#the suits are always lackluster to me

[zoe-oneesama]

What's wrong with fusions?, In my opinion I would love that fusing miraculous would grant a new power, and it is sad that it is not exploiters more that concept

Y'all really should try searching my blog because, once again, I've talked about it before.

The short answer is they're boring. It's so literal by just giving the two Miraculouses powers instead of combining to make a whole new power, which imo would've actually been interesting. And just like the power ups and just like introducing the Zodiac Miraculouses as early as Season 2 (but not using any of them until Season 3), they just introduced too much. Maybe finish the things you've already introduced before adding shit?

[g0thsoojin]

🌑

[certifiedfreec]

・❥・close - gojo satoru x f!reader (crossposted on ao3!) ・❥・

⊹ oh nooo you’re trapped in a hotel room with gojo… and there’s only one bed… ahhhhh

⊹ 18+, smut, frenemies to lovers, a ridiculous amount of banter

⊹ word count: 9.8k (i’m so normal about him lol…)

“Well fuck.”

Mouth agape, you stand tiredly beside your overly cheeky partner-in-exorcises, surveying the last available hotel suite that’s closest to your current assignment. Cramped could describe it if you’re feeling generous, as the sparse amenities make the single queen-sized bed in the center of the room look like a California King. The overblown stock photos of generic flowers hanging haphazardly above the bed are nearly mocking the otherwise drab room, and the dim lighting makes it all look more dingy than romantic given the scenario you’re in.

One bed left in this overbooked “hotel…” This has to be a fever dream.

“I call the left side!”

Said partner, Satoru Gojo, is oblivious to your inner turmoil as he languidly steps into the room with his singsong tone, surveying what little it has to offer with an otherwise calm expression. God, this guy gets on your nerves, but not for any pertinent or extravagant reason. Really, he just carries himself a little too cockily for your taste, like he’s used to people fawning over him for doing nothing. While you work well together for the most part, there’s something about his presence that just makes you-

“You can take the whole thing,” you grumble dismissively, carefully moving around him to set your backpack down on the warped work desk. You’d sooner sleep in the bathtub even if it was soaking wet, you think.

Your eyes nearly fall out of their sockets with how hard they roll when you hear him let out a feigned hum of disappointment. You can sense him studying your every move, even through that stupid blindfold thing he’s always got on.

“Bummer. You scared you’re gonna catch some cooties? I’m not contagious.” Gojo tuts playfully, shaking his black jacket off and tossing it over the back of the chair. “Guess that means more room for me!” He wastes wastes no time in flopping onto the middle of the stiff mattress with a grin, and part of you can’t help but admire- no, simply notice, you tell yourself- how his shockingly white hair and pale skin contrasts the dull, dated comforter. He’s got a white button down on, and you’re tempted to call him a bloodsucking vampire with how translucent he looks. Humming to himself, he reaches for the remote that practically shrinks in his large hands, clicking the clunky TV on and watching it take a few minutes to whir to life.

You’re unsure what to do with yourself, but you’re determined to put some space between the two of you with whatever happens. It’s unfortunate when you realize that you really might not be successful with that endeavor, given your dwarfed hotel room that could trigger any sane person’s claustrophobia. It didn’t help that this guy already took up most of the lackluster room with just his body, either. Your eyes flicker over to your work partner, who appears unnervingly okay with this turn of events. With a deep sigh, you pull out the creaky chair and slump defeatedly onto the desk. You’re careful to scoot to the edge of the chair so your back doesn’t make contact with his resting jacket, and he doesn’t miss your obvious attempt at distance. It’s known by many that he’s always been a huge fan of himself, and you’d be damned if you ever let him think you were part of that club, too.

“Hey, careful with the outerwear.” Gojo’s selectively ignoring your clear discomfort, opting to poke at you anyway because he just does that. “That’s a pricey jacket, y’know.” His face is serene as he’s clicking through the available channels and making his own little noises when each show is less intriguing than the next.

“Right… I’ll try my best,” you reply disinterestedly with a yawn. You rest your face on the cool wood- anything to mentally take yourself out of the painfully tiny space you and this massive human were expected to share for the evening. It’s been a long day of mundane yet necessary work, and apparently the real work is supposed to happen tomorrow. Being instructed last minute to change your stopping point for the day, you were left with no choice but to call around in a new area until you found an option. Gojo simply shrugged and started searching, not even slightly irritated at the change of plans. It irks you how little your colleague is bothered by, well, anything, because it has to be disingenuous at some point, right? Over time you’ve realized that with him, it truly is a brazen confidence- a kind that you decided was more dangerous than reassuring in reference to your line of work. It’s just unnatural- then again, nothing in your field is, so what’s your real issue with him? The question always leaves you befuddled at your core, and now it’s glaring in your face with the close quarters you’re sharing.

After some time spent listening to Gojo’s disjointed chuckles at whatever was playing, you take out your phone to text Shoko about your dreaded situation. This’ll be a long night, you think, grasping at straws to reason that it’s only temporary and that the smell of his spicy cologne will soon fade away from your senses. You have to say though, the scent fits him pretty well…unlike this miniature room you’re both posted up in.

Your eyes betray you when they briefly flit over again at the man lounging across the bed. It’s quite the spectacle, as the ends of his gangly legs and feet are dangling awkwardly over the edge, yet his expression is serene. The word "cute" passes through your mind and you immediately shush it by reflex, but it’s not as strong as the newfound proximity that prompts you to finally tease him in a dry tone: “Jesus, you’re taking up the whole thing and it’s still not enough.”

“Tell me about it.” He’s quick to react to your statement, and you swear you see his broad chest huff with amusement out of your peripheral. “It must be the price to pay when you’re a dreamy, charming, six foot three Jujutsu Sorcerer,” he adds in a lighthearted tone that seeks feigned sympathy. You’re not looking at him anymore, but you can guess that he’s batting the long white eyelashes that decorate his electric blue eyes. Meanwhile, you’re battling a smile.

Shoko’s not answering your SOS texts, so you actually decide to take the bait in the meantime. “You poor thing,” you coo halfheartedly, “It’s just never enough for you.” You shift, draping your arm over the back of the cheap desk chair that warps under your weight.

“You’re so right! I’m glad someone finally understands.” He points a finger at you, clearly pleased that you’re bantering along, and then he rests that same finger on his pointed chin. “Speaking of nothing ever being enough, I’m starving.” He suddenly sits up, making the bed creak with his movement. It’s apparent that his focus has shifted from the lifeless television show to you. “Who delivers around here?”

Gojo’s nonchalant behavior has the opposite effect on you- it’s disconcerting. At the same time, a very quiet part of you wants to warm up to the idea of finding it endearing. Being annoyed by him was all you knew- how could you ever change now?

The noise that escapes him is pure juvenile glee when you wordlessly open up a delivery app on your phone and sling the device over to him, which he catches with ease before scavenging through the limited number of nearby restaurants. If anything, you’ve never seen him so locked in. You hear him murmur his commentary to himself as he swipes through, picking out his order from his spot on the bed (which is basically the whole thing), and then he abruptly stands up with a matter-of-fact tone in his voice. Without watching him, you hear his steps move somewhere behind your seat.

“Hey, your girlfriend Shoko is texting you. I had no idea I was such a hot subject! Well, maybe I did.”

Oh shit. The heart that previously resided in your chest has plummeted to your stomach. You completely forgot you’d been virtually begging her for moral support when you first arrived at your shoebox of a room.

You muster all your inner strength to maintain a semblance of cool. “Is she on her way to save me?”

The grin on his face is nearly glowing as he reads your screen. “Hah, you wish. It says, and I quote, ’Sorry I’m just now seeing these! How are you and your “Honored One” doing? I promise he’s not as bad as you think he is, LOL.’”

You can feel all the blood in your body rush to your face as Gojo continues to read the message, who is doing everything to refrain from bursting into a fit of laughter. “’At least he’s not the worst looking, and you guys are gonna have to share a bed anyway. Wink emoji, wink emoji.’”

Your world comes screeching to an ugly halt. In this moment, you remind yourself to never text Shoko while you’re in the same room as him- ever again.

“Oh my god… You’re lying. Stop it!” You feel a wave of sickeningly nervous giggles threaten to rack through your body as you fly out of your rickety seat, marching over to the lanky sorcerer and swiping at him for your phone. He tsks, holding the device up from your reach with a mischievous tilt of his head, and you’re sure that you’ve never been this flushed with humiliation before. His muscled arm holds your phone up revealing the chat, and unfortunately, he wasn’t lying. And his voice? It’s smug, obnoxiously so as he taunts you. “This is so much more interesting than ordering food right now. I think I’m gonna answer her. What should I say?”

“Give it back, Satoru Gojo.” You glower up at him, silently knowing your efforts are futile due to your drastic height difference- and that goddamn Infinity ability of his that he loved to show off.

“Oooh, don’t say my full name. It really scares me,” Gojo gasps mockingly before making a show of squinting up at the screen and beginning to type with his other hand. “Let’s try this.” His fingers begin to dance across the screen. “’Shoko, I think I might be falling for Satoru Gojo, all six foot three of him. We’ve had such a romantic evening-‘"

“Jesus Christ, hand it over already!” You’re reaching your limit with tolerating his antics, body teeming in some liminal space between annoyance and mortification. You stretch up again to try and pluck the phone only to make contact with nothing. Fucking showoff. He’s still got his blindfold on, and you’re unable to see how his eyes are completely shimmering with mirth and self-satisfaction.

“Aaand, sent! I think she’ll like that. Anyway, go ahead and add your order to the cart. It’s on me- I remembered to bring the JuJutsu High credit card this time!” Gojo carries on casually like he hasn’t just done the equivalent of planting an explosive in your text messages, feeling incredibly proud of himself as he plops the phone back into your open palm. Glaring up at him and his resilient grin, you are entirely uninterested in eating any kind of food right now. He thinks it’s kind of cute how quickly your face turns ruby red.

You stare at your violated device, blinking in disbelief before looking back up at him. “You’re a real motherfucker, you know that?” You challenge, though your voice isn’t as hostile as it should be.

His large hands fly up defensively. “Whoa, who says I don’t go for daughters either?”

He’s maddening. How do his students stand him? Your free palm has never moved so fast to your face. Resolving into your clunky self-assigned seat, your butt collides firmly with cold wood. “You’re right. Who don’t you go for?” You huff.

Gojo chuckles with his whole chest as he moves to sprawl out over the miniature bed, returning to the original position he was in before he hijacked your text conversation. With blindfolded eyes focused back on the hazy television screen, his hands lock behind his head as he shrugs indifferently. “Never been a big fan of Geminis, to be honest.”

Unreal. He could talk to you in circles like this forever, and only because he knows he gets under your skin that way. You resign, eyeing your phone screen and scrolling through the restaurant he picked to order delivery from. He’s got quite the spread in the cart, complete with an elaborate dessert that could’ve wiped out your savings account.

“Clearly a fan of cheesecake though, holy shit.” The jab doesn’t come out as mean as you intend it to, and honestly, you aren’t sure how much longer you’ll be capable of treating him with this much animosity. You’re already tired, and if you were any more awake you’d realize that your work partner was slowly wearing your guard down, quip by cocky quip.

“Right again. Don’t you just love getting to know me through our intimate time together?”

Shoko is spamming you with an endless barrage of confused and shocked emojis, and you’re far too sleep-deprived to reply. Your entire body flushes at his words as they reverberate in your mind. Intimate is not the right word. No, it shouldn’t be, more like invasive. Right?

“Couldn’t be happier,” you reply curtly, mindlessly picking out whichever menu items are at the top before punching in the room number and credit card info, which was smoothly slid onto the table by Gojo without your prior notice. With your back to him, his gratification is on full display as he pretends to watch whatever crappy show is playing. Winning is his favorite thing in the world, and grating on your nerves is a close second- though really, the two coincide. Part of him wonders how much further he can blur that line.

——————————————————————————————————-

The comically large bag of food is immediately torn open by an eager Gojo the second it lands on the hotel room’s table, and he’s forking together a messy array of sides onto his plate before dragging over a lounge chair from the corner next to yours. He’s sitting far too close for your comfort, but you begrudgingly comply. It wasn’t like he was going to go away anytime soon, even though the night would be so much easier that way. As he shovels his dinner into his mouth, your mind aimlessly ventures as to how he keeps his form so trim with an appetite like that. He’s got to have a strict workout regimen somewhere, though “strict” is a word not often associated with him-

“Hey, your food’s gonna get cold if you keep staring like that.”

Your eyes widen in record time. It’s a hideous realization that you’ve zoned out on watching the renowned sorcerer-turned-temporary-roommate inhale his overpriced dinner, all from being overcome with either exhaustion or acceptance of your cramped situation. At this point, it’s maybe a little of both.

“Sorry,” you mumble, not even caring to articulate a more acidic response. It seems you’re beginning to neutralize into Gojo’s presence, and he mentally takes note of your changing chemistry with him as you quietly stab at your steak bites.

He’s got the perfect opportunity to coo something vain back, like “Don’t apologize, I’d stare too if it were me,” but he doesn’t. He simply keeps eating, sparing you with a less than uncomfortable silence. It’s never been the worst thing between you two given your extensive work history, and you feel yourself soften slightly when the bland hotel room’s air isn’t filled with his assumptive commentary for once. As your plates both get emptier, he feels this sudden need to hold your attention, as you’re less likely to be as combative as you’ve been before. You’re... not so set on hating him.

“You tired?”

Gojo’s two-worded inquiry jars you, almost to the point of choking on your bread. It's something genuine. He closes up one of the empty to-go boxes and shoves it into the takeout bag before pulling out the monstrosity that is his slice of cheesecake. For some reason your heart stammers at how refreshing the possibility of a real conversation with him could actually be.

You’ve got the perfect opportunity to snap something defensive back, like “Yeah, of you,” but you don’t. His shiny eyes shift under the fabric of his blindfold to you, almost prompting you to answer.

“…Yeah, I must be making it pretty obvious,” you say, unintentionally yawning and proving his point. If you were any more relaxed with him, he would’ve told you how cute you looked doing that. You secure your leftovers and start to chuck them into the bag before a large hand suddenly stops you with a “gimme” motion.

“Judging by how easily you’re willing to waste that perfectly good food…it’s not hard to tell,” he prods at you with a grin that you would’ve unnerved you earlier, but at this hour it’s a little more welcoming. Is that a snicker that comes out of you? You hand over the half-eaten order of steak bites to his jubilation, and he’s already popping open the lid to pick one up with his fingers.

Curse your brain in its exhausted state, because it’s nearly hypnotized by his digits. They’re long, dextile, confident somehow. They’re slender and defined, yet capable of serious damage- this you know all too well, and that excites you more than it should. The slice of meat dwarfs in his hold, its shiny reddish myoglobin starting to trickle down his hand and wrist, and it decorates his fine veins and tendons there with its sheen…

No, there’s no way you’re jealous of a piece of meat right now. Did you seriously feel a flutter somewhere that you shouldn’t? Satoru Gojo is literally eating your leftovers with his bare, grubby hands, and you’ve made the fatal error of finding it attractive. Yeah, you’re definitely sleeping in the bathtub tonight before your conflicted mind wanders any further.

He munches on the remainder of your dinner before finally digging into the cheesecake, and you feel blessed for the distraction from your shifting thoughts when you two chat about the mission at hand tomorrow. Is he worried about the curses you’ll be dealing with? No, of course not. According to him, he’s only worried about messing up his hair. Oh, and that expensive jacket you were careful not to touch earlier. With that all that added up, maybe he is nervous about it.

When the conversation dies down, the only sound in the unimpressive hotel room is the game show now playing on the practically vintage television. You quietly scroll your phone while your colleague digs into the soft dessert, stopping suddenly to stick his fork out to you.

“Want a bite? And before you say no, I already told you my cooties aren’t contagious.”

Is this real kindness? You whip your head to face him, studying the glob of caramel-drizzled sweetness, and he’s waving the fork around like a magic wand complete with some convincing “whoosh” sound effects. It’s even more comical with the way he fills his seat, almost like he’s sitting in a doll’s chair. The sight beside you makes you stifle a laugh, and in that moment you realize something: while he constantly irritates you, Satoru Gojo is the brightest, liveliest thing in that damn room. It’s not saying much given the plain wallpaper, dull sheets, and dusty furniture, but it all amounts to him looking pretty good despite your surroundings. If you weren’t sober right now, you’d admit that he looks pretty good just about anywhere. He’s so unfitting, literally, in the drab, cramped space that you almost want to let that very laugh out.

“Eh…I don’t believe you, but even if they weren’t... I couldn’t avoid them in this room anyway,” you joke sleepily, reaching for the fork and pushing the bite of cheesecake past your lips. He’s sitting pretty close, near enough that his spicy cologne still dances in your senses, but if he were any closer you’d swear you could spot him watching how your lips attached so tightly around the plastic silverware. You’re trying desperately to avoid the fact that sharing the fork was like indirectly kissing him, because if you think about it long enough it’ll make you blush all over again. So much for keeping a distance between you two.

You realize something else: he might’ve had a point with his dessert selection. “That is pretty good,” you commentate, handing him back the fork. There’s almost a soft expression on his blindfolded face when he wordlessly pushes the rest of the heaping slice between the two of you, as if the sugary dessert could substitute for a peace treaty. This is how all truces should go, you silently decide.

“Here, have some more in case you die tomorrow,” Gojo tuts with a grin, knowing fully well that you’d be perfectly fine during your assignment the next day. He loves to poke at you, but he can also recognize all the hard work you do. Hell, putting up with him was a full-time job, he could admit.

Your mouth flies open to let out a lighthearted “You asshole,” and you reflexively move to smack his shoulder. You’re even more shocked when your palm actually makes contact with the muscle there..as is he.

Gojo had turned his Infinity off. He must’ve gotten so caught up in wanting to break down your guard this evening that he neglected to remember his own.

“No way, I actually landed a hit on the Satoru Gojo,” you beam. Triumphantly taking another bite of the cheesecake, you feel his gaze train on you. His face-chiseled, you have to say- is conveying something unidentifiable. There’s some surprise and some amusement, but there’s another emotion lingering in the slight rise of his light eyebrows and his relaxed jaw. Something deeper, almost longing. It honestly concerns you for a moment, but he’s quick to recover by slumping backward over the chair, clutching a hand where yours landed just seconds before.

“Abuse! How dare you!” He declares, gripping his shoulder in the throes of his dramatics. “Yaga will be hearing about this. I’m reporting you to the higher-ups!”

“Don’t even. I’ll tell them you sabotaged my technology then,” you counter, waving your phone. “Oh, and that you misused company funds.” You point accusingly at the heap of cheesecake between you both. “And then we’ll both get fired.”

His fists hit the table as he falls forward dramatically. “Ugh…But then we’d end up living here,” he sighs woefully, “and that would be the worst part of all.”

You openly crack up at his refreshing honesty, finally recognizing this room for the shithole that it is, and you feel a newfound warmth spread throughout your chest. “Hmmm… But then we could keep ordering this cheesecake.” Maybe you like bantering with him, you decide.

Gojo chuckles as he stands up from his seat, dragging it back to where it resided in the corner and going along with your bit. “Not if we can’t ‘misuse our funds,’ you tattletale. We better start thinking of a side hustle to keep our lifestyle going.”

There’s a certain weight to “we”s and “our”s that make your heart palpitate just the slightest. It’s like a promise of a future together, a future beyond the uninspiring walls you were forced to rest in tonight. Still in your fit of tired giggles, you close up the remainder of the dessert before sticking it in the hotel room’s loud, antiquated mini fridge. The change of pace between you both is almost freeing, allowing you to consider the idea of actually sleeping somewhat soundly tonight.

“Well, you ponder on that. I’m gonna get ready for bed.” You’re quick to tuck into the bathroom as your laughter dies down, taking your bag with you to switch into the pajamas you packed. All the while, you’re secretly wondering what the sleeping situation is going to look like. You know you’re desperate for rest and given how the evening between you two has warmed a little, the idea of sharing the tiny bed with Gojo is…less than awful to you now. You step out, only to gasp when said man is right outside the door. He’s leaning against the frame with his own bag slung over his shoulder, grinning wickedly and looking all too smug

“My turn, princess. Coming through!”

The novel nickname flutters through your system as he squeezes past you, closing the door in your face with another low chuckle. God, he’s an idiot, you think with a smile, opting to perch in the seat he used for dinner until he returns to the room.

You’re playing a mindless game on your phone when you hear the bathroom door squeak closed, and Gojo plops back into the stiff bed. There’s no shirt on his sculpted body, only a baggy pair of black pajama pants whose waistband barely kisses his narrow hips. Humbled is an understatement when you try not to ogle at the sorcerer before you, whose murder you were secretly plotting just hours before. The skin on your face is akin to the Sun’s surface as you summon every ounce of will not to stare, but his Six Eyes promptly detects the sheepish change in your demeanor.

“So, you sharing this thing with me or what?” He looks over at you in the chair as he stretches over the traverse of the mattress, head propped on one hand while the other toys with his blindfold. “Since you don’t seem to care about my cooties anymore.” The repeated movement of those long, deft fingers looping around the fabric is enough to conjure a flashback to him eating those damn steak bites, and you feel hot all over again. It shouldn’t be suggestive, it really shouldn’t, but the way he’s talking makes it seem like he wants you beside him.

You rest your chin in your hand as you reply with a frown, pretending to think, “Hmmm. That’s gonna be a tight fit.” He snorts in response, something devious but expected on the tip of his tongue, and you realize it as soon as you answer. “Don’t even say it, Gojo.”

He feigns surprise, scooting over and patting the pillow beside him. “Pffft. When have I been known to say anything out of pocket?” He can’t deny the thought of fitting tightly somewhere else, his aqua eyes flashing with a desire he’s never allowed himself to feel for a long time. “Listen princess, you’ve only got two choices for tonight, so pick wisely. There’s somewhere tight-“ he pats the pillow again, -“or somewhere wet.” The thumb previously tugging on the fabric around his eyes jabs toward the bathroom door.

There’s that nickname again. “How erotic,” you snicker, wordlessly complying and letting your exhaustion guide the way to the empty side of the bed. It’s not a ton of space, but you’ll do your best to make it work. Carefully, you slide in to avoid touching him, realizing just how difficult that task is going to be in your limited amount of territory. Should you make a pillow border between you two? No, because then that would take up even more precious space. Maybe if you bunched up some of your blanket-

“Alright! Wait till Shoko hears about this!”

Gojo visibly approves of your choice as he watches you timidly sidle in next to him, wearing that stupidly eager grin on his face and whooping like a sports game attendee. Shooting him a playful glare and an “Oh, enough with you, Six Eyes,” you feel the cool sheets hit your skin, and your body erupts in goosebumps through your thin-ish shirt and shorts. You quickly face the opposite way as him, but not before stealing another glance at his ridiculously toned chest and stomach as he reaches to turn the bedside lamp off. God, he smells so good, like minty toothpaste and his cologne. Darkness abruptly envelops you as your heart pounds, and you have a horrible thought: Who said I wouldn’t be wet sleeping here?

You hear Gojo release a barely audible sigh, almost as if he’s tentative to fall asleep beside you too. He’s not sure who to trust less, you or himself, but he hides his apprehension with a couple more quips as you settle into the compact mattress.

“You have any idea how many people would pay to be where you are right now? You are so lucky.”

He could talk in circles with you again for hours if it meant prolonging the inevitable vulnerability that is unconsciousness beside another person- though a deeper part of him reasons there’s nothing to worry about. Maybe there are other things you could do instead of talk, he thinks, doing little to shake the idea away. It’s kind of nice, way more than nice, the image of you all spread out below him-

The eye roll you respond with is felt by him but not seen in the lightless room. Clouded by an atypical hunger and pure fatigue, you murmur back, “Don’t worry, I tip well,” and a smug smile forms on your face. It’s kind of fun getting to poke back at him. That’s all it is, right? Harmless banter. Gojo senses your intentions on a level unbeknownst to you, though- and he’s not entirely upset at them.

“Listen to you! That was smooth. I just might give you a discount for that.” You hear the sheets rustle beside you, and you slowly turn. He’s fully facing you, boyishly propping his head up on his fist with his near-glowing eyes now exposed. You notice that his blindfold has now been placed neatly on the outdated nightstand. He’s keenly tuned in on you, finding your pajamas a little too cute for a pre-mission night of sleep. It’s clearly getting more difficult for him to deny how entertained he is by the sight of you all snuggled in on your diminutive side of the crappy hotel bed.

You pretend to cover your eyes after seeing his finally revealed to you, feeling thoroughly proud of yourself for matching his energy now. “Put those LEDs away, good lord,” you joke, allowing yourself to let out a sleepy laugh as you pull up the covers to give your bumpy skin some salvation. His intentful gaze is already doing plenty to send heat throughout your limbs though, and the act of grabbing the blanket is an effort in vain. As your eyelids flutter with the weight of tiredness, you understand just how close you two are in the moment. Mentally, you were so much farther away earlier in the evening than you are now- and it takes a second for you to process that you actually like the change.

