result of a mistake on Wilbur's part. CC!Wilbur called his character naive (37:49) and he's not wrong. Wilbur has a tendency to act as he wishes and not take into account that people might disagree or retaliate. We see it with him saying they could just ignore the Americans (1:51:17) or during the elections when he told Quackity his scheme and got blindsided by Quackity deciding to run against him. 

Historically, non-compromising positions worked best when the person who used it made sure rejection would be more costly than acceptance in one way or the other. In essence, narrowing down the options for others even more and leaving them only with acceptance. 

Wilbur may have managed to wipe off the table all other options and put pressure on Dream to accept with his use of Assumptive Close, but he didn't do anything to prevent Dream from rejecting. In fact, it seems like Wilbur didn't even consider it as a valid possibility as he outright dismissed it when Dream brought it up as an option.

Dream: “What happens if the rest of the server decides to take over your land?”

Wilbur: “They can’t. It’s literally not how servers- Dream you’re supposed to be smart man, that’s not how servers work. You can’t just take over another person’s server.” (54:33)

But, you may be asking, if it was better for Dream to go to war against L'manburg rather than grant them independence, why did he end up giving into their desire for independence in the war? Wouldn't it have been better if he just saved everyone the trouble and gave it to them when they asked for it the first time? Or maybe Dream’s obsession with Tommy and his discs is just that strong?

We can find the answer to all those questions at Punz’ video where he shows the behind the scenes of the independence war, including some of the planning which went into it from the Dream Team’s side of the war. Specifically, this quote:

Dream: “[The L’manburgians] are never gonna give up. So then in the end the resolution will probably just be, we won but they can think whatever they want, we’re just going to ignore them because they’re essentially like- You want to think you’re independent? You’re not, you’re still part of the SMP, but if you want to think you’re independent, you can.” (9:04)

“They’re never gonna give up.”

Whether it’s true or not doesn’t matter, as this is what Dream thinks and so this is what dictates his actions. Perhaps he’s overestimating his opponents here, or maybe he’s talking about how even if L’manburg is defeated this time they would try again for independence in the future. In either case, it’s clear Dream thinks the best case scenario for him - completely preventing people from fighting for L'manburg's independence - is impossible. 

So, he tries for the second best case. If he can’t prevent L’manburg, he’s going to allow it but only under Dream’s terms. That’s what his “they can think whatever they want” line is all about. He intends on giving them token independence here, something which would satisfy them but wouldn't pose a real threat. Which is exactly what he ends up offering them during the bow duel.

Dream: “Let me just clarify: if you win, we grant L’Manburg independence.”

Tommy: “Alright.”

Dream: “But we recognize it still as a part of the Dream Team SMP.”

Wilbur: “That’s fine, that’s a fine condition.” (40:54)

The token independence thing didn’t work out so well for him. L'manburg quickly grew to be seen as an entity separate from Greater Dream SMP by everyone, and so Dream was forced to concede and treat it as one as well. 

However, despite this part of his plan failing, overall the independence war was a glowing success for Dream. 

By giving L'manburg independence after winning the war, Dream sent a very clear message. L'manburg only gets to be independent so long as they stay on Dream's good side. If they don't adhere to the terms Dream sets out for them? He can and will kick their asses, as the war so aptly demonstrated.

This message is received loud and clear. During his entire presidency Wilbur went out of his way to treat Dream with respect and try not to piss him off. Something he clearly demonstrates a number of times, like when he asked if he should call Dream “king Dream” (59:08) or during the railway skirmish (24:16).

In fact, it can be argued that this message lasted all the way up to Tubbo's presidency. Unlike Quackity, who was perfectly fine with starting a fight with Dream, Tubbo knew first hand what a war against Dream looks like. He knew that they could not win a war against him, especially in their weakened state at the time, and that influenced his decision. 

As Dream once said: "L'manburg can be independent but it can't be free."

[mingtiddies]

if it isn’t too late

member: mingyu

genre: angst, fluff

word count: 1.964

warnings: my only warning is that it’s cliché as fuck me thinks

a/n: you asked for it (and it was already written so there’s that) so here it is! part two of broken hearts and last goodbyes.. i cannot believe i actually wrote the sequel in four days??? when bhalg took me almost three years to complete??? anyways enjoy friends!!!

No one called or texted the first few days. Could you blame any of them? You had just broken their brother’s heart.

You wanted to believe they had given you time to collect yourself. And after a few more days passed, some texted you again, almost as if nothing had happened. They asked how you were doing, if you wanted to meet. The answers were all lies.

You had just lost the love of your life and your friends. And even though they tried to maintain their relationship with you, it wasn’t the same, and it wouldn’t ever be the same.

You missed your friends. But your friends had been his to begin with...

At some point, and it was only a matter of days, your conversations with them slowly died down. Texts of courtesy, until you stopped giving them answers that could incite a conversation.

What good would it be, if most of the members were somewhat trapped between you and Mingyu?

You walked home from work after a ten hour shift. Your night was already laid out; you would order food from home, watch a romantic comedy and cry yourself to sleep. And with any luck, you’d fall asleep in front of the movie.

You scoffed. A few bypassers eyed you. How pathetic... How could you be crying when you had been the one breaking Mingyu’s heart? Even though you had broken yours in the process.

It was late... And the last thing you expected was to run into somebody you knew. But there Seungcheol was, walking your way. Great. And if you had recognized him despite the mask and the cap in a poorly lit street, he had definitely recognized you.

He pulled down his mask and smiled, “I was just wondering how you were doing?” You looked away. You wanted to ask how he was in return. And yet all you could think about was Mingyu. “I’m okay...”

“H-How are you guys? How’s work?” you asked. “It’s work,” he chuckled, “and we’re okay.” Does that mean... “All of us...” he added. You looked up to see him looking straight at you. So you looked down again.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered. “I caused a lot of trouble, didn’t I?” He stayed silent for a moment; you clenched your fists.

“I never got to ask you... why?” You thought back to the day you had broken up with Mingyu. “After all, the last time I saw you, you were crying so hard... and Mingyu...”

Your head snapped up at the mention of his name. But the thing was, you weren’t so sure you wanted to know. The least bit of curiosity you had was squashed by the memory of the look on Mingyu’s face that day and how hard your heart would break if you found out how much you had hurt him.

You cleared your throat. “Anyways,” you shrugged. Seungcheol huffed but didn’t add a single word. You silently cursed yourself for speaking up so suddenly.

He reached to you and patted your arm, “I’ll walk you home, let’s go.”

The walk home was silent. Neither of you said anything. You felt awkward. More than you had ever been at the beginning of your relationship with Mingyu.

Meeting his friends had been the most awkward you’d ever felt, to say the least. Except this time, it wasn’t the same kind of awkward.

“He’s okay,” he said, just as you reached for your building’s broken keypad. Without glancing back, you pulled the pad’s knob and pushed the door open, your eyes filling with tears. Pathetic...

“Goodbye, Seungcheol.” The door had barely closed when tears poured from your eyes. You were so far from okay and you hated every second that had passed since you had said we should break up.

The thought of Mingyu being just as heartbroken and even more helpless broke your heart all over again. You cried as you walked up to your apartment. You cried as you washed up. And you went to bed, forgetting about your plans to eat takeout and watch a movie.

It was only days later that you received your first text from Mingyu. The first since that day.

“Let’s talk,” it read.

Your heart skipped a beat. Why? Could this situation get any worse? Was that even possible? What did he want to talk about? Maybe he had finally mustered up the courage to say his piece.

You met the next day in the middle of the night. Practice must’ve ended late, you thought. He came up to your rooftop as you waited for him. Just like you used to. You sat cross-legged, facing the city lights when he appeared in front of you.

You froze. It felt so strange, seeing him again. And it somehow felt worse than missing him and not being able to see him. It felt... empty.

He approached you in small steps. He still wore his mask, but you could see his eyes. How they shined under the light of the rooftop. “Did you eat?”

The words had left your mouth before you could process them. You looked down. “I did,” he answered as he took a seat next to you. You nervously scratched the side of your nails as you listened to passing cars in the distance.

Your neighborhood was always so quiet; it had helped a lot in your relationship with Mingyu. He never saw anyone on his way to your place. You supposed it was still helpful now that he was here.

“Let’s get married,” he spoke. Your head snapped in his direction. He was looking right at you, and he had never looked more serious. “Yah, Kim Mingyu!” you exclaimed. “y/n...”

Your chest caved, hard. But it wasn’t good at all. Well, part of it was. Words you had imagined him saying later in life if your relationship had grown. But things were definitely not going as planned.

“Does it make sense to you?” you asked. “Actually, it does,” he answered as he pulled his mask off. Seeing his face almost made you waver. “Yah... We’re twenty-five,” you retorted.

His eyes almost lit up. It wasn’t an answer; you hadn’t said no. “Most of my friends are married already!”

“Mingyu, most of your friends aren’t idols,” you said. “That doesn’t matter.” You stood up and looked back at the city. You sighed, “Most of your friends had a girlfriend to propose to.”

“Yah!” he exclaimed. You turned to him, “Mingyu, I,” you sighed again, “I broke up with you.” He looked you in the eyes, pain written all over them. Your words had hurt more than he wanted to admit.

“I talked to Coups hyung,” he said. “I know he saw you that day... crying.” Well, this complicated things. You tried to find something to say. But Mingyu beat you to it, seeing as you were speechless.

“And I know he walked you home,” he continued as he stood up. It was so strange and unfamiliar, to have him stand so close to you and to see the pained look in his eyes. You turned away again. “Don’t you wanna marry me?”

Tears welled up in your eyes but you wouldn’t let them fall. You focused on your breathing, trying to keep steady so that you wouldn’t let yourself cry. Not in front of Mingyu.

“You’re right. I don’t.” You heard him sigh behind you and you clenched your fist. “Please don’t do this to me,” he mumbled. “To be honest Mingyu, I don’t wanna see you anymore,” you said.

He grabbed you by the hand, “y/n, please...” The sound of his voice broke your heart further. “I don’t care what my parents have to say!”

You yanked your hand out of his as you turned around, your vision clearing. “Well, I do! I do, Mingyu! They want better for you, and I understand that,” you snapped. “Better? Do you hear yourself?” You frowned, “Yeah! And like I said I get them.”

“y/n, better for me is someone I’m in love with... And you know that’s you.” The last thing you needed was to be reminded of his love for you. You felt nauseous and your heart ached. He looked at you expectantly as you tried to find your words.

“I- I’m- You should go,” you whispered, voice cracking up. Your vision blurred again, this time a single tear streaming down your face. You wiped your cheek and Mingyu took a step forward.

He stopped himself as he watched the side of your face; he could see traces of the tear you had tried to wipe away. “Just tell me this,” he asked, “You still love me, don’t you?” Of course I do...

You remained silent as you kept your gaze away from him, looking at nothing in particular. “I’ll make it work for us, I promise,” he assured. “Mingyu, please don’t,” you pleaded, eyes closed. “You can’t... So, please don’t go against your parents.”

“What?” he asked in a confused tone. “They would come around eventually,” he pointed out. “And is that before or after you ruin your relationship with them?” you sighed, “Mingyu, let’s not do this.”

He seemed more confused. “Do what? y/n, my parents wouldn’t hate me for being with you. I mean, they’re giving me a hard time but ultimately, it’s not their choice,” he said. “Not their choice? Mingyu, five minutes ago, you wanted me to marry you.”

“And I still do,” he cut you off. You gave him a dumbfounded look. “How is that not to defy your parents?” He took both of you hands in his, “It’s not...” He chuckled, “I guess I thought a grand gesture would touch you enough that you’d consider taking me back.”

You looked down at your feet. “Well, all you had to say was that you love me,” you admitted under your breath. He smiled as his face lit up, “Well I do. I love you.” He moved his hands to intertwine your fingers.

“Mingyu... Your parents-” he cut you off again, “I’ll talk to them again. They might actually listen to me this time. I haven’t talked to them since... yeah.”

“God, they’ll hate me,” you babbled. “Does this mean we’re okay?” he pouted. You sighed. “I want us to be. But I- What I did-” He let go of your hand and lifted your chin to look up at him as he lightly shook his head. “I don’t care. I’m okay.”

“I’m so sorry,” you apologized. He kissed the top of your head and pulled back to look at you. “It’s okay.”

“I-,” he cut you off yet again, this time by leaning in and pressing his lips against yours. You melted into the kiss. It was so good for things to be back to normal. As normal as it could get anyways...

You had missed the taste of his lips on yours. The tingling that came with his rough kisses. Mingyu backed away and gave you a smile as he traced your bottom lip.

You pulled him back in, kissing him again, open-mouthed and sloppily. You reached up to the back of his neck and brought him as close as you could. You never wanted to let him go. He was yours again and you truly believed him when he said his parents would listen to him.

He pulled away and pressed one last kiss to your lips. “Do you wanna eat ramen at my place?” he asked, fighting a smile. You broke into a laugh and bit your bottom lip. He stole a kiss again.

“I am very serious,” he smiled as he stroked your hair. “I thought you ate already,” you retorted. “I may have lied,” he said, leaning in.

[ellsbclls]

White Winged Dove

warnings ➛ COUNTRY!TOM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! MY BELOVED!!!!!!!! smut, baby! (PLEASE do not interact if you are a minor), hurt/comfort, minor angst, happy ending: guaranteed!, a handful of swear words, and y/n has no choice but to have a country accent, i don’t make the rules here. extended warnings will be under the cut!

word count ➛ 9.5K

authors note ➛ i saw that gifset of tom taking a shower in cherry and my brain short circuited, so here! have a cupcake!

synopsis ➛ Tom feels like his world is falling apart, so he turns to you, the only person that reminds him of home.

extended warnings ➛ nsfw, fingering (f receiving), dirty talk, praise kink, multiple orgasms, unprotected f/m intercourse (please practice safe sex, kiddos! wrap it before you whack it!), a tiny tiny tiny sliver of blood!play if you squint with one eye closed.

You remember the night in waves, docile, fleeting waves that tease the rim of your consciousness before reeling back. Golden whiskey licks at the seam of your lips with each pass of the bottle, and the pond is glittering beneath the blinking trails of all the lightning bugs — tens of hundreds of fireflies, dancing in the night’s misty skyglow, rivaling the pale moonlight.

You remember the night in waves, but he is a mighty current.

You can’t scrub the memory of him from your mind, that bleak, hopeless expression that hollowed out his features. You remember how your heart split into a million little shards the second it appeared, and just when you thought there was nothing left to break, his fragile voice pleaded for you to take him somewhere, anywhere, as long as it was far.

By the time the sun spilled past your window pane, you were nothing but a drowsy amalgamation of lithe limbs, coated in morning glow as it spilled through the glass.

But behind your eyelids lives an imprint of the night before — a shimmering reflection of the night sky, and the moments that unraveled beneath its sweeping gaze.

9:17PM — You’re belting into your hairbrush, not a care in the world, and pouring your heart and soul out to a crowd of none. Somewhere between all of your clumsy twirls and impromptu choreography, you stumble over the shoebox that was poking out from under your bed, and a flurry of damp tresses and musical giggles fan across your comforter.

The walls in your house have always been notoriously thin, but what could you possibly expect from the weathered planks of wood paneling that lined your bedroom? You could hear your father’s creaky footsteps whenever he ransacked the fridge for leftovers in the dead of night, and the heavy thump of laundry that your mother would throw down to the basement, but once your radio crackles to life, and Stevie’s enchanting croon permeates the air, all those subtle nuances fades to a dull, lifeless roar.

With each passing note, the white winged dove becomes you, and you soar above endless miles of  Mississippi wood. There’s not a soul that can drag you back to the outskirts of town, force you to confront what may become of you when you land, there’s no room for trepidation where you go. There, in your own little corner of the woods, it’s just you, Stevie Nicks, and the moon.

And, technically, Thomas.

Minutes have gone by, you still can’t find the strength, nor the energy, to lift yourself up, and as your downy blankets hug your tired frame, you remain blissfully ignorant of your peeping tom.

Thomas, affectionately penned Tommy, has been your best friend, your confidante, since the very first day of kindergarten. You had pulled a pack of scented markers from your tiny, pink barbie backpack during free time, and he had pulled out the empty seat beside you, plucking, sniffing, and ultimately discarding each and every pen until the box was empty. When you asked him which one was his favorite, he asked you the very same in response, just so you’d “coincidentally” have a shared affinity for coconuts. He was oddly endearing, which is a trait that’s always stuck with him. So, even at a young age, you never wondered if he was just using you for your nice possessions, or trying to take advantage of your courtesy — he always offered himself to you at face value, and you never stopped taking as much of him as you could get.

Had you been aware that your childhood friend was waiting expectantly at your window, you may have handled your alone time with a tad more discretion — but you weren’t, and each act of your private concert forces him into an even harder position. To what extent does he let you embarrass yourself before he makes his presence known, and for how long will you bury your head in the sand before the embarrassment mulls over? He sees your stage dive as a golden opportunity, and seizes it before you begin to stir.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Three short, mild raps, uttered in quick succession, jostle you from your lavish daydreams like a bucket of ice water, and you have to squint just to make out his fair features amidst all the darkness shrouding them.

“Tommy?” A flash of his soft, earthy hues tame the wild drum of your heart, confirming your suspicions, and you fight the urge to chuckle when he innocently waves at you.

“Well don’t get all shy on me now. Come in.” You open the window just enough for him to slip through its frame, allowing your eyes to graze the sculpted plains of his back, and admire, albeit shamelessly, how his muscles ripple beneath his fitted t-shirt.

Yet, there’s something about him being in your room, towering over fixtures that once towered over him, that makes you feel uneasy. A part of you adores the way he instantly makes himself at home, but the remainder is doused in fear, fretting over his wandering hands and what they may discover, surveying little trinkets and souvenirs that decorate your desk.

“Hasn’t changed much since the last time I was in here, has it?” He notes, absentmindedly shaking the contents of a snowglobe your grandma brought you from New York, a miniature skyline of Manhattan continuously buried in a flurry of snow. Most of your playdates took place in his house, so as your friendship flourished past elementary school, and the time that spanned between your meetings grew shorter and shorter, you’d found yourselves frequenting his home for all of your endeavors. It was just easier that way.

That’s the sole reason you rarely visited your room. It surely wasn’t the suffocating atmosphere that plagued your home, or your hormonal, angst ridden brain convincing you that you’d scare him to the high heavens if he caught a glimpse of your relationship with your family — how dismal it is. How you build entire worlds, cycle through dozens of bountiful lives, in the luxury of your mind in hopes of retreating.

You’d be lying if you said the poster of Zac Efron, now lurking precariously behind his shoulder, wasn’t a glaring reason as well.

“Yeah, couple things here and there, but it’s pretty much the same.” You try to be discreet as you wander around your own room, Destination: Tiger Beat. Once you reach it, you rise up on your tiptoes to cover as much of the poster as humanly possible, but scramble for an excuse once you notice him turning. “You actually left something the last time you were here. It’s on the top shelf.”

RIP! The poster is crumpled in your grasp no sooner than his back turns to you. You’d have to give a formal apology to your wildcat once you were left to your own devices, but until then, he was banished to the most unsuspecting corner of your room.

“Jesus Christ Y/N,” His thumb fondly strokes a small, yellowed testament to your friendship, a weathered page of loose leaf etched in awry plumes of ink that perfectly encapsulate his very essence — egregiously passionate, regardless of the outcome. He had written it when he was about seven, intending to give it to the “girl of his dreams” once he met her. You can still hear his sweet, little voice echo between your ears, endearingly mistaking his r’s for w’s. “You kept this?”