Gojo laughs softly, and you can hear the late hour begin to seep into his tone. It grows more throaty, lower than before, and it’s entirely too pleasant. Part of you wonders if he’d consider the proposition of reading you a bedtime story. There’s a lingering tension in the air, nearly tangible, and it shifts when you note how his eyes flicker all over your face. Eyes, lips, back to eyes, back to lips.

“Maybe I wanna look at you a little longer. Are you gonna report me to the higher-ups for that, too?” Gojo bats his icy white lashes, his oaky scent further settling into the sheets. The only light in the shoddy room comes from his vibrant irises, and they’re spotlighting on you with piqued interest. The light has always come from him, and it’s an epiphany that has you scooting an inch closer.

“If those things blind me, I will.” You exhale through your nose, partially wishing you could reach out to the heat that radiates off his halfway bare body.

He blinks, and you swear the room flashes dark again for that split second. “Well, y’know, that might be a good thing,” he tries to reason lightheartedly, in a volume just above a whisper. “You wouldn’t have to look at this ugly room anymore.” You watch his hand- the same one you nearly salivated over earlier- land in the limited space between you two, almost as if it wants to cross that border. It takes the most willpower you’ve ever needed not to stare at it, feeling your face flush with a sick anticipation. “I’d be saving you.” Maybe it’s what he’s always wanted to do all along, you both think, and it encourages you to be just as coy back.

In this moment, you feel bold enough to say something you thought would never leave your mouth: “But then I wouldn’t get to look at all six foot three of you.” You pout sarcastically, and Gojo gets the urge to kiss it right off your face. His grin is proud; it’s everything he never knew he wanted to hear.

Your teasing is like a silent permission for his hand to move closer to you, and your entire body stills when you feel it land gently on your lower thigh to play with the frilled hem of your shorts. Must be a pattern of his, you realize. He chuckles, and the sound is so low that you can practically feel it.

“Hmm… You’re right. Again.” Your work partner’s head tilts down slightly at you, and his expression is overcome with what can only be described as relief. “Guess I need to save you some other way.” He notices the goosebumps adorning your figure, and suddenly you’re pressed up against his broad chest. God, he’s so warm, you don’t even realize the way you’re curling right up into him. Somehow, despite your height difference, you fit perfectly along his lanky frame.

“Better?”

You are tired, fatigued beyond belief, but you’d be stupid not to stay awake to experience Satoru Gojo letting his guard down for you. Perhaps this dismal hotel room was a test of will for you two, and while you’re not entirely sure what denotes passing or failing, you do know one thing: Satoru Gojo is unbelievably comfortable to cuddle with.

Still…you wonder what would unfold if you pushed further.

“Hmmm… still not warm enough.” The words leave you before you can tame them, and the unspoken invitation behind them makes his eyebrows raise. The hand playing with the fabric of your shorts squeezes into your skin just the slightest, prompting you to look up at him where you see no reserves on his handsome (God, it’s good to admit that) face. His soft pink lips hover inches from your own, drawing closer like magnets.

“Really.” You feel a thumb rub slow circles along your outer thigh. “I can fix that for you, yeah?” His words shoot straight to your core as his head ducks a little lower, just breaths away from yours.

Well, you’re definitely not tired anymore.

“If you’re still offering that discount…” you breathe out. A rush of smugness allows you to bring your hands to his toned chest, traveling up to trace his defined collarbone. His skin is soft, almost velvety, most likely from years of keeping his perimeter so trained to avoid any unnecessary contact, and the act of smoothing your fingers over it becomes soothing.

Gojo’s lopsided grin conveys the desire he’s suppressed for so long, seemingly caught up in this new dynamic with you. “Nah, we’ll put it on the credit card,” he finally laughs before confidently pressing his lips to yours.

He is an entirely new taste, and you’re not able to reference his movements to anything or anyone; it’s another level of tact and precision. Did he plan this? His kisses are the perfect mix of messy and firm, and it’s clear he’s doing all but holding back. Something unlocks as he goes through the motions, maybe the realization of the snapped tension or maybe the feeling of you kissing back just as passionately, and his mouth soon scatters everywhere from your lips to your jaw to your neck in a flurry of teeth and tongue. He’s somehow magically in tune with your most sensitive areas of the exposed skin as his lips wander, leaving you to grab his firm bicep and cling as if he’s grounding you to the earth. The details of the dingy hotel room are completely abandoned as you feel your senses envelop, finally, with all that is Satoru Gojo, and there was truly no beauty greater than that.

Chest heaving, you almost let out a laugh at how rapidly the night has shifted. His well-trained hands travel, one squeezing the tissue of your breast over your thin shirt while the other dances just below the leg of your shorts. With all walls down, it’s pointless to hide the effect his touch has on you. If his hand moved any higher, he’d discover how wet you were- part of you dreaded how inflated his ego would become after that, but the other, hungrier part of you needed him to do it.

“Anyone ever told you-“ Gojo breathes out between his attack, brushing a thumb over your hardened nipple, “how pretty you are?” He is all too focused on drinking in your features, finding your weakest and favorite points. Your back arches ridiculously easily into his touch as you struggle to find the words to answer him.

“N-no one else that’s mattered.”

You’re sure his ego will balloon rapidly upon that little admission, but you partly didn’t care- not when he was capable of making you feel so unbelievably good.

He’s rightfully amused at how blatant your desire is now. “Oh? So I do matter to you then.” His other hand roams up your thigh, threatening to reach where you wanted it most. You snicker before a shudder erupts from you when a long, hot stripe is licked down your neck and over your shoulder, and it’s all you need to swing your leg over his, straddling him on the stiff, narrow mattress. The flex of his abs as he sits up to accommodate you is nothing short of poetic, and you find more prose in the clouded, desperate fog of his azure eyes when he watches you with curiosity. He immediately rests his grip on your waist, pressing you down gently onto what can only be described as a monster underneath his sweats. You understand now why he carries himself the way that he does: He’s fucking huge.

You push your chest against his, unable to stop the twitch of your hips when you feel Gojo’s hardness brush against your heat. The wetness of your arousal is sure to be felt through the fabric, and he’d be silly to halt your admittedly cute display of attempts in chasing just an ounce of pleasure. Your flushed face, furrowed eyebrows, small noises, it’s motion picture to him. However, he selfishly wants to be that pleasure for you, and he’s quick to slide a hand down your body to cup your pussy through your pajamas.

Your jaw goes slack as Gojo’s hand makes contact with your most sensitive area over your shorts, and the circles he rubs help him collect some of the condensation from the fabric. It feels good, but not good enough, and you can’t help but huff at the restricted movement. He is all too cocky when his hand pulls away, eyeing it with an intense mirth.

“Damn, waterworks, you always get this wet?” He’s half-amazed and half-amused as he studies his glistening fingers, his other hand gripping at your ass. “That’s so hot.”

“Shut up, Satoru.” You smack his bare shoulder before burying your face into it, feeling your cheeks turn crimson. He chuckles, finding you adorable when you’re embarrassed yet hating that you feel that way. He knows just how to help you get over that, and he starts by slowly sliding his body down, holding your thighs spread as he maneuvers his head onto the flat-ish pillow. You glare down confusedly at him in his newfound position, only to meet with eager cerulean eyes that are practically begging to pull you closer.

“Fine then, I’ve got other stuff I wanna do with my mouth anyway,” you hear him murmur from between your thighs, and his hand brushes over your clothed, throbbing cunt again. “Now sit, princess.”

“Huh? No, you won’t be able to breathe, I can’t.” Your head shakes vigorously in disapproval. Not that you didn’t want them there, but there was no way… you’d probably end up suffocating the guy, and while you had a more murderous urge to do that earlier this evening you’d much rather-

“Fine with me, now lemme taste you,” Gojo insists with almost a whine in his tone, not letting you respond before pulling the soaked crotch of your shorts to the side and licking a long, forceful line from your hole to your clit. You moan when he does it again, and again, feeling your knees weaken to finally sink yourself onto his mouth. The groan that vibrates against your nerve endings makes you look down, only to see his frosty white lashes flutter as you fill his senses. This was well worth the hours of wearing down your resolve this evening.

His movements become frantic, desperate to experience you now that he’s let his guard down this long with no dire consequences. You feel his tongue lap at your sensitive clit, and his lips kiss in your heat so loudly and wetly that it sounds like a porn scene. Your hands fly to his ivory hair, gripping till his scalp stings. This makes him groan again, and you can barely control the way your hips start to rock along his mouth.

Gojo breaks away for a split second, tongue dragging along your inner thigh with his cock nearly in pain because of he’s got you where he wants you. “Just like that, baby, ride my face,” he huffs quickly before returning to flattening his tongue along your clit. You feel him squeeze the cheeks of your ass, forcing you onto the hot muscle and encouraging you to continue.

He seems to be breathing just fine, you realize- which of course he is, he’s Satoru fucking Gojo- he could handle just about anything. It gives you the confidence to rut your hips forward, moaning louder when his lips wrap around your overstimulated nerve and suck hard. You earn a playful smack on your ass when his name slips out of your mouth, and the stinging sends you further into your frenzy for pleasure as you start to build up a pace. It’s addicting, really, the way he’s lapping and sucking at your aching cunt like it’s his favorite dessert, and you’re suddenly thankful that he has the appetite that he does. He breaks away for a second to spit into your heat, spreading your slick folds wide with those deft fingers of his, and that only has you rocking harder along his mouth when he reattaches himself. To him, you are so much better than any sweet he’s had.

You don’t even realize you’re doing it, but you’re tugging Gojo’s snowy tresses in shallow efforts to further bury his face in your cunt as you ride it, and he’s all too happy that you’re using him in this way. As his tongue prods up into your tight entrance, he feels his cock throb again at the prospect of how it would feel inside of you. He groans at the thought, and you feel it all the way up in your ribcage. He’s already picked up on the fact that you’re close, judging by how your frantic movements have sped up and the way you’re babbling incoherent praises that only make him ache more.

“Fuck, Satoru, feels so- good- please…”

When Gojo lets out a little laugh at that, you feel your slick dribble messily down your thighs. That hot, blinding pressure grows stronger under your navel when you grind harder on his tongue, threatening to spill over when he starts to flick it along your clit to match your pace. It all feels so deliciously good that you pay no mind to his nails digging into your flesh, his own way of ensuring he’s leaving a mark- as if he hasn’t decorated your neck in shades of blotchy fuchsia already.

“I’m-so-close….”

He gives your ass another smack with your breathy cry, looking up at you with eyes that nearly beam. You look down while your hips continue to drag along his tongue, finding him just so damn pretty while he’s eating you so good, and you ease your fingers in his hair. That impending sensation grows stronger, and he quickly parts from your lips to murmur confidently:

“I know, princess, I got you. Lemme have it.”

His choice of words and the way he immediately goes back to lapping at your heat are both more than enough to have you coming apart around his tongue in mere seconds. There is nothing in your mind’s eye but Gojo as your high overtakes you, fizzling through your being and prompting you to cry out his name as if it’s a chant. He soaks it all in, helping you ride out your release before slowing to kiss his way back up your body. You’ve never come that hard- and somehow, he senses this too. Your legs feel like jelly when he’s finally face-to-face with you, and his is glistening with your arousal. If he wasn’t desperate to be inside of you right now he could do that for hours, he thinks.

You lean in, capturing your lips with Gojo’s and wrapping your arms around his neck to kiss him deeply. Your own taste on your lips does little to dissuade you from him, and for the next few moments, you both feverishly rip off whatever clothing is still unfortunately on your bodies. He, as gracefully as he can given the annoyingly small hotel bed, maneuvers you onto the pillow so you’re lying on your back, and you feel his heavy cock hit your stomach. He pauses for a second to study your features, finding that every inch of you is worth burning to memory. You’re stunning like this, all sticky and flushed and needy, and it’s all because of his efforts. He’s only more gratified when your mouth flies open at his impressive size.

“You're kidding. That's not gonna fit,” You sputter, still in your post-orgasm daze, but you feel your hole clench around nothing when you notice the filmy drops of pre beading around his thick tip.

His laugh is genuine, almost melodic as he pumps himself a few times. “Such a downer. We’ll make it fit, ‘kay?” Gojo promises with a goofy grin, letting his hand wander along your bare nipples and stomach before eventually revisiting your now sore cunt. You hiss in delight when he slides one of his long fingers in, and your legs spread automatically at the intrusion. Even in the most cramped bed ever, you’d realize you’d make room for him anywhere. You reach out, dragging your hand along his chiseled stomach, nearly in awe at how firm the muscles are there. He’s like if art was living, breathing, unrestricted from a canvas or frame.

Your hand slides further, silently encouraging his own to move so you can take over stroking his hardened cock as his finger curls along your hot walls. You moan quietly, watching his breath hitch in his broad chest- he’s not sure whether to watch your face or your movements, and there’s an eagerness within him that amplifies when he sees how tightly you’re sucking in just a digit of his. His hips jut forward slightly when your thumb brushes his sensitive tip, and he finally decides to look into your eyes. You stare back, wanting to say so much about how his are the perfect shade of blue.

“Y’know why I harass you so much?” He asks in a tone that reaches a new level of softness for him, and you entertain his question as he slowly introduces a second finger. The stretch is delicious, though you think it’s doing little to prep for the monstrosity that awaits you.

“‘Cause you’re Satoru Gojo?” You reply before letting out a hiss at a particularly sensitive spot he hits within you.

He snorts. “Well, yeah, and ‘cause I think you’re pretty. Inside and out. Gorgeous, actually.”

You blush a little at how he turns a silly banter into a very real confession, and you watch his eyelids flutter again. Actually, you feel kind of bad for being so lighthearted while he was being serious- that was his thing, anyway. Times like these were what made his bluntness endearing, and he continues, beginning to align his length with your dripping entrance after slowly removing his fingers.

“So, lemme prove it.”

Feeling all kinds of giddy you nod, angling your thighs so his hips can fit between them. His spongy tip drags through your slick folds, and it’s the most you’ve ever felt another person focus so directly on you. You look up at him, bringing your hands up his stomach and to his defined shoulders as his tip sinks into you just the slightest.

“Well, you’re pretty too, like otherworldly handsome,” you admit back with a timid smile, clearly trying to regain your breath. “Just couldn’t tell you ‘cause you were too busy harassing me.” You exhale when he submerges himself a little more, and he smiles back with his pearly white teeth. “You’re fucking huge, too… oh my god…” you add, moaning a little at how his cock feels nothing like his fingers. You hate to admit it, but it’s clear he’s set to wreck you.

“Naturally.” He’s using every ounce of strength to control himself from pounding into you, responding to your praise and your criticism all at once. Gojo slowly and gently pushes in until his hips are flush with yours, and it feels as if he’s tearing you from the inside. Your face is scrunched at the intrusion, and he has to cover his own mouth to stop a moan at how tight you feel. There’s no other convincing needed by him that your pussy was practically made for him, he thinks, and he studies your features for any indication of stopping.

“Look at you,” he coos, nearly mesmerized by how your cunt has already swallowed him whole. His hand slides down his face to tweak at one of your hardened nipples. “And you said I wouldn’t fit. Takin’ it like a pro, princess.” His lighthearted motivation makes you snicker a little, and it eases some of the stinging from the stretch he’s causing. He gives you a few shallow thrusts, and his eyes practically roll to the back of his head when your hot walls grip around him. It takes a few moments for you to adjust to his size, and when finally you do, you give him the silent go-ahead by softening your expression. His grin could blind a room full of people when he thrusts deeper, not only reaching that same sensitive spot but finding another, and it makes your head loll back to the pillow.

That reminds him. He pauses for a second to slide one of the cheap hotel pillows under your tailbone, and suddenly his cock feels like it’s colliding with your guts when he continues his movements. Your mouth couldn’t fall any more open as he starts to establish a pace, filling you so masterfully yet harshly with every stroke.

“Sa-to-ru…” you pant, digging your nails into Gojo’s sculpted back, and this only motivates him more. You have a realization that could either be horrible or amazing: How could you ever fuck anyone else again? Again and again he’s thrusting into that magical spot till the sounds of your wetness fill the otherwise lackluster room, spoiling you for any other and reassuring you that yes, he really is the strongest. Part of him knows how skilled he is, and he has to refrain from laughing- no one would ever be enough once he was done with you. Then again, he never wants to be done with you.

You feel his tactful hands roam your body aimlessly, a visible sign of his enrapture with how you receive him. He wants to focus on watching his cock slam into your cunt over and over, but he also wants to watch your face as you writhe and cry out his name- he’s clearly conflicted.

The little breathy noises slipping out of him aren’t helping your cause, and the way he abruptly throws one of your legs over his broad shoulder doesn’t either. He’s now rutting into your tight heat relentlessly, a stark contrast from how delicately he’s kissing up the thigh that’s pressed into his chest.

“Your pussy is...perfect,” you hear Gojo groan, drawing the words out, and his kisses along your thigh become animalistic as they turn into bites. You whimper, back arching with all the sensations filling your system, and that heady feeling in your tummy begins to strengthen again. “Wanna-fuck you- forever…”

“Please,” you agree as your ability to form sentences leaves you. “Don’t ever- stop…”

In a perfect world, he wouldn’t. As one hand holds your thigh to his chest and the other travels to your overstimulated clit, his shiny blue eyes watch your contorting face, smiling proudly when you moan at how his fingers rub tight circles along your nerves. He can feel his release approaching alongside yours, and your slick walls flutter around his cock as he pummels into you.

“Want another one, princess,” Gojo pants, making your skin smack against his as your orgasm builds up in your tummy. “Go on, come on- my cock…”

His wish is your command. You quickly lean forward, mashing your lips with his when the pleasure fizzles out of you all over again. You feel the tips of your toes burn at how powerfully your release hits you, wracking your body with an almost overwhelming amount of pleasure. You’re reduced to a heaving, shaking mess, convulsing around his length and left only able to babble his name against his mouth in your state of bliss. His hand cradles the back of your head as he fucks you through the aftershock and kisses you roughly, only to follow close behind just moments later. His movements falter before your name falls from his lips, and his hips stutter as you feel yourself start to fill with his thick seed.

Holy shit. Who would’ve guessed that this was how your evening would turn out? Just mere hours ago you wanted to claw at his throat, and instead you clawed at his back because of how good he was dicking you down. Your mind swims as Gojo slowly withdraws, slipping out of your sore cunt to collapse beside you in what little space the hotel bed offered. He’s even gorgeous like this, maybe more than ever actually. You’re observing how his ivory hair sticks to his forehead and his back glistens with the thinnest layer of sweat from his efforts, the muscles there decorated with thin red indents from your nails. It’s a sight worth recreating an infinite number of times.

Not having him envelop all your senses anymore forces you back into reality, where a mission lies just hours ahead of you and your shared hotel room isn’t any prettier. And unbelievably, those things don’t even matter anymore. All you can perceive and recognize in your afterglow is Satoru Gojo, who is already regaining his breath while you lie there like a fucked-out mess. Beautiful.

Gojo turns to face you, watching your chest rise and fall as you regulate yourself, and his delighted grin is all too perfect for someone who just obliterated you.

“So…you warm enough now?”

Your sticky body shifts to face him, vibrating with laughter as you answer “For now, yes…” and your head hits the pillow exhaustedly. That’s right- you were already tired before this “development” even happened.

His whole being is pure elation as he languidly drapes an arm over your bare figure. “Does that mean we get to do that again? I think she really likes me.” His hand brushes over your abused cunt, and your body flares at his touch yet again. It was a sick epiphany that he could destroy you and you’d still want more.

You snicker. “Yes, but she is super sore right now.” The sleepiness from earlier seeps into your brain, and you find yourself curling back into his lanky frame. He accepts you openly, resting a hand on your ass as he scoops you closer.

“I can kiss her better,” he pipes up quietly, already thinking of all the ways he could keep touching you. Even though you feel that droning buzz of want again, you tiredly shake your head, regretfully reminding him “Noooo, we’ve gotta get up in a few hours. Maybe after our mission.” You swear his eyes desaturate a shade before he sighs.

“Yeah yeah yeah. You’re gonna be tired and sore anyway.”

“Oh, and you’re not?”

“Nah.” Gojo moves to press a fresh batch of kisses all over your neck, and you shudder. He did have a point- you were already planning on shotgunning whatever energy drinks were in the dingy hotel lobby’s vending machine in the morning, as if they even had one. “I could go all night if you wanted, princess. Give you more of my cooties.”

You laugh freely, realizing he probably wasn’t exaggerating. It’s quite the offer from the one who just wrecked you so good- and you’d be silly to refuse despite your tiredness. You feeling your limbs tangle into each other’s, returning thoughts of the hazardous hotel drifting away once more, and your arousal slowly revisits you. What an incredible way to forget about your surroundings. You tug playfully on his icy tresses, you decide that this might be your new favorite kind of exhaustion. “As long as you don’t share your cooties with anyone else.”

Snickering, Gojo keenly zeroes on spreading your aching legs so he can see the aftermath from earlier, and he’s hardening again at the sight of his thick cum barely trickling out onto your thighs. With a mischievous smile, he assures you, “Never. This is just too pretty. Plus, you said you were gonna tip well.”

His hands trace you, and there’s not a more discernible indicator of your new bond with him than when you look down at his length, answering him in a familiarly cheeky tone, “Well, you already did.” He laughs, the warmest he's ever allowed himself, and it's certain he's keeping his promise.

Turns out, Shoko was right about him.

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Musician Age Gap AU Pt 13

With two back-to-back shows in Paris, with a new song added to the set list, Kara expects to largely watch Lena sleep. But somehow, the morning after the first show, Kara is woken early by movement beyond the shared door of their suites.

Upon knocking, she receives a bright "come in!" and opens the door to find Lena bustling around the room. She's dressed in leggings and spandex top, complete with brightly colored sneakers on her feet. Her face is bare of makeup, but retains the dewey vibrancy only youth can give.

"Good morning!" Lena greets, bouncing to Kara with more energy than she has any right to have. "Did you sleep well?"

"Sure," Kara returns drolly. "But not enough--- how are you even awake? We only got back at 3am!"

Lena laughs. "I've got to get a workout in before the meet and greet later." She lifts one of her earbuds in one hand, nestling its pair in her ear with the other. "Wanna join?"

"The meet and greet, or the workout?" Kara asks dubiously.

"Why not both?"

Why not both. She's here with the express purpose of supporting Lena, but now she's faced with the dilemma of deciding whether that included running. She hasn't seriously trained since she played volleyball in college... she'd probably trip over her own feet.

"Sure," she finds herself saying, before her brain can catch up. When it does, she hesitates. "Oh-- I didn't bring--"

"I've got some looser gear that should fit," Lena responds easily. She cocks a grin. "Or you can just spot me."

"Yeah... I should probably do that. I can run out and grab some gear later today. At least some sneakers."

She does take Lena up on the offer of her looser workout gear-- sweatpants that were more capris on Kara than not, and a tank top that would have sagged on Lena, but comfortably snugs against Kara's curves.

"Oooh," Lena says when she sees her. She trots over and gives Kara a peck on the lips. "I like this look."

"You speak of this to no one," Kara warns, more self conscious of her bare ankles than anything else.

"What happens in Paris, stays in Paris," Lena promises, then tilts her head towards the other room. "Come on."

Kara expects them to use whatever gym amenities the hotel offers its guests, but it turns out the suite of rooms includes its own exercise area, complete with treadmill, freeweights, and aerobic equipment.

"I prefer not to use the shared amenities downstairs," Lena explains lightly. "I don't want to hog the machines. Or disturb anyone else's workout."

Seeing Kara's curious look, Lena gives her a mysterious smile. "It'll make sense later."

Lena trains like a professional athlete. Kara is exhausted just watching, and almost an hour in, it seems like Lena is only getting started. At least, Kara reassures herself, the woman sweats like a normal human.

"What?" Lena pants as she pistol squats with a fifteen pound dumbell under her chin.

"You really like this stuff, don't you?" she asks. Watching from the weight bench, Kara can see that this isn't just a means to an end. She enjoys it.

Lena smiles. "Yeah, I do. I can't help it."

Her enthusiasm is infectious, as proven by the fact Kara is compelled to join Lena in her floor exercises. Core had always been her strong suit in college, but it's clear from her lackluster plank and crunch stamina that she's lost any and all conditioning she might have had.

Even so, instead of feeling discouraged, Lena's delighted giggle, Kara looks forward to her next attempt. The workout ends with cardio on the treadmill-- or so Kara thinks.

"I gotta put these in," she warns. "That okay?"

Kara nods. Lena's mystery smile returns for a brief moment, before the treadmill beeps on and Lena starts with a brisk walk. After five minutes Lena expertly keeps up with an increasing pace, until her sneakers are pounding out a heavy rhythm at a rate Kara can scarcely fathom. Only the most dedicated of players on Kara's volleyball team had been able to keep up that kind of pace for very long, yet there Lena is, strides long and even and surefooted.

Then the singing starts. Lena begins with a scale or two, then a few vocal warm ups. Kara recognizes the first song of Lena's setlist from the opening note, and from there can only listen in awe as Lena belts through her entire concert from start to finish.

It sounds as steady as any true performance, the notes strong and clear without any shortness of breath. It's... astounding.

When the treadmill finally slows to a walk once more, Kara comes around to rest her forearms on the rail. She looks at Lena expectantly, who is patently pleased with herself.

She shrugs with false modesty. "It's sort of my superpower."

In answer, Kara crooks a beckoning finger, prompting Lena to lean down and receive a kiss for her efforts. Lena doesn't even break stride, but she does fumble for the off button, slowing to a stop as the kiss persists, deepening.

When Lena hops off the machine, Kara has half a mind to press Lena up against it to kiss her senseless-- a temptation she fails to resist when Lena's hand slides up her shirt to run warm fingers over Kara's ribs.

"Jesus," Kara mutters, pausing for breath. "Lena, you... I don't know if I--"

"We go at your pace, darling," Lena murmurs back. "Just know that I really, really want--"

Kara swallows her next words with another, deeper kiss. Helpless to the attraction tugging under her ribs, Kara lets her fingers wander up Lena's side, until her palm cups Lena's breast. It earns her a heady moan into her mouth, and a tightening of Lena's arms around her neck, pulling her closer--

"Lena? We have two hours before the meet and greet!"

Jess' voice calls, innocent yet conspicuous behind a door that stays shut. Lena sags, the moment broken but not it's tension.

"Thank you, Jess!" she calls back, not bothering to unloop her arms from Kara's shoulders. "I'll be in the shower shortly."

Jess' footsteps pad away, but Lena doesn't resume their previous activities.

"We don't have a lot of time..." she starts conspiratorially, voice low. "Not enough to do *this* justice. But..." Her green eyes darken with desire. "Think we can make up some time by doubling up on the shower?"

Kara reaches up and grasps Lena's hand, bending to capture another kiss.

"There's only one way to find out."

They do not make up any time whatsoever.

[kaisers-house-of-desires]

Hello I hope you don't mind me requesting again (●’◡’●)ﾉ

But if you don't mind could I request byakuya togami x male reader that acts like Jamil viper

You can choose the kinks again, but could m!reader be bottom, and can it still be in the killing game and m!reader can be the ultimate butler?

-Sunny

Of course not, Sunny! A request that I can manage is a request that will be fulfilled~!

I do apologize if this is lackluster, but Byakuya is not a character I feel too much when writing. I do hope you enjoy this nonetheless!

Title: Yes, Sir

Characters: Top!Byakua Togami x Bottom!m!reader(Ultimate Butler)

Contains: Dom/Sub dynamic, bondage, fingering, spanking

Fandom: Danganronpa

Full request below the cut

All characters are 18+

MINORS, FEM ALIGNED, AGELESS/BLANK BLOGS DNI

Reblogs > likes

Ever since Byakuya discovered your talent, he has requested that you serve him. Though that's not to say you were thrilled by the notion of that.

You were actually fought over by him and Celeste near the start of the game. Celeste insisted you stay with her, as she deemed herself high enough to have a servant, but Byakua insisted the same. You weren't sure how you ended up with him in the end, but that's how it came to be, never having a choice in the matter like usual.

You two were in the library. Byakuya was researching multiple things when he decided it would be better to take a break from that. He handed the book that he had found on the desk from his previous session and had you put it away.

"Yes, sir." You took the book, automatically checking the cover to see where it would go on the shelves.

"Bring me something...exciting."

"Any specific genre, sir?"

"No, whatever suits your fancy."

Sure, make it harder for me...

You scoured she shelves, trying to find something that would entice him. In the end, you decided on a cookbook. Sure it was an odd choice, but when skimming through them before, it was always somewhat exciting to see all sorts of different dishes.

You haded Byakuya the book, but when he read the cover, only his eyes moved to you. "A cookbook?"

"I personally find different recipies and food items exciting, sir."

Byakuya sighed, putting the book down on the desk. "Actually...I think I have something else in mind for a destressor."

"...And...what would that be, sir?"

"Give me your tie."

You stayed still for a moment, sighing before obliging. You undid your tie, giving it to Byakuya. He spun you around, grabbing your hands and pinning them behind you as he tied them together. When finished, pushed you over the desk with a small grunt. You were now positioned for him.

"I don't know where you get off thinking a cookbook would be an exciting read."

"Y-You said to pick something that suited my--"

"Is that back talk, (y/n)?"

"N-No, sir, I was just--"

"Silence." Byakuya undid the tie that he wore himself wrapping it over your mouth and tying it behind your head. When he was out of sight, you scowled from the action. This guy...so full of himself...you hated that you had to serve him, especially receiving a punishment like this, but a talent is a talent, and with expectations come punishments.

Byakuya removed your pants and boxers, and you were ashamed to admit your cock was already hardening from all of this. You swore you could hear the smirk through a hum as he noted your shaft, now spreading your ass to get a good view.

To your surprise, he slipped in his thumb, earining him a soft moan from the small stretching. He gently pushed in and out, working out your ass. You tried writhing around a bit, but Byakuya quickly stopped you with a slap to your ass.

"Sit still."

You wanted to growl out against the gag, but instead disguised it as a groan, obeying as Byakuya continued to work you out. Once he was satisfied, he removed his thumb and inserted his middle and ring finger, causing you to arch your back a bit with a whine.

"So far, I'd say you're behaving quite well. Maybe this will teach you to take my commands seriously next time."

You tried to fight the blissful feeling, trying to keep yourself in check, but you couldn't. You nodded with a moan, your brows furrowing as he pushed his fingers deeper. Your moans became more consistent as you rested your head on the desk, all external sense of yourself starting to fade. You accepted your fate, but you wouldn't make this mistake again.

"I'd say you're about ready now...What do you think, (y/n)?"

You nodded eagerly, spreading your legs further for Byakuya.

He smirked at the sight of you, noting to remember this as he pulled his cock from his pants, positioning himself at your hole. He didn't miss a beat, filling you nice and deep right away. You arched your back once more, legs trembling against him.

Byakuya held onto your shoulders, using you as leverage to thrust into you as deep as he could go. Despite being told to stay still, you rocked your hips back into him, though Byakuya didn't seem to have an issue this time. The two of you grunted into the air, disturbing the silent library environment. You were thankful that no one else was here, and should a murder occur, you had your alibi, so with that in mind, you let yourself go.

It didn't take long before your moans began to pitch, signalling that you were approaching your climax. Byakuya was well aware, and picked up the speed, for once indulging you instead of him. Your cock was rigid against the desk, and with one final thrust, the side was painted white along with the inside of you.

The two of you panted heavily, relishing in the afterglow of the moment. Though you enjoyed it, you stilled noted to take his requests a little more seriously

Or...

Who knows.

You had to admit this was fun. It wouldn't hurt to get yourself like this again, right?

[pochipop]

＃OVERWATCH !! ♡ — DON'T WASTE YOUR HEART IN MOURNING ME (MOIRA X READER).

#. synopsis! — left to grapple with moira's sudden departure from your life, you spend a harrowing afternoon reminiscing on the good, the bad, and the deliciously bittersweet . #. characters! — moira .

#. warnings! — angst, liberal use of curse words .

#. word count! — 6.1k .

#. others! — navigation & masterlist .

#. alt accounts! — @ddollipop (nsfw), @hhoneypop (moodboards) .

The apartment feels larger now than it did before. It’s quiet in a way it never was when Moira was around, —always with her little tics, tapping her long, ever-manicured nails on the kitchen island or pacing about in one of the rooms. . . She did that latter thing a lot near the end, with more dramatic touslings of her hair than in the time before. For a moment, you fear the downstairs neighbors must be celebrating her departure, and the thought of it almost makes you laugh. The silence is laden with memories in every nook and cranny of this place, and it dawns on you now that it feels much like it did back when she and you were moving the first of many boxes in, ready to start a new life together.

Only this time, there’s no promise of eternal love or any of that other bullshit that she always warned you was a fool’s game to play with. 

Moira, Moira, Moira, ever the pragmatic one. . .

There’s a faint scent of lavender-heavy perfume that lingers throughout, reminding you that she wasn’t just some figment of your imagination. At one time, she’d been the love of your life. Or, she was who you thought would take that title, anyway. Nowadays, you just aren’t so sure, and perhaps that’s been the hardest pill to swallow thus far. The scent reminds you of her, —of the way her brows would furrow deeply when she was displeased, of how she always took her coffee black and poked fun at you for the additives you refused to drink it without. It reminds you of her arms wrapping ever so sweetly around your waist, her chin coming down to rest on the crown of your head.

You blink and try to focus on something —anything— else. It’s hard enough to deal with it all, but you’re just torturing yourself with it at this point. Your eyes sweep the room, the cream-colored walls, landing on a painting you’d created several years ago. It was lackluster now in terms of honed skill, but there was something so endlessly passionate about it, so full of vibrance and promise. Reaching out, your fingertips graze the glazed canvas, and it’s like you’re right back there again. . .

The gallery buzzes with excitement, the sounds of light, casual conversation and clinking wine glasses echoing through the wide halls. You stand before your own work, amazed that it’s hanging here in this exhibit of your prowess, even if this gig had been a long time coming. To see it actually displayed here made your heart soar. It was the biggest step you’d taken in your career since moving to this city and it felt so incredible that your sacrifices were finally paying off.

You’re caught up in the whirlwind of congratulations, thanks, and small talk, —but none of that is enough to keep your eyes from drifting over to her; a tall, ginger-haired, sophisticated woman standing a few feet back from one of your pieces, staring at it intensely enough to feel unnerving and intriguing all in the same breath. Dressed in a finely pressed suit the same color of the wine in her glass, her sharp, calculating gaze turns to you as you approach her nervously, feeling small both physically and metaphorically standing beside her.

“I can’t quite tell if you like it or not,” you muse, trying to sound playful, even if the real intent was just to have her offer her unfiltered opinion so you could stop guessing what she thought of it.

The way she was staring at it made you feel like she thought there was some kind of hidden message carved into the paint strokes. When her eyes flicker to you, you notice that they’re different colors, —one red, one blue, both deeper shades, and you get lost in them for a moment before she laughs softly, and you have something else to fall into. 

“Oh, I like it quite a bit,” she answers.

There’s an accent clinging to her words, but you haven’t quite placed it just yet. That doesn't stop it from making your stomach twist itself into knots though.

“It’s quite captivating.” 

You almost blurt out that you could say the same of her, but you let that sentence die on your tongue before it has the chance to see the light of day.

“I’m glad you think so,” you smile softly, “it was my favorite of the bunch. That’s why I placed it in the center of the exhibit.” 

“I’m inclined to agree,” she nods. “How much would it cost to purchase?”

Your eyes widen. It wasn’t necessarily unusual for paintings to be arranged to be sold during these events, but that tended to come with recognition from the local art collecting scene that you just didn’t have at the moment. For you, this exhibit was more about reaching a wider audience and allowing the public to see your pieces than it was making any kind of profit. . .

“Um. . . I— I don’t know, how much would you be willing to pay?” You swallow, at the risk of sounding unprofessional.

She gives the painting another glance over, then turns back to you.

“Does a grand sound fair?”

Your jaw almost dropped to the floor.

“S-Sorry?”

“Two?”

Holy shit. All of this seemed to have gone from zero to a thousand (or two. . .) in the blink of an eye, and you have to take a second to collect yourself, lest you seem anymore clueless than you’ve probably already come across as.

“Does. . . fifteen hundred work?” You dare.

“Certainly,” Moira nods decisively.

You give her your information so she can send the money your way in a few days time when she comes to pick the painting up at the end of the exhibition. And when the time comes, you walk away with one less painting to lug back to your apartment, fifteen hundred dollars richer, and with a new phone number added to your contacts with her name attached.

It was almost funny. Maybe you’d have laughed if you weren’t already on the verge of tears. All of this has really come full circle, and you’re just not sure you appreciate the irony of it all in the moment. Here you are, standing in front of this goddamn painting, the one that had acted as a catalyst to meeting Moira in the first place. . . And it’s back in your possession, because she couldn’t even be bothered to take it with her. As much as you love it for what it represents, there’s a part of you that wants to pluck it off the wall and slam it out the window right about now. Or maybe beating it with a baseball bat or something would feel more satisfying.

Whatever the case, you’re getting tired of looking at it, so you avert your gaze elsewhere and let your back touch the wall beside it. Stupid painting. Stupid apartment. Stupid Moira and her stupid decisions that have plagued your life for the past five years, and those stupidly long nails that traced perfect shapes along your hip at night, and her stupid lips with that goddamn orangeish gloss that always stained yours when she’d kiss you—

“Ugh!” You groan.

All this reminiscing has reminded you of how electric it felt to be in her presence back then, how magnetic she’d been from the start. Those sharp eyes that matched her wit, those clever jokes she’d throw your way (some of which went over your head, admittedly), —and the sweetness of her voice when it came to you. She was kinder with you in subtle way, would place her hands on the small of your back in public, taking care to tuck loose strands of your hair behind your ears if the need arose. You hate that this fallout has left you wondering if it was ever truly affection at all, of if she was simply protecting her own self-image.

You’ve questioned a lot of things about her over the years, but whether or not she was genuine in her love for you had rarely been one. But now, that conversation is back on the table, and it’s woefully one-sided this time. 

One text lead to many. At first, it was hard to tell if she was simply interested in you as an artist or if that interest expanded to you as a person, but she quickly put your worries to rest when she began flirting with you in a way that even you, in all your obliviousness, had to acknowledge was more than playful banter between friends. Slowly, your life became intertwined with hers, and looking back, it seemed to happen in the blink of an eye. One late night date at a fancy bar and you were practically groveling at her feet, so desperate for her to see you as her equal. She spoke with you about science and philosophy, —her words acting as a forewarning for what was inevitably to come, even if you didn’t realize it at the time.

She was very hush-hush about her working endeavors, but you knew she was employed by Overwatch. That alone explained why she couldn’t divulge all the information of her duties to you, and you were okay with that. The secrecy got worse as time went on. Especially after she was publicly shamed for her “poor regard for the ethics of the scientific community” or whatever. The city isn’t small by any means, but it wasn’t large enough to spare you the fate of being tied to her name. You’d been seen attending various events with her, and many of the wealthy clientele that purchased paintings from the local galleries soon put two and two together. At that point, your paintings began selling at a much slower and much less financially liberal rate.

Moira insisted that it was okay. That it would pass eventually as she became involved with a different organization, —or. . . A different branch of the same organization? You weren’t sure. She never explained much, and you didn’t like to pry. If Moira wanted you to know something, she would tell you. Anything beyond that was best left alone.

Equally mesmerizing and maddening all at once, she insists that all is well. That everything will be okay. That all of this heat on her name is a fad, that once she proves herself, the tides will turn in her favor. . . And you believe her. You take smaller, more intimate jobs and refrain from showing your face at the local galleries for a while, waiting for the heat to die down. She talks you into moving in with her, taking you from your one-bedroom studio apartment to the top of the most affluent building in the city. You tell her it doesn’t feel much like anywhere you could call home, and she brushes your concerns away.

“It’s all the empty space,” she says. “We’ll decorate.”

You do, and somewhere along the line this apartment begins to feel exactly like you insisted it couldn’t. You sleep on sheets that smell like her, bury your face into her pillow to breathe her in when she gets up at ungodly hours of the morning to leave for work. She hangs that painting she bought from you about a year ago by now up on the wall near the kitchen and the living room, and she glances at it often when she sits at the counter. When she manages to make it home in time for dinner, you sit together and eat. . . Sometimes she’s just shy of talking your ear off, and others, she doesn’t say much at all.

She cups your cheeks and insists that everything will be okay when you get overwhelmed. She learns how to be gentler with you, learns how to be more sensitive. You learn how to trust her more and how to avoid stepping on her toes when her days are hard. Sometimes, you convince her to turn that magnificent brain of hers off and watch something stupid on the television with you, —trashy reality TV that she doesn’t really get, but likes to watch you giggle at more than anything else. If you’re lucky, she won’t wake you when you doze off in her lap, she’ll just gently massage your scalp and let you rest against her.

Slowly but surely, the apartment is filled with lots of things. Books, trinkets, little pieces of decor. . . Love. She doesn’t declare it often, but every now and again, she’ll get the urge to remind you. Usually it’s just before you fall asleep, her long arms pulling you against her chest, mumbling a confession so quiet only you can hear it above her heartbeat; like it’s a secret she’s keeping from the rest of the world.

You feel bad that sometimes you wish it was.

“Do you even understand what’s happening?” You ask one afternoon, frustrated and angered by her continued neutrality towards it all. “To me?” You add. “To us?” 

Those eyes that you’ve always loved so much flash with anger and a hint of something else, something you don’t really recognize on her. . . Guilt?

“What is there to understand?” She challenges. “My work is important. I thought you understood at least that much.”

“And mine isn’t?” You counter.

“I never said that,” she shakes her head. “I’ve never not supported your career choices, —need I remind you how we met?” 

She says that and gestures to the hung painting on the wall. You nearly scoff.

“It’s one thing to support me, Moira, it’s another to be proactive about it.”

She frowns.

“I’m sorry our relationship has caused you so much distress,” she hisses.

“That isn’t what I’m saying,” you bite back.

“Then what exactly are you saying, y/n?” She questions, but you can tell by the way she says it that she’s not really looking for an answer.

You still offer one anyway.

“I’m asking you when enough is enough, Moira.”

Her expression hardens, a shield silently snapping into place.

“Enough is never enough in science,” she says to you, like you’re some underling in her lab she’s giving a lecture to.

There’s a cold, detached sentiment in her tone, —one that makes your heart ache. Because you love her, in spite of all this.

“Progress requires sacrifice.”

You laugh, but it sounds so bitter that you hardly recognize it came from you.

“Sacrifice? You wanna preach to me of all people about sacrifice? —What about us, Moira? What about the sacrifices I’ve made, endless ones, mind you, to be here and stand with you and back the things you do? This kind of mindless complacency because I care, and I only ever want to assume the best of you. But what about me? What about the life we’ve built together? Does that mean nothing to you?”

Moira’s eyes flicker with something you can’t quite place. Regret, maybe, or something like fleeting sorrow.

“Of course it means something to me,” she says softly.

You hurt her, and you can see it on her face. A part of you wants to reach out, take her by the wrist, kiss this better. . . But you don’t. The argument hangs heavy in the air, a chasm widening between the two of you. She turns away and leaves the apartment for a while. It’s nearly midnight when she returns, and she sleeps in the guest room for the next few days. You catch brief glimpses of her every now and again when one of you is coming or going, but there isn’t really anything to say. It’s a stalemate, and you’re both a little too stubborn for you own good.

Moira cracks first after four days, a rare showing of compassion on her part. You come home to a nice, home cooked dinner, and she coaxes you into sitting down and eating with her. It’s not like it takes much convincing. It’s been a while since you’ve seen her cook, but you’re reminded of how much you’ve missed it as you eat what she’s prepared. After some awkward small talk about what you’ve both been up to over the past few days, and you holding your tongue on any snarky quips, she sighs.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” she tells you. “About us.”

In the back of your mind, a part of you steels for a breakup. For some dissolution of everything you’ve put your heart into, and somehow. . . It feels like something that was bound to happen. And that’s the worst part. Still, you nod and put your fork down, giving her your full attention as she speaks with careful measure. It’s the first real conversation you’ve had with her in over half a week, and you’re determined to make it count for something. 

“My work is very important to me. You must know as much by now. But I do understand your frustrations, and I’m sorry that my career has interfered with yours. There isn’t much I can do about it, but I acknowledge your frustrations, and if I could make this easier for you, y/n, you know that I. . .”

You sigh.

“I do,” you say softly. “I know.”

She nods.

“I also know that I can be difficult to be with at times. I know that I get so caught up in my experiments that I fail to leave time for anything else, but I try. Because I care for you very deeply, and I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to lose what we have together, what we’ve built. . .”

“I know,” you repeat. 

Moira sighs.

“You’re still angry with me.”

“I am,” you admit. “But I appreciate that you’re trying to make things right, and I. . . Should apologize to you too. For what I said. I know that you care about me, and about our relationship, and I’m sorry that I questioned that. It was wrong.”

She seems pleased with this, —more than willing to let it be water under the bridge.

Things admittedly don’t get much easier in the fallout. Not in terms of your career, anyway. Your works are tainted by the woman you call a lover, and your name is blackballed across the community. It’s a constant struggle to reconcile your own morality with the dubiousness of her’s, and yet you really can’t imagine life without her. So you stay, and you sleep in her bed; —your bed. The one you’ve built with her. You stuff it down and vent your frustrations to the walls of your painting room.

You glance to the door but make no move to go near it. God, all this shit those walls have heard over the years. . . You don’t even wanna think about what kind of therapy they’d need if they were sentient. It’s almost enough to make you shiver. This entire apartment, for that matter, is like some kind of twisted mausoleum of memories; good and bad. The bed you’ve slept alone in more nights than you can count over the years is the same one she undressed you so many times on, picking you apart like you were perfectly cooked ribs just sliding off the bone, and fuck it makes you so mad that she’s just thrown everything away like this. That couch you’ve cried on out of sheer overwhelming frustration is the one where she urged you onto her lap, the one she covered you up with a blanket on those times she came home to find you napping there.

It’s been three years since that argument was settled at the table. It’s been three days since she sat you down in the same chair, in the same room, at that same goddamn table, to tell you she was leaving. That she didn’t know when or if she’d be coming back. That Overwatch was just too stifling, that she needed to get away, to explore. . . And in the process, she’s left you alone. Again. The echoes of that last conversation haunt the empty space. You’re mad. You’re so, so angry that this is the way she left things, and it’s eating you up like boiling water in your veins.

All that time you’d spent making sacrifices, letting your art be devalued so she could search for some secret key to humanity’s shackles while keeping you chained in this fucking apartment. The chandelier hanging from the ceiling just didn’t fix everything the way it should have for the way it raised the rent of this goddamn place. You check your phone, knowing there won’t be any kind of message or call from her, but silently hoping there might be. That maybe, just this once, she’ll prove you wrong. . . That she’ll just come back and say she’s sorry, that she made a mistake and wants to make it right again.

But there’s nothing.  You choke back a sob and train your eyes on the apartment walls again. They’ve seen nearly everything from start to finish, and yet you just don’t feel like you can let them watch you weep now. They held your back when Moira pressed you against them, her hands traversing you with more muscle memory of you each time, and they held it again the night she said she was departing while you slid down it, heart heavy enough to pull you like gravity itself.

Now, these walls bear silent witness to your grief. The silence wraps around you like a cold, unwelcome blanket, frigid on your skin like her hands tended to be. It amplifies every thought in your head, every memory of her, all the things she’s just left behind now like it was easy. Like it was all meaningless fodder for her when to you, it was just shy of everything. It was what you fought for the hardest, what you sacrificed for the most, what you were willing to crawl on your hands and knees for above anything else. It’s hard to believe that she’s gone, just like that, but the absence of her presence now, the absence of her things, makes it all too real. 

You let your head tilt upward, catching the barest sight of the painting just up and to your left. The thing that started it all, the beginning of the end, and it feels like such a cruel joke now, —like a reminder of everything you’ve come to lose.

More than anything, you want to be angry. You want to tear this place apart with your bare hands, destroy every reminder of her, every piece of her that still lingers in this god forsaken apartment. . . But you can’t. You just can’t bring yourself to do it, and not just for the fact that the costs will be far too much to repay in the aftermath. Instead, you simply slump further against the wall, letting the tension melt into exhaustion, and letting all this weight crush your spirits in way only something uniquely Moira ever could.

The love you held, the love you received, the dreams you shared, —all of it and more is tangled up in this place, in the memories that permeate every room. You’re surrounded by it, but even if you leave, you know all too well that it’ll just travel with you. There’s no escaping this, and that’s the scariest part. Your hand drifts to your phone again, almost involuntarily, as if by some miracle there’ll be a message from her; something to explain that her hand was forced, that she’s sorry, that she didn’t want things to end the way they did either. Maybe there’ll be a goodbye that doesn’t feel so goddamn final, maybe she’ll ask you to wait for her because she knows you would if she requested it.

But there’s nothing.

Just the same void that’s been growing since she walked out the door.

The tears come before you can stop them this time, a pent-up release of all the emotions you’ve been stuffing down for three days. Anger, sorrow, confusion, frustration, all of it and more, mix together and spill out through your eyes as you curl up on the cold floor, folding in on yourself, trying to feel as small as possible in hopes that you might just disappear altogether.