“Of course I did.“ Candor coats your tongue before you catch yourself, the tail end of your answer turning to dust as soon as it hits the air. You can’t bring yourself to admit just how many restless nights you’ve allowed yourself to clamber up that oak dresser, just to read that letter over, and over, and over again, praying that if you had stared at it for long enough, his messy scrawl would transform into the words you yearned for most — that it was meant for you, that he’s loved you from the very start. “Wasn’t sure if you were planning to repurpose it for some other lucky gal.”

You lock eyes with him for the first time since he appeared at your window, and stowed beneath his reservation are faint embers of warmth, kindling behind ebony curtains as you indulge in the hearth of his gaze. Lifetimes seemingly pass before his eyes are flickering back down to his hands, and it prompts you to offer him the note. “You can have it back.”

“No, you keep it.” Your brows pinch together, and a thousand questions collect on the tip of your tongue. You wonder if he recalls the same memory you do, if he remembers the significance buried in that little scrap of paper, but ultimately choose not to dwell on it. He knows just how much you love to collect memorabilia — keep cherished memories stowed away for safekeeping — he’s just being thoughtful. “Consider it undeniable proof that I know how to read and write.”

“Ain’t nothin’ in here about knowing how to read.” You tease, catching your tongue between your canines as a smirk conquers your lips.

“Ya got me,” He chuckles, smile reaching for, but never quite meeting, his faraway stare. You are so accustomed to his teasing quips, his usual flair for the dramatics, that this half-hearted attempt at replicating it fills you with discomfort. He tries to punctuate his words by tossing his arms to the sky, but they don’t reach high enough to convince you that he’s okay. Something is plaguing him, and you won’t settle for anything less than the truth.

“Tommy,” His name is sweet on your tongue, all honeyed vowels and soft, descant consonants that command his attention. “What’s wrong?”

“No, nothin’, I just-“ he’s avoiding your eyes, which is a clever strategy on his part. If eyes are the windows to the soul, then his are a stained glass mosaic, a vibrant display of all his emotions, and you — you are but an avid observer.

“Hey, look at me,” Two slender digits underline the curve of his jaw, and with a firm grasp of his chin, leave him no choice but to meet your gaze, tender and resolute all the same. “ You don’t have to tell me anything if you’re not ready, but I can tell when someone’s been rode hard and put away wet.”

“I just, I need to get out of here, and I thought I’d ask my favorite distraction to accompany me.” He stumbles over his words, faltering over his messy façade, but you’d rather this over nothing at all.

“And where might we be goin’?” You query. You can tell that this is going to be a long night, but luckily for him, you don’t have any plans that can’t be rescheduled. Your adoring fans will just have to wait another night.

“Somewhere… Anywhere,” He murmurs hopefully, and your heart nearly sinks to the floor. You’ve never seen such a chasm of joy, not in those bright, amber orbs you study so adamantly. You’d almost deem it pain, whatever’s tugging at the frame of his optics, whatever’s depriving them of that usual, warm glow. “as long as it’s far from here.”

9:39PM — “Watch your step.”

“Can you help me?” You whine — one hand reaching out for his assistance, the other firmly clasped around a bottle of Jack Daniels. There is an awkward incline just below you, only a few inches off the ground, but tall enough to make you stumble, and he could already see you bumping your knees on the way down, so he offers his elbow as a point of leverage.

“Atta girl, you’ve got it.” He coos, reluctantly abandoning your grip once you’re safely on the ground.

Mystical, and buzzing with life, you introduce him to the farthest corner of the woodlands. Whenever the walls of your room become suffocating, your legs always give out right about here. 

Your secret hideaway. 

Where you let your most worrisome thoughts roam free, and when those thoughts seemingly wander into nothingness, you chalk it up to wishful thinking, and fail to realize that they haven’t disappeared, they just don’t belong to you anymore. They belong to the babbling brook, constantly replenishing itself and its inhabitants with fresh, spring water, belong to the frogs and crickets as they fill the night with their moonlit ballad, they belong to the night, and it’s reflection, as it wades across the face of the creek; dotted with lightning bugs or the cosmos themself, you weren’t sure. All you know is that you always returned, as if a piece of you was tethered to the very spot.

“Where are we?” He wonders aloud, raking his fingers through his downy, chestnut locks as he explores his surroundings.

“I don’t exactly know.” You confess, making yourself comfortable on the ground. Most nights, you slip off your shoes and sink your feet into the brook, but you know Tom like the back of your hand, know what kind of ideas might venture through that rascally mind of his when he spots you near the water. So, you play it safe, pulling your knees up to your chest as you peer up at him from a safe distance. “It’s nice, though. Quiet. Good place to let your thoughts wander.”

“You ever take a dip in here?” Predictable. You stifle the urge to laugh at his query, sinking ivory veneers into your pillowy bottom lip, and shake your head in response.  “Hell, if I were you, with my own nature-made swimmin’ pool, I’d bring all the boys around.”

“You know I don’t waste my time with no silly boys.” You sigh, sending him a wistful glare. 

“You sure about that?” He counters, mimicking your perked brow with eerie precision.

“Oh, I’m sure.” You huff. God doesn’t build boys the same way he built him, he took his time crafting that statuesque frame, implemented hawk-eyed precision for each and every beguiling detail you’ve come to adore. He is a man, tried and true, from his sharp, angular structure to the neverending bounds of his heart, but rather than inflate his ego moreso, you let him assume the worst. “You can take a dip if you want, though. I wouldn’t mind.”

You wonder if he can tell just how little you’d mind as a mischievous glint highlights his amber hues, but before he can even open his mouth, you’ve already pinpointed the source of his glower, already voicing your adamant refusal. “No, absolutely not. Not a chance, Tommy.”

“But why not?” He whines, bellowing over your feeble chant, conjuring the most convincing set of pleading eyes he can muster. “It’s dark, it’s humid, and ain’t no one around to tell us not to.”

“Sounds like all the more reason to not do that.” You scoff, scooting further away from him and the strength of his hopeful gaze.

“I hate to pull out the big guns, but... what if I told you that it’d make me feel so much better if you accompanied me?” You’re left to wonder what the big guns are supposed to be, if they aren’t the way he is encroaching on your personal space, crawling up the length of your legs until there is only a sliver of space between you. 

“I’d remind you that there are much drier ways to make you feel better.” You could feel your warm breath fanning across his lips, distracting you with the scent of minty toothpaste and your vanilla chapstick, ultimately failing to notice his hands, and how they’re positioned just below your waist.

It would only take one swift move to reach the small of your back, two to scoop you up in his arms, and about six more to drag you into the pond — kicking and screaming, but successfully so.

And he doesn’t chance it.

SPLASH! You’re no sooner submerged in the brooks’ murky depths, reaching out for lily pads and cattails that fail to provide you leverage, and your screams bubble into thick, smothered embers of a once irate flame. He better pray you never emerge from usunder, because he’s merely a howl away from being swept up in the tide — the tide being your arms as they force him to the bottom of the crick.

“Y/N,” your name scrambles between the slosh of the water and the pounding in your ears, but you manage to break the surface and blink spare drops of water from your eyes.

“I was drowning!’ You gasp, struggling to keep your head above water as you kick, and splash, and writhe around in the stygian abyss.

“In two feet of water? I beg to differ.” You can barely make out his comeback over his fit of giggles, but a part of you would rather this bright, teasing version of himself that what you’ve been dreading beforehand. Taking his outstretched hand, you stumble to your feet and, much to your dismay, find yourself standing in about two feet of water (which, in your defense, is a far more daunting threat to someone your size as opposed to his). You cool his inflating ego with a cold splash of water, dispersing tiny droplets from your fingers as they wave in front of his face.

You splash around in the water for what feels like forever, transforming stray lily pads into makeshift hats, dressing to the nines in the latest collection of aquatic couture, and as the moon casts a pale spotlight on the babbling brook, you occupy it’s centre, huddled in one another’s embrace, swaying back and forth amidst the shallow pools.

10:02 — You're still wet.

Drenched, really.

You’ve resorted to wringing out your hair with your bare hands, twisting the dampened locks between your fists until water pours from the follicles. You’d never once pondered the benefits of freshwater landings, but you were about to find out. A glare threatened to slice through the air, but immediately wavered at the sight of him — desolate, void, so lost in his thoughts that you’d wondered if he were even there.

God, you’re worried sick. You’ve dealt with bouts of sadness, sprinkles of melancholy, but this was downright depressing. You wouldn’t even know what to do if you tried, and that’s what worried you the most.

Thomas, your best friend, your crush, your light — the best parts of you all wrapped up in a clumsy little package while the best parts of him threaten to snatch up your heart, as if it wasn’t already his.

“Tommy?” You break him out of his reverie, but press on, scooching closer to his form, dangerously standoffish, like an uncaged animal winding up to attack, until you cross the threshold into his personal space. With a sturdy hold on his bicep, he melts into the palm of your hand, practically leaning all of his weight into you, stealing a reprieve you didn’t know he needed. “You can talk to me, y’know. It’s just us.”

“She left, Y/N.” The evening air seems still, in perfect tandem with your breath as you fear what might come out once you finally exhale. You know he’d shove all of his feelings down if he caught you shedding a single tear, and this isn’t about you, it never has been. So you hold your breath, latching onto the heavy silence that follows his confession, and pray that your chest is strong enough to smother the sob bubbling beneath its surface.

Fortunately, he takes your silence as a cue to continue. “The closet was empty, and all her cookbooks were gone. I looked downstairs and there was nothin’ there.” You don’t know if he’s finished, watching as he toys with a loose string on his jeans, but he breaks his own silence with a newfound waver in his voice.  “I had a feelin’ she was ‘bout to leave, but I didn’t think it’d be so soon. I thought I had a lil’ bit more time to say goodbye.”

Edie was a good mother, the best of mothers, and never had she drawn a line when it came to who she nurtured. When you were little kids, you’d race each other to his house once the school bell rang, tiny little bodies weaving through the stalks of corn that prefaced the farm. She would follow the shuffling crops with a heavy eye, leading you to the porch with her raspy, whimsical chime, and crouch down to envelop the both of you in a tight hug when you emerged. She was the best of mothers.

But she wasn’t the best of wives. You were both far too young to notice the signs — the nights where you found her sound asleep on the sofa by her own volition, the packed suitcase that hid underneath the stairwell to the basement, the hesitance that laced her tone when she said I love you to his father — and something tells you she wanted to keep it that way. 

Her son didn’t need to worry about his parents, and how fast they were falling out of love, and whether they really loved each other in the first place. Her son just needed to be a kid, and that is a belief she devoted the best years of her life to.

But he isn’t a kid anymore.

That’s why she fled in the middle of night, leaving nothing but a ruby encrusted ring on his dresser — her class ring. The same one he’d snatch from her jewelry box whenever she wasn’t looking. The same one he used to propose to you at the wee age of four, promising you as much of the world as a toddler could imagine.

Tears prick at the corner of your eyes as he recounts every detail, and every fiber of your being yearns to just schoop him up in your arms, hold all his broken pieces together with the strongest embrace you can muster. He doesn’t deserve that type of pain, shouldn’t have to relive it, and yet he takes it upon himself to tell you everything, to relive it for your own selfish gain.

You grow envious of the way the moon trails kisses down the slope of his nose, across the high rise of his cheeks, and over the swell of his bottom lip. There were times where you’d find traces of his mother in Tom’s features, lining the curve of his warm smile or, when the sun hit them just right, speckling his earthy hues with tiny rods of gold. Tonight, he is shrouded in a celestial spotlight, mesmerized by its waning body, and if you squint just enough, you’ll find her longing stare hidden beneath his own.

“And the worst part is that I ain’t even mad at her. Not even a lil’ bit.” He concludes, talking more to the sky than to you. “Not even at all.” When his gaze falls back to you, you can only try to cover up the betrayal, wipe the back of your arm across your tear-stained cheeks before he notices they’re even misty.

You inevitably fail, expelling a wistful sigh as he pulls you into his side, comfortingly running his hand over your bicep as he murmurs sweet nothings into the night.

“I’m so sorry. I-I didn’t want you to find out like this,” You furrow your brows, and wonder just how he would want to break the news to you. Would he let you find out for yourself, or would he bring you out to the plantation, and let you sink into the soil until the news began to blossom in the fields? Would they be cornstalks? And would they reach for the sky just like her?  “I didn’t wanna make you cry, but... I didn’t know where else to go.”

“It’s okay.” Your voice is a wash of dulcet tones, fingers soothingly raking through his damp tendrils in a silent bid to comfort him. “It’s okay, I’m a big girl. I can take it.” You’re quick to clamber to your knees, wrapping him up in an airtight embrace, keeping him from wallowing into a puddle of tears. “I’m right here, Tommy.”

“I know,” he sputters, with an edge of sorrow to his tone.

“I’m right here, I’m not goin’ anywhere.” You promise.

“Don’t say that” He whispers, and shatters any trace of consolation looming over the encounter. Your brow furrows, your heart pounds against your chest, and for a fleeting second, you feel like you're caught in a lie. What if he knows? What if he can tell just how much you’d surrender to be with him? What if he doesn’t want it?  

“Why not?” You’re near hysterics, praying that the intensity in your eyes makes up for the tremor in your voice. “Why not? I didn’t say anything I didn’t mean.” 

“I just don’t want you to make a promise you can’t keep, Y/N.” That sullen gaze resurfaces, chills the air with it’s haunting presence — that hollow stare which fosters the remnants of a bright, contagious joy, and carves a pit, just as empty, in the well of your stomach, one that aches to be satiated. He tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear, but his palm lingers against your cheek, trying to smooth out the heavy creases in your expression with the gentle stroke of his thumb.  “Hell, I don’t want you to promise that in the first place. You deserve more than all this, you deserve the best this life has to offer you, and I’m not gonna keep you from all o’ that.”

You’ve lost track of your heart long ago, it’s dizzying tempo rivaling a hummingbird, nearly undetectable as it flitted uncontrollably, knocking against your ribs until its ultimate descent to the pit of your stomach. 

You pray that he can one day see everything that you see in him, that loving himself is as easy for him as it is for you; you hope that there is a life where he never has to feel as small, or inconvenient, as he confessed, and you wish that this would eventually be that life.

You decide that it’s time to put an end to wishful thinking. 

“Let me make something clear to you, Thomas.” You cup his jaw, firmly, and utter each word without a trace of uncertainty. “I’m not sure exactly what I want from life yet. I don’t know if I wanna spend the rest of it in this little ol’ town, or just pack my things and go as far as the wind will take me. I couldn’t tell you if I tried, but… that’s okay.” Slowly but surely, your lips give way to a sheepish grin, feeling lighter, freer, the further into your declaration. “It’s okay, because there’s one thing that’s for certain, and it’s that I’m all yours. It don’t matter how far I go, I’m always gonna come home to you.”

The silence is deafening. 

All your emotions hang in the air, crippling your air supply with insurmountable regret. But his gaze is what terrifies you the most; just as suffocating, but in a way that sweeps the air from your lungs. You knew that there would always come a time where all the unrequited feelings you’ve harbored would finally boil to the surface, fueled by the hope that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t as one sided as you thought; but under the void of his empty gaze, you wonder if you’d made a huge mistake. 

Or maybe there really is nothing — nothing to reciprocate, nothing to subdue you, nothing to salvage what little remained of your friendship after such a loaded confession — and so you scramble to assemble an apology convincing enough to overshadow your lapse in judgement.

But he doesn’t even spare you the chance, swallowing your half-hearted excuses with the firm press of his lips, pouring a lifetime of ardent desire, of longing, into the hollow of your mouth. It’s crystal clear that you’re his, the realization comes borderline cathartic. There has never been a day where your heart has not beat for him, and only him, forever threatening to spring from your chest and return to its rightful owner. The days, the months, the years of back and forth felt like a cruel jest from the fates, but now you were here, bundled in the warmth of his strong embrace, tongues curling against one another in an endless battle for dominance, and you would endure it all over again if this was where it lead

He searches for some sign of absolution, paws up and down your back in hopes of grounding himself, and you reverently provide, mustering what little strength you have left to crawl into his lap, brushing against the growing bulge in his jeans without a trace of subtlety, offering him the most sacred parts of you in hopes of bringing him home.

“Y/N,” he sighs raggedly, a half hearted attempt to gain your attention, one that proves unsuccessful as his pleas whittle into a frail, insipid shadow of what they could be. You’re too busy acquainting yourself with the plains of his body, embedding a trail of deep red marks into the column of his neck as your hands slip beneath the hem of his t-shirt. He’s built like a greek statue, you don’t even need to discard his shirt to indulge in the taut muscles tensing beneath your fingertips. “Y/N, darlin’, wait.” He interrupts your greedy ministrations by fastening his digits around your wrists. This is the point of no return, you can feel the fragile divide between friends and lovers, splintering beneath the weight of your heart, and yet you fail to concern yourself.

His digits are free to roam the high plains of your cheeks, pioneering the flushed expanse with beacons of soft, arching butterfly kisses until there’s no skin to cover, ultimately pressing his forehead against yours. ”You don’t- I don’t want you to do anything you don’t wanna do.” Seems almost redundant, you muse, to wonder if you want him when you’ve made it abundantly clear that you’d follow him to the ends of the earth. You are a pillar of salt, and as he showers you in a knee buckling torrent of kisses, you melt into the palm of his hands. If the way you’re draped against his form isn’t evidence enough, then the wetness pooling between your thighs most certainly will be, he’ll come across that confirmation once he tends to the spot you need him most.

You trace the cleft of his chin in delicate pursuit, whining as he tears his lips from their languid path, and peer through your inky lashes to meet his gaze once more. “I want this, Tom. I want you.”

“You have me. I’m all yours.” He echoes your words back to you, reverently, delivering a sacred vow from the hearth of your soul, ove you have, and will continue to, dedicate your humble living to, and you seal that promise with a bruising kiss. 

The weight of his palm melts into the small of your back, pulling your chest flush against his own as it sweeps up your spine, and you moan against his lips when your nipples press up against his sturdy chest, aching to be freed as they strain against their gossamer confines. 

You’ve only had the pleasure of making out with Tom for less than five minutes, but you can already tell that it ranks high on your list of favorite pastimes. Soft, pink petals brush against your own like they’re a flourishing canvas, and he’s trying to even out the brushstrokes, but all he leaves is a scorching flush in his wake, and your clothing, despite being bathed in pond water, do little to ease the blistering heat. It’s suffocating you, and you begrudgingly tear yourself away so that you can rid yourself of the article.

Besides, the less fabric separating you from his anchoring, toned embrace, the better.

“I’m all dirty,” Your meek voice collapses into a fit of giggles, and your feeble attempt to wring out your clothes is thwarted by his hands, venturing up, up, up, and under the hem of your skirt at a teasing pace, savoring the feeling of your warm, silky skin beneath his fingertips. You can tell he’s as desperate as you are, confronted with acres of new terrain to explore, and only so little of his patience to spare.

“I know, I’m sorry angel.” His voice is soft, and soothing, and riddled with mischief. Even if there is even an ounce of truth in his apology, you can still make out the devilish grin that toys at the corner of his mouth. “May I, m’lady?” He croons teasingly, flashing those whiskey glazed hues in a way that you could never refuse. 

“Proceed, good sir.” You counter in the most refined timbre you can dictate, a low chuckle escaping his lips as he bunches the hem of your dress in his palms, hoisting it over your head to expose the breathtaking contours and curves of your body. You can’t remember what compelled you to forego your bra, but the thought is soon pushed to the corner of your mind, making room for the warm, fuzzy feeling that conquers your insides when Tom lays his eyes on you, bared to him and only him. His gaze alone makes you feel like you are a spectacle to behold, the most enchanting vision to ever cross his line of sight. If there was even a speck of insecurity buried deep in the back of your mind, the sight of Tom’s eyes, blown wide with adoration as they worship every sinful inch of your skin, instantly quells those fears. 