You can almost feel her hand atop your head in a comforting gesture, the way she used to pet you like a cat because she wasn’t sure what else to do when you cried. You can still hear her voice ringing in your ears.

“We should talk,” she says, a sense of hesitation present which was wholly uncharacteristic of her. . . Moira wasn’t the type to hesitate.She never had been. 

Her usual confidence has been replaced by something tentative, and that cut deeper than any words ever could. 

“Is something wrong?” You ask softly, because something surely was, even if you didn’t know what just yet.

“Just sit, please,” she requests, and you do, ignoring the sense of deja vu.

“Moira?” You utter, and she cringes visibly at the desperation on your tongue.

“I’m leaving.”

Your mind stills. There’s no way you heard that correctly, or perhaps you just need to clarify what she means, maybe she’s going somewhere for a time, but surely she’ll return, surely she’ll come back—

“L-Leaving?” You repeat after a few moments of silence. “What do you mean leaving?”

She looks to the floor, like she’s searching the grooves of the tiles for the right way to explain.

“Overwatch. . . Has made a fool of me for too long. And I’ve stupidly allowed it for the sake of access to their equipment and their people, but no longer.”

This wasn’t news to you. She’d always shown a slight disdain for her employers, but her relationship with her superiors had gotten notably more hostile in recent months. She spit more venom when speaking of them now, scowled when she saw anything to do with Overwatch in the media. . . But you never thought it was this bad.

“So you’re leaving your job?” You seek to clarify.

“Yes, but. . .” she pauses. “I’ve been presented with an opportunity that I cannot pass up.”

“A job offer?”

“Something like that.”

You frown.

“This is way too cryptic for my taste, Moira, can you please just—”

“I’m going away.”

Another pause, this time from you as you let her words digest.

“. . . going where?” You ask eventually.

“I cannot tell you,” she replies decisively, and for the first time, you’re tempted to ask why.

For so long, you’d been fine to simply accept what she couldn’t divulge to you. It was what it was. But not this time.

“Don’t you think I deserve some kind of explanation for all of this?” You question, raising your voice slightly. “You can’t just tell me you’re leaving, that’s not how this is supposed to work, Moira, we’re partners—”

Her face tightens, uncertainty morphing into resolve. Her tone is pointed as she cuts you off.

“I know it’s not fair,” she tells you bluntly, voice steadier than before. “But this isn’t about fairness. This is something I need to do for myself.” This only makes you angrier.

“And what about me then? The person you’ve, I don’t know, —built a fucking life with? What about me in all of this, you can’t just throw me away and give me no explanation! If you need space, just say that you need space, you don’t need to play a cryptic game with me, I know you! Why the secrecy with me of all people?”

The woman you’ve always known to be so confident now seems so vulnerable before you, and it almost makes you feel guilty for being upset.

“It’s not about secrecy. It’s about protecting you, protecting myself and my work. . . If I told you everything, it would compromise too much. I will not put you in danger.”

“But putting the woman I love in danger is just fine by you?” You hiss. “Don’t tell me you’re protecting me, don’t make this out to be some noble act on your part. What are you so afraid of telling me?” 

“The information you’re after is something I cannot disclose to you.”

“Don’t speak to me like I’m a stranger meddling in your affairs, we are partners! We’ve been together for half a decade, we share a home, you can’t just leave!” You shout. “Don’t you think I deserve a proper explanation after everything we’ve been through? After everything you’ve put me through?” 

“What you deserve and what I can give you are rarely the same thing, and you know this.”

You scoff.

“This isn’t about you,” she continues. “This is about protecting the things I value, which includes you, whether or not you believe as much right now. If I were to reveal details, it would jeopardize everything: my work, my safety, your safety, and I’m doing what’s necessary to prevent that. I’m not willing to risk it. Because I know you as well, and I know how stubborn you are. I’m doing everything in my power to keep you out of a situation that puts you in harm’s way.”

“And what about the risk of losing me, huh? The risk of losing everything we’ve built together? You’re just walking away without giving me any proper closure, —dropping this bomb on me and expecting me to take it in stride? Just swallow this like it’s not going to turn my world upside down?” 

Tears threaten to spill down your cheeks.

“How is this any better?” You demand.

“It has nothing to do with you,” she retorts. “It has nothing to do with walking away from you.”

“Yes it does, because that’s what you’re doing!” You argue. 

“I am making a choice that I believe is best for my career and for both our safety. I’m ensuring that my choices don’t put you in danger. You of all people must understand that by now.” 

The silence stretches after her words and you feel the weight of them mix with your mounting frustrations. 

“You think you’re protecting me by shutting me out like this?” You question, hurt evident in your voice. “By just up and leaving without giving me any real explanation? How is this supposed to make anything better?” “I never said it was supposed to make anything better.”

You laugh, bitter and sarcastic. Her frown deepens. 

“I’m not doing this to hurt you,” she tells you in earnest, but it’s hard to believe it in the moment.

What do intentions matter in this case if it hurts you all the same?

“What about us?” You question, voice breaking. “What about the life we’ve built together? You can’t just erase it all and pretend like it never happened. You can’t do that.”

Her eyes flicker with a brief flash of something like guilt, but she masks it quickly.

“My decision wasn’t made to erase our past—”

“Our past?” You interrupt.

She runs a hand down her face in frustration.

“My decision is not about erasing you,” she revises. “It’s about ensuring that my actions don’t put you in a position I can’t protect you in. I’m taking the steps to ensure that my choices don’t harm you.”

“You’re harming me right now!”

“And you can heal from this!” She snaps. “But there’s no guarantee you’ll heal from what could happen to you if I don’t make the choice I’m making right now. I’m taking the necessary steps to protect what’s important, and that includes making tough decisions.”

You feel your hands start to tremble. Because of what, you’re not sure. . . Maybe it’s anger, maybe it’s anxiety, maybe it’s grief. 

“Don’t try to justify this to me,” you shake your head. “Don’t try to pretend like you’re doing this for anyone but yourself. After everything I’ve done for you, all the sacrifices I’ve made, you’re throwing everything away like it’s worthless? How is that protection?”

Her gaze hardens.

“You know well and full that I do not make uncalculated decisions. This is no different. I’m making a choice that keeps you safe, even if you don’t recognize that right now.” 

“It’s not about what I do or don’t understand!” You shout. “It’s about trust! It’s about being fucking honest with me! You’re not even giving me a choice in this, and that’s not fair! You’re making choices for the both of us alone that we should have been making together!” 

“I’m not asking you to like or agree with what I’m doing, I am telling you what’s taking place because I care for you, and I believe you deserve that much,” she states. “But this conversation does not change what has to be done.”

“So that’s just it then?” You question in disbelief. “You’re throwing me away and I don’t even get a say? You’re just gonna up and go and leave me to pick up the pieces by myself?” 

The rest is a blur. She gathered her things while you sit around in a daze, pinching yourself every so often, convinced that you’ll wake up and it’ll all just be a nightmare. You’ll tell her about it when you wake up and she’ll tell you you’re ridiculous with a lopsided smile on her face, and she’ll roll her eyes when you wrap your arms around her waist and bury your face in her chest. It’ll all feel better when she kisses the crown of your head and mumbles that she’ll see you when she gets home from work. 

But she doesn’t.

“Moira,” you practically whimper as she emerges from your shared room with items smushed into a travel case. “Don’t. Don’t do this.” 

She pauses, unable to meet your gaze completely. Like she’s ashamed in all of this, as much as she wants to hide that away.

“This isn’t easy for me either,” she tells you.There’s a twisted coolness to her voice, like she’s rehearsed these exact lines so many times before now.

“But I’ve made my decision. There’s nothing more to say.”

“Please,” you choke out, not caring how pathetic or childlike you sound as you beg for this woman not to exit your life and leave you high and dry. “Please don’t do this, don’t leave, please don’t go, we can figure something out—”

“We can’t,” she shakes her head. “I’m leaving, and I don’t know when I’ll return. I don’t even know that I’ll be coming back at all.”

“But I love you,” you utter in desperation. 

“I know,” she says, her voice colder than you ever thought it could be. “But love isn’t enough right now. This is bigger than us, and I can’t ignore that.”

You reach out and grab the sleeve of her button-up shirt.“Don’t do this to me,” you plead.

But when you look into her eyes, all you see is resignation.

“I wish things were different,” she murmurs, her voice softer now, but still laced with that same finality. “But I can’t change what I have to do. This isn’t about us, it’s about something far bigger, and I need you to trust me like you always have.”

“Moira.”

Her thumb strokes your cheek in a tender gesture that feels like a cruel contrast to the words she’s saying. 

“You’re stronger than you think, and you’ll be okay,” she continues. “And maybe there’ll be a day when I can come back. But for now, you have to let me go.”

You feel sick to your stomach, hand clutching so tightly around her’s that it likely hurts, but you can’t help it. You shake your head as your throat squeezes and you open your mouth slightly to speak, but nothing comes out.

She pauses in the doorway, her back to you, and for a moment you think she might turn around. But she doesn’t. Instead, she simply says, “Take care of yourself.” The memory fades and you feel hollow. Raw, like the wound has been ripped open all over again. It stings like it’s been covered in salt. You blink, realizing now more than before that you’re alone, on the floor in this cold, empty apartment. The echo of the door as it closed behind her for the last time rings in your ear, over and over, a sound you can’t shake no matter how hard you try. So you don’t. You sit and let it fester. And maybe you’ll wait around for her and she’ll come crawling back some few odd years later. Maybe you’ll move on and search for her in the face of every potential partner you sit across from at warm cafes. As you sit there, the painting looms in your vision, its once comforting brushstrokes now a bittersweet echo of a time when everything felt whole. It’s a reminder of what was and what might never be again and it makes you nauseous just to stare in its tainted direction. But you’ll keep it hung no matter where you go, and you know that. . . Because Moira loved it. And you love her. 

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL - Cameos & Familiar Faces

Entirely subjective yadda yadda. Organized by favs in each category. No numbered lists anymore, tumblr be buggn'.

End of Aug Start Sept 2023

Ongoing Series - Thai

Laws of Attraction (Sat iQIYI) 8fin - Oh the DRAMA. Why does the insane ex (my true love) remind me of the cartel leader from Romancing the Stone? Even the sides got HEA! It was fucking great!!!!! Charn remains a bonkers spoiled evil murderous brat with a cruel smile beloved by his one true paladin. Also: post it love note trope! Been a long while my old friend. NO SINGING!!!!! I do love that wedding jacket frock coat cape thing Charn wore. 

In conclusion: This is a great gay suspense thriller with several solid couples, fun plot, killer characters, queer rep, and a happy ending. Charn may be my favorite lead character of 2023. However, this show is not entirely BL, more on the fringe, like Manner of Death. Add that to several "singing incidents" and pairs being a little weak in the chemistry arena, and this lands safely in 9/10 territory. It’s tons of fun tho: HIGHLY RECOMMENDED. 

I Feel You Linger in the Air (Sat grey) ep 3 of 12 - This show is getting more and more lakorn each ep. Apparently the straights are having a class divide arranged marriage crisis. Who cares? Our boy is ALWAYS in trouble. Crazy that he has to save the people who betrayed him in a previous life - but I guess he chose revenge! That's unexpected.

Had to switch to grey and couldn’t find a working rip. It was frustrating and I wouldn’t have bothered except I like this show so much. Still, it means no screen caps because the rez is naff.

Dangerous Romance (Fri YT) ep 3 of 12 - Uh oh. Kang wants to save Sailom and be his hero. The fact that K’s Pa puts no pressure on him whatsoever, makes me wonder if K's Ma committed suicide or something? It’s definitely the opposite parental dynamic we normally see in BL. I have to say, the pacing is great in the show. And the acting is on point. It’s really great. 

Hidden Agenda (Sun YT) ep 8 of 12 - these two just kiss well. I mean not "rip your clothes off Taiwan-style," but sweet young boyfriends-esk. Joke wants to be claimed so bad. It’s great. I enjoyed this ep, unfortunately it looks like we have a manufactured angst drama drop in the next episode. Is this a 10 episode arc? I thought it was 12. It’s odd to have doom happening next episode already.

Only Friends (Sat YT) ep 4 of 10 - Back story time! Ray and Mew are HARD to watch. Incestuous friend group gay is the worst. Omg I got such QAF vibes from this ep. Nick Boston Sand chats = very throw back 90s gay soaps. 

Location game moment: Top's hotel room is also Chan’s apartment in Laws Of Attraction. 

Naughty Babe (Sat YT) ep 1 of 8 - Ooo. Est is back! Hi handsome. Head of security suits you. Please lead out the new Waterboyy remake? You’re perfect for the role. (If it must happen.) Yi’s Pa is GREAT. Please give daddy a nice boy? Could that be our secondary couple for this series? 

Meanwhile, with the leads (sorry I was distracted by daddy) we got us an arranged marriage, run away bride, and an amnesia trope. Put in a secret baby and it's squarely 1980's Harlequin. Will there be Vikings? Sex herbs? Pirates? Dub con?

Be Mine Super Star (Mon Viki) ep 9 of 12 - Again with lovely sex scenes, it’s just the plot stringing them together is frayed. Also don’t fuck in an onsen. Both yech and ouch.

That goes for all y’all.  

Wedding Plan (Wed YT & iQIYI) ep 7fin - Trash watch here! Honestly this was an okay ending, I’m not mad at it. If you can tolerate Mame and liars (kinda the same thing) you’ll be fine with this show.

Summation: An innocent wedding planner falls haplessly and hopelessly in love with a groom who relentlessly pursued him, even though he’s about to marry someone else. A somewhat lackluster mame offering with less of the usual stellar chemistry, but all of the usual lies and manipulation. 7/10

Love in Translation (Sat iQIYI) ep 3 of 10 - I skip everything to do with Tammy and it’s fine. There’s only about 20 minutes of fine but that’s more than enough. On the bright side. So far. No singing.

My Universe (Sun iQIYI) ep 2 of 24 eps - Cassanova Begins Part 2. Aw. It was sad. Another variation on the “my ghost boyfriend” trope (usually sad). 2/10 I don't do sad BL.

Next up is Merry Go Round featuring the pair from Destiny Seeker (we likey) who want to marry each other, but end up fake engaged to the same woman. Beard squared? Looks silly.

Crazy Handsome Rich (Sun Gaga) ep 1 of 10 - There are 2 things I like about this. I bet you can guess what they are.

Lee Long Shi

The whipping boy trope

There wasn’t enough of either in this first ep. ALSO the captions, sound effects, and voice over are truly next level bad. Utterly atrocious.

The 2 leads fucking around in the end credits was the funniest part of the whole show. 

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

Jun & Jun (Korea Thur Viki) ep 7 of 8 - I am confused and frustrated about what the communication delay is between the two Juns. It feels artificial and narratively manufactured. But since this is a short form KBL and I know it will be resolved quickly, I’m not as annoyed as I would be if this were Thai BL. Still it feels audience manipulative. I also feel sorry for Simon. BUT it looks like it’ll be a sweet boyfriends final episode.

Stay By My Side (Taiwan Fri Gaga) ep 10fin - Omg they’re so cute!!! Taiwan the purveyors of ultimate sappy gay domesticity. I am going to miss having these to nonsencing all over my dash.

This show was an interesting take on the "ghost boyfriend" trope. About a boy who is tormented by hearing the dead, except when he is around one other boy - desperation+proximity = love. Unfortunately, the story was erratic and waffled about. While the leads turned in solid performances and the sappy domesticity was off the charts, it never really had the strength of the narrative convictions such a strong concept should have supplied. Highly rewatchable and enjoyable for that sappy domesticity but not a whole lot more. Still I always give extra credit for the diabetes-inducing sugar content and rewatch capacity. 8/10 

Kisseki: Dear to Me (Taiwan Tues Viki & iQIYI) eps 3 of 13(?) - I love the punching thing - there is a lot of violent flirting in this show. I’m not mad about it. Ugh, poor thing has real abandonment issues. And now trust issues. I see why we’re getting 12-14 eps. This gonna be MESSY.

Meanwhile, does EVERYONE have a guest cameo? Not that I’m complaining. Hi BLIHID boys! Now I need to rewatch that show. 

Love Class Season 2 (Korea Fri Viki) eps 7-8 of 10 - Oh my God the next morning w/ couple 2 was so darn cute. They are all such terrible flirts with each other. Honestly, this show makes me laugh more than any other BL currently airing. I’m not sure it is meant to be as funny as I find it. While couple 3 (the mature characters) is by far my favorite, I actually think they don’t work with the other two pairs, they feel superfluous to the show. I like the show better because they’re in it, but it feels like two different BL‘s stuck together. KBL certainly can’t handle more than two couple threads at the same time. 

Why R U? (Korea Wed iQIYI) eps 3-4 of 8 - Ugh. I am such a sucker for the FighterTutor dynamic. Why so good? Uh oh. Real kiss! KBL you're spoiling us. But, isn’t sad-seme-hyung dating some chick? Argh. Poor Sunwoo. This show is even worse at repping Fighter's character sympathetically. Who knew that was possible?

My Personal Weatherman AKA Taikan Yoho (Japan Sat Gaga) ep 3 of 8 - The date episode! Even Japan is doing it now. And these two who have been living/fucking together for ages still dance around each other like junior high kids. I gotta say, I watch this one twice because Vicki has different subs from Gaga. I feel like it’s easier to understand if I watch two different translations of the same script. But it’s still quite a taciturn piece. 

Minato's Laundromat Season 2 AKA Minato Shouji Coin Laundry Season 2 (Japan Thu Gaga) ep 8 of 12 - Sides are great. It was mostly a cute ep with tiny bits of Progress and a proper Confession. I miss Shin’s siblings. And then… the much loathed amnesia trope. Really?

Everyone say it with me: Must you, Japan? 

Stay Still (Hong Kong Tues YouTube) ep 5fin - It ended happier than I was expecting. Optimistic for one couple, and most likely optimistic for the other.

Summation: What to say about this offering from Hong Kong? It’s different, a mix of early CBL, Taiwanese shorts, and Pinoy visuals. It felt like the story was 2 independent shorts that had been lengthen and then stuck together, and I wish they'd been approached as separate and tighter entities. Nevertheless, this was a complex little piece,  interesting in a sweaty grungy way, with a certain aura of queer authenticity that made it simultaneously tense, unpredictable, and refreshing. I’m not sure I would necessarily call it BL, but any county’s early foray into the genre usually starts out this way, so perhaps nascent BL? Worth watching, especially if you enjoy stuff from the Philippines and Taiwan. 7/10

In case you missed it

Dinosaur Love ended its run but the final 2 eps are behind a paywall. Word on the street is they aren't good anyway (shocker) so I'm marking it as DNF and moving on with my life. If I can find em grey I'll watch 'em merely so I can give it a rating, but I can't imagine it will get more than 5/10. Seriously, do not bother.

Next Week Looks Like This:

Coming September

9/15 You Are Mine (Taiwan Gaga) Secretary has to deal with grumpy boss.

9/15 Bump Up Business AKA Bump Up Project (Korea movie) suspected cinema release? I don't know much about what's going on. Last status update. Love story between a trainee who is about to debut and a celebrity from the same agency. Kpop boy group OnlyOneOf has signed up to star in this idol-based BL (based on a webtoon). They’ve been auditioning for this since Libido IMHO. You can watch me chronicle their BL MV series in this post. It’s from Idol Romance who will do sad but can do good kisses (Wish You, Nobleman Ryu, Once Again, Kissable Lips, Poongduck 304, Tasty Florida, Tinted With You).

9/26 I Cannot Reach You AKA I Can't Reach You AKA Kimi ni wa Todokanai (Japan ????) - Adapted from the manga, childhood best friends: The cool, smart one who’s good at everything, and his average, dorky friend who struggles. Always by the other’s side, but not together in the way they truly want to be. No matter how hard they try, their hearts cannot reach each other.

9/27 Absolute Zero (Thai iQIYI) - from 2021, Studio Wabi Sabi and New Siwaj finally bring us this “time loop to prevent tragedy” romance. We don’t always get HEAs from them, so I'm on my guard.

9/? Venus in the Sky (Thai iQIYI) 10 eps

9/? Mr Cinderella 2 (Vietnam YouTube?)

2023 forthcoming BL master post (see comments, some are inaccurate, NOT KEPT UPDATED).

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

Hidden Agenda hitting us up with a hug + lap + kiss. Very nice.

I think these two might be GMMTV's best cuddlers.

Boys, I think your JoongDunk is showing.

(Last week) 

[ellesthots]

Fateful Beginnings

XVII. “orientation”

parts: previous / next

plot: back in the godforsaken city, you attend orientation and set up your new apartment.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+

words: 2.3k

It could've been the sun blasting from your windows waking you up, but you lived in Gotham—instead it was the sound of shouting and piercing whoops with a sprinkle of taxi honks that made you rub the crust off your eyes. Mar was already awake and stood impatiently by the door. She looked up at you and grinned when she saw you sit up. "I ordered some donuts for us, figured you might wanna eat."

She almost looked like a little dog waiting to be let out; she was short with dirty blonde hair and hazel eyes, rearing to get out the door and feel some adventure. Huh. She reminds me of a cocker-spaniel. The clock read 11:05, and you jumped out of bed to get in the shower. You thanked her for ordering them before rushing to get your body clean. The water in the W’s shower was absolutely scalding, and it reminded you of another inequality in the city—only the rich people got fast-heating water. You cringed as you put the hotel shampoo and conditioner in your hair, then fought with the hair dryer that was too closely connected to the wall, and stepped out to Mar's lap covered in powdered sugar. "Here! I saved you these."

Since you signed everything virtually, Mar insisted on taking your bags to your new apartment for you. Much to your chagrin (you were feeling strangely jet-lagged from the day before) she was being convincing. "Just let me take them so you don't have to worry while you're at orientation. That's rent you're wasting!"

"I don't have a bed, I don't have anything to even sleep on in there yet, Mar." You shoved your arms through a sweater and pulled up your trousers.

"Won't they be giving you that welcome stipend or whatever today? How long is orientation?" Mar was always ready to get things moving, and you vacillated between appreciation and admonition.

"I mean I think so, and it's only until three." You furrowed your brow. "Maybe we could go to Target after and pick out some stuff?"

She clapped her hands and squealed. "Mmhm, perfect. Meet me at Jonson Street Target at 3:30?"

In the taxi to GU, you emailed her the information and messaged the apartment about a guest coming to get your things set up. You arrived at 11:58 and rushed to the Challey building, arriving sweaty and out of breath but on time. Dr. Vry was wearing a black velvet (?) sweater with a leather skirt, and had bright red lipstick. Her gray hair was up in a ponytail that sent a wash of neroli-scented air your way. "My protégé!" She wrapped you in a hug and led you by the elbow down the hallway to her office. Why does she keep calling me that? I didn't even get the interview with her billionaire.

"I'll be here. You dear, will be down the hallway just so." She pointed a few doors down to a vacant room with a sturdy desk and chair. You could've sworn it used to be a study room, and even pictured you and Mar studying for an exam there on class conflicts and inequalities.

The orientation was lackluster, but you hadn't expected much anyway. The doors creaked just as much, the cobwebs were still very much present, and the hallways were completely devoid of life. Your position was extremely straightforward: come in at least 8 hours a week to be available for any clerical work she had, and the other seven would be used up at weekly city hall meetings (two hours) and remote work. She took you down to the print room to meet one other lonely soul, Bridgit, explaining that you would bring your column to her by the end of the workday Thursday for printing. "The only thing you have to worry about is writing about whatever is happening at the meetings per week. And staying below the fifteen-hundred word count of course." She laughed like it was supposed to be funny and you and Bridgit followed suit.

By 2:30 you had completely exhausted even your boss's endless capacity for conversation, and she sent you on your way. Right as she was going to shut the door to her office you remembered the check. "Oh, Dr. Vry, the uh, I'm sorry, was I supposed to receive the initial payment today?"

She laughed again and shook her head. She waved her hand in dismissal only someone with six figures in their savings could manage. "It will be mailed to your new apartment by the end of the week." She smiled at you and shut the door. You held your raincoat limply in your hands. You only had twenty dollars in your account.

You got a taxi back to the W. 2:45. You went to the front desk and prayed this would work. "Hi, when I scheduled online I booked out through the end of the week but I don't need the room anymore. Can I cancel and get a refund?"

"Name?"

You told him and he clicked away. "Room 208?"

"Yes." You sat your hands on the edge of the desk behind a row of pens and flyers. There was a children's play at a private school close by. The Muppets. You wondered how they would accomplish that.

"Card ending in 5620?"

Fuck. "Oh I'm sorry, that card doesn't work anymore. Is there any way to get cash?" You bit your cheek to keep the anxiety at bay.

He shook his head slightly. "I'm sorry, but we have to... well, I could..." The man leaned into a mic nearby. "Manger to the front desk please."

A lady with a plastic smile arrived swiftly. Her eyes met yours with a blank, wide stare. "How can I help you?"

"She says the card she booked with doesn't work anymore and wants a cash refund."

"Oh, was there a problem with your stay?" Her teeth were blindingly white and ridiculously straight. You nearly had to squint back at her.

"No no, I just don't need it anymore." You gripped the edge of the desk hard barely out of their gaze. Please please please. The manager clicked a few buttons on the computer and scanned her badge. She flashed another beaming smile at you before skirting away. After what seemed like an hour but was likely only a few minutes, the manager entered. “Yes ma’am.” After a very tense nod, the desk clerk opened the register and began counting hundreds. "One hundred, two hundred, three hundred, four hundred, five hundred, six hundred, seven hundred, eight hundred,"

When he handed you 1800 dollars you felt faint. You handed over the key and thanked him before pocketing the cash and taking a taxi that had just dropped off a couple at the hotel. "Jonson Target, please."

3:01 you pulled up to the curb. Mar was perusing the dollar items when you walked in, and you both made quick work of finding your way to the home aisle and packing everything into a cart. A mattress, a frame, a sheet set, a comforter, pillows, a throw rug, a lamp, hangers, a bedside table, and two beanbag chairs cleared off that section and the cart. You grabbed another and headed to the hygiene section, grabbing toilet paper, shampoo, conditioner, body wash, toothbrush, toothbrush holder, toothpaste, lotion, cleanser, moisturizer, towels, and finished off with some multi-surface cleaner, rags, and a swiffer. The total came to just under a thousand, leaving ample room for Ubers and food until your first paycheck. Exhausted, you ordered an Uber Pickup to take you to your new abode: The Moore.

The driver was a big, burly man with a big, burly pickup. You both squeezed into the back seating and he blasted some music neither of you had ever heard. When you pulled up to the front steps he was kind enough to help you out, bragging the entire time about his muscularity. "You know, city folks don't know much about this but I spent all my summers bucking hay in Georgia." You both humored him, since he was able to carry both the mattress and frame in one smooth trip. 5:30 and you and Mar were just getting out the mini toolkit provided by apartment management to begin assembling everything.

The apartment was massive compared to your last one. No longer a studio, you were upgraded to a bathroom with a full XL tub and a one-bedroom master. The queen bed fit well, and after everything had been assembled (much to your exhaustion), the apartment still looked somewhat empty, but inhabited. When you and Mar finally settled into the beanbags in the living area, you groaned about forgetting a tv. Mar asked if she could take a shower, and you moved to the bedroom and set up your iPad in the meantime.

Hi hunny. How is the new place? Your mother wants pictures ASAP ( as soon as possible ).

It's good! I'll send some pics in the morning, I'm tired from setting up the place all day. Orientation went well too. Doesn't seem like I'll be too drained there.

Mar stayed the night again, and you pestered her about if she really wanted to stay here or not. This wasn't the longest you two had been together—during your first year of undergrad here you both had been exceptionally close, sometimes spending a week flip flopping between the other's apartment. "I just don't want to be asking too much of you." You threw the comforter over you and grabbed your phone. She was slathering on some moisturizer. "Y/N." She gave you a look as the pads of her fingers pressed along her cheeks. She's right. She's never had a problem with being straightforward. She skipped over to bed with you and got under the blanket. "This gives us time to talk about the juicy stuff."

Oh no. Mar had been trying to get you a partner since the first time you both had a conversation. Extremely flirtatious and non-monogamous, her most used apps were Tinder and Uber. It had taken you a minute to get used to that coming from a smaller town, and only ever having been on a smattering of first dates and had a brief 'boyfriend' in high school. "Are you finally in a relationship yet?"

"No." You shrugged and tried to change the subject to a funny meme you'd just seen on Scypher. She shook her head and leaned in closer. "What about Ryan? Jade?" With every shake of your head she grew more exasperated. "C'mon Y/N! Get it together!"

"I'm good on that." She gave you another look and you reaffirmed. "I'll even pinky swear."

Mar held out her finger with a knowing look. You put out your pinky and moved to her hand, but stalled. You let it fall back into your lap and then pulled the covers over your head. "Okay fine. I don't completely hate the idea of dating." This created an hour more of conversation detailing all your past dates, including the coffee situation with your friends back home, and culminated in such a dense feeling of loneliness you nearly wanted to cry. The moment was short lived however due to her inclusion of the most frustrating man alive.

"I know you don't want me to say it, but what about Bru—"

"Absolutely fucking not." You mimed throwing up and passing out and she playfully slapped your arm. "Christ, dude. Last time you were here he literally chased after you."

"Last night you thought it was stalking."

"Yeah but the more I thought about it," She looked off into the distance for dramatic effect. "I wouldn't mind being invited to Paris for your birthday."

A laugh slipped out of you which eased the tension. Mar was persistent but not rude, and she had sensed this was a soft enough spot for you she didn't push it past that. You both fell asleep quite similarly to how you did the night before, but this time you didn't have to wake up for anything. Dr. Vry had told you work did not officially begin for you until Thursday evening when you were to go to the first city hall meeting to gather report. She hadn't given very specific instructions, just handed you a PRESS badge for security clearance and told you to use your phone and a notebook. She called it 'adapting to the times'. You tried not to focus too much on the logistics as you fell asleep—would you interview someone or would you simply give a summary of the meeting's happenings—and most importantly, you made sure not to zoom in on a particular aspect of the affair Dr. Vry was especially fanatic about: Bruce Wayne's attendance. You loathed how he was the last thing you thought about your first two nights back. It wasn't fair, it wasn't right, and it certainly didn't make you want to stay here any longer. What would you say? What would you do? Would he pretend not to know you? Would you pretend not to know him? What if you tripped again?

The rumination lingered in your dreams and you woke up the next morning feeling like you'd napped about five minutes. Checking your phone saw that you had slept until noon, and Mar was still sound asleep in bed. You got comfortable. This was going to be a long week.

[cactusnymph]

A Former Borg And A Half-Klingon Walk Into A Bar

“You did not tell me that we would be going to a bar”, Seven says in that tone of hers that always sounds judgmental, no matter what she says. And, as always, it pisses B’Elanna off.

“I don’t want to be here anymore than you do, alright? I was volunteered.”

“You would think that after all that time in the Delta Quadrant there would be more Klingons in Starfleet to be ‘volunteered’ for this sort of mission”, Seven responds, looking around warily. Her hair is in its usual perfect updo and she’s wearing—well. At least she’s not wearing one of her usual cat suits. But to say that she’s dressed well for the occasion would go a little too far. She looks extremely bland, dressed in a dark sort of suit.

B’Elanna thinks that maybe someone should have briefed her better on what exactly it is that they’re doing down here.

“Open some of those buttons”, B’Elanna says, gesturing at Seven’s button up shirt. Seven raises one perfect eyebrow.

“Excuse me?”

“Your buttons. You look like a business woman who took a wrong turn. This is a Klingon bar. If people in there are supposed to believe that you came here voluntarily you have to slut it up a little”, B’Elanna says. Seven’s eyebrow raises even further.

“’Slut it up’?”, she answers.

“Have you met Klingons? All they do is fight and fuck. So if you want to go in there and not do the fighting, you have to look like you’re there for the fucking.”

There is a pause in which B’Elanna thinks that Seven is going to punch her in the face or simply turn around and leave. Instead, she slowly raises her hand to undo four buttons of her shirt, revealing a terribly perfect cleavage. B’Elanna was never self-conscious about her body—aside from its Klingon features, of course—but standing next to Seven can make even the most confident woman feel a little lackluster.

She nods emphatically and tousles up her own hair while Seven stares at her unblinkingly.

“What?”

“I am simply trying to infer how your clothes look as if you are here to ‘fuck’”, she says. B’Elanna crosses her arms in front of her chest. She’s wearing simple dark pants and a vest that shows off her toned biceps.

“Seven. No offense. But this is a lesbian bar. Lesbians love a good biceps.”

Another pause.

“Lesbian. As in homosexual female Klingons.”

B’Elanna can’t help but snort.

“Yes. Why else did you think they would send you here? Could’ve gone with… I don’t know. Someone who’s not a walking fridge.”

“I assume that many biceps in this bar will be more impressive than yours, seeing as to how you are only half Klingon”, Seven says and B’Elanna could swear that there’s the hint of a smirk beginning to form in the corner of her mouth.

“Yeah, what can I say. I’m counting on being a fuckable novelty. Let’s go. And try not to look so—well. Like you.”

Being back on Earth has allowed B’Elanna many things. Taking a guest teaching job at the academy, getting back in touch with some old friends and also… well. Getting to know some of her new friends better now that they’re back home. She’s spent an astounding amount of time with Harry, seeing as to how the two of them couldn’t be more different. And after a while off from the whole Starfleet thing, she also decided to go back to active duty, ending up more often than not with Seven.

B’Elanna never thought she’d ever help anyone else adept to Starfleet Academy or find herself arguing on behalf of it or going on an undercover extraction mission with Seven to a lesbian Klingon bar. But when the Captain asks nicely, B’Elanna is bad at saying no. She owes that woman so much.

“Would it not make more sense to pretend that we are a homosexual couple”, Seven says, pulling B’Elanna out of her thoughts and back into the real world in which Seven’s cleavage is very distracting and the Klingon hard-rock coming from inside the bar is still very loud.

Now it’s her time to pause.

“You want to pretend to be a couple. With me”, she says.

Ah, there’s that eyebrow again.

“It seems the most logical course of action. And I would, in fact, not need to look as if I was searching for sexual conquest if I am already there with a partner.”

B’Elanna can’t help but laugh about that, but she decides that maybe now is not the best time to explain the Klingon love for an orgy or the concept of polyamory to her. Instead she grabs Seven’s arm and puts it around her own shoulder before she loops her own arm around Seven’s waist.

“Well then, Ensign. Are you ready to be a lesbian?”, she asks.

“I do not think—“

“It was a joke, Seven. Loosen up.”

“Right. A joke”, Seven says, not commenting on how she has never loosened up in her life or how ‘I am Borg. I do not loosen up’. B’Elanna thinks it to herself and chuckles quietly, trying not to think about how well they actually fit together like this as they step towards the bouncers—two enormous Klingon women, wearing very little—and push open the doors.

The music thrums inside B’Elannas ribcage as they make their way towards the bar. Most of the women in here are drinking bloodwine, but there are some non-Klingons who carry fancy, colorful drinks that sparkle in the low light. B’Elanna takes note of the brawls taking place over in a corner, of the door to a separate room that probably leads to something Seven has never seen before in her entire life, Borg or no Borg, and she scans the room for their target.

“I have found our target”, Seven says next to B’Elanna. “She is sitting at one of the round tables, playing what looks to be a game involving daggers and three very lightly dressed women.”

B’Elanna doesn’t need much longer to find Sukav Resh after that particular description. She is indeed surrounded by three women who wear barely more than leather underwear and some jewelry that proudly and clearly proclaims their sexual preferences to the entire room. Most people out in these types of bars wear it. It’s not because Klingon’s are too shy to ask, they simply value efficiency. Threatening someone and buying them drinks to get laid only to find out that they’re not compatible with you is a waste of time for everyone.

“Should we attempt to join in this knife game to get the information we need?”, Seven asks and B’Elanna can’t help it. It’s simply all a little surreal.

“Would you say that you’re a submissive bottom looking to be thrown across a room, bitten extensively and spanked all night?”, she asks.

“I am unclear what my own sexual preferences have to do with our target”, Seven says, looking puzzled. B’Elanna wishes it was easier to rile her up. No fun at all.

“The women she has at her table all wear jewelry signaling that that’s what they’re looking for and look at Resh’s chains and the metal piece on her right hand. She’s signaling that she’s looking for someone to rough up, to put it mildly. So I doubt she’d want us there unless we advertise ourselves as such”, B’Elanna says, stepping up to the bar and shouting at the barmaid in Klingon to get her attention and buy her and Seven a drink.

“You have extensive knowledge about these things, Lieutenant.”

B’Elanna hands Seven a drink.

“I dabbled. Back in my academy days.”

“Dabbled”, Seven repeats. “You have had many relations with male crew-members over the course of our journey, but none with female crew-members.”

“Seven, I’m not going to discuss my sexual preferences with you while we’re on a job”, B’Elanna says and Seven opens her mouth, closes it again and sniffs her drink before pulling a face that makes B’Elanna laugh.

“That’ll put some chest on your chest”, she says with a big grin and throws her drink back.

“I doubt that I need more ‘chest’ on my chest”, Seven says and it makes B’Elanna laugh more. She looks at Seven’s cleavage and then back up.

“Yeah. Maybe not.”

Seven sips her drink and looks as if she would love nothing more than to spit it back out. But, like a brave Klingon warrior, Seven swallows her small sip and then turns her back to Sukav Resh.

“If you have intricate knowledge of these… mating rituals. Then we should make use of them to get to the target. What kind of jewelry do I need to—signal all of that. What you said before.”

“You mean that you’re a submissive bottom who wants to be—“

“Yes. That”, Seven interrupts. Maybe her cheeks look a little red, but maybe it’s just the drink or the lighting. Either way, B’Elanna finds herself weirdly charmed by it. It’s not often that you see Seven of Nine even remotely flustered.

“You don’t have to do it. I doubt you’d survive two seconds at that table. I can do it. I’ll get the information we need and when I have it we’ll find the backroom they do their business in”, B’Elanna says, opening up her vest and starting to rummage around in her pockets. She finds what she’s looking for and hands Seven a heavy necklace while she puts three metal bracelets on her left wrist.

“You had all of this at home”, Seven says and it’s not a question. B’Elanna does not comment on it. She takes Seven’s drink from her, throws the rest of it back and then tousles her own hair some more before walking over to where Sukav Resh is sitting. She can immediately feel herself be appraised as she approaches and there’s a familiar tingle that makes its way up her spine and back down into her fingertips.

It’s been a very long time since B’Elanna went to a bar like this and what Seven said is true. But it’s surprisingly easy to fall back into old habits, even if those habits have been put away for a long time. She has no idea what Seven is up to, if she’s watching or buying another drink. The dagger in Resh’s hand spins and B’Elanna smiles before she punches one of the women sitting at Resh’s table square in the face, sending her backwards over a chair.

“So. I can see there’s a seat free here”, she says, grabbing the drink of the woman she just hit and throwing it back. Resh stares up at her and then she starts laughing, hitting the table with one hand.

“I can appreciate some healthy competition. You here to play?”, she asks, looking at the bracelets on B’Elanna’s wrist and the chain dangling between her boobs.

“Why else would I sit here?”, she says, holding out her hand for the dagger. Resh’s grin grows sharp as she hands it over.

“Well then. Let’s play.”

*

One of the reasons why B’Elanna stopped going to these kinds of bars is because of her non-existent ability to regulate her own risk-seeking behavior. Getting through the academy days was already shitty enough without running to the medical facilities every second weekend. The looks of the nurses when they saw the bite marks were usually enough to make B’Elanna’s skin crawl with old, internalized issues she never really dealt with.

Being thrown back into it is… weird. And thrilling. B’Elanna likes being rough and she likes it the other way around too, she simply has a preference of roughing up men and being roughed up by women. Seven doesn’t need to know that. B’Elanna might have thought about Seven being just as strong as a Klingon with her Borg enhancements. Usually the people B’Elanna fights—or fucks—can’t hold a candle to her strength. Most of them are humans.

But Seven could probably—well. It doesn’t matter. It’s not a road B’Elanna should go down. She has a job to do and a kid to raise with a husband she’s getting divorced from. Adding sexual desires for her former Borg colleague to the mix would simply complicate things too much.

After half an hour B’Elanna is tipsy bordering on drunk, has three minor stab wounds in her arm and has been promoted to sit on Resh’s right thigh. This is definitely not how she saw the night going. She has the info. But she needs an out so she can reconvene with Seven to find the backroom for that damned business transaction. Resh grabs B’Elanna’s chin roughly and turns it towards her face. B’Elanna maybe licks her lips, trying her hardest to remember that she’s here on a mission and that she’s on duty—but she doesn’t have to ponder this for very long, because right as she’s about to elbow her way out of this situation, she’s pulled out of Resh’s lap and before B’Elanna can say anything to stop it, Resh is thrown halfway across the room.

“The game is over”, Seven says, cheeks a little flushed and hair in slight disarray. It looks really good on her.

“What are you doing?”, B’Elanna hisses, trying not to stare at Seven’s cleavage or to think about how hot it is that Seven can throw a Klingon across a room as if they weigh nothing. Thankfully Klingons love bar brawls, fights and any kind of violence, so the second Resh is thrown over to the dance-floor, three full brawls erupt and they manage to duck away into one of the side rooms.

“Do you have the information”, Seven says, making her question sound like a statement as she’s so often want to do.

“I do. I could have gotten out of there by myself, you know”, she says, feeling a little flustered. Seven raises one eyebrow.

“I am sure you could have. But I was being propositioned by nine different women while you were gone and I was tired of waiting.”

B’Elanna snorts and looks around.

“The backroom is down this corridor. Third door on the right”, B’Elanna says, looking around. “I don’t think we’re supposed to be here—“

Right on cue there’s a commotion at the entrance of the corridor and some shouting about “They went that way!” and B’Elanna doesn’t really have any great ideas aside from the one.

“Follow my lead”, she hisses and grabs Seven by the collar. Seven looks quizzical, eyes darting around to find an out. There is none. So B’Elanna does the only thing she can think of to justify them being in this corridor without immediately being thrown out by a bunch of angry Klingon lesbians.

She tucks on Seven’s collar, hard, pulling her down and forward before she presses herself against the wall, hoping that Seven gets the gist of it. The seconds their mouths collide Seven makes a sound that is half surprise, half something else and B’Elanna finds herself reveling in it, blood boiling and heat rushing through her body.

Seven’s lips are incredibly soft and incredibly clumsy.

But despite her obvious discomfort and surprise, she reacts immediately, grabbing B’Elanna’s wrists and pinning them to the wall above her head. B’Elanna tries to tug on them and yes. It would take her serious effort to get out of this. She makes a big show to struggle against Seven’s grip, kissing her hard and with most likely too much tongue and teeth for Seven’s liking, but the second the voices come closer and two people stare down the corridor there’s just loud laughter and some crude whistling before the women disappear to leave them to their make-out session.

B’Elanna almost forgets that this is her colleague and that they’re undercover, because her tongue in Seven’s mouth feels incredible and the tight grip restraining her is making her heart soar. Seven’s boobs are pressed up against her and… yeah. It’s hot. Hot as fuck.

The second they’re alone in the corridor again Seven releases B’Elanna’s grip and pulls back from the kiss. Her cheeks are bright red now and her hair has given up on staying tied up entirely. B’Elanna thinks she should wear it like this more often. They stare at each other, both of them breathing hard.

B’Elanna licks her lips.

“Sorry. That was my only idea”, she says a little sheepishly. Seven swallows visibly, then turns her head away.

“I will live”, she says, deadpan. B’Elanna laughs, a little breathlessly. So they make their way down the corridor and B’Elanna tries to think as clearly as possible through the alcohol and the aroused haze that has taken over her brain now.

There’s a beat of silence as they inch forward. Then.

“Will you explain the jewelry to me after this is over? For… scientific research.”

B’Elanna has to stifle a laugh and presses a fist against her mouth. The mouth that was just kissing Seven a few seconds ago.

“Sure thing, Seven. I can help you do some research.”

This mission definitely didn’t go as B’Elanna expected. But apparently that doesn’t have to be a bad thing.

[setsugekka]

『atarashī 』 ; 01

❝ birthday blues ❞ | mlist ｡

student!hongjoong x fem!reader, husband!yeosang x fem!reader — drama, dark romance, mystery, heavy sexual content [4,4k wc] ch cws: unprotected car sex, marital argument, general drama and angst because things suck.

"Happy birthday!"

The sound of bottles popping, your friends, family and colleagues cheering for you in celebration of another milestone—not as pleasant as some of the others, you've got to admit.

What's so happy about it?

Lackluster marriage, uninspiring job, nothing in particular that gives you reason to wake up bright eyed and ready for the day ahead of you each morning. Still, you force a smile; thank everyone for coming out and take a sip of champagne as pressed into your hands by your adoring and well-meaning husband.

"At least try to pretend you're having fun," he says, a murmur kept between the two of you only. "I've got to catch a flight soon, let's have a good end to the evening before I do."

You look up from the floor and towards Yeosang—suit pressed to perfection and long, wavy hair that you remember once upon a time really liking on him—it's not that you don't like it now, it's just that you have a hard time finding joy in much of anything nowadays.

"I am, I'm happy," you lie with a smile, and knowing perfectly well that he knows as much. Your husband won't argue with you on the fact, though. Maybe a few years ago, but not now. "I love you, thank you for putting this together."

"How does it feel to be thirty?" he asks with a glass pressed to his lips, the both of you standing off to the side and gazing out towards the crowd of people—all there for you.

Horrible, terrifying, boring, uneventful. Nothing. All at once, though you don't particularly want to answer with even one of them, so, you don't.

"The same." Not a lie, not really.

"Shall we go celebrate it then? Make it a little bit more special?" Yeosang's lips curl upwards, something mischievous. Birthmark on full display, you're happy that he didn't cover it up tonight—a small gift from him to you.

And you know precisely what he is intending by that. You want to shrug, but it's not the best answer to such a proposition.

Down the stairs and towards the car park the two of you go.

It's late enough in the evening that the garage is largely empty—a rented out office space used for your birthday party and long after hours for the majority of the employees that might otherwise be traversing the grounds. You're thankful for that, with the fog that has now collected upon the windows of your husband's luxury vehicle.

Yeosang's fingers are tightly planted into the flesh of your hips, mouths frequently finding one another in sloppy, poorly-attempted kisses as you grind your hips down against his lap in the backseat of his car. Certainly time better spent than upstairs, easier to forget about all of the things that you hate to acknowledge about this evening—about your life.

"Will you miss me?" he asks in a groan, pulling you down harder against him as best as he can. "I'm going to miss you."

You kiss him again, more intent behind this one than the others, because you will. Yeosang is often gone, it's been like this for years, and while you've mostly become accustomed to sleeping alone in your marital bed, there still lies within it a pang of displeasure that you've long since given up on voicing—having learned years prior that doing so will get you nowhere as far as his time spent home with you.

"Of course I will, I always do."

As if aroused by that fact alone, Yeosang's earnest grip firms even more, drags you along his length faster and with a goal in mind as his lips travel down from yours and instead go to work nipping and sucking small, light marks into the flesh of your neck just below. An airy moan escapes you, whispering to him that you're close, not to stop, that you love him; and Yeosang demands for you to come for him upon feeling the fact that you're reaching the precipice of doing so.

When you do, it's with fingers woven into his long, dark hair and his quiet chant against your skin that comes out as nothing but praise. Yeosang comes shortly thereafter—deep inside of you and with a contented sigh following.

Leaning back ever so slightly, you press a chaste kiss to his lips, and he smiles as a result of it.

"You're going to have to go back inside with quite a parting gift from me," he says, coyly referring to the mess left between your legs.

You frown. "You aren't coming back upstairs with me to say goodbye?"

"I just said goodbye," he answers. You can parse through it well enough a hint of contention despite his attempt in concealing it. Like he's anticipating a fight coming.

Lips straightening thin, you sigh and begin removing yourself from his lap—readjusting your undergarments and skirt in preparation for your walk of shame back up to the party. You don't want this to turn into a fight, not that it would be the first time in relation to situations such as this one.

Yeosang must notice the change in your demeanor in spite of your attempt to conceal it, because he lets out a similarly exasperated sigh; like it's a competition to see which one of you can be more disgruntled by the outcome of this particular happening.

"Don't be like that," he says. "Come on, do you really want to ruin tonight? On your birthday?"

On your birthday, as if that's meant to be some sort of bargaining chip from him to you. As if it's his party, his night, and you're harshing his good time.

"I didn't say anything, if you have to go then you have to go."

"Yeah, I do, so why are you acting like this? Do we have to do this every single time?"

You look back at him from over your shoulder, hand gripping the handle of the door and more than ready to escape the confines of his car now. Suffocating inside of it.

"I've long since given up trying to fight with you about this stuff. About having you around more, about you being more present. I've very much come to terms with the fact that you will come and go as you please, and that I have no other option than to shut up and deal with it."

"And I'm sure you hate the nice apartment, the nice car, the extra funding for the theater and ample, unchecked spending money that comes as a result of my lack of presence."

A couple of beats of silence pass between the two of you after that, you sigh first, then open the door and kick your feet out in order to begin your exit.

"It's not about the money, Yeosang. Not everything is about the money."

You watch him chuckle under his breath, as if the whole thing is exhaustingly comical to him. It probably is, because you've had this very same conversation so many times before. You're finding just as little joy in it as he is, and can't help but wonder if he has even considered as much.

Tucking himself back inside of his pants and tending to the buckle, he glances over at you.