He struggles to find his words, to occupy this infinite silence with anything, everything, as his calloused palms caress the sides of your waist, but all he can manage is a husky growl. One that prefaces the reappearance of his tongue, and its feverish descent from the column of your neck to the tops of your breasts, bathing your skin with gluttonous, broad strokes, and coaxing pretty, little whines from the back of your throat.

There is something so unhinged in his actions, so carnal, it summons another wave of arousal to pool against your soiled panties, knowing you have such a strong clutch on his resolve. Though, another branch of your mind races at a mile a minute, consumed by the endless possibilities that come equipped with Tom’s skill. 

You try not to dwell on the little flings that came before you, especially now, in the afterglow of your confession. The taunting, pitious gazes you shared with his hookups in the hallowed halls of your alma mater, toting a reminder that they could indulge in everything you yearned for, scorched you more than the thought of the act itself — but the rumors were just plain inescapable. If even a fraction of them hold a candle to the truth, then you are in for one hell of a night.

“You’re just as sweet as I imagined, angel.” Angel. The nickname sends sparks flying in the well of your stomach. “Can’t wait to taste that perfect little pussy. Just know it’s gonna be even sweeter when you cum all over my fingers.”

You whine softly at his words, but clench hard around nothing, aching to be filled by those unbearably long, slender digits. Nothing could have prepared you for the scene unraveling below you — his lips latched around the stiff peak of your nipple, a husky groan reverberating around the pebbled surface, and head slightly moving against the palm of your hand as your fingers tug at his chestnut locks. The long, covetous laps of his tongue mingling with the vibrations of his contented little hums make you desperate for more, arching, writhing, trembling against him in hopes of finding a semblance of relief for the ache between your thighs.

“Tommy, please.” You plead in the most convincing, fucked out tone you can muster, but he doesn’t budge, showering your other bud with a flurry of quick, relentless kitten licks. Even mother nature joins in his relentless teasing, making you squirm as the gentle breeze blows cool, summer air against the glistening bud.

This is torture, a blissful, euphoric form of torture that, despite your irritability, you would surrender to time and time again. But you fail to notice just how hard your canines puncture the swell of your bottom lip, too immersed in the stroke of his tongue, in the ghost of pleasure that stirs in the pit of your stomach each time you rut against his clothed cock. A sharp, metallic tang seeps into your mouth, hitting the tip of your tongue and forcing a trembling whimper to the front of your mouth.

The pitiful sound piques Tom’s interest, and before you can wipe the blood from your lip, your face is already cradled between his palms. “Fuck, Y/N, look at you,” His eye were wide with concern, and your heart sputters over the blistering scorch of need his compassion arises in you. “C’mere.” Dropping his forehead against your own, his tongue tentatively brushes the curve of your lips, lapping up every last drop of blood that is smeared against it. He applies pressure to the wound, cauterizes it with a searing dance of bloodstained brims, as his one hand weaves into your damp locks. You barely know how to respond, but your body compensates with an untapped sense of hunger, scraping your teeth against his lower lip as you desperately claw at the toned valley of his back.

“Please, Tommy, please. I’m dripping.” You mewl, teetering over the perilous edge of delusion, foraging between your stomachs in search of his free hand. Yet another wave of arousal pools between your thighs at the sight of him, with his puffy, saliva stained lips slightly parted, and his eyes blown wide with the insatiable need to indulge himself, to spoil you. Once your fingers circle around his wrist, you guide his hand to the apex of your thighs and urge him to feel for himself, applying the lightest of pressure against his fingers, urging him to caress your tender lips through the sodden barrier of your panties. To feel what he’s done to you. “You feel that? It’s all for you.”

“All for me,” he echoes back, mesmerized, cognac hues fading into obsidian orbs as he rubs deliberately teasing circles over your covered clit. “And you ask oh so pretty. Let me take care of you, my pretty girl.” Before you even get the chance to reply, he’s pushing your panties to the side, dipping the pad of his middle finger between your silky folds — feeling, exploring, acquainting himself with the tight ring of muscle that he plans on stretching open. 

His hesitation is nothing more than a plight at this point, you are more than willing to take anything he has to offer, and he can gather that much from the wild gleam in your eyes, so he slowly works one finger into your snug, velvety walls and curses under his breath at how heavenly you feel. You’re unlike anything he’s had before, far exceeding the lengths of his imagination as you softly clench around his digit, and it only takes a few seconds to adjust to the lithe intrusion, your walls already twitching against his shallow, testing thrusts, before he adds another.

“So fuckin’ perfect, darlin’. Love the way your pretty little cunt takes me.” A thin sheen of sweat coats your forehead as he rocks his digits at a leisurely pace. Tom is obsessed with the tiny frown forming between your brows, almost like you’re confused by the amount of pleasure building between your legs, struggling to keep your eyes open, your juices spilling past your opening to trickle down the palm of his hand. To say your experience is limited is a bit of an understatement — the whopping two men you’ve slept with prior were merely amateurs in comparison to your lover. Even if there was enough air in your lungs to articulate it, you don’t have the heart to tell him that you’ve never been fingerfucked. Period. The embarrassment almost swallows you whole.

But even without anything to compare it to, you’re convinced that you’re receiving the upper echelon of experiences.

As his pace quickens, prodding against your pulsing walls with an onslaught of keen, ravaging thrusts, you’re too busy gasping for air to notice how he’s switched his angle. Now the heel of his hand is rubbing against your bundle of nerves with each stroke, applying just enough pressure to light a spark without ever setting you off, and as the pads of his fingers pound against your sweet spot, you are reduced to a limbless puddle in his hands, doused in an ethereal glow that only he could surface. “God, Y/N, you look like an angel. My pretty little angel— ‘bout to cum all over my fingers.” he panted, voice biting the air with a wolfish gleam, canines peaking past his thin lips.

“Tommy, I’m so close.” You aren’t sure if you can hold on for much longer, dangling on the coattails of insurmountable bliss, finding a new reason to fall apart with each lewd kiss or sharp thrust. Your orgasm is already creeping up, threatening to crash over you each time he plunges into your slick heat, but you know that you want to feel him — all of him — stretching you to unimaginable lengths as he sinks into your tight little hole for the first time. “I wanna feel you. I wanna- I need to cum on your cock.”

Tom’s brows meet in the middle, and you wonder if you’ve strewn too far, surrendered the remainder of your common sense to lust and her shameless palms. “Such a filthy little mouth for such a good girl.” He whispers, wondering aloud, his free hand abandoning the nape of your neck to cup your jaw as his thumb sweeps over your bottom lip, applying just enough pressure to drag it down before letting it spring back to its pouty default. “You will, angel, you will, but I gotta get you ready first.” He reassures you, and you remember just how prominent his length is, straining against the denim cage of his jeans, and attribute his wavering tone to the sheer restraint he’s been exhibiting. But you have to admit — if his fingers are only a fraction of his length, then you are not sure just how much of him you’ll be able to handle. The thought sends you barrelling toward your climax, but not without the help of his thumb, pressing up to rub fervent, clumsy circles against your clit, his husky tenor cooing sweet words of encouragement into the space just below your ear. “I can feel you, angel, let go for me. I’ve got you.”

With one final thrust, he buries his fingers to the hilt, caressing your g-spot with a tentative come hither motion, until you are ridden with overwhelming waves of pleasure. All you can feel are your tender walls tightening around his fingers, and your thighs starting to tremble under the weight of your high. But he is spellbound, mesmerized by the swirling vision of you at your most content, eyelids hanging low over your blown out hues, your hips absentmindedly grinding against his hand, meeting his timid rhythm as he tries to work you through your aftershocks.

Emptiness soon replaces the stretch of his fingers once he slips them out, but a twitch of excitement follows the path of his slick hand, and you can’t stop from outright moaning at his shameless display.

“Just what I thought,” he murmurs. You are too captivated by the sight of his lips — pink, and kiss-weathered, and frankly obscene —  opening wide to welcome his slick fingers, gracing his taste buds with your juices, and humming around them as they coat his tongue in an intoxicating elixir . “Open up, pretty girl,” You‘re torn from your trance by the pressure of his digits, knocking against your bottom lip, begging for entry. “Come taste how sweet you are.”

Hollowing your cheeks, you graciously welcome his fingers, putting on a show as you swirl your tongue between the two digits, moaning softly as the bittersweet taste that hits your tastebuds. You aren’t prepared for the shallow, tentative thrust of his digits, or how he starts up a slow, steady rhythm against the back of your tongue — but god do you welcome it, softly gagging with each steady downstroke, spit already dribbling down your chin as you try to keep up with his quickening pace.

“Atta girl, that’s it.” He offers you a ginger smile, one that makes the tears pooling in your eyes worth gagging for. “Good girl. Good, good girl. I wish you could see how pretty you look.”

You try to reply over his digits, but your words are muffled and faint as they thud against the wall of your lips. Luckily, he’s coherent enough to notice that you’d like to speak — and who is he to stifle that sweet little voice of yours? “Thank you,” you pant, fluttering your tear-stained lashes up at him as you clamber to fill your lungs, disputing your feverish pleas as you wriggle away from the outline of his cock. The sensation of his waterlogged jeans rubbing against your sensitive bundle of nerves has you keening over him, pushing you further from his crotch, and closer to his embrace, back arched with a near-feline agility.

“Can I?” you ask, kneading your palms over his thighs, feigning innocence as you inch closer and closer to his zipper with each upstroke, and he nods, granting you permission to free him from his denim confines. In one fluid motion, your one hand unzips his fly as the other helps him kick off the remainder of his offending items, and you have to resist the urge to drool at the sight of his cock springing from his boxers, let alone his sinfully perfect, exposed form.

He’s a little bit larger than you expected — what he lacks in length, he makes up in girth, but there isn’t much to make up for in the first place. His shaft is decorated with pretty, ivory veins, ones that would no doubt twitch beneath the hot, heavy weight of your tongue, and the crown of his cock is flushed, glistening with a thin sheen of precum that makes your mouth feel conveniently dry. Your walls twitch at the disheartening reminder of your emptiness, but all out spasm as his fingers eclipse the circumference of his cock, using your juices to leisurely pump himself.

“You’re so pretty.” You sigh, a flurry of giggles floating beneath your words as you reach out to touch him, hovering just above the tip in order to send him a cautionary glance — one he hurriedly accepts, nodding his head fervently as he stutters into his grasp. A rosy hue blooms across the valley of your cheekbones as you encircle him, covering whatever he can’t as he all but bucks into your palm. His heart strains against his chest upon the realization that his hand easily dwarfs your own, watches your smaller fingers barely curl around his engorged shaft and fights the urge to cum right then and there.

No, he needs to feel you.

“Are you sure?” He asks once more, granting you a final chance to salvage what little scraps remain of your childhood friendship, but you are already committed, determined to devour every last, glorious piece of him, to prove that he is the rightful owner of you, all of you, every shimmering shade of you.The sentiment would be almost derisive if not so loving, so noble, and yet you dismiss it with three, chaste kisses upon the outline of his profile — against his forehead, the notch on the bridge of his nose, and finally his lips, warm and inviting.

“I’m certain.” You promise, merely a breaths width away from his lips.

You have never been more certain of a decision in your life, desperate to feel him nestled deep inside you, to blur the line where he begins and you end. Your fingers curl around the base of his cock, their pressure neither here nor there as they coax a hiss out of him, and you line him up with your entrance, tossing your head back as you waste no time breaching your needy hole with the bulbous head of his cock.

It’s blindingly clear that you have been given the reins, what with Tom’s finger’s seeking refuge in the soil beneath him, a low groan rumbling beneath his chest, his eyes rapt with an unspoken urgency as they survey the spot where you connect, and you relish in your paramount. Your knees dig deeper into the ground as you lower yourself onto him, and with little resistance, your walls steadily welcome inch after inch with a searing embrace, etching every delicious ridge and vein of his length to memory until he bottoms out, and you’re left with an overwhelming sense of fullness. There is a dull pain laced in the stretch of your opening, intermingling with the remnants of your last orgasm, and as you twitch and pulse around his girth, he appears like an dream before you, sifting through a thick haze of desire, wispy curls clinging to the thin sheen of sweat coating his forehead, and eyes blown wide with ripples of pleasure, of lust, that long to be indulged.

Once you’ve adjusted to him, you test a few shallow, tentative rolls of your hips, lifting yourself off the tiniest bit before filling yourself up again. He just feels so perfect, like god spent a little extra time molding him just for you, rubbing against parts of you that have never known such ecstasy until now, and you struggle to find a rhythm amidst all these new, dizzying sensations. “Poor little thing, you’re so worked up, you barely know how to take my cock.” It’s funny, how he can make such degrading words sound so sympathetic, and regardless, your body responds long before your brain can register, wildly spasming around his cock. It doesn’t take long for his fingers to return, digging into the curve of your hips to assist you, working you over his length in long, plundering strokes that steal the air from your lungs. “That feel better, angel?”

“Mhmm,” you shakily nod your head, fingers finding purchase in the broad expanse of his shoulders as you dig your nails into the freckled expanse, flooding his senses with the weak little uh, uh, uh’s tumbling from your lips each time you’re impaled on his cock. If he could lap up every hitch of your breath, every wayward sigh, he’d be drunk off the height of your unbridled joy. Hell, he can barely sustain himself as is, ravenously lapping up the beads of sweat clinging to your temple, swirling his tongue around your earlobe in its descent. Yes, yes, he’s swept up in sultry waves of you, and as your pelvis kisses his, as the air is filled with the sounds of your hips snapping against his own, he’s less and less concerned about emerging from your enchanting depths. “You got another one for me, angel? I can feel you squeezing my cock, baby, I know you got another one.” He’s delirious, clawing at the altar of your hips, and nowhere near as close to finishing as you are, but god is he eager to tear another orgasm out of you.

You, on the other hand, are a furnace, taunting flames of embarrassment licking up your insides, pooling in the small of your back, racing up your cheeks, at such arduous lengths as to mix with the coil of pleasure tightening in your core. Tom seizes the opportunity to find some leverage, pulling his knees up to rest on either side of you, planting his feet on the ground so that he can thrust up into your sopping cunt at a punishing pace, and you both can already feel the tell-tale signs of your building pleasure. “It’s okay, Y/N, you can let go.” Nothing more than a faint whisper, you indulge in the way his cock massages your inner walls, how your name sounds so filthy, yet beguiling, as it slips from his slightly ajar lips, how it blends so well with the weak little moans of his own name rolling off your tongue. “Let go for me. I wanna feel that perfect little pussy cum all over me.” His hand dips between your sweat slick forms, firmly swiping his fingers over your hypersensitive bundle of nerves, turning circles into your favorite shape, and his change in position makes the crown of his cock curve into your g-spot each time he pounds into you — so your helpless to the crescendo of pleasure that washes over you. 

A broken, startled shriek tears through your lungs, and you topple over his thighs, digging crescent shaped indents into his knees as you surrender to your climax, walls fluttering and contracting over his length as he works you over the edge.

“Oh, what a good girl.” He coos encouragingly, reaching his hand out to cup the weight of your breast, swiping his thumb over your peaked bud as his pace eases up, and it isn’t until now that you realize he’s leaning back, holding himself up by his forearms while he drinks in your pleasure-ridden form. “My sweet, sweet girl.” You can tell he’s holding back by the way his hips still stutter up into your overstimulated heat, how his cheeks, his forehead, all of his features are set with a heavy flush, how you aren’t filled to the brim with his cum — and you simply won’t allow that. 

“It’s okay, Tommy.” You whisper, carefully lowering yourself until your chest is aligned with his own, sharply exhaling as you feel him push up against your tender core. Your eyes are soft, and dazed, and oh so pretty, glittering beneath a thin layer of unshed tears, but this is about him, it’s always been about him, and as his cock twitches amidst your spasming walls, you firmly believe that you can handle another orgasm if he can coax it from you.  “Keep goin’, it’s okay. I want you to fill me up. I wanna feel all of you.”

“Y/N—” His voice is stern, but your lips are fierce, stealing whatever argument may have been building in the cavern of his mouth as you weakly tilt your hips downward, offering yourself to him once more. When he muscles up enough strength to tear himself away, he only finds a bounty of understanding, of devotion, of love, teeming at the brim of your eyes, and he needs no words to indulge himself, to yield to a mesmerising whirlpool of you, you, shimmering you.

Tom wraps one arm around your back, holding you close to his chest while you scatter soft, lingering kisses to his shoulder, smoothing his palm over your damp tresses as he hoists one leg over his hip, prying your legs even further apart so he can fuck up into you — impossibly tighter, and tormentingly more responsive as he slams into your overstimulated cunt. You can feel every square inch of him now, every long sweeping vein, the tiny sliver of skin hidden beneath his tip, it’s all crystal clear as he plunges into your weepy core, and you’re so cockdrunk, so fucked out of your mind, that you don’t even notice your hips slanting down to meet his thrusts. You’re just that greedy for another orgasm, hellbent on tumbling over yet again as he fills you to the brim.

It doesn’t take long for him to work himself to that precipice once again, the coil in his stomach pulled taut with your whimpered chant of his name, with each strong pulse of your cunt tightening over him. He buries himself to the hilt one last time, stuttering into your hips with a loud, frenzied groan, and finally teeters off the edge, dragging you down with him as you sink your teeth into his shoulder blade, pumping his hot seed into you, coating your walls with hot spurts of cum as you milk him for every last drop, the crude sound of your arousal mixing with his own making you shudder.

You both lay there for a second, safe in each other’s warm embrace, basking in the aftermath of your fortuned affair, and you cowered beneath the sky and it’s constellation clad ceiling, feeling infinitesimal, but oh so contented, beneath its glorious gaze. There, wrapped up in one another, two splintered halves mending, healing, into the whole they were destined to become — the sky was but a star in comparison to your light, your bright, everlasting light.

How did we get here? You wonder. How, oh, how is he finally mine?

You follow the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way the moon lounges across his curly lashes in a silver chaise — you survey him at his most vulnerable — and determine that you have more than enough time to find the answer. As long as he’s here, by your side, you don’t plan to wander too far.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! PLEASE LIKE, OR LEAVE A COMMENT, IF YOU ENJOYED!

TAGLIST: @devotion @reawritesthings​

[kittydemon9000]

The Beginning of Heatstroke, aka Red's Villain Origin

* crashes down from the ceiling * I HAVE FINALLY FINISHED ONE OF MY 5+ CURRENT WRITING PROJECTS! BEHOLD, A WRITTEN VERSION OF THE 'Red's Villain Origin AU', also known as RVO / Heatstroke AU

To summarize the AU for SPBNR for those that don't now it: 

“Who'd be the biggest conspiracy theorist out of the M!Ninja? The one who drinks 5 hour energy at 3am and spits off the craziest theories and then actually gets it right but nobody gives the theory any merit because the rest of the theories are too crazy?”

The answer: Red / M!Kai

Red: Okay hear me out: Smith is actually an alternative version of one of us sent here from another dimension.

The other M!Ninja: You’re just saying that because Smith’s cool and you want him to be your counterpart

Based on the M!ninja making red cork boards trying to figure out ‘What Is Up With Smith’: Red gets increasingly accurate and nobody will believe him (all pre shogun reveal) and he eventually snaps and takes up a secret villain persona to fight Shogun like 'if they won't believe me I'll do it myself' and it gets awkward when he accidentally does too much damage and catches not only Shogun's attention like planned, but also the rest of the Ninjaforce, and now he has to keep his own identity a secret

So, without further ado, I present... Heatstroke

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

Red blamed the 5-hour energy coffee blend at 3:00am for this.