"If you want me around more then we can move into one of the old storage rooms of the theater, clear out some space among the scrap wood and fabrics. Wouldn't that be nice?"

The sarcasm in his voice goes none appreciated by you, and as you stare it him quietly for a few moments’ time, you make peace with the fact that this conversation, like all others—is going nowhere useful.

"Have a good trip."

The car door shuts with an unintentional, but resoundingly loud bang.

You hope for a quiet re-entry, that no one has noticed you're gone or makes any assumptions about why that is. From behind the large door leading inside, you take a deep breath; center yourself so that you can put on a good enough mask, so that no one has to ask what's wrong.

It's been so long that you've been going back and forth with Yeosang about this, part of you is shocked that you even still have the capacity to feel about it at all.

The door pulls open, and with one step inside, your best friend is found awaiting your presence—perched steadfast right beside the opening and with two drinks in hand.

"Welcome back."

There's a particular look of knowing on Seonghwa's face as he says it—which makes sense, all things considered—and you take the glass from him that he gently extends towards you. A large sip follows in the silence that hangs between you, gazing out at the party while it carries on without you.

You can feel the reluctance wafting off of him from beside you, but with it comes the need to address the elephant in the room. There's no escaping this conversation, much like so many others.

"Yeosang left?"

"Flight to catch."

"Ah," he replies, simple enough. Takes a sip to cut the tension a little bit. "Well, it's the beginning of the school year, that's something to look forward to, isn't it?"

You hum, a nod accompanying it. "I've still got some loose ends to tie up before we start letting students into the theater, there's a leaky pipe backstage that I'm going to have to deal with before it becomes a much larger issue, but beyond that I'm mostly ready to have the place crawling with the usual artistic types. They're nice, sort of a joy to have around with how bright-eyed they are in comparison to me."

A chuckle carries from you at the tail end of the sentence, Seonghwa smiles at it, understands that it's part of the mask.

"Have you ever thought of giving the place up? Moving out of the city with Yeosang somewhere and just...settling down? I can't imagine you need the place all that much considering the hefty inheritance you were left."

You shrug, lifeless.

"We spent a lot of it on the wedding, another lot of it on the apartment—besides, it's the only thing I've really got left from my family. Hard to let go of such an heirloom, ya know? Besides, it keeps me busy when Yeosang is gone."

"Which is most of the time."

"Yeah."

Seonghwa kicks back the remaining liquid in his glass, you follow suit. He nudges towards the balcony as a silent request for him to follow you and you do so without so much as a question. The air is more brisk but clearer up here—far better than the outdoors of a stuffy parking garage.

You watch him take out a cigarette, playfully grimace at the sight of it as he lights it, but he only goes as far as to flash you a look that says don't bother with the dramatics.

"Is this just how it's going to be forever then?" Seonghwa asks plainly, curt. Like now that you're outside he's able to speak freely on the matter in a way that he couldn't before. "Your husband is always gone, you spend all your time tending to a bunch of uni students and a century year old theater hall? That's everything?"

You find yourself wondering much of the same.

He takes a drag of his cigarette before starting up again. "I know you gave up a lot to be with this guy, and I know you love him, but is this what you wanted? Can you live the rest of your life like this?"

"Hwa," you groan, a hand in the air to swat away the smoke that travels towards you, though that's far from the thing that irritates you the most about this interaction. "It's not like that. It's tough now but Yeosang's on track to retire early, and it'll all be worth it then."

"Yeah, if you two make it to then."

That makes you reel, a look of slight disgust towards him for so much as suggesting such a thing, and while Seonghwa tends to be steadfast in his approach, even he is willing to resign himself to perhaps going too far with this one.

"Look, all I'm saying is that this is far from the first time we've had nights like this. I know you want to be happy, but wanting to be happy and actually being happy are two vastly different things, and I worry about how long you're willing to stick it out through the misery in hopes that there's a light at the end of the tunnel. I mean, you already resent him for being absent so much."

That is true.

A strong exhale escapes you and you motion towards your friend for him to give you something. He understands it well enough—hands you his cigarette which you quickly drag from and give right back—make a face of regret at the taste and smell.

"What do you suggest then?" you ask, though not actually expecting to receive anything of merit in doing so. "Divorce my husband, move out of the city, take a two hour commute there and back everyday just so that I can clean up scraps left by the thespian kids?"

"You should tell them to clean up after themselves for one, they're all adults," Seonghwa says seriously. "But no, I'm not suggesting that. I know you won't, though people certainly do have a funny way of creating excitement in their lives where complacency otherwise resides and it is not often felt without its fair share of problems alongside."

"There isn't really any excitement to create," you insist lazily, motioning towards the door to head back inside once and for all. "But who knows, maybe this year one of the classes will do something especially fun, like West Side Story. I like West Side Story."

"Alright everyone, gather 'round!"

The voice comes through loud and somewhat shrill from somewhere in the crowd of people that you can't quite place. It's difficult to pinpoint who, exactly, says what over the murmur of sounds from a large grouping of students as they look at their new surroundings and talk amongst themselves about all of the hopes they anticipate to have play out within these walls over the next however many years that they partake in their programs.

From aspiring actors, to writers, to costume designers—a plethora of students that wish to watch their dreams come alive before them and among their peers with similar goals—for some it might be their first year embarking on such a journey, and for others, somewhere between the middle and end.

Aurelia Hall; renowned amongst many for the years upon years of stunning architecture and plethora of talents that have come and gone from these numerous hallways and stage setups. A reputation to produce only the best—that studying at the Akademiya far from the goal, and rather—it is the ability to be blessed by Aurelia in doing so that has so many hopefuls shuffling in their applications to attend the school.

There is no magic here; though the way in which people speak of it might have one thinking otherwise. If you study at Aurelia, success is sure to find you. Words that you've heard spoken between students over so many years that you've found yourself mouthing along in silence to them.

A gentle laugh to yourself, where is your success then?

So you stand with arms crossed at the very back end of the main theater as everyone says their introductions and puts on something of a performance in doing so. It comes naturally to most, you can imagine; a small pleasure coming from the fact that the group of students appears to be smaller this year despite a mixture of all levels as it always is. First years and fourth years all mingling on the first day as if it's the schoolyard playground.

You smile ever so slightly, until you feel the presence of another body coming up just behind.

"Can I speak to you for a moment?"

One of the professors from some class, you've hardly been able to keep track despite the year after year that you meet them and pretend to remember from the last. Hardly your fault, that's what you tell yourself at least, on account of the fact that this is very likely to be the last time that you speak to this person until the year after this one.

The staff make themselves seldom known within the halls—their craft largely gifted to the students under their care within the walls of the Akademiya, then the underlings are released unto the care of you—something to that effect. A student body comprised of adults who need little to no supervision of any kind and are happy to keep to their own; discussing ideas and sketching out plans in small bubbles of similar minds.

You're not often needed past the first week, once everyone figures out where the smaller theater rooms and the bathrooms are located.

Following the staff member out into the hallway and closing the door behind for just a bit more privacy, your eyes rake over the man as he thumbs through a file, landing on a page and pushing it in front of you for you to glance over yourself.

"There's a fourth year student who will be joining us, though it's his first year at the Akademiya. He's a transfer from elsewhere, and really—"

"This is more like his sixth year," you say, finishing the sentence for him. He nods, knowingly. "Why hasn't he graduated?"

"Difficult to say, I haven't had much time with him, obviously, as the year has only just started. He seems bright from what I can gather in such a short amount of time, but I get the inkling of a feeling that he is largely uninspired, burnt out, having a hard time getting the final pieces together. The transcripts from his last school say that he didn't even bother turning anything in for his final project, and in fact, he disappeared without a trace for weeks until he finally put in a formal request to transfer."

Fascinating, but bizarre. Your eyebrows pull together, a strangeness collecting on your face.

"I'm surprised the Akademiya even accepted him with a track record like that, unlike the governing body."

"His portfolio is good, really impressive, so I assume that's why," the man says with a sigh and a shrug. "I guess it's up to us to drag the last little bit we can from the guy and get him out of here and into the world."

"Us? I'm no teacher, I don't know the first thing about guiding anyone."

Head cocking to the side and gifting you a half-smile, the man closes the file and nods towards the door once again.

"You're in charge when they're here, and I'm in charge when they're with me. You come from a long line of artists, if you hadn't then you wouldn't be running this place. Surely you've picked up something about the arts in your time?"

Yes, though not something you're all that eager to revisit if not necessarily required of you.

The man pulls ahead, opens the door to the theater and saunters inside. You follow him along the way over perfectly steamed red carpet and past numerous students who are none too interested in the fact that either of you are accompanying them within their creative spaces. Up the wooden steps to the side of the stage and then past the navy blue curtain, despite the darkness and the faint scent of moisture that you're certainly going to have to continue to tend to as a result of that damned leaky pipe, you're faced with the sight of one man, by himself, with hands busy at work.

You and the professor stand in place in silence as you look upon the student; messy brown hair and even while sitting on the floor with legs crossed, you can tell he's not especially tall. There's a dress form in front of him, though it's well out of reach as he works with busy hands and a pile of fabric in his lap that keeps all of his attention—none spared for either of you.

"Costuming?" you ask the man beside you in a lean, eyes still fixed onto the sight ahead of you. It feels stupid speaking of him as if he's not within earshot, then compounded by the way his head finally does turn towards where you stand with narrow, questioning eyes.

Your colleague nods, but the person ahead answers aloud for him. "Yes. Costuming."

"Sorry," you say, nearly fumbling even just the single word in response to him. "I—didn't want to interrupt you."

He sighs then, tosses his head back as if reluctantly resigned to having to engage in this whole thing at all. Sets his work aside and crawls to his feet to make his way towards the two of you.

The two of you meet eyes, and it lingers a bit longer than it might normally. Something strange, something intriguing about this student in particular—fascinating.

Extending a hand for pleasantries, he introduces himself. "Kim Hongjoong. Seventh year costuming student, but who's counting?"

"It's six according to your file." The man beside you begins thumbing through again, as if looking for what it is that he missed the first few times.

The student—Hongjoong—smiles. "Did a year at a school off in Hong Kong, bombed out so spectacularly that we agreed to not bother even adding it onto the transcript, so aside from the memories, it's as if I never existed there at all."

You can't help but find yourself stunned at the nonchalance in which he speaks on such things. Schools like these—schools like the Akademiya—are nothing to be scoffed at or played with, entry to them is extremely limited and some people go their whole lives dreaming for a shot at just one; this guy has flown through at least three, and with nothing to show for it, at that.

A feeling of judgment washes over you, catching yourself looking down your nose at him for being such a magnificent failure. It's not who you want to be, and you make an effort to correct the thoughts before they fester any longer in your mind.

The two of you shake hands—soft skin and you can't help but take notice of the single pinky painted black—a statement piece, something to be noticed.

"I take it you're going to be trouble then," you say plainly, wanting it to come off as something of a joke but meaning it just as much as well. Hongjoong huffs out a quiet laugh at the mere mention of it, as if asinine to even assume as much.

"The only person I've ever been trouble for is myself. If you're afraid I'm going to tear this place up or cause any of my peers any kind of harm, then I can put your mind at ease that that's never been the reasoning behind my removals—be it self-imposed or by the administration board."

"Then what is the reason, if you don't mind me asking?" the man besides you pipes up, having given up on the paperwork in hand.

Hongjoong sighs, slips his hands into torn up jean pockets and rocks back onto his heels once or twice before finally resigning himself to simply answering the question as laid out before him. You're curious as well, though you might not have had the gall to ask it so brazenly as your colleague has.

"Suppose I'm my own worst enemy," Hongjoong says, a lazy shrug accompanying the words. "I'm not a psychologist, but a psychologist would probably say that I have self-destructive tendencies."

"Have you ever seen a psychologist?" you ask then, interest piqued by his willingness to self-diagnose in such a shameless way.

"Now that you're not allowed to ask," he says with a playful tone. Uncaring of the question or its privacy to him, but rather using it as a way to chide you effortlessly.

You back down immediately, and your colleague steps up in your stead.

A grin forms on Hongjoong's lips meanwhile.

"Well, back at the Akademiya, I'll be more than happy to do what it takes to finally get you graduated and out onto the next step of your career. File says you're twenty-five, so I can't imagine you're thrilled to be spending your time around a bunch of barely-twenties, either."

"I tend to keep to myself regardless of the age, so it's unimportant to me."

The answer makes you want to roll your eyes, you stifle the desire out of respect.

"If you need anything, don't hesitate to contact me. You have my phone number as well as my email, and for when you're here—"

There's a beat of silence that comes between the three of you, your eyes glancing to the side to meet the man speaking, and then once more falling towards Hongjoong as he stands in front.

"You'll be answering to the groundskeeper, she'll try to accommodate you to the best of her abilities."

Hongjoong's eyebrow perks upwards, seemingly intrigued by that. "Do you act?"

Not what you expected, and it takes you back just a bit, hands flying up in a visual display of putting a stop to the assumption. "No, no! Nothing like that. I've inherited the place from my great grandparents after their passing."

"But you're familiar with the arts."

Persistent, isn't he?

The answer is yes, though it's something you've long since learned to put aside for much more practical engagements and a husband none too keen.

"I'm...familiar, yes." Whatever that means.

Hongjoong doesn't reply further, though his eyes linger on you a bit longer than you'd like for them to. A discomfort in how forward he is, not at all what you might have anticipated when first laying your sights upon him.

"Perfect then," the man beside you says. "We'll be on our way, and I'll see you tomorrow at the Akademiya."

"Yup," Hongjoong says, though you can't help but catch the hint of something hidden within the tone of his voice. You can't put your finger on it, though even after you turn your back to him, you know his gaze remains on your form.

"See you around."

a/n: weeee excited to have this one started! reminder that if you wish to discuss the story with me, the ask box is the best way to do it! another reminder that this story is going to get ugly and dive into some stuff that a lot of people are going to get squicked out about. those things have been clearly warned. until next time, cheers! xo

[ladyantiheroine]

You Taste Like Stars

Summary: Natasha sneaks Steve off during a New Years Eve party at Avengers Tower.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Natasha Romanoff

Requested by @exhausted-electron

Tags: Pegging, femdom, cunnilingus, lingerie, oral sex (fem receiving), Steve being a himbo.

Author's Note: I'm not actually a big Marvel fan, I wrote this for a friend. If I get some stuff wrong, please don't be mean to me, Marvel fans.

————————————————————————— Natasha had been eyeing the clock on the wall for what felt like hours. She wasn’t sure how long one had to stay at a party before it was no longer considered rude to lead. The tall champagne glass in her hand was down to a few drops and in the time it took her to finish it, she hadn’t gotten less bored.

From the windows atop Avengers Tower, she could get a beautiful view of the city below. Billions of glittering, golden lights that made you feel like a god looking down on the heavens. No doubt the kind of feeling that a guy like Tony was going for.

Tony was hosting the event, a New Year's Eve charity gala featuring the city’s elite at the very top floor of the former Stark Tower. He’d invited the whole crew over and Natasha felt obligated to go, even though hanging out with a bunch of rich assholes wasn’t her idea of a fun evening.

Hence, she found herself on a Saturday, standing on the edges of a party of formerly dressed socialites laughing over overpriced booze. She turned her back to the main room and stared out into the cityscape. Her reflection in the window stared back at her. Her red hair was neatly curled at her shoulder, and a new dress for the event. Long black velvet, off-shoulder with a slit up the skirt, and pearl necklace and earring to top it off.

Empty glass in hand, she turned and her gaze trailed across the room. Tony was in the center of the room, life of the party as always, spreading his arms wide as he explained to some investors about some of Stark’s newest projects. His audience of rich pricks stood in rapt attention.

As for the others…Thor was pounding back drinks at the refreshments table while the server licked her eyes up and down his body.  Bruce was already drunk and stumbling around and Clint was holding him up. Nick Fury was in the corner, speaking to three men in black suits who were clearly uninterested in champagne or chatting or watching Tony listen to the sound of his own voice.

And then, there was Steve.

Steve was standing with an unzipped glass of champagne in hand in front of two women who were clearly chatting him up. At least, clearly to Natasha. The two women stood close to Steve, asking him questions and touching him in small ways that were just subtle enough to be socially proper but communicated something flirtatious. They were smiling and giggling at Steve’s lackluster jokes.

Steve, of course, was oblivious. As far as his words and body language suggested, these two girls were just very friendly and very interested in his new tux. Natasha had been watching him on and off all evening. A part of her was amused by it. Poor Captain had no idea those girls were flirting with him because he was too sweet to think that such nice girls could have ulterior motives. But there was another part of her, one that curled darkly in her stomach, that she couldn’t quite explain or suppress with alcohol.

Finally, the two girls got tired of Steve’s unresponsiveness to their flirting tactics and they turned their attention to the circle surrounding Tony. Steve was left alone, looking slightly confused. Then, he turned and saw Natasha staring at him.

Natasha’s breath hitched and she averted her gaze. Steve sauntered over to him, a friendly smile on his handsome face.

“Never pegged you as the wallflower type, Miss Romanoff,” he said.

Natasha smirked and rolled her eyes.

“Not much else to do while Tony commands the room,” she said.

“Yeah, the guy’s not a sharer, is he?”

Steve stood by Natasha and crossed his arms as he watched Tony dazzle the crowd with more drivel about tech and numbers. Natasha pretended to watch but flicked her eyes over to Steve. She had to admit, he cleaned up nice. His blonde hair was neatly combed back and he was dressed in an impeccable black tuxedo. 

“Think someone should remind Tony this is a charity benefit?” Steve asked. “And therefore, not everything is about him?”

“Sure,” Natasha said. “And then we can explain calculus to a fifth-grader.”

Steve chuckled, a pleasantly deep sound in his throat.

“He’s the only one of his us having any fun,” Natasha continued. “Well, except you at least.” She paused for a second before that feeling curled in her stomach again. “I saw those two girls talking to you.”

“Nancy and Barbara?” Steve said. “Oh yeah, they’re super nice. Nancy’s dad is one of Stark’s investors and Barbara is a sorority friend of hers.” Steve pulled at his sleeves. “They kept asking me about my new suit and where I bought it. They must be fashionistas or something because they kept touching my blazer. Tony got me this for tonight, so I told them I had no idea who the designer was.”

Oh, sweetheart, Natasha thought.

“Did they ask anything else from you?” she asked. “Like for your phone number?”

Steve gave Natasha a funny look.

“Why would they need my number?” he asked. He chuckled. “I mean, I’m not sure what a sorority house would want from me.”

Natasha stared at Steve for a full minute. Steve Rogers was never the…brightest member of the team. Maybe he was always like this, maybe it was that experiment back in the forties that took a few of his brain cells. Regardless, Natasha looked at that man in his puppy-dog blue eyes and was suddenly hit with the urge to kiss him.

“Nat?” he said. “You okay?”

Natasha realized she was staring and shook her head.

“Sorry,” she said. “Champagne.”

“I can take the glass for you,” Steve said. “I don’t like drinking much. Makes me feel dizzy.”

Natasha let Steve take the tall glass from her hand and take it to the refreshments table. The server took the glasses from him. Thor saw Steve’s untouched glass, plucked it from the server’s glass, and slammed the whole thing back.

Natasha watched Steve the whole time. Her face was hot and her lips still buzzed since that image of kissing him crossed her mind. Her eyes lingered on him as he stood with his back to her. Those broad shoulders fitted under the black coat, those muscle round under the sleeves, those pants fitting very well over his nicely shaped ass.

She always knew that Steve Rogers was attractive. Anyone with a working vision could see that. The man was a blonde, All-American Ken doll with the strength of a G.I. Joe. He was all sparkling white smiles and kind blue eyes and sweet as apple pie. To someone used to being cold and hardened like Natasha, he was like a warm sunbeam on a winter day.

And she felt hot just looking at him.

Steve returned to Natasha and as soon as he was standing close to her Natasha’s lips began to buzz again. She kept staring at his mouth while Steve, oblivious, kept talking.

“That poor waitress,” Steve said. “Thor is giving her hell over there. I guess that don’t have champagne in Asgard.” He chuckled. “Maybe he’s trying to see how much he can take until the bell drops.”

The bell drop. Natasha had completely forgotten about that. When the clock struck midnight, couples all over the world would be locking lips to welcome in the new year. The image in her head did nothing.

“Alright, everyone!” Tony called. “One minute until midnight, get your glasses ready!”

Everyone in the room moved to the wall with a giant gold clock on the wall. Even Thor paused his chugging to follow everyone. Bruce, Clint, and even Nick all joined the crowd for the New Year's countdown.

Steve took Natasha's arm and urged her towards the clock.

“C’mon, Nat!” he said. “Midnight time.”

Natasha followed Steve and the two of them stood at the back of the crowd. The bronze hands of the clock ticked towards midnight. The servers popped more bottles of champagne the the room filled with foamy fizz.

Ten seconds. The crowd began to count.

“Ten! Nine! Eight!”

Natasha flicked her eyes over to Steve. His smile was beaming and he chanted with the rest of the crowd.

“Seven! Six! Five!”

Her face flushed red and she bit down on her lips. She couldn’t. They were teammates. This could fuck up their friendship. This could be a point of no return.

“Four! Three! Two!”

But it was her only chance, and she was so done resiting.

“ONE!”

A burst of sound filled the world. The crowd cheered, more bottles popped, fireworks illuminated the sky outside the windows. And Natasha took Steve’s face in her hand and pulled his mouth to hers.

Steve made a startled, muffled sound as Natasha suddenly pressed her lips to his. His heart ricochet in his ribcage. Natasha’s mouth still tasted like champagne, cold and sparkling like a mouthful of stars. His eyes fluttered shut and he sunk into the kiss.

Time seemed to melt away into golden candle wax. The cheers, the fireworks, the popping bottle, and the sizzling champagne pour turned to a distant buzz. When their lips came apart, Steven and Natasha stared at each other. Steve was hot in the face and breathless. Natasha felt electric and her heart raced in her chest.

“Nat…” Steve said. “I…”

Natasha couldn’t stand it anymore. Fuck it.

She grabbed Steve by his tie and dragged him away from the crowd of attendees. There was a door in the far corner that led to a staff closet. Natasha pulled Steve inside and shut the door before anyone could see them.

“Natasha,” Steve said. “What’re you—”

Natasha shut him up by pressing her lips to his again. Steve immediately melted into her touch and let her push him up against the opposite wall. Her leg slipped through the slit in her dress and pinned between his legs on the door. Some valve had opened inside her and now every intimate thought Natasha ever had about Steve came out through her hands and mouth. Her hands groped him all over, tracing his muscular body under the fabric of his suit.

Natasha kissed Steve from his mouth down his jaw and along his muscular neck. Steve tipped his head back and released a shuddered sigh.

“Fuck…” he sighed. “Nat, please…”

His voice sent a hot flash through Natasha and the blood in her body surged. While she planted pink lipstick stains on his neck and face, she pulled his tie from his neck and began unbuttoning his shirt.

“Nat…” Steve breathed. “What if they hear us?”

Natasha pressed a hand to Steve’s mouth. She leaned close to him and whispered between the spaces between her fingers.

“Then we better keep quiet,” she said.

Steve looked at her with those big blue eyes and didn’t resist as she moved her hand from his mouth to his head, grabbing a handful of that golden hair. Steve winced in pain as Natasha pulled him backward with her. She moved her back against the closet door, thumping against the wood in a way that no doubt anyone on the other side could hear.

Maybe Natasha didn’t want to stay quiet.

Maybe she wanted to hear everyone in Stark Tower fuck their precious captain’s skull in.

“On your knees,” Natasha said, her voice a breathless wisp.

Steve, ever the obedient soldier, dropped down to the floor. Natasha lifted the black velvet of her skirt and bunched it at her waist, while Steve pulled her underwear down her long, muscular legs. He let out a luscious sigh.

“God…” he said, drooling at the sight of her naked pussy. “You’re so incredible…”

Natasha threaded her fingers through Steve’s hair, tightening her grip.

“Don’t tell me,” she said. She moved his face between her thighs. “Show me.”

Steve kissed up Natasha’s inner thigh, making her shiver and her hair stand on end. Natasha moaned and tipped her head back against the door. Her eyes fluttered shut as Steve slipped his tongue between her folds.

“Fuck…” Natasha sighed. She gripped both hands in Steve’s hair. “Right there, baby…just like that…”

Steve smoothed his hands up her legs to grip the side of her thighs. She tasted divine, hot, and dripping wet down his throat. Steve had imagined Natasha fucking him so many times he lost count, but he never thought it would actually happen. They were teammates. There was too much at stake. But at that moment all he wanted to do was lick every drop of her.

Natasha jerked her hips and pulled Steve’s head harder against her. Her thighs spread to make room for his head and she moaned as he swirled his tongue right over her clit. She wasn’t sure how experienced Steve was, but his tongue was long and velvety and knew right where to taste her.