It was no surprise that between ‘Operation: What’s Going on with Smith’ & the sudden appearance of Shogun that the resident Bounty red-stringed ‘joke’ cork-board doubled in size and seriousness. It also was no surprise that Red had a corner all to himself and that his theories were… in the words of the others, ‘wildly inaccurate and implausible’.

But this time, he was sure he’d gotten it right.

Smith is Shogun sent here from another continent/planet/dimension with the goal of protecting Ninjago City.

The latest string of laughs and scoffs at his theory was the last straw. He’d show them. He’d prove it!

Which was why he was currently standing on the roof of a noodle house, awkwardly adjusting the spare motorcycle helmet he’d ‘borrowed’ from Nya and painted black and orangey-yellow (red had seemed too obvious). He’d exchanged his Ninjaforce outfit for a soot-burned cross between a bomber jacket and a leather jacket. Down his back jutted a row of flames like the spines of a monster, courtesy of one of Nya & Jay’s unfinished inventions Red had modified- surely nothing bad would come of that!

For tonight, the Red Ninja was off-duty. For tonight, it was Heatstroke’s turn.

He fiddled with one of the weapons he’d ‘lent out’ from Master Wu. It resembled a small arm canon, like a smaller version of the Ultimate Weapon. The plaque under its post had read ‘Elemental Focuser’, which, in cryptic Wu speak, probably translated to ‘you can use an elemental power like something out of Avatar: The Last Airbender’. So far he’d only figured out how to activate a focused jet of fire. Well, at least it was on brand. He hoped it would help him catch Shogun’s attention so he could unmask him.

He’d tried confronting Smith at school, of course. But there were only so many ways of saying ‘are you the new vigilante helping the ninjas’, and Smith has a genuine talent for dancing around the topic. Red could confront him with the name Shogun to get a proper reaction, but that would mean explaining how he knew the name and outing himself as the Red Ninja.

So fake villainy really was the only way.

His plan was to use the Elemental Focuser to cause some minor petty damage, just enough to attract the new vigilante. Perhaps set a trash can on fire, block an alleyway with rocks (if he figured out how to change the setting from fire to earth), small things that could easily be repaired.

Of course, plans were never actually stuck to. One way or another, something was always improvised.

Red’s improvisation just happened to involve him accidentally setting the entire alleyway on fire.

He’d only been aiming for one dumpster, honest! And maybe he’d spotted a couple fliers for a SoG meeting on the ground and happened to burn those too. And a newspaper article blaming Lloyd for the recent Garmadon attack, again. And an article about those ‘Damn Ninja Menaces’ by a S. Sonah Sameson. And-

Okay, so maybe Red had aimed the fire at a few small targets. But just a few! And with good reason and good care, but…

Well, fire liked to burn. Give it enough kindle and it’ll continue to grow, stretching like reaching branches towards each other to join in a massive bonfire. 

So now the entire alleyway was on fire, and Red was panicking. 

He’d luckily chosen an abandoned part of town near the beaches where Shogun sightings seemed most frequent, but with the stupid Elemental Focuser not switching from fire mode to water mode or ice mode or something that didn’t have the potential to burn Ninjago City to the ground, Red had no way of stopping the flames.

And more flames meant more destruction which meant a bigger audience.

Which was why his previously muted comm suddenly flared to life, the only warning Red had before Nya’s water strider mech slid around the corner.

Red scrambled onto a roof as the mech drove past, spraying water at the bonfire to dose it. His sigh of relief was just as quickly dosed as Lloyd’s voice came over the comms; “Status, Grey?”

“Flames are out,” Nya replied. “Pursing the joker that set it ablaze.”

Uh oh. Red took off across the roof, leaping from building to building. Tiles creaked, pebbled and dust scattering underfoot. The sounds of the mech’s engine roaring behind him echoed through alleyways below to create the illusion the mech was everywhere at once. 

As the chase grew on, more mechs started to join in. Red ducked into a narrow avenue to avoid Zane’s tank, then under a cafe overhang to throw off Jay and Lloyd. His heart hammered in his chest and he groaned, filling the inside of the motorcycle helmet with steam. Saying this was going ‘bad’ would be the understatement of the century. 

What had he been thinking? Oh wait: he hadn’t. Seriously? ‘Oh I’ll just pretend to be a villain real quick, that should get Shogun’s attention and not the attention of literally my entire team of fellow ninjas!’ Stupid, impulsive, this was why everyone was always calling the red ninja the ‘hothead’ when he really tried not to be- Lloyd’s voice over the comms snapped him from his thoughts. “I can’t catch them! It’s like they know our every move!”

Red winced as he climbed up a banister and leapt from balcony to balcony. Sorry, Lloyd. 

He didn’t miss how the others asked Nya where Red was. And how she made up excuses the others bought so easily- granted, he’d told those excuses to his sister before setting his plan into motion, but still, ouch. They acted like he was simply being at best too busy and at worst lazy and selfish.

He just wanted them to know the truth! Why couldn’t they at least try to believe him when-

Of course, that was when Shogun dropped out of the sky and tackled him.

Red shouted with surprise as he tumbled down from the second floor, slamming into a few softer bags of garbage to break his fall before rolling and slamming into the unforgiving concrete. A crack formed in his vision as the visor of his motorbike helmet smacked into the concrete ground. One of the fire jets on his back sputtered and sparked, sending a thin wisp of smoke into the air.

Shogun pinned his wrists to the ground and growled. “Who are you?”

Red tried to break free, agony turning his muscles and bones to fire with the movement after his fall, but the vigilante was too strong. Damn, how often did this guy train?

“Who am I?” Red said, a nervous tinge to his voice. He quickly smoothed it over with faked confidence. “Who are you? Who are all of us, really?”

Shogun narrowed his eyes behind his hood. “Did Garmadon send you? Or someone else?”

Red sputtered. Really, the nerve! Garmadon? The thought turned his insides to disgusting mud. “Nobody sent me!”

“Then why are you here?” Shogun spat.

“Why am I here?” Why was he here again? Oh right, the bright idea on how to reveal that Shogun was Smith. “It’s, uh… a valid reason! That I don’t have to tell you!” He tried for a villainous laugh. Stay in character, don’t blow your cover, you got this!

Shogun was unimpressed. “Nearly burning down my home was a valid reason?”

“Well, I wasn’t trying to set everything on- wait, WHAT?” Uh oh. “You LIVE here?”

Now it was Shogun’s turn to look uncomfortable, though the expression was quickly wiped from his face. “Nothing wrong with this district.” 

Red nodded. “‘Course not. Uh, sorry about that… wasn’t my intention, I swear.”

Shoot, he could hear Jay’s jet getting closer. He had to get out of here, but Shogun, annoyingly, didn’t seem to be in the mood to simply let him go. “Then what is your intention?”

“Well, for starters, it’s getting out of here. This really isn’t going to plan and I’d rather just be home right now, or even inventing a time machine like in that book ‘Hands of Time’ to slap my past self in the face for even thinking about this stupid idea in the first place-“

Jay wasn’t the only one that could ramble under pressure, it seemed.

Shogun leaned closer. “What idea?”

Red shrugged as best he could with how he was pinned to the ground. “Well, for starters, I just wanted to prove to my friends that you’re Smith, and things just kinda escalated from-”

The words were out of his mouth before he realized what he said. 

Shogun lurched back, letting go of him. His eyes betrayed a kaleidoscope of emotions; surprise, worry, suspicious, hurt, fear, realization. 

“…Kai?”

Well, f!ck.

“I-“

Red was about to badly attempt to bullsh!t his way out of his identity reveal before it suddenly dawned on him that Shogun had not denied his theory. 

Which meant Shogun was Smith.

And it also meant Smith instantly recognized him as Kai, which, considering his disguise, was aptly concerning. Sure, he was the first one in his group of friends people would think to do something this extreme but give him some credit! Zane was a regular detective, he’d do the same if it meant answers! Or, well, at least something similar. And Nya could be an adrenaline seeker. And Lloyd- well, maybe not Lloyd. Or Jay, either. Cole had his head just enough on his shoulders that he probably wouldn’t do this either.

But come on, instantly guessing it?

Well, at least Smith/Shogun didn’t know Kai was the Red Ninja. That would be a catastrophe.

Right. Back to the current catastrophe at hand.

Shogun- Smith- still had a look as if he’d been slapped, and Red hated it. He hadn’t meant to hurt his friend. Shogun… Shogun hadn’t wanted them to find out his identity. And then Red had gone and done it, just to prove that he could be the smart one, or a leader, or the protector so they didn’t get hurt, or literally anything but just the ‘hotheaded one’. 

…And he’d done it in the most hotheaded, impulsive way possible.

He really was an idiot.

The cracked helmet hid the look on his face, a twisted mess of distraught and shame. But it didn’t help hide how he took stumbled to his feet and away from Smith, nervous that any second he’d spill another mistake and mess up again, like how he always freaking messed up on everything. Don’t pick this fight, interject there instead, no, not there, idiot, there, FMS why are you so useless-

Focus, focus.

Lloyd’s voice, sharp in the intercom and full of static from his tumble, snapped him from his thoughts. “Anyone got eyes on the arsonist?”

Red caught Smith’s eye as he raised his hand to his own communicator. He was so screwed, so busted, so doomed… Smith would report it, and the others would know, and they’d think he was just messing around in an alleyway with some stolen devices and weapons out of curiosity or rage, - and-

“None yet, still looking.”

…What?

Smith stared at him, gaze searching. He looked shaken, more so than Red- who’d just taken a fall from a second story, mind you, it was a miracle he wasn’t more injured than a couple small scrapes and some future bruises-, yet everything from the set of his jaw to the softening of his furrowed brows suggested a change in emotions. Well, not quite change; more like repress and replace.

“You wanted to prove yourself, didn’t you.”

Red flushed, hand instinctually clamping into a tight fist at his side. The still-working fire jets on his back ignited without him pressing any buttons; faulty activation from the fall or something. 

Palms up and hands raised, Smith silently asked to defuse the situation. “Didn’t mean it as an insult. This wasn’t about venting some anger, was it.”

Red’s lack of response only confirmed it. Smith continued. “I won’t say anything about this if you don’t tell anyone my identity. Deal? I know finding it out was important to you, but-“

“Deal,” Red interrupted. Guilt ate away at his core, like a wave of water dousing a candle. “Smith, I-“ He swallowed hard and stared at the alley floor. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… to…”

Smith’s hand was suddenly on his shoulder and he flinched before relaxing as Smith didn’t move further, nor did the grip tighten. “I’m a little hurt, you’re right. But I’m not mad. And I won’t tell the others, so you can relax. But you better get out of here and get yourself an alibi. We can talk at school or something.”

Wow, he was handling this rather calmly. Red was struck by the sudden memory of- what did Jay call the word? Right. Compartmentalizing. That… wasn’t healthy. But at the roar of Lloyd’s mech somewhere nearby, he didn’t comment further. Instead, he shot Smith a grateful nod and ran down the alley, sticking to the shadows and blind spots of the flying mechs and the tight alleyways where the land mechs couldn’t reach him. 

When he got home, miraculously without further incident (though Shogun leading the others on a wild goose chase over the comms certainly helped there), he ditched the outfit in a bag hidden beneath a loose floorboard in the shed. He’d return the weapon to Master Wu’s ship later, and… well, hope Nya never searched for the missing supplies. There wasn’t a way of fixing it without involving her or Jay, and neither was an option.

Heatstroke was back off duty, and so was the Red Ninja.

For now, he could just be Kai Smith. And there wasn’t any issue with that.

…

Right?

—————

yooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

THIS IS AMAZING REHJJGFHDESFXJVZ

and ah yes, good ol trauma and compartmentalizing, we love to see it

[everlasting-stories]

To Feel Again [M]

Genre: light angst, romance

Warnings[!]: smut, penetration, creampie, unprotected sex, mentions of adult toys

Pairing: Doyoung x Reader

Words: 4.4k / One-shot

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Valentine's Day: the day of roses and hearts and chocolates and romantic candlelit dinners. When people proposed marriage and professed undying love.

You sighed, staring unseeing into your bowl of cornflakes as they succumbed to their milky grave and turned to soggy goop. Funny how a date on a calendar could open the pit of despair that lived somewhere near your stomach. It had to be near your stomach. You've been reasonably hungry until you've noticed the date and the pit opened. Your hunger had fallen into it, and the memories and pain rose out of it.

There was a time when this day had been wonderful. Life had been wonderful, you didn't need Valentine's Day, but you celebrated it with reverence and, sometimes, wild abandon.

You knew what love was, what it felt like to love a man and how it felt to lose him. You remembered what he'd said that last morning, how he'd kissed you; how the sun had lit his face as he smiled, promising he'd be back. You also remembered the police, how the sun seemed to dim as they told you the phrases out of courtesy. They were sorry for your loss. They will let you know of details as soon as the investigation on the accident comes to an end.

Since that time, Valentine's Day had passed unheralded, unheeded and uncelebrated. You knew you were a joke of the office - entering thirties soon and never been fucked, that's what they said. The borning woman who had no idea what fun was, wouldn't have known what to do with a man if by some miracle you did catch the attention of one. They were wrong, of course. Not that it was any of their business; it certainly didn't affect your ability to do your job.

If you chose to act and dress your age and spend your evenings quietly, rather than as mutton dressed as lamb in some gaudy nightclub, surely that was your right?

You sighed again, getting up from the table, taking your cereal bowl and dumping the gloop down the sink. A bleak day of petty jibes and pitying looks lay ahead. At least you knew what to expect this year.

Last year had been your first Valentine's Day with this particular company and, therefore, your first with this particular bunch of malicious people - your fellow employees. As front counter receptionist, you were the company's first "public face" and some of your co-workers had decided it didn't look good if that face wasn't surrounded by gifts from admirers on this day.

When the first bunch of anonymous flowers had arrived, you've been flustered, flattered and flabbergasted that anyone would send you flowers. You had hurriedly cleared a space on the counter for them, proudly displaying them, fussing with them to show them off at their best and make them visible from the greatest distance. You kept touching them, moving them slightly, reaffirming they were really there. Your heart sang; someone had noticed you. Maybe he was too shy to reveal himself; maybe he was married and couldn't: your mind was alive with questions, trying to solve the mystery of their origin. You were all in all happy.

Then a large box of chocolates arrived, closely followed by more flowers. By lunchtime, these had been joined by a little plush cherub, two red plush love hearts, a pair of earrings, three more bunches of flowers, four assorted boxes of chocolates and a large jar of candy hearts. They all carried the same anonymous message. And you knew then and there what is the catch behind this.

By the end of the day there were nine flower arrangements, ten boxes of chocolates, three cherubs, the two red love hearts, three teddy bears, two jars of candy, the earrings and a gift box containing four pairs of edible undies. Just before the close of business the final humiliation came - a fantastically wrapped see through box containing an inflatable male doll with vibrating tongue, a massive purple vibrating dildo and a copy of the Sex for The Beginners book.

You had to stay at your post until the last visitor or client left. But the rest of the staff was already heading out of the building. Some boggled at your desk, some snickered, a couple made loud crass comments and a very few had appeared horrified at the pile of stuff surrounding yourself. The building had almost emptied before that last visitor departed. You were sure that, too, was a set-up, particularly when you saw it was the client that had been visiting quite frequently lately.

Myungsoo ushered the man to the street and turned back to you as you gathered your coat and handbag, ready to escape.

"Gee, you're a popular girl. Who would have thought?" He reached your counter and began collecting up the flowers, grinning madly. "Let me help you with all that."

Before you could say a word, he bundled all the flowers, chocolates and assorted other items into your arms. You could barely see where you were going. Myungsoo put his arm around your back and shepherded you out the door, peeking at the vibrator in its transparent box. "There you go, sweetheart. Looks like you're definitely gonna get some action tonight." He turned smartly away, laughing as he rapidly put distance between the two of you.

You obviously had thrown the whole lot in the nearest dumpster and hurried to the relative sanctuary of your car before breaking down and sobbing, burying your head in your hands to hide from prying eyes of curious passer-bys.

Standing at your kitchen sink, you wondered what they'd pull this year. It couldn't be worse, could it? You sighed again and then abruptly shook your head, standing straighter. To hell with it - you were not going to let them get to you today.

It had already begun when you arrived. A bouquet of irises sat at the front of the counter. You were tempted to throw them straight in the garbage, but decided they were too pretty, too unusual. So they stayed. Curiosity got the better of you as you looked at the card, expecting it to say something sappy and insincere, as last year's cards had.

"You are worth far more than they will ever realise. Hear the flowers."

You pondered the card. Hear the flowers?

What on earth did that mean? You raised an eyebrow as you settled into your post: at least it seemed this year would be more intriguing than last. During quiet moments throughout the morning, you'd pick up the card, reread the cryptic message and study the beautiful bouquet, but its secret was never revealed.

No gifts arrived for you, no more flowers. You were relieved, but it only served to deepen the mystery of the flowers. As your lunch hour approached, other staff began filtering out of their offices to take a break. They all noticed the irises. Several of the women stopped and commented on their beauty. No one laughed.

As always, you left the building for lunch. You would usually grab a sandwich somewhere and do a bit of window shopping. Anything to get away for an hour - if you stayed in the office, someone always "needed" you for something.

When you returned, a neatly typed page was on your desk: "The meaning of flowers". One line was highlighted in blue: "Iris: Have Faith. Don't Give Up On Hope." A single purple violet was pinned to the page. You scanned the page to find "Violet (Purple): You occupy my thoughts". You put the page to one side, but still in view, unsure whether to laugh at it and throw it along with the flowers away before the punch line or wait it out. This was definitely a far more sophisticated assault than last year.

Throughout the afternoon a steady procession of couriers arrived, carrying flowers and gifts. You nervously watched each one approach your counter, only to breathe a sigh of relief as the teddy bears and hearts, the chocolates and flowers were all destined for other souls.

At 4:30PM a man approached your station: nothing unusual in that; everyone that came to see someone had to check in with you. What was unusual was that he actually saw you as a fellow human, not a robot programmed to take names and give directions. He smiled at you, a real smile that reached his eyes and warmed your heart. Something familiar in his eyes...

"Good afternoon. My name is Kim Doyoung. I have an appointment to speak to Choi Myungsoo. Would you mind letting him know I am here, please?"

Quickly, you dialled Myungsoo's extension, giving him the information. Myungsoo, as usual was brusque to the point of rude, telling you to "entertain the idiot 'till I'm ready for him - he's not supposed to be here for another 15 minutes".

You were tempted to tell the polite gentleman exactly what Myungsoo had said, but instead used your tact and diplomacy (that was why you were hired after all) to tell him that "Mr. Choi is a little delayed. He will be available in a few minutes."

With that being said, you offered him a seat.

Again he smiled. "Those are beautiful flowers," he said, nodding towards the iris bouquet. "A discerning choice for a lovely lady."

You lowered your eyes, feeling the heat rise in your face, knowing you were blushing.

His voice softened and became much quieter. "You don't remember me, do you?" Your eyes flew to his face, confused. Were you supposed to know this charming man?

"I had an appointment here at the same time, on this day last year. I was waiting outside for a taxi when you left. That was uncalled for, the whole situation that happened - mean and heartless and exactly what I would expect of Myungsoo and his friends. I deal with them only because I must. They offer a service unparalleled in this town."

He leaned across the counter, his voice so low only you could hear. "How they manage it, I cannot tell. They are pig swill and don't know a pearl when confronted with one." Doyoung paused, seeming to weigh up his next statement, then leaned closer to you. "Did you hear the flowers?"

Your eyes again flew to his face, your mouth falling open a little. "You sent them?"

"I did. And the violet. I had hoped to counter whatever crass display they had planned this year. Would you possibly consider spending the evening with me?" His face was eager, hopeful. "A nice dinner?"

You were stunned, flattered, amazed - but also wary. This was Myungsoo's client. He could easily have been put up to this. You studied his face closely, seeking any hint of a lurking cad. His face fell. "But, of course, you have other plans. I apologise for embarrassing you." He moved away and sat, abashed, on one of the hideous lounge chairs to await his appointment.

You studied this man. He didn't seem to fit the mould of Myungsoo's usual cohorts. For one thing he was unerringly polite. He was also good looking, very, very good looking, without being outstanding or flashy. He was also much closer to your age than Myungsoo's and had an air of quiet confidence, like he had nothing to prove to anyone and nothing to fear from them either. You looked at the flowers. Could Myungsoo have possibly thought of something this elegant? You didn't think so. You took a deep breath: to hell with it.

"Mr. Kim?" He looked up. "What time would you like to pick me up?"

In your bedroom, staring at the clothes hanging limply in your closet, the cool bravado that had claimed you as you agreed to the date vanished. In its place indecision, doubt and outright terror took hold. It seemed painfully obvious to you now, away from the office and that lovely man, that it was all another twisted joke, something for the office beautiful people to laugh at during tomorrow's coffee breaks. Why did you say yes? Your wardrobe was woefully inadequate. It was years since you'd been out with a man; you were bound to make a fool of yourself, even if it wasn't a set-up.

At that thought your heart jumped and lurched. The possibility that Mr. Kim - no, Doyoung; this was a date not a business appointment - was sincere in his wish to take you out only heightened your confusion and indecision.

Finally, in desperation and the realisation that if you didn't decide soon, you'd still be in your underwear when he arrived; you chose a chanel-knee length cremé skirt and baby pink cashmere sweater, topped off with knee length boots. The heels were quite high, but you remembered him being tall, so that wouldn't be an issue, as long as you didn't fall over in them.

You were saved from an overcritical examination in the mirror. You had just completed applying your makeup when Doyoung arrived. You grabbed your coat and quickly walked out the door, before you had time to rethink and back out.

"You look lovely," Doyoung said, smiling down at you. Feeling the heat creeping up your cheeks; you weren't used to receiving compliments, particularly from someone like him. You mumbled a shy thanks as he helped you put on your coat and led you to his car.

Sitting in the car as he drove, you were able to study the mysterious man that is Kim Doyoung. He was extremely handsome, not in the classical sense, but he certainly was far from a plain looking man - a man at peace with himself. He knew who he was and was content with that; he knew what he wanted and how to get it; and what was beyond his capabilities and lost no sleep over it. He obviously managed quite well; his car was expensive but not too flashy.

The restaurant he took you too was a quiet small place, away from the standard eat-and-entertain strip. It was intimate without claustrophobia; the decor was elegant without being overbearing; the lighting low but not dim; the service attentive without being intrusive. The food you could not describe - later, you barely remembered what you had eaten beyond it being "nice" - your attention was totally taken by Doyoung.

He was gallant and charming; helping you with your coat and holding your chair for you at the intimate table for two tucked away in a corner. Doyoung quietly suggested items on the menu he thought you might like. It was obvious he'd been here before, was a regular, but usually without company. His choice of wine was perfect to go with the excellent food as you enjoyed each other's company.

And you talked.

You learned a lot about him. Doyoung was 34, older than you had thought; he had been engaged, but his fiancé decided to break off the engagement for simply falling out of love. He had had a series of short term relationships that had petered out and, for the past several years, had lived a solitary life, rarely going out with women. He didn't work as such; his livelihood came from investments, which explained him being a client of the company you worked in. Myungsoo may be a jerk, but he was the one of the best investment brokers around.

He had been attracted to you the first time he met you, a year ago, but had been intimidated by the evidence of all your admirers. When he realised it was all a cruel joke played by his adviser and the other brokers, he was mortified. He had seriously considered changing brokers, going to another organisation but that would have meant he had no chance of meeting you again. So he stayed. He had been in your office on three occasions since then, and each time had seen your quiet, unflappable charm and how your talent and lovely nature were either ignored or taken for granted by those around you. He was determined to gain your attention, but without the office cricus freaks being able to use it against you, hence the mystery flower delivery this morning.

You found yourself opening up to Doyoung. He seemed sincerely interested in hearing what you had to say, hanging on your every word. It was a liberating and wonderfully powerful feeling. You weren't used to being the centre of anyone's attention. You told him of your pride at the independence since the loss of your lover, all those years ago. You were happy in your little home, content with your work, rarely coming to the attention of the office jokers.

It was over coffee that you admitted to Doyoung something you haven't admitted to yourself: your life was lonely and you missed the affection of another person. You missed the companionship of sharing your life with someone.

Immediately after the words had left your lips you regretted them. You have given away too much of yourself, been too forward. You lowered your eyes, not wanting to see the closed expression you knew would be on his face, so you didn't see the fleeting look of pain, quickly followed by understanding and hope.

However, you did feel his hand close over yours and squeeze lightly. You looked up into a face of gentle eyes and soft smile. "Would you like to take a walk with me," he said quietly. "I think it's time we leave - they want to close the restaurant anyway."

You looked around yourself noticing that you two were the only people other than staff left in the restaurant, and many of the lights were dimmed. You gasped in wonder - you had no idea you've been there so long. "Yes, a walk would be lovely."

Doyoung ushered you along the street and across a small, neat park to a promenade along the riverbank. It was enough lit to feel safe and you walked along arm in arm. You felt his arm snake around your waist hugging you closer to him, and you snuggled against him, your arm around his back. The moon was up, the stars were out and the night was peaceful and clear.

Your heart was singing and your eyes sparkled. You've been right to take this gamble. He was sincere, and it was wonderful. But the night was late, and it was rather cold.

You shivered. Doyoung felt it immediately and turned off the promenade proposing to head back toward the street where he had left the car. "I'd better take you home. It wouldn't be much of a date if you ended up ill."

At your door, Doyoung formally thanked you for a lovely evening and asked if he could see you again. You smiled and surprised yourself only a little by reaching up and kissing him lightly on the lips before saying: "Would you like to come in for a nightcap?"

Doyoung blinked, looking mildly bemused for a moment before studying your face. "Are you sure?"

Oh, most definitely, you were sure. You have thought of nothing else since you two have left the river. He looked right, he felt right, and he smelt right. You wanted him but was sure he'd never make a move. He was too much of a gentleman to ever force the issue.

You took his hand and led him into your home, kicking the door closed with your foot, shutting out the rest of the world with its mean people and ugly attitudes. You reached up to kiss him again. This time he lowered his head to yours, cradling your face in his hands as he returned the kiss. The lips met and parted, allowing the tongues to join and caress each other. His hands moved down from your face to caress your body, yours moving up from his hips. Both of you parted, searching each other's faces for confirmation of your desires.

"I think we're on the same page," you said. "Why don't you leave your coat on the couch? Do you want the nightcap now, or after the tour?"

"I'll put a hold on the nightcap," Doyoung answered, reading the desire in your eyes and knowing it was mirrored in his while stripping off the coat.

"Right."

You took his hand again. "This is the lounge. There," you pointed to the right, "is the kitchen and dining room. This way," pulling him down the hall, "is the second bedroom, the bathroom and," dragging him through a doorway, "here is the main bedroom."

"Very nice," he said, looking around, trying not to focus on the bed.

Suddenly shy, you both looked at anything but each other, awkward in a lack of intimate knowledge of each other. Doyoung tentatively reached out a hand to you, aiming to caress your breast, veering off at the last moment to your shoulder, but still lightly brushing your breast with his fingertips. Your gasped breath emboldened him and he reached his other hand, caressing your other breast lightly as you shivered under his touch and sighed.

Your own hands went to his chest, running down the front of his shirt and back up, then beginning to undo the buttons, pulling the shirt from his trousers and teasing his bare skin with your fingers.

Doyoung pulled his shirt off and then raised the sweater over your head and off the arms, moving in to kiss you as his hands went around your back to undo the clasps of a bra and returned to cup your breasts. The sensation on your breasts as he caressed and pinched the nipples sent a sharp message straight between your legs. You could feel yourself becoming moist and shuddered under his touch; breath becoming uneven.

Pushing him away you removed the skirt, letting it pool at your feet while looking into his eyes. Doyoung took the hint and began unbuckling his belt, then grinned foolishly and sat beside you to take off his socks, sneaking kisses of your neck and shoulders as he did so. You both stood again, slightly apart. He dropped his trousers and you could see his briefs pushed out of shape by his erection, the fabric straining.

Doyoung stepped up, taking you in his arms, kissing down your neck and across the collarbone, his hands lowering to your hips, sliding under the elastic and beginning to tug your panties down. Your own hands flew to the top of his briefs. Together, you pulled down the underwear, stepping out of them and standing naked before each other. Again Doyoung moved first, holding you and gently pushing backwards onto the bed, following after you onto it.

He ran one hand down the body of yours, teasing and tickling the beginning of your womanhood and beyond, teasing you with his fingers, tickling across your mound and easing around your damp centre. You moaned as he explored, your hips twisting and twitching. It had been so long since another man had touched you there. It felt amazing, wonderful, but achingly short of what you needed. You could feel his hardness against your thigh. Reaching down, you took his cock into your hand. It was hot, hard and pulsed under your touch. Doyoung groaned and his hips jerked convulsively. You kissed him hard and whispered fiercely, "Please, it's been too long. I need you, now."

"For me too, far too long," Doyoung gasped back, rolling you onto your back and positioning himself before gently splitting your lips and sliding steadily but firmly into you. Your moans were prominent in the air as he stretched and filled you right, not stopping his steady thrust until he was wholly inside you, your warm walls gripping him tightly. Your eyes met and locked as you lay still, immersed in the feeling of each other's body.

Being warm, wet and a safe haven, you were engulfing his cock. Doyoung was filling you with his hard heat, owning your body completely. You fit each other perfectly; you could see it in each other's eyes. You belonged together.

As great as this feeling was, you needed more. Doyoung slowly withdrew, till only the very tip split you. Both groaning as he pushed back in, again slowly feeling each other with delectable inch. Slowly in and out, in and out, revelling in the feeling of each other's bodies, gradually building up speed as your need increased.

You could feel the fire building, the tension increasing as sensation on sensation smashed into you with each thrust, your body twitching, your hips writhing. Still it built; higher, tighter, fiercer. Your entire being was wrapped around Doyoung's cock as it pumped in and out of you. You could hear him grunting with each thrust, feel his body trembling as he got closer to his climax. His speed increased and you breath got caught in your throat, your back arched, legs went stiff as you began to twitch when the white light exploded through you, spreading warmth and scattering your senses.

You felt, from far away but deep within you, Doyoung losing his rhythm before coming, pumping wildly into you, grunting and thrusting hard one last time as he shot deep inside you feeling spent but overly fulfilled.

Your hand was making lazy circles on Doyoung's chest as you lay, curled against his side with a head on his shoulder. You weren't sure how you've come to be in this position, but it felt so right and he smelled so good.

You were at peace while drifting off to sleep.

Waking up without feeling body by your side, you immediately felt the loss. Doyoung wasn't there. Your heart dropped, the pit near your stomach threatened to open and engulf it. Sensing the tears coming up, you accidentally feel something on your side with a hand.

He wasn't there. But there was a note.

"I am so sorry. I hate to leave you, knowing you will wake alone. There is something I must do."

You had just finished reading when the phone rang, disturbing your thoughts. Grudgingly, you moved to answer it. "Hello."

"Wish I was still beside you."

Your heart flipped again. The pit dissolved so you could breathe again before whispering, "Doyoung."

"Y/N. Tell me, what are you planning for breakfast?"

"Uhm. Coffee? Maybe some toast. Why?"

"Don't move. I'm on my way. With breakfast. And it's better than toast."

You lay back in bed, listening to the dial tone after he hung up. Surprised, you smile softly. You must remember to thank Myungsoo for introducing them.

If this is how you will feel loved and feel free to love again, you have no complaints.

Your new chapter is about to begin and hopefully, it will last for a very long time with a man named Kim Doyoung.

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Illuminated, pt. 6

Summary: Getting to know each other sparks some feelings. 

Warnings: talk of war and death, angst, fluff, sexual innuendoes

Illuminated // part 2 // part 3 // part 4 // part 5  

=================================

Being giddy has become Y/N’s constant mood. Every morning brought butterflies, every night a consuming passion – both caused by the same man. They’ve barely held hands, yet she felt herself burning for him. She yearns for a touch of his hand upon hers, of his lips grazing hers. The fire of her desire is unequalled to any volcano, turning insufferably difficult to contain.

Sometimes she’d zone out during their dinners, watching his lips move as he speaks while imagining the most sordid ways he could put them to better use. She thinks of the way he’d react if she simply tossed the courtesy out the window and kissed him. 

Would he mind or would he be grateful she stripped away the unnecessary rules between a man and a woman who have yet to be joined in matrimony?

Licking her lips, she suppresses a smile as she notices him stand. He’s walking toward her, his figure casting a shadow over her as he pauses by her chair.

“You seem lost in thought”, Darkling notes, speaking slowly as if to ensure she can understand him perfectly. Too often did he use this manner of speaking as an intimidation tool, but he’s learned to soften the tone, to not frown or sneer as he speaks to her.

Her lips purse, playing with his sanity. As a king, he can’t be so careless to break all the rules regarding official courtship. He’s using all his strength to remain respectful, to give her agency and slowly build up trust he’ll need going ahead with his plans. Alina had failed him, but Y/N will not. Alina wasn’t given a choice and when she reached her full potential, she proved to him just how far she’s willing to go to protect herself from her destiny. Y/N will not fail him for she will not understand a choice exists at all – he’ll lead her to the right path and maybe this time he can have it all – power and love.

“So, Your Majesty”, she addresses him coyly as if she cannot see her lustful tone is driving him to madness. If he could, he'd pin her against the wall and take her on the table he’d planned multiple battles and wars. He’d place his future queen on the chessboard and prove to her that the king is quite capable of ensnaring her senses with more than just words.

“Yes”, he trails off with eyebrows raised as she stands before him. Her chair drags on the black wooden floor as she stands to full height – which isn’t quite a lot if he’s honest. She barely reaches his shoulders and it triggers a protective streak in his chest from where his heart manages to beat in a torturously quick pace whenever she looks at him like he’s the only man she’ll ever want or need. And despite the walls he built, the Darkling needs her to want and need him.

“How are Ravkan spies doing on that little mission you have given them from a week ago?” She raises a brow, smirking as his face darkens.

“Useless”, he responds gruffly. “However, I do believe I’ve figured it out from our talks.”

Flashing a quick smile, Y/N blushes as he raises her right hand only to lay it to rest over his chest. “Do tell me”, her voice is low and thick with emotion Darkling had never detected in other women. Had it been lust, admiration or infatuation, he’d sense it for he’s used to such emotions. This was different, almost…wistful.

“Blue roses”, he cracks a smile as her lips part in surprise once he pulls out a single blue rose from his kefta and places it beside her plate.

“How did you know?”

Shrugging, he grins. “When you speak, I listen.”

“And what exactly did I say to help you on this discovery?”

Licking his lips, he bows his head as if he’d cross the distance between them but is restraining himself. “You adore the sky and oceans. It’s the way you speak highly of your Order, the way you adore the kefta you wear and you’ve mentioned you love the color particularly.”

Y/N’s eyes flicker to his lips as her heartbeat quickens, turning her breathing into a sport rather than a natural occurrence. Biting her lower lip, she grips his kefta. Pulling him closer, she stands on her tiptoes and cranes her neck so her breath battles his.

“It wouldn’t be proper to share a kiss”, she notes as her eyes find his.

“Very improper, indeed.” His crooked smile sends a shiver down her spine as her body begins to tremble.

Swallowing thickly, she suppresses an excited scream as he begins to lean in. He’s slowly advancing as if he’s giving her a chance to change her mind, to turn and run and yet she stands still, wishing she was taller so she could meet him halfway.

The tip of his nose brushes hers, stealing her breath away. Eyes closing, she waits for the touch of his lips to bring her back to life.

She’s always been wishing for this and while it took years to reach this point, Y/N feels as if she’s on top of the world. Perhaps the blue flames she’s been cursed with are the best thing that’s happened to her. It brought her to him, after all.

A sudden knock on the door had depleted the magic of anticipation far too quickly for Y/N not to pout like a child when Darkling took a step back. Running a hand over his face, he chuckles.

“I’ll get rid of them.”

Struggling to keep herself upright, Y/N inhales sharply before smiling. “If you don’t, I will!” Her voice is high pitched, far from her usual poise.

Watching him walk to the door, Y/N turns away in her giddiness and looks at the blue rose he presented her with. She almost kissed him, almost felt his hands around her. She was so close, close enough to officially pronounce whoever’s on the other side of the door her worst enemy.

“General”, a male voice sounds and Y/N recognizes it as Adrik’s. 

He had been sent to Keramzin with Nina and Y/N during the war. He often said he wanted to fight, Y/N never thought much of it until she realized what he meant – he wanted to fight for Alina. Back then, Y/N didn’t know why Kirigan pardoned him or many others who turned against him, against the crown. Truth be told, she still doesn’t understand.

“It better be important”, Kirigan replied sharply as he allowed Adrik to enter.

Adrik’s gaze fell on Y/N in confusion and perhaps a hint of worry.

“Speak, boy!” Kirigan orders, snapping Adrik from his momentary lapse in judgment. The last thing Darkling would allow is for the woman he plans to crown his queen to be stared at in such a manner. It doesn’t matter who it is, he will not tolerate anyone to be so brazen as to keep their eyes on her for too long.

“Pardon me, but would it not be wiser if we speak alone.” Adrik paled before Kirigan even spoke. Shadows collected at his feet instantly, rising up his legs swiftly.

“You want to teach me how to run my kingdom? Learn some respect before I lose my patience.”

Nodding vehemently, Adrik bows his head. “It’s the Shu. Their army’s entered our borders. They advanced quite close to Little Palace.”

Nostrils flared, Kirigan’s once relaxed form turns rigid. His exhale is loud, filled with frustration and rage. She can see his hands clench, his knuckles turning white. Without hesitation, she moves behind him. Encasing both his fists, she rests her left cheek between his shoulder blades.

Eyes open wide, she waits for his next move. A part of her expected him to turn against her and encase her in the shadows he wields so well, but another, bigger part of her trusted him not to harm her.

As she felt his shuddered exhale pass, she found herself relaxing. More…she found herself smiling.

“Gather the soldiers”, Kirigan’s voice brings a trembling pace to her once steady heart. “We’ll be leaving in an hour.”

The sound of hurried footsteps and door closing shut had alarmed Y/N to the closeness she had imposed on Kirigan. She didn’t know if removing herself from the situation would be wise as he’s made no move to erase this connection she initiated.

“How do you do that?” He ends the silence, allowing her to focus on something other than her screaming mind.

“Do what?” She asks carefully, sensing his hands are relaxing.

Pausing, Darkling allowed the air to once more fill with unbearable silence. He waited, pondering his words for he no longer knew if it’s a well-crafted deception or truth.

“Make me feel as if the world isn’t burning.”

It’s interesting how he feels she makes the world feel like it isn’t burning when he makes her feel quite the opposite. Biting her lower lip didn’t stop her from grinning, unable to hide how his words bring about an explosion of emotion deep within.