Steve grunted deep his his throat. He gripped his white-knuckled hands against her thighs as she fucked his face. He didn’t want anyone to hear them, to catch them, but the sound of Natasha’s pleasurable moans was music to his ears.

“Steve…” Natasha’s voice pitched. Her nails dug into his head. “Fuck…”

She was getting close. Steve could feel it in the way her thighs tightened around his head, the desperate tone of her voice, the exquisite pain her hands nailed in his head. He growled and began eating her like a starving man. He licked and sucked and didn’t let a single drop of her go to waste. Natasha arched her back against the door and tipped her face up to the ceiling.

“Steve,” she moaned. “Fuck…right there…just like that…keep going…”

Natasha’s body was shiny with sweat, a bead of perspiration dripping down the front of her dress. She was hot and glowing and didn’t care if the party could hear them because all she could think of was cumming on Steve Rogers’s tongue.

When she came, it was like a glass bottle shattered against a wall. She bucked her hips into his mouth, fucking his wide mouth until every hot drop was trickling down Steve’s throat. Her breaths came out in heavy pants and Steve grunted and moaned into her pussy.

Slowly, oh-so-slowly, Natasha’s body simmered to a stop. She was sweaty and warm and she pressed against the door to stay standing. She dropped her head down to Steve, who was looking up at her with the big blue eyes and his lips dripping with her cum.

Steve spoke first.

“Did…” he said. “Did that feel good?”

Natasha’s heart swelled in her chest and wanted to push him against the wall again and smother him in kisses. Instead, she put a hand on his cheek. Steve nuzzled into her touch like a puppy.

“Yeah,” she said. “You’re good at that, Rogers.”

A small smile bloomed on Steve’s face. Just then, someone knocked on the closet door and Natasha jumped at the sound.

“Steve? Nat?” Tony called from the other side of the door. “Everyone’s leaving. You two in there?”

Natasha and Steve looked at each other. Neither of them knew if they wanted the rest of the team to know about this, whatever this meant.

“Yeah,” Natasha said. “Steve’s feeling sick. Must have eaten something.”

“Yeah, I’m really sick,” Steve called.

Natasha gave him a look that said “Hush.”

“I’m helping him, don’t worry,” she said.

That must have satisfied Tony because his footsteps disappeared from the door. Natasha turned her gaze back down to Steve. He was still flustered and cum-wet, but her eyes focused on the bulge at the front of his pants. Outside the door, everyone was making their way towards the elevators to leave. Natasha didn’t have time to deal with Steve here.

So, she’d have to take him somewhere else.

“Meet me at the compound in an hour,” she said. “I’ll return the favor. Okay?”

Steve’s brain was soup. All he could do was look at Natasha in her beautiful face and say, “Yes, ma’am.”

Before Steve could ask any further questions, Natasha straightened her dress and hair, then disappeared out the closet door, leaving him alone with a humiliating boner and a face as red as apples.

~

Steve mets Natasha exactly where she told him. He arrived at the Avengers Compound an hour later. It was long past midnight but Steve was too restless to be tired. He’d been fighting the aching erection in his pants the whole ride over and the memory of Nastaha touching him did nothing to help.

Natasha was not the kind of woman to waste time. On the front door of the compound was a note written in Natasha’s scrawl: SECOND FLOOR. MASTER BEDROOM.

Steve made his way upstairs. When he reached the bedroom, he rapped his knuckles on the door.

“Natasha?” he said.

“It’s unlocked.”

Steve opened the door and stepped into the bedroom. The room was dimly lit, only a single golden light from the lamp on the end table. But the light was just enough to catch the outline of Nastaha seated on the end of the bed, one leg crossed over the other. Her dress was gone, replaced with black lingerie complete with thigh-highs and garters.

Steve had often been called a “golden retriever” as a joke. But he was moments from collapsing to his hands and knees and barking like a dog.

Natasha's eyes assessed him up and down.

“I can’t fuck you with that suit on,” she said.

Steve composed himself long enough to respond.

“You did back at Stark Tower,” he said.

Natasha smirked and twirled her finger at him.

“Strip for me, soldier,” she said.

Steve’s face burned bright red and he wondered if Natasha could see his blush. He reached his hand up to his throat and slowly pulled his tie off. Then, he stripped his coat off his shoulders and unbuttoned his shirt, letting everything fall to the carpet at his feet.

Natasha watched him as he undressed. Captain American, a pinnacle of strength and power, was completely at her mercy. The power sent a rush through her like she could start glowing in the dark. She licked and bit her bottom lip as Steve stepped out of his shoes, unbuckled his belt, and let his trousers fall to his ankles.

Steve stood before her in the dim, golden light, completely naked down to his boxers. He looked like a statue come to life, the kind of striking beauty that was almost hard to believe in a human. 

But Steve Rogers was very human. And therefore, he was entirely breakable.

Natasha rose from the bed and approached her. Steve stood still before her, watching her with an anticipating look in his eyes. He could practically feel her gaze on him, as physical as a wet tongue licking along his body.

Natasha placed her hands on Steve’s shoulders. She smoothed them up to his neck and then pulled him down into a kiss. Steve surrendered to her touch, moaning as she bit hard on his lip and caressed her hands along his body. His cock was aching in his boxers and he whimpered when Natasha brushed her hands against his boxers.

Steve froze as Natasha circled around him, trailing a hand along him, looking at him like she were a dealer appraising a work of art. She stood behind him and placed her chin on his shoulder.

“What’s this?” she whispered in his ear.

Steve gasped as Natasha's hand slithered down the front of his body and curled her fingers down his bulge. His body went stiff as a board and all of a sudden he couldn’t feel anything except Natasha’s hand on his bulge. She teased and played with his cock through the thin grey fabric on his boxers.

“I…urg…ahhh…” Steve couldn’t speak. Natasha pressed her body against his back and he thought he could cum from that alone.

“I did leave you hanging, didn’t I?” Natasha whispered, her sultry voice made the hair on the back of Steve’s neck stand. “I should fix it, shouldn’t I? After all…” 

She moved her hand down under the seam of his underwear and Steve whimpered when he felt her fingers wrap around his cock.

“…this is mine, isn’t it?” she whispered in his ear.

Steve gulped, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.

“Yes,” he said. “It’s yours.”

“What are you willing to do to get it?”

Steve was trembling. He worried his legs would buckle and he would collapse to the floor in a puddle of cum.

“Anything,” he whimpered. “Please…Nat…I need it so bad…I need you so bad…”

His words were enticing. Natasha watched him whimper and tremble as she stroked him slowly, agonizingly slow. She had an idea of what to do with him. Something she wanted to do with him ever since the first time she ever watched him bend over to pick something up. The first time she got a look at that muscular back of his.

But first, she needed him needy and desperate. She began stroking him a little faster, and his whimpers turned to little cries. Without an audience behind a door, Steve’s inhibitions melted away.

“You’ll let me do anything to you?” she said, so softly in his ear. “Anything to get you off?”

“Yes,” Steve moaned. “Yes, anything you want.”

“Would you let me ride you on this bed?”

“Yes.”

“Would you let me handcuff you to a chair and suck you off?”

“Yes.”

“Would you let me just stroke you here and make you lick the mess off the floor?”

“Yes.”

Steve’s hips were twitching into her hand. Any second now, he was going to cum between her fingers. Natasha decided to go for the kill.

“Would you let me fuck you from behind?” she asked.

Steve paused before answering. Either because he wasn’t sure or because he was too close to an orgasm to muster any words.

“Will you?” Natasha asked again, colder this time. She pulled her hand out from Steve’s boxers and he whimpered in agony. 

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, you can do whatever you want to me, use me, make your plaything, I don’t care just please Natasha….”

Steve was hard to the point of pain. The poor man was even tearing up a little. It was time to put him out of his misery. She brought her lips right to his ear.

“Then bend over for me,” she whispered.

She pressed a hand between Steve’s shoulder blade and bent him over the edge of the bed. Steve’s face hit the mattress and he moaned as Natasha smacked him on the ass.

“Lay still,” she said. 

Natasha sauntered to the end table. She brought the supplies with her just in case. Inside the drawer, she pulled out a black leather harness with silver buckles and a thick blue dildo attached. 

Steve turned his head in the bed to face Natasha. He watched her step into the harness and adjust the girthy cock at her crotch.

“Do you know what this is?” Natasha asked.

Steve stared at it for a moment and then shook his head.

“This goes inside you from behind,” Natasha explained, running a fingernail down her considerable length. “I’ll lube it up so it can slide in easily.”

“Does it hurt?”

Natasha shook her head.

“No,” she said. “Not if you use it right. The lube will help. Besides, you’ve endured worse.”

To Natasha’s surprise, Steve seemed disappointed. She snickered and walked closer to the bed. She grabbed his chin and made him look up at her.

“Or I can fuck you so hard that you squeal like a pig,” she said.

Steve looked at her with those shimmery blue eyes and nodded. With that affirmation, Natasha grabbed the bottle of lube and began lathering the dildo. Steve watched, drooling at the corner of his mouth while Natasha’s fingers slicked the cock wet.

Natasha walked behind Steve and grabbed the hem of the boxers. She dropped the whole thing to his ankles and then pumped some lube onto her hands. She ran her non-sticky hand down Steve’s back.

“Spread your legs,” she said. “Relax for him.”

Steve did as she said. He spread his legs apart, perking his rear up. Natasha slid a moist finger inside and Steve shuddered.

“Does that hurt?” Natasha asked.

It did, a little. But Steve loved it and he didn’t want Natasha to stop. He never thought pain could feel so good when it came from the right person.

“No,” he said. “Keep going.”

Natasha nodded and slid a second finger inside. She used her free hand to stroke Steve’s back.

“Open up for me, baby,” she said. “I can’t get it in if you don’t open up.”

Steve pressed his red face into the mattress. Once Natasha got him nice and open, she readied her shiny cock at his hole.

“Hold still for me,” she said. She pressed a hand down on his lower back. Her voice softened. “Trust me, Steve. This’ll feel good.”

With that, Natasha shoved herself inside Steve and immediately began swerving her hips. Steve let out a croak of pain and melted onto the bed.

“Nat…” he whimpered. “…fuck…”

The mattress springs sang beneath them as Natasha fucked him into the mattress. Natasha watched Steve whimper and writhe, his muscular back twisting and contorting, pushing his rear harder onto her cock.

“That’s it, Rogers,” Natasha purred. She smoothed her hand up his back before grabbing his hair. “Take all of it for me.”

Steve arched his back and moaned. Natasha started viciously pounding into his ass, thrusting her hips until Steve started crying out. His head filled with exquisite pain as he pulled him back by his hair.

“Natasha please,” he blubbered.

“Shut it,” Natasha hissed. She clasped a hand on his mouth and ducked him harder. “You don’t talk until I make you cum first.”

Steve whimpered against her hand. His tortured cock was burning red and he could feel Natasha fucking an orgasm into him.

“Look at you,” Natasha purred in his ear. “The sluttiest soldier in the U.S. army.”

Those words pushed him over the edge. Steve cried out and Natasha shushed him by shoving his face into the duvet. She fucked him harder and harder, Steve’s hips humping into the bed, until with a cry he finally spilled onto the mattress.

“Fuck...fuck…fuck..” Steve panted.

Natasha slowly pulled her cock out. She looked down at Steve as she stepped out of the harness. The poor boy was sweaty and trembling like a puppy. She traced her fingertips down his back.

“You okay, Steve?” she asked. All her sadistic bravado faded away and her voice cooed over him.

Steve rolled onto his back, grimacing leaving a sticky mess on the mattress when he came. He looked at Natasha, the way the light haloed her red hair, her eyes that made him feel so open and naked. He gently took Natasha by the wrist and pulled her down on top of him. She yelped, then giggled as she nuzzled into his neck.

“That was…” Steve struggled for words. “That was...

He couldn’t articulate how he felt. He felt like a different man. He felt like he wanted to bend over and let Natasha destroy him again and again. But he was too spent to say, so he held Natasha close and covered her in kisses.

Natasha grinned and held Steve’s face in her hands.

“You should probably clean the sheets,” she said. “Someone might come in tomorrow and see your mess.”

Steve smiled and pressed his forehead to hers.

“Yes, ma’am.”

[xoangel-dust]

So…I got bored and wanted to make another one of these Total Drama Controversy Memes

Favorite Character: Trent- I find him to be so underrated and he used to get so much hate for what went down in season two. Yes he’s considered the “normal” dude but there needs to be a balance with all the wild characters from season one. I’ve always been a fan of his from the very beginning.

Despised Character: Mal- He is probably the worst total drama villain ever. The writers tried WAY too hard to make him seem oh so threatening they had to nerf both Alejandro (the BEST total drama villain) and Heather who were both powerhouses in their respective seasons. They needed to dumb everyone else down (aside from Duncan who figured out who Mal was from his whistling) all he does is break shit and attempt to off everyone.No strategy no nothing.

Favorite Season: Total Drama Island (2007/2008)- It’s the season I can watch over and over again without getting bored or irritated. It’s the season that made me the fan I am today still. It is not without it’s flaws but it’s still a favorite season of mine.

Despised Season: Total Drama Action- This is where all of the character derailing starts for certain characters. They broke up Gwent and Duncney due to a “network request” and just made all of these characters go downhill from there. They ruined Trent and Courtney’s characters almost to the point of no return, it had a lackluster “villain” with Justin who got outshined once Courtney returned to the show and he just faded into the background (I will say that he could be funny but that’s about it ). Izzy was the most entertaining part of the season for me.

Most Overrated Character: Gwen- She was never a favorite of mine and I never understood why people liked her so much but I did respect her (until season 2….and completely lost all respect for her by world tour then any chance of said respect returning flew out the damn window and got run over multiple times by the time all stars was finished.

Most Underrated Character: Brick- He deserved to be in All stars over Sam or Sierra, the hero’s vs villains season theme would have suited his character so well and hear that he was allegedly supposed to be in the season but didn’t make the cut for some reason is so disappointing.

Favorite Couple: Trentney - This is probably my favorite fanon total drama paring for many years now. I know some think it would be OOC on Trent’s part to seek revenge on Gwen but for “drama” purposes it could be made to be all Courtney’s idea have her flirt with Trent like she did Tyler but Trent isn’t in on it. Have Courtney actually start to like Trent romantically when he does find out that she was using him in the beginning. The other side could be have them bond over their heartbreaks (starting off as rebounds but they grow to actually like one another genuinely) and start finding that they have a lot in common.

Despised Couple: Prileb- At first they seemed cute but then they started hogging ALL of the screen time, got contrived “drama” dragged out for way too long and had Priya overstay her welcome when she WON last season and should have been an early elimination.

Favorite Song: Condor- Easily in my top 5 TDWT songs(I can’t pick this is how we will end it every single time I do one of these lmao). The vocals from all of the characters are so good in this song and Heather’s final line is by far my favorite line from the song (aside from Cody’s solo).

Despised Song: Baby- Harold’s “singing” and irritating pinning irritates me. Plus it’s based off of a song irl that I hate by an artist I do not like.

Favorite Episode: If You Can’t Take The Heat- Entertaining from start to finis, watching characters interact and how it was revealed that Beth was the reason why the screaming gophers kept loosing made sense to me. The Duncney interactions as well fromDuncan, DJ and Geoff trying to teach Harold a lesson and Heather being locked in the freezer.

Despised Episode: Canoe Believe it? - I hate how Bowie was eliminated in this episode due to the two characters that shall not be named who also should have been out the game early as well and the Mal tier “villain”. While I understand the reasoning as to why he was eliminated so early the same treatment should have been given to Priya. We also got robbed of another rajbow kiss!!!!

[haleigh-sloth]

Are you holding your thoughts back for now on this current chapter? I know I should wait until next week, but I still feel like this chapter feels very off and incomplete. Even for it to be AFO's send-off in the story, it still feels unsatisfying to me.

I really wonder if this is a fake-out, then how will Hori execute it because Eri's rewind theory is out of question since it's been used on Deku's arms.

Well, I've more or less been checked out from the manga for a while anyway. I don't have much thoughts in general these days because the pacing drives me nuts to an extent that it's not worth it to follow it closely for me at this time. I'd rather just binge it all at once. I do follow the leaks but I cannot say I have a 100% accurate understanding of all the minute details because it's been a hot minute since I read a full chapter.

For this though, I just don't know what to say. Is it possible he's genuinely dead? I mean yeah. It's always a possibility. But I can't say I'm convinced, just because Kurogiri's last words indicate that um...he needs to come back so he can have a reunion with his friends. And the thing is he never actually CAME BACK. Like not once since the war arc was he himself. So I cannot see how this can actually be his ending.

There is a break next week which is more telling to me than anything because Hori literally ALWAYS does shit like this, so another reason I'm just....eh...for now. Also, all of the LOV members have been untouched and left in states that hint at them being dead for multiple chapters now...so I mean. Tomura following suit doesn't surprise me. Then there was the info dump right at the end about his quirk, about the overhaul quirk and how his had the restorative piece left out of it. I mean, it does feel like that was mentioned intentionally. And almost everything in this manga that is mentioned comes back with a vengeance in some way.

There's also the lackluster incompleteness of his character with this chapter that doesn't feel like it can possibly be his ending. Him ending on a note of "tell my friend Tomura Shigaraki fought to destroy until the very end" just literally negates everything that happened prior. Like that's not the legacy or parting words his character was built up to having. His character is meant to evolve beyond the destructive mindset, not just be like "yeah well, I was committed to the bit til the very end!" Like no. Lol. I do think Hori is better than that. Especially for this character. Also him using "Tomura Shigaraki" feels intentional as well, seeing as how that's not his real name. And he literally just acknowledged that he really was a crying boy all this time. Which is Tenko.

Then....idk. Midoriya's biggest "save" ending up being dead? Just...yikes. The thing is, I don't have any doubt in my mind that Toga and Touya and Spinner are fine. For the main character to lose his biggest challenge while his friends successfully completed theirs is certainly an odd choice. So therefore I just am not convinced. For all the reasons.

Regarding AFO, until the Tomura stuff is resolved I can't spare a thought toward any other character right now. That is also one of the key points of the manga I've just been tapped out of by not reading full chapters. I can't give much serious commentary on AFO yet.

But yeah I mean I guess I am just holding back for the most part. I am kind of at a point where I feel like the only way I can genuinely feel joy from this manga again is to wait until it's completely finished and then read it all at once. Do I have that self-control? Not sure, I've been able to almost completely detach for almost a year at this point so I will probably lean hard into that and seriously remove myself from it until it's time to catch up. I love this story, I do trust the author and am putting faith in him even if right now that faith is wavering. I want to finish the story and like it for what it is. I do have my hopes and am not letting them go until I have no other choice.

[illiana-mystery]

WIP Wednesday

I'm back with another one of these. It's been awhile, hasn't it?

I have two WIPs to share since it's been a minute since an update. Those two WIPs being the upcoming Chapter 6 of A Decent Proposal and Chapter 3 (the last chapter) of One Thumb Down.

Hope you enjoy and read to the end for a sneak peek of a brand new fic!

Taglist: @ghnaim24​, @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky​​, @iobsessoverfictionalmen​, @emily-ella-nightshade89​, @writingkitten, @crowtoed, @doodleborg

---

A Decent Proposal

After work, Arnold went straight to his local suit shop, J.R. Henry, to look at their assortment of suits and shirts.

He had been a local customer for years, but only had the budget to shop in their clearance section. Luckily, the shop keep, Wallace Henry, didn't mind one bit.

Mr. Wallace, as he was known, saw Arnold as his regular and he loved having him as such. He was much more polite and patient than his other clientele.

So when Arnold walked through those big mahogany doors, Mr. Wallace was quick to greet him, his measuring tape safely secured in hand per usual.

“Arnold,” the older man cheered before he hugged him. Arnold laughed and hugged him back, with a back tap to boot.

“Hello, Mr. Wallace,” he greeted him.

“Well, hello to you too. Long time no see. I've missed having you in.”

“Sorry, life has just been a little crazy for me lately.”

“Oh, you don't say. What's been troubling you?”

“I was recently diagnosed with general anxiety disorder, so it’s been a bit hard to cope with. I'm trying to work around it or with it…whichever is better for me.”

“Damn, that's tough. Sorry to hear that, Arnold. My Lorraine has anxiety disorder too. It used to cripple her, until she got on that new fangled anxiety medication the doctors are shilling now. Maybe you should try that.”

“Thanks, but I'm trying to handle this with meditation and supplements. I'm not really a big medicine guy.”

“Completely understandable. Just a suggestion. Now, what can I help you with today? Need a new suit for a night on the town with the misses?”

He laughed.

“No, no. Nothing like that. I have a big presentation at work and I want to look nice for our new clients.”

And Alondra…mostly for Alondra, but he didn't need to know that.

“Oh, I see. Who's this new client, if you don't mind me asking?”

“Truly Brands. They’re considering dropping Loware to work with us.”

“Really?! They must be under new management because Ernesto Rivera and Marshall Lowe have been fighting over that account for decades. Marshall made a very lucrative deal with Roman True. Why would Truly Brands want to break from Loware?”

“Because Martin Lowe is nothing like his father and is sinking his father's stock shares and reputation with his ridiculous ideas, one being charging Rowena True, daughter of Roman, more for their lackluster software. Meanwhile, Alondra and the rest of Rivaware have strived to make a better, more innovative and cost effective product for our clientele, which is more than tempting to Rowena who is tired of dealing with Martin and his cronies.”

“I see. I always knew it was a bad idea to let Martin take over Loware. I never liked that bastard,” Mr. Wallace huffed, making Arnold snicker. “I'm not surprised that Alondra put you on the account to impress Rowena then.”

“She actually didn't. I reached out to Rowena with a deal that's hard to refuse. She just needs the rest of the board on board with this deal, hence our presentation tomorrow.”

“Wow, well look at you…taking initiative. I'm sure Alondra and Ernesto are very impressed with you.”

He smirked.

“Well, I haven't been the top seller for the past 10 quarters for nothing,” he bragged.

“Fair enough. Fair enough. Well, follow me. We got some new suits on the sale rack,” he droned on before Arnold stopped him.

“Actually, I wanted to look at the regular racks,” he clarified, making Mr. Wallace turn around, eyes wide. “I got a commission check today and I think getting a new suit would be putting it to good use. After all, my dedication to Rivaware is unmatched.”

And his dedication to Alondra, of course.

“Well, alright big spender,” Mr. Wallace teased. “I got some new suits I think you'd like. Since you got this new look going on. Don't think I didn't notice. You look sharp, Mack.”

“Thank you,” he chirped before he followed the old man to the center of the store.

---

One Thumb Down

“Beto, you should go back and check on Neveah. I can finish up here and close up for you,” Juan suggested, as he observed his manager still solemnly looking out the glass doors.

He had just been standing there, with a glazed look in his eye, while he was nervously biting on his thumb.

It was a nervous tick he had since graduating from thumb sucking, per Mama Millie’s manipulation with hot pepper paste as he got older.

Yes, the taste stung, but he learned that just nibbling on his thumb still did the trick without burning his tongue off.

And it did bring him the same comfort. So that's what he was doing now, as his mind kept racing about you.

“No, no. Juan, it's your day off,” he said, still looking out to the horizon behind the front doors. “I hate that I even had to call you.”

“Beto, it's alright. I don't mind. Nev is a great young lady and you were just looking out for her.”

“I should have never let her do a maintenance request,” he moaned, before accidently biting the tip of skin by his thumbnail.

“Fuck,” he hollered, before he groaned. “God, I'm a mess."

“We do crazy things for the ones we love,” Juan responded. “Beto, I know about your little crush on Nev. I know how much she means to you. She reminds you of Gina, huh?”

Bobby paused, before turning around to face the younger man at the front desk.

“What makes you think that?” he curiously asked.

“I remember how you described Gina,” he replied. “Nev is a lot like her, personality wise. I'm not a religious person, but I do believe that sometimes we are gifted ‘angels’ if we do some good in this world. You're a good man, Beto. Maybe, Nev was sent to you by Gina.”

He softly laughed.

“I am starting to believe that actually, Juan. I learned something new about her today.”

“And what's that?”

“She's a Bjork fan…”

“Like Gina,” Juan finished for him. “Let me guess, her favorite album is Post, right?”

Bobby nodded.

“Hmmm, so I guess our theories align and have some truth to them. Nev has been blessed to you by your wife. I mean I believe it. I know how much she cared about your happiness.”

“She did,” Bobby said with a warm smile. “I miss her so much, but I'm glad to have Nev around now. Gina doesn't seem so far away when she's around.”

“So I suppose that's why you let her do the maintenance request? To spend some more time with her?”

“How did you guess?” he jokingly asked, making Juan laugh.

“You're very obvious, Beto,” he chuckled. “But I'm wondering what you're still doing here? Go back to her place and check on her. I know it's eating at you. I know you didn't want to leave her.”

“It's inappropriate for me to like her,” he huffed.

“She won't be your intern forever, Beto. Don't miss your chance. Because between you and me, I think she likes you too.”