“Maybe it’s because if the world was burning, I’d be glad to watch it burn with you.” Swallowing thickly, she releases his fists first. Inhaling deeply, she closes her eyes as his familiar scent overwhelms her. She doesn’t know how, but he always smells like freshly cut grass after rain – heavenly.

Reluctantly detaching herself from Kirigan, she watches him turn to her in confusion. It’s as if she had insulted him by moving away from him, by not embracing him and holding him close enough that they could feel every beat of their hearts synching to work as one.

“Wouldn’t the end of the world distress you?” He raises an eyebrow, quickly composing himself. It’s a mark of proper kings, never allowing anyone to break through their perfectly poised masks for long.

“Honestly”, she glances at the wooden floors before turning her attention to the inkling of a smirk upon the very lips she nearly tasted. “I don’t think I’d be distressed. If the world has to end, is it not better to be by someone you deeply care for?”

Nodding, he licks his lips. “I suppose you’re right.” Looking at her hands, he smirks as he steals her breath with his next words. “Someone you might even, dare I say, love?”

Love? Does he love her? Does he believe he could actually fall in love with her?

Y/N could hardly think from the sound of her pounding heart in her ears. After years of being either furious or numb, Y/N’s heart hadn’t been accustomed to the constant races it now endures. She can’t help but wonder if her heart will croak if he ever actually kisses her.

“You wouldn’t be so careless to toss that word around, now would you?” She raises her brows. Pressing her lips in a thin line, she folds her hands behind her back. She’ll not allow him to throw her off, to see her internal struggle to understand the puzzle he’s proving himself to be.

Stepping closer, he bends his neck and for a moment, Y/N’s breathing ceases. If her heart doesn’t kill her, her lungs might. His lips are close enough for her knees to threaten to give out, and just as she’s absolutely certain he’ll annihilate her, his lips change course. They brush against her earlobe, his warm breath bringing shivers down her spine as he speaks.

“Never. Especially not with you. I mean what I say, Y/N. You’ll learn that soon enough.”

Suddenly, as if he were but a dream, Kirigan stepped away. Before she had a chance to blink, to inhale once again, he had disappeared through the door.

She wanted to run after him, but she needed to sit down for a moment. Hands shaking, she felt her entire body vibrating as well. It’s a mixture of intimidation, of pure ecstasy of his touch that both thrills and terrifies her. He’s all consuming, dripping into her bloodstream like the most potent toxin she’d never want to purify herself of.

Alina was a fool, she’s certain of it now. To walk away from a man like Kirigan is absolute madness. She’d not make the same mistake.

She looks at the table before her and the glass of whiskey he had offered her last week is half filled now. It might not even be the same glass, but it’s his. He had held it, his lips have kissed it as he drank from it. It’s still a vivid reminder of one of the best nights of her life. 

Reaching across the table for it, she downs the liquid fire instantly. Breathing heavily, she looks at the bottom with a sense of accomplishment. She may not have been a well versed drinker and she might never be one, but she can learn to push her limits and prove herself to be stronger, adaptable.

She’ll prove herself worthy.

Through the bottom of the glass, she sees the maps splayed across the middle of the table. It’s more than a map of Ravka, it’s a chessboard and she doesn’t desire to play as the pawn. No, she plans to be the deadliest piece on the board.

Smiling, she buttons her kefta. Rushing toward the courtyard, she finds the horses have already begun to leave and her darling Darkling was first, leading his Grisha.

Running to the barn, she finds herself a horse and soon enough she’s catching up to the procession of soldiers pushing their horses to their limits. She couldn’t make herself known easily, her horse feeling somewhat slower than the rest.

Catching up to the army, she decided to push the horse further and run among them and to the front to let Kirigan know she is there. Whether he liked it or not, she was coming with and he couldn’t stop her. Unless he planned to take her head right there in the field before all his men, Kirigan has to let her come. Him knowing she came along is better than catching him off guard last minute and risk making him angry or putting him in danger.

She leans forward to gain speed, catching up to Kirigan faster than she deemed possible. As soon as her horse got in line with his, the fabric of her blue kefta drew his attention and he whipped around to face her. She didn’t turn to him, rather gripped the reigns tighter and continued to breathe as the cold air made her mouth dry and throat scratchy.

“What are you doing here?!” Kirigan shouted, but it sounded more like a growl. Angry. He’s very, very angry.

“I’m coming with!” She responds, giving him a quick glance. He was all she could see at the speed they were going at, the rest turning into a blur.

“I order you to return!” He orders and she scoffs, shaking her head with a slight smile.

“Not a chance!” She remarks and keeps on going, feeling his gaze on her still.

“I am your king and general!” A hint of worry laces his angry words.

Chuckling, she nods. “And I remember my king and general asking how I use my abilities! This is the perfect demonstration.”

The Shu weren’t too far from the Palace, but it would take the entire night of riding at maximum speed to arrive to their destination. She couldn’t stop herself from glancing at him, admiring the way he doesn’t seem affected by the cold night at all.

They barely spoke during the night, the dark skies showing hints of the coming dawn.

Admiring the sky, she smiles as she remembers the blue rose he gifted her. Perhaps it’s not an exotic choice, but she didn’t care about seeming ordinary in that sense. Having the man you’re interested in bringing her flowers is the epitome of a joyous evening he had given her.

Turning to look at him, Y/N smiles.

Unlike him, she was freezing. Her hold on the reigns is slipping as the pain settles in her fingers and cheeks. Numbness never got a chance to settle fully as she found herself gasping.

A sudden burst of pain in her stomach had blindsided her, causing the forest to turn an electric blue as she lost control over her powers and her flames took free reign.

With her vision blurring, the deafening high pitched ringing in her ears had rendered her unable to ride. Quickly, she found herself pulled off her horse. Standing felt like an impossible task as her knees instantly give out.

Some say it’s funny how quickly the night changes, but Y/N found it absolutely terrifying. One moment she’s falling head over heels for the Darkling and in the next she found herself falling into his arms, clutching her gaping wound.

The warmth of her blood stained her hands, her mouth opening as she tries to say something. The night is dark, but the blue flames paint his face in a beautiful light. The world is burning and she’s in his arms. It’s just as she said, a perfect end to an unfortunately short existence.

“You’re alright”, his voice reaches her.

Lips quivering, she gazes up at Kirigan with a resemblance of a smile. It’s unfair that she spent her entire life wanting him and now that she’s finally on the verge of loving him; of being loved by him, she’s losing everything.

“I know”, she mutters. “You’re with me.”

He glances down at her and she wonders if he can see she’s trying to be casual about the fact she’s bleeding out in his arms.

“That’s right”, he forces a smile. “You’re with me.”

Closing her eyes, she felt him pull her into his embrace and begin walking. Her labored breaths strain her heart, reminding her how fragile she truly is.

It’s not fair, she wants to say.

I think I love you, she’s trying to voice.

Would he laugh at that? A girl saying love while she’s dying? How cliché can she be?

He wouldn’t laugh. All the stories about the Darkling not having a heart are a lie – she knows it, because she gave him hers.

“I can’t lose you”, a distant echo reaches her but she’s too weak to move, to speak.

And as her consciousness slips away from her, she hopes he knows the past few weeks have been the highlight of her life. Dying in his arms this night may not be fair, but it’s an acceptable end to her suffering.

=================================

Tags: @deceivedeer @evyiione @measshaw @aleksanderwh0r3 @carlywhomever @ntlmundy @luciadiosa @awesome-eccia @haushinka27 @justmesadgirl @misselsbells06 @woodsabby6 

Part 7

[duskholland]

frat!tom inviting you to one of their ragers and all of his brothers trying to be a wingman for him bc they all know he’s had his eye on you the whole semester 😂 bc your friends would be like since when did you become friends with all these frat bros and you’re like idk what’s going on rn you’d be so confused lmao.

god this is such a cute idea...my heart. cw: alcohol + fluff.

finishing up some frat!tom blurbs !!

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

The first time it happens, you find it funny. The second, you feel a little uncertain but laugh it off. But the third time you’re approached by one of the fratboys hosting the party and offered a round of the house’s finest drinks, you can’t deny your complete bemusement.

“Since when did you become friends with so many frat bros?” Your friend, Val, whispers, clinging to your arm as one of the men, a shorter lad called Harry, dishes out shots to you and all of your friends. You accept one with a smile before dropping your voice.

“I didn’t,” you mutter. “I don’t understand what’s going on right now.”

You’ve barely done your shot when there’s a presence beside you.

“Y/N! Pleased you could make it.” You turn to see Harrison there, the vice-president of the frat. He’s in a SnapBack and a black T-shirt, smirking widely. “Do you and your friends want to come and play beer pong with us?”

You exchange a glance with Val, who giggles.

“Why not,” you agree.

You’re swept over to the large patio with a few of your friends, and you barely have time to process what’s happening before Harrison is claiming you as his partner and pulling you around to his side of the table. Val stands at the other end, and you watch, confused, as she asks one of the fratboys to partner with her, only for him to agree, look across the table and see you, then immediately shake his head and announce,

“Wait— no, I can’t. Stay here. One second.”

He runs away and Val raises a brow, but before you can speak to her, Harrison is poking at your arm.

“So,” he says, smirking softly. “How are you finding the party, Y/N? Anyone catch your eye?”

You furrow your brows, crossing your arms over your chest as you eye him carefully. You’ve not spent much time with Harrison before. Yes, you’ve been to a few parties together and played some games of truth or dare, but you’ve not developed such a deep connection that would warrant such attention. You find it suspicious.

“It’s a good party,” you agree, “though, I don’t think you guys have ever hosted a bad one.”

Harrison nods, pride reflecting in his eyes. “Well, thanks.” He digs his hands into his pockets. “It’s all Tom. He does all the planning and organising. He’s a great guy.” Harrison nudges you gently. “A really great guy.”

You start to wonder if the reason for your sudden catapult to centre of attention is more straightforward than you’d first thought.

“—Ahh, there he is, actually. What good timing.”

You look across the table, your breath hitching as your eyes fall upon the figure of Tom Holland, president of the frat, and your study partner from english lit. He looks good, wrapped up in a blue flannel and a black t-shirt, with a dark cap resting on his curls. His eyes seek yours out immediately and you raise a hand in greeting, feeling your lips twitch into a soft smile as he walks towards you.

“Y/N, darling!” Tom exclaims, greeting you with a hand on your hip and his lips on your cheek. “You look stunning tonight.” His fingers linger on your waist for a moment before he steps away, and his proximity grants you a deep whiff of his cologne.

“Thank you,” you reply, smiling shyly. “You look good too.”

“Thanks, love.” The tips of his teeth flint white as Tom beams at you. “I wasn’t sure if you’d come tonight. I’m glad you did.”

You tilt your head to the side. “Of course I would,” you say. You’d been overjoyed when he’d extended the invite to you, personally, and invited you and your friends to the biggest rager on campus. “I wanted to see you.”

It’s unclear if he’s blushing, or simply too warm, but you watch as Tom scratches the back of his neck and smiles almost shyly.

“I’m glad.” He clears his throat and his eyes flutter across the table, to where Harrison’s drifted around to stand beside Val. He nudges your arm, his elbow gentle. “Are you ready to win this?”

“Oh hell yeah. I was born ready.”

“That’s my girl.”

You feel your lips pull up, and try not to let him see the thrill that curls down your spine as you hear him speaking so affectionately to you.

The game goes by slowly, and you find yourself wondering how Harrison, usually so irritatingly good at beer pong, misses even the easiest of shots. If you didn’t know any better, you might be tempted to think he was trying to throw the game, yet Tom keeps you too busy to extensively ponder this thought. When you’re not on the receiving end of his smooth praises, you’re both listening to some of the fratbros who linger near, passing off compliment after compliment in Tom’s direction. They hype up almost every part of his person, pointing out, eagerly, and despite Tom’s obvious embarrassment, how good his grades have been, how he’s been learning to cook, how he’s a beast in the gym… Any positive to Tom that could be praised, is, and it leaves you smiling.

Much to your amusement, you end up winning the game. Once you’re suitably buzzed, you wave bye to Val and follow Tom back inside, his hand clinging to yours. You watch, amused, as the crowd seems to part for you, multiple pairs of eyes following you and the way your fingers are linked with Tom’s. Whispers follow you, and you find yourself clinging closer to him, curling your arm around his as you shy into his side.

Tom takes you upstairs. He’d pulled you from the patio whispering about a book he’d borrowed from you a month ago and needed to return, but you know that his intentions go beyond the return of a simple favour.

“This is a nice room,” you say. It’s large, and on the top floor of the frat. It’s also the room that comes without a suite mate, courtesy of Tom’s status as president. There’s a large window set into the wall, a nice double bed, and even an en-suite.

You feel his hand briefly touch you back as Tom moves past you and walks over to his desk. You watch him rummage through a pile of papers and pens, his watch glinting.

“Thank you,” he responds, looking back over his shoulder at you. His thin lips quirk into a smile as he inclines his head towards his bed. “You can sit down if you want.”

You hum as you walk towards the bed, perching on the edge of the mattress with your legs crossed. After a few moments more, Tom releases a noise of triumph and holds up the borrowed book.

“Here you go,” he says, walking over to you. He passes you the book, and you promptly put it down beside you. “Thank you for letting me borrow it.”

“Of course,” you respond. You meet his eyes, getting momentarily lost in his caramel depths. “Hey, could I ask you a question?”

Tom nods, crossing his hands behind his back as he looks at you curiously. “Anything.”

You bite your lip before extending your hand towards him. When he takes it and easily loops your fingers together, you smile.

“Did you have all your frat brothers wingman you tonight?”

Tom hesitates, a hint of embarrassment curling over his face.

“You, uh, noticed that?” He asks, scratching at his neck.

You nod, smirking. “If the never ending supply of shots and compliments weren’t indication enough, Harrison also threw the game so we would win.”

Tom curses softly. “He’s such a twat,” he mutters. “But uh… Yeah, I guess. I just wanted you to have a good time tonight, Y/N. Some of them just took it a bit too far. I’m sorry if they made you feel uncomfortable.”

“They didn’t. I thought it was cute.” You hesitate, your eyes shifting over his face. “I think you’re cute.”

Tom shifts on his feet, seeming to stretch a little straighter as he smirks.

“And I think you’re absolutely gorgeous.” Using the hand intertwined with yours, Tom very gently helps you to your feet. His fingers slip down to your waist, where they rest, touch firm and warm. You like the feeling of being so close to him.

“So… What are you going to do about that?”

You bite your lip as his breath hitches, and then you let him pull you closer. His voice is lower, huskier, and it comes out lightly as his warm breath fans out across your face.

“I’m gonna kiss you,” he declares.

You give him the slightest nod before looping your arms around his neck, and then very slowly, and easily, Tom presses his lips to yours. It’s soft at first—carrying more care than you would’ve expected—but your eyes flutter shut as you enjoy the moment. It builds quickly, spiralling from a tender union of mouths to an intensely hot kiss, burning bright with passion as you feel him nibbling your lower lip. You part your lips, and your fingers dig into his curls as your tongues dance together, the kiss growing hotter and heavier as you curl in closer.

When you break away after a few moments of passionate kissing, you’re breathless but happy. You rest your palms on the flat of his shoulders and sigh contentedly, lips stinging softly.

“Next time you want to get closer to me, you can just ask me, y’know,” you tease. “I quite like spending time with you, Tom.”

His lips brush your cheek, and you feel him squeeze your waist.

“Noted, love.” He pauses for a moment, smirk biting at his lips. “Care to spend some time with me now, darling?”

You wrap your fingers around the top of his shirt and pull him closer, letting your lips brush over his as you smile.

“I think I’d like that very much.”

[xshinigamikittenx]

The Quiet Game

NSFW Katsuki Bakugou x Fem!Reader

MINORS DNI

You swear this class is going to kill you. With this much of a class load, there’s no time for friendships or romantic relationships, and that’s fine with you. They were just distractions anyway. It’s usually just the attendants and other students completing work studies at the library this late. This is usually perfect on most nights, but today is Friday, and you forgot he would be here...

Thank you SO MUCH to TrashyBee on Twitter for bringing Katsuki to life here. Good lawd 😩

A/N: Whew. Yet another one shot that ran away with me. lmaoooo. Couldn't really help it though, I mean...sheeeeesh. But child, anywaaays...this was fun. :) I'm also hoping you've been to a library and seen what the private study rooms look like, because it's kindof important here 😅 but if not here's an idea. Hope your future library thoughts are full of smut productivity!

9.5k words

CW/TW: semi-public sex, oral sex, clothed sex, vaginal sex, biting, swallowing, light degradation, gagging, fingering, hair pulling, deep thrusts, praise

You swear this class is going to kill you. Why the fuck did you choose to take on so many credits this year? Take more classes at once so you can finish early. The goal from the beginning was to get through university as quickly as possible so you could start making the money you knew would help keep you far away from home. Wealth is not something that runs in your family. Everything you get, you work for, and your degree will be no different. You keep your head down, focusing on one goal, to make enough money to support yourself and live the way you want. With this much of a class load, there’s no time for friendships or romantic relationships, and that’s fine with you. They were just distractions anyway.

Your roommates, however, don’t have that same logic. Some nights when you’re up studying, you can hear them, and whoever they brought back to the dorm moaning, the bed sometimes rhythmically bumping into the paper-thin walls. “Just like that...yes-yes-mmmmore. Ffuck! ” It’s...distracting, to say the least, and frustrating because your body’s reaction constantly betrays your mind's focus. Your thighs clenching together, your pulse quickening; no way in hell you can study in your room, especially not at night.

You shake the thoughts out of your head, looking up at the massive main library, your feet unconsciously moving forward. This is your sanctuary, the place you feel you can be most at peace, and finally give way to the maintained focus you knew you needed. The warm glow of the lights through the windows always makes you feel calm. The cold air whips into you as you push open the door and take in the endless rows and layers of books keeping you company. There’s hardly ever anyone here at this time, a discovery you made one night when you found yourself packing your books in frustration to escape the sounds coming from the next room in the middle of the night.

It’s usually just the attendants and other students completing work studies at the library this semester. This is usually perfect on most nights, but today is Friday, and you forgot he would be here. Your eyes land on his back, surveying him at a distance. The fact that he works here doesn’t quite compute with you. He’s built like he should be throwing a ball somewhere, all broad shoulders and toned arms. The sleeves of his olive green sweater are rolled up, emphasizing the lines and ridges of his toned muscles. It’s borderline irritating how good he looks, entirely focused on a mundane task. His blonde hair is somehow perfectly dishevelled, the lean form of his body bent over the desk, filling out some kind of paperwork while you walk in his direction. Usually, you would try to avoid him; talking to people, in general, is not a specialty of yours, let alone talking to someone who seems to have a short fuse.

You wait for a few seconds, thinking he’s got to know you’re there. He had to have heard the door open, right? But he hasn’t turned around yet, and thinking about actually opening your mouth to speak to him felt like the air was getting sucked out of the building. You were already introverted with high anxiety, and you did not need to feel uncomfortable right now, especially under the looming stress of this project which was due in two days. So you waited, hoping the subtle noises you were making, readjusting your bag, and taking a deep breath, would possibly get his attention. Fuck, this is taking too long; I’ve got to say something. “Um...hey.” Jesus Christ, really couldn’t think of anything better to say? You practically sneer at yourself at how lame you sound, but this certainly got his attention. He turned half of his body towards you, one of his scarlet eyes glaring at you over his shoulder. His face was rather expressionless, betraying the scorching feeling his eyes deliver, making you suddenly self-conscious of what you looked like standing in front of him. You didn’t think about what you were wearing when you left your dorm, throwing on a go-to pair of leggings and the first hoodie you saw before storming out of the overly cramped room, leaving the heavy breaths and moans of your neighbour behind you.

“Oi, you need something? Speak up.” Your face immediately flushed. The heat rising up your neck and blooming across your face, triggering your palms to start sweating. You didn’t think you were unnecessarily quiet; it’s a fucking library. You knew he was an asshole, but what the fuck did you do to him? Before you think about it anymore, you shift your thoughts towards how to respond to him, coming up blank. You grip your bag tighter, your mind racking itself, but the anxiety has already caught hold of you, and it’s as if you're stranded on an island with no help in sight. So you resort to your usual defensive mechanism; you bite back.

“So, what...? You want me to scream to get your attention?” He turns his body toward you, putting the full picture of himself on display. You’ve never been this close to him, actively avoiding him after hearing him ream other students out for being too loud or misplacing books. You didn’t realize how intimidating his stature was until now, being less than six feet away from him.

He wasn’t excessively tall, but his posture would convince you otherwise. Even as he leaned back against the length of the desk behind him, he was still probably a handful of inches taller than you. He lifts his glasses to rest on the top of his almost unruly blonde hair as he speaks, “Can’t say why I would find screaming necessary in a library, but if you need something, you should say it clearly so I can help you and not have to spend five minutes of my time explaining common courtesy to someone who knows better.”

Your annoyance is suddenly replaced with rage at his words. What the fuck? Is he trying to put this on me? Doesn’t he fucking work here? Isn’t it his job to pay attention if someone needs help? You’re even more pissed because you wouldn’t have to deal with this shit if you could study in your room. The constant reminder of your roommate getting railed while you were trying to work made that impossible, so here you are. It’s not like you wanted to ask him for help, but you need access to a private study room, and you have to request it from the attendant. Except for tonight, when you’re pent up and stressed, you have to deal with him. “I wouldn’t have to speak up if you were doing your job, asshole.” Fuck. He’s distracting me. I don’t have time for this. You watch his face as one of his eyebrows lift while he places his large hands on the ledge of the desk behind him, baring the outline of his toned chest stretching the fabric of his sweater. “Now, I know you’re not that much of a dumbass. What do you think I was doing before you walked in here and started wasting my time?” Your eyes widen, inadvertently travelling the length of his body, from the smug ass expression resting on his face to his rippling arms, tense as his hands grip the dark wooden desk. For some reason, this annoyed you even more; why did he have to be insulting and infuriatingly attractive?

His lips curl into a smirk, revelling in the glare you’re aiming at him. Dumbass? Is this asshole for real? At this point, he’s pissed you off past the point of giving a fuck. You would’ve walked away by now if you didn’t actually need his help. But if he wants to play this game, fine. A smug smile spreads across your face as you speak, “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was speaking to someone who was unable to multitask. Your life must be so hard, huh?” He drops his head, laughing as he pushes himself off the desk, taking a step toward you. Your hands grip your bag tighter as he comes closer, lifting his head so his ruby-coloured eyes meet yours. “That’s pretty fucking hilarious coming from someone who’s at the library in the middle of the night on a fuckin’ Friday.” He straightens up, shoving his hands in his pockets as he continues, “Seems more like your life is hard, and you’re just pissed off about it.” His gaze is piercing, attempting to slice through your facade of confidence, but you’re currently too livid to give a shit. You’re done talking to him, you just need to get into the study room and away from this asshole.

“No,” you seethe, “I’m pissed off because I can’t work in my room, I have shit to do, and this conversation is a waste of time.” You lift your head higher, meeting his gaze as he smirks down at you. “Oh, seems like I’m not the only one who can’t multitask then, huh?” He chuckles, watching you as you fold your arms and turn your head, breaking eye contact with him. “I just need one of the study rooms opened.”

“Oh, so you do need something,” he says, his voice dropping as he leans forward, bringing his face into your line of sight, his sharp features coming into focus. “You said it yourself, you wasted my time, so I think you can ask a little nicer than that.” You don’t think you’ve ever wanted to punch someone more than how much you want to punch his perfectly fucking chiselled jaw in that moment. Regardless of how much his face appeals to your more violent tendencies, you realize you don’t have an option. All of this bullshit will have been for nothing if you’re unable to get into that fucking room. Your jaw clenches, your teeth sinking into the inside of your cheek as your eyes bore into him. You make a point not to break eye contact when you speak through the smile you’ve painted on, “Oh, where are my manners...would you...please...open a study room so that I can get away from you?” You smile wider, contrasting the cold glare you shoot at him as he grins, watching your edges fray. He slides one of his hands out of his pocket, assessing you while he tosses the keys up in his hand, the dull metallic sound of their impact in the palm of his hand, peaking your annoyance further. “Well hell,” he says, “it’s about damn time.”

You roll your eyes as he catches the keys a final time, smirking at you before he turns to exit the enclosed space of the front desk. You readjust your bag and look up to follow him, balking at seeing him walk in front of you. He takes a few steps ahead of you, his coffee colored pants clinging to the muscles of his legs as he heads towards the back of the library where the study rooms are located. Fuck, his ass looks good. You’re grateful when you take a glance around you, suddenly conscious of what your borderline heated exchange probably looked like to anyone who could’ve seen it. Not to mention the fact that it probably definitely looked like you were staring at his ass just now. You refocus, remembering that you’re supposed to be following him. You train your eyes on the back of his neck, trying to keep yourself from fixating on his perfectly sculpted form; when you see him turn his head, eyeing you. His gaze travels up and down, then up to meet your eyes before he speaks, “For someone who claims to dislike wasted time, you sure are slow.”

Fuck. Did he catch me looking at him? Your chest tightens at the thought. Just hurry the fuck up and get to the room so you can do what you came here for. You signal your legs to pick up the pace until you’re almost in stride with him and looking straight ahead. You know where the study rooms are; you just need him to open it for you, but why does it feel like it’s taking forever to get there? Your body grows warmer, anxiety still pumping through you from your previous conversation. Now being alone in this giant space in silence is adding emphasis to the fact that you’re practically alone. You try to distract yourself, feigning interest in the books that line the shelves as you walk past them. We’ve got to be close now; just focus on the room. You look ahead, expecting to see the study rooms’ glass windows but instead are met with more shelves of books. What the fuck? Did they move them? How long have we been walking? You glance over at him, accidentally making eye contact because he was already looking at you.

Without thinking, you look away, and then you hear him speak, “Ya know, no ones usually here at this time on a Friday. Don’t you have better shit to do?” Seriously? If he’s going to be a dick, why is he even wasting his breath talking to me?

“Yeah, well, maybe I don’t,” you bite back, too tangled up in your own thoughts to decipher anything less aggressive, “and I don’t want to be here just as much as you don’t want me to be here.”

He continues walking, and you push ahead of him, attempting to put some distance between you. You don’t need him to lead you to the room; the library is only so big. Getting there on your own and waiting for him to open it would be better than dealing with this bullshit. You see him looking over at you in your peripheral vision as you pass him, and he laughs. “You don’t wanna be here, but all of a sudden, you’re in a hurry. A little conflicting, don’t you think?”

You roll your eyes. Fuck off. Is what you would’ve said if you wanted to continue this conversation. He would definitely have something to say to that. “Are you forgetting that I’ve got what you want?” You stop dead in your tracks and spin on your heels to face him, “Excuse me?” He doesn’t even flinch at your raised tone, you could practically hear your own voice echoing around you as he walks up to you, stopping inches away. He’s so close you can smell him, a warm scent of amber and oak catching you off guard as you hold your ground. His lips lilt into a mocking half-smile as he moves his hand towards you to dangle the keys directly in front of your face. “What? You want to get into the room, don’t you?” Your focus shifts from the keys to his crimson eyes, blurring everything else around you as your body reacts to the heat radiating off of his skin. He feels...warm. I wonder - Your gaze drops to his lips, maddeningly curled into a taunting smirk. “Well, now I’m wondering what you thought I was talking about.”

He pulls the keys into the palm of his hand with a metallic snap, the sound almost making you jump as your eyes widen. You find yourself holding your breath as the tightening in your chest climbs up to your throat. Say something. Fucking anything. Your face must tell him everything he needs to know, because he doesn’t wait for a response. “How’s this, I’ll let you off the hook if you tell me why you’re here, dealing with my bullshit, when you could be studying in your dorm.”

This is none of his fucking business, but it’s easier to answer than the previous question, so fuck it. “I can’t focus there.” He raises an eyebrow at you, clearly not satisfied with your answer. You roll your eyes and sigh, “It’s just...noisy. I can’t think straight.”

He laughs at your response, “Yeah I can see that you're easily distracted.” You feel his eyes hovering over your body before meeting your gaze and shifting his weight to start walking again. You take a deep breath, silently relieved that whatever the fuck that was is over. “There’s this invention,” he says as he walks ahead of you “called headphones, ever thought of using those?” You shoot daggers into the back of his head as he turns the corner and you see the study rooms up ahead. Thank fucking god. He sifts through the keys as he walks, locating the one he needed to open the door. His hands move to slide the key into the lock, “Tch. Unless you’ve got roommates that are loud when they fuck. Headphones might not help much.” You know this is a joke but the heat spreading through your face, and the way your body tenses up catches his attention. “Did I strike a nerve,” he asks, smirking at you as his hand grips the door handle.

“Just open the door.” He raises an eyebrow and you release an exasperated sigh, “Please.”

He swings the door open, holding it open as he waits for you to walk through. Finally. I can get this asshole out of my face and work. You walk towards the door, and you notice he isn’t moving. I can hold the door on my own. Why is he still standing there? As you move you eye the entrance to the room, realizing you’re going to need to get insanely close to him to get through the doorway. Fuck it. Just slip by him and move on. “Listen, I don’t bite,” he says, noticing your moment of hesitation with a sly smile. You roll your eyes, making a point to look him in the eyes as you attempt to get by him. His piercing gaze slices through you, stoking the flames within your core you’ve been harnessing all night; fuck, maybe all semester. You fail to keep the flush from blooming across your face, turning your head away from him as you attempt to brush past him. You can feel him watching you, it feels like heat is emanating from his skin, pulling you closer as you hear a low voice directly in your ear, “Unless you want me to.”

What? It was a split second that you were close enough to hear him. Your breath catches as you finally make it past him, his words echoing in your head. Did he just-? You turn around to face him, “What did you just s-“ but he was already leaving, walking back towards the front of the library, probably to finish working on whatever the hell had him so focused when you arrived earlier.

You turn away, your back towards the floor to ceiling window of the small room as your mind reels from the last thing he said to you. I swear I heard him correctly. But why would he say that? Am I fucking crazy? You mindlessly unpack what you need out of your bag and sit at the desk, trying and failing miserably for almost an hour to focus on your work. You find yourself repeatedly scanning the same page because you can’t stop yourself from looking over your shoulder to see if he’s nearby. You nibble at the tip of your pen, looking at the book in front of you and unable to comprehend a single thing. Your oral fixation is running rampant and your thoughts are nowhere near where they should be when the image of his lips slip into your head. What do they taste like? Your body reacts to the thought, squeezing your thighs together as your core tightens imagining his hands gripping your skin, his teeth sinking into you. Fuck. Fuck!

You turn your head again, wondering if there was any way he would be looking in your direction; his thoughts riddled with the same infuriatingly erotic images on a loop in your head. Then, you see him. His back towards you as he holds a stack of books in one arm to place on the shelves. Your eyes travel down the length of his body, the lines of muscle subtly evident through his clothes. You watch him as he reaches up to a particularly high shelf, and his sweater lifts just enough to see the definition of his lower back. Heat is building inside you, the stirring in your core causing your walls to clench, thinking about raking your nails across his back. Ffuuck...NO. Get your fucking shit together. Why would he want to fuck someone who has nothing better to do than study on a Friday night? Fucking focus. You try to gather your thoughts, but must’ve mistakenly zoned out while you were looking at him, because as soon as your eyes refocus you see his head turned in your direction, one cinder red eye smoldering into you.

Fuck! Your body stiffens, unsure what else to do besides just go back to pretending you were working on this project. That’s basically what you’ve been doing since you sat down anyways. And for what? Just for you to embarrass and distract yourself just enough for this entire ordeal to be a colossal waste of time.You start to gather your things, applying more force than necessary to shove everything back into your bag. Fuck this. I haven’t gotten anything done and it’s been two fucking hours. I should’ve just stayed in my room, used my vibrator and moved on. At least I would’ve been able to think straight.

“You must do that often, huh?”

Your eyes widen and you immediately turn your body towards the source of the voice coming from the doorway. Your eyes land on his waist, then to the large hands in his pockets as he seems to take up all the remaining space in the room. You catch a glimpse of the student ID on the lanyard threaded through his belt loop. Katsuki Bakugo. You didn’t even bother to check the picture before you looked up, eyes connecting with the same asshole smirk you’ve been replaying in your head since you sat down. I didn’t say all of that shit out loud did I?

“What are you talking about,” you snap. You really don’t feel like playing this game with him. You already made up your mind that you were leaving, there was no way in hell you were going to stick around to get made fun of. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Ha. That’s a good question,” he takes a step, crossing the length of the room to lean against the desk inches away from you. “I have a better question though. How long have you been watching me instead of working?”

It feels like your brain short circuits. Did he catch me looking for him earlier? Fuck!

“I-” it suddenly dawns on you that the only way he would’ve seen that is if he was looking at you. You just didn’t see him.

You smile up at him, crossing your arms as you lean back in your chair. “The only way you could even think that, is if you were watching me. So you tell me, Katsuki, how long was it?”

He grins as he places his hands on the edge of the desk on either side of him and leans down towards you, his face inches away from yours. His eyes hold your gaze, his crimson eyes blazing like an unhinged wildfire as he speaks, “See, it’s my job to watch you. I work here, dumbass,” he says, his eyes dropping down to your chest as you cross your arms even tighter. God, I’m such an idiot. Of course he’s watching me because he has to. What the fuck was I thinking? Further embarrassment creeps across your face at the thought of even considering that he wanted you. Then, he leans in closer, the sound of his voice a warm whisper against your ear as he speaks, “What’s your excuse?”

You almost stop breathing. Your thoughts frantically trying to come up with something; anything that wasn’t the truth. You come up blank, your expression must’ve given him the answer he was looking for, because he laughs. He laughs in your face, and as much as you want to be completely pissed off, you’re distracted by the glint of the piercing poised in the center of his tongue. Fuck.

Subduing his laughter he sits up just enough to look down at you, raising an eyebrow as he smirks, “You’d like to think that, wouldn’t you? That I was watching you because I wanted to?” You glare at him, the all consuming mixture of rage and embarrassment spreading through you as your face flushes. Your nails are digging into your arms so hard that you can feel it through your sweatshirt. You can’t think of a single thing to say, but your mouth moves without thinking.

Your eyes connect, and you spit out exactly what your mind is silently screaming, “Fuck off.” You make sure you don’t look away, pointedly challenging him to say anything remotely clever in response. The grin spreading across his face is the first sign that you’ve lost that challenge.

“Pretty nasty mouth for someone who’s in the library more often than her own room.”

You flare up, everything you’ve been holding in boiling over as you bite back at him, “You don’t know shit about me,” your voice is tight, and growing louder as you let the words spill out of your mouth, “I’m here all the fucking time because I can’t deal with the fact that I have to watch everyone around me have a life while I bury myself in school. I don’t have friends or shit else to do because I don’t have fucking time. I just want to get through this hell so I can finally just do what I want! So could you, please, get the fuck out of my face so I can go.”

“The door’s right there, you could’ve left a long time ago, but here we are,” he says, his smirk dripping with sarcasm.

I’m so fucking done with this shit. You move to get up, grabbing your bag off of the desk as you turn towards the door. Your hand is reaching for the doorknob when you hear his voice again.

“Did you not hear me?”

“Loud and fucking clear. I’m leaving aren’t I?”

“For someone who’s so fucking smart you really are a dumbass,” he says, standing as he takes a step towards you.

Why haven’t you left yet? Why haven’t you opened the door and - It hits you. You replay his words in your mind, picking up on something you were too pissed off to realize until this moment.

You turn around to face him, and you’re eye level with his shoulders, inches away from you. The warm amber scent of him enveloping you as your gaze travels up his neck to the angle of his jaw, finally making eye contact as you speak, “How would you know I’m here more often than my own room?”

“Tch. Like I said before, I work here,” he says, before moving closer, the heat of his breath brushing against your face as he continues, “but I’ll admit getting to see you makes my job less shitty.”

Your chest tightens, the fluttering in your core enough to make your pulse quicken as your lips part slightly.

He’s watching your face, smirking as your body tenses up when he closes the space between you. “But if you really want to leave...” he whispers against your skin, careful not to touch you as you look up at him with pleading eyes. He brings his lips a breadth away from yours, dropping his gaze to your mouth. “I’m going to fuck you on the desk.” he says, his hands still in his pockets as his words melt into you, “If you don’t want me to, tell me right fucking now.”

He’s so close to you, all you had to do was tilt your head up just a little more and your lips would touch. The thought invaded your mind, your breath catching in your throat as your body reacted to his words, tightening your core to the point of aching. You lift your eyes to meet the heat of gaze as you speak, “Do it, then-“

“Fucking finally,” he growls, his voice raspy and low as he makes contact, his lips moving against yours as the palms of his hands travel up to your face. They slide into your hair at the nape of your neck, collecting it in his fist, while the other hand grips your hips. He pulls you into him, moving you against the wall adjacent to the door. Your back meets the wall, the impact strong enough to make sound and your mind is blank. The feeling of his hands, his lips, his body pressed against yours, overwhelming your senses as you grasp onto the fabric of his sweater. His kiss is hungry and breathless, low groans vibrating against your lips as his pierced tongue slips between them, tasting the heat of your wet mouth.

You whimper into him, your body on fire from the inside out as the thin thread of self control you have left is priming to snap. His lips curl up into a smirk at the sounds lilting out of you and a growl ripples through him as he bites your bottom lip hard enough for you to open your eyes. He releases you, his breaths heavy as he presses his forehead against yours. His scarlet irises bore into you as he speaks, “We’re going to have to do something about all that fucking noise you’re making,” he smirks, his eyes traveling from your swollen lips to your legs, taking note of how tightly you’re clenching your thighs together. “You’re a mess already aren’t you?” His breathy laugh brushes against your face as he pulls away hooking his index fingers into the waistband of your leggings and tugging just enough for them to snap back once he releases.

A soft gasp escapes your lips at the impact against your sensitive skin, the heat pooling between your thighs as your insides clench. Your body is screaming, begging for him to touch you and your mouth moves on its own. “Please,” you whisper up at him, your hands finding the hem of his sweater as you spread your fingers against his skin, feeling every ridge of hardened muscle beneath it.

He drops his gaze down to your hands as your fingertips explore the surface of his skin. A low rumble vibrates through his chest, as his eyes sear into you, “Don’t forget, you fucking asked for this.” His hands move, pulling your sweatshirt over your head and dropping it onto the floor before he leans into you, pushing his leg between your thighs while he holds both your wrists in one hand above your head against the wall. His other hand grips your hip, his fingertips digging into your skin as his lips meets your neck.

You start to move against him, trying to get a taste of the friction your body is aching for while he teases your neck with open mouth kisses. His breath is hot against your skin, teeth sinking into you, as low groans escape his lips. He feels so fucking good and you haven’t been fucked in so long you might cum before he even gets to feel how wet you are. His lips move up to your ear, his voice low as his breath caresses your skin, “You’re riding my thigh like it’s something else, baby girl.” The hand gripping your hip slides under your shirt as he speaks, palming your breast while he kisses the space behind your ear. His teeth graze against your skin as a rippling growl erupts from him, pulling a whimper from your lips while your pussy grinds against his thigh.