Bobby's eyes lit up when he said that.

“You think so?”

“I see how she looks at you…the way you two interact. You two are in love. You're just too shy to see it.”

He smiled, before scratching the back of his head.

“Thanks, Juan. I needed that little talk. But as long as she's my intern, I'd like to just stay friendly. But we'll see what happens when I'm not her boss anymore. Only time can really tell.”

---

Paulie and Dosie - Sneak Peek

(Author's Note: This fic is a genderbent AU. Also, Dosie is reader and her nickname is pronounced doe-she.)

“But now I wonder, were you a theater kid?”

She laughed.

“Yes, I was. Guilty as charged,” she admitted, before she took her first bite of her burger. “I was not good enough to pursue past high school, but I did enjoy it a lot. How about you? Did the acting bug ever bite you?”

You were about to answer her, when you noticed that some of the mayo on the burger began to drip from her lips to her chin.

You wanted to say something, but before you could, she lowered the burger from her face a little and licked it off with her tongue.

Her very long tongue, to clarify.

You felt a little woozy when you finally noticed that too.

Had her tongue always been that long and you just never noticed?

Because now you really wanted to see what that tongue could do.

“Oh, I'm so sorry,” she softly said, with a devious twinkle in her eyes. “I'm such a messy eater. Did I get all the mayo off?”

“Yep,” you swiftly answered, your heart racing in your chest.

She laughed.

“Oh good,” she replied. “And you were right. This veggie burger is really good. The best I've had in a while.”

“Glad you like it,” you moaned, trying to forget what you just saw so your mind could go back to normal, clean thoughts as she began to eat your melt. “And to answer your question, I did do a few shows, but at my local community theater and I stopped in middle school. It just wasn't for me.”

“I see,” she said, before she took another bite of her burger and licked her lips like so.

You were on edge as you saw her do it again, and then you knew she was purposely trying to tease you.

And man, was she hot while doing so.

“Have you ever seen Rocky Picture Horrow Show?”

“Only like every year! I used to go with my ex-girlfriend. Our local theater in Rochester hosted it every year.”

“Well, I've gone every year since college. I go to this off-Broadway theater to see it and it's amazing. Maybe I can take you this year?”

“I would love that!” she chirped, before you both reached for a fry. You both laughed before Pauline gave it to you.

So you paid it forward and dipped it in ketchup before you gave it to her to eat. She grabbed your hand and moved it forward, twirling her tongue around the fry like it was cherry stem before she pulled it into her mouth.

You were quite impressed by her little trick and she smirked when she noticed your reaction.

“If you like that, you'd love what I can do with a cherry stem,” she seductively bragged, before she whispered, “And a clit.”

You nervously laughed again.

[alwaysxlarrie]

favorite fics of 2021/2022

i love recommending fics & i love appreciating the talented, lovely writers in this fandom, so i wanted to make a list of my fav fics in 2021/2022. there are some longer fics that came out this year that i’ve wanted to read, but haven’t gotten a chance to, so knowing me i’ll make a masterlist of long fics or something bc i simply continue to be a slut for making masterlists & recommending fics idk what to tell u LMAO. anyway, these are in alphabetical order. sorry there’s kind a lot, thank u for ur time xoxo

are you taking clients? by @jaerie / jaerie

“Escaping had been the hardest thing Harry had ever done. They'd stolen his child and nearly stolen his life. Being homeless and pregnant gave Harry few options. It's a last resort to let men fetishize his body, but the luxury of choice is something Harry doesn't have.”

all your mates are here by @londonfoginacup / ladylondonderry

“"The pack is... It's folding, Harry."

Like every werewolf does when they get to a new town, Harry joined one of the many local packs when he started university. Now, three years into his program, he's hit with the news that his pack is giving up, going their separate ways. In the wake of the holidays, the three single wolves from the Majestic pack are pointed in the direction of a new pack to join; one that's got struggles of its own.

A new pack, a new house, and two new roommates with personal space issues... Plus exams, of course.

Happy Christmas, here's to many more.”

babydoll blues by @thedevilinmybrain / devilinmybrain (venomedveins)

“Louis is a high profile, filthy rich label executive who has the world at his feet - a music god.. Harry is the sugar baby trying to make a name for himself singing in shady bars and hanging off the arm of Louis' biggest rival. What Louis wants, Louis gets. But what if the game gets too hot and hits a little too close to the heart?”

boy for sale by @ohpleaselarry / ohpleaselarry

“Three large cushioned chairs face him, each holding a suited man. Mr. Horan, Mr. Payne, and Mr. Malik respectively sit at these chairs, eyes on Harry as he steps up to the middle of the room, lowers fluidly to his knees, hands behind his back, and looks to each man one by one, neck prickling with the eyes all on him, on his nude body.

They’re all going to have him, and yet Harry only really wants one man here, and it’s the man who steps up behind him, sets a hand on the nape of his neck, right over his collar.

“Alright,” Louis says, voice raspy and authoritative, “Mr. Horan, you’re first. Would you like his mouth or his arse?””

between two lungs by @hershelsue / docklands

“Harry and Louis are graduating medical school. There's a big party and everyone has big expectations. All of Harry's are exceeded when Louis remembers him from a long time ago. They fuck.”

boom, boom, don’t you wanna go by anonymous

“It doesn't take much to convince Harry to participate in Lambda Sig's annual ceremony for graduating seniors. She's hooked up with a few of the brothers already anyway, as lackluster as they were. She has to have her legs and bare bottom half on display for the rest of the brothers in the senior class to see, but she's always kind of liked being played with and definitely likes being on display. She's graduating in a few weeks anyway. What's the worst that can happen?

She doesn't expect contestant number fifteen to blow her mind in the first round. He doesn't let up.”

caught in your gravity by @lululawrence / lululawrence

“It felt like the blood froze in Harry’s veins even as he got a bit lightheaded. He hadn’t even made it two practices, only one of which he was remotely in charge of, without giving it all away and now he and Liam were both absolutely fucked.

“Shit,” Harry breathed out. “Who all have you told? Does everyone know? I thought I covered it better than that…”

“No, no,” Louis said quickly. "They’ll figure it out soon enough, though, because they’ll get used to you changing things up, but you’re only going to trip over your so called Americanisms for so long before they realize it’s because you don’t actually know fuck all about football.”

Harry sighed. “Yeah. I figured. I just need to bullshit for long enough to allow Liam to get the situation figured out from his end.”

“Right, which brings me to my entire point. I think we can find a mutually beneficial arrangement with all of this.” Louis leaned forward. “You need to learn the ins and outs of the sport incredibly fast. I can help you with that.”

“What do you want in exchange?”

Or, an AU inspired by a 30 second trailer of Ted Lasso that doesn't actually have much in common with the show at all.

counterculture by @sadaveniren / sadaveniren

“It all culminated to this: Harry in the middle of a crowded basement, music blasting from the live show on the far side, shirtless amongst alphas and omegas who all weren’t covering their scents. He took a deep breath of the heavy air and he felt alive.”

erva venenosa by @hershelsue / docklands

“Harry goes to his first all-gender party. There, he meets Louis, an eccentric bartender who claims to know more than he does. He turns Harry's world upside down.“

hint: i want to be yours by @greenblueish / bluegreenish

“Thinking back to Harry’s rut, Louis shivers, needing to put effort into keeping other bodily reactions at bay. 

“Are you cold?”

While Niall’s been commenting through the entire film, Harry had stayed mostly quiet, so it’s a surprise when he speaks up, eyes zeroed in on the omega.

“Uh, yeah. It’s a bit chilly, innit?”

Niall shrugs, dressed in a sleeveless t-shirt and seemingly unbothered by the room temperature. Harry doesn’t ask for an explanation though. 

“You can have my hoodie, wait, here.” Before Louis can counter, Harry’s pulling the light grey piece of clothing over his head and handing it to the omega. 

or, the one where Harry unconsciously starts acting like Louis' alpha after they spend his rut together and Louis finds ways to make sure Harry's affection doesn't end.”

hike up your skirt (and show your world to me) by anonymous

“Louis has a very hands on approach to training his new secretary. How else can he make sure Harry realizes his full potential?”

i can’t wait to see what you find by @non-binharry / enbyharry

“"What do you do for work?"

"I, uh, don’t. I don’t work."

"Cuckold’s got you well kept then, yeah?" Harry’s face morphs into a frown, adorable creases forming along his brownbone, and Louis throws up his hands in a placating gesture. "Sorry! Sorry! I’m just taking the piss. You can do whatever you like. I swear I’m not some judgemental prick." Harry’s expression relaxes. He wedges a hand between his crossed legs, looking down at the arm of his chair. "You do like it though, yeah? You know, the whole —" Louis cuts himself off, gesturing broadly to avoid overstepping on a dynamic he doesn’t fully understand.

"Yeah, I um. I do like it. I get off on feeling used for him. I only belong to him and he loves that, no matter how many hands I’m passed through."

"Okay, so what happens if I agree?"

or

Louis finds himself entering an interesting sexual arrangement with a happy, committed couple.

He gets more than he bargained for.”

i’ll be your new favourite tune by @harrystinyshorts / lsforever

“Louis gulps, all coherent thoughts flying from his brain as he unabashedly stares. There’s just so much to take in, from the silky curls springing out in every direction under some sort of headband/scarf looking thing, to the bright eyes and rosy cheeks and cute dimples that make the man’s - Harry, Louis reads from his nametag - smile so charming. He’s wearing a simple black shirt paired with some short jean shorts that only reach the middle of his thighs, and Louis has to force himself not to stare at those long, beautiful legs.

“You okay there?” Harry sounds amused.

Louis clears his throat.

or, Louis is the Pop Punk King of our dreams, and Harry is the cute associate at the rescue who helps him adopt a cat.”

it’s been ages by @2tiedships2 / 2tiedships2

““We need to talk,” Niall said as he plopped down on Louis’ bed. “It’s you and Harry. You like him, he likes you, it’s a match made in heaven and you will one day be mates,”

Louis shook his head in exasperation. “If you’ve been watching, you would see that Harry is interested in, like, alpha alphas. Not me.”

“What the fuck is an alpha alpha?” Niall asked with furrowed brows.

“You know what I mean,” Louis said, giving Niall a pointed look.

“I literally have no idea what you’re talking about.”

i love this feeling (but i hate this part) by @lululawrence / lululawrence

““Stand up.”

Harry stood up from the couch, not a moment’s delay.

“Oh my god, is that what that’s like?” Harry turned to Louis, surprise on his face. “I really thought they were somehow exaggerating, but it really is an automatic response with absolutely no thought from me behind it whatsoever.”

Louis sighed again. “You really wanna keep doing this? Have me use my alpha voice on you so you can work on resisting it?”

“Yup,” Harry said, clapping his hands and smiling. “How else am I going to be able to have any chance at reducing the power an alpha voice has on me?””

keep me closer by @zanniscaramouche / zanni_scaramouche

“Louis expects Harry to react poorly, maybe even file a formal complaint and that’s gonna suck ass but Louis won’t say shit cause he knows he deserves it, so he prepares an apology before Harry’s even turned around.

What he doesn’t expect is Harry to fucking drop.“

know you better. by @wabadabadaba / wabadabadaba

“It didn't help that oftentimes Niall and Zayn's other friend, Louis joined them and from all the stories Marcel has heard about Louis, he was positive they wouldn't get along. From their description, Louis was loud, annoying, and competitive. He liked to tease Niall and Zayn mercilessly and he was creative. Being a tattoo artist, Louis knew things about art that Marcel would simply never understand due to his analytical mindset. He was the complete opposite of Marcel and Marcel didn't think he would ever last in a social setting where he had to be with Louis.

or the one where Marcel and Louis fall in love.”

like air to the fire i need you to breathe by @larrydoinglaundry / cuckootrooke

“Louis is going to do this right. He is going to praise every little effort Harry has made and will still make with his nest, telling him how cozy and well put together it is. And practical, on top of everything. Despite being situated in Louis’ closet. But it has so many blankets, duvets and pillows that Louis will happily make Harry fall apart in that nest when he goes into heat.

… Well. He’ll try.

The thing is, Louis is sort of terrified.

OR Harry is in preheat and Louis is nervous about his upcoming heat, fearing that he might not be able to fulfill his mate's needs. Lucky for him, Harry knows how to push the right buttons to get him relaxed.”

lost in your paradise by @sadaveniren / sadaveniren

““To the alpha I fucked at the Ziam concert, I think this is yours.”

aka Harry and Louis have a one night stand.”

my service, your pleasure by @hershelsue / docklands

“Harry moves in with Louis, his childhood best friend. He had always enjoyed doing things for him, never putting much thought into it. What happens when they're in the same space all the time and Harry can't keep his hands to himself? Surely, his adoration bursts at the seams and a very suspicious Louis tries his best to keep up.”

making my way downtown by @disgruntledkittenface / disgruntledkittenface

““Bye, Harry!”

“See you tomorrow, hon!”

Harry turns in the doorway and waves before he hitches the strap of his backpack over his shoulder and steps out onto the pavement. He tries to ignore the pang of regret after he couldn’t muster a smile, knowing that the middle-aged women he works with love him and won’t hold it against him. The walk from the bakery to his apartment takes almost an hour, which is usually brutal after being on his feet for a full shift, but he decides to skip the bus today. Maybe the sunshine and light breeze will lift the mood that had taken a nosedive when he checked his phone after getting off work.

So Louis didn’t text him back. So what?

So fucking everything.”

milk kinship by @jaerie / jaerie

“Harry had aspired to become a wet nurse since first learning about the honored and respected tradition when he was a teenager. The first documentary he’d seen had been detailed and brutally honest and Harry had still fallen in love with the idea. It’s origins were rooted in highly regarded positions of the royal staff and were credited in playing a role in the lives of some of the most famous children in history. There were medically trained wet nurses and other milk services for mothers unable to feed their babies, but true wet nurse nannies could only be afforded by the rich and famous. The glamorous life appealed to Harry even if his understanding of his role changed to a more realistic view over time. As a starry eyed kid, that was where he wanted to be.

Or Harry is a wet nurse and isn't allowed to have an alpha. He may or may not break his vows.”

my pleasure (to make you mine) by @zanniscaramouche / zanni_scaramouche

““Think about it.” Niall raises an eyebrow at him before amiably leading the interrupting customer to the other side of the store.

And the thing is, even a day later, Harry's done nothing but think about piercing his nipples.

Harry decides to get his nipples pierced. Louis is the piercing artist with a smile that breaks every rule of the universe.”

no one likes to be alone by @lululawrence / lululawrence

“Harry was a full-on fucking failure.

Letting out a whimper, Harry pressed his hands to his face as he finally allowed himself to cry. After a few sobs, he realized that something soft was pressed to his face, catching his tears instead of his hands. Harry pulled it away to see what it was and saw it was one of his sister’s shirts.

Shaking his head, he turned and placed it very specifically right where he usually tucked himself up against the wall. As he carefully shifted the shirt so he could see the faded image of Britney Spears looking out at him, Harry was overcome with a need he had only ever felt once before.

He needed to nest.”

opulence thrills by @brightgolden / brightgolden

““You know, it’s my first time bidding-”

“Bidding on people?” Harry supplies.

Louis snickers as he shakes his head, a small smile playing on his perfectly shaped lips. “You could say that, yeah.”

OR

Where a well-versed submissive, Harry Styles has spent eighteen months in BDSM abstinence after an irreconcilable difference in kink preferences with his ex-dom, and a random winner for a charity auction might just be the one who brings him back.”

plenty of time by @juliusschmidt / juliusschmidt

“Harry gets into Louis' Uber. He's not in heat. Not fully. Not yet.”

picture this by @kingsofeverything / kingsofeverything

“Part of Harry’s job at the bar includes working the door on Friday nights, checking IDs and asking for proof of vaccination. One night, Louis Tomlinson accidentally shows him something else.”

sweet like candy by @neondiamond / neondiamond

“Louis is an Alpha with an odd obsession for gummy bears. Harry is an Omega who makes friends a little too easily. They meet on the bus.”

scent partner by @daggerandrose / amomentoflove

“The name of the company was horrible: Scent Partner. Whoever was on the marketing team should be fired immediately for green-lighting that name. But the instructions were simple.

Alphas wear a shirt for three days and nights. The shirt gets sent to omegas nearing their heats to pick the alpha who smells the best to them. The company notifies the alpha and gives them the opportunity to say no. If both parties agree, they meet at a heat room for the omega’s heat. Everything is safe and consensual.”

secrets don’t make friends by @thedevilinmybrain / devilinmybrain (venomedveins)

“5 times Louis' crew knew too much, and the 1 time they thought they knew, but didn't really. Not at all.“

single bells ring by @absoloutenonsense / nonsensedarling

“A holiday singles event is not where Louis wants to be tonight, but there he is, helping his best friend find love. Just as Louis is settling in, ready to have a terrible time, he meets the fittest alpha he’s ever come across.“

skip the small talk by @sadaveniren / sadaveniren

“"Your initial Result is that you are a service based submissive.”

Harry froze. James’ eyes were on him, boring into his soul. Harry had never felt so exposed. He wasn’t a submissive. He was an alpha.

“But I’d been so careful,” came out before he stopped himself.

aka Harry is an alpha that's just a little too soft to be a good dom but that's okay because Louis is an omega who is a little too rough to be a good sub.”

the lost art of breeding and (mis)behaviour by @indiaalphawhiskey / indiaalphawhiskey 

““Strip, slave.” His voice was rough – stern, as a proper Master’s voice should be. Harry couldn’t help but feel pleased. “I could have had five of your kind for your price. Best make sure I’ve not been cheated.” -- Or, Harry learns a thing or two about fate and faith.“

the only one (when it’s said and done) by @londonfoginacup / ladylondonderry

“Louis Tomlinson, alpha, twenty nine years old, is head of the Tomlinson pack.

He's unbonded, and happily so. A trip to the neighbouring Arthur pack certainly isn't going to change that.”

there’s always another option by anonymous

“Harry gets all dressed up to go see his boyfriend with one goal: get railed. He doesn't expect his boyfriend's cousin to be staying in his flat, and he definitely doesn't expect his boyfriend to dip out to go cheat on him. Oh well, just because his boyfriend isn't there doesn't mean he can't still get what he wants.“

this is my jam by @disgruntledkittenface / disgruntledkittenface

“The guy’s eyes are so blue that Harry can’t tear his gaze away, even as he moves to the beat. The searing light shade is magnetic; he finds himself leaning in and yelling, “This is my jam!” only to earn a laugh from thin pink lips that Harry’s definitely going to be dreaming about tonight.

“Your jam?”

When the guy yells back over the music, his blue eyes sparkling and his lips twisted in a smirk, Harry’s chest literally puffs out with pride at earning his attention. His obvious approval. Tongue-tied, Harry nods and closes his eyes as he lets go, the music reverberating around them. All of the usual inhibitions that keep him in the corner at parties fall away and he bounces around the center of the dance floor, waving his arms above his head. Somehow his towel stays on, even as he starts to think he wouldn’t mind if it fell off. Fuck it. He finally made it here, he’s damn well going to enjoy it.

Harry goes to a gay bathhouse for the first time. 90s AU.”

the money mark by @brightgolden / brightgolden

“Harry's heart beats faster in his chest as the name sinks in. The Tomlinson name is awfully familiar, and he isn’t sure how many rich Tomlinsons are out here in London, but he knew one. Seven years ago.

Like all fine things in the world, Louis Tomlinson ages exceptionally well.

OR

Where Louis is Harry’s first sugar daddy who dumped him over text and their paths cross, seven years later.”

the risen by @creamcoffeelou / creamcoffeelou

“In search of the next breaking story, Harry goes off to do something no one else has been able to do: get the scoop on Louis Tomlinson and his devoted group of followers.“

the flower that blooms in adversity by @hershelsue / docklands

“Harry is twenty-six and he hasn't presented yet. He lives in London with his alpha best friend, Niall, who invites him to a New Year's camping trip with his other alpha mates. Amidst them, there's the always sharp Louis, who has a knack for observation and dirt under his toenails. Harry ends up agreeing on going, unaware he's leaving for the trip of a lifetime.“

venus as a boy by @hershelsue / docklands

“When Harry goes to a friend's movie night, the last thing she expects is to meet an enigmatic and handsome stranger who sweeps her off her feet. Louis might just think she’s the most wonderful thing alive.“

where’s the divide? by @2tiedships2 / 2tiedships2

“Louis brings potato salad to Niall's barbeque.“

wait by the light of the moon by @jaerie / jaerie

“Being a single parent of a newborn was not in Harry's plan. He can barely keep himself together doing everything on his own. He can't explain why he finds comfort in his neighbour next door, but apparently it's mutual.“

you’re shooting stars from the barrel of your eyes by @thedevilinmybrain / devilinmybrain (venomedveins)

“5 times Louis was gross hot and 1 time Harry was.“

you make the world taste better by @loveislarryislove / livelaughlovelarry

“"Nice to meet you," Harry said. "What can I get for you today?”

Louis rattled through the order – a couple loaves of different breads, some pastries, and a dozen cookies. There was a niggling sensation in the back of his mind that he was forgetting something, but he couldn’t think what it might be.

Harry nodded along as Louis spoke, starting to flit around the shop and gather things together. “Is that all?” he asked when Louis finished. “No muffins this week?”

That was it! “Oh yes, a half-dozen of the pumpkin and blueberry,” Louis said. “Almost forgot, thanks.”

“Of course,” Harry said, packing the muffins into a box. “I remember all my regular customers’ favorites. Your mother has good taste.”

Louis smiled. “She usually does,” he says. “I look forward to trying your goods myself, and finding my own favorites.”

~~~

Or, a story based on Hans Traxler’s fictional non-fictional text, The Truth About Hansel and Gretel, which is based on the Grimm fairy tale Hansel and Gretel.”

young hearts on the chase by @polaroidlouis / daffodilsforlou

“Before he can question him any further, Harry’s holding out a drink to him, ‘Louis’ written on the side of it with messy, pink letters. Warmth spreads all throughout Louis’ body when he takes it, starting from the tip of his fingers where they brush Harry’s to curl around the cup and settling in his chest.

“I also got us– um,” the omega starts, nervous fingers fumbling to get the paper bag open. “Got you an egg muffin. Or– or a normal muffin if you don’t like egg ones.”

“Who doesn’t like egg muffins?”

The smile that breaks across Harry’s face in response is as bright as the one yesterday. Louis almost expects it to be kissed into his cheek as well. It looks like Harry’s considering it for a moment, too, dreamy gaze gliding all over Louis’ expectant face. He seems to decide against it with a sigh though, and Louis’ not disappointed when they start walking side by side instead (he’s not).

harry’s a hopeless romantic, louis’ oblivious, and it’s going to be Valentine’s Day.”

if you read any of these fics, please don’t forget to leave kudos & a comment!! 

[nightwings-blue]

Terry gripped his backpack. If he managed to sneak away through all the chaos, then he could put on the Batsuit- The ceiling above shakes again. The fluorescent lights that hang onto it to give the lab a more 'sophisticated' feel swing cautiously. They give an ominous groan and Terry, without even thinking about it, pulls Dana away from it on the spot. A hole bursts open and contents of debris from the floor above spilled onto the ground before them. "Remind me to never go on a field trip again." Terry sighs. "Agreed." says Dana. The mess from the floor above had separated the group from their intern guide. If Terry could save him, he could make an escape and change into the suit in the same breath. The building was starting to come down on them and there had to be people on the rest of the floors who hadn't been able to evacuate. It would give everyone a scare disappearing like that, but he had no comms to contact Bruce, and with that there came no back up. Terry and Dana turned to each other at the same time. "You have a plan?" Dana questioned. Terry had no idea how his girlfriend was able to pick out his thoughts out like that. Sometimes it freaked him out, but it made things easier too. While she was frustrated with his odd disappearances, lackluster excuses and constant bailing on plans last minute, it was clear Dana knew whatever he was up to was important, even if it wasn't tending to Wayne's 'demanding' regime. Sometimes Terry stared at her, knowing that the Batsuit was hiding in his bag, or that he was wearing it like a second skin and wished he could tell her he was Batman. But then, Dana would be a liability. Bruce always warned against it. He had already been furious when Max had managed to figure it out. Terry scoffed lightly. "I do have a plan." He admitted, eyes flickering to worried classmates behind them. Their rose-tinted glasses painted an odd picture of Neo Gotham, 'nothing ever happened.' Clearly they didn't check the news enough. "I'll meet you outside? By the buses?" Dana smirked. "If they don't send us straight home first." She gave him a peck of a kiss before letting go. "Be safe. For real."

another snippet from my wip, called 'echoes of the future.' i'm really excited to share it with you guys and it's like🤏thissss close to the first part being done. i hope you guys really enjoy it when i publish it. i've been seeing a lot more love for terry & batman beyond on my dash which makes me happy too! - kiara