You can feel the length of his hardening cock against your leg as you press yourself against him. He pinches your nipple, igniting every nerve in your body as he grins against your skin, feeling your body bend for him. A gasping moan escapes your lips, the sound filling the space around you as your head drops back against the wall. He pulls his head back just enough to watch your reaction; your eyes squeezed shut as your whines spill from your open mouth. “I can feel your pussy clenching for me, y/n,” he says, his lips trailing down your exposed neck as his hand moves to your other hardened nipple. The pressure he applies is sharp and delicious causing every muscle in your body to tighten, your panting breaths mingling with his hums of satisfaction as he feels you on the edge of unraveling at his touch.

“Fuck...ha...hahh...Katsuki...” You’re on your tiptoes relishing in the feeling of his teasing fingers as your insides coil imagining the feeling of him stretching you out. He grinds against you, his arousal pressing against your leg as your nails dig into the palms of your hands. “Mmm, You’re so fucking sexy, so desperate for this fucking cock aren’t you?”

Your lips are moving before you think, your mind consumed with the heat swelling inside you, “Yes...yes...please.” You lean forward in an attempt to meet his lips but he pulls away, releasing your hands as he moves to grip your hips. You let out a small yelp when he picks you up under your ass, and turns to put you on top of the desk. His hands slide down to the crook of your legs as he stands between them, eyeing you beneath his lashes when he speaks, “Pull them down.” You lean back, searching his face as you try to collect your thoughts. You must’ve taken longer than he wanted because he leans in, placing his hand on the wall behind you as his crimson eyes burn into yours, “You’re taking your sweet fucking time, and you’re already soaked down here?”

His fingers move to your warm center, feeling your arousal soaking through your leggings as he presses circles against your aching clit. Your legs involuntarily squeeze around his hips as his hand drops from the wall to grip a fistful of your hair, pulling your head back to make you look at his face as his voice drops, “Spread...your fucking...legs.” Your pulse quickens, your blood heating up as he slows the pace of the pressure he’s circling around your clit and you whimper up at him, giving into the ripples of pleasure coursing through your body.

You want more, you lean back on your hands, hips moving to the rhythm his fingers play against your drenched core as your pleading eyes meet his gaze. You’re in a fucking library, in a room with a huge ass window. But the thought of someone seeing you makes your pulse speed up, sending a heightened thrum of pleasure streaming through you, “Hnnngh...ffuckk…” your hips move faster, cloying for more pressure, more friction, more feeling. Katsuki notices your body’s reaction, tightening his hold on your hair, causing your eyes to squeeze shut from the slight prickle of pain. “You wanna cum so fucking bad don’t you? That pussy of yours is begging for this fucking cock.” All you can do is pant in response, your eyes opening to see his face, smirking down at you as his fingers push harder, “Show me, show me how much you want it so I can see that dripping pussy.”

A breathy moan slips out of your throat as you sit up to push the fabric of your leggings down to your ankles. Katsuki releases his hold on your hair, watching your every movement as his gaze drops down to the essence glistening against your swollen lips. You hear his sharp intake of breath, the air hissing between his teeth as his eyes hungrily take you in before he meets your gaze again. His hooded eyes are a shadowed crimson, the heat rising up to your cheeks as you squirm beneath him.

One of his hands moves to grip the top of your thigh, the pads of his fingers digging into your skin as he slips two fingers from his other hand into his mouth. Your pussy tightens, watching him give his fingers a gentle suck as his gaze locks onto yours. The image is lethal, your breath catching at the sight of his wet fingers sliding past his lips and dropping to your aching pussy to tease your entrance. “Fuck, you’re so fucking wet baby,” he hisses between his teeth, as he pinches your clit, the pressure enough to pull a gasping moan from your throat.

Your eyes flutter closed as you stifle a moan and lean your head back against the wall. His fingers maddeningly toy with you as you hear him unbuckle his belt. Sheer curiosity makes your eyelids hover open as you look down, taking in the size of him, his hand wrapping around his thick shaft and gliding over the prominent veins to his cherried swollen tip, dripping pre. You want to taste him so badly, your mouth begins to water and all you can think about is feeling his throbbing cock inside you. You don’t give a fuck if it barely fits. Your pussy clenches at the thought, wordlessly begging to be stuffed to the brim.

A low growl ripples through his chest, “I don’t even have to look at your face to know your pussy’s begging for this cock.” He thumbs the throbbing head of his dick, swirling the pre around his tip while his eyes bore into you. You couldn’t look away from his gaze if you wanted to, even as his fingers leave your aching core to pull you down with a rough tug at the crook of your legs, forcing your ass to the edge of the desk. He leans over your body, bringing his face inches away from yours, sliding a pre soaked thumb into your awaiting mouth flattening your tongue against his calloused finger. You wrap your lips around it, gently sucking and swirling your tongue, tasting his arousal for the first time.

A low moan rises from your throat, vibrating around him as you watch his eyes darken. He presses down against your tongue, forcing your mouth open as he growls, “Mmm you’re a naughty little slut aren't you...” His words send your insides fluttering, your hands balling into fists as your muscles tighten, your walls clamping around nothing but air as you pout. You don’t give a fuck anymore. Someone could stand directly in front of that massive fucking window and record the whole fucking thing. It doesn’t matter. You want him, right fucking now. You roll your hips, grinding your wet pussy against his hard cock. His dick twitches in response grinding through your slit and hitting your clit sending a simpering moan spilling from your open mouth.

You feel him press harder against your tongue and his voice drops, “Such a fucking tease,” he slides his length through your swollen lips, his heat seeping into you as he whispers, “You want this fucking cock? Let’s see how quiet you can be and maybe, I’ll let you cum.” He releases your tongue, slipping his hand under your shirt to swirl his slick fingers around your nipple. You bite your lip, attempting to silence the whimpers rising from your throat as your back arches at his touch, your hands craving to touch him. You reach up, sliding your hands under the fabric of his sweater as you drag your nails down his back. A guttural growl emanates from his chest as he ruts against you, every ridge of his thick cock sliding into your clit.

You can feel yourself melting beneath his hands, his fingers tugging at your nipples as his body moves down leaving soft bites and licks in his wake. The heat of his breath and the cool kiss of the metal stud in his tongue meets your dripping center and it’s enough to send goosebumps flooding across your skin. In one swift motion he’s on his knees between your legs, the back of your thighs resting on his shoulders and his hands gripping you to pull your plush wet lips closer to his smirking mouth. Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m not going to be able to- “Shhhh,” you watch his lips as he smiles, looking directly at you. You swallow the moan threatening to escape your lips but your shallow breaths are giving you away, he fucking knows I won’t be able to take this...

Then, he’s inhaling you, his tongue slipping into your clenching pussy, licking from your entrance to your clit while he looks directly into your eyes as he pulls away, “Fuck. You taste so fucking good.” His voice is heated and low, the evidence of your arousal glistening on his lips as he speaks. The image sends your insides fluttering, your muscles tensing down to your toes as your legs attempt to constrict around him. You’re squirming already but he’s got you pinned, wide open and spread out, at the mercy of his vicious fucking mouth.

He doesn’t give you a chance to catch your breath before he’s latching onto you, his hot wet tongue delving into your silky walls as his piercing vibrates against you with even the slightest groan. You gasp for air, eyes squeezed shut, fingers intertwined in his hair you grind into him, completely blissed out and swimming in the waves of pleasure ebbing through you with every flick and suck. You’re a fucking mess, trying to maintain some modicum of control as he mercilessly swirls his tongue around your pulsing clit. His teeth nestle around it, gently rolling your bundle of nerves between them as he flicks his piercing against you, pulling a low groan from the depths of your core.

He growls, licking your pussy from your clenching entrance to your base of your clit before he looks up at you, “How am I gonna fuck you if you can’t keep quiet with just my fucking tongue, hmm?” The loss of pressure makes you whine, you’re so fucking close. He smirks at you, one of his hands releases your thigh, dropping down to push two of his thick fingers into your warm weeping center. His eyes follow his movements, watching as you take him in, curling his fingers to brush against your most sensitive spot as he slides in and out of you. It’s too much, but you choke down the sobbing whimper cloying in your throat. Your legs shake, breasts heaving as your panting breaths quicken with every thrust of his fingers. You’re biting your lip so hard to keep quiet you might draw blood, but you lean back, putting your weight on your hands to lift your hips and roll into him, letting his long fingers push deeper inside you.

You clamp down around him, your body begging for more; more feeling, more friction, more pressure, you want every little piece of it. You’re at the edge of your control, your mouth falling open in a silent moan as your eyes flutter closed and your head falls back. You can feel him watching you, humming his approval as his other hand releases your leg, “Mmmm, such a good fucking girl with this greedy fucking pussy. You wanna cum for me don’t you...?”

“Yes-yess, pleeease...haah-fuck, FUCK.”

He breathes a soft laugh over your sopping pussy before he devours your soft lips hungrily, lapping up your slit as the rhythm of his fingers speed up.

“Hnnngh...hah-haah, please-fuck, fuck, fuck!”

He’s drowning you, your senses overflowing with the feeling of heat through your body, pushing you to the brink of release. Your pussy clenches around him, his tongue sending sparks through every nerve, punishing you with his thrumming piercing as he moves to sit up on his knees, pushing further into you. He knows you’re close; his hand slides up your body, his nails dragging across your skin until he reaches your lips, sliding two of his fingers into your panting mouth.

He moans into you, making his piercing vibrate faster. Your mouth waters as you wrap your tongue around his fingers, nibbling and sucking on them. You’re a mess, unable to conjure anything except slurred muffled groans around his thick fingers. His lips pull away just enough for you to feel him growl at you.

“Cum for me, right fucking now.”

Fuck...fuckfuckfuck! Your body reacts to his words, wrapping both hands around his arm, digging your nails into his skin as your climax crashes into you. You’re struggling for air but you don’t need it, the blinding light behind your eyelids rippling with the waves of pleasure imploding from your core. He doesn’t stop, his fingers milking your insides, extending your orgasm for everything you’ve got until he slips them out of you, only to delve into your tightening entrance with his tongue, lapping up every drop of your cum.

“So fucking sweet,” he breathes, slipping his fingers out of your mouth, using both of his hands to push the back of your thighs up, inhaling everything you have left as the last tremors spiral out of your body. Eyes closed, floating in the afterglow of your release, you feel him pull your legs back down as he stands in one swift motion. He grips the top of your thighs, roughly tugging you down until your throbbing core kisses the ridges of his dick. Your eyes snap open. Fuck, he’s fucking huge.

Your expression must’ve voiced your thoughts because he expels are a breathy laugh, “You feel that don’t you, how fucking hard I am from tasting your perfect fucking pussy.” His cock twitches against you and your hips roll into him as you moan, gripping the edge of the desk with both hands as you look up at him. Your legs wrap around his waist, tightening from the flush of heat emanating from your core. You want him inside you, to feel the mind numbing combination of pleasure and pain as he stretches you out.

Your voice is a whimper, “Katsuki….please.” You continue to grind against him, your arousal and his dripping pre making you slick and hot. A guttural growl rips through his chest as he leans over you, the palm of his hand slamming on the wall as he brings his lips to your ear. Your body stills, your breaths coming in shallow pants as his muscle toned body presses against you, “Please, what? Tell me what you want, y/n.”

His tongue flicks at your neck, making your words come out in gasps, “Fuck...fuck me...please, please…” Your hands glide beneath the fabric of his sweater, splaying out to pull him closer into you while your nails dig into him. Your back bows off the surface of the desk, tightening your legs around him trying to gain more friction to appease your swollen clit.

“Be a good girl,” he breathes into your ear, “ and control that pretty mouth of yours or I’ll have to do it for you.”

You bite your lip, your need for him coiling inside you as you feel him push himself up far enough for you to feel him hovering over you. Your eyes meet and his hand moves to position himself into you. The head of his cock presses against your soaking entrance, slowly slipping into you as you fight the low moan rising from your throat. He hisses between his teeth as he watches you, “Fuck, you’re so fucking tight.” Both of his hands press into the desk, his arms caging you in, as he looks between your bodies, watching himself ease into you inch by inch. He’s already stretching you out, your velvet walls clenching around him as his wet cock slides inside of your clenching pussy. The muscles in his arms tighten, his body tensing as he begins to move his hips, pushing further into you.

“You’re clamping down on me and I’m not even all the way in yet,” he smirks at you, watching your face flush as your pulse quickens. Fuck...he’s going to fucking break me. But you’re too far gone, you want him, and your body speaks for you, lifting your hips as your nails claw into his back. A growl rips through his chest as his head dips, bringing his forehead to yours, “You want it? Okay then…”

Before you’re able to take another breath, he snaps his hips, pulling a yelp from your mouth when he bottoms out inside you. “Fffuck, you feel so fucking good.” You’re whining, struggling to accommodate his size but relishing in the mind numbing feeling of fullness your pussy was already becoming addicted to. “Not so cocky once that pretty little cunt is fucking full, huh?”

The only response you can offer is a whimper as he starts to move. He rotates his hips, grinding deeper into you, the tip of his cock brushing against your cervix. You turn your head, your eyes squeezing shut as you try to stifle the sounds rising from your throat. Your open mouth meets his arm and your teeth sink into him as he pulls out just enough to slam back into you hitting your limit. It takes everything in you not to cry out, but the pain is dulled by the overwhelming feeling of pleasure each deep powerful thrust rains down on you.

“Haah-hah, fuck baby, you’re taking me so well.” His movements find a rhythm, rolling his hips again and again filling you to the brim with every snap. The curve of his cock pushes his tip against your most sensitive spot, stirring your insides, making your body temperature rise with every panting breath. The feeling is intoxicating, drunk on the way your bodies move together, every nerve firing, desperate to drink him in more. You roll your hips, taking the full impact of every merciless thrust, your breath hitching as you choke back a sob. Your nails drag across the span of his back as you hear him hiss through his teeth. His muscles tense, back arching as a growl vibrates through his body. “Ah- FUCK. Ooooh, you want it don’t you. Yeah? You want it?”

“Katsuki, please, I want- I want more.” You’re a sputtering mess, your walls fluttering around his hard cock as he pushes off the desk, gripping your thighs in both of his massive hands. He pulls you further down bringing your ass off the edge of the desk. Your body is completely at his mercy as he pushes deeper into you, his fingertips digging into your skin as his pace speeds up. You don’t have time to adjust to his movements, he drives into you, snapping his hips, impaling you over and over.

“Ahh-ah-fffucckk,” you moan, failing miserably at staying quiet, it’s fucking impossible. It feels too good, you’re too full, overflowing with the sensations pulsing through your body. You grab onto the edge of the desk, fingers gripping the wood as his heavy sack smacks against your ass. “Mmmm,” he growls, What? Can't fucking take it? Fuck- cant control that slutty fucking mouth can you? Pussy drooling all over my fucking cock.” He lifts your shirt with one hand pulling it up to your open mouth and you immediately bite down, the fabric doing everything it can to muffle your stuttering moans.

“That’s right. Such a good fucking girl,” his fingers trail down your body, groping your breasts, pinching your nipples as every ridge of his cock fills all the space you have inside you. “Fuck- your so fucking sexy baby- you wanna cum don’t you...keep biting down on that fucking shirt.” You’re so close, so fucking close, the coil in your core threatening to snap. He feels you clamp down on him, moving one hand to press down on your stomach and the other to your throbbing clit.

The pressure pushes your spot against his dick, his punishing thrusts slamming into it every time as he rubs maddening circles around your clit. “Hnnnnf-hnnnngh!” Your shirt muffles your sobs as you squeeze your eyes closed, the tears prickling at the corners as your back arches, your head thrown back as far as it can go. “Fuck yes- cum on this cock baby...cum for me.”

His words are your undoing, any ounce of control you have left exploding into the myriad of colors flashing behind your eyes. The thin thread at the base of your spine snaps, catapulting you into the stratosphere, overheating and gasping for air. The feeling saturates you, expelling any and every thought your mind could attempt to conjure. You squeeze your legs around him, every muscle in your body tightening as your pussy clamps down on his throbbing dick.

“Fuck- FUCK-mmmm, get ready to swallow every drop of this fucking cum baby.” His voice washes over you, the waves of your orgasm still rippling through your body as you feel him slide out of you. He hooks a finger in the neckline of your shirt, pulling you to sit up as he steps back between your legs. Your eyes land on his straining cock, slick from your arousal and the dripping pre his hand is fisting up and down his shaft. “Open...your fucking…mouth.”

You want to taste him, your mouth waters watching his cock twitch in his hands. Your body is so fucking spent, your legs would give out if you tried getting on your knees. You push your ass back, hinging at the hips and leaning forward, looking up at him through your lashes as you hold your tongue out of your open mouth for him. “Ughggh, fuck,” he groans, watching you as the heat from your breath caresses his dick.

His hand moves faster, his breath catching as his muscles tense. “Fuck-FUCK- you’re so fucking sexy baby, you’re gonna take all this fucking cum aren’t you...yeah? Show me...wrap those lips around my dick baby.” Your insides flutter as you swirl your tongue around the swollen pink head of his cock, tasting the mixture of his pre and your arousal. You inhale the intoxicating scent of him before hollowing your cheeks and taking in as much of him as you can. “Hah-haah, just like that baby-FUCK.” He moves his hand from the base of his dick to the back of your head, your eyes widening as he starts to thrust into your mouth.

His other hand rests under your throat, holding you still while he face fucks you. A low moan rises in your throat, vibrating around his cock as his uneven breaths melt into groans and hisses. “So fucking perfect,” he’s panting, his voice raspy and rumbling, “Taste your slutty fucking pussy on my cock baby?- haah-hah- all this cum I’m gonna shoot down your throat’s cus’ve you.” He’s thrusting harder, his pace speeding up as he stretches you out, hitting the back of your throat. You gag around him, your saliva dripping from the corners of your mouth as tears begin to fall, “Choke on that cock baby, that’s right- take - all of it- fuck, Fuck-FUCK!”

The hand on the back of your head fists your hair as he throws his head back, all of his muscles tensing up as he bucks into your mouth spraying hot thick ropes of cum down your throat. You swallow every drop of him, his chest heaving with his heavy breaths as he slides his dick out of your mouth and pulls your hair, making you sit up. His lips crash into yours, his tongue lapping into your mouth, tasting the remains of your combined arousal. He releases the grip on your hair, bringing his hand down to your cheek. His touch is surprisingly gentle as he pulls you in further, sighing into you before he pulls away.

You look up, your gaze meeting the smirk on his face before noticing the smug fucking look in his eyes. You roll your eyes, curling your lips into a grin, “What’s that look for?”

“You had a hard time staying quiet in public,” he says, smiling mischievously at you. “I’m wondering what you’d sound like if I fucked you somewhere else.”

Your eyes narrow. How is he still such a sexy fucking asshole. “I wouldn’t mind testing that theory,” you say, smirking as you lean in, looking up at him, legs dangling off the desk.

"Tch," Katsuki eyes you, his scarlet eyes scanning your body as he steps out from between your legs, pulling his pants up and buckling his belt. He looks over at you, "Then, I don’t know what you’re still sitting there for. I’ve gotta clean up the mess you made.”

You grin at him, the irony of him fucking you until your neighbors can hear you screaming almost makes you laugh, pushing the thought of your class project completely out of your mind.

Tags: @sweet-darling91 @aztecbrujeria @tarot-milktea I love you guys 💜 If anyone else wants to be tagged lmk :)